"Still around the corner there may wait a new road or a secret gate." grumbled Thorton, "As if a new road or a secret gate were the same thing. As if a new road or secret gate were what was needed. No indeed, I'd settle for an old road or a well known gate.

Settle? Hell, I’d be ecstatic. I'd have a chance of knowing where I'm going then. As it stands now. Stands? Hell, one foot in front of the other, I'm definitely walking here. As it WALKS now, I'm entirely lost.

Each corner a surprise wherein I wish this path, this mucky root crusted path, would turn into a road, grow into a beautiful two lane, hell four lane, highway. A highway of dastardly fast cars driven by ignorant, oblivious slobs who barely deign to drive around my poor tired, footsore self. That would be an improvement.

Heavens, I don't need no stinkin’ new road, it can be filled with potholes and lumps bouncing their shiny cars and trucks all over the place. Maybe then they'd slow down and pick up a weary traveller. Take ‘em to a diner with decent coffee, and pie.

Dammit, a nice piece of pie, maybe apple with cheddar cheese just barely melting on top. Mmm the savoury, salty warmth of old cheddar biting the sweet cinnamon apple goodness. Such is heaven made of. Not new roads or secret gates. Who the hell knows where those go? Gates be secret if no one uses ‘em, and unused gates don't lead to decent diners with apple pie. Never mind the cheddar cheese and good coffee. Secret gates don't make for enough traffic to support a decent diner. Nope, a nice old two lane highway, that's what we need."

"Good lord man, do you ever wind down or can you keep up that endless drivel till hell itself freezes over?"

Thorton, froze. Mid stride, one foot in the muck and one just landing on a root, stopped, arms akimbo. Head unmoving, they rolled their eyes around, up from the roots, around through the branchy, winter worn growth along the path ahead and to either side, unwilling to move more then eyes until the speaker were found.

Not seeing anyone or anything that might critique their rambling forward talk Thorton waited, barely breathing for more information, slowly easing their weight over the root landed foot, bracing to move in any direction, practicing the gentle invisible shift taught by parade masters of award-winning parade troops. Long ago, Thorton had learned the valuable skill of the slow, silent shift, though their knees didn't favour the silent part as much as they used to.

"Well now, the quiet's nice, but we'll never get to where we're going if you keep standing and staring about like a damned fool."

Thorton ceased even the silent shift, focusing on stretching the feeling of their skin to the air around them, to sense where, and who, were talking.

"You're acting like you're shocked to hear from me,” the voice accused. “As if you didn't know I was along for the ride. You said 'That's what we need.' I rather thought you knew I were here. That we're traveling together."

Thorton allowed their arms to drop from mid swing to rest at their sides, gently patted their pockets for ride along guests, found no unexpected lumps or bumps that bit or otherwise objected to the pat down.

"Naw, I'm not in a pocket, good heavens, do you think I'm that small? No, I'm on top your pack, I've been leaning and resting my arms on your hat." A tappity tap tap on top of Thorton's hat gave credence to this crazy claim. Thorton's knees silently gave up holding their legs upright and Thorton's bottom landed, as their feet had been, half on muck and half on knobby roots.

"Ach, you've got to warn a person when you sit down, I very nearly fell off."

"Who? What? Where are you going?"

"So many questions then? I'm who I am and I'm going nearly the same place as you. Out of this damnable forest, off this lonely path and out into the world. That pie and cheese thing sounded interesting."

"Pie and cheese?"

"Don't you even listen to yourself? You were going on about diners with coffee and pie and sometimes cheese. Sounded good."

"Well, yes, I do like pie, and cheese, with coffee."

"Alright then, up you go and find us some."

Thorton stood, brushed the muck from one side of their butt to the other, smearing some down the back of their pants as well, and began walking again.

Some lengths later the voice spoke again, "What now the cat's got your tongue I find I miss the ramble, beside it rather seemed you walked faster when you're mouth were also walking. Can you not begin again?"

