Never had there been an instance where time had been more of the essence. A huntsman takes his time, waits for the opportune moment to strike, but never does he take the time given to him for granted. He knows that each creature is gifted with the next day they see, and he knows that each gift can be given so that another life can be sustained. He knows, that time along with the terminus of life, are the only guarantees in existence. Time is unlimited, just as all life must reach its limit.

Time is precious, he acquiesces. It coincides with life, and so should be spent respectfully and with due regard to the happiness of loved ones and one's own contentment. Above all, it should not be spent doing the bidding of others. Life was full of choices, some given, some taken away, and some left dangling before your eyes for you to grasp at and bargain for.

She'd been waiting for him.

The men had rode ahead of him, now free from the entanglement of their reins and free of any dignity. They were all headed back to the kingdom with their tails between their legs, returning though they had no prize. They rode at speed, and though they had no dignity and no bounty to return with, they at least had a lingering sense of honour and goodwill. They had that, even if it was the only thing they had.

Graham, however, their elected leader, had held back. He had failed. How could he return to a loving mother and father, pining for their runaway daughter, with the news that she didn't want them? He was in no hurry to deliver that news, despite the flash he'd seen in those green eyes.

He and his mount had moved at a slow trot.

It wasn't until the rest of the hunting party had rode out of sight that she'd made her presence known.

In the middle of the road, lilac smoke dissipating like scattered dust before he'd even fully registered what was happening.

"Halt," she'd ordered needlessly, already advancing on him with a cast-iron determination he'd found unnerving.

He shared his mare's confusion and felt her hesitate beneath him, before coming to a standstill. She'd been as startled as he'd been. Startled, but not scared. Peculiar. He knew this woman; she'd once struck fear into the hearts of everyone in the land, and she still did. For entirely different reasons. Graham hadn't seen 'merciless witch' in her eyes; he'd seen a woman who'd do anything, a woman forlorn. A Queen determined.

"Who are-"

Silence, she'd lifted her palm, effectively cutting him off.

"When you return to Snow White, you will convince her to let you continue the search for the princess," she'd reached his side now, glaring up at him. "It shouldn't be too difficult. Even for you."

He'd watched her then, pulling out a mirror of all things from the inside of her cloak. He'd looked to her perfectly sculpted hair, then back to her equally perfect face. He couldn't imagine a single strand falling out of place, less the need to check for such an occurrence.

"Why should I do this? The princess obviously didn't want to be hounded. She's rather good at evasion, too. What makes you think I'll succeed alone where I failed with the help of eight other-"

She'd raised her hand yet again, this time silencing him with the view in the mirror. What he saw made his heart palpitate.

"You will succeed, because should you fail, you will never see your companion again," she paused to tilt her head in absent consideration, inspecting the ornate frame of the mirror. "Well, you'll see parts of him."

Graham's jaw had tightened, his eyes darted around the surrounding tree line, narrowing. He'd been so enveloped in his own guilt of a failed hunt that he'd failed to notice the lack of his loyal namesake's presence. His knuckles whitened around leather. That wickedly curved smile had only further infuriated him.

"I trust we have an understanding?" she'd said, phrasing her words as a statement of fact rather than a question for him to answer. It hung clear in the air between them that they both knew the answer.

"Good," she tucked the mirror back into place, the picture of white fur and a barred enclosure fading as he watched. "Report back to this spot by the sixteenth hour. Do not be late."

With that, she'd smacked the horse's rear, spearing her into a canter. By the time he'd scrambled comfortably into the saddle and looked over his shoulder, not even the lilac smoke remained to signal that she'd ever been there.

It was still light by the time Graham had finally managed to exit the castle and it's surrounding town. A surprising feat given the amount of times he had been interrupted.

The first stalling had been by the men who'd joined him on the first hunt for the Rider. They had wanted to join him on a more permanent basis, as though they thought they could be some sort of hunting brigade, a band of merry men. They were ludicrous. How they'd even earned renown in their own right had been beyond him. That, coupled with the fact that he was a lone wolf had quickly ended that encounter.

Only to be met by another, this time in the form of a young boy who'd stepped in the way just as he'd turned a corner. He looked like he belonged in the castle; the gold-trimmed, black buttoned-down tunic screamed nobility, though the knees of his riding pants and the toes of his boots were scuffed. The youngster had merely grinned up at the man, clutching a small black book to his chest, oddly bound with a spiralling metal coil. The boy had pulled out a white quill from between its pages, before hurtling back the way he'd came.

Graham had never been one to be easily shaken or off-put; he had far too much of a subdued demeanour to be so easily effected, no matter the obscurity of a situation. The day's goings-on had been a great deal more than absurd, they'd been borderline surreal. Now, the only thing of importance was his brother, locked away in the dungeon of an evil Queen. Such annoyances as an oddly grinning boy and a band of foolhardy men were to be ignored and paid no mind.

He'd made it to the road, though he wasn't certain of the time, it was still light. He was sure he'd be made aware of his punctuality.

"You're late."

As if on cue, Graham tugged his mount to a stop, searching for the voice. She stepped out from the side of the road.

"Dismount and tell me everything."

He did.

He told her about the deadline he'd been given and exactly how many days that left him with. He hesitated about divulging some of the details of the conversation, but the Queen seemed to notice right away, and one glare from her had him mentioning the offer of knighthood, the place on the council that King James had given him should he succeed in his mission.

"The Harvest Moon festival," the Queen repeated with a scoff, seemingly uninterested in the offer Graham had been given. She seemed to mull something over in her mind before continuing. "Make sure you get the Rider to that gathering. By any means at your disposal."

She began to turn away. His words paused her.

"Why? Why is it so pivotal to you that she be back with her family?"

He watched as her head turned on her shoulders. He couldn't see her eyes, but the sudden tension in her spine told him he'd hit a nerve.

"I should think, Huntsman, that your only concern should be the return of your dog to you in one piece."

"Wolf," he instinctively corrected, his gaze boring into her back as she turned away again.

"Indeed."

She'd turned on the spot then, and was gone. Graham swatted at the purple smoke now billowing around him, wondering if he had any choice other than to do as the evil queen instructed. Quickly, he realized that the luxury of choice had been taken from him along with his companion. The Queen had taken the bonds of love, attachment and relation and wielded them to her own advantage as she'd done countless times before, he had no doubt. It was the sore truth that love could be wielded as skillfully and as devastatingly as any weapon. It was the blade that hung above his head, the knife to his throat and the rope at his neck.

He would get Emma Swan, and he would get his wolf.