The queen of the forest only had one rule: do not go past the border to the troubled lands past dusk. The cherry-blossom, feather-footed child took the leap and landed on the other side in the very dead of night. The knowledge of the danger and the knowledge of the risk kept all but one, a child, a feather’s breath, from crossing in the deep and chilling dark. The child on the other side, she stood to wait for death, but stood so long the light crept back. Still no harm had come to her. The queen she knew had lied to her, but no one did she tell, for she knew the dangers of which the queen warned. ’Twas ones own choice that harmed not just the crossing on its own.