The basket began to twist and tip with his swinging weight dragging through the breeze. He was lowered in jerks, rather than one smooth motion, and with each jolt he feared the floor of the basket would crack, or that Tolgar’s hand would slip and he would crash into the grassy hills. He didn’t, but as he clung tightly to the rope, looking at the dark thick wood, remembering Darnia’s instructions, there is a path, he shouted up to Tolgar.
“Wait! How will I find my way?” If Tolgar had heard him, he didn’t hear the answer. But he saw Ilakein peer over the fence, her hood drooping over her, and he heard her tremulous voice call down, “It is not a matter of finding a way, my friend, it is a matter of following it.”

“You have seen the omen?”
“Oh, certainly,” she replied in her quavering yet confident voice.
“What is its meaning, then?” he asked.
“Ah, well,” she began, sounding rather amused, “It is your omen,
only you know the meaning. To me, it is but another star in the night. You
are the one who has given it value, not I.”