Rhoswyn stumbled out of the Wardwood into the brilliant light of dawn, squinting and blinking as her eyes tried to adjust. Her face was scratched and her strawberry-blond tresses were tangled and snarled and full of leaves and the sturdy cloth of her riding dress was soaked with mud from the knees down, threatening to trip her with every step.
Clutched to her breast was a small, warm totem, a black-and-white stone stag that she cradled to her like a baby bird as she made her weary way across the field that separated Oldcastle from the Wardwood. She wanted to hope that if she hurried back, she’d have time to sneak back upstairs before her governess discovered that she’d been gone. But the scratches on her face and the state of her clothes alone meant that there was no hope of her rebellion going unnoticed. Add to that the disappointingly high position of the sun, and she’d be surprised if she made it back to the inn before Ms. Gaynesford had roused the entire town to come search for her.
Indeed, there was a small crowd in the inn’s common room when she finally staggered inside, pale with the chill of the morning and more tired than she’d ever been in her life. The way every face turned to look at her was distinctly disconcerting, but nothing could have prepared her for what happened next.
It started with the familiar grip of cold, wiry fingers around the back of her neck- Ms. Gaynesford always had terribly cold hands- and she was bodily spun around to face her governess. They stared at one another for several long moments; Rhoswyn’s blue eyes wide as she could feel herself starting to shake, Ms. Gaynesford’s rheumy brown ones narrowed suspiciously as she took in her ward’s mud-spattered and disheveled appearance.
When Ms. Gaynesford was angry, her face went pale with two spots of high color on her cheekbones, and she began to breathe hard. Just now, she was white as a sheet. The spots of color on her cheeks weren’t much lighter than the crimson blood that had dripped from a thorn-scratch on Rose’s cheek onto the antlers of her precious burden. And the old woman was drawing great breaths through her nose like an angry bull, as if she’d just run the entire length of the town and back.
It wouldn’t have surprised Rose particularly to find that she had done precisely that, calling her name the entire way.
“You’ve been in the Wood.” Ms. Gaynesford’s voice was cold, with a tiny quiver in it that Rhoswyn had never heard before. The girl nodded mutely, quailing at the glint of unadulterated wrath that sparked in the older woman’s eyes.
So focused on Ms. Gaynesford’s expression was Rose that she was taken completely by surprise when the slap landed. The pain sparked through her whole being, centered on her left cheek that was already starting to throb in time with her pulse as she picked herself up off the floor. She still clutched the tiny totem to her chest as she looked up at her guardian with wide, tear-filled eyes.
“You were expressly forbidden from entering that wood by not only myself but your father. What possible reason could you have had to defy us? You could have been eaten! By wolves!”
As if being eaten by something else would have been better. It was an uncharacteristically rebellious thought that snaked its way through Rhoswyn’s mind as anger started to win out over shock and fear.
Keenly aware of the many eyes watching this display, Rose felt herself flushing. She had told them that she needed to come. She hadn’t slept in three days prior to making the journey. She’d had to beg, plead, and cry just to persuade her father to agree to the trip in the first place, and she hadn’t known why at the time so she could no more have explained than fly to the moon.
“I had to,” she began, holding out the totem, cupped carefully in both of her hands. It was still so warm, much warmer than her chilled skin should have made it, and she rued her dirt-smeared fingers against the pristine white and black of the stone. “I had to... It... it was calling,” she stammered. Between the exhaustion of having spent the whole night on the move and the shock of having been slapped to the ground by the woman who had raised her, she was shaking like a leaf and couldn’t find the words. But it seemed her governess understood, her eyes widening at the sight of the tiny statue in horrified recognition.
“Chosen... Oh, no.” Looking suddenly even older than she had in the throes of her anger, Ms. Gaynesford slumped, pinching the bridge of her nose and sighing. “Go upstairs and freshen up. We are leaving, and I hope you are aware that your father will be deeply displeased with your disobedience.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Rose answered humbly, deflating as the rush of excitement left her and reality began to set in. “I’m s-”
“Don’t even say it, you spoiled little brat,” Ms. Gaynesford snapped, interrupting Rose for the first time the girl could remember. “I’ve lost count of the times I’ve told your father he was too permissive with you. I see now it was all completely in vain. I pity your eventual husband. Now upstairs! MARCH!”
Rose didn’t so much march as scurry, her totem again clutched tight to her breast and tears streaming down her cheeks. She had never expected such anger from Ms. Gaynesford, and her heart was a cold lump in her throat as she wondered if she’d misjudged her father as well. Only time would tell, but either way it was going to be a very long, uncomfortable trip back to Palisade.
