Deep in the Appalachian Mountains, Pennsylvania.
The autumn forest was a riot of color. Golden, crimson, and dark brown fallen leaves lay thick across the ground. The air was crisp, carrying the mingled scent of earth and decaying vegetation.
Abigail gritted her teeth, her hair soaked with sweat and plastered tightly to her forehead.
She had been traveling nonstop for a long time. She was so exhausted that she could barely cast even the simplest magic, and she did not even want to say a word. Yet she could not fly over these mountains on a broomstick or Apparate directly.
Abigail did not know where the Dream Weaver was. But perhaps because she had also made the difficult journey over mountains and through valleys last time, walking the same route occasionally brought back fragmented memories.
This was a route she and Braun had only gradually worked out after wandering back and forth through the mountains for a long time.
By now, Abigail was utterly exhausted, while the man's steps ahead of her remained as steady as a machine's. The rugged mountain path seemed to pose no challenge to him at all.
Suddenly, Abigail slipped and nearly rolled down from a moss-covered rock. Fortunately, a hand reached out in time and caught her before that could happen.
She looked up and saw Braun's expressionless face.
"Are you all right?" Braun asked.
"I'm fine."
Abigail shook her head and, using his support, hauled herself up the steep slope.
"Rest for a while," Braun suggested. "Have some water too."
Abigail nodded silently, picked a rock at random, and sat down. She unscrewed the canteen Braun handed her and tipped her head back for two swallows.
Braun was drinking too, though he was more restrained. His throat moved only slightly as he drank, while