The Exit

Rosalyn ran to him as he trudged from the gate, bearing Anya. Like a half-wit, he stumbled dazedly and tripped face-first into the spring, carrying Anya’s limp form with him. The cold water shocked him back to his senses. Argen could hardly believe the idyllic glade with its small fresh spring, fragrant pines and soft grass, after what seemed an eternity in the bizarre realm of the rift. Rosalyn took Anya, far beyond help, and wept. Exhausted, he comforted Rosalyn in her grief. Argen had spent all of his tears during the long descent, carrying the one who saved him.