It reeks. It smells really bad. Why did I have to nod off? Surely, this is a jest. It's mud. It has to be mud. Please be mud? Mud doesn't stink. Gods, I wish that mud stank.

I rolled out of the muck and retched violently as strings of saliva and snot streamed out of my face and into the brown, lumpy pile under me.

Please don't puke in the crap, please don't puke in the crap, please don't puke in the crap!

The wagon I'd fallen from came to an abrupt stop and the face of my traveling companion, York, poked from out of the opening in the rough canvas. His toothy grin was annoyingly easy to spot from within his wiry black beard. “Oi, Jude, get a look at the halfling! Looks like she's gonna spew in the horse pie!”

I heard an audible -hmph- from within the cloth and the horses seemed to agree with her distaste for the man’s bullying.

“Proctor! I hear if you eat a mouthful from the pile, you won't go hungry for weeks!”

I didn't retch. I threw up right in the pile. The stink of bile and feces as it splashed back up into my face only made my heave harder. I don't remember what happened right after, but I assume I was washed off and the day continued. All I know is that when I came to a few minutes later, I was in my night clothes and Judith wouldn't look me in the eye.

I really hate you, York…

I sat up in the covered wagon, now filled with hardy snores and bags of dried goods. York was completely unconscious and though I knew no good would come of it, I fancied the idea of pushing the brute out of the car and riding away. Judith wouldn't let that happen, though. The lass is too kind to get involved in that kind of mischief.

I swallowed nervously and peered through the folds of the cloth towards the front and there she was. Her flaxen hair danced across her her flawless skin. Her rose colored lips quivered as if mouthing the words of a cherished song. Every now and then she'd smile to herself and cast her gaze up toward the crisscrossing branches of the sycamore trees, letting her fair skin drink in whatever light it could through the canopy of branches above.

I sighed to myself, content to spend all my time, all my days watching her enjoy the world around her. She seemed so happy. Why can’t I be happy, too? I found myself getting lost on the perilous slopes of self-pity when I suddenly snapped back to reality. I gasped, “Jude!” Her piercing eyes met mine and her smile disappeared. She said nothing. She said nothing for quite a while. She just stared at me until I stopped staring at her. I closed the partition between us and buried my face in my knees..

I'm so awkward, I'm so awkward, why am I so awkward?!

York’s snores seemed to grow louder with every passing moment. The sound was unignorable. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t feel alone like I wanted to. I couldn’t withdraw into my shell and be embarrassed with this big lug slumbering beside me. As I watched York lay there, so peaceful and happy, I couldn’t help but feel darkness welling up in my heart and spilling into my eyes.

He’s happy too. He’s always like this. Always grinning. Happy, too? Maybe I can’t be like them?

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“I’m not whole,” I said in a hushed as tears streamed down my face.

Sad to say, it wasn’t the first time I’d wept bitterly in the back of a wagon and I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the last. Honestly, I had always been a bit of a crybaby. Ever since I was young and was forced to stay with my human grandparents in their cabin during the fall. I remember Pa would take me and my brothers on rides to a pond he very fond of. I loved those rides… Seeing the leaves change from there vibrant greens to shades of red, gold, and purple as the trees drifted off to sleep.

Pa would tell us the same story every year; that the trees were once giant bears that began growing tired of hunting and foraging. He said that those bears drifted off to sleep one night and loved their nap so much that they never wanted it to end. I knew it wasn’t true, of course, but I still enjoyed hearing Pa tell us. He would always turn the brightest color whenever I’d ask him why the other bears didn’t turn into trees when they slept.

I hope he makes it out, alright...

            The cart came to a halt after a few hours of riding. Judith never said a word to me after out that awkward, albeit brief, encounter. Truthfully, I don’t know that I’ve ever heard her speak. I wondered to myself if Judith was just quiet or an actual mute.

I guess that doesn’t really matter, does it?

York rolled out of the carriage and onto his feet as lithe as a panther. As he stretched and shook his long sinewy body, his shoulder-length black curls danced around him like a willow in the wind. York reached for his brown leather bag and pulled out a set of clean, simple clothes.

He glanced over his shoulder to me and said, “Hey, girl, if we’re stopping for a while, tell the lady of the house I’ll be right back.” He looked me over for a moment and added, “If you need to use the little girl's room, I’ll take you. You’re lookin’ like you need a little… relief.”

He flashed his toothy grin at me and for a moment I couldn’t tell if he were a man or a bear. I sighed in exasperation. He was right. Again.

“I guess I have been drinking a lot of water today…” I said, as I slid out of the wagon. “I wouldn’t hate it if you escorted me, Sir York...”

I pointed my finger at him and mustered up the sternest tone I could manage. “But, I’ll have you know, I am still a lady! I bought your protection myself and I will be treated with respect. Do you understand?”

York had already turned and started his march into the woods. “Sure, sure just hurry up. We haven’t got all day, your grace.”

His words seemed amazingly kind. Despite the obvious mockery dripping from his honeyed words like sap from a swollen tree, I could tell that York was actually attempting to be nice. I smiled, grabbed my gear and gave chase.

We’re getting better at faking it, aren’t we, Sir York.

York traversed these woods as if they were his own backyard. The mighty warrior stood nearly seven feet tall and no doubt weighed a good 250 pounds. His curly, jet black hair slithered like snakes around the low-hanging branches, never snagging as this hulk of a man drifted soundlessly through the underbrush. York was a panther and the woods was his home.

I, on the other, bumbled and tumbled on every root and vine in my path;  it was like I was being attacked by an angry forest spirit for some unforgivable offense. Several times I would fall and hear a barely suppressed chuckle from somewhere ahead of me.

I looked at my dirty shorts and torn shirt and sighed. Little red lines like spider’s web streaked across my rapidly reddening skin. My hands and arms were being shredded.

“York!” I shouted. “If you’re leading me to way out here to kill me, I think these thorns will beat you to it...”

Like a shadow, York appeared behind me and scooped me up in his arms in one swift motion. I gasped as my face burned bright crimson.

            He’s carrying me! I’m not a child, York! Put. Me. Down!

I looked up at him and mustered the most dignified voice I could. “SIr York, I do not need to be carried. I merely require  an escort.”

Much to my chagrin, York just smiled down at me and cooed. “Aww, who’s a fussy baby. Who’s the fussy baby!”

I hated him. I wanted to fight or bite or anything him, really. But, I couldn’t. I was sore, hungry, dirty, and I really, really needed to pee. The only thing I could do was laugh. How could I stay mad at the guy who’d saved my life more times than I could count?

            Especially, after what I did…

The words seemed to echo in my mind, like I was forcing myself to think it. I shrunk back against his chest as tears stung my eyes.

            Why am I always crying..?

I fought, willing the tears to freeze in my eyes. “Sir York...” I started, my voice betraying me.

York looked at me, his once joyful face now somber. “Orla. Not again...”

I pressed my face into his dirty shirt and grabbed his shirt. My eyes burned with traitorous tears.

“I’m sorry, York.” I cleared my throat and wiped my eyes before gazing into his soft brown eyes. “I just get caught up sometimes.”

He nodded once and continued walking. There was no warmth to his face, only stern determination.

Alas, poor Yorick. How fond we have grown to our lies… Will our lips ever taste truth again before the bloodshed ends?

I reached up to touch his face, but thought better of it.