Ezra knelt by the stream and lifted the small, bright creature into his palm. Purple skin, blue and green spots, eyes like wet gold. This frog belonged a thousand miles south, not here, not now. He had packed for the lost valley three days off, the gap that hid itself across six maps. But the frog twisted toward the west, toward the cliffs every chart called impassable. Ezra's pulse kicked. Something was wrong, or something was right. He followed. The frog hopped through ferns, past a still pond ringed in pale flowers, then under a low arch of stone he had never seen marked. Water echoed beyond it. Ezra pushed through and stopped cold. A hidden cove opened before him, ringed by smooth rock, and on the far ledge a woman with a long silver tail lifted her head and met his eyes.

The silver-tailed woman slid from her ledge into a basin carved like a tub, its sides shimmering with painted scales and curling vines. She watched Ezra with calm, steady eyes. "I will lead you to the valley," she said. "But first, burn your maps. Every one." Ezra's hand went to his pack. Six charts. Years of work. The gap he had chased was inside them, and inside him. He pulled the maps out, struck his flint, and held the flame to the corner. The paper curled black. He watched the gap vanish into ash. The woman nodded once and slipped beneath the water, her tail flashing. When she surfaced, she pointed to a dark passage behind the basin. "Follow." Ezra stepped after her, lighter, emptier, and entirely in her hands.