Laughter rang through the camp as several young men practiced their tumbling. They had been working on their routine every evening and Jane was impressed by their quick progress, their practiced bodies adapting to the new moves.

She turned back to her bowl of stew, noticing that the mushrooms she had helped to gather that morning were included in the meal. Well prepared, seasoned food had yet to lose its novelty to Jane after so long on the road and she ate enthusiastically.

She sat with her legs crossed, surrounded by the travellers as they gathered around the fire. A little boy stood nearby, practicing his juggling. Jane lowered her bowl to clap when he successfully recaptured his balls, and the young juggler bowed low, reminding her of Jester.

Jane smiled fondly as she thought of her friend, but her pangs of homesickness had subsided.

She was feeling much refreshed after her time with the travelling players, and not just due to the good food.

Upon her arrival she had been ushered into a caravan and fussed over by several of Vadoma's granddaughters. A herbal tea was prepared for her which helped to ease her pain, her filthy travelling clothes were removed and she had been bundled into a bed. Jane was drowsy by then, perhaps another effect of the tea, or maybe just the result of her difficult night. Either way she was soon sleeping soundly, the gentle bouncing of the caravan as it travelled down the road rocking her like a babe in a cradle.

She woke some hours later to find a pile of clean clothing had been left for her, and she eyed it with distaste. Chemise, bloomers, bodice and skirts, and no leggings to be seen. Sighing, Jane got dressed.

At least the colours are nice, she consoled herself.

The chemise was yellow, bodice a lovely rich orange and the outer skirt was a shade of green that reminded her instantly of Dragon. She was lacing up the front of the bodice, her hands out of practice at the task, when the caravan door opened.

"I thought I heard you moving about," said one of the kindly women from earlier, ducking through the doorway. She had the same accent as Vadoma, and looked around the same age as Jane's mother.

"You look rested," she said, collecting a green scarf from a hook and using it to tie Jane's hair back. "There now," she said, eyeing Jane from head to toe. "Much better."

"Er, thank you," said Jane, raising a hand to her hair.

"I am sure I can find you some jewellery, too," the woman continued, and Jane noticed the collection of metal circlets jangling on both of her arms.

"Oh, no, that is not necessary, really!" She insisted. "I should really go and talk to, uh, your grandmother?" She guessed.

"Oh, yes, she was asking after you," the woman remembered suddenly, and ushered Jane out the door. "Just pop down there, dear, and make your way to the front." She gestured at the steps leading from the back of the caravan towards the ground.

"Thank you!" said Jane again, gathering her skirts as best she could to climb down from the moving platform. She jumped the remaining distance to the ground and quickly began walking between the slow moving caravans, her eyes widening as she took in the colour and noise around her.

The vans were pulled by huge horses with glossy coats in black and white patches, solid blacks and greys. The vans themselves were brightly coloured with all sorts of wares hanging outside, from pots and pans, to puppets, musical instruments, cured meats and dried herbs. Some of the wagons had goats tied up to trail along beside them, and Jane thought she could even hear the cackling of chickens somewhere.

The wagons were driven by men and women in bright, free-flowing clothes. Some had entire families perched on the seats, others drove alone. The men all wore beards, moustaches or both, and jewellery was a popular adornment for everyone.

As she moved towards the front of the procession she could see more horses being ridden, and people on foot, some talking amongst themselves, others doing somersaults and cartwheels along the road. There were children running around and practicing tricks, although the younger ones sat at the front of the wagons and stared at Jane as she passed. She gave them a friendly smile and a wave, and some smiled back, while others hid behind their hands.

"There you are," called a familiar voice as Jane reached the front caravan, and she looked up to see Vadoma perched on the seat beside Manfri. "Come up here, child," said Vadoma, patting the space on the seat beside her.

Gathering her skirts once again, Jane climbed awkwardly up to join them.

"Your clothes will be returned to you when they are clean," said Vadoma, amusement in her watery gaze. "Although I think you look quite well in those ones."

