Miguel stepped forwards— he hesitated a moment, a decision bouncing back and forth between his ears— and then he nodded to himself, reached into his pocket. ‘These are for you, Alonza,’ he said, and he handed her a pair of glasses. ‘These glasses will help you see. If you wear these glasses, you will never ever get lost adventuring in the woods, never ever again.’— and Alonza was still crying a little, still shaking a little— all the tiny fiddly bits of the glasses rattled as she took them, and already the lenses were smudged with the tears from her fingertips. But she was crying and shaking because she was frightened, and she was frightened because she might have never been found again, getting lost the way she had, and so she didn’t hesitate. She placed the glasses onto her face. They were magic glasses, of course, the glasses that Miguel had given her. The instant she put them on, the whole world came into focus. She saw everything exactly precisely as it was. Every line, every shape— every fact, every figure— every truth and disappointment. Everything was exactly precisely the way that it was, now, and because it was that way, it could never be any other way. And so she would never ever get lost adventuring in the woods, never ever again, just as Miguel had promised. She would never ever get lost adventuring anywhere again. She would never ever get lost; she would never ever go adventuring.