Tro'go sat propped against the log pile in the pre-dawn darkness, the small white flower from yesterday still clutched gently in his fingers. He'd been turning it over and over, watching how its delicate petals caught what little moonlight filtered through the barn's gaps. The girl who'd given it to him had seemed so happy, so carefree, running off with that bright laugh...

A wet snuffling sound made him turn. A sheep had wandered into the barn and was studying the flower with unmistakable interest, its head tilted with the sort of determination that spelled trouble.

"No," Tro'go said quietly, pulling the flower closer to his chest. "This isn't for you."

The sheep took a step closer, clearly unconvinced by this argument, then lunged. Tro'go was quicker, snatching the flower out of reach. "I told you no!" he said defiantly, brandishing it like a sword.

But the sheep lunged again. Chomp. The flower vanished into its mouth in a single, decisive bite.

Tro'go stared at the sheep, which stood there chewing thoughtfully, completely unperturbed by his horrified expression. If anything, it appeared expectant, as though waiting for him to produce more food.

"You..." Tro'go pointed an accusing finger at the animal. "That was... that was mine!"

The sheep continued chewing.

Tro'go drew himself up to his full height and attempted his most intimidating glare. "Be gone, sheep!" he shouted, puffing out his chest. "Away with you!"

The sheep stopped chewing for a moment, regarding him with mild interest. Then, apparently deciding this entertainment had run its course, it turned and ambled slowly toward the barn door, completely unbothered by Tro'go's display of authority.

Tro'go watched it go, deflating slightly. He'd won the confrontation, technically, but the sheep's utter indifference made victory feel hollow. Still, he straightened his makeshift armour with as much dignity as he could muster. A knight had to start somewhere.

He gathered his belongings, Wolf's Bane, his small pack, what little remained of his dignity, and stepped out of the barn into the crisp morning air. The village was just beginning to stir, smoke rising from a few chimneys as people started their day.

He'd barely taken three steps when he nearly collided with a woman rushing past. She was wild, her hair dishevelled, still in her nightclothes with a pale blue shawl thrown hastily over her shoulders.

"Where is Grace?" she called out to anyone within earshot. "Where is my daughter?"

The panic in her voice made Tro'go's stomach clench. Other villagers began emerging from their homes, drawn by the commotion.

"Flo, what's happened?" called the man with tree-trunk arms from yesterday.

"She's gone!" The woman, Grace's mother, spun toward him. That was when he saw it, a red flower embroidered into the corner of her shawl. "I woke and she wasn't there! We don't know where she's gone!"

Tro'go stood frozen as the words sank in. The girl. The one who'd given him the flower. She was missing.

"When did you last see her?" asked an older woman, hurrying over with a worried expression.

"Last night, when I put her to bed. She was excited about something; said we were going to play a game this morning. But when I woke up..." Grace's mother broke down, sobbing.

The world seemed to tilt around Tro'go. A missing child. Taken in the night. No not taken, her parents would have heard, he would have heard... wouldn't he?

"Which way did her father go?" he heard himself asking, his voice sounding strange and distant.

Grace's mother turned to him. "What?"

"Her father," Tro'go repeated, stepping closer. "You said he was looking. Which way did he go?"

She pointed vaguely toward the southern edge of the village. "Toward the old mill. He thought maybe she'd gone to play by the stream, but—"

Tro'go was already moving, his legs carrying him toward the northern forest before he'd fully decided to go. If the father was checking the mill, someone needed to search the woods. Someone who understood how easy it was for small things to disappear among the trees.

"Grace!" he called out as he reached the forest edge. "Grace, can you hear me?"

His voice seemed to be swallowed by the ancient trunks. He plunged deeper into the undergrowth, pushing through the sparse vegetation that had begun to reclaim this northern edge of the Deadwood.

"Grace!" he shouted again, louder this time. The broken syllables of her name echoed back at him mockingly.

He could hear voices behind him now; other villagers joining the search. The knowledge that he wasn't alone should have been comforting, but instead it only amplified his anxiety. If they needed this many people looking, if they were all this worried...

His breath came in short gasps as he scrambled over fallen logs and pushed through stubborn thickets. Wolf's Bane bounced awkwardly on his shoulder, the sword's weight suddenly feeling enormous.

"Grace!" he called, his voice already growing hoarse. "Grace, where are you?"

She had to be here somewhere. She was probably just hiding, playing that game her mother had mentioned. Children did that. They played games that terrified adults. They didn't understand how quickly everything could change, how easily...

The sword's weight shifted as he climbed over a particularly large boulder, and suddenly Wolf's Bane was sliding off his shoulder. He made a desperate grab for it, overbalanced, and went tumbling down the other side of the rock, the sword clattering away into the undergrowth.

For a moment he lay there, winded, staring up at the broken canopy. The sword stood proud in the dirt a few feet away, its hilt glinting in the morning light. He should retrieve it. A knight didn't abandon his weapon.

But Grace was still missing.

He left the sword where it was and pushed deeper into the forest.

The morning sun climbed higher as Tro'go searched. His voice grew rougher with each call of Grace's name. He checked every hollow, every gap between roots, every place a small child might hide or fall or be hidden. His hands grew scratched from pushing through thorny undergrowth. His clothes collected burrs, leaves and mud.

"Grace! Grace, your mother's looking for you!"

A squirrel chittered at him from overhead, scolding him for disturbing its morning routine. A pair of ravens watched his progress with dark, intelligent consideration. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the other searchers calling her name, their voices growing more desperate as the hours wore on.

