Chapter 2
Two
You pack your things. One satchel, nothing more. None of your valuables. Just a few weapons. Your favorite gun, your most reliable bow, a quiver of arrows, your sharpest knife. And Friend, of course—she may be old, she may be ailing, but you won’t leave her behind. Not ever.
You’re going on a hunting trip. What more could you need?
In the pre-dawn darkness, you slip through the corridors like a shadow, with Friend hobbling at your heels.
The guards don’t ask where you’re headed; they’re accustomed to your early starts and your bloody errands.
The sooner you’re gone, the sooner you’ll be back to fulfill the Fair Queen’s next gruesome whim.
Just like that, you’re through the doors, over the bridge, and into the woods—the woods, with dense trees and lush leaves that conceal you from sight.
Where else would you possibly go? Here, you begin to run—between the trees, under their branches, over their upturned roots.
You run until your heart throbs in your teeth, until your lungs burn like a furnace, until blisters swell inside your boots.
You’d keep running if it weren’t for Friend, so much older than she used to be, with hips that ache so badly she can’t keep up.
She whimpers, and you kneel beside her. “I’m not leaving you behind, old girl,” you assure her. “You saved me. I could never leave you.”
You feed her and let her rest for a little while.
Then, when you can wait no longer to put distance between yourself and the life you’re leaving behind, you scoop her into your arms. A big dog, she fits against your barrel chest, her forelegs over your left shoulder, her head alert above yours.
As you resume your trek, at a brutal pace, she doesn’t bark or whimper at all, held so securely in your embrace.
“Good dog,” you say, pressing a kiss to her fur. “The best dog.”