Definitely not running away

  Of Erinthrain - with bindings, old bedecked.

  Fair city ‘pon the plain

  Where topless towers of white and gold

  Of light and air, enthrone the sky

  Between the mountains grey and cold

  And over all, with wisdom ruled

  Nasnariath the king

  The riches of the royal horde

  Were deep and wide and cold and bright

  With gold as old as mountain steep

  And diamonds hauled from chasm deep

  And yet the king had treasures four

  Treasures of his heart’s delight

  Four there were he loved the best

  Above all others that he prized

  Above all others he possessed

  These treasures were not gold but flesh

  These treasures were his daughters.

  Llenadriel, pure as a dove,

  Meriviel, was fierce as death

  Fentallion, was fae and fell

  The youngest child was named Llanneth

  She was the king’s best love.

  The Lady Fentallion, Miradel of Erinthrain, was definitely not running away. She wore a shapeless cloak that she had borrowed from Gwynn's chest. It covered most of her brightness, she had checked this in a mirror, though you could still see her eyes. She had a pack with bread and cheese. She had her small white dagger. She assumed she would have to catch her own food at some point, and she had a pretty good idea that this would involve a knife.

  She wondered if she should have brought her bow too, the one Father had brought last time he came to visit, but she had never learned how to use it and this seemed like the wrong time to be messing around with new things. There was enough to think about without worrying about arrows.

  Behind her, the arch led back into the welcoming warmth of the Caer Llandrel. Before her, the Mercian trees rushed and swayed, insects danced in the afternoon sunshine, squirrels leapt from tree to tree, birds sang strange songs.

  "Just a walk", she said to herself. "Just to the next valley, and then maybe the next, and then maybe West onto the mountains. Piece of cake. I'll be home before they miss me. Definitely not running away."

  She glanced up at the sun. She was pretty sure it did set in the west. It looked like the afternoon, so if she followed it, that ought to be more-or-less correct? Maybe she should stop and eat something? Maybe better to get some distance first? Maybe better just to walk and stop trying to think everything through?

  She followed a winding track that meandered around trees, but it petered out almost right away. She wandered on blindly, then almost immediately reached a cliff, a hundred feet straight down. She wondered if she was supposed to have brought a rope. As it happened, she didn't need one. She shimmied on round and found a way, skidding on her bottom and kicking up a cloud of dust.

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  The sun was setting for real now and the air was growing cool. How cold would it get, she wondered. Would she build a fire? She wished Tamberlyn were there with her now. She kept expecting him to burst out of the trees, laughing at her for being so silly. Never again seemed like an awfully long time now.

  One moon, she had one whole moon. Tamberlyn had waited a month outside the wall and she'd hardly noticed the time pass. She could certainly be back before the next moon. Two weeks walking towards the setting sun, two weeks walking away from it. Simple.

  Definitely not running away.

  The sun was getting low in the sky, so she found a flattish place to sleep. Gwynn's cloak was warm enough when she wrapped it around herself. She put her bag under her head as a pillow. It was lumpy, the cheese dug into her ear, so she worked her head back and forth until the cheesy corners flattened out. Little insects were buzzing around her head. More little insects were wriggling around under her back. Maybe she should sleep up a tree? Where did people sleep in the woods anyhow?

  "Not running away," she said, under her breath.

  The night was dreadful. Each time she had to turn over, she woke with something digging in one part of her or another. An owl woke her, ghosting down close to her face on silent wings. She woke to the cry of a fox, like the screaming of a child. She hunkered down further under the cloak and shivered, trying to make herself dim.

  The next morning was miserable. Her head felt as though it had been stuffed with oily rags. a light drizzle was floating in the air, blowing up the back of her cloak and in her ears. She needed to wash, brush her teeth, and drink something, but then she remembered she had forgotten to bring water.

  "Water. Is important. In the woods." She made a mental note for next time. Next time she would bring a bottle. for now, she would have to make do.

  It was just a logical puzzle to solve, she could do it if she could think it through and ignore the pounding in her skull.

  Rivers have water, and water flows downhill, so if I walk downwards, then maybe...

  She slung her bag over her shoulder, which smelt of warm squashed cheese, and headed down the hill.

  Halfway down the slope, she came to a scooped-out flattish place. There was an odd triangular shape here, covered in branches. It was... she ducked back into the trees and crouched down, heart beating in her ears.

  It was a tent, and a tent meant people. She kept very still. There was no sound, save a distant rushing of water. The tent was covered in dry sticks and bird droppings, it had been out here for ages. Tamberlyn! Tam had slept out here when he had waited for her!

  She climbed out of her hiding place, unhooking briars from Gwynn's cloak. She could almost smell his stupid farm boy smell. There was a rope, tied between two trees, and a cloth slung over it and weighted at the corners with big stones. He had piled up dry leaves to make a soft place to sleep. Best of all, there were two glass bottles, though the water in them looked a little green.

  It was everything she needed, almost as though he had left her a little instruction book. She unset the tent, gathered up all the camping things, then improvised a little pack out of the rope and oilcloth. When it was done, she felt ludicrously pleased with herself.

  "Not running away" she said to herself again, then set off towards the sound of the rushing stream with a song in her heart.

  You can leave a . It might seem like a small thing, but it really helps me.

  I'd also love it if you left a comment. I love reader theories. I also hand out rep pretty freely, so, win-win.

  Sincerely,

  Nicholas Johannesen