Peace spread its white wings in the sleepy village of Moravia. Tan stallions trotted about an emerald meadow, grazing on the grass. The stable-keeper on the other side of the fence chopped bales of hay along the blade of his rusted sword, one he had barely used for fighting. He wore high-suspenders and blue-puffed pants, all tailored by his wife, Sonia. In the distance he heard clopping, horse hooves against gravel.

He looked, noticing a gold crown of hair and a hooked and perfectly carved nose, that could only be one girl- his daughter Roxanne. With the sword clanging to the ground he rushed to her to give her an embrace he always gave when she came back from the Bakery.

Roxanne was unfurling a piece of papyrus when the stable-keeper greeted her, and she'd sensed his overwhelming love hit her again like an arrow. She gave in and embraced him, taking glances back at Garnet, her stallion.

The stable-keeper finally pushed her back. "How was the bakery, love?"

Roxanne pushed a golden strand of hair behind her ear and stared at her emerald shoes. "Good, father," she pushed between her teeth. She clutched the paper into the webs of her hand.

"Come in, your mother's cooked a hog to crisp," he said excitedly, guiding her along the path.

Roxanne followed with Garnet's bridle in her hand. The trees flew towards her as though they were welcoming her home, a slight twisp of wind caressing her cheek. Moravia has always been like this in the outer circle where the farmlands were, moderate rain, some wind, no snow. The wizards residing in the heart of the village conjured up the weather to fit everyone's needs. And thus, Moravia was happy. No wars broke out. No famine or sickness. In spite of all perfection, Roxanne didn't feel content.

In spite of the chips of bone that ran astray, her mother's hog roast was phenomenal. Then she narrated her day at the bakery, a daily ritual that followed no exceptions. The bakery was at the extreme outer circle of town that meant worse food, from the moldy bread to the spoiled lemon cakes. He had all the employees in the world and reaped the money to his heart's content. Roxanne checked in to make her parents proud, and then took Garnet to the White Mountains in Eastern Moravia. On the sun-beaten path she rode across the vast valleys and deserts, to scour for the lake. Not just any lake, it was the Electric Lake of Wisdom. Legends foretold the water, a shade deeper than a goblizard's eye but lighter than a sapphire, carried healing properties that could cure any sickness and heal any wounds. It was an object for her finding for years, just waiting, and waiting until the day she arrived.

She liked to think of her home duties as another obstacle towards finding the lake. She tilled the grain in the fields. Grinded them into flour for the bread and it carry to the bakery. Her father once told her one of his greatest dreams was to traverse across Amaria, collecting every ancient scroll and stone. Roxanne never understood her father, a hardworking but misunderstood man, just cleaning the stables and hawking out in the streets. She couldn't get how a frail old man with wax paper wrinkles, could wait so long on a single dream. The old man always told her to run herself a million miles, across the fields and across the mountains, to find the core of the soul.

Roxanne hurried to the library when the sun peeked below the treeline. She'd place her burlap satchel on one shoulder, always her right, and ride Garnet to the inner city library. She stayed there so much she could bring a bed and live there the rest of her life. Everyday new scrolls and books and maps arrived, the worst part of everybody's day when Roxanne burst in. She had calculated the scroll cart rolled in at exactly three or four minutes past sundown, when the summerflies stopped chirruping and the nightbeetles came out. Bursting through the door, she would stuff her arms full of scrolls and books and jump onto a chair and table to start tearing through