Two knights on heavy horses galloped the main road from Gunderweg’s castle. Less than an hour down the highway they encountered the solitary man, a tall fellow of indeterminate age making his way on foot with long steady strides.

“Doctor Kindler,” said the first knight, his horse snorting and stamping. “Doctor Kindler, we’re here to provide you escort. King Gunderweg’s orders. The girl’s in the hut ahind the castle, bout an hour from here iffen you ride with us. Hop up.”

The man did not pause his step. Sunlight struck his brow when he glanced at the mounted knight. Kindler’s eyes were stern, his voice stone. “I’ll go on my own,” he said, “same as always.”

“King’s orders,” the knight repeated. “The roads ‘round here taint safe.” Sun glinted from his sword, scabbard swaying as the horse pranced and wheeled, but the man, Kindler, kept walking. The two knights looked at each other, shrugged. “Suit yourself,” the first knight said. “We tried.” And the pair galloped off, dust from the horses’ hooves pluming, settling.

“What do you think?” the first knight asked his companion several miles later. “Should we have stayed? Insisted? At sword point?”

“Kindler knows his spells,” the second knight said. “Rub him wrong, he turns stout cocks to flimsy tallow. No way would I chance it.” The knight chortled. “He’ll have his hands full with this girl, though. She’s a rare beauty, but wildcat through and through. The scratches on my thighs from catching her still haven’t healed. And she nearly bit my elbow off.”

“Hah! Better your elbow than your barrel,” the first knight said. “But if anyone can tame her, it’s Kindler.”

“Breaking her is one thing; any clod of a king can mount her. Putting a baby boy in her belly by next moon tis something more.”

The knights spurred their mounts. Their sword scabbards jounced the horses’ flanks as they rode, following their erections into the wilderness.

Three archers guarded the hut, one at the window, one at the open doorway, and one on the roof. At Kindler’s approach the archer at the doorway opened his palm and moved it towards the entry. The long journey’s dust cloaked Kindler and his heavy robes. Umber powder softened his step. Kindler slipped inside the hut and made his way soundlessly across the stone floor. To Kindler’s left, fire crackled in the hearth. The great tub stood next to it, steam billowing up. To Kindler’s right lay the wide bed: an abundance of soft cloths, quilts and comforters spread across; a slim candle burning on each post. In the hut’s far corner stood the girl, her back to Kindler, talking into an ancient cell phone. “Toodle-boop,” she said. “Oh, Toodle-boop, my love, you must come and rescue me at once. Be careful, my darling. The king’s ogres are outside. If they catch you, they’ll eat us both. Please hurry, Toodle-boop. Please, please, please.”

Kindler laughed. The girl startled, whirled, and dropped her toy. Plastic shattered on stone.

“Don’t worry,” Kindler said, breaking the silence. “I’m not an ogre. I won’t eat you. Not without cooking your first. Not without salt and sauce. That’s only civilized.”

The girl said nothing. Her eyes were bright, her garb tattered, her feet bare and dark with dirt. Dried mud capped her knees, streaked her cheeks, stained her smock. “Disrobe,” Kindler commanded the girl. She studied him for a moment, then did as she was told.

Kindler led the girl to the tub. Not a girl, officially: her first flow had ended two days before, which left less than half a moon to prepare for the king. But perfectly girlish she was, this child; beautifully innocent, absolutely intact. She had the soft, gray-green eyes and fierce, fire-red hair that King Gunderweg preferred. She had graceful breasts, just begun, and those longish, coltish limbs with a demur bush between—the sparse nest unable to conceal the shy cleft, the timid bud.