Six: A Fine Watchdog

Laura’s eyes were full of tears. They couldn’t leave him, she pleaded. They just couldn’t . . . .

Seven: Showtales

One night, Laura and her family made camp by a lake. They had been following a road called the Ten Road. Or maybe it was called the Ninety-Four Road. Or else it had no name . . . .

Eight: Across the Big River

“Yes, I reckon this is it,” said Pa, as he carefully rolled the map back up. It was not what Laura expected. . . .

Ten: Yowa Country

The days that followed were warm. Laura didn’t need to wear her mittens or her wool cap any more. A few days later, when they stopped for a midday rest on a bluff overlooking a densely forested river valley, Ma let Laura unlace her traveling cloak. . . .

Eleven: Tobias Goatherd

Laura couldn’t sort out at first where her memories ended and where the dreams began. She remembered something stalking her. She could still feel it, icy on her skin, the terror of being treed by some unseen predator. . . .

Twelve: Happy Valley Orchards Restup and Reptilsoo

By the time Laura opened her eyes, morning had crept into the room. She sat up and worked her fingers through her hair. There, towards the back of her skull, she could feel a bump. It felt sore but only when Laura touched it. . . .

Thirteen: The Herald’s Shrine

Pa and Tobias Goatherd returned from the creek around midday. By then, Mary and Laura had recovered from their experience inside that eerie old building called the reptilsoo, and Laura felt a little foolish for getting so frightened of a silly old skull. . . .

Fourteen: Jimapples

Laura stood on the tips of her toes, straining to reach her paintbrush just as high as it would go. Everywhere her brush swished and dabbed, the monster’s creetrock skin glowed like new, protecting the ancient beast from wind and rain and sun. . . .

Eighteen: The Ferry

The convoy left at dawn, just as Captain Syed said it would. By the time Laura and her family joined the others around the cold pit of charcoal that had held the previous night’s fire, the big wagon was already hitched to the two bisox. . . .

Nineteen: On Convoy

The Great Eighty Road stretched on and on, gray and unwavering, day after day. Laura sometimes found herself despairing at its oppressive straightness, longing for the days when her way had meandered and detoured in all manner of surprising directions. . . .