Lily was not entirely sure how the day had gone so wrong.
One moment, she had been defending her sovereign borders against a berry-thieving criminal named Art. The next, she had been thrown into her own lake, tricked him with superior water tactics, nearly won through the power of friendship, been spanked for "recklessness," and then headbutted him hard enough that both of them had seen stars.
Then the old man named Reinheart had appeared.
A huge black-clad warrior with scars on his face, a sword on his back, and the general feeling of a mountain that had learned how to be disappointed.
After that, everything became confusing.
Art tried to explain. Reinheart listened with the hard silence of a man who had survived too many fools to be easily impressed. Lily defended herself with great legal authority, most of which was ignored. Her animal army had made one last brave attempt at intimidation, then retreated to rooftops, branches, holes, and other morally safe places. And somehow, not long after, Lily found herself cooking for them.
This was wrong, obviously.
They were invaders. Art had stolen her lunch. Reinheart had appeared from the forest like a final boss. Neither of them had properly apologized for trespassing, berry crimes, lake violence, or disrespect toward the United States of Lily's Lake.
But Art said they had been traveling for a long time.
Reinheart said very little, which somehow made him harder to argue with.
Then Art said Lily could make herself useful. That was unfair. Useful was a dangerous word.
So now Lily stood in the clearing behind the cabin, near her clay town and the path down to the lake, cooking over one of her smaller stone fire tables. Four sturdy stones held up a flat cooking stone she had chipped and smoothed with much effort. Beneath it, a fire burned hot and steady.
Art had started the fire almost instantly with flint and steel. He claimed the striker was one of his inventions.
Lily did not believe him. Steel was not a small invention. Steel was advanced technology. Also, making fire that easily felt like cheating. It removed all the struggle, suffering, failure, and moral growth from the process.
Still, the fire worked.
On the hot stone, eggs hissed and curled. Lily stirred them carefully with a flat wooden tool, biting her lip in concentration. She mixed in chopped greens, mushrooms, herbs, roasted fish flakes, and bits of tomato. Nearby, thin slices of rough forest bread warmed over the heat. The bread was not proper bread, sadly. It was made from acorn flour, ground seeds, starchy roots, and stubbornness. But once toasted, filled with egg, fish, and greens, then rolled together, it became something close enough to civilization.
Lily's special forest egg rolls. That was the official name.
The tea was easier. Mint, lavender, dried apple peel, berry leaves, and a little honey steeped in hot water inside a clay pot. Sweet, warm, clean, and probably very healthy because everything here had grown under the blessing of her light-heart.
All organic, lake-grown and superior to all other forms of food, probably.
Lily glanced over her shoulder.
Art and Reinheart had washed in the lake earlier, cleaning off mud, sweat, and some of the disgrace from their battle. Now they rested near the shade of the Cabin. Reinheart lay on his back in the grass, eyes half-lidded, though Lily did not believe for a second that he was truly asleep. Art lay on his side in the grass, watching her openly as she arranged the plates, it was irritating.
"Stop staring," Lily muttered.
Art smiled. "I am observing."
"That worse."
Reinheart made a low sound that might have been amusement.
Lily narrowed her eyes at both of them and looked elsewhere.
The horses grazed near the edge of the clearing, chewing through grass like two black lawnmowers. They were too close to some young plants Lily had not given them permission to eat, but she decided not to start another war yet.
The chickens still watched from the cabin roof and treehouse. Mister Terminator had not brought his people down from the high places again, though the flock no longer looked ready for immediate battle. Mostly, they sat, slept, and stared with suspicious dignity. Farther off, squirrels, rabbits, mice, and even a few foxes watched from safer distances.
Everyone was curious, yet no one was helping, which was quite typical.
At last, Lily finished.
She placed five egg rolls on each of two clay plates, added sliced apples and berries, then poured sweet tea into two clay cups. She carried the plates over with great seriousness, though Art had to take one from her before she dropped it.
The moment the smell reached them, both males went still. The reaction was better than expected.
Art looked down at the food. "You made this?"
