by K. A. Poe
There were occasional waves and soft-spoken greetings as he walked, even here. He returned several of the gestures, but it was rare that anyone received a spoken response from him. It wasn't because he felt more important than these people; he merely feared one would beg and he would give in to their plea. If he gave in to one he would soon find himself swamped in people wanting this or that, and he did not have much to give this day.
Suddenly someone jumped in front of the prince and grabbed his shoulder.
“Prince Divian,” said a hoarse voice, “Would you be as kind as to sample a slice of my daughter's blackberry pie?”
Divian looked at the speaker and was appalled by the appearance of the disheveled and toothless, muddied man. He pushed the light grip of the man’s hand from his shoulder and was about to scold him until he saw the pie. It looked surprisingly delicious, like something one would see in the King’s kitchen during dinner, contrast and surprising out here. “I actually just finished breakfast,” he replied, eying the man suspiciously. “Take it to the guardsmen at the gates, I am sure they are famished.”
The peasant frowned at the rejection but nodded. “As you wish, Your Highness.” Divian could not be sure but he thought he heard contempt in the slobbery words.
“What is your name?” Divian asked.
The man crouched low as if fearing a slap or worse. “J-John, as it pleases you, Your Highness.”
Divian looked around to make sure there were no onlookers, then tossed the man two silver coins.
“S-Sir?”
“It is for the pie. One for you and one for your daughter. Give her my regards; I’ve seen no finer pie in the castle.”
“Th-thank you my lord,” said the toothless man, then he turned and ran quickly towards whence Divian had come.
At the end of the long, winding path through the northern commons the prince saw a small stable where a couple of bovine and pigs nibbled inattentively at the grass. Just beyond this familiar site was where the path split. To the prince's right was the same old familiar road to the meadows and rivers. This road was well-traveled by merchants and politicians coming to and from Avarial from the East. Deep ruts from carriage and wagon wheel alike led for many miles, all the way to the long stone bridge connecting the land to its distant neighbors.
Ordinarily, Divian would have paused here as he always did, contemplating taking the path to the left, but inevitably turning right towards the river and the tamer woods. His uneasiness about entering the Forbidden Forest had caused him to ignore his intentions for the last several years. As he was about to turn once again toward the river, a light warm breeze, uncommon for this late in Autumn, meandered through his short, dark hair. Taking a moment to savor this pleasant surprise, the prince closed his eyes and faced up towards the sun. Almost instantly the breeze turned into a sudden gust of wind, nearly pushing the unsuspecting prince over and sending small pebbles and leaves, too weak to hold onto their branches, towards the uninviting path on the left. This interlude to Divian's normal routine gave him just enough time to begin pondering what the “forbidden path to the woods” held. Almost obliging the feeling ingrained into his gut after years of being told never to take this path, the prince turned and stepped towards the right. Once more the strong gust came, beckoning him to see what lay to the west.
The prince shrugged. And spoke aloud to himself. “I suppose there is no harm in at least following the path to the Forest’s edge.” He, at the very least, would see the woods for himself. Whether he would enter the darkness that most men claimed no return from, he did not know.
