“Please help me,” the man pleaded. His clothes hung in tatters, his cheeks hollowed by hunger. “Please!”
“Ugh,” they said, pulling the hem of their cloak away. “We have a strict no begging policy.”
“But…you’re the Hero,” the man said, “who else do I ask?”

“I always take the high road,” they boasted.
Behind them the clouds boiled green. The trees on top of the bluff whipped and howled. The path was washed out here and there.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “You…do that?”
“When I ride down on my white horse we will see who is more warmly welcomed.”
“…sure.”