Bloumen lay under a hedgerow, paralyzed. She was a small child, wearing an embroidered dress and a hastily tied shawl. Torchlights bobbed and flickered about her, and the sounds of faint shouting penetrated the still air. She flinched with every new call, as if physically hurt by each word.

Footsteps crunched upon the gravel path as a soldier drew near. Bloumen went very still and forced her panicked breath to a halt. The glint of steel met the ground before her eyes, and a rough male voice cursed the cold. He paused, before he began pacing the pathway, he slipped in and out of her vision. With each pass he drew close enough to be within reach of her frail hand.

Another guard approached. Metal armor rustled and clinked, and she heard the gruff voice of a soldier, “Captain Mastun, the kid ain’t here.”

A buttery smooth voice of a man responded, “Yeah, I got that by now. The rat must have known we were coming, somehow, and slipped out. Any sign of her route?”

“No, too many ways out.” There was a sigh from the guard. “At this rate the hounds will need to be brought in.”

Hounds? The image of frothing, barking dogs with vicious teeth came to her mind. It wouldn’t matter how far she could run, or how cleverly she hid. The knot of dread in her throat felt twice as painful now.

“The hounds are out hunting with Viscountess Bathory. I’ll have you and your men stay here and keep an eye on the area.” Mastun yawned. “I’ll get some sleep and relieve you in the morning. Our source stated she’s got a pretty visible crown; she’ll give herself away if she enters town.”

“Are you sure? What if she makes her way into the forest?” The young knight’s voice gained a note of concern.

At that, Bloumen’s blood froze, they knew where she was headed. It was a sinking feeling that opened a yawning pit of despair in her stomach. There was little way of escape now.

Matsun laughed. “The forest? I mean, we’ve got sacred hounds, what is she going to do, enter the deep abyss and live there? The kid is what, twelve-ish? She’s not getting far.”

“The Aizelwhiches have connections.”

Matsun paused. “You’re right about that. Have faith in the viscountess, she’s followed through before."

The sound of two sets of boots walking faded into the night. For the first time in what felt like an hour, Bloumen drew in a deep breath. After another minute of shivering in the cold, her mind started to work out her escape. When she had escaped the manor to visit her friends before, she had followed the decorative hedges that littered the estate. There was a large gap between the hedgerows, where a path intersected it, and another one before the road. She didn’t know where the guards were, but from the sounds of their occasional laughs, it seemed like most had left the grounds.

She stretched out a single arm, brushing aside the sticks and shuddering at the rustle of leaves. After she planted it in the cool soil, she dragged herself forward, careful to avoid making noise. The dirt below her scraped loudly against her dress, which sent shivers playing across her spine.

She pulled herself forward again and started her slow crawl up to the end of the hedgerow. Her hands brushed aside leaves and pushed branches about her.

Snap.

Bloumen stopped as a chill went down her spine and her breath caught in her throat. The rustling of leaves in the wind sounded so much louder now. She waited to hear the dreadful bootsteps that would spell the end of her escape.

One minute passed, then two. Finally, she reached out one hand, and started her crawl once more. When she had crawled for what felt like a mile, she saw a gravel path ahead of her. The hedgerow ended here, cut by the pathway. The first hurdle. She lay down and looked to the left and the right. A guard was down the path, on her right. He was a tall man and carried torch. He paced back and forth by a fountain, about twenty meters away. Too close to try to make it across the path safely.

She waited again. A cramp set in, and she shivered violently in the cold. It was the end of Autumn, and the air was cold enough to see one’s breath in. Bloumen resorted to biting her lip to keep her teeth from chattering in the cold. Finally, the guard seemed to be looking the other way, and she reached out a trembling hand to start the crawl across the pathway.

“Not quite yet child.” A cold voice, bored and disinterested, a little annoyed, resounded in Bloumen’s head. It sounded like a merchantwoman shutting down a haggler. Bloumen frowned in frustration.

Then when?! She thought in response. Bloumen had learned long ago not to speak to the voice, even when not in danger.

