"I do not know the place France," she tells him, stepping lightly beside him. Her bare feet are unused to ground that is not the forest floor; it feels almost like the stone of her beloved's father's balance, but less smooth. She hopes not all the earth is like this, but her motion is graceful and free, almost a dance as she walks. A slight thing, she has to look up at him as he guides them along.

"What is the device and the map, if you please?"

Honestly, she has no clue. None. In her world, the sun is pulled across the sky in a chariot.