As though understanding the request, Margery circled back every few seconds.

Around thirty minutes later, Isabel heard running water. It was the creek Yvaine had been referring to.

‘Clever girl,’ Isabel told the eagle when she returned. She dismounted, taking hold of the reins and leading the gelding down to the water for a drink. She rested there for a few minutes, noting the slight lightening of the sky, but it was too cold to sit still for long. Her hands ached, and her face was numb.

‘Let us keep moving,’ Isabel told the horse, who was now tearing large mouthfuls of leaves off a nearby bush. In an attempt to warm herself, she walked for a while, leading the horse along the creek’s edge.

The sun rose in the exact spot she hoped it would, painting the frosty grass in pink light as it kissed the horizon. She stopped to admire the sight, enjoying the open space and distinct lack of walls. Then, looking to the trees ahead of her, she said aloud, ‘Where are you, Ita?’

Margery hovered overhead, causing the horse to lift its head and sidestep.

‘Easy,’ Isabel told the gelding, stroking his neck. ‘You are quite safe being the size you are.’ She looked up as Margery flew off towards the trees. ‘I think you hurt her feelings.’

Isabel mounted the horse and continued along the creek at a steady walk. She was soon swallowed up by tall oaks and glistening beech trees. Weaving quietly between the thick trunks, she navigated the bulging roots rising from the ground.

She was just beginning to warm up when an uneasy feeling took hold of her. Isabel looked around for Margery, but the eagle was nowhere to be seen. There was nothing to do except continue forwards. The goal was always to be found, so to fear that part seemed senseless. But she was afraid anyway. Afraid she would be shot in the back and left to rot in the woods, but more afraid of dying without ever finding Ita.

The uneasy feeling grew until she could barely draw breath. Stopping her horse, she looked around in all directions. Nothing. Her heart was thudding so loudly now that she could no longer hear the running water from the creek. Someone was near—watching her.

Letting go of the reins, she raised both hands in the air and shouted, ‘I am unarmed. Please do not shoot me.’ She wished she could pull her hood back and show her face, but she was too scared to reach for it.

Silence… until she heard the creak of a bow.

‘I am searching for a friend and pose no threat.’ The words came out shaky.

The trees stirred to her left, and a man emerged on foot with a loaded bow aimed at her. She kept her eyes ahead, too afraid to look directly at him.

‘Dismount and get on your knees,’ he instructed.

Hands shaking, Isabel climbed off her horse and got down on her knees. ‘I am looking for Ita Chapman.’