into the whispering woods

The night is young and the stars are out in the skies to play pretend as guiding lights for lost travellers or escaping princesses who were galloping on Arabian horses.

Agnes was slotted between the stoic form of Belladonna, riding their horse in an elegant poise, and the chatty form of Humerah rambling about a picture book she had been recently obsessing over.

Agnes slouched uselessly between the two, cheek squished against Belladonna's back while her eyes focus on the starry sky up ahead. The night was colder because of River Akane in proximity and Agnes had nothing but her shirt and breeches to suffice with. She regrets leaving the Gale castle in such haste. Faber Meadows was still far from sight or maybe from their radius of light which was provided by the kerosene lantern hung on the edge of a wooden stick held by Humerah, swinging with each gallop.

River Akane flowed through the east facing sunflowers in the field, staring loverlorn at the sky, waiting for the sun's arrival. Wind brought along with it the travelling remnants of ashes and whispers from the West.

Though, it was when Humerah catches a breather from her story (about a prince pretending to be a princess to get his beloved's attention) that Agnes hears something beyond the galloping of their horse.

Like the soft crackle of burning firewood, the subtle rustle of fabric against a rough bark of tree and the dragging of heels over sand.

"Shh," Agnes presses a finger against Humerah's lips before the latter could speak again. Her eyebrows furrow, neck craning forward for clarification, "Do you hear it?" She questions to her maidservants.

"Hear what?" Humerah questions back with a whisper.

They were walking on a stone path alongside the field of sunflowers, beyond which, to the right, began the Whispering Woods. It was named so because of the Evergreen Trees that rustled their leaves with the flow of the wind, all year long, as if having deep conversations in hushed whispers. To nomads, the woods were an enigma wherein loomed stories of origins unknown of people walking inside but never returning.

"That might be Humerah's demanding stomach, I apologize for her indecency," Belladonna clarifies with her stiff tone. Humerah pushes her plush lips in a thin line and presses a hand against her stomach wondering if she was making unintentional noises and disrupting her great princess' peace.

"No, no, it is something else. Rather, someone else." Agnes sits up straight and perches her chin over Belladonna's tall shoulder. Everything beyond the glowing lantern, in Humerah's hand, is dark. She squints her eyes closer, almost merging her chest in Belladonna's back.

Grunts and moans. The wind brings them to her ears.

"Might be the people of Faber Meadows?" Her handmaiden suggests, head circling around with her mistress', trying to follow her line of sight.

"It is someone closer." Agnes' words are firm, silver eyes narrowing in distance. Beyond the sunflower field, within the Whispering Woods, and against the moonlight, she catches hints of smoke rising. "Look at that!" Agnes whisper-shouts to her company as they jerk their heads up.

"Humerah."

"Yes Madame."

In a split second the youngest of the three flings the lantern log in Agnes' hand and jumps off the horse in a quick motion. Before Agnes could word out a protest, the brunette's small body was already disappearing inside the sunflower fields and existing out of her sight.

"She knows what to do."

Belladonna mutters as if it would suffice all the boiling questions in Agnes' head. Their horse keeps galloping further, faster, as the princess boldly suggests, "Do you reckon we have a look at it?"

"That would be indulging in insanity, your highness, my job is to reach you on the lands of Faber Meadows with absolute safety. We are escaping past these." Belladonna tightens the reins of their horse and it gains speed. Dissatisfied with her maidservant's strict perspective, Agnes continues. She tries a more sympathetic way to soothe her burning soul.

"But what if someone needs help?"

Belladonna's square jaw visibly clenches. "How would you know, Your Highness?" the ravenette counter questions in a hot whisper.

"When you spend half your lifetime in one room, you naturally learn to grasp all the small sounds around you. The rustle of the mulberry leaves, the clinks of dinner plates, the footsteps of your maids, the drag of a book against the stone floor, the splatter of rainwater on castle roofs and the different types of panting your dog exhales on different occasions. You hear it all until isolation joins hands with madness and you cannot let go of these voices around you unless you create louder ones of your own."

"Like chomping on your food."

Agnes sucks a gasp. "For the love of our Holy Empire, I do not chomp on my food, Belladonna! That's absolutely blasphemous!" She exclaims, her husky voice thickening with accent, hitting Belladonna's firm back in exaggerated nervousness.

There is a faint scoff from the taller woman, almost as if she was about to show some emotion before she catches her guard back and firmly informs, "Your life is of greater priority to me than anyone in premise. Including mine, Your Highness."

Well, now, wasn't that flattering. Agnes could probably get used to this treatment, having a constant protection charm around. There is a first for everything, Grand Duchess Maria used to say, but she wasn't sure of the phrase's categorization until now.

