Harrowing Memories, an excerpt from Chapter 3

The damp grass of the early morning took its toll on Tarin’s leather shoes, making them soggy and rough. From the pain each footfall brought, he knew whatever blisters formed over the past nighttime hours had popped leaving nothing but raw skin between him and the course leather. Sarky’s nearby whimpering and occasional moans suggested his friend was experiencing similar discomforts. The only consolation to their tiresome trek was the strange yet beautiful aroma the forest brewed as the morning waked. It was a fresh sweet, scent; that of life lifting its weary eyes as the first rays of the morning sun embraced the topmost leaves of the trees. The moisture sleeping on the surface of the woods rose toward the beckoning light, drawing with it the sweet scent of flora. In Woodend, the scent of the forest had never been so potent.
Tarin had not once been outside the city in the early morning. He now wondered what else he missed during his short life of reclusion.
“Hurry, my friends,” Thief whispered from fifty paces. Though quiet, his tone was urgent. “We are moments from Lockspell,” he pointed forward, toward a thinning in the trees. “The road is just ahead. Then, Lockspell!”
“It’s about time,” Sarky panted. He scuttled up next to Tarin. “So,” he said faintly, gesturing toward Tarin’s pocket, “has your new friend given you a plan yet?”
Tarin tried to hold back the knot those words lodged in his stomach. The answer was no.
Suddenly his feet hit hard, level ground, and he and Sarky paused for just a moment to look down at the bricks beneath them. A glance back yielded little but darkness, for the morning was still young, but ahead of them, where Thief waved for them to follow, a red glow broke through the trees and lit the roadway. “Come on,” Thief hissed, the tight lines on his forehead accenting their need for haste.
The boys glanced at each other, and ran, the pain of their blisters now greater on the hard ground.
Moments later, they left the cover of the trees and Tarin saw from his peripheral vision the top of the red sun as it lifted over, could it be? He stopped and turned toward the western horizon, and like a baby opening his eyes for the first time, saw the rolling blue expanse of Lockspell lake, a ribbon of red shooting down its deep blue center as the sun exploded up over the distant trees on its eastern shore and greeted the new morning with its warm, late September rays.
Tarin smiled.
Sarky stopped and patted his shoulder. “Nice morning, eh?” As usual, Sarky stole the wonder from a precious moment. But still, Tarin’s heart beat fast at his very first look at Lockspell lake, the first lake he’d ever seen.
“Let’s go,” Sarky said, tugging on Tarin’s sweaty, dirt covered white shirt. “We’re losing Thief.”
Tarin forced his eyes from the lake just in time to see Thief sprinting toward a more familiar sight, that of a distant wooden gate of a walled forest city. This one, though, wasn’t Woodend. With the new surroundings, came a new sensation, Tarin, for the first time in his life, felt homesick.