Chapter Twenty-One
Fern
Itrailed around the lake. It’s what would be least expected.
I had decided that walking deep enough in the lake, to chance being seen from the house was worth it. The depth would mean I wouldn’t disturb any plants but it left me without cover while I made my way around the lake. But I had to hope that they were big enough suckers to think me asleep.
Climbing out the window hadn’t been hard. Tying up the goyle’s sheets into a rope hadn’t been hard.
Cutting most of the way through the sheet at the window and hoping it wouldn’t rip until I reached the bottom wasn’t hard, nor was yanking it once I was at the bottom to remove it.
As I hid the sheet so it wouldn’t be easily seen, my heart was hard.
That was what was hard. Leaving is hard.
What an insane thought, I pondered as I wrapped the spare—conviently green—-sheets back around me tightly.
Around the lake, then into the forest. I knew I would only have, at best, a four-hour head start.
The escape from the tall home itself and the trek around the lake had eaten almost two hours. I cursed myself again for not getting my clothes or my sword but I might as well have cursed myself for not growing wings and flying out of there.
Now, in the forest, I had to decide: Do I chance a random encounter at a wayhouse? Or do I stay hidden until I reach a rebel hideout or home?
My mental map of our location told me I was north of my area, and unlikely to reach a rebel holdout that I personally knew of.
But there were signs. There were always signs. I have to hope I can find one. I bite my lip as I stand. I’ll keep heading east.