Back now across the long valley he came to a narrow procession pointing due north. Far below he could make out the deep valley floor... Somwhere beyond the mist, he felt the beckoning stonger now...

Using his magic cape, Muqtadh floated safely to the lower valley. The nearby mountainous spires were like pinacles shooting up to the heavens, sharp as daggars.

Ever stronger, the mysterious beckoning drew him forward across the lower plateau. Muqtadh marveled at the psychedelic patterns decorating the smooth cliffs that raced by as he rode deeper into the mysterious land.