Author's Note: I read through Scarlet again and decided it needed a little fixing. So I edited the entire thing.
Scarlet
By: RaspberryGirl
Shortly after Scarlet and Coren passed the last house of St. Jordan, they reached a barren hillside, consisting only of rock and dirt. It was an easy climb; the slope was gentle, and the "hill" wasn't much taller than Coren himself.
At the top, there was a level of flat land where the Briarwood grew. Sparse patches of dry grass dotted the ground here and there, clustering more abundantly around the edges of the forest. Nervously, the Prince looked around. A mass of thorny tangles that was the Briarwood reached out to him. The air was heavy with the odor of age and decay, mixed with an eerie silence.
"Come on." Scarlet beckoned to him, then stepped into the Briarwood without hesitation.
The forest grew thick and wild, like a mass of weeds, leaving very little room for a human to squeeze through, much less a human on horseback. A smug smile spread across Scarlet lips, and she glanced back at Coren. So far, he was keeping up, ignoring the thorns that scratched his face, pushing away the skeletal branches that clawed at his hair and clothing.
Humph, thought Scarlet. She turned her attention to finding the small iron poles her father had placed among the bramble long ago. They marked a trail.
For the rest of the morning and possibly half the afternoon, Scarlet and Coren traveled on at a steady pace. The deeper they ventured into the forest, the lusher it began to grow. Fringes of green tinted the tops of the thorn-trees and an increasing number roses began to bloom. The perfume gradually began to overpower the musty smell of centuries, until the scent was almost suffocating. And the Briarwood still pressed against Scarlet and Coren, forcing both of them to constantly swat away low-hanging thorn limbs or circle around an overgrown hedge.
At last, when Scarlet sensed that Coren was about to collapse from fatigue and an empty belly if they trudged any further, they arrived at a small clearing filled with stones.
"We'll stop here and eat a little before we move on," the girl announced. She settled herself on one of the rocks and began unpacking her sack, offering Coren a loaf of bread and a bit of cheese. Without a word of thanks, the Prince snatched up the food as if he were a pauper who had just come across a piece of gold and flitted away. Scarlet scowled at him.
"What?" he snapped. "Why are you staring?"
"Never mind."
The silly extravagance of Coren's clothing caught Scarlet's eye. It was the kind of attire—all gold and glittery—that ballad princes wore. It was too lavish for this journey, too lavish even for a royal hunting expedition.
"My clothes," Coren muttered, following her gaze. "They're ruined."
Indeed, there were many rips and tears in his fine garments, especially about the sleeves. A pink scratch extended from his cheekbone to the corner of his mouth, and a leaf in his hair stuck out comically.
The corner of Scarlet's mouth twitched, but she fought the urge to smile. "We'd better get going." She stood.
Another hour or so dragged by as the Prince following Scarlet. Roses of every red tint and shade grew abundantly on both sides of the trail now, their fallen petals making a velvet carpet on the ground. A silence still brooded over the Briarwood like a storm, but once in a while, there were noises. A trill that was too sweet to have come from a bird, a rippling laugh too silvery to have come from a brook. The sounds made Scarlet's skin tingle.
All of a sudden, the Prince burst out, "What kind of grandmother lives in such a place? This wood is cursed!"
"What makes you say that?" asked Scarlet, up ahead.
"There are thorns that would strangle you, roses that would smother you. And who knows what other evils lurk in the shadows beyond? Is your grandmother fearless? Or just ignorant of these things?"
"My grandmother lives here for her own purposes."
"What is she, then?" cried Coren. "A sorceress? A witch who hides from the townsfolk?"
Scarlet shot Coren a particularly cold glare over her shoulder. "I guess you could call her a witch. Or 'sorceress' if that pleases you. It doesn't matter. Such names are what you always call people you don't understand. Or those who understand more than you."
The Prince opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came to mind. He caught up with Scarlet who had been about six paces ahead. The girl had stopped walking, staring at something to her left with a perplexed expression.
Author's Note: Ah! Don't stop now! Chapter five isn't over yet! There's more! (Due to updating conflicts, I split this chapter in two). Oh yeah, I think Katie Holmes (is that how you spell it?) would make a good Scarlet.