She parted the ferns and looked between them. She had completely forgotten how tired and hungry she was. Her robe, beaver wool, trailed along the ground. Running away was not in keeping with her character. She signaled Charlotte to be silent—she trailed behind, whimpering at intervals.
The whole town was heavily fortified: A fast-moving river, a dark, impenetrable forest, a wall of silence. The gates were guarded by uniformed soldiers. A line of watchfires stretched away into the night. The eastern boundary of the wilderness.
They arranged to meet at eleven o’clock. There was still no sign of her. The wind had shifted to the east. There must be something wrong.