If it cries to you that it hurts, if you can, ease its pain. From the back garden you will be able to see the wild wood. I will think no less of you. Once through the garden you will be in the wood. The trees are old.
Eyes peer from the under- growth.
Beneath a twisted oak sits an old woman. She will point the way to the castle. Inside it are three princesses. Do not trust the youngest. In the clearing beyond the castle the twelve months sit about a fire, warming their feet, exchanging tales.