Chapter 25
TAKE SNOW WHITE INTO THE WOODS.
The bright green woods, each lush leaf dappled by sunlight, the path snaked with wending shadows.
Snow White purposely snaps twigs underfoot and hopscotches between emergent stones and dead patches of grass.
The ribbons in her raven hair bounce with her every movement; her skirt swishes; she even hums, completely unaware she is a lamb on her way to the slaughter.
The birds, too, are unaware: the bluejay lashes through the elms; the woodpecker fills the peach blossom air with its endless determination.
And Friend, old and frail, has not come with you. You left her in your chambers. There is no reason for her to see the murder of the princess who has played with her all these years. No need for it at all.
“I love the woods,” says Snow White. “Don’t you, huntsman? Certainly you must. Why become a huntsman if you don’t love the woods.”
Arms spread wide, she rushes forward, fearless, into a dense thicket. What would it be like, you wonder, to be able to love the woods?