On that particular night, a quiet and usually deserted forest would become particularly lively and he would be caught in the middle, a silent witness who would unintentionally slip.

He was sweating profusely even though it was a cold night. Surely whatever predatory animals were out there would smell his fear. In the inhabitants of the woods he saw spies everywhere. In the shadows that jumped behind every tree, bush and rock he saw an army ready to pounce the moment he stumbled.

The full moon was his enemy, bathing everything in bright light. But then again he was a master of disguise. He knew how to become one of those shadows he was so afraid of. He was on heightened alert. His fear became his ally and he relished it. It was a game of life or death. He was thirsty and hungry. He had not eaten since that morning. That was since he had left Constantinople.

He had seen lights of inns in the distance, but he could not afford to stop. His disfigurements would betray him. His was not a face and body you could forget. People would only need to lay eyes on him once before he got imprinted on their memory and became the subject of drowning nightmares, ravishing one’s mind both as terrifying daydreaming and as terror-drenched sleep. He opened the flap of his bag and checked on the baby. He was fast asleep. He was a fearless little thing. He had slept the whole way.

He had to get him to a nursing mother soon. He could not afford to let this little treasure and ticket to his future die in his hands. His daydreaming shattered as abruptly as it visited him as he remembered his current predicament. He had burned that bridge now, hadn’t he? He tapped the leather wallet hanging from his belt and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the solid mass of the icon and the ring with the royal insignia hanging on the golden chain.