Gabrielle stopped, resting against a tree that looked eerily human. Her long, golden hair stuck to her sweaty, dirty face. She was having a hard time, Jacques knew, but there was nothing he could do.

She was the one who had gotten him into this mess, after all.

She looked at him, a furrow of frustration and confusion creasing her forehead. “Jacques,” she said, panting. “This is not a village. This is a forest. We have been travelling for hours…”

Jacques only smiled, pulling on her hand, leading her through the thick cover of trees until they broke into a small, roughly circular clearing. At its center stood a single, aged maple tree.

Jacques took the slight silver key from around his neck and inserted it in a keyhole, which was cleverly concealed in a knothole. The key clicked in the lock and a small door swung forward.

Gabrielle just stared at him in disbelief.

The sound of twigs cracking reached their ears from the edge of the clearing. Jacques pulled her through the doorway.