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Summoned to his first Council of Healers meeting, Doc wasn't sure what to expect. Images of early 19th century anatomy theatres vied in his mind with rows of Mediæval scholastic monks seated at scribing desks, dutifully regurgitating yesterday's ignorance.

He was wrong on both counts. The meeting was held in an anteroom to a large apothecary whose tall wooden shelves were laden in orderly fashion with pharmaceuticals, which in turn were prepared from a formidable-looking book of pharmacopoeia. Arriving early, as was his habit, Doc leafed through the book with growing respect, admiration, and surprise. 'Add a few books of surgical techniques, and give these people microscopes and better tools,' he told himself, 'and they'll be caught up in no time.'

When the Healers began arriving, Doc was surprised not just at how few of them he recognised, but more at how few of them there were. By the time the last expected person had arrived, they were a mere twenty-three in all, including Doc.

The Elf Healer chairing the meeting, a tall, greying, ascetic-looking fellow named Vries, was brief and to the point.

'I have called this meeting for two reasons,' he said. 'The first is that this may well be the last meeting of our Order in this place. The Thane has made it clear to me that, at some point in the near future, Mirrindale is to be evacuated.' There was no response to this, as it was common knowledge. 'This means that we, as the Healers of Mirrindale, are faced with a difficult choice; that of remaining in Mirrindale, once hostilities have begun, or abandoning Mirrindale to its fate, and leaving with successive groups of refugees.

'The second reason I have called this meeting is to tender to you my resignation.' Into the shocked silence which followed, he said, 'My friends, as you well know, there is one among us whose prowess as a Healer far exceeds my own, or any of us. And though he is not an Elf, nor is he one of our Order, I ask that he agree to allow himself to become elected Prefect of our Order. I have not yet named him, yet most of you know him well, by reputation if not in person. I name him now- James Irving Wallace.'

Doc was speechless, and for perhaps the first time in his life, caught entirely off-guard.

'Do you accept this responsibility?' Vries asked him.

Doc stared, unable for a moment to find his voice. 'Were I a younger man-'

At this, Vries and a few of his companions smiled.

'I myself have seen seventy-three summers,' Vries told him. 'Aga here, well . . . she stopped ageing at thirty or so-' there were some dry chuckles at this. 'The youngest member here, Alithæa, is forty-seven.'

'I can see you accepting my help;' Doc told them, 'even accepting me into your Order, if that makes things more official. But why would you want to put me in charge?'

Vries gave him a knowing look. 'Because you possess skills other than Healing which are vital to making a place of Healing many times more efficient when it comes to treating large numbers of casualties. These "administrative skills," as I and others have heard you call them; it would take a blind man not to see how important they will become, both in transforming the way in which our places of Healing are organized, and in making far greater use of our limited resources.

'Consider; it is written on your face that our lack of Healers is a concern to you. But until now we have never had need of many, and now that the need will soon be upon us, those few will have to suffice.

'Yet you seem to be able to circumvent such obstacles, by improvising quick, simple, easy-to-learn training methods for assistants, in effect freeing our senior staff from all but the most critical of duties.

'I will not hide from you that our nursing staff was outraged at this incursion; at least at first. Theirs is a jealously insular profession, as is our own, it must be admitted. But your methods, freely taught without hint of personal rivalry or condemnation of ignorance, has won over all those who make up the disparate disciplines of which our Healing profession consists. If nothing else, that in itself would have decided me in making this request of you.'

Doc was unable not to smile, wryly.

'I don't really have a choice in this, do I?'

Vries smiled in kind. 'As a true Healer . . . not really.'

'But you're staying on,' Doc said.

'All of us, as you put it, will be "staying on,"' Vries said.

'And what of this business of leaving Mirrindale?' Doc asked him. 'I would like to hear your thoughts on the matter.'

'As you wish,' Vries replied. 'There is no guarantee that Mirrindale won't eventually fall, in which case all of its inhabitants will be put to the sword. Yet Mirrindale's endurance is imperative, in that the King's armies will be preoccupied with destroying this fortress city. Since Mirrindale is the only stronghold we have, not only will it buy the refugees precious time to escape, but if the city were to be quickly overwhelmed, then there will quite literally be no chance for anyone to escape from the Elf Kingdom, as the Goblin hordes would then be turned loose to roam the countryside at will . . .'

As Vries spoke, Doc considered the implications of staying in Mirrindale, and of leaving it altogether, consigning the fortress city to its fate. Working with the healers of Mirrindale had already taught him much concerning his special gift of Healing. But his Power and control over his abilities was growing steadily, and he found that for this reason he was reluctant to leave; not yet, while he still had so much to learn. Besides, he thought wryly to himself, the real reason is that I never could turn down people who need me.

In the following weeks, it was with mixed feelings that Doc received the news from the Thane that, circumstances permitting, Mirrindale's population would be fully evacuated in a matter of months, save for the worst of the offenders amongst the Merchants and the soldiers. Hearing this decided him to stay on, even after the abandonment, though he decided for personal reasons to withhold this information from the Thane for the time being.

Parting with his young friends was hard, and when it came time to say goodbye, he was surprised at himself for being more emotional than anticipated. 'Well, Doc,' said Ralph, standing before him awkwardly, 'I guess we won't be seeing each other for a while.' Malina wept, and embraced the old man, causing him to say gruffly, around an unfamiliar thickness in his throat, 'Well, get on with it then. I hate long goodbyes.'

Pran was somewhat taken aback when he found that the group leaving Mirrindale would be led by Birin, having naturally assumed that the Elf soldier would continue his duties as Mirrindale's chief captain. But the Thane had taken this role upon himself, ordering Birin instead to lead the refugees. This did not entirely make sense to Pran, as he did not think that Birin was the best choice for such a task, though he was a natural leader, known to soldier and civilian alike, and possessed a knowledge of the countryside, at least to the ends of the Elf Kingdom, that was second to none. Pran reasoned that perhaps the main reason was that Birin was deep in the Thane's counsels, and had as good a grasp as could be had of what was to come.

Still, Pran harboured reservations in the Thane's choice of leader. True, Birin would act out the Thane's will as though it were his own, but therein lay the problem. In Pran's experience in his observance of Birin's performance as leader, the further and the longer the Elf captain was away from the Thane's sphere of influence, the less flexible, tolerant, and organized he became. Birin's greatest weakness, in Pran's mind, was his inability to improvise freely when there was no plan, structure or framework from which to hang his ideas; and worst of all was his utter lack of imagination. Free-association was as alien to Birin's mind as tatting to a stonemason.

