Morning was immediate.

Cognac woke to smoke and heat and the frightening pop-pop-pop that pine needs make when they burn. She was alone, but before the thought could hit her Odessa rustled through the thicket and squatted down near the tiny fire she had made. She held up her skirt a little indecently, the front gathered up into her fist so that she could hold things in the valley created by the stretched pleats. One by one, she took a dozen tiny tomatoes out and placed them on the popping fire. Next, she took a few herbs from her skirt and stripped them over the burning pile. She watched it sizzle for a while, then looked over at Cognac and smiled. The expression was sweet in a way that felt out of place in the forest.

She started picking the steaming tomatoes out of the fire, bouncing them around in her hands while they cooled. “There are wild vegetables in this area. The onions and parsnips all rotted in the ground, but tomatoes are lucky, so they were ripe and fresh for us. We should stretch and eat before we continue. You must maintain your strength a while longer.”

Cognac nodded, and the dumbly said, “For a moment, I thought you had left me.” The words came up and out like rocks in her throat.

Odessa’s plain smile withered a little while she finished picking out the hot tomatoes. She handed off the bigger half of them to Cognac. “I wouldn’t leave you. If I did, I too would be alone. Go ahead and eat, and we’ll continue to the estate.”

They quickly found that after travelling such a distance the night before, the stiff straps of their shoes had worn wounds through their ankles that now cracked and bled. Odessa took hers off to walk and found that much easier, but Cognac’s feet were blistered and bleeding from the bottoms even more than the ankles. Her stride was hobbled and limping. After a few meters, Odessa stopped and motioned for her to sit.

She searched the ground until she found a decently sharp rock, and then used it to cut into her skirt. She tore the hem out and sawed at it until she had a few strips of cloth. Gently, she undid the ankle straps on Cognacs shoes and bent them backwards, tying them into a dense knot so that they would be out of the way. She bundled up some of her skirt to sit inside the shoes as cushioning, and then with the rest of the cloth, tightly tied the bottoms of the shoes onto Cognac’s feet. They still bled, but this was much more forgiving. They started to make better pace, and though Cognac was sweating and sore all over, she wasn’t so pained that she couldn’t go on.

They traveled mostly in silence. The pain in their feet and ankles was intense, and hard to ignore while still walking, and so they both breathed heavily through their noses and kept their thoughts to themselves. It was also quite cold for this time of year, and the cover of the forest didn’t spare them with any sunlight. Odessa started to shiver the longer they went on. Her arms and legs were covered in cuts and scratches from the foliage, and the air was cold against the tacky openings in her skin. It was a miserable trek for both of them.

Every step felt like the last one Cognac could make, but as she kept thinking this over and over, a haphazard stone path appeared in front of them. Odessa’s posture crumpled with relief. Cognac didn’t dare hope what it was, and kept telling herself the next step would be her last, and then the next, and the next.

“It’s just ahead, this path is the start of his garden,” Odessa whispered. She was shaking quite badly, now.

Slowly, the trees became less randomly grown, and began to neatly border the pathway. They were so closely and uniformly grown, it was like walking through a narrow tunnel. Sunlight filtered in green, and as they continued the stones became more solidly laid, and the tiles were gradually better kept, polished and ornamentally engraved. The tunnel gave way to an endless clearing, which was exquisitely laid with geometric flowerbeds and lines of delicate little trees. At the far end, the small gated castle the third prince inhabited could be seen.

As they approached, two guards ran to meet them. They had on short robes in white and blue, their pleated pants were neatly tucked into bleached leather boots, and they both carried polearms. One had a glaive, the other something much less intimidating. Cognac fell to her knees before them and pressed her forehead against the stone. Tears pricked her eyes at the joy of not needing to walk any further.