Amongst greenery, the smell of dew abandoned to fallen leaves, Hector arrives in the middle of a field of trees. The sky he sees up ahead is a tad darker than the last time he blinked. Its colours range from pale violets to hues of blues and greys—a sunset he is not ready to forget.

Hector closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath; fog escapes past his lips. It is a view, that will bring me victory, he thinks.

Hours pass.

The sun falls as nocturnal winds rise, and the once friendly temperatures drop to ones that make him glad to be wearing such heavy armour. Hector looks up to the sky, to the stars and the moon’s rays that illuminate a path before him. He has never travelled this far before and it is only in picture books, his bedtime stories and maps from the village’s library, that this land was ever available to him.

Part of him is sorry that he cannot stop to admire the view as he tugs on the reins of his horse, encouraging its strong legs to run faster; farther. But Hector knows he cannot waste time. There might be others seeking her. And she might not always be in one place. It is now or never, the time to prove my worth, he thinks, as he rides on, into the forest without an ounce of hesitation.

In a matter of seconds, Hector is surrounded by sounds he could never have fathomed back in his hometown. As he stares dead ahead at an array of trees risen before him, the squawking of crows, the fluttering of wings from nightly creatures and the splash of mud being buried beneath his noble steed’s hooves echo throughout the cold and lonely night.

After a good couple minutes, the trees soon cover each speck of dirt, every rock, with shadows so tall that the knight can no longer see the beginning of anything at all. To his dismay, it is clear stopping for now—until the sun rises again—is the only option in sight. And so, for the first time today, he puts a silver boot down and he climbs off his horse, letting his feet sink into dampened, muddy soil.

Greeted by the familiar song of his armour’s clanks, the feeling of land supporting his feet as a raven caws and a small bird screeches, Hector wonders how long the rest of his journey will take him whilst he unpacks his provisions—water, food stashed between cold ice that has long melted, and dry loafs of bread from Anne-Marie’s bakery. Then, he walks to the other side of his horse, where another sachet hangs from its saddle, one containing both the tent and a sleeping bag he eagerly snatches and folds between his rugged palms.

The knight debates lighting a fire. As things stand now, he cannot see much, let alone anything that isn’t mere centimetres away from his face. But it is a risk. A risk he isn’t willing to take just yet. To attract feral creatures on his first night would be declaring a death wish of some sorts, and Hector has sworn to return alive and whole.

He ties his companion to a tree, ignoring twigs and strange little things that snap around him.

An owl hoots, until something else lets out a low cry, silencing the bird.

As Hector slips into his sleeping bag, despite the discomfort of mosquitoes that buzz next to his ears, he does not use his tent. On a clear night like this, it wouldn’t be more than a veil, he thinks, a blind spot and weakness that would only hinder my quest.

He rolls onto his side. He glances straight ahead into the bushes. Hector freezes, and gasps, as two yellow eyes stare right back at him. Unsheathing his sword, the knight rests his weight against his knee. He regains his balance, before rising—fully alert and aware—and shouting, “Show yourself!”

Yet nature’s only reply is the cackle of a toad, the howl of the wind, and a flock of birds that shoot out of a nearby tree; startled by Hector’s sudden cry as they rapidly flee their homes.

When Hector looks into the bushes again, the eyes have disappeared.