Layer 15: You’ve Got a Friend

“It’s beautiful,” Fiona mused, staring up in wonder at the blue sky with streaks of downy white clouds above her. “Goodness, I’d forgotten how beautiful it was!”

The rain that greeted her as she began her trek from the keep had lasted not quite an hour, enough to dampen her outfit, muddy her slippers, and make her feel even more miserable than she already did. But as the wasteland around the keep yielded to the greenery of meadow and then forest, the rain slackened and eventually gave way to thinning and whitening clouds, and then to sunshine. It was the first time Fiona had seen the sun high in the sky, unencumbered by the overlaying exhaust spewed from her volcanic residence, in years. During that time she had only been able to observe the great shiny orb when it descended beneath that smoky cover and was about to disappear below the horizon. Although many of the sunsets were indeed beautiful, when they were all that one saw of the sun, even they became monotonous.

Now Fiona basked in the sunshine warming her face and drying her clothes. Another thing, more pragmatic, that Fiona was grateful to be able to see the sun for was navigation. She had been able to determine the general direction of southeast as she moved away from the keep because she was aware of where west lay in relation to it from observing those many sunsets, and her former prison’s massive conical outline stayed visible for quite some time. But as she entered deeper into the forest she lost sight of it, and only by determining where the sun was in the sky could she deduce where the southeast path lay. As she continued her forest trek the air became fresher with the fragrance of leaves and flowers, and the songs of birds greeted her ears. Their singing was so pleasant that she was nearly tempted to join in, but then she remembered the unfortunate incident with the eagle and refrained.

It would all have been so nice were it not for the nagging…and growing…pain in her side.

She took a break near noontime, when the sun was almost directly overhead, to eat and rest. In fact, since it would be a while before the sun began setting enough that she could tell the direction it was setting toward, she thought noontime would provide an excellent opportunity to take a good nap. She had not gotten any sleep during the previous night, what with its hectic and traumatic events, and she was nearing exhaustion. She hoped that taking a rest would also settle the wound in her side; she was beginning to fear what damage that pernicious prince’s dagger had done to her internally. Yes, some sleep would be good right now. What was it that the Spanish called it? Ah, yes, a siesta. Yes, that was what she could use right now: a good Spanish catnap. She just hoped that her internal clock would awaken her before too much time had passed because she wanted to make more distance before nightfall, at which point she would need to find someplace to hide her nocturnal self.

Why bother, Fiona? her inner voice asked. Wouldn’t you actually be safer? Any potential highwaymen would be less likely to attack an ogre rather than someone of your slighter human form, wouldn’t they? The argument made some sense, but the thought of someone else seeing her in her ogress state still sent shivers of fear and shame through her. It seemed that old habits…and mindsets…really did die hard.

Fiona found a spot several yards off of the path she had been traveling that seemed secluded and, she hoped, secure enough. There was shrubbery and a large rotting log between the spot and the path to aid concealment. She took her helmet off and ate a couple of pieces of bread; it was filling stuff, and she seemed to have packed plenty for a while, but she did wonder how long it might last. But now that she was free and in the woods, she thought of how she could broaden her food supply with nuts and berries and roots – once she could determine which ones weren’t poisonous. Maybe she’d get lucky and find a fruit tree. Or figure out a way to catch fish. Or find some eggs. There were a number of possibilities, she was sure.

She washed down the bread with some water, re-sealed the waterskin, and then used it as an improvised pillow as she lay down on her back for the nap. As she continued pondering alternate sources for protein her eyes fluttered closed and soon she began dozing off. As her conscious mind became oblivious to the world around her, her hand, which was lying near the rotting log, moved over to and brushed against its decaying bark. Her fingers feeling something soft and writhing that had been crawling there, she instinctively pinched it, brought it over to her mouth, and slipped it in. As the bug popped between her teeth a contented smile graced her lips, and a moment later she lapsed completely into deep sleep…

Fiona opened her eyes to find herself lying in the center of a plush queen-sized bed, her head and shoulders buoyed by a stack of silk-cased eiderdown pillows. The nightgown she wore was of fine linen, as were the bed sheets and comforter that covered her. The bed itself was set in a large, regal bedchamber. Despite the drastic difference in circumstance, Fiona still felt exhausted, but it was a different type of exhausted. And she was still in pain, but it was a different kind of pain, and it didn’t emanate from her side anymore, but from her lower torso.

