Morg was tired. Her legs were as heavy as the trunks of trees. Her stomach rumbled with hunger and misery. She dragged herself on, eyes to the ground. The path to the sacred grove was usually well-used by the tribe, but there had been no ceremony there for some time. In places the way was not always clear. So Morg did not notice that she had strayed off the path, and that now she was walking along a new track.