John Franklin and his fellow escapees were forced to march through the dark woods, each footstep landing with uncertainty as the twigs and rocks rolled with malicious intent. They were forced toward a small, hidden campfire. Many armed men stood around listening to an older, grey-hair as he gave them instructions.
“We found these three running from Snodon,” one of their captors said as they were pushed into the light.
John Franklin stumbled forward and squinted at the older man. “You were right, Sidmouth,” John Franklin announced. “West was the way to go.” He embraced the old man. “Hello Grandfather.”