She heard a light melodic humming from beside her, and turned her head to see an elegantly dressed woman sitting in a posh chair, a tiara set within carefully coiffured hair that was once vibrant strawberry blond but had dulled somewhat over time and bore occasional strands of gray. She wore it not unlike Fiona had worn hers, but instead of a ponytail the back of this woman’s hair was bound in a snood. The woman was looking down at, humming to, and gently rocking a baby – a rather large baby – that she cradled in her arms and which was wrapped in a blanket that concealed its features from Fiona. Fiona gasped as she recognized the woman. Obviously older than the last time she had seen her, but still her—

“Mom?” Fiona said.

The woman abruptly stopped humming and looked at her. “Ah, darling, you’re awake,” she observed, smiling sweetly. “How do you feel?”

Fiona looked down at her own hands – dainty, human hands – pristine, without even the scars suffered over the past several hours. She reached up and felt her soft, demure, human face. “Oh, thank heaven,” Fiona said, leaving her hands caressing her cheeks for a few moments. Then she let them drop to her sides, looked back at her mother, and asked, “But… how did I get here?”

“This is your home, child,” her mother said. “Well, one of them.” Her brow knitted in concern. “Are you all right?”

“Then…I did escape the tower?” Fiona said, trying to come to grips with her situation…whatever it was.

“Of course,” her mother replied. “With help from your husband, naturally.”

“Husband?”

“Well, future husband,” her mother clarified, looking at Fiona with more scrutiny. “Surely you recall your wedding?”

Fiona closed her eyes and her body went completely slack with relief. “Thank goodness,” she said. “I guess my dream really did come true. The rest must have all been a horrid delusion.”

“Dear, you do seem to be a bit befuddled,” her mother said worriedly. A moment later Fiona felt her mother’s palm against her forehead. “How do you feel?” her mother asked.

Fiona opened her eyes, nodded to the lower portion of her torso, and said, “It hurts…down there.”

“Well, I imagine so,” her mother said, a wisp of amusement in her voice as she removed her hand from her daughter’s forehead, settled back into the chair, and again cradled the baby with both arms. “Especially with your having just given birth to triplets. But the pain will fade before too long. You’ll see.”

Fiona jerked her head back toward her mother. “Triplets?” she said, and then looked again toward the baby in her mother’s arms. It was starting to squirm and gurgle within its blanket. The form appeared to be about the size of what Fiona would expect a six-month old to be. “Just given birth?”

“Oh, yes,” her mother cooed, looking back down at the baby with fondness. Then she reached down and gingerly unwrapped the coverings from around its face. “This one’s especially cute,” she said. “Doesn’t he have his father’s eyes?”

Her mother gently held the baby toward her daughter, and Fiona found herself beholding the pudgy green face and big brown eyes of a smiling baby ogre.

Fiona screamed.

Fiona’s eyes sprang open, and she barely had time to realize that she had only had a nightmare when her vision focused and she found herself staring into the even larger brown eyes of an upside-down face covered in gray and white fur hovering directly above hers.

Fiona screamed briefly for real this time, awkwardly drew her sword and tried to spring to her feet but was quickly driven down to one knee by a sharp protest of pain in her side from her wound. The creature that she had found herself staring at also uttered a startled ‘G’ahh!’ as it fell back in terror upon its haunches. To Fiona’s relief, she realized that it was only a small donkey.

“Please please please don’t kill me, lady!” the animal implored. “I was just curious, I didn’t mean anything!”

“It talks!” Fiona said.

The donkey’s fear seemed to yield briefly to indignation as it said, “Hey, whoa, now, what’s this ‘it’ business? The proper pronoun here would be he, thanks very much!” Then again noting the sword pointed at him, he offered a toothy, uneasy grin and added, “Not that I mean to be pedantic or nothing!”

“Oh!” Fiona said. “I’m sorry, you…just startled me. I wasn’t expecting to literally come face-to-face with a talking animal!” Although, as she reflected on her life so far, she wondered why she should be surprised.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t expecting to find a girl soldier taking a nap in the middle of the day out alone in the woods, so I was just checking you out to make sure you were still, y’know, breathing and stuff,” the donkey said. “I, um, didn’t mean to scare ya. Sorry.”

