Packing up the still-damp tents, they set out once more along the greenway, searching for a more inviting place to veer off. Remembering they had gotten to the loop by way of a deer trail, Farilane reasoned that while it might be hard to see, it had to be there. Farilane decided to search for the “hand tree,” since it was the first landmark she had noticed. She hoped that meant it was nearest the deer trail. She looked for the old fingered oak but wondered if she’d even see it through the mist. Clouds, rain, fog . . . It made absolute sense for one to follow the other and yet . . . what are the odds of such a series of unfortunate events plaguing us in perfect measure? Correlation doesn’t prove causation, she reminded herself, but it doesn’t rule it out, either.

There’s a good chance we might actually die here. Happy my-birthday, Granddad! Condolences, almost-fiancée.

Lost in her newly found lose-lose scenario of possible outcomes, Farilane spotted a woman standing in the middle of the pathway. For a brief moment, the princess was certain she was seeing things. The looping path had become their personal space, and seeing someone on it was tantamount to finding a stranger in one’s bedroom. It didn’t help that the figure appeared out of the mist, a hazy apparition that grew more solid as they approached. The woman was dressed in green cloth that draped and wrapped but had no buttons, no ties, no belt. She wore no shoes. Her long red hair cascaded all the way down to her hips, her lips matching it in color and standing out on pale skin. She stood, arms at her sides, watching them approach. She was alone.

Farilane, who was in the lead, stopped to take stock—two ladies in a fog trying to understand each other. For all the princess’s ability to gauge a person by appearance, Farilane was lost. This situation was too bizarre. Nothing made sense, and references were few. The woman was young, perhaps late teens or early twenties, her attire foreign. Even the fabric was odd, a strange shimmer revealing itself along its folds, and the color was rich and vibrant beyond any dye. She wore the color of new leaves over old. And that hair! The princess had never seen its equal. Thick, full, and long, it draped her shoulders like a hooded cape. She watched them with the single-minded focus of a falcon, and while she was smaller than Farilane, the princess sensed a threat. Not a difficult presumption given the peculiarity of a young woman alone in a remote forest who showed no sign of concern at their approach.