Manfri muttered something under his breath about decency which Jane chose to ignore as she sat down.

"I thank you both for your kindness," she said instead. "Although I fear I must trouble you further. My partner Gunther needs . . . some time to himself. May I travel with you for a few days? I will do all I can not to be a burden—"

"Nonsense," Vadoma cut her off. "You are a welcome guest. How much of a burden can one more be to a group such as ours?" She waved a hand dismissively.

Manfri huffed beside her but remained silent, and Jane sensed he was used to things going his grandmother's way.

"Besides, we would never turn down the company of a trained knight when travelling in these dangerous woods. Who knows what evil lurks out there." Vadoma elbowed Manfri as she spoke; clearly tormenting him about the presence of a female knight in his troop, but Jane noticed the old woman's gaze turned sharply towards her with the last sentence.

"Mmm," Jane replied evenly, fixing her eyes on the road ahead. She realised with a start that they were nearing the clearing where she and Gunther had spent the last two nights, and she gripped the edge of her seat.

"As you can see we are quite a large group," said Vadoma conversationally. "We have many scouts and outriders who travel ahead of us, making sure we can pass in safety. We have scouts behind us, too. There are so many of us but we travel unharmed from place to place." She patted Jane's hand. "You should relax and enjoy your time with us."

The collection of caravans rumbled on slowly, and nothing untoward happened. No shouts of alarm from the road ahead, or sudden screams. No outbreak of wildly panicking horses.

Jane released her grip on the bench and turned to Vadoma.

"Thank you, but I would like to help where I am able. Do you know where my pack is?" She asked, trying to keep her tone light.

"Hmm, I believe a bed has been made for you with some of my granddaughters. No doubt your belongings are waiting for you there. If you ask for Kezia and Rose you will soon find your way."

Jane thanked her again before making her way to the ground once more, setting off in search of her pack, and more specifically a certain arrow.

Jane had woken the next morning to the sound of Kezia and Rose arguing. She was quickly learning that they argued a lot, although about what Jane had no idea. They spoke in their own language, but their tone of voice was almost constantly combative. They woke early to milk the goats, so Jane woke early too, and there was no going back to sleep.

She dressed quickly in the clothes she had been given the previous day, waiting until the two girls had left before strapping the silver arrow to her thigh. The one benefit she had found to wearing skirts was that they hid a great deal.

Venturing outside she had found one of the older ladies, Sabina, brewer of the wonderful tea, who invited her to join a small foraging party. They had wandered into the woods, searching for herbs, mushrooms and other treasures that Jane had never considered before.

Things Jane would normally have stepped on without notice were gathered carefully, their value explained by the patient herbalist, before being tucked away in her basket.

Watching vigilantly the squire began to learn the difference between good mushrooms and bad, medicinal plants, edible plants and poisonous ones.

"Do you know much about curses?" She asked conversationally as they clipped sprigs of wild thyme.

Sabina glanced at her oddly for a moment, before recollection dawned on her face. "Oh, your friend with the horse problem, yes?"

Jane nodded encouragingly.

"If you have a sore tooth, a sore head, aching joints I can help you, but curses? No, no, I stay away from those." Sabina brushed dirt from her skirt as she stood, collecting her basket. "Grandmother knows a great deal, however. Over there looks perfect for mushrooms," she ended the conversation by gesturing to a damp shady area, and Jane obediently went to check.

She was focusing so closely on the ground in her search, wandering a small distance from the others as they slowly made their way back to the camp, that she almost missed the signal carved into the bark of a tree beside the road.

The rune for dragon. Jane traced it briefly with her fingers, before hearing her name being called by her companions.

Gunther.

"Stay strong," she said sternly to the tree, before turning and running to rejoin the others.