"No," Lily said. "Food fall from sky. Of course I make."
Reinheart leaned forward slightly, his stern blue eyes sharpening with interest. Then he picked up one of the rolls and studied it as if it might be an unknown magical object. "What is it?"
Lily placed both hands on her hips and lifted her chin.
"Lily special forest egg roll. Not magic, but genius power, and very skilled hands, very advanced cuisine. Now eat and be amazed, but careful, still hot."
Art immediately bit into one. Then hissed through his teeth, eyes narrowing as he pulled back.
Lily burst into delighted giggles.
"Hot," she said wisely. "Food is hot. Basic knowledge."
Art pointed a stern finger at her while trying not to look wounded. "That is not funny."
"It very funny."
"Silence, or I will put you across my knee again."
Lily vanished, not far, just several steps back, behind a tall clay house, where she glared at him with betrayed dignity.
"Threatening cook is crime," she said.
"Then do not laugh at burned tongues."
"Then listen when cook says hot!"
Reinheart took another bite, this time hiding what might have been a smile behind his cup.
Lily, satisfied that justice had been established, went to make her own plate. Soon she sat a careful distance from Art, close enough to hear them, far enough to flee if spanking laws were abused again.
For a while, things were almost peaceful.
The sun hung warm over the lake. The water glittered. The horses grazed. The animals watched more lazily now. A few hens finally descended from the treehouse, though Mister Terminator remained above, refusing to endorse the gathering.
Art ate quickly, then slowed as if realizing the food deserved attention. Reinheart ate with quiet discipline, but he finished everything.
That made Lily feel strange, sort of proud and very useful. The feeling brought a memory with it of another lake, in another life.
Frank's family's place in the mountains. Sarah grilling food near the shore while Bruce took Frank fishing after Frank's parents had died. Frank had acted like he was fine, because Frank always acted like he was fine. Sarah had known better. Bruce had known better too, even if he had not known what to say.
So they had simply been there.
Fishing badly. Eating food as the sun sank behind the mountains. Drinking cheap soda and watching the water turn gold.
At the end, Frank had said a quiet thanks. Not dramatic, not tearful, just a small, rough thank-you for being there when he had not asked anyone to be.
Bruce had felt useful then.
Now Lily sat by her lake, feeding two strangers, and felt that same small warmth inside her chest. It scared her a little.
Art caught her looking and lifted one brow as he asked, "What?"
"Nothing," Lily said quickly, snapping her gaze away as her cheeks warmed for no good reason.
Art smiled at that, which only made it worse.
Reinheart watched the exchange without speaking. Something about the old man's silence reminded Lily of Sarah, though the two were nothing alike. Sarah had been warm and gentle, soft in the way she moved and spoke. Reinheart looked like he could wrestle a bear, defeat it, and then lecture it on poor discipline.
But he watched Art the way Sarah had watched Frank. Quietly, as if he did not need to be part of the happiness to be pleased by it.
Naturally, Art began boasting soon after.
He spoke of training, sword forms, monster hunting, long roads, great cities, Camelot, and beasts in the north. Lily listened despite herself, chewing slowly as she tried to decide how much was real and how much was rich-boy nonsense.
"What monsters?" she asked.
Art's eyes brightened. "Many kinds. Humanoid kinds, ocean-dwelling kinds, mountain kinds, things beneath mountains. Every place has its own monsters."
Lily frowned. "That not answer."
"It is a true answer."
"Bad answer."
Reinheart finally spoke. "Most things worth fearing come from beyond the River Rose. What you must know is simple: never go beyond it alone."
Lily looked at him. "What beyond river?"
Art blinked. "You do not know? Surely you have heard stories, at least."
"I ask because want know better."
Reinheart set down his empty cup. "The wildlands north of the river were once Lykan country. Some of their broken tribes still move there. Their males can grow beyond three meters tall, larger than our horses, and that is only the nearest danger."
Lily stared in awe.
Reinheart continued in the same low, steady voice. "There are ancient forests farther north, places grown over ruins from the Age of Darkness. Old peoples built there, then vanished. Those ruins still hold secrets. Some are worth finding. Many are worth leaving buried."
