Sable had been apprenticed to the Royal Cartographer for two years before she was trusted with her first solo commission.
"The valley beyond the Crestfall Ridge," said Master Venn, pointing to the blank space on the great map. "No one has charted it. You will be the first."
Sable set out on a Tuesday, with a compass, a measuring chain, paper, and four days of provisions.
The valley was a three-day walk. She found it on the afternoon of the third day, stepping through a gap in the ridge and stopping dead.
The valley was inhabited.
Not by people — by something else. Structures of wood and woven grass, precise and regular, covering the valley floor in a grid. No roads. No fields. Just these low, careful buildings and a silence so complete it felt deliberate.
Sable stood at the ridge for a long time.
She made her measurements. She took her bearings. She drew the topography with care.
When she came to draw the structures, she stopped.
If she put them on the map, people would come. They always did, when a map said there was something to find.
She drew the valley. The river. The ridge lines. The forest.
She left the structures off.
Back in the capital, Master Venn studied her map.
"A good survey," he said. "Nothing unusual?"
Sable met his eyes. "Trees and rock," she said. "As expected."
She didn't know if she'd made the right choice. She thought about it for years.
But the valley stayed blank on every map she ever made.