Vicca's long, autumn gown swept the leaves on the path. Her auburn finger clutched a long, golden quill, her ears twitching as the made careful, elegant letters on the paper.

I tried to look over her shoulder, but she turned away so I couldn't see.

I frowned. "Why did you invite me along if you don't want my help!"

"I wanted to talk," Vicca said, sticking out her chin.

"About what?" I darted another glance at the letter. I managed to make out my name on the parchment before Vicca pushed me away. "Obviously not about the letter! Are you writing about me?"

"No."

"Vicca," I said, shaking my head, "you're an awful liar."

"I am, am I? And what makes you such an expert?" She continued to write as she walked, casting me appraising looks every once in a while.

"I was on the run for two weeks before I found a home here. I know a thing or two." I sighed. "But enough about that. What did you want to talk about?"

A shy smile spread over Vicca's face. "Do you... do you think Branton Mire's sweet on Beci Winstruck?"

I rolled my eyes. "Of course not, Vicca, it's obvious he's taken a liking to you."

Vicca shrugged. "I didn't think it was that obvious," she said, giving me a sweet smile.

I choked on a laugh. "Another bad lie. Vicca, what are you up to?"

"Just answer my questions! What about Roben Grimes?"

I nearly giggled at the thought of him and his youngling mannerisms when Vicca walked by. "There's no way he doesn't like you, Vicca." I sighed. "Every buck in Houndcric's sweet on you, Vicca, and every doe knows it."

Vicca looked away, though I could tell she was embarrassed. "It's not much different for you, Sween. I know of at least two bucks on your tail!"

I grimaced. "Who?"

"Well, Garten, for one."

My grimace deepened to a frown. I didn't answer.

"And Whittle."

I raised an eyebrow and opened my mouth to object, then closed it again. I knew she was right. "Garten and Whittle," I mumbled. "Seems like I'll end up with the name Longtreader no matter which way I turn."

"Do you like Whittle?" Vicca's questions sounded innocent enough, but I could tell she was holding her breath in waiting for the answer.

I thought back over the last few months. It felt like, whenever my mind stumbled upon an instance where I loved and missed Garten deeply, Whittle was always at my side, comforting me. His gentle tone of voice and protective presence touched me more than Garten's extravagant dreams and proud appearance.

I said as much to Vicca.

Her quill scrambled furiously over the page as I talked and I knew I'd reached the heart of this conversation. Suddenly, I didn't mind. I could talk about Whittle for as long as she needed.

When I stopped, Vicca signed the letter and sealed it.

"Where are we going?" I asked, reaching a fork in the path.

Vicca brushed past me. "I'm going left," she said, motioning to the left fork. "Mum needs some vegetables from Farmer Folds. You're going over there," she motioned to a break in the trees, through which I could see Whittle training in the open field, "to give Whittle this letter."

She handed me the freshly sealed letter she had just written. I gave her an uncertain frown, but tucked it into my pocket and started for the break in the trees.

Vicca put a hand on my shoulder and turned me around. Her dark, green eyes bored into mine. "Promise me this, Sween. When you find your future partner, don't forget about me. Don't ever forget."

I inclined my head, looking into her face. A stir in the brush behind her made me blink. "Vicca..."

"Yes?"

"Vicca, move!"

I dove into her, and we both tumbled down the trail a few feet.

"Sween? Sween what's..." She sat up, rubbing her head.

"Wolf!" I screamed, waving my hands to get Whittle's attention. "Whittle help! There's a wolf!"

A growling voice cut me off. "Do you think I like being called 'wolf'? Would you like being called 'rabbit' or 'food'? Both fit you."

A black, tawny form crept from the trees, its eyes wild with hunger. A wolf, nearly twice my height, stalked forward, sword in hand.

My eyes darted between it and the breaks in the trees to my right. Whittle was still hacking furiously at his wooden wolf.

"No, you're right, sir," I said, backing away slowly as the wolf crept forward. "I'm Sween. This is Vicca. Who are you?"

"The name's Rolde. I'm a servant of King Garlacks, a commander in his army. Do you know why I'm here?"

"I can't say I do, sir." I tried to keep my voice steady.

"I've been ordered by my King to travel to a place called Houndcric Hill and find the Longtreader family. I'm to find them, and do my worst." He bared his teeth.

I stopped backing up. "You'll do no such thing," I screamed at him. "Whittle, help!" I picked up a stone and hurled it through the trees. It landed several yards away from him, making a thud in the grass. He looked up.

He met my eyes, then started running.

Rolde snarled ferociously. "Don't think he'll save you, rabbit scum, you'll be-"

"I thought we were on a first-name basis, you ugly lump!" Vicca shouted, pushed past me and driving a stick into the wolf's face.

The wolf let out a shriek of pain and stumbled backward, clutching its face. When it looked back, a long gash trailed through his eye across his face.

"You dare!" he snarled, his voice high-pitched from pain. "You will pay for that, rabbit scum, for my name is Rolde, Rolde Garlackson!"

Vicca smirked, examining her work. "Since we're not using names here, how about I call you Red-eye, Red-eye? Red-eye Garlackson." Her voice trembled with rage.

"You won't live to say that name again!" Red-eye pounced, tackling Vicca to the ground and rolling away into the brush.

"Vicca!"

#TheTraitorsLove #RIPVicca?! #RedeyeGarlacksonDies #Imsosad

Sorry, @Dikko_The_Squolf_. I guess I better start running. *takes off, clutching her books and dropping them along the way*