IN ALL HER YEARS spent in the Summerlands, Esabel had never seen a land as blessed as the Moor. The Princess looked all around her in awe. The Summerlands were named for the consistent fair weather, but the Moor of Wilheim was a thing of beauty. The fields were perpetually green, the trees had an evergreen lustre, and the birds and furry animals played close enough that you could stretch out a hand to them.
She smiled when a squirrel came to nibble on a broken piece of cornbread she stretched out. The creature regarded her with huge brown eyes for a moment before grabbing off the baked piece from her hand and running off in the opposite direction. It disappeared up a tree.