All of those assembled for the journey were families, mostly those of soldiers and farmers. But there were many who represented the various crafts as well; the Thane had carefully seen to this. But to be so well-equipped meant also that they would be sorely encumbered; an unfortunate and unavoidable consequence. The journey was not going to be an easy one; speed, and flight if they were attacked, would not be possible. Should it happen, a chance encounter with a marauding Goblin army would likely prove fatal, but the refugees were made well-aware of all possible risks.

The Healers travelling with them were not from Mirrindale. Rather, they were rural people who had trained under itinerant educators based in the fortress city. As Healers they had their own training and methods, suited mainly to the hazards and realities of rural life. Like the military surgeons, they were self-reliant when it came to collecting and dispensing their pharmacopoeia, and had a wide knowledge of medicinal herbs, plants, fungi, animal and mineral products and byproducts, and because of their taxonomic knowledge could identity relatives of these that were possessed of similar properties when travel removed them from their familiar fare.

In fact, their knowledge of pharmacopoeia was considerably greater than either military surgeon or Healer in Mirrindale, simply because such rural folk ranged far and wide, and travelled with greater freedom that did the soldiers; and those Healers in Mirrindale had little chance of learning the skills of gathering pharmacopoeia as they spent most of their time confined within its walls. Instead, their stocks, other than what they could grow for themselves, came directly from the rural Healers, who were often paid in part with scrolls of medical information.

The refugees' destination was to be a great forest, one that was said to exist outside the Kingdom. Legend had it that Faerie creatures had lived in that almost forgotten wood long before the creation of the Elf Kingdom. Many thought it likely that their Faerie kindred who had already left the Kingdom would most likely seek such a place.

Assuming that the great forest still existed, beyond that their knowledge was uncertain. Besides the possible presence of dispossessed Faerie-folk, there was no telling what sort of denizens might occupy such a place, or how they might react to the Elven refugees. To this end, Birin went personally to Malina and asked that she officially assume her role as Emissary, thinking that her presence might be accepted, where that of the Elves might not.

She had misgivings about assuming such a role, and told Birin as much. Being creatures of Magic and of Nature, the Faerie Folk answered to no one. They had no love for Elves, especially after having suffered at the hands of their tyranny and their dangerous Lore. And these folk would not be living within the Elf Kingdom. Pleading the Elves' case, she told Birin, could prove a dangerous gamble, for her own personal safety as well as for the Elves.

It was well known among her Faerie kindred that the reason for the increased numbers of Goblins was mainly due to the meddling of the Elves as they probed deeper and deeper into the secrets of Nature, without any apparent regard for the consequences of their labours. They had shifted the Balance away from its natural course as they bent it to suit their own selfish wants.

As beautiful as the Elf Kingdom was, it was not a natural beauty. Instead, it was cultivated, selective, exclusive, and inherently harmful to anything or anyone the Elves had no interest in or use for.

Many Elves like Pran desired to change this, having always revered Nature for its own sake, and having mistrusted what others had done to meddle with it. Within the Elf Kingdom there had been no seasonal change for as long as anyone could remember; just one, long, stagnant summer. True, there had been no drought nor famine in as long a time, and there had been few storms. But gone, too, was the enriching decay and smell of fall, the long, meditative quiet of winter, the gentle spring mists which seemed inseparable from the new, verdant growth and poignant sense of renewal. The great Cycle of Life been stopped in its course.

The questions uppermost in the minds of many were these: what lay beyond the borders of the Elf Kingdom? Did Nymphs and Sprites still play in the streams and meadows and forests, or had they perished utterly? What unknown eyes might view a people fleeing their own folly, a people who had dispossessed others, and were themselves now likewise dispossessed? It was never spoken of openly, but there were those who felt that Elvenkind was cursed, that innocence was no guarantee of mercy. For as we have sown, so, perhaps, shall we reap, they thought to themselves.

The days and weeks passed, but finally, after a number of delays brought about by reports of marauding Goblins, the small exodus got under way. They were nearly a third on horse, a few rode atop heavily laden ox-carts and in horse-drawn covered wagons, and the rest travelled on foot. Upon reaching the town of Narvi, they turned west, skirting the foothills to enter a long, ever narrowing valley which passed eventually between two great ranges of mountains. Few had passed beyond the end of the valley, for it marked the end of the Elf Kingdom. To the best of anyone's knowledge, what lay beyond was trackless wilderness.

The journey was hard on Deborah, who was still very ill. The bump and roll of the wagon soon had her laying in a cold sweat as she endured successive waves of dizziness and nausea. She was accompanied by Theuli, Malina, and the children. As Theuli wiped the fever-perspiration from her brow with a thick homespun cloth, Deborah opened her eyes.

'Do you regret your decision to come to our world now?' Theuli asked her.

Deborah tried to smile. 'Ask me when I feel better.' She was soon asleep again. Malina watched her, worried.

'Do you think she will be all right?'

Shifting to a more comfortable position in the straw, drawing a warm fur over Deborah's sleeping form, Theuli considered the high mountains and surrounding countryside. 'I am no seer. And I am no Healer. Doc said that she would recover, given time and rest. But my heart tells me it is her spirit more than her body which needs healing. And,' she admitted, 'the slowness of her recovery concerns me.'

Malina found herself looking on as Zuic did small, silly things to make Rani laugh. Rani couldn't resist making a face in response. For some reason, Malina found that seeing their play saddened her, and in some way served to remind her that those carefree days spent in the fields and streams of her youth were now gone, forever. A great emptiness seemed to open inside her, an almost physically painful gulf of need. She looked about, hoping at least for a glance of Rowf, wishing he were somewhere near . . . but there was only the passing countryside, the ponderous passage of laden oxcarts, and a host of strangers on foot and on horse.

In an attempt to push such feelings aside, she said, 'I have never travelled this way.'

'I have somewhat,' Theuli replied. 'In perhaps two days time we will near the border of the Elf Kingdom. Beyond that, my knowledge fails.' She considered Malina closely. 'You are so much changed. Perhaps the other Pixies, assuming we meet any, will not recognize you for what you are.'

Malina reddened slightly. 'Oh, they will recognize me for what I am. It is their possible reaction that worries me.'

Theuli looked ahead, thoughtfully. 'I didn't realize the extent of the harm we'd done. Well, I hope we have paid the price already. I would not want my children to suffer for the mistakes of others.' Her eyes widened as she watched the children, and the look she turned to Malina was profoundly sad. 'Of course, how can I say such a thing when you have suffered the brunt of our injustice?'

Surprised, Malina replied, 'But you have never treated me badly. Even when I did things to make you angry, you never did me any harm.'

'Did I not?' Theuli took Malina by the hands. Malina had never been touched by an Elf in such a manner in her life, and she stared at Theuli uncertainly.

'I remember a time,' Theuli told her, 'when Pran and I travelled on a wagon much like this, when we first were married. There was an unusually cold and heavy rain that evening, and we were huddled under an oilskin, keeping each other warm and dry. We saw you, alone and shivering, huddled against the downwind side of a tree, trying to stay out of the rain.'

