Edmund clenches his eyes shut. He can hear the tension in the princess's voice, the crunch of snow as she shifts her weight, the shaky exhale. He can't come up with anything comforting to say, though, not with the sick weight of dread in his stomach. Between what Adan divulged about the Giants' conversation earlier– that they had some business to attend to nearby– and his concerns about the woods ahead, his mind is still trying hard to keep track of all the possible things that could go wrong here.
Edmund swipes a hand down his face, forcing his anxious thoughts to a stop. He has to focus on what he knows for sure and what can be done right now— which is to get moving. He shifts his gaze to the narrow, meandering strip of snow that will be their path. The scree slope they'd been at risk of falling down on the mountain ledge above will be a wall to their right now as they move west between it and the forest.
Edmund bites back a groan. Heading right back to where the Giants had climbed up to the previous valley feels like moving backwards. If he'd known they would have to return to the steeper slope, he would have figured out a way to go the more direct route from the start. But if Adan is right, this is the best option. Edmund shakes his head slightly. Of course Adan is right. He doesn't doubt what the Wolf sensed in the forest, but he does wish it weren't true.
With a quick prayer and a sigh, he finishes tying the pack shut. They need to put some distance between them and this area as quickly as possible, and they'll need to continue on without drawing attention. Which will be difficult enough— Edmund thinks, glancing at the princess to his right— without one of them wearing bright purple clothes.
He eyes their intended path again. He and Adan had decided the constant wind from the mountain and the swirling snow would probably obscure them from sight and blow away their tracks. Adan is already impossible to see— though Edmund knows he won't move so far ahead that he can't hear them— but such a vibrant, unnatural color could be problematic. If Edmund can see it, after all, so could other humans.
The princess shifts her weight, crunching the snow under her feet as her gaze strays toward the trail too. Edmund blinks slowly, dragging his focus back to her clothing.
He stands, quite suddenly, and backs up a few steps. The princess— who had clearly been lost in her own thoughts— startles slightly, but Edmund ignores this, focusing instead on her clothing. He can quite plainly see the purple of her skirt and cloak even with the dark wool blanket. It hadn't been so much of an issue this morning since their followers would have known where to find them anyway, and they hadn't spared the time to cover their tracks. Now, though, they have no reason to believe anyone knows where they are, and Edmund intends to keep it that way.
"Princess," he says hesitantly. As soon as he speaks he realizes he's not quite sure what he wants to say. He doesn't want to scare her, but she probably needs to be told something. Still, he doesn't know how much to actually tell her.
The princess tilts her chin up when he doesn't say anything further, her confusion turning to annoyance, and then he sees it— the fierce determination he's caught glimpses throughout the day. She can handle this, Edmund decides, though it's perhaps a deeper and warmer voice than his own that flits through his mind, bringing a fleeting heat and comfort that's gone almost as quickly as it came.
"You're very… purple," Edmund says distractedly, still half focused on trying to hold onto that comforting presence. It slips away, though, like sunlight through his grasping fingers, and when he focuses back on the princess her brows are creased in confusion again. He rubs absently at his forehead again, but then he drops his hand and gestures toward her lower legs. She glances down and fan her skirts slightly, still looking perplexed. "It's not a natural color," he adds. Edmund watches her eyes move to the white snow, the dark stone of the mountain slope, the greens and browns of the trees.
"It stands out, and if anyone were to catch sight of it…" Edmund trails off and sees her eyes widen in understanding— along with a good bit of fear. "I'll trade with you," he offers quickly, already reaching for the toggles of his cloak as he steps toward her. "And it will be warmer anyway."
She nods and removes the blanket and her own cloak. He drops his cloak over her shoulders and takes her cloak, bundling the purple fabric into the pack before settling the blanket around his own shoulders and tying the bit of cord. It's certainly not as warm as his own fur-lined leather cloak had been, but he'll manage. As soon as he looks at the princess, though, he can see that the trade hasn't solved anything.
His cloak was made for him— and he's several inches taller than the princess— but even with her skirt still rolled up at the waist the damp purple fabric is still visible below the bottom edge of the cloak. The several inches he'd cut off this morning has ensured the cloak will be no better at concealing her than the blanket had been.
"That's…" Edmund shakes his head slowly, then tries again. "It's not going to work." Serena is looking down at her hem as well, holding the fabric slightly away from her legs.
"If I roll it up further?" She drops the skirt to twist the fabric at her waist, but when she looks up at Edmund hopefully he shakes his head again.
"I don't think we should risk it," he answers. Edmund pulls in a long, slow breath. Asking a girl to remove her skirt probably shouldn't be so intimidating— especially given that she is already wearing a borrowed pair of pants beneath it— but Edmund is still reluctant to say the words. They need to get away from this clearing, though, and this delay isn't helping matters.
"It would probably be best to take it off," he huffs, almost more frustrated with himself than the situation. The princess bites her bottom lip and nods once, her eyes shifting toward the forest for several long seconds before dropping back to her skirt.
"I need some kind of belt," she says at last, and that determined look back again. With a quick nod, Edmund pivots to dig the remaining cord out of the pack. He takes a bit longer than strictly necessary to pull the knife from his boot and measure out an adequate length of it, giving the princess time to shed her skirt with some semblance of privacy.
Still, he turns around slowly when she sets her hand lightly on his shoulder. After trading the cord for her skirt, he folds that up too and stuffs it into the pack as the princess secures the too-large trousers. Edmund finally grabs his forgotten gloves from the ground before hoisting the pack over his shoulder.
"Here." Edmund holds out the gloves. He'd seen her red chapped hands earlier in the day but had forgotten about offering her the gloves until he'd brushed her cold fingers while passing her the cord. Instead of taking them, though, she just squints at the gloves as she finishes securing the ends of the rope back through the belt loops.
"I don't–"
"Yes, you do," he insists, stepping closer. Once her hands are free he grabs one and forces the gloves into her hands. "Put them on and let's go," he says, tilting his head toward their path before scanning the woods. They've lingered too long already, and Edmund is anxious to put this area well behind them.
At least we'll be heading west, Edmund thinks, and the pang of longing for home and safety nearly replaces the dread still weighing heavily in his gut— at least for a moment.