Free The Three Princesses by Cassie Wright Page A

entered the wood to work.
    There was a pleasure in hewing down trees, though he also felt sadness at their having to fall. He would find a fine and mighty oak or mahogany tree, and then measure its height and girth and gauge where best it should fall, then after loosening his shoulders and swinging his mighty arms, he would take up his ax and get to work. One swing and the blade would bite deep. Two and a great wedge of wood would fall lose. Three and the crack would be driven deep, and four and the tree would groan and sway perilously before falling with a mighty crash that would sound throughout the forest.
    All morning he worked, searching for the perfect trees in a glade deep in the woods, felling them and stripping away their branches and leaves. When he finally stopped and looked up at the sky his brow was wet with sweat and his shirt clung to his muscled torso. All was silent. He took a deep breath and rested his ax on his shoulder. It was just midday, and yet there was no sign of his son. He walked to his horses and took up a waterskin from which he drank deep. He set it down, and looked at the path that led back to the cottage, seeking the familiar form of his son running to meet him. There was nobody there.
    The foreboding grew stronger, but he resolved to stay calm and wait. His son was no doubt carried away by his liberty and had merely forgotten the hour. He sat on a stump and waited, his ax across his thick thighs, and watched the path. The sun slowly slipped across the sky, and an hour passed with agonizing slowness. The foreboding turned to fear, and when two hours had passed and his sweat had long since dried, the Woodsman stood and gathered the reins of his horses and led them back to the cottage.
    "No doubt my boy mistook what I asked and is waiting for me there," he said to Dollop, the white horse to his left. "He'll be sitting at home, and with a laugh will spring up at the sight of me and ask what took so long." Dollop nickered, but Hessop, the black horse, stayed quiet.
    There was nobody at the cottage. He put the horses in the paddock, and then turned to survey the great woods. His fear was great now, and he thought of all that could have befallen his son. He took up his ax, put on his coat, and strode into the woods. "Wherever he is, I shall find him," he said to himself. "No matter where he is, or what has happened to him, I will find him and bring him home."
    He left the path and walked into the wild wood. The trees were young at the edge, and there were bushes and undergrowth aplenty at first, but soon the trees grew old enough to lift their crowns high, and the only sun that reached the forest floor came in narrow rays of golden light.
    The Woodsman passed badger holes and bushes of berries, paused to examine the tracks of deer and to sniff at the wind, but always he followed the marks his son's shoes had left on the soft floor. His sharp gaze never erred, and on and on he went, following the path his son had chosen. The path followed a narrow brook for awhile that gurgled and sang as it poured over mossy stones, and then turned away to circle around huge trees as if in a game. He saw signs that his son had paused to sit on a smooth gray stone, and there were crumbs around the rock that hinted at a quick meal. Onward the tracks went, ever deeper into the woods, and soon the Woodsman realized that he had gone deeper than he had ever gone before.
    At the point where his son should have turned back in order to return by midday, the Woodsman saw that his boy had come to a stop. Kneeling down before the tracks, he examined the dirt and saw sign that his son had turned slowly back and forth, as if seeking something, searching for something in the woods before him. Then he had set out, ever deeper into the woods, but where he had skipped and meandered before he now moved with purpose, in a straight line, his stride long as if he were nearly running.
    On and on he followed the tracks which never strayed,