The maiden's long hair flutters in the wind as she walks. Her earring, a loop with three pearls hanging from it, makes a slight clanging sound as she walks. Her heavy dress brushes against the forest floor, but she does not bother to raise it up. She is already late, she thinks. He must be waiting up.
She brings no torch despite the dead of the night, but her footsteps are sure as she moves forward. She has walked this road a thousand times in the past, she knows it like the back of her hands. She can walk it even with her eyes closed.
She lifts up the basket she is carrying, its contents juggling as she walks.
She is heading towards the tower in the middle of the woods, the one no one else pays attention to. She is one of the few people who knows that someone precious is staying there.
And so she walks in the middle of the night, off to the tower.
