Returned to Sender

“Incorrect,” says the gate, with the deep satisfaction of a toll-keeper finally earning his pay, and the entire path politely turns itself around.

This is not a figure of speech. The trees swivel. The moss re-carpets. North becomes behind-you. You take one step and find yourself walking, with total conviction, in exactly the direction you came from, while the gate hums a small woody tune of triumph and Bramble laughs so hard he has to lie down.

It takes an hour of walking backward (the only direction the wood will currently sell you) to shake the enchantment loose.

“Everyone guesses shadow,” the fox wheezes, wiping his eyes with his tail. “A century of travelers, and they all guess shadow. Come on, champion. The gate resets at moonrise, and this time, think about what gets bigger when you take from it.”