I appeared to be making a habit of running away from my problems.

Before you come to the conclusion that this is a typical custom of mine, however, I want to let you know that- although I generally tend to avoid pressing matters- they don’t usually involve quite such extremes as had been happening of late. For example, on the average day I might spend a good half of it avoiding various duties by hiding far away under the pretence of usefulness. In contrast, I am quite glad to be able to say that I have not once in my life had to go to the drastic measure of climbing out of a second-story window to elude capture and probable imprisonment for parricide.

Until now, that is.

I’m not sure of the specifics of how it was I got to that exact window two storey’s up and halfway across the castle, one foot kicking empty air as I straddled the narrow windowsill like a crab caught between two rocks; all I know is that, after catching the innate instinct to run after that series of unfortunate events with Crawford, I let myself be dragged blindly along with it and hell if I was going to let go now. I could already hear the muffled clatter of armour echoing up the winding stone staircase as my fleeing brought on a full-scale pursuit, and somewhere far below I thought I could pick out the final few nails being hammered into my coffin. It was either that or they were erecting the gallows.

A rising pressure to get the hell out of there was pushing at my back in the form of ascending footsteps and coarse commands thrown up the stairs, but as I leaned tentatively outwards to find a foothold I was painfully disappointed to find none, only moss-slick stone and a fifteen-foot drop. What was infuriatingly worse was that the window only five or so steps further down from where I had chosen to make my exit had a conveniently placed rooftop right beneath it. I was beginning to think that 'luck' was simply a figment of the imagination.

I shimmied my shoulders back into the safety of the narrow window which I was currently side-straddling rather awkwardly, intending to make for the other, but thought better of it upon considering the guards’ advance. I admitted to myself that if I did so then, in all likelihood, I would be caught before I so much as reached the third step.

“He went this way!” The alarmingly close proximity of the breathless voice swept aside any conflict of course in my mind, and without further hesitation I was wriggling my way back through the window with the kind of fanaticism that only comes with religion or a substantial desire to save your own hide.

Fortunately, I consider myself to be quite a skilled climber… well, that’s what I had thought until I found myself falling fifteen feet into a conveniently placed cart of soiled straw. Turns out that, just because you could scale vertical walls in mischievous escapes and adventures as a child, it doesn’t mean that you necessarily hold onto that ability into adulthood. As I found out. Quite painfully.

I groaned meekly as I sat up gingerly from amidst wet hay and horse manure, sure that I must have thrown my back out from the way it twinged paralyzingly when I tried to straighten my jarred spine, but after a brief moment of careful bending I judged it safe enough to use, only hoping that it wouldn’t give out on me mid-escape and reduce myself to a pile of jelly. Overhead, I caught a glimpse of silver metal glinting from behind the windowsill from which I had made my graceful leap, and despite the battered tailbone I realised I was thankful that I had escaped them, at least. Unfortunately, this looked to be one of those cases of ‘out of the frying pan, into the fire’. Or, in my case, ‘out of the window, into a whole new heap of shit’.

In any other situation I likely would have been lamenting over my tarnished breeks right about now, but the urgency of this particular predicament left me little time for mourning and I was on my feet and darting across the stableyard’s cobblestones with only one thought on my mind: if only I were a bird, things might have been so much different for me…

“Oi! Get back here!”

Fuck that! A flashed look over my shoulder revealed two men in silver breastplates striding across the courtyard directly towards me, each with a hand in the air as though waving at me might overcome any trust issues and welcome me into their arms. I doubled my pace and threw a passing matron’s washing basket over my head for good measure. By the sounds of stringed curses and the cacophony of clattering armour, it hit its mark. I allowed myself a smug smirk, pleased that at least something had gone right for me, and rounded the next corner where I allowed myself the briefest pause for breath.

Now what? I hadn’t quite reached that far in my plan. Actually, to tell the truth, I hadn’t a plan in the first place. I had simply trusted my feet to cooperate with my insurmountable fear enough to get me somewhere quickly and with enough gusto that I might actually find the time to make a plan. As of right now, however, I had zilch.

Surprisingly enough, my inspiration was to come in quite an unusual form. Most people find innovation in mother nature, explosive emotions, famous men and women of ingenuity. I found mine in a horse. Specifically, a noisy young filly who hung her pale head over the stable door, beseeching me with pitiful whinnies to feed her the root vegetables which hung by a hook near my head. Before I knew quite what I was doing, I had one hand reaching for the latch on the door as my other scrabbled for the juicy veg.