Art's smile faded a little.
"And beyond those," Reinheart said, "there are things that steal faces. Things that walk in the shape of men, beasts, and loved ones. Things that move only in shadow and never in light."
Lily sat very still. The wildlands suddenly sounded horrible, and extremely interesting.
"So…" she said slowly, "danger land very, very bad."
"Yes," Reinheart said.
Lily nodded with great seriousness. "I understand. No go danger land until ready."
Reinheart's gaze sharpened. "That is not what I said."
"It what I hear."
Art snorted into his cup.
Reinheart did not laugh. His eyes moved instead over the living wall, the garden, the clay town, the strange tools, the animals watching from every safe distance, and finally back to Lily.
"How do you know so little of Albion?" he asked.
Lily stiffened.
The question hit like a teacher calling on her when she had not read the book, did not know the subject, and possibly did not belong in the school.
Reinheart's voice remained calm, but the questions that followed came heavier. "Your speech is broken. You do not know the lands beyond the river. You do not know common names every village child hears. Who are you, child? Where are your parents? How old are you? How long have you lived here?"
His gaze lingered on her hair and eyes.
"And that coloring. I have never seen such hair and eyes together, though I have heard rumors."
The warmth in Lily's chest cooled. Just like that, the meal changed. The lake was still bright. The food was still warm. Bees still hummed lazily among the flowers. But the air around the three of them tightened until even the chickens on the roof seemed to notice.
Lily looked from Reinheart to Art. Both watched her, not cruelly, not yet, but closely. It was as if this was now an, Interrogation. Although not a professional one. Reinheart's method was too blunt. Too many questions at once. No soft opening. No proper rapport. Frank would have complained immediately.
But still.
They were asking for cards Lily could not afford to hand over.
She did not know these people. She did not know the laws. She did not know many things, or quite importantly why anyone cared about her hair and eyes. She had no papers, no village, no legal protection, and no adult standing behind her.
Telling the whole truth would be like throwing her knife into the lake and hoping wolves respected honesty.
So Lily did what any responsible former undercover officer, current lake president, and professional survivor would do.
She lied with truth.
"What mean, who am I?" she asked, making her voice offended instead of scared. "I am Lilypad. You call me Lily. That my name."
Art's brows lifted slightly.
Lily hurried on. "My papa from village of Einsway. I am here developing skills and making things to sell for coin. Also, I am super old, very old, old enough."
Reinheart's gaze did not soften.
Lily pointed at him suddenly. "And you ask rude things. Hair and eyes weird? That what you say? I no comment on your scars. I no say, hello old man, why face look like angry bear use you as scratching post."
Art made a strangled sound.
Reinheart blinked once.
Lily crossed her arms and looked away with a huff. "Also no ask girl age. Or weight. Very bad. Hurtful questions. Bad old man."
Silence fell.
For a long moment, Reinheart only stared at her. Then, surprisingly, he looked almost troubled.
"That was not my meaning," he said slowly. "I intended no insult."
Lily kept her face turned away. This was good, the offense shield was working, mostly.
"I meant only," Reinheart continued, clearly uncomfortable with the unfamiliar task of explaining himself to an upset child, "that your features are rare. Striking even. I wondered how such a child came to be alone here."
Before Lily could answer, Art moved. She heard the grass shift, and then he was beside her, crouching close enough that she stiffened. His hand came down lightly on her shoulder.
"Do not misunderstand," he said. "My master is terrible with words."
Reinheart looked at him.
Art ignored that wisely. "What he meant is that he has never seen someone like you. Clever, fierce, and…" His smile returned. "Cute."
The word hit Lily like a thrown rock. Her face burned.
"I am smart," she said quickly. "Very smart. Genius, possibly."
"Yes."
"And fierce."
"Obviously."
"And not cute."
Art's smile widened. "No, that part is also true."
Lily shoved at his chest without thinking. It did absolutely nothing. He was solid as a tree. That made her blush harder, which made her angrier, which made everything worse.
