Lamp light reflected on the face looking back at her. The Mask of Tamirella. It was here, just as her father had suspected. She forced her hand steady as she clasped the famed artifact and drew it from its time-rotted box.

Caitlanna cradled the find as a new mother would hold her infant. So small was the Mask, barely as large as her hand, and the pale features as delicate as a young child’s. She fingered the ancient, brittle material and wondered at such craftsmanship. Tears flooded her eyes, blurring her vision. She blinked hard and wished that her father had lived to see this. He’d searched his entire life for the Mask only to meet his premature death in a cave-in.

The others from Cait’s excavation group had gone to camp for the night and she was alone, grateful that the threat of rain had forced them to make camp on elevated ground some distance from this site. No one would hear her, she hoped. If they found her out, they might let her go because she wasn’t yet a full-grown, but she would be beaten for stealing, of that much she was certain.

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