Darkhour was not long passed, and no one would venture to guide them to Moreen until the way was fully lighted by the strange auroral rays of the sun. For she did not dwell in the cavern itself — was unable to bear the weight of the mountain above — but preferred the air of the inner slopes, of the forest and the five mountains, particularly that peak whose inner face housed her in a cave of her own. There she dwelled, far across and high above the deep central lake, and there they would doubtless find her with her retinue of great bats — but not until after Darkhour. Now they must rest themselves and benefit from the good food and drink they had consumed. They could sleep easy in the knowledge that they were with friends, and when they awakened, that would be time enough for them to go out and seek Moreen. For all that, the proposed itinerary of the cavern folk seemed to make good sense. The thought of finding the mysterious Moreen remained uppermost in de Marigny's mind; of finding her, yes, and of having her decipher those cryptic symbols scrawled upon a scrap of soft hide by Annahilde.