Not looking into the Elf woman's eyes, Malina muttered, 'I remember.'

'We could have stopped,' Theuli continued. 'We could have offered you warmth and shelter, even for just a night. I can't tell you how the memory of seeing you like that wrung at my heart, especially after you led Rani out of the woods.'

Malina, turning away in an effort to avoid looking directly at such memories, found herself facing Rani, who was smiling.

'You sang to me,' said Rani. It was true. She had sung to the frightened child a song she used to sing to herself when she was frightened and lonely, which had been often.

'It was the same song you were singing to yourself when we saw you in the wood that night,' said Theuli. 'But no one ever came . . .'

Malina withdrew her hands, shaken. 'Please, don't.' She turned away from the others, trying to watch the passing countryside, but her vision was blurred with hot tears.

'When Rani returned to us, that was how we knew it was you,' said Theuli. 'This past year, Pran and I waited for your sentence to end, dreading what we would find. We were both so relieved . . . Malina, can you ever forgive us?'

Malina couldn't answer at first. Theuli had touched too deeply the grief, loneliness and fear she had lived with for far too long. She found herself wishing that she was able to distance herself from such feelings, to push them aside. For a brief moment, she considered getting out of the wagon altogether . . .

'I will be honest with you,' she said slowly, doing her best to force down rising emotion. 'It is hard, sometimes, not to become bitter. For understand, I have lost everything, including all that I was. I am not that same child of innocence whom you remember in the woods. I no longer need others to . . . to-'

Putting a trembling hand to her face, she began weeping, dryly. Guided by a mother's instinct, Theuli ignored her words, and when she offered her embrace, something within Malina that had lain dormant for many years was swept aside; she pressed her face to the Elf-woman's breast, remembering at once what it felt like to be held so by her own long-dead mother.

'Be not so quick to abandon that child of innocence,' Theuli told her softly, caressing the young woman who began sobbing, brokenly. 'I see her yet. Despite all that has happened, she endures.'

That night, the air became colder and clearer, and the stars shone more brightly and in even greater numbers than before. They came to a stop shortly after midnight. When Ralph and Pran joined the others in the wagon, they ate a meal beneath the light of a lantern which hung from one of the wagon's metal stays. Afterward, they pulled the canvas overtop the metal stays, blew the light out, huddled together under blankets for mutual warmth, and slept soundly.

Ralph awoke with a small form pressed to his side. Glancing down, he could see Malina's white-blonde hair in the first pale light of dawn. They had not lain together in this position when they went to bed, and it seemed to him after a moment that she had probably sought him out in her sleep; her blankets lay abandoned near his feet, where she had curled up beside Deborah. Though asleep, she was shivering, laying on top of his blankets, wearing only her light peasant dress.

Acting on impulse, guided by a strong, protective feeling he suddenly felt towards this girl, he reached down, got her blankets, pulled his own from underneath her, and covered them both. She made a small noise in her sleep and shifted against him to a more comfortable position, but didn't wake. He was about to give himself up to sleep once more, when he noticed that Pran was watching him with a look somewhere between worry and relief.

'I hope, for both your sake, that you realize what you're doing,' Pran said.

Ralph was thoughtful for a time, but declined to respond. Instead, reaching over and opening a flap of the wagon's canvas covering, noting that new day's false dawn that was passing incrementally into grey morning twilight, he said, 'It's getting colder. Do you know what season it is outside?'

'If you mean "outside the Elf Kingdom," I do not know. I have not set foot outside it since my youth, when curiosity used to prompt me to explore, somewhat,' Pran responded. 'But as we are still a day from the border and it is becoming increasingly colder, to venture a guess, I would say that it is probably winter.'

Ralph was worried about this. 'Pran, if we're heading into early or even mid-winter . . . we only have food enough to last a month; two at the most, it we really stretch things.'

'Do not be overly concerned,' said Pran with his habitual irony. 'Food will be the least of our problems.'

Malina made a noise in her sleep, moving against him in a way that was suggestive of more than a simple search for warmth. Ralph noticed, with a pang, that she was smiling. With a rueful look, he said, 'Despite everything, I can never get over how resilient she's been, since the beginning.'

'Theuli, too,' said Pran, knowing what Ralph meant, watching his wife as she slept. Indicating Deborah with a nod, he said, 'That one concerns me. In some ways she is hardly more than a child herself, and it seems she has known little kindness. I wonder if she has not come here to find healing, but rather to lose herself.'

Ralph shrugged. 'I like to think that she'll find here what Malina found in my world. She was long overdue for a change. Besides, there's something that she needs in her life. I used to think it was me, but it's not. It's something else . . . not that sort of thing at all. One thing is certain, though: she was never able to find whatever it was she was looking for in the world we came from.'

'That may be,' Pran replied. 'But that doesn't necessarily mean that she will find what she needs in this one.

'As for the rest of us,' he said, starting to rise, 'for the moment, I think we should have our breakfast and begin breaking camp. We must be under way soon.'

As the camp came to life, breakfasting around cooking fires and preparing to depart once more, Nevana left her family to walk alone, listlessly, aimlessly. Durus, following her daughter with her eyes, scowled, knowing full well the reason for Nevana's foray. The jealous possessiveness that passed for the love of her husband and children welled up in her bosom.

An outsider would have difficulty fathoming such an emotion, or how such a person viewed the world, and her husband's and children's place in that world.

Arlon, however, knew his wife's moods all too well, but accepted them with a sort of tired resignation, and with an habitual avertedness of attention, that, if one who did not know him well, might think of as distraction.

He had known Durus since she was a young, beautiful Elf-maiden, had courted her, had married her, and at first had thought himself the luckiest man alive.

But he had paid little, if any, attention to her home life, and to her parents. They were of a hard-working, humourless cast; there was no joy or laughter in that household. They seemed glad enough to be rid of the burden of their only daughter; her father was forever talking about the virtues of having sons, and her mother seemed to share this sentiment; though Durus worked hard (far too hard, he had thought at the time, as though she were trying to make up for the lack of her sex), her efforts were forever belittled. The last time Arlon had spoken to Durus's parents was when they, sour-faced and with very poor grace, provided the most meagre, one might say spiteful dowry. Arlon thought in his heart that he was rescuing this poor waif from an ill-deserved fate.

If she had worked hard as a child living at home, to Arlon's incomprehension, she seemed to redouble her efforts as woman of her own house. For the first three years, until their first child, Nevana, was born, Arlon had waited patiently for this mood to pass, for some spark to kindle, which in his naïveté, he thought would be ignited by his unconditional love for her; to illuminate the dark room that was Durus's life.