“Hey, there!” I cooed gently as I crept closer, finally managing to unsnag the grassy tops from the hook as I carefully swung open the stable door and reached soothingly for the beast’s soft pink nose, “How about we do each other a favour, hm?”

The filly snorted, tossing her head toward the greens in my hand with little interest whatsoever for anything I had to say. Velveteen lips drew lightly back as she craned her neck to snag the tempting food between her teeth, but I drew my hand away and lead her with tormenting slowness out of her stall. I could hear the men gaining at my back already, and knew I had to be quick. Finally the palomino was out in the light of day and facing the open portcullis, the morning’s sun setting her coat ablaze in flares of gold, and I shoved the vegetables at the horse’s begging face before using what little trust I hoped that I had gained in her to climb onto her unsaddled back.

Luckily, she was far better behaved than I could ever have imagined, and her only protest was a brief passing of wind as I settled myself unsteadily atop her. Glancing up, I was petrified to see that there were not only two guards in my wake now but what must have been half the bloody household, and that they were now so close that all it would take was ten long strides and the first would be upon me.

Panic-stricken, I grasped my filly’s white-blonde mane and set my heels to her sides. Nothing. The darned beast was still munching obliviously away on the mound of carrots and turnips which I had bribed her with while my pursuit and ruin was bearing down on me relentlessly. Cursing extensively, I kicked harder. A perturbed snort and a toss of her tail, but nothing more.

“Dammit, you lousy piece of lard, MOVE!” I had managed to snatch a belt from the stable door and lashed it against the animal’s behind, just as the first guard reached my side and made a snatch at my leg. With a sudden shriek of shock the creature shot into the air, almost bucking me from her back as she did so but thankfully tearing my leg free from my attacker’s grasp in the process, and with a sudden spurt of speed which I had thought impossible she was streaking across the stones in a riot of wind and sound. As we sped by, myself clinging on for dear life, I was vaguely aware of an old man hobbling from the end of the stables to holler at me madly. I eyed the stablemaster with a sheepish grin.

“I’m sorry!” I wasn’t, “I’ll give it back!” I wouldn’t.

And then he was gone. I clung to the horse’s back and let it do all the work, feeling the horse’s lean form flex and fall beneath me, only hoping that she decided to valiantly carry me to freedom rather than resolve to canter back to her shelter and a princely meal; if it had been me, I know which I would have chosen, and it wouldn’t have been heroism. Happily for myself, the filly was on my side on this one and in no time we had surpassed the gates and were thundering over the gritty paths to freedom.

I did my best to steer the creature, but it occurred to me quite early on that my brilliant idea would have been that much more impressive if I had thought to choose a horse that actually knew what it was doing. Instead, I found myself being led around in circles more often than not, and when her adrenaline finally wore off and she began to slow I was battling against the girl’s urge to eat whatever she could get her greedy chops on. Eventually, and after much exasperation, I gave up and tried my luck on my own. She had gotten me far enough, and anyway, where I was going a horse would not be able to follow… at least, not without the risk of being eaten, as I still suspected had happened with the last.

By the time I arrived at the same area of cliff as I had on that fateful trip not so long before, the sun was well established in the sky and my legs were aching like nobody’s business. It both physically and mentally pained me, then, to make the treacherous descent to the rocks below, but I was determined this time to do it on my own account rather than almost dying yet again.

The waves were hissing at the jutting rocks as I made the final scramble, spraying me with fine white spittle which had me drenched in briny water before I had even reached the ground, but I paid it little heed. I needed to find that ramshackle hut, and soon. Yet, despite how extensively I searched and the minutes which flew by, I constantly came up short. It was now well into the afternoon, and I had been shambling across the shoreline for what must have been hours. I had had enough.

“Alright!” I snapped, coming to an abrupt halt and throwing my hands into the air as I shouted vehemently at the shards of red rock which stood watch over the scene, “I’ve had it with you! You lied to me, you bastard! You killed by fucking father! I know it was you! And you killed the rest of them too, didn’t you?” Silence. Nothing but the continuous roar and gurgle of the pummelling waves, and every so often a gull’s shrill cry. I went on, rage searing through my veins and thumping inside my head with enough pressure to burst, “I don’t know how you did it, but I know you did! That wasn’t what we agreed on! Show your face so that I can stab you in it, you creepy, loathsome, lying-“

“Please,” The voice rang out from nowhere- until I found myself painfully aware of exactly where it had originated from as something sharp gently pricked my spine, which arched away from the blade with evasive flexibility that surprised even myself, “If anyone is going to kill that traitorous scumbag, it’s going to be me.”