“That’s…quite all right,” Fiona said, calming herself. When she saw the donkey still staring at the sword that she held at the ready, she said, “Oh! Sorry!” and sheathed it. The donkey sighed with relief and rose to stand on all four of his feet again as Fiona tried to ignore the pain as she rose to stand on her two.

“Say,” she said, noting their hidden position, “how did you find me, anyway?”

“Just scrounging for food,” the donkey said. “I’ve been kinda on my own for a while, and living off grass all the time gets old after a while. Despite its medicinal benefits. Anyway, I thought I smelled something tasty, so I thought I’d check it out.”

“Something tasty?”

“Yeah, you know, some kinda baked goods.”

“Ah!” Fiona said, and then reached for the satchel that held the elvin bread to find that she had forgotten to seal it before her nap. She heard the donkey’s lips smack, and saw him staring at it intently. She then took a closer look at the animal. His frame did seem a bit emaciated, and she imagined his somewhat rough looking coat had seen better days. “You mean this?” she asked, taking out a piece of the bread and holding it toward him.

The donkey’s eyes grew larger. “Say, is that that whatchamacallit stuff the elves eat?”

“Yes, I believe so,” she said.

“They say that stuff tastes great,” he said.

“Yes, so I’ve heard,” she agreed. She had been told that when they left her in the tower, and she supposed her parents had believed it – at least, she would like to believe that they did. She didn’t have the heart to tell them that to her it tasted bland. But then, she had been cursed with taste buds that favored things that others thought little of. Like things that wriggled and crawled. And fruitcake.

“Though it’s not as good as waffles,” he said.

“Waffles?” Fiona asked, surprised.

“Oh, yeah. You’d be surprised at how many creatures you find out in the forest just love waffles!”

“Really?” Fiona said. “That’s interesting. I’ll have to remember that.”

“Still, since there aren’t any waffles nearby…” the donkey stared at the bread in her hand intently, and licked his lips.

Fiona smiled. “Go ahead, take some.”

“Thank you much, Miss, don’t mind if I do!” he said, and quickly advanced and snatched the bread out of her hand. She smiled as he gobbled it down, and she pulled out another piece. He ate that one, too, savoring the second one a bit more. Then he ate a third, after which he accepted a drink from Fiona’s waterskin.

“Thank ye kindly Miss…um…?” the donkey said, prompting Fiona for an introduction.

“I am Prin—” Fiona began, but then checked herself. If she were trying to stay ‘dead’ it would be best not to spread her name around to beings that could talk…and especially not to those that appeared to enjoy doing so.

The donkey cocked one eyebrow inquisitively while waiting for Fiona to finish. As Fiona tried to think of how to conclude, the donkey, apparently thinking that she had finished, said, “‘Prin’, huh? Well, that’s a unique name. Kinda cute, though. So, Prin, are you on a mission to save France, or you just on your way to slay some orcs?”

“Huh?” Fiona said, confused. When the donkey nodded at her soldierly attire, she said, “Oh! Um. No. I’m just…traveling. I figured it would be safer traveling dressed like this. You know, with robbers in the woods and everything.”

“Robbers!” the donkey said, suddenly agitated. “Where?!” He then started looking about fearfully.

“No, I don’t mean right now!” she said, trying to calm him. “It’s just…precautionary.”

“Oh. Okay,” the donkey said, slowing settling back down. “So…where you traveling to, Prin?”

“Oh, just…traveling,” she said. “Just a…see the world type of thing. You know, adventure in the great wide somewhere…et cetera.”

The donkey squinted in skeptical consideration for a few moments, then his face took on a knowing look and he said, “Oh, now I get it. You’re one of us, huh?” Then he winked.

Now it was Fiona’s turn to be confused again. “One of…you?”

“Fairytale creatures,” he said. “You’re on the run from Lord Farquaad too, ain’t ya? Or, as Bo Peep used to say, on the lam.”

“Farquaad?” Fiona gasped. There was that name again. A name that seemed to grow viler every time she heard it. What did he have against fairytale creatures? And was she a fairytale…‘creature’? At first blush she found the insinuation absurd and insulting. But as she mulled it over briefly, she realized that perhaps to some she might appear that way. Blast that curse!