His wait was in vain, and had been ever since. There was no spark, no happiness, no joy, no love. Durus' attitude towards her first child was much the same as that towards her husband. Here was yet another thing needed to establish her independence from her parents; something that was hers, and no one else's.

At this late stage, it could be said of neither parent that they loved their children, especially Nevana, whose behaviour, a product of their upbringing, was beginning to force a number of unpleasant realizations upon both of them about their shortcomings as parents.

But Arlon did pity his daughter, for he could see in her a longing that had long ago been unrequited in himself towards his wife, and life in general; an experience that had left him a more bitter man than he would otherwise have become.

Nurture he thought vehemently, seeing an all too familiar lost look in his daughter's eyes, a sag to her shoulders. The only understanding Durus has of such a word is enough food in the belly to perform a good day's labour

Yet it never occurred to him to do anything about this, to attempt to close the gulf between his children and himself. He had never learned how.

And now, in Nevana's case, he sensed that it was forever too late.

Nevana glimpsed Ralph briefly a couple of times, riding with Pran. Neither of them had given her the least notice. 'Small wonder,' she thought, her mood touched by a sense of desolation as she considering the drab, overlarge, hand-me-down clothing she wore. Well-concealed beneath this garb, she wore old, ill-fitting, cramped summer slippers; consequently, her feet were cold and cramped; the sort of oversight typical of her mother; 'Out of sight, out of mind,' Durus would had said, with no thought for her daughter's discomfort.

The pain of seeing Ralph together with Malina was almost more than she could bear, and she was forced to admit, perhaps for the first time in her life, that the reason she was not with Ralph was because of some lack in herself.

And she finally realized, now that it was too late, what that lack was.

It was simple love; love that, until she had met Ralph, had no idea how to give, how badly she needed it, or what its lack was doing to her life.

That knowledge had been harmful to her: it had made her realise how badly she needed Ralph in her life, and in the same breath, had made her realise how desperately lonely she was.

To make matters worse, that little Pixie vermin, that little upstart who didn't know her place, had taken full advantage, and now had the big Human to herself 'Perhaps she has cast a spell upon him,' Nevana thought, but had to push the thought aside, knowing in her heart of hearts that Malina, in her present condition, possessed no such power. 'Perhaps she had help,' a darker voice said, from somewhere deeper within. But no, the true reason pushed such thoughts aside. At least for now.

The true reason was that, from the beginning, the little Pixie was able to do something that she, Nevana, was incapable of. Malina loved Ralph. And her love was unconditional.

'But if my love were unconditional, what then?' she thought to herself. 'Are not all things possible, where unconditional love is concerned? At least, that is how it always happens in romantic stories.'

Stories This is real life Consider what your eyes behold

But Nevana had no wish to accept the evidence of her eyes. What good had that ever done her? Her life, such as it was, was not worth looking at.

So her attention began to turn elsewhere. It began to turn inward, to the voice that began telling her only what she wanted to hear . . .

They were moving again within the hour. Birin, whom they had seen little of, approached Pran and Ralph with a heightened sense of urgency. He pointed to a break in the mountains far to the west. 'There lies the end of the Elf Kingdom.' he said. 'Beyond that gap there is no road, and no certain knowledge.'

'But I thought that your ancestors came from that direction,' said Ralph. 'Wasn't there a road, or a trail? Didn't they make any maps of their travels?'

'There was never a road or trail,' Birin replied, 'for when our ancestors first came to these lands, they were uncharted wilderness. We do have maps, of course, but they are ancient; we cannot expect to rely on them.'

'And you still think the Pixies and other people would have left this way?' asked Ralph.

'That is a certainty,' replied Birin, 'for they had no other way to go. In every other direction lies the lands of Elves, Dwarves, and Men.' He left unsaid what lay to the North.

As they passed the last visible sign of habitation, an overgrown abandoned farm with gaunt grey derelict buildings leaning in every attitude of collapse and decay, the road became a path, a trail, a guess, and then failed altogether. The ever narrowing valley floor had become an area of rolling grassland dotted with clumps of stunted trees. The damp air was cold and mist-shrouded, the visibility ahead uncertain.

To Pran, Ralph said, 'I think we should take our horses and ride ahead for a bit. I don't like this fog.'

When Pran readily assented, Ralph noticed Theuli's concerned response.

Once they were mounted and away from the wagon, Ralph said, 'Sorry. I just wanted to get away for a bit so we could talk. I didn't mean to worry Theuli like that.'

'She was upset because she assumed that you and I sensed something, but that she could not,' Pran told him.

'Sorry,' Ralph said again. 'I should have thought.'

Pran shrugged. 'Why apologise for what you could not have known? Besides,' he added with a wry smile, 'if the perceived affront was to my wife, then why are you apologising to me?'

Distracted from Pran's words by his own thoughts, Ralph took a deep breath, let it out slowly in a stream of vapour as though incongruously trying to rid himself of some inner lack, and tried to make out the lay of the land through the patchy mist.

'Ever since we had that little talk, I've been wracking my brains, trying to come up with something that could help us, but I keep coming up dry. Just before we left Mirrindale, I even tried a few alternatives, like trying to create some of the weapons we have in my world. But they won't work. I think the rules of this world must be different in some way.' He shrugged. 'Which is just as well, I guess. The weapons of my world are pretty horrible. And if we were to use them, there's nothing stopping your enemies from figuring them out for themselves, eventually.

'As far as your Earth Mother is concerned . . .' he shook his head in frustration. 'I just don't get it To me, such things are just so many words. But it's more than that. I mean, Malina takes such things for granted . . . like it's built into her . . . like magic itself. With me, it's like trying to explain colour to a blind person.

'And as far as magic goes . . . when I work with metal, I'm not thinking in terms of magic. The closest I can come to explaining what I do is that it's mostly instinct. But if I want to make an arrowhead or a knife, then I have to concentrate mostly on the design. That's not the same thing; or at least, I don't think it is.

'I have felt that I could make something purely by instinct,' he added, carefully, 'but I have no idea what that something would be.'

'Well,' Pran said doubtfully, 'even were you to make some sort of curiosity, still I think that you should make the effort, if only to find out where your instincts may lead.'

By midafternoon the air had become very cold. The ground became hard and frozen, and the breath of riders and horses alike steamed in the crystalline air. People began to lag a bit as they donned more clothing which inadvertently served to encumber them. There having been no winter in living memory, they possessed no heavy winter clothing, and had to compensate for this lack by wearing successively larger layers of oversized clothing not designed for cold weather. The sky gradually began to pale from its usual deep blue to the pale grey of winter. They were still some ten miles from the break in the mountains when it began to snow lightly. The wind picked up, sending the light snow scudding like dust about their feet. For many who had never seen snow, the landscape began to appear lonely, sullen, desolate, and inhospitable.

