"Milview Cottage...Milview Cottage..." Jacob thought to himself musingly. He had never heard of such a place
or of someone named "Sebastian." He was supicous, yet curious. Cautious, but intrigued. He
carefully folded the paper and stuffed it into his back pants pocket, left his room, and shuffled down the
hallway to the study.

It was a drafty, circular room surrounded by heavy oak bookcases. The manuscripts were torn, dusty and
haphazardly piled onto the shelves. Jacob was barefoot when he entered the room, the cool tile drained the
very warmth from his feet. One of the shelves was chock full of different maps, their edges crinkled and
stained with wear and age. Jacob searched for one of the surrounding area. To his surprise, he quickly found
what he was looking for, and with timorous fingers, unrolled the dusty parchment.

He was quickly able to locate his bungalow. It sat almost 3 miles directly north of Lake Russet. Soon, he
located the quarry.

It was less than a mile west of the lake, on the edge of the thick wood that separated the bungalow and
neighboring town of Sharpsville from the rest of the state. Jacob noticed various hillsides
overlooking the northern side of the quarry, and deduced that this must be where the cottage was
located. The journey was less than a mile.

"Nina won't be returning until this evening," Jacob reasoned. He glanced at his watch; it was half past ten.
He tossed the unrolled map onto the bookshelf, and went back to his room where he found his cane and
walking shoes. As he donned socks and tied his shoelaces, his hands shook with apprehension, but at the same time, delight. He couldn't even remember the last time he was outside, really outside. Without Nina. Where he and only decided where to go, and for how long. He felt the letter a godsend; it gave him a fleeting sense of freedom.