A frigid, breezy night of restless sleep left Ben shivering in the cold, and sweating with nightmares. He tossed and turned uncomfortably in the tree, the night wind harshly stripping away any ounce of warmth that could be afforded to the Prince. For the first time in his entire life, he felt deeply uncomfortable.

Worth it, thought the Prince, though a niggling thought at the back of his mind pondered whether giving up his life of luxury would be worth it after all. Is it worth all of this pain and hard work? Surely it must be, he thought to himself, though as he found himself shivering and struggling to sleep, he felt it hard to believe.

Golden sunrise came too soon, and after capturing maybe a handful of broken sleep hours, Ben slowly raised his body within the tree to hear anything, his ears nervously swivelling. Throughout the night he swore he’d heard the horses retreat, among mutterings of the guards, but he couldn’t be too sure. Sniffing around, his ears swivelling in all directions, he quietly scaled himself down the tree - pausing once he’d descended below the leaf line to see if there were any signs of life around. He noticed faint hoof tracks pointing eastward and westward which gave Ben some reassurance that the guards had turned around back to the palace.

Ben wasn’t sure how long he had left for the railway tracks. His father had told him that the forest boundary ended around 30 miles away from the garden, but how accurate this claim was he wasn’t sure. Was it a guesstimate? Probably, why would the forest boundary be 30 miles exactly? He realised he could be facing another two days in the forest if he didn’t pick up his pace.

Grrrmmble came the noise from Ben’s empty stomach. Breakfast first, he thought to himself, rubbing his sore tummy gently. Thankfully, he caught the faint whiff of another river stream not too far ahead, and it wasn’t far out of the way.

‘Not far’ was clearly an understatement, Ben thought sadly to himself. Just over half an hour of trudging covered in a fresh coating of mud no less, had led him to a stream that once was, but now no more. Now there sat a gully of moist muck with the occasional stagnant puddle, devoid of life, and it stank of algae and staleness. Ben clutched his stomach; the hunger pangs were really starting to get to him now, and he felt weaker with every passing moment. I’ve got to find something to eat if I’m going to make it…

Ben climbed up a smaller pine tree to raise his nose higher in the air. Ah! That’s the scent I’ve been trying to follow. He adjusted his direction and followed the forest floor. He noticed the air, which in the forest had always been rich with plant scents and dense, was starting to lighten up as he felt himself gain elevation, even feeling a brilliant breeze brush buoyantly against his fur.

The climb of the hill sucked what little life was left in the painted dog, his pace weakening to that comparable of a toddler crawling. His ears perked as noticed that the mud up ahead looked richer. Signs of water, he cheerfully thought to himself, trudging up, each step feeling harder than the next. His own saving grace was a break in the clouds; the natural sunlight basked the painted dog, his darker, mud-covered body eagerly absorbing any inkling of energy it could take.

Ben found himself at the top of a forest hill, nearly doubled over in weakness, and found no trees around this area. Instead sat various berry bushes that had been thriving from a river stream that Ben could see just down the hill on the other side. Ben had a good vantage point here, and he could see the rail tracks up ahead; noted he was approximately halfway there.

Yes! I’m going the right way, assured the boy, who panted lightly. He scurried over to the underripe berries. There was a mixture of blueberries and blackberries, and Ben didn’t bother taking note of the fowl taste of either; just scoffing them down, his stomach like a black hole tearing every single molecule of food apart as soon as they hit.

Each muzzleful couldn’t come quicker than the next, as the boy paid no notice to the horrible, sour taste that coated his muzzle. His limbs fizzled as his blood pumped eagerly through his limbs as his body stockpiled, saturated in sugar. He stood shakily, like he’d been injected with cocaine, and he followed his nose and ears to a nearby water source.

A much smaller but fast-running stream slumbered across eastward, disappearing into the trees and zig-zagging down the hill. Ben scrunched himself down on all fours, desperately drinking, gulping each muzzleful as if it would be the last water he’d drunk. Pure, clean water. Ben felt like if he wasn’t so desperate for a drink, he would have cried.

Pitstop over and with Ben feeling stronger than he’d felt since he’d left his father’s quarters, he washed his limbs off and resumed his journey, the clear sky leaving the sun to beam happily down on Ben as he made excellent progress towards the rail tracks, helped by a train’s horn harrowly echoing in the distance. I can hear it!! Thought Ben, as his ears picked up hope that he was headed the correct way.

–

Afternoon came quickly. Still winds and clear skies led the sun baking Ben’s fur, the dusty painted dog panting under the humid heat that soaked right through his matted fur. With any luck, I should be able to make it to the tracks by nightfall. This heat is so oppressive. Having spent a lot of his life indoors in his air-conditioned palaces, he had no idea that Spring was this hot outside. He wondered what summers were like in this forest.