Her life being a priority to someone...it sounded flattering yet nerve wracking in the most oddest of ways. It brought back unwanted memories of her childhood.

Why would any sane person prioritize someone else's life over theirs? Unless they were profiting from it in some way. Yes. That's got to be it.

"Pray tell, Belladonna, why do you reckon so?" Agnes proposes a question, head turning in wonder of Humerah's sympathetic lost presence. "And do not, for the love of our Empress, start with loyalty to the lands. I shall puke out a very delicious brunch in compensation," she leans foward into Belladonna's ears and impersonates guttural gagging noises.

The ravenette, devoid of any expression but mere whispers of soft amusement in her otherwise dead eyes, replies, "Your Highness, with all due respect dare I say, it is a handsom pay I assure by working under your title."

Agnes leans back into her hunched and awkward riding position, nodded with a satisfied smile gracing the tips of her lips. "I appreciate your honesty, Belladonna. Thankyou."

Belladonna's grip on the horse's reins tightens. "You embarass me with your gratefulness, your highness," Belladonna all but wails out coldly, bending into a bow over the horseback.

Her life, Agnes melancholicly sings in her head, would only ever be good enough as a bait. Nevertheless, she wouldn't let her decisions be affected by it. The Princess smiles a bit at Belladonna's constant rigidity and pats her back to resume position.

Agnes shakes her head, disregarding Belladonna's priorities. "Nu-uh, hold that blatantly wrong thought and nub this presepctive in the bud! We, the royalty, are people who exist for the people, Belladonna. The welfare of our subjects is to be upheld before our selfish necessities. It is not a matter of sacrificing oneself, but upholding mutual dependency. If the Royal Treasury gives you money, it is you who earned it for them. Do I make myself clear?" Agnes explains lesuirely.

Belladonna shakes her head in negative, "I only want to keep you safe," she replies firmly, cold undertones chilling Agnes' spine.

The princess could almost sniff the unsaid words from Belladonna's barrier of a back, something along the lines of, 'as per orders.' She sighs to herself, before announcing, "We must enter into the Whispering Woods, Belladonna, it is an order." Pursed lips let past firm words of unrelenting demand, oozing a strictness that Belladonna's was compelled to follow.

The tall ravenette loses her poise for one fraction of a second, thick eyebrows furrowing for the minutest of minute before she pulls back the leather reins and jerks them against the horse's back, changing its original course.

"Your word is my order, your highness."

The princess supports the lantern rod over her shoulder, stomach churning with an odd sense of gulit as they ride their way inside denser growth of the woods. Their horse furiously swishes its tail from left to right and each galloping step is a metaphoric punch to Agnes' gut.

The rustling leaves condemn her decision in a language of their own making. The stars hide behind the treetops in disapproval and Agnes finally feels lost.

"Do you hear something?" Belladonna whispers, trying to navigate in the dense darkness, while keeping an eye on possibly lurking creatures and dangerous people.

Agnes closes her eyes to concentrate, hide away from the glaring obvious and dabbles in the uncertainty of the silence; she hears it, subdued under the gushing waves of River Akane, the soft muffles of a gagged mouth, the scratching of rods against rough tree trunks and the sizzling of iron in fire.

Her lips part open with a harsh gasp.

"Westward, to the right!" Agnes suggests boldly, eyes clenching tighter as her hands grow colder in expectation. Would she be correct? What would they witness? Is it the nightmongers? Will this be her end? What about the peanut pouches in her pocket? How many peanuts eaten were one too many?

Belladonna instantly leads the horse in the said direction, before she whispers back, "Do you hear fire crackling with four hostages tied against a spruce tree and three men guarding them?"

"Why, that's oddly precise—" Agnes begins before opening her eyes but stops upon witnessing the exact scene a little diagonal to them. But before she could process her thoughts any further, a cloaked figure lets its presence known in front of their horse.

Ragged by nature and lost to society, there stood a tall man with disproportionate shoulders enveloped by a thick cloak which had stories of bloodlust to tell. Face hidden under a filthy stitched sack with holes for the hollow of his pale yellow eyes that stared unblinking at Agnes' small form fidgeting behind Belladonna's back. The man, as Agnes boldy presumed, huffs loudly into his sack. It subtly bloats around his face, everywhere but around the zig-zag stitches over his mouth seemingly as if sewed shut with the sack cover.

Anges shudders.

His muscular arms brandish a rusty axe from a slender handle, fingers repeatedly clenching and un-clenching over it. Each proud inhale of his bulging chest did not budge the extravagant meat lumps that were his long legs, slightly apart, as if in a stance ready to attack.

Their horse starts grinding its teeth.

"Who are you and why have you taken prisoners?" Belladonna questions authoritatively, bold and loud to deliver her point. Agnes' rumbling gut settles by a micro in the trustworthy presence of her maid.

