Jacques pulled Gabrielle through the thicket, her glamorous dress tearing easily on the thorny plants comprising the underbrush.

“Jacques, stop,” she said, wiping dirty sweat from her brow. “Do you even know where you’re going? Where we are?”

The taller man looked back at her, then to her dainty hand clasped so firmly in his own. So intent was he on reaching his destination that he had momentarily forgotten her presence.

“Of course. Sorry,” he apologized rushing to overcome his momentary oversight of her discomfort. He knocked a rotting, fallen tree off the top of a mossy rock and gestured her to take a seat. While she attempted to compose herself, Jacques paced the clearing, anxious to continue. She cleared her throat to get his attention. He turned.

“Oh. We’re below the castle, about a half hour away from the village proper.”

“And what are we doing here?” she sighed.

“It’s a dungeon,” he explained. “Full of prisoners from the castle, all without memory. Roland put them here. We’re going to free them.”