It's been two month since I left Canterbury, owing to my stay at St. Claire's. Lord Webster had said that the weather would be warm at this time of the year, but it's still brisk in the fishing village lining the coast. After days of being knocked about in a carriage, I have finally arrived at Nemeton Prison - an evil-looking place, leering down on a barrel plain from atop a cliff battered by the chill sea breezes. I have no choice. My family depends on it.