Words failed to form in either Thorton's brain or mouth, though they did pick up the pace a bit, swinging their arms more vigorously and bouncing a bit with their knees, testing to see if the motion dislodged their rider. It did not.

Now that they'd been made aware of the pressure along the back brim of their hat it was easy enough to imagine a waif leaning, arms crossed on the back brim, to feel light feet planted on either side of their pack. Thorton wondered if their rider had a pack and hat of their own, perhaps with another rider balanced, unbeknownst to them, on their pack. And another atop of that one. It’s waifs all the way up, they thought. In any case, their rider didn't seem inclined to dismount.

The path widened, firmly packed and drier now that the branches didn't reach so close to the edges. If it had been a sunny day, Thorton's shadow would have barely brushed the branches, as it was, a solid grey sky didn't lean toward shadows or beckon brightly. No sunbeams danced through the branches, nor shadows slithered. Thorton strode through light that was neither morning nor afternoon, an endless mid day when the direction, descent or rise of the sun could not be determined. No roads, new or old, nor gates secret or known, presented themselves to Thorton, only the endless path winding now up, now down, never sufficiently in either direct to provide a vista or view.

"Hey now, this is damnably boring. Don't you have some roads or gates coming up? A busy world of men and machines to return to? Perhaps one with pie?"

Despite the distance they'd covered together Thorton hadn't uttered a word since resuming walking. Who knew what spell the rider might cast if Thorton spoke unguardedly, who knew if the rider were real or a figment of a lonely imagination or perhaps it bit of bad beef, no that wasn't quite right, what was it that Scrooge had accused the ghost of being? In any case, Thorton had no doubt talking to the thing was not in Thorton's best interest.

Mayhap it would get so bored it would leave them alone before night. Thorton didn't think they were young enough anymore to walk through the night and dreaded what may happen when they stopped to rest. What if the rider didn't approve? What if it got off Thorton's pack and were horrible and terrible to look upon? Thorton preferred to imagine a waif, thin, nearly light as air, not entirely unlike Thorton in appearance, balanced on their pack, taking the easy way out of the forest.

Probably dropped down from a tree while Thorton had distracted themselves from the muck while thinking of traveling quotes from walkers in books they'd read. No, it was better if Thorton didn't acknowledge the thing with words, better if it just stopped being there, whether it swung back up into a tree, poof-ed away in imagination, or were successfully digested, Thorton just wished it were not. Talking to it would keep it real. Make it stay.

The path diverged in the wood ahead. Thorton took the more traveled, was patted on the head. "That's excellent, now we're getting somewhere where there might be pie."

The idea of pie had clearly entranced the thing. Pie sounded pretty good to Thorton too. They took one of the lumps from their pocket and munched on some cheese. Pie didn't travel well in pockets, but cheese, wrapped in beeswax paper did quite well, made a wonderful trail snack, filling, nutritious and delicious, as they say.

"I say, that cheese trick was nicely done. Don't have to stop for lunch if you've got cheese in yur pockets. Too bad you don't have a bit of bread to go with it."

The path narrowed, trees rejoined the bramble along the sides and Thorton held out hope the rider would depart.

Several turns later, Thorton pulled a hard bun from their pocket and munched along, not caring if crumbs dribbled down and left white dots along the path. They'd start and stop with no way to show anyone if Thorton were coming or going. Not even Thorton knew that for sure. A brief interlude of breadcrumbs leading nowhere in the forest. A tempting trail with no target, so long as Thorton kept moving. There was plenty of daylight left, Thorton had no plans to stop any time soon. The rider on their back said not one word on the existence of bread or crumbs.

Thorton kept striding along. At every splitting of the path, Thorton chose the more travelled. The path became drier, more firmly packed, with fewer leaves and roots. Eventually a crumbled pavement made itself known underfoot and as grey sunlight faded to black, Thorton crossed a diner's wide parking lot, sat down and ordered coffee and pie, no cheese.