Pennsylvania, deep in the Appalachian Mountains.
The autumn forest is vibrant, with golden, scarlet, and deep brown leaves thickly covering the ground. The air is fresh, carrying a mixed scent of soil and decomposing plants.
Abigail gritted her teeth, her hair soaked with sweat, sticking tightly to her forehead.
She had been traveling continuously for a long time, so tired that she could barely perform the simplest magic, or even speak a word. Yet she couldn't ride a broom across the forest or directly Apparate.
Because Abigail didn't know the location of the Dream Weaver, but perhaps because the last time she had trekked through difficulties to get here, as she walked the same route, she occasionally recalled those fragmented memories.
This was a route she and Braun had figured out after wandering around the mountains for a long time.
At the moment, Abigail was utterly exhausted, while ahead of her, the man's steps remained as steady as a machine, as if the rugged mountain path posed no challenge to him.
Suddenly, Abigail slipped, nearly rolling off the moss-covered rock, but fortunately, a hand reached out just in time to catch her.
She looked up to see Braun's expressionless face.
"Are you okay?" Braun asked.
"I'm fine."
Abigail shook her head, using the leverage from the other to climb up the steep slope.
"Take a rest," Braun suggested, "and have some water too."
Abigail silently nodded, choosing a random rock to sit on, opened the water bottle Braun handed over, and took a couple of sips.
Braun also drank water, doing so more sparingly, his throat moving ever so lightly, his gaze still warily surveying the surroundings.
Traveling through the mountain forest was never easy; those slippery rock walls were natural assassins, cold dew soaking boots and pants, thorny branches tearing outerwear ragged, not to mention various beasts and poisonous insects.
Abigail scanned the surroundings, an image suddenly flashing before her eyes—
"Remember? You came here when you were a child," Bloren, sitting rather relaxed on a big rock, turned to Abigail and smiled, "You and I came together, the teacher was also here."
"Really?" Abigail's face, heavy with thoughts, was devoid of extra expressions, casually saying, "How do I not remember?"
A strange smile swiftly passed the corner of Bloren's lips, then he sympathetically said:
"Oh, at that time, you had just lost your parents, suffering a great blow, and was muddled all day, probably not having much impression of surroundings?"
Upon mentioning the past, Abigail's expression paused slightly, a flash of hesitation and guilt inadvertently crossed her face.
After all, during her most difficult and painful time, it was the Scourers who gave her a place to belong and the hope for revenge.
But then, thinking of the organization's increasingly extreme actions in recent years and their means of controlling those children, the flicker of uncertainty vanished from Abigail's face, her demeanor once more turned cold.
"Why is there a training base here?" she asked, "What does the organization train here? Wild children?"
"Hahaha... Abigail, you sure joke well!" Bloren laughed heartily, saying, "Those staying here are naturally children unfit for human society, like half-bloods with Giant or Veela lineage..."
Abigail's pupils suddenly contracted, her fingers clenched into fists, turning white from exertion, a cold chill, mixed with an indescribable nausea, surged up her back.
Just as Bloren said pitifully, "Their mothers were violated, giving birth to these peculiar children, mostly choosing to abandon them near a Church or in a trash bin... some found by the organization, brought to such remote places, allowing them at least to survive."
Abigail remained silent for a long time, then stood up saying, "Let's continue... Where's that training base?"
...
"Let's go," Abigail stood after a brief rest, shook her slightly numb arms, and said, "I know the way ahead."
"Wait." Braun said, lifting a hand to unfasten his rather thick travel cloak off himself.
He walked straight to Abigail, and amid her slightly startled gaze, spread the cloak and draped it over her shoulders.
Abigail's own cloak had been torn ragged by shrubs and branches, but Braun, as the heir of the Witch Pure Party, his cloak was unique—the fabric unexpectedly soft and tough, seemingly warm, quickly dispelling the surrounding chill.
"The wind on the mountain is strong, wear it," Braun simply said, turning to walk ahead.
Abigail lowered her head, looking at the numerous tears on her old cloak, suddenly realizing her clothes might not fare any better.
A subtle embarrassment passed through her heart, Abigail lowered her head, didn't refuse the other's kindness, reached to gather the spacious, warm cloak, and followed, softly saying:
"Thank you."
Braun nodded and continued to lead the way ahead, as if the earlier somewhat abrupt act of concern had never occurred.
Abigail chuckled lightly, feeling as though the cold and confusion at heart had been dispelled by the cloak.
They trekked another three to four hours, and as it was nearing dark, a somewhat wondrous scene appeared before them—
On a patch of grass, stood seven or eight white stones of various sizes, the tallest reaching above two people's height, with rounded tops reminiscent of enlarged eggs.
Resilient moss growing beneath the stones, the grass sporadically dotted with dandelions.
Abigail's expression tightened, reaching to grasp her Magic Wand, whispered: "This is the place! The Dream Weaver... is just ahead!"
Beyond the stone barriers, the scene drastically changed.
It seemed like stepping into a forgotten fairy tale setting, in a relatively gentle clearing in the woods, stood a low yet extraordinarily exquisite forest house.
The house entirely constructed from naturally curved logs and barked planks, roof covered thickly with moss and lichens, even blooming clusters of hardy purple flowers.
Chimney—if that hollow tree trunk counts as a chimney—emitted faint smoke with a clear herbal aroma.
Strangely, such a prominent house had been completely unnoticed, even by Abigail, a wizard, before crossing the stone barrier, as if it were hidden in the air or a part of the wilderness stones.