“We’ve got a good path going,” Kile reported. “And I think I see a clearing not far off.”

“Great. Can we push through?” Farilane asked.

“Maybe, but the brush is thick. Gets thicker the farther we go.” He thumbed his stout staff, stained green on one end.

After the meal, all three shouldered packs and pushed into the heart of the forest. Just as Kile reported, the brush was horribly dense: a wall of stiff, leafy plants, small trees, and a lattice of thorn bushes. Farilane found a stick of her own and did her best to swing it but found little room to do so. In the end, they got through by sheer force. Branches and thorns tore their clothes and skin. Farilane’s legs were lacerated, her arms slashed. One big thorn caught Farilane across the cheek. Touching the wound, she came away with blood. They continued to push forward and finally punched through to a clearing.

“There.” Kile grinned.

They each smiled at the accomplishment, but Farilane felt something wasn’t right. The clearing wasn’t wide, but it was long like a road . . . a green, grassy road.

“We didn’t . . .” Farilane stepped out of the eaves into the long narrow field and began to walk, and then run, down its length.

“Princess!” Kile shouted. “Wait!”

The two chased her.

Farilane didn’t need to run far. Only a few yards down the green corridor, she found the sycamore and fire ring.

“That’s a bit of bad luck, isn’t it?” Kile said. “We must have cut through the middle of the circle. I had an even chance and picked the wrong side.”

The light was fading. They had spent another day with nothing to show for it except a total lack of food and water.

“We’ll get an early start tomorrow and go the other way.”

Farilane nodded. She wanted to accept that would do it. Sensibly and logically, it had to, but the princess had begun to wonder. Spring often suffers strange weather. The clouds last night that prevented me from seeing the stars heralded the rainstorm today. Chipmunks were known to defile foodstuffs in camps if caution wasn’t taken. In such a canopy-shrouded forest, moss and spiders might not have a need to stick to one side or the other. All of these things are explainable, nothing strange, but taken together . . . And a circular path in a forest? How does that happen?

Kile needed less help this time in setting up his canvas abode, but a fire wasn’t in the works. Everything was soaked through. Finding a surviving wedge of cheese, they broke it into thirds. In the growing dark, they sat, taking their time eating and listening to the drips of residual rain playing in the trees.