The male wolfhound patrolled along the edge of the road. The bitch chuffed softly to her mate then sidled closer to the woman, pushing her nose questioningly against the palm of her hand. Startled, the woman glanced down then, smiling tensely, pressing the rough head reassuringly against her hip.
Letting her head fall limply against the velvety cheek of the horse beside her, the woman chewed on her bottom lip. Sensing her turmoil, the animal shifted restlessly in its traces jostling the cart; a bird squawked in protest from within. Somewhere in the dark the male hound emitted a low cautionary 'woof'.
The woman sighed heavily and raised her eyes once again to the inscrutable veil of the forest. Behind her, another wood spread; a reassuringly ordinary forest that come morning would blossom with birdsong and cleansing sunlight. Not so, if the tales were to be believed, the one before which she hesitated. If only she could be sure this was the right course to take; that Mother Llorona would be powerless to follow.
Thought of the queen compelled her to anxiously scan the sky. A good three hours until dawn; they'd gotten at least an hour's head start from the camp, but Milosh and his men had to be well on her trail by now; possibly already beyond the borders of the Disenchanted Forest. Time was rapidly dwindling; she needed to either find her courage or seek another less infamous and enigmatic sanctuary.
A distant sound, subtle and furtive, drew her eyes to the road. The bitch had joined her mate and the two stood stone-still in the curve where the road disappeared, their ears at attention, noses probing the wind. Suddenly, silently, as one, they wheeled, and raced back to their mistress, their haste underscoring the urgency.
It was now or never. Seizing the bridle, the woman urged the old horse forward. The animal balked, but a stinging slap to its rump propelled it into the forest, the cart bouncing roughly behind. The dogs guarded their mistress' back until she had safely entered the trees, then bounded in after her.
Moments later, a figure crept ghostlike among the shadows across the road. An owl queried from the dark; another responded; four shapes immediately joined the first. With their quarry gone, secrecy was no longer required so the gypsies moved out onto the road. The men looked toward their leader for direction. He was young and handsome but the moonlight exposed a cold and brutish nature. Cursing stridently at the woods looming before him, the leader jerked his head and stalked back the way they had come. Wordlessly the others followed.