Belladonna's question returns unanswered.

Agnes clenches her teeth together, eyes faltering in focus as cold sweat breaks in her fidgeting palms. Her hands have lost any will to hold onto anything anymore, limply hanging attached to her torso, almost useless.

"Answee me! Or I will be forced to use force against you!!" Belladonna threatens, teeth baring and throat rumbling, as her cold eyes stare down the man's soul in an attempt to establish dominance.

Footsteps. Uneven jogging. Heavy metal sandles stepping over crisp twigs, crunching them with the unpredictable beats. Someone seems to be limping towards them.

Another one of them. He stands beside the first man, devoid of hygiene, deprived of human touch and equally distraught in appearance, hands welding twin swords the shiny big blades of which glint against the escaping rays of moonlight. Instead of disproportionate shoulders, he had an evident limp.

The axe-man raised his equipped hand and Agnes' mind went: This is it!! This is your time to die! Without living and exploring in my life, I shall be beheaded in some radom woods! It was slow but Agnes could hear her heart thumping as loud as the now grinding teeth of their horse. Every subtle movement of the horse underneath was swiftly taking years off Agnes' fragile life.

Belladonna tried calming their horse without making big gestures or being evident about its discomfort.

The man signed with his thick, dirt laden, fingers twisting into shapes and forms that Agnes recognized. It was the sailor's code.

'Tell captain, two females.'

The sword-man sheathed his dual swords in the scabbards tied on either side of his hefty waist, before signing.

"What are they d-doing?" Belladonna's query falters with their horse's unpredictable movements.

"They are communicating..." Agnes replies in the softest whisper she could physically muster. Nevertheless, her heart jumped out of its cage when they look up at them, in sync, eyes roaming all over their bodies. Agnes gulps under the scrutiny, the thin fabric of her shirt and the depravity of protection in her breeches left more of her milky skin on display for all to witness. She squirms closer to Belladonna's huge form in front.

'Not money. Not time use.'

'Horse.' Axe-man signed.

Three curious pairs of eyes landed on the Royal horse. One of the men audibly seethed and the other let out a loud growl. Deep, throaty and menacing enough for their horse to escalate into full blown panic. It raised it fore legs, neighing loudly. As Belladonna pulled harder on its reins before letting them lose, trying to get it in control,

Agnes topples backwards. Gravitating towards the cold hard ground like long lost destined lovers of time.

Her shoulder thumps against the dry ground, head jerking in process, and the lantern rod slips out of her lame hands. Her groans of agony drown the sounds of unsheathing weapons as kerosene lantern smashes itself against the ground. Its glass cover shatters in the process, echoing in Agnes' head like her final doom flag. Fire escaps swiftly from one small twig to another abandoned leaf.

Their horse neighs panicked shouts, the gagged prisoners drag their confined heels against the sandy ground, Belladonna shouts something along the lines of "MY PRI—" but holds her tongue midway.

It all happens too fast, too quick.

The orange embers blazing straight in front of her silver eyes shock life into Agnes' otherwise dumbstruck state. Her palms grip the dry grass on the ground, panic ensuing within her veins.

A fire in an evergreen forest would give way to years of non-fertile, barren lands! A fire caused by the Crown Prince's Betrothed that could cost their empire a decade's worth of lumber! A fire caused by a lying nobody like her! No-

"WE NEED TO PUT IT OFF! IT CAN CAUSE A FOREST FIRE!!" She shrieks like a madman, hastily getting onto her feet in the most unladylike manner. Their horse thrusts a final kick to Belladonna in her gut and gallops its way out of the woods.

Agnes jumps in action, bleeding shoulder and battered face disappearing until the rush of adrenaline.

Someone limped. Someone whispered. The fire raced its way to the nearest tree. The spruce tree with four people tied around its trunk.

"FETCH WATER YOU LOGGERHEADS!" someone shouted madly.

"NO! A FIRE CAUSED BY OIL SHOULD NOT BE PUT OFF WITH WATER! THROW SAND ON IT!!" Agnes retorted, rushing to the man with an axe, pulls off his cloak with an aggressive, and hasty, thrust. The man jerks, his balance faltered.

Someone was throwing sand on the fire.

Agnes jumped on the source, suffocating the source of air with her hands over the thick cloak. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as her pale face went crimson in response to the heat. "PAT IT DOWN. DON'T LET IT ESCALATE!!" She barks orders, spreading out the cloak. Someone copied her actions beside her. It was a limping Belladonna.

Guilt could wait. Agnes had people to save.

Heat consumed the area in a warm embrace, smoke rose to sky like a lover's kiss and their empty horse retraced its path back into the sunflower fields where Humerah found it in quick panic.