“It should be in an hour, maybe two. Lay down and rest pitiful thing, and watch. They will grow tired and listless and move on. That is when you should be moving. The night is longer than you think, and the challenge ahead is harder than you expect.”

Bloumen sighed, but she didn’t have the strength to resist the command. She lay down against dirt and sharp sticks. She followed the guardsman with half lidded eyes, trying to keep her focus.

For a little while, the man simply paced back and forth. He would on occasion, stop for a moment and talk to a man out of sight, yelling back and forth his report. As the night wore on, he grew slower. Finally, he sat down against the water fountain, facing the manor. Bloumen decided that this was the moment. She reluctantly picked herself out of her half sleep. With that, she crawled across the pathway, and towards the next hedgerow. There she stopped and looked at the solid wall of leaves with a frown, not wanting to make a noise.

There was a fresh gust of wind, and she forced her way under the branches. They rustled in protest, but the sound of the wind was a little louder. The route was familiar to her, after so many times breaking out from the watchful eye of her own guards. She snaked along the fallen leaves and sharp rocks below her, and she felt a thrill in her heart.

When she reached the street, Bloumen pumped her little fist in joy. The view ahead was one of a dirt road, with deep muddy ruts from the endless stream of carts that passed along them. Tall pine trees loomed against the night sky, and a dark forest stretched along rolling hills. On her right a few dim lights flickered, the town of Midleihn.

After checking to make sure not a soul was in sight, Bloumen dashed for the other side of the road, settling down against a tall pine and swathed in the tall grass. She took a moment to breathe, letting out a gasp of air that she had been holding in for hours. She took in a shuddering breath, and stood up, looking around her at the tall fields and dark forest.

Bloumen tried to recall the route her parents had pointed out to her, when they had taken her to the rough huntsman’s cabin. She had never liked Kirtridge, with his rough voice, the beard that smelled of alcohol, and his constant insults. There was simply no one else to turn to.

She decided to avoid the road and started pushing aside the stalks of grass and dense wildflowers that lined the road. It seemed as if the knights had left the backroad unguarded. It was a small relief, and she couldn’t help but shake the knot of nervousness that was building with each step. Bloumen’s worries grew when she saw a cluster of torchlights moving around the corner. She ducked down and watched carefully as one by one; a group of villagers shuffled past. They were talking to each other in low, exhausted tones.

“Nothing, not a sight of her. Did Malcolm really see anything?” An elderly man’s voice spoke after a moment.

“Malcolm has sharp eyes; I would take it seriously. There was a crowned demon, and he followed it back. It’s fine, the guard will find her soon.” A young woman, near the front of the group, answered.

“I’m not surprised. The Aizelwhiches had it coming, scummy merchants if I’ve ever seen them.” The old man returned.

Bloumen bit her lip as they passed. She wanted to yell at them, curse them for causing her so much trouble. But she stayed silent and let them pass by. When the last one rounded the corner, she let out a long sigh, and continued along her way.

She walked through the tall grass alongside the road for about half an hour, before she came to a fork in the road. Bloumen blew on her hands, trying to heat them a little bit as she thought over her route. She had taken this path countless times from the safety of her parent’s carriage. She had always drifted off halfway through the ride, safe in the warm embrace of her maid’s lap. There was a forest on her left, it felt like the best choice. After a breath, and a moment of indecision, she made her way into the forest.

She had been avoiding the path for most of the time, but the undergrowth had thickened considerably. After a few attempts trying to pierce it, Bloumen made her way onto the footpath, and began gingerly walking along it. Her eyes went back and forth, startled by every little motion of the wind and the trees. The cold numbed her hands, and as much as she tried her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. The path meandered about, passing brush and the dark forms of cabins. She would crawl behind bushes and through the thickets when she saw them. Finally, when the moon was high in the sky, she saw a cabin with a slouched chimney and a vine covered porch. The lights were off, and no smoke rose from its chimney.