“Soooo, you are one of us, then,” the donkey said with self satisfaction, apparently misinterpreting her reaction to Farquaad’s name. “So, what are you, Wiccan? You don’t look Wiccan. Maybe you’re some sort of fairy?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Fiona said evasively, “not really.”

“Okay, okay, I get ya, Prin. Don’t ask, don’t tell.” The donkey sighed. “Where are you going to, then? Maybe I can help.”

Fiona paused for a moment, considering. The temptation – the need – to confide in another sentient being was just so alluring. “I…um…southeast” was all she trusted herself to say.

The donkey cocked an eyebrow again. “Really? That’ll take you a bit close to Duloc for my taste. You sure you don’t wanna head north?”

“No,” she said, perhaps a bit too quickly. “I’m…sure.”

“Well, okay,” he said. “Thanks again for the bread. Good luck…wherever you’re heading.”

“Thank you,” Fiona said, and tried not to wince as she gingerly leaned down to pick up the helmet which she then settled back over her head. “Fare thee well, donkey.”

Fiona had only taken a dozen or so steps when the pain in her side caused her to stop. She bit her lip, took a few deep breaths, and then started walking again. A dozen or so more steps and she had to stop once more, and this time went back down onto one knee.

The donkey rushed over to stand beside her. “Hey, you okay?” he asked with concern.

“I…have a bit of an injury,” she said, trying to keep the pain from showing through her voice. “I just need to rest for a bit.”

“It looks to me like you just finished resting,” the donkey observed.

“Then I need to rest some more,” she said with mild annoyance.

The donkey looked her over a bit longer, pursing his lips in contemplation. Then he said, “Y’know, I could take ya to Duloc. Well, close enough so you can make the rest of your way there, or at least call for help. Maybe they can fix ya there. Then…well, it’s better to be alive and imprisoned than free and dead.”

“What? Duloc? Imprisoned? No!” Fiona said. If that were to happen, she was sure her identity would be discovered, and that would surely mean eventual death for her anyway.

“Wow, you’d rather die than be imprisoned,” the donkey said in admiration, misunderstanding her reasoning. “Well, you’re braver than me. Tell ya what, let me at least help get you to wherever you’re going. Hop on.”

“Pardon me?”

The donkey’s head jerked toward his back. “Hop on. I can take you southeast. It’s not like I’ve got any pressing appointments or anything.”

“Why, that’s quite kind of you,” she said. “But aren’t you a bit…well, small for a donkey? To carry a passenger, I mean.”

The donkey was taken aback. “Look, lady, maybe I’m not some big highfaluting stallion, but I’m strong for my size. I’ve carried whole carts brimming with goods or passengers in my day, and I could again if I had to.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to slight you. I just don’t want to be a burden.”

“Naah, you ain’t no burden, Prin. Go ahead, hop on.”

“Thank you,” Fiona said, deciding to take him up on the offer for a while. She carefully mounted the donkey’s back, and then he began trotting off. The bounce of his trot didn’t do her side much good, but at least it was better than walking. She also found that because of the donkey’s lack of height she either had to hold her feet up or let them to drag on the ground, allowing the metal sabatons to absorb the drag while protecting her toes.

“Besides, Prin,” the donkey said after a short while, “you ain’t getting rid of me now!”

“Huh?”

“Somebody brave like you. Rather risk death than give herself up to the forces of evil and stuff like that. You’ve inspired me, Prin! So here we are, two stalwart friends off on a whirlwind adventure!”

Fiona blushed. His mistaking her fear of discovery for bravery was ironic. She hardly felt brave. Especially since just the thought of having her transformation witnessed, even by this donkey, terrified her.

“No, really, donkey,” she said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. “I just need a short ride, and then—”

“And then I’ll hang around and do what I can for you till you’re better.”

“No, please, you don’t need—”

“Hey, no problem! I want to help. In fact, I insist! You and me, Prin, we’re gonna be tight like waffles and syrup! Bread and butter! Toast and jam! Peanut butter and jelly! Um, say, Prin, could I have just a little more of that bread of yours? Nope, nevermind, we’d better wait till the next rest stop. Not good to trot on too full a stomach. Besides, if there’s one thing I am, it’s patient!”

Fiona sighed in resignation. She now had a new, unexpected, and unwanted dilemma to deal with.

