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Art had permission from his father, the Count, to try out his idea. The next hurdle was whether or not he could flit to a spot in his old ruined village of Dane’s Hamlet. One that he had not specifically remembered as an arrival point. The question was where in the village should he choose? It would have to be a place he knew very well, but also one which would not have changed much since he last saw it.
The last place in his village where he had spent sufficient time for him to have a chance of recalling it clearly enough, was in a ruined house. He had never known whose house it was. He had gone there because part of it was still smoldering enough to keep him warm after the village had been raided and most of the structures burned. He had huddled there for four hours waiting for dayl
