You set out for the herb-garden, but there is no light. No one has adjusted the well's cover yet. You slip on a rock that's wet with dew, and land with a crunch. You'll have to wait to hear Phoebe's story.
[…] You arrange yourselves around the rockery and Phoebe tells her story. 'He sang to me, told me stories of innocents, […] tried to tell me how he felt. […] His father sent him into the city. […] That world of innocence is still there... […]
