The Quest For Hope

The Escape: Chapter Seventeen

Elsa smiled. The sun warmed her face and hands, the birds sang hello, and a soft breeze whispered congratulations to her. She had made it. She was free. Elsa opened her eyes and looked around to get her bearings. She could see the hill she had rolled down. It was steep and covered with rocks of varying sizes. She ran her fingers over her ribs and winces; they were still sore. Tall trees shielded her from too much sunlight. The soothing murmur of nearby river danced in her ears.

Half of her mind focused on her soft noises of the world around her and the other half held back, listening to the remains of the eerie silence the forest had left in her.

Elsa felt vulnerable. Her freedom cost her more than she wanted to admit. She had escaped, but to what? Questions flooded her mind, concerns she wishes she had thought about before. But before she could plan her future, she needed to take off today. That meant food, fire, and someplace safe to sleep.

Her stomach growled in agreement. Pushing off the nagging thoughts, she focused on finding the sweet berried and thimble berried that grew in the brambles.

After hours of foraging for berried, she gave up. She had found enough to satisfy her hunger, with a little left over. Red and purple juices stained the bottom of her apron, matching the scattered bruises along her body. Dark shadows underlined her eyes, and her hair had collected itself in one giant tangle. She was a mess. Non would mistake her for a princess now.

If only Anna could see her, she thought with a chuckle that quickly soured regret.

Being full did not solve all her problem. The darkness snuck up on her. The hours of berry picking had left little time for her to make a shelter or fire. Before she could do more than lean some fallen branches over a rock, she could hardly see her hands. Without a fire, the darkness engulfed her. 

The darkness seemed to escalate the noises of the forest, driving her further under the sticks, closer to the rocks. She hadn't noticed the other sounds before. But not that she was alone, the noises of the wilderness, crunching branches, rustling leaves, chirping birds, coos, and scratched, rushed at her.

Her eyes dropped, weary from the long day. The moment they shut, memories of the brutal attack surface. She could clearly hear their screams. Shuddering at the thoughts, she tried to remember the last happy experience she remembered: the tournament. She drifted off to sleep.

She awoke the neck day, started. Birds chirped on the branches above her. Sunlight peeked through several holes in her roof where smaller sticks had fallen away. The morning frost had settled over her, dampening her clothes and feet. Her back itched from the dirt that had settled on her dress and skin. With a loud yawn, she stretched and looked around at her new home. The green trees sparkled with drops of dew, the river bubbled in the background, and soft streams of light shone on and around her. She glanced at the base of the tree where she had hidden her extra berries. Nothing remained. She awoke cold, empty-handed, and confused.

She didn't even have a weapon to protect herself. The dagger, although useful up close, as awkward to handle and did not pose enough of a threat to stop someone, at least not when she uses it. She had learned that the hard way.

Looking around the forest, she decided to fix that first. She needed something bigger, something more dangerous. Tying up her tangled mess of hair, she got to work. 

The hike to the river was shorter than she had anticipated. Guided by the sound of the waves, she climbed over fallen logs, around rocks and through soft mud. When she arrived at river's edge, it exceeded her expectation. A pathway of rocked crossed it at several points. Gentle waves rolled over and around the natural paths in soft ripped. Kneels down at the edge, she looked at her reflection and smiled. She hardly recognised herself. Except for her telltale blue eyes, she looked a simple village girl.

The water refreshed her as she washed her hands and face. Taking a step back, she glanced over the forest and river.

"Aha!" She exclaimed running to a large oak tree where a forked branch jutted out from the roots. She knelt, grabbing the stick with all her might, feeling the rocks digging into her knees. Pain raced up her legs from all her bruises, but she kept going. She needed to get the stick free. Falling back when it broke, she cried out sharply. Her face crinkled both from pain and surprise.

She grabbed a handful of rocks, tossing and weighing each in turn. the discarded rocks skipped the surface of the river with a plunk. Looking through the variety of quartz, river rocks, and gravel, she finally settled on a large chunk of slate. Holding her forked stick in one hand and her stone in her other, she got to work. 

Ripping a small strip of her apron, she tied the rock into the forked branches of the stick. Once complete, her staff rivalled a knight's club. A crude version, certainly, but workable for what she needed. 

Her first swings were awkward. the unbalanced weight threw her off, knocking her over and pulling her behind her swing. But slowly she became comfortable and proficient. For a moment, even with the lack of shelter, food, and fire, she felt secure.

That moment didn't last long. She hiked back to her camp and saw her shelter once more. As she looked at the pile of leaves she had used as a blanket and the sticks that covered her bed. She began to doubt.

 Leaning her new club against the tree, she sat down to think. Her fingers struggled with her tangled hair as she turned she ragged mess into a braid. In her mind, she relieved previous days.

Her mind spun with images of vivid colours, wondrous cheers, and excitement. She saw the blue silk gown her father had given her and the moment of nervousness in his eyes as she twirled around the corner. She also remembered it lying n a heap on her floor, discarded in her act of defiance. 

She recalled the ball and the light melody that the musicians had played. The sweet stringing of chords flowed like a river. Couples twirled around the dance floor, obvious to her tantrum. Honoured guests, ignored and mocked by her reaction. 

And the tournament, filled with acrobats, knights, mock battles, excitement, and skill. It was an event unlike any other she had seen. She could remember the thumping of horses matching her heartbeat, the thrill she had felt as Sir Jack moved up the leaderboard and the warmth of the cheers around her. Painfully, she remembered her long run back to the castle.

All at once, she realised how her own actions had marred the beauty of her memories. How had her stubbornness blocked her from seeing the reasons behind her father's demands? 

Elsa sighed deeply. When it came down to it, she had gotten what she had wanted. On her own, in the forest, she had no one to answer to, no demands to follow, and no life choices made without her consent. Here, she had everything she wanted. Why wasn't she happy?

Deep in her heat, she knew the answer. And she knew what she had to do. Grabbing her club, she started back toward the river. She didn't know the way exactly, but she knew the river would lead her to the outskirts of the village.

The smile on her face melted. In the distance, beneath the soft chirping of birds, a low rumble. Leaning into the tree, she heard the galloping of hooves coming closer and closer.

"Someone's coming," she said. holding the club against her chest, feeling the racing of her heart as it throbbed in and out, she waited. Hugging her body against the tree, she closed her eyes and listened as the horse approached her hiding spot. 

The rumbling grew to a roar. Her mind raced with images of bandits on horses. She envisioned the burly men who had captured her, the cruel way they had looked at her, and the screams of the village girl. With that image firmly in her mind, she jumped out from behind the tree and swung with all her might.

The club vibrates out of her hands as it connected with the rider. He crashed to the forest floor with a resounding thud.

The thrill of her success disappeared as she looked from the horse to the man. Covered in blue and silver of her kingdom, he looked familiar. She gasped in recognition.

"Sir Jack," she said, falling to her knees beside him. "Jack," she whispered, moving his hair out of his eyes.

"Princess," he whispered. "Your eyes..." his voice off to silence.