By dusk, the sky was darkening as they entered the break in the mountains. Some saw this as a foreboding omen, but others took it in stride, knowing that they were still close to the Elf Kingdom. When nightfall finally enveloped them in darkness, Birin ordered a halt, and tents were set up for the first time.

'We are on the western border of the Elf Kingdom,' he announced. 'Beyond is the unknown. It is early yet, but we will stop for the night now.

'According to the old maps, there is an open hill country some distance past the gap. Beyond this country was said to be a forest, which was reported to have been very great. Through the midst of this forest, there was a great river, and it was along the banks of this river that our ancestors followed its course from the west.

'Our ancestors,' he continued, 'were loath to enter into that forest, not because it was solely the demesne of Faeriekind, but because the forest itself was said to be enchanted. Unlike our ancestors, however, we hope to find that this still holds true today.'

The tents were set up in a wide circle, with a watch set up around the perimeter. The night was preternaturally cold and clear compared with what the Elves were used to. Around midnight the wind died altogether, and the refugees soon discovered that the utter and complete silence was hurtful to the ears, as one strained to hear the least sound, of which there was none.

The moonless night was so dark that, lest someone wander off and become lost, a large bonfire fuelled by piled scrub was set in the center of the encampment. For those used to being within the comfortable safety of their homes, it was an uncanny feeling, being in an open space, and utterly blind.

In the dead of night, Pran returned to the tent to awaken Ralph, so that he could begin his turn at the watch. Putting a finger to his lips, Pran led him out to the perimeter, and pointed out into the darkness. Glittering coldly, tiny pairs of yellow flecks were about the camp, a fair distance away. Ralph did not need to ask what the flecks were; they were distinctly and unmistakeably the eyes of some night creatures illuminated by the firelight.

'We do not know what they are,' whispered Pran, 'but they have been there for some hours now. So far they have kept their distance. I will get my bedding and sleep here, I think. I suggest that you keep your sword ready at hand.'

One by one, as the first light of dawn approached, the pairs of eyes vanished with the night. When it became light enough, Birin sent a few scouts out to investigate. The news when they returned was unsettling.

'There is nothing,' the scout said to Birin and the awaiting soldiers. Pran and Ralph stood nearby, listening. 'Not a footprint. Not a trace of spoor. Not a sign that anything was there at all.' Birin and the soldiers were clearly worried, despite the fact that nothing seemed to have come of the strange incident.

Ralph raised a question that had been bothering him since he had begun his watch. 'Why couldn't we see their breath in the light? Why just their eyes and nothing else?'

One fellow, a farmer who had lived not far from Pran, having overheard Ralph's observation, said, 'Maybe it was just our own eyes staring back at us.' There was some laughter at this, for the farmer was well known for his droll sense of humour. The level of tension dropped immediately.

With a crooked smile, Birin said, 'Ezra, my friend, at times like this I am glad for your presence. But the eyes left two by two. Unless,' he said, glaring about humorously, 'there were more falling asleep on the watch than I was aware of.'

For the time being, the fear caused by the eyes was dispelled, and they began preparing for the morning meal, and departure. When news of the incident reached Theuli's ears, however, she was greatly disturbed. 'Deborah was awake a good part of the night.' she told Pran and Ralph. 'She kept saying that she heard voices calling out to her. She became hot to the touch and delirious, until morning came.' Deborah was asleep now, and had to be carried to the wagon and wrapped warmly against the cold. Pran went straightaway to Birin to tell him what had happened. Birin's reaction was to grip the pommel of his sword until his knuckles whitened.

'Necropheids It is as the Thane has told us; that creatures of the Netherworld are crossing over as more than mere shadows.'

'Necropheids?' Ralph asked, looking blank.

Birin's look was apologetic. 'I forget, sometimes, that your knowledge of this world is scant. Necropheids are of an order of creatures of the Netherworld that are associated with illness, and when the illness is very severe, with death and dying. Normally, the presence of these particular creatures portends nothing worse than fever dreams. But if their efficacy becomes great enough, they will call your friend to her death. It is her illness which draws and feeds them.'

Pran's mouth became a hard line. 'We have not yet left the Elf Kingdom, and already we are beset by a great evil. Once, long ago, alone and in the wild and wracked by illness, I felt the presence of such beings. Even as mere shadows they are terrible '

'Indeed,' said Birin. 'But what is to be done?'

One of Birin's soldiers, having overheard, said, 'If old tales be true, they cannot abide the light of day; but when darkness falls, fire is said to keep them at bay. And,' he added, 'in the elder days of our Lore, before it became usurped from us common folk by our Loremasters, spells were used which banished the presence of such creatures.' He said this last bitterly, and it was plain that his fellows shared his sentiments towards the Loremasters.

Gannet, who had been listening to this exchange, his features stony, said, 'These Necropheids, they are a tenuous thing, you say, only half in the world of the living. If they be so insubstantial, then why do we not put them to the sword, or drive them off with fire?'

Spurred on by Gannet's bravado, several nearby muttered assent, but Birin was quick to quash talk of any such action.

'I doubt not your bravery, Gannet, nor your willingness to do battle with Demons, should the need arise; but Necropheids and other fell creatures of the Netherworld cannot be brought to heel with arms or by main strength. The sword is not a weapon fit to contest the arcane might of the sort of deadly soul-sickness these creatures wield.' He looked from eye to eye around the circle to enforce his will in the matter. 'Let no one take it upon himself to confront these creatures. Even were you to survive such an encounter, your survival would be short-lived. Even if you be a mighty man of arms like Gannet here, you would soon begin to sicken, with a malady beyond the skill of our best Healers. And in the end you would beg for death, or for the strength to take your own life. There will be no more talk of waylaying these creatures.'

Gannet shrugged, though he appeared unconvinced. 'As you wish.'

Heading out through the break in the mountains, and so leaving the Elven Kingdom altogether, they found themselves in a hilly country, much like the one described in old tales. The snow lay deep here, though it was interrupted by ancient oak trees with leaves that, although dead and brown, clung to the branches yet. Beneath these, there was little snow. That evening, the travellers made camps of fifty beneath ten of these trees, and made preparations to meet the threat of the Necropheids. Piles of brush were laid in a wide circle outside the camp, to be set alight in the event of the creatures' return.

In the dead of night, drawing about the encampment like a noose of fear, the eyes returned. Birin directed a number of archers to shoot fire-arrows into a few of the piles of brush, not wishing to waste all the fuel at once.

The moment the first pyre burst into flame, grey shapes could be seen, scrambling away from the light. At first glance, Ralph thought they looked like women. But the sight of their faces chilled his heart with the worst dread he had ever known. Below their cold, bat-like black eyes was a wide oval maw set with long, inwardly curved, thin teeth. Their hands bore long claws, and their skin was grey like the underbelly of a spider. Their long hair was the white of cobwebs, and they made not a sound.