"You just saying that."
"I am not."
"Yes, you are."
"No."
"Yes."
"No. And I can prove it."
Lily narrowed her eyes. "Suspicious."
Art's smile sharpened.
"If you do not believe me, come with us to Castle Leo. You will hear praise there, and not empty praise either. Nobles do not hand out kind words for free. They weigh compliments like coin, and a duke's praise is worth more than most men's gold."
Lily narrowed her eyes. "That sound stupid."
"It is politics," Art said, as if that explained everything. "If a duke calls something impressive, then people remember it. If a duke calls someone remarkable, then suddenly everyone else discovers they always thought so too."
He glanced at her platinum blonde hair, her violet eyes, and the strange wild dignity she tried so hard to wear like armor.
"And Duke Leo would notice you," he added, almost absently. "Especially you. He has a fondness for rare and striking features. Pale hair, unusual eyes, northern blood, old blood, anything that looks difficult to find and harder to possess. The man is rather obsessed with keeping his line pure and impressive."
Lily went still as she heard the name, Leo. The name struck something old inside her. Not a memory, exactly. More like a sound heard through walls and water long ago. A name from before words made sense. A name wrapped in fear that was not hers and yet somehow lived beneath her skin.
Leo.
Her stomach tightened.
Art continued, unaware. "To be fair, he is also the second strongest warrior in the kingdom and the second richest man as well, so his vanity has some foundation."
Lily blinked through the strange feeling.
"Second?" she asked. "Who first?"
Art looked honestly offended that she had to ask.
"King Uther, of course. How do you not know that? Everyone knows that. Tavern keepers, village elders, travelers, children. What, have you lived in a forest your whole life?"
The words landed harder than he meant them to.
For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Then Lily stood so abruptly her plate nearly flew from her lap.
"Well, unlike you," she snapped, voice rising, "not everyone has stupid books and masters and people to tell them everything, you jerk!"
The clearing went quiet. Art's smile vanished. Reinheart looked at her. And Lily heard what she had just said.
Both of them were watching her now, not mockingly. Worse. Carefully. With that look she remembered from another life. The look people gave when they were not laughing at you, not calling you stupid, but seeing you as something pitiful anyway.
Poor thing. Poor idiot. Poor useless fool.
The anger drained out of Lily so quickly it left only cold behind. Suddenly, she was not president of anything. Not a warrior. Not a genius. Not a magical gardener. Not the brave ruler of a lake republic with chicken soldiers, fox treaties, and a clay town.
She was only a girl who had spent years alone in a forest because nobody had come back. No mother to explain blood, no father to teach names, no books, no village elder, no family, no one.
The thought opened inside her like a hole.
Maybe Mama and Papa had not come because they could not. Or maybe they had not come because they did not want her. Maybe they had left her because she was strange. Weird hair, weird eyes, weird words. A weird girl who did not know how to be a girl and could not be Bruce properly either.
Her vision blurred.
Art's face changed at once.
"Lily—"
She stepped back. No, absolutely not. She would not cry in front of him. Not in front of the berry thief. Not in front of Reinheart. Not in front of anyone.
But it was too late. Tears filled her eyes, hot and humiliating.
Art went pale. "I did not mean—"
Lily turned and ran. She heard him call after her. Heard grass crush beneath his boots as if he almost followed. Then Reinheart said something low, and Art stopped.
Lily did not.
She ran past the cooking stones, past the clay town, past the garden wall, and up the crooked steps into the treehouse. The moment she reached the woven platform, she curled into the corner and pressed her face into her knees.
She tried not to sob.
She failed. It came out small and ugly and broken. Years of swallowed loneliness rose all at once, and she hated it. Hated how weak she sounded. Hated how easily one stupid sentence had cut through everything she had built.
A soft cluck came from beside her.
Lily looked up through wet lashes. Old Miss Attitude sat nearby, round and dignified, watching her with ancient chicken judgment. Then Big Mama climbed up after her, followed by two hens and a small pullet who clearly had no idea what was happening but wanted to be included.
