I hobble Peony and grab my woman’s clothes and shorn braid from the saddlebag. It’s an armful, even rolled up tight as it is, with the corset, the full skirt, and the petticoats. The whole mess is probably worth a decent sum, and for the hundredth time I consider selling it somewhere. For the hundredth time I come to the same conclusion: It would seem mighty odd for a young boy to walk into a store with a bundle of female fixings to sell. They’d take him for a thief for sure—which might make them look close enough to realize he wasn’t a boy at all.

Using a small branch and the heels of my boots, I dig at the ground, squelching up mud and rotting leaves. I don’t have time to make a proper hole, so I settle for a small depression. I drop in my parcel of hair and clothing.

I stare down at it too long, feeling strange. The edge of the skirt’s ruffle has started to escape the bundle, and the shiny braid winks up at me. It’s like I’m burying half a girl here.

Peony’s snort moves me to action. I cover it all up best I can with more mud, add a few deadfall sticks and rocks, which ought to hold if a big rain comes this way. My saddlebags are a lot lighter now. I mount up and kick Peony forward, but my back twitches, like that buried bundle is staring after me and my ill-fitting trousers.

The mud dries on Peony’s coat, making her skin twitch like it’s covered in flies. She shows her annoyance in a hundred tiny ways, from fighting her bridle to flicking her tail.

“That was a bad idea, and I’m sorry. I promise I’ll clean you up as soon as I can.”

She tosses her head as if to yank the reins from my hands. “Stop it!” I snap. “I’m doing the best I can, you ungrateful, mule-headed . . .” My tirade fades as quickly as it came. Yelling at my only companion won’t do me any good.

Night falls. I don’t dare gallop her in the dark, but neither do I dare stop. At least Peony’s shiny coat is becoming a colorless gray in the gloom. No one would recognize her now.

My tiny spark of relief is doused by the clop-clop of hooves. Someone approaches.

Everything inside me yearns to dash for the woods and hide, but I have to face people eventually. I nudge my hat brim low, sit straight in the saddle, and trust the moonlight to hide what it must.