Princess pressed herself flat against the mud, limbs tucked tight, breathing slow. The moss lizards moved in small circles near the water's edge, eating things she couldn't name yet. She needed to watch them without making them scatter. She needed them to forget she was there. But the hag's hut stood twenty paces back, half-buried in cattails and creeping vines. Its windows were dark. Its door hung crooked on leather hinges. Princess waited until the lizards moved closer to the shallows, then shifted her form into something low and wooden — a broken crate, split at the corners, crusted with algae. She dragged herself backward through the mud, slow as rot, until her back pressed against the hut's wall. From here she could see everything. The lizards didn't even blink. The wooden dock stretched over the pond, and the lizards gathered beneath it. One scraped its tongue along the posts where yellow mushrooms grew. Another bit at the lily pads, then spat them out. A third pressed its face into the mud and came up chewing. Princess watched each movement, cataloging which plants they touched, which they avoided. She could stay here all day if she needed to. The hut kept her hidden. The creatures moved freely, unafraid. For the first time since leaving the castle, her plan was actually working. She pulled the leather pouch from inside her chest cavity, careful not to shift her shape. The marbles inside clinked softly. Red for poison contact. Blue for safe consumption. Green for uncertain. She watched the lizard chewing mud, still alive, still moving. Her limb extended just enough to roll a blue marble onto the ground beside her. Mud: safe. The marble settled into the muck, and Princess tucked the pouch back inside herself. One answer. Finally. She stayed perfectly still against the hut's wall, watching for the next clue.

The blue marble still sat in the mud. Princess counted it a win. But a new sound reached her from past the tangled gate of trees—boots, heavy and sure, splashing through the shallows. She held her crate shape and watched. A figure pushed through the thicket's fog-wrapped opening. He wore all black, and his eyes caught the light like coins. He dragged something behind him. He set it down where the fog thinned. An old chest, lid tipped open, gold spilling over the rim. The coins gleamed against the weathered wood. Princess felt the old hunger stir before she could stop it. Gold. Real gold, unguarded, sitting in the open swamp. Her plan required poisoned treasure she could safely eat. This looked like a gift. The man cupped his hands and called into the reeds. "Little mimic. I know you fled the castle. I know what you are." His voice was low and slow, like he savored each word. "Come and take it. I only want to see the trick with my own eyes." Princess did not move. A hunter had found her. He knew her kind, knew her shape, and he'd come with bait instead of a blade. That frightened her more than a sword would. She studied the chest instead of the man. The coins near the bottom had a green crust. A smell drifted over—sharp, like rot and metal. She had smelled that before, on the mushrooms the lizards spat out. The gold was poisoned. He wanted her to lunge. He wanted her to snap the lid over her true form and reveal herself. Then he would know exactly how she moved, and he could plan for it. But he didn't know what she had learned by the dock. She knew poison now. She had watched the lizards teach it to her. Princess made a choice. She stayed a crate and rolled herself sideways, slow as rot, back into the cattails. She left the gold untouched. The hunter waited. He called twice more, softer each time. When nothing rose to take the bait, he cursed under his breath and kicked the chest. Coins scattered. He turned and pushed back through the thicket gate, boots fading into the fog. When the swamp went quiet, Princess crept out. She did not touch the gold with her true body. She pulled a green marble from her pouch and set it beside the spilled coins. Uncertain, leaning toward poison. Then she did something she had never done for bait before. She walked away from it. She had won. The hunter left empty-handed. But he had seen the swamp, learned its paths, and he knew she was here. He would come back, and next time he would not use gold. Princess pressed flat in the mud and understood the new problem. Someone was hunting her now, and she could not stay hidden forever.