There’s obviously something more here—a lot more. What am I missing? Does she live here? No traveling gear or clothes. She’s native to this place? Is she the one who maintains this path? Unlikely she mows in that gown. Doesn’t look afraid of strangers, so perhaps not alone. Family? Is she part of a clan living in this forest? A daughter of a woodsman tribe? Are they just behind her in the fog, armed with spears and shields? Why is she out front? And why doesn’t she appear surprised to see us? Perhaps she is a . . . who am I kidding? I’ve got nothing. This is too strange.

“Hello?” Farilane spoke first. Does she even understand Rhunic?

The woman narrowed her bird-of-prey eyes and tilted her head as if seeking a better angle to see them by.

“Who are you?” Farilane ventured.

An uncomfortable pause lingered. Still tilting her head, the woman began to approach, her eyes fixed on Farilane.

“Don’t move,” the princess whispered to Kile and Sheldon. “And don’t say anything.”

Step after step, the redhead’s bare feet made no sound upon the grass. The woman came to within arm’s length, where she continued to study Farilane with a bold intensity that violated every rule of polite behavior.

“Your eyes . . .” the woman said, her voice simple but with an odd accent—some mash-up of northern rural with something unexpected, something Farilane wasn’t able to nail. “They are green.”

I’m an idiot! Farilane chastised herself. In self-defense, she admitted that eye color was not usually the first thing people noticed about a stranger, but still! The woman has green eyes!

“You are myr,” the redhead said.

“So are you.”

The lady of the wood nodded. Then she glanced at Sheldon and Kile. “They are not.”

“No.”

Again, she tilted her head, squinting as if she was trying to visually drill inside Farilane’s head. “Does your family hate you?”

This is not going to be my typical conversation—suppose I could have guessed that. “These two are not my family.”

The redhead looked irritated. “Not them.”

“Oh, ah . . .” Farilane shrugged, considering the question seriously. “I can’t say my family and I get along, but hate seems a bit harsh.”

“My family hated me.” The redhead began to circle Farilane, her eyes scanning up and down her figure. The princess felt as if a bee hovered round her head. “Hated me for being myr. My grandparents sold me to a workhouse soon after I was born. Didn’t want a granddaughter with green eyes.”

“My whole family has green eyes.”

“But they still don’t want you?”

“No.” Farilane sighed. “Not really.”