The copse of trees came into view as Ollie urged his horse through the frost-covered grass at a pace that made Sir Cynwrig clutch desperately at the young witch's waist to keep from being thrown. Without a saddle, every stride the horse took threatened to unseat one or both of them, but Ollie didn't slow down, not even when the terrain grew rough with exposed roots and scattered stones.
The purple smoke had already begun to dissipate by the time they arrived, but its purpose had been served. Ollie had seen it, and now he was here.
But what he found made his heart sink.
