Eventually darkness blanketed everything. I prayed on the ground with my little alter and candles as the hunter found a suitable branch to sleep on. It would have to be thick enough to ensure he wouldn’t fall. I finished the prayer quickly so he could sleep and I needed him lifted me to a tree limb before he could do so. I was placed above him, given a square of cloak as a sleeping mat since my tent was ruined by the rat. ‘We’re sleeping in a tree?’ I asked as he used his bag as a pillow. ‘We’re in death-dersho territory we don’t want to touch the ground by night.’ He informed. I looked down at him. In the stillness of night I found it appropriate to ask why he was so quick to help. Yet seeing his eyes close I decided his sleep needed greater satisfaction than my curiosity.

I turned back and watched the ground. A snake made eye contact with me before slithered out of sight. That instilled sickness into me and I hurried off the branch to one further from the ground.

He noticed this. ‘Here.’ He pulled a grass-like weed from the gaps in the bark and effortlessly fashioned an interwoven rope of grass out of three blades. ‘Tie this around you and a branch.’

So I climbed up the tree slightly to a thicker branch above him. Shoving one braid through a thin, fresh growing branch I pushed my foot into the other hole. It would act as a safety tether to the tree. The hunter pulled his cloak, now with a small chunk missing, over his body and began to drift off. I noticed the glint of steel; he was holding a dagger close to his chest. I used my own bag as a pillow and stared upward at the canopy.

I felt so vulnerable, so exposed so high up. I was almost wishing for a dagger of my own. I stared upward at the leaves, spotting the stars through them…

I awoke spluttering! Wet and suddenly cold caused questions to shout for answers in my mind- then realized a water drop had landed on me. It was raining again. Wiping my face everything was grey, the sun hadn’t yet risen and the hunter was sleeping through the small shower.

In silence my thoughts returned to my parents and people. Anxiety suddenly gripped me with an icy fist, removing any tendrils of remaining comfort. I couldn’t take it. Pulling free of the grass restraint I stuffed the bag with the slightly damp cloak-blanket, making brown fur poke out of the teeth holes.

Sliding carefully down from the branch I landed on the hunters’ chest. It rose and fell slowly, his breathing was slow and silent. I jumped on it, but my weight wouldn’t wake him, especially not through thick leather. ‘Hey. Hey!’ Nothing.

Wisps of sunlight of the rising sun peeked out from a raincloud. I took a deep breath and let the light try and warm me, slightly soothing my tightening gut.

I reminisced on my younger self, I would happily watch the sunrise with mother in the royal courtyard, eating freshly picked berries… The thought now brought a tear to my eye. I tried to wipe it away but another replaced it.

A raindrop splashed onto his nose, stirring him. I took my chance as quick as my tongue allowed ‘then what’s your favourite?’ I asked loudly.

Eyes barely open he rubbed them with fingers hardened by a bowstring. ‘Hm?’ He struggled to wake himself.

‘Your favourite animal to kill? Which is your favourite flesh to consume?’

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Frowning he sat up slightly, but not enough for me to fall from him, trying to wake up. ‘Rat.’ He stated matter-of-factly. The tease held no resemblance of humour to me, shown from my disgusted look but it did well for a distraction. ‘Deerton.’ He admitted, before relaxing back into dawning sleep.

I spoke quickly. ‘Apparently their spinning antlers can disorientate.’

‘It’s easily overcome.’ He mumbled out.

‘We could eat animals. If we wished.’ There was no cease to my talking, and he knew it, so no chance for more dozing he rubbed his neck and sat up. His hand consumed me so I didn’t tumble as he rose and sat against the trunk.

I babbled on while he placed me on a branch. ‘Bugs, spiders, worms, there’s plenty to choose from. We don’t want it.’

He bit the bait I dangled ‘is that true for every earth fae?’ He removed sleepy grit from his eye.

‘Any true earth fae, at the least. All but water fae which seem content with fish flesh.’

He scratched his head, fingers combing through brown locks. ‘Then I suppose you must pray for my very soul to the God of Beasts. Why must you berate me, I don’t judge your way of life?’

I thought over his words.

‘That is true…’ I admitted. ‘May I ask you a question?’ His response was dangling himself off the branch before dropping to the ground. I took that as a yes. ‘Why do you have a Goddess of Beasts pendent?’ I followed suit and aimed for his shoulder. I jumped and the air whisked past me! I landed on his shoulder but slipped off on contact. He easily caught me mid-fall.

‘You think a hunter may only worship the Hunting Deity?’ He placed me carefully on his shoulder.

‘Well, I’d expect it.’

‘I am more than a hunter.’ He began walking.

‘What’s your name?’ I felt rude in taking so long to ask.

‘Hunter.’

‘Truly?’

‘My parent was a person of foresight, you could say. But my last name is Thatcher.’

‘Hunter Thatcher.’ I uttered. ‘Thea Thorn, of White-bell-Rung, the Second.’ I protruded my hand which he shook it with a finger.

‘Highness… you’re young for a Queen.’

‘I’m a Princess.’

‘Your kingdom dare risks your life alone, not the common guard?’

‘It’s complicated…’

‘Very well.’ He didn’t press on.

In silence my mind warped around my parents… maybe I should have… no, I couldn’t dare think like that lest I go mad. I racked my brain for another conversation as my sanity depended on it. ‘My people worship Itha-Shaw.’

He took a breath before answering, the mundane questions becoming an irritant. ‘I never understood why it’s chosen to worship the good with terrible.’ His voice monotone- bored. Yet he still humored her questions.

‘One can’t exist without the other.’

‘I understand that, but it doesn’t mean I invite the bad, only accept it when it comes… Umm… Do you only worship the Beast God?’

‘I worship the God of Breath.’

I felt myself lighten. It was always easier to like someone if they worshipped, put crudely, a nice god. The God of Death, contrastingly, makes my spine shiver and those who worship it.