Jester paused, gasping for breath, outside of Dragon's cave. It was no small climb up the mountain, and it was that sort of sweat-inducing exercise that made him glad he was not training to be a knight.

"You again, Jingle-boy?" Dragon stepped out of his cave and looked down his nose at Jester, who smiled a little nervously.

"Me again, Dragon," he agreed. "Pepper said to tell you she will have to tip out the cabbage stew, soon. It is beginning to make an awful stench."

Dragon's stomach rumbled loudly, the sound echoing through the cave. Jester tried not to look too hopeful as he watched conflict play across the giant green face. They had been trying to bribe him down from the cave ever since Jane had left, but Dragon had stubbornly clung to his sulks. Jester was convinced that not even Prince Cuthbert could be so childish.

As the last of the echoes faded like distant thunder, Dragon drew himself up to his full and imposing height, and folded his arms. "I have already told you, I shall live on skyleaf, swamp weed and tufted cave grass until Jane returns." He grimaced briefly, before glaring at Jester. "Is that a problem?"

"Oh, no, not at all! Good for the figure, I hear. Not that there's anything wrong with your figure, of course!" Jester offered a wobbly smile as Dragon's glare intensified. "I just –uh, I shall be going, now. Songs to write, history to learn. Those scrolls will not read themselves!" Jester back-pedalled to the cave mouth and then turned and sprinted down the mountain, marvelling as he always did that the return journey was so much faster.

"I have an idea," said Smithy.

He, Pepper and Rake were all standing in the garden, listening to Jester as he described his visit with Dragon. The quartet stood some distance from the kitchen, which smelt rather strongly of cabbages. It was apparent to all that Pepper was almost at her wits' end, torn between wanting to care for Dragon in Jane's absence and trying to maintain her kitchen. Adding to her stress was the fact that the king had mentioned more than once that even he was growing tired of cabbage-tainted food.

Smithy had clearly decided that it was time something was done, and he set off for the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as he went.

Jester and Rake exchanged a look as the smith disappeared into the gloom. Jester took a great breath and pinched his nose closed as they prepared to follow, only to stumble backwards quickly as Smithy re-emerged.

The pot was large and heavy, the one Pepper used when preparing food for a banquet –or for Dragon. Years of heavy work had given Smithy strong arms, but they were stretched to their limits hauling the great pot of cabbage stew up the stairs.

He set it down and stood up, rolling his shoulders and staring straight ahead. Jester and Rake followed his gaze through the garden, the archway, and the training yard to the outer wall of the castle.

"Right then," said Smithy, and lifted the pot again.

The dense, dark forest was like another world. A world where a sworn knight-in-training would blindly follow a werewolf into the unknown. The situation was absurd, but Jane no longer knew what to think. As a knight, she had duties to protect the defenceless from threats such as, well, werewolves. Yet here she was, swearing to help, to defend . . . but this was not simply a cursed stranger or a monster in a human body. This was Gunther.

As a comrade, she had sworn loyalty to Gunther almost as much as to her king, and despite a few old hard feelings she knew she could never betray his trust, and certainly not kill him. But beyond that, Jane truly did want to help him, as any true friend should. She had come to realise over the years that under all his empty boasts and harsh words, Gunther had made sacrifices to help her, and never sought any compensation, or even acknowledgement.

Although the circumstances could have been far better, Jane was glad for a chance to show that she knew, and had not forgotten.

Gunther himself seemed much happier after their talk the night before. His head was up, his movements almost effortless, and now and then he would give a toothy smile.

He was following his nose, he had told Jane, and she knew it was not entirely a jest. She had not quite been able to find the breath, or even the curiosity to ask exactly what he was following. The forest made for hard going, with its thick, unyielding undergrowth, and the roots of ancient trees waiting to trip any unwary traveller. The trees themselves grew close and tall, easily reaching upwards to heights far greater than the tallest castle tower.

It was difficult to tell even what time of day it was, as the sun had no hope of breaking through the heavy foliage. They had entered the forest early that morning, and the going had been so hard that Jane had lost all track of time. She was just drawing the breath to insist they stop, when Gunther's retreating back suddenly vanished completely from view, leaving a triumphant "Ah ha!" behind him.