Further away, the roosters kept guard.
Lily wiped her face with the back of her hand, reached out and touched Miss Attitude's feathers gently.
"I know," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I not totally alone."
The words helped a little, only a little. Because deep down, sitting in the corner of her treehouse with chickens pressed around her and tears drying on her cheeks, Lily felt as if she were lying to herself. She was not ready to meet people. She was not ready for villages, castles, nobles, kings, laws, money, speech, manners, or any of the thousand invisible things normal people somehow knew without being taught.
And maybe she never would be.
In her old life, Bruce had not been ready either. Not really. He had stumbled through most things with Frank beside him and Sarah watching his back, both of them keeping him from doing something foolish whenever life became too complicated. Even becoming an undercover police officer had been less heroic than it sounded. The captain had once said Bruce looked so out of place that no criminal would ever believe he was a cop, which had not exactly been praise, no matter how professionally useful it became.
Maybe that was all Lily was. Useful by accident. Strange enough to be overlooked. Strange enough to survive. Strange enough to be laughed at.
Her chest hurt.
The first humans to reach her lake probably thought she was stupid. Weird. Feral. A sad little forest creature with bad speech, bad clothes, and no understanding of the world. Art had probably smiled at her only because he felt sorry for her. Reinheart had probably asked his questions because she looked like some problem that needed solving.
How was she supposed to face them again?
How was she supposed to climb down from this treehouse, stand in front of them, and pretend she had not cried like a pathetic child?
Below, something rustled.
Lily froze. Miss Attitude lifted her head. A moment later, Art's voice came from beneath the treehouse.
"Lily?"
Lily pressed her face harder against her knees.
He did not climb up. He only stood below, leaning against the tree in silence, which somehow made everything worse. If he had laughed, she could have hated him. If he had ordered her down, she could have refused. But he only waited, and that made her feel cornered by kindness she did not want.
"Go away," she snapped, though her voice broke halfway through. "You jerk. You not welcome at my lake. Find own lake. Let me be alone."
The words came out sharper than she meant.
The moment she said them, guilt twisted in her stomach. She did not really want him to go away. That made her angrier.
For a while, Art said nothing. Then he sighed.
"You know, Lily, I came here to say I did not mean to…" He stopped, as if the words had caught in his throat and offended him by existing. "No, forget it. I am not good at this."
Lily sniffed but did not answer.
Art sounded annoyed now, though less with her than with himself. "Whatever your problem is, crazy girl, you should deal with it. My master and I do not have time to sit under trees begging forgiveness from someone who tried to arrest me with chickens."
Lily's fingers curled against her knees.
"But," he added, quieter, "thank you for the meal. It was good. Very good. And your projects are not useless. If you truly mean to sell things one day, you might even make coin."
Lily blinked through fresh tears.
Art shifted below. "Also, learn Albion properly. Speaking with someone who only understands half the words and threatens war over the other half is exhausting."
Lily almost shouted at him again.
Then he spoke faster, as if trying to escape before he made things worse. "And Master Reinheart gives his apologies. He did not mean insult. Be satisfied with that, all right?"
Lily was not satisfied, not at all. She curled tighter, and a few more tears slipped down her face despite her best efforts.
Another silence passed.
Art did not leave. Instead, after a while, he spoke again, and this time his voice had lost some of its sharpness.
"Listen. I meant what I said before. You could come with us."
Lily's breath caught.
"We were sent to see whether anything dangerous was hiding in this forest," Art continued. "Bandits, maybe monsters, or some cursed nest of wild creatures. Something worth reporting. But now we know it is only you, your strange garden, and the terrifying military power of poultry."
Miss Attitude clucked softly, as if accepting the compliment.
Art went on. "So now with our quest complete, we will be headed to Castle Leo next. My master has business there, and so do I. If you came along, you would see many wondrous things, and learn many things as well. You could ask all the questions you wished. Eat food that was not made from acorns and personal stubbornness, good as it might have been."
Lily lifted her head slightly despite herself.