One of Birin's archers, at his direction, fired a bolt into the chest of one of the hideous creatures. The moment he did so, a horrifying scream came from one of the tents.

It was Deborah, who lay in a wild delirium, clutching frantically at her chest as though trying to pull something out of it. Dashing back to the perimeter, Ralph told Birin to instruct his archers not to fire at the Necropheids again. The Necropheids did not return that night, but Deborah's condition was much worsened. She did not recognize her friends, and was still in the throes of delirium when morning finally came.

Theuli spoke with Birin at first light.

'This cannot continue,' she said. 'The girl is failing. We must find some way to succour her.'

'It is unfortunate,' replied Birin, 'that the Healer from her world did not accompany us. It was he who saved the girl from the Goblin's poison when none other could. This matter is beyond the skill of our Healers.'

'In the elder days,' Theuli said, 'when magic was not pursued as a private craft, our people summoned their strength as one, by means of ritual. Are we so lost that such skill is no longer open to us?'

'Our forebears were a tribal people possessed of a primitive Lore that was known to all. We are no longer that same people. We know only that they sang eldritch songs of power,' Birin told her. 'However, no one alive today now remembers what those songs were.'

They set out at as great a pace as they could muster, Birin assuming, perhaps irrationally, that the presence of the Necropheids was a local phenomena, that simply by removing themselves, or by putting distance between themselves and the creatures, that the crisis would be over. The going was slow, however; their best pace was only a mile every hour, if that.

The terrain, though not difficult, was not conducive to speed where the heavily laden wagons were concerned. The trail they made for themselves wended its way through an endlessly convoluted land of snow-covered hillocks topped with clumps of bare trees or tall copsewood. Twice they were brought to a near-halt by bands of thick bracken of an evergreen sort, waist-high, broad-leafed and dense. There was no choice but to plough straight through these, as they blocked all passage from north to south from one side of the valley to the other. Midway was a further obstacle, a sharp embankment dropping to a lower level, followed by what appeared to be a shallow lake, or deep marsh, covered by only a thin skin of ice.

They were fortunate in that the water was not deep; only three feet or so in spots; not enough to endanger the goods being transported in the wagons, but the going was arduous. They had to assemble the oxen into large teams and drag the wagons through this mire two by two, a task that was finally accomplished at dusk. Those travelling by foot and by horse were less fortunate than those travelling by wagon; both ox and horse had to be led by hand, and few horses were able to bear their riders across without mishap. By the time they reached the other side, most of the company was wet, filthy, shivering in the damp cold and exhausted.

Though they would have liked to stop, upon reaching the far side, Birin and some of the more experience soldiers elected to press on, distrusting the low ground underneath the snow which was just soft enough to be worrisome. Once again, as though faced with a mirror-image of the side they had left, the company was presented with a sharp embankment, followed by a wide band of bracken on the same variety they had breasted earlier.

By evening, they were crashing through the last of the snow-covered bracken, and to their relief, discovered that the land beyond this barrier resumed its former pattern of hillocks crowned with stands of trees and thick stands of copsewood.

Prostrate on their feet, trembling from exhaustion, Elf and animal alike came to a halt, and half-stumbling, began to set up camp for the night.

'I never thought it could possibly feel so good to put on clean, dry clothes,' Ralph said to Pran. He was juddering with cold, having just stood naked and been washed by Theuli and Malina, who had waited for and ministered to the men, each in their turn, with a tub of steaming-hot water, washcloths, and towels at the ready.

'At least this is the time of year when the vermin that live in such waters are dormant,' Theuli said, and shuddered. Pran glanced up at this, looking uncharacteristically chastened.

Ralph did not ask her what sort of vermin she was referring to; what his imagination supplied him with was more than sufficient.

Working with experienced efficiency, Theuli, with Rani and Malina's assistance, had soon prepared a hot meal. As they prepared to set to, however, she and Malina disappeared into the wagon with food for themselves and Deborah. Soon after eating, Zuic, who had collected most of their firewood, picked up an axe and went to collect more. Before two minutes had gone by, however, he returned at a run, his features ashen, holding the axe in both hands as though he meant to fend something off. Seeing the manner of his return, the men were drawn to their feet.

'Something is out there '

At the same time, they heard a noise from the wagon, and with a feeling of cold dread, knew what that something was. Almost immediately, Theuli's head appeared at the back of the wagon.

'Ralph I need you in here Right now I need you to hold her down Pran- no, don't bother coming in here- we need . . . get Birin She needs help- get a Healer- '

Pran had already left at a run, but not before telling Zuic to stay close to the wagon, and to throw the remaining wood onto the fire.

Ralph had never experienced the sort of sickening fear that he felt at that moment. Even in her delirium, Deborah was surprisingly strong, but it was clear that she was in serious trouble. Her eyes, though half-open, were rolled back in their sockets; she was writhing, head tossing from side to side, desperately fighting for every last breath.

In the dim yellow light of the single lantern, he was aware of Malina and Rani, who looked on helplessly, holding each other, their features suffused. Theuli worked frantically, stripping off Deborah's clothes, giving her a sponge bath with ice-cold water in an effort to bring her fever down. Outside, he could hear a babel of voices, and recognised those of Pran, Birin, and some of the Healers.

'No one is to venture beyond the camp unaccompanied I don't care if there aren't enough axes Use whatever implements you can find Use swords if you have to Yes, build it here, where the light will be of the best effect. And another there What? Well, if it's too close, then move the other wagon '

'. . .Lore? Spells? Don't blame me if we haven't such things The King and that passel of sycophants he surrounds himself with, ask them Yes, I have brought my pharmacopoeia But this matter is beyond the realm of medicine Or are you deaf to those voices that surround our camp?'

In the midst of this confusion, something, a mote of clarity, of unflagging certainty, seemed to settle upon Malina's soul, like the eye of calm at the center of a storm. Rani, sensing something, looking up at the Pixie woman's tearstained visage, caught her faraway look; and somehow, in that same moment, she too knew what had to be done.

Unnoticed, hand in hand, as in a dream they left the wagon and began walking, away from the fires and from the light, until at last they stood alone in the night. All around them were shadows and whispers, the faint glint of eyes reflecting the firelight.

Rani was uncertain what was going to happen next. All she knew was that Malina knew what to do; that she was not afraid; all she had to do was wait, and watch, and listen. And when the time came . . .

Deborah's struggles had ceased. She lay unnaturally still, her pallor beginning to grey as life left her altogether; her eyes, though no longer rolled back, were staring, and beginning to take on the glassy aspect of death . . .