It didn’t matter to her, and her little heart jumped for joy. She gathered all of her strength, and made a final sprint for the cabin, desperate to be out of the dark forest. Bloumen made it to the door, twisted the door handle, and then twisted it again. The handle didn’t give. She desperately knocked on the door, until her knuckles hurt from the effort.

The forests seemed full and alive now, the trees and shadows moving strangely with the wind. She pulled herself against the rough oak doorway, and sank down, too afraid to call out in the dark. A dog barked in the distance, sending a shiver of fear down her spine. After tucking up her scarf to stay warm, she curled up by the door, watching the forest with half closed eyes. She felt a little warmth when she tucked her hands into her sleeves and curled up tightly. As the soft chirp of a cricket started, she fell into a fitful sleep.

A rough hand grabbed her shoulder like a vice. Bloumen’s eyes shot open, looking at the rough pine deck her face was lying on. The face of a tall man, with a greyed beard and worried blue eyes, looked down at her. By his ears, two little blue crests glowed, both marked with crossed spears, they floated in the air like a fog, barely visible. The sky was tinged orange and blue, and the first sounds of dawn were breaking the still air.

“Bloumen! Where is Anthon?!” The man asked roughly. Kirtridge’s voice was rough and had a hard edge to it. Worry was lying under his gruff tone; she had never heard him like this before.

“I don’t know! They told me to run if anything happened… Mom and Dad went to get the carriage, and I heard some shouting. They’re still out there! They’ll have dogs and men and horses, they said so!” Her voice grew shrill.

“Calm down! Your parents were arrested, and you made it out without capture?” He asked with a note of surprise.

Bloumen nodded. “I’m good at sneaking out of my house. I did it before all of this, to visit my old maid.”

“You did what?!” He sighed and withdrew a key from his pocket. After the door was unlocked, he took Bloumen inside of the small cabin, and closed the door behind him.

A fireplace, made of poorly set brick, smoldered in the corner. It smelled of wood smoke, and animal rugs coated the floor. A bow and spear were tossed against the wall, and a messy kitchen finished the space. It had a warm, familiar feel to it.

Kitridge sat down by the fire, on a large chair. He let out a long sigh and rubbed his fingers against his forehead. “So. What happened? I was looking for you all night, you must have been good at hiding.”

“I snuck out how I always do. Along the hedges by the path.” Bloumen felt a little note of panic build in her chest. “I only got out because of the voice. She told me what to do.”

“The voice?” Kirtridge paused, and then a little light entered his eyes. “Oh, right. That’s why you’re running after all. Did your parents ever tell you who your crown was?”

She shook her head. “The voice told me, it’s- “

He raised his hand. “Stop talking about that, haven’t you learned anything from your parents?”

With that, he reached forward, and pulled down her scarf and her hood. Her long silky black hair fell down her back, and like a cloud forming, black daggers flickered around the base of her head. They resembled a crown, wreathed in fine transparent swirls like ivy. “You’re crowned, and crowning is rare. Even more so, its large, distinct, and black. That makes you either scum or a demon, and you’re too young for a criminal. I’m not a specialist, but I wouldn’t trust that voice for a second.”

“Well, look at who’s-“

The old, tired voice in her head began for a moment. Bloumen merely shrugged. “I know. What am I supposed to do about it? Whoever they are, they know more than I do about how to hide.”

“Well—” Kirtridge let out a long sigh. “I’ll give you another hour to rest. We’ll start moving when the sun is just visible over the trees. We need to take you somewhere out of reach.”

“Where?”

“Some old friends. Your parents already talked with them; you’ll be in… Safer hands.”

Kirtridge’s tone worried Bloumen. She was too tired to ask, and merely nodded along with his words. “Will it be far from here?”

“About a five day walk from here, if we're lucky." Kirtridge opened a chest, which lay beside the fireplace, and pulled out a pair of blankets. He lay them upon a bearskin rug and motioned towards the crude bed. “Get some rest, I’ll wake you when it’s time to go.”

Bloumen lay down and let the soreness and exhaustion seep out from her bones.