By the time he reaches the meadow, Darlington's carrying his fair share of marks from his journey through the maze: a torn sleeve, a cut above one eye, the unmistakable marks of teeth at the heel of one of his boots, and smudges of grave dirt scattered over him from head to foot. The town has to be close, promising a return to the manor and a chance for rest--and more than that, an opportunity to confirm that the people he's already begun to think of as friends are still there after the bitter chill and terror of the month before.

He just needs to press on a little further, but as he rounds the bend and sees the young woman and her strange companion, he stops at the stern, sharp voice that hails him. "Okay, okay," he tells the creature, bending to get a better look at the vines encircling the girl's arms. The scent of lilacs is stronger this close to the ground, and he yawns. "Sorry. How long have you been here?"