Barnabas didn’t think he would be able to sleep. The ground was hard and lumpy, and while they had a blanket, they could have used another. And anyway, he was too on edge. He was constantly, obsessively terrified. Mostly of the wizard, but also of running out of money, of traveling, of waking up to find a bird had shat on his head. He hugged Vincent, who was already asleep, and fantasized about breakfast. Eventually, after several tortuous hours, Barnabas did manage to fall asleep, but it was not peaceful and he woke many times throughout the night. When it was no longer dark, he slowly extricated himself from Vincent, made some tea, and heated himself up a pastry.

It was quiet in the forest. Barnabas liked it. It had only been a couple days, but Barnabas was already afraid to return to civilization. His life in the tower had not prepared him for this. He did not know how to talk to people or how to act. He was traveling with Vincent, who could be plenty charming, but Barnabas did not think it would always be enough to make up for his own awkward intensity. Each place they went would be different, too, with different rules and customs.

Vincent had woken up and was digging around in his pack. He pulled out his scarf, but instead of putting it on, he ran over to Barnabas, wrapped it around his neck, and kissed him.

“Hmm, I don’t think it suits you.”

“That’s good, right? You only have the one.”

They continued on their way, hoping to reach Flinthill by nightfall, as they desperately wanted to avoid any more nights spent outdoors sans umbrella or tent. Eventually, a strong scent of pine hit them, and they stopped. In front of them was a tall evergreen with a black trunk and silver-black needles.

“Is that a silver edge?” asked Vincent.

“I think so. I’ve never seen one in person. Only in books.”

“Do you have an empty jar?”

Barnabas had several. He filled one with the sharp, fragrant needles, which they could sell to an apothecary or a magical emporium.

Flinthill was exactly like Cottageworth, except it had two bookstores and a train station. Barnabas had never been on a train, and he was more excited than he would have admitted. It was a three hour trip to Carmine, which wasn’t really far enough, to be honest, but it was a start.

“So.” Vincent took Barnabas’ hand. “We’re here, I guess.”

“Indeed.”

“Shall we go shopping, then?”

They bought some dried fruit, more film packs, a couple of sweaters, wool socks, and an umbrella. They ate at a cheap restaurant and got a room at an inn.

“So,” said Barnabas. “Do you want to have sex?”

“But we’re not in the woods!” Vincent jested. “What about tradition?”

“Fuck tradition. I want to fuck you in a real bed.”