"And," Art added, with the faintest return of his usual arrogance, "our party of two could use some female power, someone quick. You are annoying, but you are good with that spear. Acrobatic too. A spear-wielding forest sidekick might be entertaining."
Lily's lips trembled. Sidekick? She was president. Still, the word warmed something in her chest.
Art hesitated. "There is also… the duke's daughter. Or bastard daughter, depending on which noble mouth is speaking. Leo has been spreading word of her recently. I am apparently one possible future marriage candidate, though I doubt much will come of it."
Lily did not understand all of that, but she understood enough to dislike it.
Art's voice turned teasing again. "If you came with us, everyone would stare. That girl would not stand a chance against you."
Lily's face warmed.
"I meant it," he said, softer this time. "You are cute, Lily. Strange, yes. Violent, badly spoken, and possibly an insane forest witch, but cute all the same."
He hesitated, then smiled faintly.
"And, for reasons I do not fully understand, I find several of those things rather charming."
Lily covered her face with both hands.
The hens stared at her.
"Anyway," Art said, clearing his throat, "if you will not come, then meet us in Einsway when we pass through on the return journey. We will likely stop there. I would like to see you again."
Lily's heart jumped.
Then his boots shifted in the grass. He was leaving. For one awful moment, Lily could not move. Her mind was a tangled mess of pride, fear, embarrassment, anger, and something bright and stupid that made her want to run down the steps and shout at him to say the nice parts again.
She crawled toward the railing and peeked over. Art was already walking away.
Lily opened her mouth, yet nothing came out.
If she called after him now, would she seem desperate? Would he laugh? Would he know she wanted him to stay? No, obviously, if he truly wanted her to come, he should return, apologize properly, praise her cooking again, and maybe call her cute one more time in a respectful diplomatic manner.
Yes, that was only reasonable.
Lily ducked back down, clutching her knees, heart fluttering in a way she did not approve of. By the time she found enough courage to look out again, the voices near the lake were gone.
The clearing had changed. The horses were gone. The black figures were gone.
Only the familiar sounds of the forest remained: leaves shifting, insects humming, water lapping softly at the shore. On the cabin roof, Mister Terminator stood proud and useless, watching the world with the stern dignity of a rooster who had contributed absolutely nothing.
Lily stared for a moment, then panic struck.
"They gone?"
She scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping over Big Mama, and leaned over the railing.
"Hey!" she shouted toward the trees. "Art! Old man! Where you go?"
No answer came. Lily's chest tightened with sudden, ridiculous betrayal.
"You jerks!" she cried. "Do not leave me! At least tell me real names or useful directions!"
Only Mister Terminator answered.
"Cock-a-doodle-do!"
Lily turned on him.
"Damn you, Terminator. Why not help? Sure, maybe not enemies in end, but bad boy still humiliate me. You just stand there. Useless military."
Mister Terminator puffed his chest. This did not improve her mood.
Angry now because anger was much easier than sadness, Lily rushed down the crooked steps from the treehouse. She reached the ground, ready to stomp around and declare several new laws against abandonment, when she froze.
Something black lay in the grass beneath the tree. Art's cloak. It had been folded neatly and left where she would see it.
For a moment, Lily only stared.
"Dummy," she whispered. "You forget cloak."
Then she frowned. No, Art was many bad things. But he was not stupid enough to forget a cloak that fine.
Which meant…
He had left it for her. Possibly as a gift, or an apology. At that thought the sadness inside Lily flew directly to sad land and died there.
She squeaked, leapt down the last step, and grabbed the cloak with both arms. Momentum carried her into a roll across the grass, but she did not care. She clutched the heavy black cloth to her chest and smiled so hard her face hurt.
The cloak was soft, thick, and better made than anything she owned. It smelled of smoke, leather, lake water, metal, horse, and the wild outside world. It smelled like travel. Like roads. Like a person who had come from somewhere and was going somewhere else.
It smelled like proof. Art had been here. People had been here. And maybe, maybe, one of them wanted her to follow.