The sun was approaching its zenith when a particularly aggressive magpie began squawking directly over his head. The sound was piercing, repetitive, impossible to ignore.

"Grace!" he shouted, trying to make his voice carry over the bird's alarm calls. "Grace, can you—"

The magpie squawked louder, drowning him out completely.

"Oh, shut up!" Tro'go snapped, snatching up a stone and hurling it at the bird with more accuracy than he'd intended. The rock struck the magpie squarely on the head, sending it tumbling from its perch to land in the undergrowth below.

Tro'go felt a moment of guilt as the bird flopped around, clearly dazed. After a few moments, it shook itself, studied its surroundings in confusion, then took to the sky and flew north with obvious urgency.

In the sudden silence that followed, Tro'go heard something else. Something soft and rhythmic and utterly unexpected.

Snoring.

He froze, tilting his head to make sure he wasn't imagining it. There; definitely snoring. Quiet, gentle, the kind of sound a sleeping child might make.

Moving as carefully as he could, Tro'go followed the sound to his right, where the hollow trunk of an enormous petrified tree created a natural shelter. And there, curled up in the hollow like a baby bird in its nest, was Grace.

She was fast asleep, her face peaceful, one arm pillowed under her head. Her dress was wrinkled and had a few leaves stuck to it, but she appeared completely unharmed.

For a long moment, Tro'go just stood there, watching her breathe. Relief hit him like a physical blow, leaving him lightheaded and shaky. He felt something warm roll down his cheek and realised he was crying.

She was safe. She was whole. She was just sleeping.

In the distance, he could hear voices still calling her name. Her parents were out there somewhere, sick with worry, and here she was, having the most peaceful nap imaginable.

Gently, careful not to startle her, Tro'go reached out and touched her shoulder.

"Grace," he whispered. "Grace, wake up."

She stirred, stretched, and opened her eyes. For a moment she appeared confused, blinking up at him in the dappled sunlight.

"You found me," she said, then frowned. "You're not Mum."

Tro'go couldn't help but smile. "No, I'm not. But your mother is looking for you. She's very worried."

"She's here!" he shouted as loudly as he could. "I found her! She's safe!"

Voices called back from various directions, though he couldn't make out the words. Grace sat up, rubbing her face.

"Why do you seem so worried?" she asked. "Where's Mum? She was supposed to come find me. She said we could play this morning."

Understanding dawned on Tro'go's face. "You were hiding? This whole time?"

"Of course I was hiding," Grace said, as though this should have been obvious. "It's not a very good game if you don't hide properly. I found the best spot ever!" She gestured proudly at the tree hollow. "I was going to wait for Mum to find me, but I got sleepy."

As they made their way back through the forest, other searchers began to converge on them. Tro'go found himself surrounded by relieved faces, people reaching out to pat his pot helm or ruffle Grace's hair.

"Just found her asleep," Tro'go kept saying, deflecting their praise. "Was just a misunderstanding. She was playing a game."

"You heard her snoring, didn't you?" laughed one of the villagers. "Trust Grace to snore loud enough to be found."

"I don't snore!" Grace protested indignantly, which only made everyone laugh more.

But the laughter died away when Grace's parents came running through the trees. Her mother reached them first, falling to her knees and pulling Grace into a fierce embrace, sobbing with relief. Her father wasn't far behind, wrapping both of them in his arms.

"Oh, you silly girl," Grace's mother whispered into her daughter's hair. "You silly, silly girl."

"You said we could play," Grace replied, sounding confused by all the fuss.

Tro'go watched the reunion from a few steps away, his heart doing something strange and painful in his chest. The love in that embrace, the pure relief and joy on the parents' faces, the way Grace nestled trustingly into her mother's arms; it was everything he'd lost, everything he would never have again.

He was happy for them. Truly, genuinely happy. But the happiness was threaded through with an ache so deep it took his breath away.

Grace's father noticed him standing there and approached, kneeling down to bring himself to Tro'go's level.

"I can never repay you for what you did today," he said seriously. "Thank you for finding her, thank you so much."

He reached into his pack and withdrew something wrapped in his cloak. "I found this while I was searching," he said, carefully unwrapping Wolf's Bane. "I thought it might belong to you. Wrapped it up to keep it safe."

He held out both the sword and the cloak. "Keep the cloak. It's not much, but it's all I can offer as a reward."

Tro'go bowed his head, accepting both items. "I was just glad I found her," he said quietly. "It was no trouble."

But as the group began making their way back to the village, chattering excitedly about the successful rescue, Tro'go found himself falling behind. The family walked ahead of him, Grace now riding on her father's shoulders, still sleepy but animated as she told them about her perfect hiding spot.

He didn't belong in this celebration. He was intruding on their joy, their relief, their love. They had their family back together, and that was what mattered.

Quietly, when he was sure no one was watching, Tro'go slipped away from the group and began walking north, away from the village, away from the happy voices and the grateful thanks he didn't feel he deserved.

But as he reached the edge of the trees, he turned back for one last view. Grace, still perched on her father's shoulders, had noticed his departure. She beamed at him across the distance and waved.

Tro'go waved back, feeling something warm unfurl in his chest despite the ache.  For a moment he paused, watching as the revelry continued, then with a nod to himself he turned north and took a step, then another until the village was long behind him.

The villagers were confused when they realised their hero had vanished as mysteriously as he'd appeared. They searched for him, wanting to celebrate the small green knight who had helped them twice in two days. But he was already some distance away before his absence was noted, and Grace, for reasons of her own, didn't tell them she'd seen him go.