A routine had quickly formed with the days that followed. Awakening early to the sound of her roommates' arguments, Jane would dress and hurry out to join the foraging party, surveying both the ground for food and the trees for signs. She had found the runes easily the first few days, sometimes twice, carved at random into trees bordering the road. Then she would return to help pack up the camp, and the wagons would be rumbling down the road well before mid-morning.

They would travel until shortly before dusk, when Manfri would signal a halt and camp set-up began again.

The nights were filled with good food, the chatter of people, music and an enveloping sense of community that Jane had come to appreciate.

She was even more grateful this evening as she had had a warm bath, and, dressed in her own clothes, was feeling ready for anything.

This was a good thing, she knew, as it was time for her to make her way back to Gunther.

This morning she had not been able to find his signal anywhere, which had been unsettling. This evening she had found one carved near the edge of the camp, but it had been different. The dragon rune was still there, but beneath that, he had carved an arrow.

The animals had been acting skittish tonight and although their handlers could not figure out why, Jane had her suspicions.

Gunther had wanted to make sure she saw his message, and had taken a risk to ensure it, which meant Jane needed to go.

"I see you have gathered your belongings. You are leaving us, then?"

She was shaken from her thoughts by Vadoma, who sat nearby in her chair, enjoying her own bowl of stew.

"My friend's curse –is there truly nothing I can do to help him?" Jane had asked on her third night in the camp.

"I suspect you have done a great deal for him already," Vadoma had replied. "But sadly this is his choice to make, and his alone."

"But what is the choice? I do not understand," Jane had tried to contain her frustration.

"If he is told the answer then he loses the choice, and all hope is lost," Vadoma had replied, before patting Jane's hand. "I wish it were a simple matter, my dear, but life seldom is."

Jane stood from her cross-legged position on the ground and moved closer to the older woman. It seemed every one of the travellers called her 'Grandmother' regardless of relation, and even Jane had begun to do so, as nothing else seemed fitting.

"I think I must go tonight, Grandmother."

"Are you sure? Have you not enjoyed our company?"

"Time moves more quickly than your caravans, and I cannot stay here forever. Gunther needs me, I am sure of it." Jane's resolve strengthened as she spoke, despite the rather manipulative question.

"And are you sure you will be able to help him? Or is it that arrow you carry everywhere that he needs?"

Jane supposed she was meant to be surprised, but she was not. She had noticed that Vadoma did a lot of watching, that small children and adults alike enjoyed talking to her and that the scouts often visited her first on their return to camp, even before presenting themselves to Manfri. Jane suspected that a good deal of her knowing came from listening and observing.

"I hope not," she said, her voice low. "He is my friend."

"Men are a terrible burden," Vadoma told her, sighing wearily. "I have had three husbands and I had to do all of their thinking for them. They do such stupid things when we leave them to their own devices for too long. It is probably wise for you to rejoin yours."

"He is not—" Jane cut herself off, sighing. Arguing with Vadoma was a waste of time. "We will both greet you when you arrive at the castle," she said instead, and bent to give the ancient woman a kiss on the cheek.

"You will find us easily should you needs us," came the reply. "Go in safety, girl Knight."

Gunther was being allowed to live, and he knew it.

He was allowed just enough energy to survive, just enough sleep to be woken by nightmares, again and again, just enough food to make him hungry for more.

And he was never granted a second of peace.

I thought you were a proud warrior, but you crawl in the dirt like a worm.

It was true, right now; he lay in the dirt, staring vacantly at a bug making its way along the ground. Bugs did not fear him, what more could he do to them than any other man or beast?

He watched the bug and listened to the distant clatter of wheels and hooves from the slow-moving convoy that harboured Jane.

Keeping up with the travellers had been easy, he had been granted short bursts of energy each evening to ensure they did not move far from his reach. He had even been allowed to go back and check his messages to Jane, before moving ahead to carve fresh ones further along the road.

He could always tell which ones she had found, as she had developed the habit of touching his marks on the trees, and her scent remained for him to find. The smell of home, and refuge, and Jane.

Our Jane, little worm.

