They set off immediately after Iona had briefly withdrawn into her cottage to find a dry gown, rudimentary supplies, and the old lute which she never traveled without. She rode behind Sir John, who had the stronger steed, while Merlin followed on a swift mule he had procured as they waited for Iona. They made good pace and had ridden some hours, when a dreadful scent of burning hair reached their nostrils, and Sir John's steed screamed in pain and reared into the air, casting Sir John and lady Iona to the ground. Upon examination, they found that as the stone on Sir John's sword had continued to glow it had gathered heat and had just seared through its scabbard and burned the poor beast. It seemed that the longer it smoldered the more quickly it gained heat, and by the time Sir John had manged to calm the beast, remove the weapon and thrust it to the ground the heat was so intense that the party could not get near it without pain. It had already incinerated nearby vegetation and burned the moisture from the soil beneath it in a cloud of steam; the cloud of heat was spreading at supernatural speed, and they feared it was only a matter of time before the surrounding brush was set alight. Then Merlin cried out "Lady Iona! Make music before your lute is turned to ashes!" Lady Iona began gamely to strum and sing. Her voice was sweet and surprisingly deep, her playing skilled. However, the true wonder was the affect of her song; before Sir John's widening eyes, the sword cooled as she played. By the time she finished the tune, the heat was gone and the stone's fire gone. However, her melody had not been so handy in repairing Sir John's horse and steed; the former being quite blackened by heat, the latter having a raw burn upon it's flank and so being unable to be saddled. "Well," sighed Sir John, "My eyes have witnessed a miracle, but it seems that, like a pilgrim, I shall have to earn it with walking."