“So, Southeast, huh?” he said.

“Huh? Oh…um, yes,” she replied.

“That’s…kinda specific. Not south. Not east. Southeast.”

“Yes.”

“You got family down there or something?”

Fiona remained silent for a few seconds. Southeast was the most direct route to take her further away from Far Far Away, which she still considered the most dangerous threat for now. “We can turn east later,” she said. “When we get closer to Duloc. For now, I need to head southeast.”

“Becauuuuse?” he prodded.

“It’s…personal,” she said.

“Okay, okay, I don’t mean to be nosey,” the donkey apologized. He was silent himself for almost ten seconds before he spoke again. “Y’know, I’ve got a cousin over in Spain who used to have adventures with knights. They called him ‘Donkeyhotey’. Fought dragons, he did.” The donkey shivered. “Man, if there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s dragons! Anyway, there was this one time when he…”

For the next hour or so the donkey talked about his cousin. Then, with a little discrete nudging from Fiona – it didn’t take much – he started talking about Duloc. From the long elucidation that followed she learned that Farquaad had decided that fairytale ‘freaks’ – beings that didn’t fit into his vision of the inhabitants of the perfect kingdom that he wanted to build in Duloc – should be banished. And not just banished, but forced to take residence in a secluded piece of swampland that was, as the donkey put it, ‘a place that nobody in their right mind would want to live in.’ The donkey himself was sentenced to report to the swamp after his owner sold him to Farquaad’s henchmen, but through cleverness and daring-do – as he told it – he managed to escape, and had been hiding out in the forest ever since. At some point during his expositions Fiona realized she hadn’t thought to ask his name, but once he started rolling she found it hard to fit a word in edgewise. An occasional ‘yes, donkey’ or ‘really, donkey?’ or ‘I don’t know, donkey’ was the best that she could manage. She just continued referring to him as ‘donkey’, and as he seemed to respond as if that were really his name, she gave up and just called him that.

As the sun slowly descended westward Donkey eventually switched from conversation (however one-sided) to singing travel songs…of which he seemed to have an unending supply. Fiona realized with growing trepidation that she would soon need to make a decision: to reveal her secret to her companion or to find some way of getting away from him so that she could transform and spend the night in privacy. Who knew, ogres were supposed to be quick healers, perhaps an entire quiet, restful, uneventful night spent in her ogress form would hasten the healing of her wound. She certainly hoped so.

She toyed with the idea of just telling him about herself – the transforming part, that was. She certainly didn’t intend to reveal her royal identity. After all, he was being quite kind to take her as far as he had, and he was apparently a fugitive himself, so perhaps she could trust him. But as the sun grew more orange and neared the horizon, her old fears of revelation and fresh memories of betrayal overtook her, and she resolved to find some way to be rid of his presence.

Once she had made her decision, Fiona began paying much more attention to her surroundings. She soon saw an opportunity: as the path led them toward the ford of a stream she noted the foliage to either side grew denser, with large clumps of bulrushes about the stream’s banks. She glanced over to the sun. It was becoming a bit harder to discern through the trees, but she guessed she had maybe half an hour of sunlight left. She bit her lip. She was going to hate herself later for what she was about to do, but for now it was the only way she could think of to get rid of Donkey without having to answer awkward questions.

“Donkey,” she said. “Could we please stop? My side really hurts right now.” That part, at least, was true enough.

“Oh. Sure, Prin,” he said, came to a halt, and knelt helpfully so that she could dismount with minimum effort.

Fiona did carefully dismount, and decided maybe she really should check the wound out. She gingerly lifted the chain mail and surcoat to reveal the angry dark red scab where she had cauterized the wound. More distressing was that the area appeared inflamed and puffy, and an oval of purple surrounded it, dark purple near the wound side and progressively lightening to lavender as it spread out for an area of some two or three inches around it.

“Say…that…that looks pretty bad,” Donkey said, and suddenly appeared woozy. Instinctively Fiona dropped her chain mail and surcoat and caught his head with both hand as he began to faint.

“Donkey! Are you all right?” she asked with genuine concern.

“Oh. Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, still a bit unsteady but in no longer in immediate danger of swooning.