"What?" gasped Jane before she too fell forward and staggered onto flat, civilised ground.

"A path, I knew it!" exclaimed Gunther, glancing around as Jane caught her balance.

"You could not have found this earlier?" Jane panted, hands on knees.

Gunther looked affronted, and gazed down at her from the lofty heights of his old superiority. "We did well to find it at all, coming in from the angle we did. However, if you think you could do better without me . . . ." He waved vaguely in the direction of the trees.

Jane huffed, and folded her arms, and tried not to look pleased that he was acting like his former self.

The oversized pot sat on the castle wall, and Smithy stood beside it, calmly taking in huge lungfuls of air and stretching his arms. To the amazement of Rake, Pepper and Jester, the smith had barely spilled a drop during the entire climb up the stairs.

The group now stood in full view of Dragon's cave, although their 'inferior short-life eyes' could not easily make it out.

"Shall I call out to him?" asked Jester. "Perhaps sing a song about the impending doom of this cabbage stew?" His lute was at the ready, and he was preparing to mount the battlements, but Smithy shook his head.

"No more pleading," he said, and tipped the stew over the wall.

Pepper gasped in dismay at such a waste, and the stench of cabbage grew more potent before the wind picked it up and took it away towards the mountain.

Smithy pulled the pot back, still half full of stew, just as Dragon descended and snatched it from the wall, quickly draining its contents. He burped loudly, igniting some of the surplus gas he had stored from his limited diet.

The castle staff had just enough time to duck before the stream of flame passed over them, with Rake instinctively throwing his arms around Pepper and Jester clutching his lute against his chest.

Dragon then tossed the pot back into the castle yard, where it landed with a loud clang, directed a haughty glare towards Smithy in particular, and then took off back to his cave.

As they stood dusting off their clothes, Pepper looked back down at the somewhat dented pot laying in the yard.

"I suppose I shall have to start on another batch now," she sighed.

"No," said Smithy, laying a gentle restraining hand on her arm as she headed for the stairs. "Let him ask, first. In the meantime I shall hammer out that pot."

Dragon was back in the yard by the following noon.

They had been travelling along the path for some time before Jane had felt revived enough to ask the question that had begun to bother her.

"Are you certain we are travelling the right way?"

"I am sure of it." Gunther didn't even hesitate before answering.

"How are you sure?"

"Instinct."

Jane stopped short, causing Gunther to do the same when he realised she was no longer following. He turned and looked back quizzically.

"Gunther . . ." began Jane, before pausing and considering her words. "Gunther, whose instinct?"

Gunther blinked in confusion, before comprehension dawned on his face. "Jane," he took a step towards her and then stopped, as though afraid his nearness was unwanted. "You swore an oath to help me, though I will not force you to uphold it." He raised a hand as Jane began to protest. "Now let me swear an oath in return. I will not lead you to your doom, Jane. If you do not return from this quest unharmed, I shall never be a knight. I swear it."

Silence settled as the two gazed briefly at one another, and the Jane stepped forward to stand beside Gunther.

"Then we had better to be getting on," she said, and returned Gunther's smile with one of her own.

The forest was thinner here, and Jane could tell by the light filtering through that the day was drawing to a close.

Jane had been growing accustomed to the constant silence that surrounded them, as all the creatures of the forest obeyed their most basic instincts of self-preservation. Gunther, on the other hand, seemed restless, impatient, and increasingly loud. It had started with his confident footfalls becoming scuffed and clumping, and then an absurd amount of coughing, sighing, and throat clearing. Then he had started humming, then whistling, muttering under his breath about nothing much that Jane could tell, and now, now he was reciting a bawdy poem about big-busted Bess. Jane was rapidly reaching the end of her tether by the third verse.

"And what a generous lass was she," quoted Gunther, at increasing volume and with much arm-waving. "To share her bounty 'round, and whenever her dress slipped slightly down, you never heard a sou—"

"Gunther!" snapped Jane, "Will you be—!"

There was the slightest breath of noise, a whisper-sound that Jane knew so well, and suddenly Gunther was there, thudding against her and grunting as the arrows hit home.