Deirdre was previously leaning casually upon the trunk of a tree in order to wait for an all clear. On hearing the tinkling of harp strings in the wind, she now presses her spine into the bark in pure terror. It bites into her bruises through her damaged clothing.

Preparing to make a run for it, she slides the broken shaft of the arrow through her hair. It sits neatly next to her hair stick, where it cannot poke her accidentally through a pocket, but is still within easy reach should she need it for something.

She can’t imagine anything that she might actually need it for, but it’s there if the occasion arises.

It’s hard to make out what exactly is happening on the other side of the tree, but music is never a good sign in these parts. That it comes accompanied by a diffuse glow that reflects off the golden leaves overhead is a doubly poor signal. She has traversed this terrain frequently enough to know that anything beautiful is deadly, and anything deadly can become so with no warning at all.

Deirdre strains to hear what is happening on the other side of the truck. She stays put against her better judgment. If it is curiosity or sympathy, it doesn’t matter as the effect is the same.

“Forgive me,” she hears Derek say in a loud voice that cracks with panic, “please forgive my error!”

This apparently is some kind of signal to that which holds him captive. The diffuse light brightens perceptibly, flickering, and the music grows louder. Birds and squirrels alike evacuate the trees overhead in panic, and a groundhog runs across Deirdre’s foot to make his escape.

Deirdre drops to the ground and holds carefully, silently still. Over the sound of miniature instruments, she hears a scuffle of footsteps and a grunt of effort.

A flurry of choices run through her mind. She could leave. This is a perfect opportunity. She could run and run and never encounter her pursuers again. Cousin Sigismund would assume she died. No one is likely to find Derek’s corpse in this little clearing, even though it is so dangerously close to the river and the edge of the woods.

She could run free from the consequences of her choices. She could run and never have to face justice. And never have to confess her sins. And never have to acknowledge the hurt she has done to others. And never again sit in the questioner’s chair. And never spend another blistering day or freezing night in the dungeon beneath the guard house.

And never have that weight removed from her shoulders.

And always have to fear that it will all catch up to her.

And always have the memory of leaving a man for dead when there was likely a chance - even an infinitesimal chance - that she could have prevented the murder.

And Deirdre has been a thief, a burglar, a trespasser, a saboteur, a poacher, and she’s planted a lot of evidence in her career. But she has never been so closely involved with directly letting a person die before.

She determines that she never will be.

Sinking to the forest floor, she lurks slowly forward. Considering her many bruises, she opts to move as slowly as the situation permits for as long as she can. Staying in a low crouch drives a wedge of pain into her chest, but it helps keep her out of sight.

On the other side of the tree, in the hazy glow of magic cascading from the wings of dozens of tiny fairies, the deputy to the sheriff of Aegis Township is getting his groove on.

A ring of hundred of small mushrooms circles the floor of the clearing, all in different sizes and colors, and every single one on the list of mushrooms one ought to avoid at all costs. They are, each one of them, deadly poisonous and absolutely kill a person who ingests one, whether accidentally or on purpose.

Derek dances, and he’s most definitely not very good at it. His arms flail most unattractively, his hips gyrate, and his feet shuffle with no sense of style, grace, or near relationship to the beat of the drums.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

But he keeps doing it. And there is something infectious about that enthusiasm. If it even is enthusiasm. When he rotates in her general direction, Deirdre can see that tears run down his face and he is sweating profusely.

With grim determination, Deirdre knows she has no choice but the obvious one.

She picks an unimpeded line of travel, determines the most effective angle, and sneaks delicately into position.

The wait is not long before Derek is also in position, though he clearly does not know what is about to befall him. His hands raise above his head and that is her cue.

Deirdre takes off at a dead run, sprinting to the best of her ability into the clearing. Her feet never touch the circle nor the ground within it, for she leaps clear over those deadly pockets of poison and slams hard into Derek’s midsection. He flies sideways, propelled by her momentum.

Deirdre’s flying leap takes her clear across the opposite side of the ring. Both of them slam into the dirt on the other side of the clearing, having well escaped the ring itself.

The soft golden glow of the fairy lights sharpens and abruptly the light changes and becomes hard and white. Tiny darts of pain find their way into Deirdre’s already damaged back. Needles held like lances are the fairies’ weapon of choice as they charge into her.

Deirdre lays over Derek’s prone form, panting with the exertion and weeping from the pain in her ribs.

Derek struggles beneath her, and grabs both her wrists. Deirdre doesn’t know what he is doing, but she would appreciate it if he let go so she could use those hands of hers to swat away the fairies who are no larger than a hummingbird or particularly large insect. One of them is still trying to remove its minuscule weapon from her shoulder.

She realizes what he’s doing at roughly the same time he achieves it. Derek gets his feet under him and lifts, hauling her up as he goes. Instead of letting her fight off the fairies, he takes several plodding steps past the edge of the line of willows and then slides down a steep riverbank. How he keeps his balance with her entire body weight lying across his shoulders is beyond her understanding.

But he does it. He slides down with the loose gravel rolling beneath his boots and then takes a few extra steps as inertia propels him into the river again.

They are in luck. The water is shallow at this location, bubbling quickly over a wide span of small stones.

One fairy is still bracing its feet against her neck and pulling on a needle that is desperately stuck in the back of her shoulder.

Huffing and puffing with exertion, Derek allows her to slide off his back. He keeps hold of one wrist and pulls at her to encourage her to cross the river away from the fairies while they still can. The little things are so small, surely they can outrun them.

Deirdre grabs the tiny person from her shoulder and throws it down into the water when she realizes an important detail.

This far into the stream, there is no bright glow on its wings. The little thing curses at her and calls her so many names.

“Can you fly?” she asks it, with Derek still tugging at her other arm.

“No!” the miniature man shouts as loudly as he can over the sound of the babbling river. “You’ve got me over water you-” There is much cursing.

“Why does that matter?” Deirdre gives him a little shake to stop the flow of profanity.

“It takes enormous magic to cross moving water. Real big. Bigger than big. Big as the entire forest. Now put me down you-” Additional explicative ensue.

“Great.” Deirdre grins maniacally. “Deal.”

“What?” the fairy exclaims, all additional complaints cut off. Deirdre winds up and then throws him as hard as she can back across the water to the shore he came from.

“YEET!” is all she hears as she yeets the little creature across the open water. When it reaches the other side, the little fairy abruptly pops back up into the air, bright blue furious light shedding off its little wings as it regains control of its flight path.

Derek tugs again at her wrist and she turns to him with the grin still plastered across her face. Bootsie splashes ahead of both of them, her leash dragging in the water. Deirdre does not question how still and quiet the opposite shore appears, for that is certainly more inviting than the danger that lies behind them.

Icy water splashes at their ankles as they stand in the river just looking at each other with utter incredulity. Derek drops her wrist like it is on fire.

Deirdre is the first to laugh, but Derek is not long after.

“You saved my life?” he asks, and it is a question as a statement.

“I sure did save your life.” Deirdre says, guffawing, hands grasping both knees. She hoots and howls with laughter.

Derek giggles, tears streaming down his face. He doesn’t stop giggling as he plods through the shallow water until his rear hits the dry stone of the river’s steep opposite bank. He sits in an ungainly heap upon a rock and laughs as he cries while Deirdre still stands midstream, alternating pointing at Derek and in the general direction of his fairy assault team.

Both are still laughing while Bootsie howls joyfully along when a second canine’s voice breaks the unnatural silence of the farther shore. A long, low howl pricks the flesh of her neck and every hair stands on end.