The northern forests.

By the time you open your mouth to reply to the red-haired Amazon's question, you find your memory returning and that you have something to say.

"In summer, we are best in the forests," you say to Ash'lanti. "The heights are prey to thunderstorms, and flash floods sweep through the canyons. I share Ellrulyon's fears of the southern route -- we would be running a gauntlet of bandits, tax collectors, customs officials, and perhaps an army or two. Unless someone has connections there or possesses a magic potent against greedy busybodies, I would avoid the river route."

"The forests, then," says Ellrulyon, with some relief. The Terantian elf blinks his silvery eyes and fingers his bow.

"The forests," grumps Domragu, girding up his monkish robe. "What will my brothers in the deep halls under Slatebridge say?"

"The forests," says Ash'lanti. "No one to help us, no one to take advantage of." She pauses, perhaps summing her lost winnings from gambling, teasing dances, and dart-throwing against the lost bribes, annoyances, and customs agents pat-searching her. "But no one to hinder us."

"Hmph," Domragu grunts. "Not us in particular, just anyone. Very well, Master Elf, you and Wyldnight will be guiding us on the next leg."

The first few days of the forest route go smoothly, with you and Ellrulyon leading the company through rolling, forested hills amid fine, mild weather. You pass a gap in a high, wooded ridge on the fourth day. After this distance, the forest is less familiar to you, and the company has to depend on Ellrulyon's older knowledge and the party's approximate maps. The next day dawns warm, with promise of greater heat to come, with the journey starting at the top of a deep valley with open forest. The elvish ranger climbs a tree to sight out your path before you descend into the valley.

The dwarf is already grumbling about the heat. "Some forest," he says. "Too many trees to see anything else, but not enough for decent shade."

Ellrulyon drops to the ground. "If it stays hot, we can pause in midday," he says. "There is a hidden spring with good water and shade partway down the hill.

Ash'lanti says nothing. She has been quiet the last few days, perhaps thinking of what she's missing along the town and river route. You have tried to make conversation during your stops, but she is only interested in talking about the trail and the party's mission.

The party starts down into the valley, the elf ranger a little in advance to scout, the rest of you taking the easiest path in his wake. As the morning wears on, it gets hotter and hotter. You mop your brow, then decide you have to lose some clothes. Out of caution, you decide to remove your pants so that you can still wear your mail shirt over your vitals. Your leather tunic hangs down just enough, you think, to still be decent, and the breeze through your legs is refreshing.

"Barbarian," Ash'lanti says. "But a good idea nonetheless." She follows your example, and you think that her similar tunic doesn't hang down quite enough. Maybe her sword belt is making it ride up. Of course, maybe she chose that length on purpose. You walk behind her when you can, to admire the length of her thighs which are now fully visible between her high leather boots and the tail of her her mail shirt and tunic.

Domragu girds his robe up a little higher and seems content to soldier on. His face is red with the heat, as is Ash'lanti's.

Toward midday, Ellrulyon checks back again with the group. "I am seeing signs of faerie habitation," he says. "I don't think we have to worry much in daylight, but we should keep our eyes open. And if any of them tease you, try not to rise to the bait."

Domragu grunts. "So long as they stay out of my beard," he says, and takes another pull from his water skin.

"We should choose a place to stop soon until it cools off a bit. The spring should be nearby," the elf says. "I will go ahead again to see if we can avoid the faerie." He vanishes into the forest again.

The three others of you continue slowly along your route. In a few minutes, your ears catch a little trickling sound, and you scent water to one side. "I think we're near the spring," you say.

"Good news," says Ash'lanti. "My water skins are down to a few gulps of hot leather soup. Lead on!"

You follow the sound and scent of water, with Ash'lanti at your side. Domragu raises his robe and pauses to take a leak on a tree. His prick is stubby but thick, with a prominent head. He turns to follow you, a few dozen yards back.

You soon reach a mossy dip in the hillside, invisible from any distance. There is a pool of cool, clear water with more dripping from the bank above the pool. The overflow feeds a patch of bright lilies, mint, and more exotic herbs before it disappears into the dusty, leaf-and-needle-covered ground. Long-stalked pink mushrooms and creamy globular mushrooms sprout from the damp, root-bound earth of the dripping bank.

You and Ash'lanti dip up handfuls of the cool water and drink deeply. Soon you're laughing and splashing each other. Domragu tromps up behind you, heading for the pool.

You hear Ellrulyon's voice speaking sharply. "Wyldnight! Ash'lanti!" he says, approaching at a trot. "Did you drink from that pool?"

"Yes!" Ash'lanti says. "It's fine."

"This isn't the spring I told you about," he says. "Look at the signs, here, here," he points to the unusual flowers and mushrooms. "This is no ordinary spring!" he says with alarm, "This is faerie magic. The water is..."