Miles and miles trekked with the natural birdsong, insect chirp and the occasional barking in the distance filling Ben’s satellite-like ears, swivelling all the time to alert him of any foreign sounds. Since the attempted attack the previous day, Ben had kept his guard up. He suspected that the attackers weren’t working alone and might’ve called for backup. But as the afternoon crept into the evening and Ben had stopped once more for a quick drink, he wondered whether anyone was looking for him at all.

Sunset hit, and Ben swore he could smell the iron of the rail tracks! He knew he couldn’t be far. He looked around the dense woodland and found a tall oak tree. Maybe I could see how far I’ve got to go before I lose the light. His sense of direction was good, but part of him couldn’t help but doubt himself about his directional skills. He slowly ascended the thick trunk of the tree, clawing and reaching, finally managing to snag on to the lowest hanging branch. He used his upper body strength to tug himself upward, and crouched carefully on the branch, before leaping upwards, his claws gripping the next trunk up.

Panting in exhaustion, Ben had rewarded himself with a spectacular view of the setting sun. It is so wonderful here, yet no one can enjoy this view. Owned by us but never used. What a waste! Thought the painted dog. Now just above the treeline, he could see the railway ahead, maybe not even a mile away! It’s so close! Maybe I can make the night train.

Ben had observed that only two or three trains seemed to come by this route per day; once in the morning, and once in the evening, with the occasional in the afternoon. Today, only the morning train had sounded a horn, though Ben realised that more trains may have just not tooted their horn. He realised that every second spent in the forest was another moment stuck as the future King.

Clambering down with surprising grace, the hungry boy paced on, unbeknownst of what would be waiting for him at the clearing. The sun disappeared beyond the horizon and a half-moon shone with all its might, stars splattered across the clear night sky. Ben could just about see with the moonlight, though the rest of his senses heightened up as the sound of crickets filled his ears. He pushed on.

Finally, grinned Ben to himself as he could smell so clearly the richness of the pungent iron that lay merely a stone’s throw away. Cooler, dense air refreshed his body as he rushed forward, running on all fours towards the railway track. That’s when he heard it in the distance: a train. He couldn’t be sure how far.

Shit! It’s not far away now. Every step he took was a stronger stride than the last, stealth be damned, as seconds later he reached a small clearing dividing what looked like more woodland, and sat in the middle was a fairly short stretch of rail, maybe 200 metres, flanked by a mountain-bored tunnel each side. Everything was still and quiet, and Ben didn’t like it. Okay, so I guess I'll just wait here for the train. He hopped back to a thick pine tree, back against it, waiting and waiting as his ears picked up the train coming in the distance.

Ten long, agonising minutes passed and Ben was thinking about the first thing he was going to do after becoming a new person. Maybe I’ll piss off on a remote island and enjoy a long few weeks on the beach, cocktail in one paw and a book in the other. That’s when he noticed the unmistakable chuga-chuga of the train approaching, accompanied with a set of bright, yellow halogen lights reflecting onto the tracks on the north-facing mountain.

Here we go. Ben, camouflaged in the night, sprinted closer to the rails as the train sped towards him, going maybe a steady 30 miles per hour. He found it difficult to make out, but he could see it was a freight train, with large, steel crates mounted atop of flat bogies. The sound of metal scraping metal pierced his ears as the train navigated what was a relatively tight curve from one mountain through to another. He waited, and waited, carriage after carriage, counting each one, but none seemed to be free. All except the last one.

This is it. Don’t fuck this up. Sprinting along the 3rd-from-last bogie, he picked up his speed as quickly as possible, waiting for the right moment, before leaping with all force to clutch on. He managed to grab onto the handrail of the penultimate carriage, his body balancing on the empty bogie. Yes! I’m on. He watched as they approached the tunnel, his escape so clear, feelings of relief surging through his bones and elation lifting his brain.

Pring!

A little prick Ben felt on his left thigh. He couldn’t see what it was, but immediately his grip on the handle of the carriage slackened. No, no, no, no!!! Screamed his monologue as his body suddenly disobeyed every single instruction. Ben rolled off of the moving carriage, his body ragdolling off of the trackside and rolling along the dewey, evening grass, the boy scraping and slipping along the damp grassy floor, finally to a halt. Every part of his body had a dull aching from which he could feel something was repressing it.

“What the fuck?” mumbled Ben, his words slurring out of his muzzle as if he were paralytically drunk. He tried to get up, but he couldn’t. As he lay there, helplessly gazing at the sky, something blocked his vision: a face. A face he’d seen yesterday, of whom he managed to beat in combat. It was Smarty, and a shit-eating grin spread across his muzzle.

“You ain’t goin’ anywhere.”