The girl’s name, often to her consternation, was Doris Sanderienne, and she was tall for her seven years, with short fluffy blonde hair and pale sensible eyes.
She left town with only the wind for company, her companions standing where she’d left them, uncertain what to do about her, and was so far down the trail by the time they had come to the decision that her foolishness was not their affair that she could no long see any but the tallest building in the town.
By the time she was approaching the wizard’s tower, the sun was already beginning to set, and she had had enough time to begin to regret her impulsive decision to visit the wizard. The air was chilled, and the light was going fast. She was much too far from home to go back, and her parents surely would be worried. But she had accepted the dare, and so Doris went up to the tower’s rickety wooden door, reached for the heavy iron knocker, and knocked as hard as she could before she had time to think better of it.