Ralph was too stunned at first to understand what Theuli's words meant.

'She's gone. There is nothing more that we can do.'

Devoid of life, Deborah's naked form lay white, almost ethereal-looking, in sharp contrast to the dark blankets upon which she lay in the semi-darkness of the wagon. She seemed somehow smaller, as though her inner fragility had finally pushed its way to the surface, forcing out everything that was strong in her, leaving her diminished . . .

Outside, a sound came to their ears. It barely registered at first, it was so small and faint; that of a single voice, alone in the dark. After a moment, it became joined by another . . .

Years ago, as a child, Malina's mother had taught her a song; a simple child's song, to sing to herself for her own protection, when her mother was drawn away by some necessity. She had sung it to herself often when her mother had disappeared, and often in the years after when she was alone and frightened. And for all those years, alone, undefended and defenceless, it had kept her alive; had kept her spirit unbroken. And when she had come upon Rani, as a little girl, lost in the woods, she had taught the child that same song.

Now, with only the two of them, alone in the night amidst creatures that would freeze the marrow of the bravest soldier in the camp, hand in hand, they sang that same song, with voices and hearts that were pure, that were proof against the evil which surrounded them.

'That song . . .' Theuli muttered, frowning in concentration.

At that same instant, Deborah drew a gasping breath

At the sound of their voices, soldiers and other people came from out of the darkness, bearing torches. Elders, women and children too, came to join them.

Many of the elders recognised the simple melody; the words too, almost as from a time before living memory. They joined the two, adding their voices; the children, too. Almost reluctantly, the menfolk began adding their voices. But as their voices grew in number, so did their confidence grow.

At last, as a single congregation, some inner-memory that may have been instinct caused them to separate their voices away from the simple melody into a chorus that seemed to make the night itself ring with the after-echo of an auditorium. At last they reached the end, and the last note, and though it was over, its effect seemed to linger on for several moments.

It took several more moments for them to realize that they had won, that the spell they strived against had been broken.

Malina, Rani, and Pran quickly left the circle and returned to the tent, dreading to find Deborah lying dead, or worse. As Zuic opened the flap for them, they saw that she lay there still, looking very pale, with Theuli and Ralph hovering over her worriedly. Theuli had just wrapped the girl warmly in blankets.

Her eyes opened. Though she was still very weak, her gaze was clear . . . focused.

'Theuli? I had the worst dream. Am I really dead?'

Overcome with relief, her friends gathered about her.

'It was just a bad dream,' said Theuli. 'You were very ill. The worst is over.'

Deborah shuddered, sighed, drifting back towards sleep. 'They were trying to take me away. But all of you stopped them. They wanted to take me to my father. Make me like him.' She began crying. 'They hurt me. He hurt me . . .'

'Shush,' whispered Theuli, 'They're gone. Try not to think about it. You're going to sleep now. And all of us are going to watch over you. You're never going to be alone again.'

Trying to focus her sleepy gaze on Theuli as she drifted off, Deborah muttered, '. . . thought you were . . . an angel . . .'

Stroking the girl's face tenderly as she fell asleep, Theuli replied through her tears, 'Sleep now, child. The long night is over. You're home now, and safe in bed.'

'. . . safe . . .' Deborah fell asleep, smiling.

As the congregation began to disperse, in the fading firelight, Nevana found herself standing alone in the snow, feeling utterly alone, abandoned, her feet aching from the cold, shivering in the gelid night air. It seemed to her as though she was utterly shut out, from family, friends, community . . . adrift and alone. All around her, the others were in the warmth of their tents, consoling and reassuring one another.

At the last, she stood there still, a lone figure in the dark, forgotten.

She had wanted so badly to join in with the others, and at first she had tried to sing. But no sound would come, as though she had forgotten how to speak. Then, when she discovered who it was that led them in song, she suddenly felt herself to be an unwanted stranger. Even as the sense of community grew about her, she could feel herself being pushed out.

Staring into the night, she tried to weep, but no sound would come. If she had possessed the volition, she would have gone stumbling off into the darkness. But there was no need; the source of that emptiness was now inside her.

The next day it warmed up a little and began snowing. Large white flakes fell thick and fast, and the land ahead became obscured. Their progress was becoming slower by the hour as they wound their way between the hills. The huge oaks were soon laden with a white mantle. Occasional small avalanches of snow fell from the trees onto the travellers. This was merely amusing at first, but soon they became sodden and cold.

That night they felled a great pile of poplars and made several huge bonfires to warm themselves and dry their clothes. As Ralph lay with Malina against his side, he watched the shadow of the steam rising from the tent as it was illuminated by the firelight outside.

Pran had just taken his watch, and Theuli, after checking on Rani and Zuic, and returning to her own bed, found Deborah awake.

'Are you hungry?' Theuli whispered.

Deborah simply nodded, trying to keep her eyes open. Theuli left the tent for a moment, and soon returned with a steaming bowl. Deborah struggled to rise, but Theuli held her back, shifting the girl onto her side.

'Don't try to get up just yet. Here, I'll feed you,' she laughed quietly. 'There's no need to be embarrassed.'

Deborah considered Theuli as the Elf woman fed the girl some bread soaked in hot broth. 'I dreamt you were my mother.'

Theuli smiled with pleasure. 'So now I have three daughters.'

'Three?'

'Rani, Deborah and Malina.'

'What does that make me?' chuckled Ralph.

Deborah smiled. 'Then Malina is my sister, which makes you my brother-in-law,' she said to Ralph.

'You're supposed to be asleep,' said Theuli to Ralph.

'Yes, Mom.'

'How do you feel,' Theuli asked Deborah, seriously.

She shrugged. 'I don't know. I feel sort of . . . empty . . . different somehow...

'I keep having these dreams, but every time I wake up, they're gone. The only thing I remember is this . . . sort of sense that . . . well, it's like I told you before; you remember? that day when Malina and I went with you-' She stopped, seeing Theuli's pained remembrance of that day. 'I'm sorry . . . I shouldn't have brought that up-'

'You were saying,' Theuli said, in a tone both firm and understanding, 'that . . . I believe the words you used were, that "it was supposed to happen."'

Deborah nodded, on the verge of sleep once more. 'That's what I remember when I wake up. It's inside me now . . . or maybe it always was . . . or what I'll be . . .'

Theuli paused. She held the last spoonful of broth poised to place in Deborah's mouth, but the girl had fallen asleep. Theuli watched her for a time, her expression thoughtful. When she put the bowl away and crawled back beneath her own blankets, Ralph whispered, 'Now I can sleep.'

Theuli, however, was long awake in thought.