Mentally, Fiona kicked herself. It would have been easier if she had just let him faint. Now she would have to go through with her plan. But first she wanted to express her honest appreciation. She stoked one side of his face tenderly and said, “Donkey, I really, really want to thank you for all you’ve done. I am very grateful. You truly are a noble steed.”

“Ah, chucks, twern’t nothing,” Donkey said modestly, seeming to have returned to full consciousness. “What are friends for?”

Fiona sighed and dropped her hands. “Now, I need to treat this wound, and I need your help to do so.”

“Oh, sure, Prin, what can I do?” Donkey asked.

Fiona hesitated just a moment longer, and then said, “I need you to run deeper into the woods and find me a blue flower with red thorns.”

“Blue flower, red thorns,” Donkey repeated. “Okay, I’m on it!” He dashed into the undergrowth, repeating, “Blue flower, red thorns…”

Fiona waited a few seconds, sighed, then turned toward a thicker patch of woods, making sure it was upwind so that Donkey wouldn’t be able to scent her food again. Her food! Fiona halted, quickly undid the satchel with the bread, and laid out a few more portions on the ground. Then she drew her sword and quickly sketched a rough ‘Thank you!’ beside it. Then she glanced back to where Donkey had disappeared, quickly re-sheathed her sword and refastened her food satchel as she headed off the path and into the thicket as quickly as her protesting side would allow, trying to stay as quiet as possible. About thirty feet in she heard the scamper of hooves returning, so she dropped to the ground in a well-secluded part of the thicket and waited.

“Prin!” she heard Donkey call. “Prin, I found your flowers! Where’d you go, girl? Prin!”

There was then a pause, which Fiona assumed was when he found the bread and her scratching.

“Well, of all the…” she heard him say, and then he heaved a great disappointed sigh.

Fiona bit her lip guiltily. Despite her companion’s species orientation, it was she who felt like an ass. How perversely odd, she reflected, that she could face a dragon’s wrath, but she couldn’t face her fear of discovery by someone who didn’t already know her secret. She nearly found the courage to rise and reveal herself, but her inner voice spoke again. Better safe than sorry, Fiona. Yes. Better to be safe. And secure. And alone. Just like in the tower.

She heard munching sounds for a few seconds, then Donkey said in an increasingly pathetic tone, “Okay, then. Fine. I guess I’ll go on. All on my own. Alone. All by myself.” In fact, he then broke into a sad crack-voiced rendition of the song ‘All By Myself’ as he finally started walking on. Fiona thought she could almost hear him holding his head down low as his voice slowly receded.

Fiona waited. Five minutes. Ten. Twenty. And as Fiona waited, she wiped her brow. She had been sweating for a while, she realized. At first she thought it was nervousness, executing her scheme to elude Donkey and then waiting to see if he would move on. But the sweat continued. She took her helmet off and sat it beside her, and then held the back of her hand against her forehead. Warm, she thought. She might be starting a fever. “That’s just great,” she murmured. But was sweating a sign of getting a fever, or breaking one…even if she didn’t have one before? Blast if she knew; she was a princess, not a doctor. All she knew was that she was hot. And in pain. And wet.

She was also thirsty.

She opened her waterskin and took a long drink, leaving the container nearly empty. She needed to refill it. She lifted her head from her hiding place to take as good a look as possible to make sure Donkey was gone. He was, as she assumed, long gone now. She then made her way out of the thicket and to the bank of the stream, dropping to her knees at its edge.

First Fiona splashed some water over her face to cool it, and then she dipped the waterskin into the stream. As she waited for it to fill, she looked down into the wavering water at her human reflection; even with the mangled remains of her hair, it was beautiful. Then she looked toward the horizon. Although the horizon itself was obscured, she guessed by the amount and color of the light that she could make out through the trees and the dwindling light around her that the sun would soon be down, and her beautiful human form would again be gone for yet another long, lonely night. Different venue, same scenario. But then, as she continued looking at the trees, she noticed something that she’d overlooked before: a few feet off the path where the forest became denser there was a wooden sign nailed to a tree. It had faded green paint on a weathered white background, which along with the lengthening shadows had made it hard to discern. She squinted to make it out better; the paint was a rough drawing of a skull and crossbones, with two words written above it: ‘KEEP OUT!’

Fiona shuddered, then looked back down into the water and saw her human reflection there again, along with the reflection of the man standing behind and looking down at her.