Gunther snorted and closed his eyes. This again.

"You would not say that if you knew her," he muttered. They had had this conversation a thousand times and he knew he was wasting his breath, but they would have it again.

I do know her.

"Ha." It was not a laugh, not even a wheeze, merely a statement.

I know her as you know her, worm. Her strength, her skill, she is your equal; your match.

"No, not my equal, you flea-bitten mongrel." The insult was worth the instant flash of pain in his head.

She will be your equal when I am done with her, little worm.

"You have rocks for brains, and I am hungry."

There are some mushrooms just there, came the taunting reply.

Gunther looked as directed at the patch of shiny, bronze-capped fungi, but he knew better than to try that again. He had eaten some, defiantly, yesterday. What could happen, after all? He could not die unless the mushrooms were cast from silver.

It turned out he could still get very, very sick.

Now he lay on the ground, absolutely fetid with the stench of his own vomit, arguing with the voice in his head.

How the mighty have fallen, worm.

For once Gunther could not disagree, so he merely grunted.

I will have her, you know.

"Will not, mongrel."

The full moon is coming, little worm. You cannot stop me then. Perhaps I will let you watch while I take her.

Gunther moaned, curling into a ball.

"Why? Why her? She is nothing special, believe me. Just a stubborn, bone-headed thorn in my side."

Hmmm, rumbled the voice. Perhaps I will just eat her, then. I will keep her alive while I enjoy her tender flesh. I can do that for quite a while, you know.

Gunther knew.

She will scream at first, your name no doubt, until her strength leaves her. After that she will lie there bleeding and listen as I chew on her sinews, drink her blood, crunch her bones. When I am done with her—she will be dead by then—I will use her bones to pick my teeth, and then I will wake you up so you can see how she died.

If there was anything left in him Gunther would have retched. "She has done nothing to harm you! She does not deserve that!"

So the worm cares about her after all.

"What difference does it make? Whether I care or not you want to destroy her!" He was sobbing now, wretched past the point of pride.

She does not have to be destroyed. She can join us.

"That would destroy her."

It would not be so bad. I think you would come to enjoy her. I will help you realise that she is a woman.

Gunther's hand fisted in the dirt, and he pressed it against his forehead in frustration.

"God's blood you are a stupid dog," he hissed. "I know what she is!"

And what is that, worm?

"Sixteen! She is sixteen, a girl! With her own plans that include neither you nor me! She is to be a knight and travel the world where she will meet a thousand men better than I."

So you do desire her.

"Why do you care? What does it matter to you? It makes no difference, even if I were to tell you that she is not my equal; she is my superior in every way! She has ruined me completely! I cannot look at a maiden in a dress when I know a goddess in maille!" He was yelling now, wasting his limited strength on this stupid argument. Again. "What would it change? You want to take her and make a monster of her, and I am telling you I will not allow it!"

Silence descended, briefly, blessedly, until . . . .

"Not that I am saying any of that is actually true." Apparently there was still some pride left after all.

The monster in his mind laughed. Little worm, how will you stop me?

Gunther shuddered. This was where these conversations always ended up. Reminding him that he was quickly running out of time before all choice was gone.

It was a lot like talking to his father. Gunther wondered if the old man had noticed his absence, beyond the inconvenience of losing his best labourer. Likely not.

The Merchant had put him in situations such as these before, where it seemed like there was no way for Gunther to win. Lower stakes, of course, but the agony of searching for an honourable way out and not finding one held a familiar sting.

He needed Jane. He had no way of fixing this without her, but in bringing her to him he would endanger her. It was selfish and wrong, but he was a Breech, and nothing if not his father's son.

Gunther reached for his pack and pulled out a blanket. Jane's blanket. She had left it behind when she ran from him, and he had gathered it up when making his own escape from the clearing.

It still smelled of her and he wrapped himself in it, inhaling deeply.

He would go to the camp tonight and leave her a message. The beast would let him do it.

After all, it wanted her too.