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outside the cabin.  He opened the door and stepped out.
    “Where did the music come from?” one of the gnomes asked.
    “I played it.  I have a set of pipes,” Kestrel answered.
    “It is much like our music, or some of it was,” another gnome said.  “We enjoyed it.”
    “I will play more after we return from our walk,” Kestrel said, with a meaningful glance at Wren.  “We’re going to take a stroll, but I would like to play with you, if you would bring your pipes later.”
    With agreement from the gnomes, Kestrel led Wren and Putienne back to the village, as the imps floated overhead.  They stopped in the center of the village, drawing stares, as Kestrel tried to recollect the location of the canyon he had entered for the Garrant Spark ceremony.  After a moment’s hesitation, he turned right, and they left the village again, following a path that soon descended into a shallow, narrow canyon, one that was darkened by the tree branches that spanned its width.
    “What stinks?” Putienne asked, as the smell of sulfur assailed their senses.
    A flame jetted out of a small hole in the dark shale walls of the canyon at that moment, and Wren swore in surprise.  “Tamson’s fists knock me down!” she shouted.
    “What does that mean?” Putienne asked.
    “She was scared,” Kestrel explained.
    “Surprised, not scared.  Who wouldn’t be surprised by fire coming out of the ground?” Wren corrected Kestrel combatively.
    “If you had properly enjoyed the soothing music of the pipes, you would be more relaxed and less jumpy,” he answered primly, drawing a threatening fist from his cousin as he continued to step downward along the sinking trail.
    They reached the bottom of the canyon, and came to the round sinkhole in the bed of the canyon, where the dark water within reflected nothing from above as the visitors stood and looked down into the water.
    “What happened here?” Putienne asked.
    “Pain,” Kestrel whispered.  “Terrible pain.  It was a test.  There was pain, and then cooperation to end the pain, and a bond to overcome the challenge.
    “The Garrant Spark made the two gnomes and I unified, and stronger, and able to feel one another.   We needed every advantage possible,” he added.  “And in the end we succeeded, because Corrant made it possible for us through the Garrant Spark.”
    The stones around them suddenly glowed.
    “What is this, Kestrel friend?  Shall we take you to safety?” Stillwater asked as the imps immediately descended and surrounded the elves, ready to take them to a different location.
    “Gnome-friend,” a deep voice spoke.
    “Wait,” Kestrel told the imps.  “It’s Corrant, the god of the gnomes.
    “My lord,” he spoke loudly, raising his head and calling out to the canyon around them.
    “Kestrel, beware,” the voice of the god sounded from all directions.  “You and your companions will enter a quest with great danger; protect my child who will journey with you.  I know that you are resourceful for one who is not of my people, but you must beware that all that you encounter will not be what it seems.”
    The voice ended, and the walls grew dull.
    “But my lord,” Kestrel called.  “What do you mean?”
    “Your great sacrifice will take a toll on you, but it will also save you,” the voice echoed hollowly, as the last of the glow faded away, and the small group stood in solemn shock at the bottom of the canyon.  There was a splash and a ripple across the surface of the dark water, and no other sound.
    “What do we do?” Putienne whispered.
    “We go back up out of this canyon,” Kestrel answered just a decibel more loudly.  He revealed the words of the gnomes’ god to those in the group who did not speak the language, then, after the loose translation he led his party back to the surface above.  He wanted time to walk and to think and to overcome the sense of fearful dread that the god’s warning had planted within his soul.  Everything