They made better progress the next day. The snow had stopped during the night, and the sun showed faintly behind a thin layer of grey cloud. Deborah was awake and alert the next morning, and found herself staring about in rapt wonder, surprised to find herself back in the wagon, instead of the tent where she had fallen asleep. The wagon's cover, though raised, was open front and back.

'Good morning, sleepyhead,' said Malina. 'You missed breakfast, but we saved you some.'

Sitting up, Deborah found she had been dressed in a long surplice. It was very warm and luxurious to the touch. Feeling the texture of the soft fur with undisguised pleasure, she said, 'Where did I get this?'

'I dressed you in it early this morning when we placed you in the wagon,' Theuli told her. 'We thought you might wish to rise from your bed for a time. Your clothing was lost in the confusion when we left Mirrindale.'

Running a hand through her hair, Deborah said, 'Where are we? How long is it since we left?'

'We have been travelling for four days now,' Theuli replied.

'Four days It seems like four months.' She looked about the wagon. 'Where are Rani and Zuic?'

'They are with Ralph and Pran,' said Theuli, indicating a point somewhere amongst the riders and wagons ahead of them.

Deborah wrapped her blanket about her, covering her ears. Moving to the rear beside Malina and Theuli, and taking a long look around, she saw that the landscape was hilly and marked by stands of large trees that were heavily laden with snow. The ground was unblemished and deep with the same white blanket.

'It's so beautiful.'

Malina smiled, crookedly. 'I showed Zuic and Rani how to make snowballs.'

'That is why they are riding with Ralph and my husband,' said Theuli, not quite feigning annoyance.

'Don't blame Malina for that,' said Deborah. 'Ralph and I showed her about snowballs.'

'I see,' said Theuli. 'Then perhaps you are sisters after all.'

'Didn't you make snowballs when you were young,' ventured Deborah.

Almost smirking, Theuli replied, 'There has been no snow in the Elf Kingdom during my lifetime. Yet if there were, I would not have thought to put it down my mother's back.'

Deborah was trying not to laugh. 'That was my fault I taught Malina to do that to Ralph.'

'When you are well,' warned Theuli, 'you may find your wayward ways coming back to haunt you.' The three of them laughed at this, but secretly, Deborah planned to be ready for Theuli's revenge.

As Ralph and Pran rode ahead with Rani riding before Ralph and Zuic before Pran, they noticed a figure stumbling through the snow. From the way she walked, Ralph assumed it to be an elderly woman, and on impulse, feeling a surge of anger, he urged his horse on, to find out from this person why she wasn't in one of the wagons.

As he caught up, he noticed, first, that the figure was much younger than he had assumed. Then, as she stumbled once more, he caught a glimpse of her feet.

'Pran '

Jumping off his mount, he handed the reins to Rani, and went to help the girl to her feet.

For a moment, he stared at her in confusion, thinking that there was something familiar about this person-

'Nevana?'

For an instant, she stared back. Then, averting her gaze, she tried pulling away.

'What is it?' It was Pran, who had joined him.

'Leave me ' Nevana cried, trying to pull away from him once more.

Ralph caught her by the waist, quickly shifted her so that she lay cradled in his arms.

'Look at her feet'

'Why are you not wearing proper footwear?' Pran asked her sternly as they brought her to the Healer's wagon.

Flushed with shame, she made some inaudible response.

'What's that?'

'She said,' Ralph muttered tersely, having caught her words, as she lay in his arms, 'that these are all that she has.'

They left her with the Healers, who assured Pran that she was not yet suffering from the effects of frostbite, but that the outcome would have been worse if she had gone on any longer. Much worse. Ralph accompanied Pran as they first deposited the children back in the wagon, then went in search of the wagon of Arlon and Durus. Ralph made no attempt to converse with Pran, sensing his mood. Theuli, too, had accepted the children into the wagon in silence, seeing his expression.

When they caught up to Arlon and Durus, the two were seated together on the driver's bench, he holding the reins. Durus's feet, Ralph noticed, poked out from beneath the hem of her long, thick winter dress. Unlike her daughter, she was shod in heavy wool-lined work boots. Arlon wore his usual footwear, suitable to working in the fields.

Before Pran could speak, Durus spotted the pair, and the glare she fixed on Ralph almost made him duck.

'What are you doing, coming around here? Haven't you done enough? If you're looking for Nevana, I don't know where she is '

'More to the point,' Pran said, his voice quiet, but with enough implicit menace to deflect the woman's ire, 'why was your daughter walking alone in the snow with naught on her feet but a pair of light summer shoes?'

'She's supposed to be in the wagon,' the woman said defensively. Ralph knew this to be a lame excuse, but wondered if the woman had even been aware of the fact.

'With the rest of your possessions,' Pran added, sarcastically. The way the younger children had made themselves scarce at his presence only seemed to increase his ire.

Arlon, though he looked at nothing during the entire exchange, flinched at this word, knowing full well what Pran meant. Ralph, for some reason, found himself feeling sorry for the man, who dropped his eyes, his expression one of habitual tired guilt.

'None of this would have happened were it not for this . . . Man ' Durus said, referring to Ralph, getting herself worked up in corrupt anger. 'He toyed with our daughter's affections- now look what he's done to her She won't come home You know why? Because she's ashamed to, that's why If I didn't know better, I'd say that he's managed to compromise her. All because of that filthy Faerie vermin . . . that-' she uttered an obscenity, leaned across in front of Arlon, and spat on the ground at their feet.

Arlon sat stock still, jaw muscles bunching, his face crimson with humiliation.

Ralph waited for Pran to say or do something. Instead, the former Elf soldier stared at the woman in stony silence until she at last became silent and looked away. As he turned to go, he acknowledged Arlon's look of apology with a tired nod.

Making their way back to Pran's wagon, taking their time, Ralph said, 'There is a grain of truth in what she says-'

'There always is,' Pran told him.

'-but its not like I led her on or anything . . . she, Nevana, just kind of threw herself at me. I just didn't handle things very well-'

'There is no need to explain this matter to me,' Pran told him. 'You forget, I know this family, and their problems.'

Ralph made a helpless gesture.

'I just can't help feeling responsible, somehow.'

To his surprise, Pran laughed at this. To Ralph's consternation, he said, 'I have noticed that when things happen around you, you have a habit of making yourself responsible. My friend, I'm afraid I can't think of you without remembering a time when you first came to live at my home, when you discovered a fledgling beneath the oak near to the barn. Such birds cast out their weakest, and you repeatedly picked the creature from the ground and replaced it in its nest, until the poor thing finally expired, as it was fated to do.'

'If that's a failing,' Ralph replied defensively, 'then it's one I don't intend giving up.'

'Yes,' Pran replied to Ralph's incomprehension, thinking of the way the big Human had instinctively responded to Nevana's need, seeing as Ralph could not that it could lead to future entanglements with the Elf girl, 'I can see that.'