Sunlight, still warm and strong though winter comes ever nearer, filters through orange and yellow and rust and turns the light at the forest floor to amber. Leaf shadows dance gaily on the grass, dart playfully over freckled bark and now and then, one of their own who has abandoned its grip to fall spinning to the ground.

This air of carefree joy is deceptive, for beneath all is a frantic storing up for the coldness to come. And for those who will not live to see the snows, a last grasping of life: the desperate half-panicked race to cram as much as possible into these last days in the sun.

The gentle, all-encompassing rustle of leaves and caress of wind cover any obvious noises that Tathar and Toby make as they follow a narrow winding path through the trees; but squirrels still, rabbits turn to statues and birds cease their song until the two half-grown humans have passed. Then the cacophony of life resumes.

The boy moves slowly, cautiously, a long-bladed knife held in one hand; until his searching gaze lands on a foolish rabbit and he freezes. His free hand lifts all but imperceptibly to signal his sister, and she too stops to stand motionless some feet behind him. Slowly, so slowly as to be almost unnoticed, Toby glides forward, the knife coming up... when the forest explodes into panic.

A heavy knobby stick collides with Toby�s head, and his knife goes spinning through the air as he flies forward to land, and lay unmoving, in a bush. The rabbit, abruptly aware of its danger, vanishes in a flurry of legs. And Tathar�s eyes widen enormously as a short grimy man steps out in front of her on the path.

Insolent eyes study her slight figure, moving slowly down and then back up. He is opening his mouth to speak (one tooth is missing; Tathar�s gaze fixes itself in horrified fascination on the gap even as her hand moves almost of its own accord), when a dwarven-wrought blade buries itself in his stomach and all the sound that comes from his lips is a sickly sort of grunting whistle. Slowly, he folds down over himself, slipping to his knees as Tathar frantically jerks her knife free.


Blood is slippery and hot. Tathar stares down at her hands, face twisted in disgust. Leaves rattle beside her and she whirls around, too late. A heavy hand swats her negligently on the cheek, sending her head snapping backwards and her dagger dropping from limp fingers. Dizzily, she struggles to her knees, scrabbling desperately for the lost weapon, but this second man kicks it away and fat relentless fingers close like a trap about her wrist, jerking her to her feet again.

Boots, fingernails, elbows, knees... these are weapons in need and the terrified girl uses them all. Twisting, kicking and hitting, Tathar manages to sink her teeth into the fleshy part of a thumb and wriggle free, but to no avail. She is not big enough, not strong enough, and her fleeing figure is only a few feet away when a fingers tangle in her hair and yank. She lands heavily, crookedly; head crashing with a sickening thud against a stump.

Everything is spinning, fading. Something hot and fetid caresses her cheek, incomprehensible words boom in her ears. �Now jest stop yer fussing, missy an we�ll get along fine. Jes fine. I won�t have to hurt you none if you behaves yersel...� Tathar spirals into merciful darkness.

Some unknown, unknowable amount of time goes by in an uncomprehended blur of jolting and sickness and pain. Perhaps it is only one day, perhaps two or three. Maybe it is only a few hours. Flashes of light stab agonizingly at blurred eyes; branches catch uncertain feet; stumbling, tripping, falling, dragged onwards by a relentless pull; and always a hoarse evil voice, rough grasping hands and pain.



Tathar awakes to stillness. Quietness. Something cool cradles her cheek, and a soft wind lifts a lock of hair and caresses her forehead. For a while, she lies motionless, then one cautious eye slides open. Nothing responds and later, she opens the other. The forest unfolds itself to her wary gaze; green and gold and peaceful.

She lies there for some time longer before attempting to move. Raising her head shoves a sharp needle of pain through one eye and a wave of nausea sweeps up to crash through her. She collapses back onto her bed of moss and bracken, but eventually a feeble hand reaches up to explore. There are painful goose-eggs, dried blood, scabs... but nothing seems to be either broken or actively bleeding. She tries again to rise, and this time makes it to hands and knees before stopping to let the world stop heaving.

�I don�t know,� she mumbles to a nearby beetle, �which way to go...� A searching hand has found a stick that will do to lean on, and the girl squints painfully at the tiny path that curves through a thicket and disappears. She is standing there, listing a little, when a faint crackle of leaves comes to her ears and panic fills her eyes. Unthinkingly, she tries to whirl around and run; but unsteady legs betray her and the ground smashes into hands flung out. �Nnnnhhhhh.� It is a wordless groan. Tathar sinks to her knees and crouches there, waiting for the trees to stop spinning again.

And it is so that Toby finds her as he comes around the last screening bush, his eyes leaping from the smudged tracks he follows to the huddled figure. A white terrified face, bruises turning yellow and black on thin cheeks, dark reddish brown stains on the torn brown dress... a swift comprehensive glance sees all these, and then he is down on his knees beside her. �Tath.. Tath. It�s me, Toby. Come on, can you get up? Tath...�

Unexpectedly, his voice breaks and he bows his head; his shoulders heaving with terrible tearless sobs. �I didn�t hear him,� he says at last, softly. It is as much of an apology as he will ever say aloud, but the gentle hands that steady her as she stands up and the agony in the dark eyes that watch and then turn towards the north, surely tell what he cannot say. �I�m taking you home,� he says flatly.

Bottomless relief flashes across Tathar�s face before evaporating like morning mist. �You�re coming... you�re not,� she begins in hope and ends lifelessly. �Then I�m not going either. I�m staying h-here with you.� Despite herself, despite the firmness of her words, she can�t stop a frightened glance around the small clearing, nor the shudder that runs through her body.

�Yes, you are.� Toby�s voice is unbending. �If.. if I�d took better care of you, you wouldn�t be hurt now, but you are and you�re going home.�

�It wasn�t your fault,� his sister protests gamely. �He hit you with that stick, I saw. I,� she gulps. �I thought you were dead.�

The quiet argument continues for a few minutes longer, while Toby turns toward the path and home. �Come on,� he says. And she, all choices now narrowed down to follow her brother or stay here alone, follows.