Ying Lan dreamed of running and hiding, of climbing and falling. She dreamed of countless guards who pursued her with steel and fury. She dreamed of the pendant she had lost. She dreamed until the night's chill crept into her bones, until a gentle warmth on her skin intruded her sleep.
She opened her eyes and was startled by the green world that surrounded her. She almost lost her grip on the tree branch that held her. She muttered a curse as she steadied herself. She remembered then, what had happened the night before — the rescue, the shouts, the escape.
She remembered darting through the grove, evading the guards, catching glimpses of their torches, hearing their voices. She remembered seeing this tree, scaling it nimbly, and concealing herself among its thick leaves. She had watched the guards search the grove, oblivious to her presence. She had planned to wait until they were gone, but then sleep had taken her.
Now the sun was a traitor, shining brightly on her face, inviting everyone to see her, to expose her as a false eunuch. And she still had not reclaimed her pendant. She cursed again, scanning the grove with keen eyes; she saw only birds and bugs. She climbed down cautiously, alert and wary of everything around her.