Lily pressed her face into the cloak before she realized what she was doing. Warmth rushed into her cheeks and belly strangely. She jerked back and threw it onto the grass.
"No!" she shouted. "Bad cloak. Evil boy cloak. I no need."
The cloak lay there innocently. Lily glared at it. Then lunged and hugged it again.
"Only because good fabric," she muttered. "Strategic resource."
Without a second thought she tried it on. It was far too large. The hem dragged near her ankles, the shoulders swallowed her, and the dark cloth made her look like a tiny villain who had stolen laundry from a much taller villain. But it was warm, sturdy, and useful. Very useful for stealth especially.
That decided it.
Lily ran to the cabin roof and pulled the rusty knife free from what remained of her spear. The old blade was ugly, chipped, and more brown than silver, but it was still sharp enough to be useful. She wrapped it in a strip of leather, tucked it carefully into the waistband of her skirt, and grabbed two small pouches from the cabin. One she filled with berries, peas, and a few strips of dried fish. The other she filled with water.
It was not much: a skirt, a small handmade top, two clumsy pouches, one rusty knife, bare feet, and a black cloak far too large for her. It was not proper adventurer equipment. It was not even close. But for a quick scouting mission, and possibly maybe catching up with Art, it would have to do.
After adjusting the cloak around her shoulders, Lily looked up at Mister Terminator, who watched her from the cabin roof with stern military dignity. She pointed at him with great seriousness.
"Terminator. Look after house. If Mama or Papa comes, make them stay. At least one day. I not gone long. Maybe one day. Maybe two. No more, unless emergency or civilization complicated."
"Cock-a-doodle-do!" Mister Terminator declared.
Lily chose to interpret that as a solemn oath. The hens watched from the treehouse. Miss Attitude blinked slowly, old and unreadable, while Big Mama settled herself lower as if already preparing to nap through the crisis.
For a moment, Lily only stood there and looked around. The cabin, the clay town, the garden, the living wall, and the shining lake beyond it all stared back at her in silence.
Her kingdom.
Her home.
Then she turned toward the part of the forest where Rob had always disappeared when he left for Einsway. The path was easier to see now. Broken branches, crushed bushes, and fresh horse tracks marked where Art and Reinheart had ridden away.
For years, Lily had waited for people to come back. Now people had finally come, and they had left again. This time, she decided, she would not simply wait.
She would find civilization. At least see it. She would learn where Einsway was, learn the road, learn the village, and learn the shape of the world beyond her lake. Later, she would trade, make coin, become rich, improve her kingdom, and maybe become a properly educated person who knew useful things like kings, rivers, maps, prices, manners, and how not to cry when arrogant boys asked obvious questions.
Also, perhaps, she would meet Art again.
Not because she wanted to.
Obviously not.
He was annoying, rude, dangerous, too smug, too strong, and far too good at making her feel strange. He smelled like outside-world trouble and looked like rich-boy nonsense. She did not need him. She did not need any man or boy. She was fine on her own.
Completely fine.
Lily tightened the black cloak around her shoulders and pulled the hood up over her pale hair. The cloth swallowed her small frame, making her look less like a mysterious adventurer and more like a child pretending to be a dark forest wizard. Still, it felt right. Mysterious, practical, and very heroic.
"Just finding Einsway," she told herself. "For educational purposes. And future trade route. And coin."
She took one step into the forest, then another. Behind her, the animals of Lily's Lake watched with growing concern. Chickens lined the roof. Mice peered from New Town. Squirrels clung to branches. Somewhere near the garden wall, Scar the fox sat in the grass and stared as if wondering whether humans had finally infected Lily with stupidity.
Lily ignored them all.
She picked up her pace and ran barefoot between the trees, following the old memory of Rob's path and the fresh trail of horse tracks leading away from the lake. From the roof of the moss-covered cabin, Mister Terminator lifted his head and crowed into the bright afternoon sky, his rooster children joining after him like an uncertain military choir.
"Cock-a-doodle-do!"
And Lily, wrapped in a cloak too large for her and carrying more courage than sense, ran toward civilization.