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For Scarecrazy, my dearest Twin

I was born with strawberry blond fine-as-silk hair, blue eyes, fair skin, and a keen intelligence. I also had a broom in my hand and whip marks on my back, having been born into the slave class, which is below the working class, the middle class, the noble class, and the royal class. Which meant that I was chattel. Somewhere around the age of six, I stole a book from one of the houses my mother was cleaning and taught myself to read. I admit to hiding in a bedroom once and listening to a mom read a bedtime story, and memorizing it, so I could match the words to the letters later.

I was a quiet child, given to daydreams about unicorns (who heal in the forest), and having a mom to hold me and cherish me. My mother was never kind and never let me slip in my duties and boxed my ears often enough. At the time it seemed harsh, but I know she loved me because she taught me to survive. She died when I was about twelve years and I was sold to a royal family.

The house master thought to fill his staff with lovely slaves and I guess I had the beginnings of that exotic quality that turns comeliness into beauty. He put me under the direction of third floor maid, a beautiful woman whose age and labor were beginning to show. She immediately disliked me and saw me as a threat. For a while, she settled herself with petty torments and I did my best not to displease her. I borrowed books and read them in the dim moonlight. The third floor maid caught me one night and that was my end. My only respite from the demands, and it was my end.

She had me whipped for clumsiness, punched in the face, so that the left side became a swollen blue mess. And while I cried, doing my best not to move and jar my aching body, she chopped my hair into ugly short blocks. She then dragged me to the house master, and showed him what I had done. Called me an ungrateful wretch, and that I had deliberately made myself ugly so I couldn't be seen working around the house and would get out of the chores. I tried to argue it, but chattel should remain quiet and I was boxed for my effort. I was transferred to the girls working camp, still being young enough to serve as a cook or seamstress, but not quite old enough to be a breeder (I had not started growing a woman's body yet).

The master of the girls' working class took one look at me, and said there wasn't room for me. And so it happened that I ended up transferred to the boys working camp, a horrible, dirty place, where each morsel of food is fought for with more gusto than dogs fighting over a bone. The boys working camp did odd jobs and generally worked as farm hands. There were seven cabins, each cabin its own unit, responsible for its own members. They fought for jobs posted on the store board, and labored dawn to dusk to come up with enough money to keep their cabin fed and well enough to work the next day. There was a morning roster when they were counted. Cabins with missing persons were punished and the escapees usually caught and brutally whipped. At the time, I didn't know any of this, or I would have run then, despite my aching body.

I was left in a storage barn with great bales of hay and told to wait for cabin representatives to come and interview me. Apparently, the seven cabins had their own hierarchy and the first cabin got first choice of new arrivals. If none of the first six wanted me, then by default, I belonged to the seventh cabin.

It was early morning when I was left in the barn and near afternoon before anyone showed up.

"She sure is ugly," the brown haired one said, gawking.

"She don't need to be pretty to tumble," the blond responded, leering.

I struggled to my feet. While I was no stranger to the knowledge of the ways between men and woman, I had no experience, except to help treat one of the other slave women after her "tumble". The graphic image of the bruises and cuts and blood sprang quickly to mind.

"Get out!" I commanded, and with scorn, I added, "A girl may not have to be pretty to tumble, but neither of you are man enough."

The blond strode toward me and I held my position. He traced the unmarred side of my face and I could feel burning disgust where his finger touched. "How naive you are," he sneered. I raised my chin haughtily and stared back at him coldly. "You will pay the cost of this moment." Quickly, before I could react, he shoved me and I fell back onto a hay bale. He turned to the brown haired one and shrugged. "Let's leave her. We can use her in another cabin just as easily and not have to support her."

They left. My relief and fears echoed in the silence. After a while, my stomach overcame the ache in my back and rumbled with hunger. I chewed on some hay, and watched the flies buzz about, getting trapped occasionally by the spider webs near the roof. Dusk came and it became dark. I was just about to start making myself a bed of hay, when I heard the door open, and a tall shadowed figure stood against the moonlight.

"You still in here?" a deep voice called out.

I nodded, but apparently he couldn't see me in the darkness. I stood, and answered, "Yes. Have you come for me?"

"I certainly don't want any hay. Come on, then." And he turned and left, not caring if I followed or not.

I scrambled after him. Maybe there was food to be had soon? Outside the darkness of the barn, I could see that he had dark brown or black hair, and chiseled features. I figured he was probably about 15, but looked weary enough to be 30. Maybe he was older, though, because his voice had already changed, and his broad shoulders and height gave him the stature of a man.

"I was beginning to wonder if I had been forgotten," I said. I was almost running to keep up with him.

He didn't even bother to glance in my direction.

"My name's Mary." I waited and got no response. "What's yours?" He started walking faster. I'm a determined person sometimes, so I continued, "I heard whoever came might have some questions about my skills and abilities?"

He stopped and turned to me. "What did you say your name was? Mary? Well, Mary, we don't want you. We don't care what you can or can't do, because you're going to do what you're told. You are a curse, and if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer not having your silly chatter filling my ears before my doom."

It was a moment before I started following him again. Mother had once said that every new group of people you start to work with, you have to give them time to adjust to you, while you adjust to them. She said it was never easy, but you should always try to make friends because you never knew if you are going to have to spend the rest of your life working alongside them. I supposed I could wait to have my questions answered. No sense in annoying him with badgering.

My reception at the cabin was not much better.

The guy in charge of the cabin introduced himself as Steve, commented that I was obviously in no shape to work in the field tomorrow and pointed at a lower bunk. No sheets, no pillow. And all I had to my name was the clothes on my back. Dinner was nowhere in sight, and I had a gut instinct that I should not ask for it. Poverty announced itself quite boldly here and I knew that I was not the only one who was hungry. They all looked old, tired, weary, and hungry. Their clothes were mostly tatters. The shutters over the grimy windows were falling off and they had one candle lighting the entire room.

The eight other guys stared either stared at me with loathing or ignored me. We were ten in all, forgotten except for the labor we could perform, with no one to care if we lived or died.

"Tomorrow, while we are gone," Steve said, "You are not to leave this cabin for any reason." Tense silence followed.

I nodded and went and lay down on my bunk. The mattress was thin and hard on the plank and smelled of sweat, but at least it wasn't winter yet. I'd have to find some way to get a blanket before then.

Steve blew out the candle and everyone retired. The night sounds were broken occasionally by the rumble of my stomach. I tried to imagine a woman tucking me into a soft bed, reading softly to me about green forests and colorful birds and unicorns. I tried to imagine that I had salad and hearty vegetable stew for dinner. I tried to pretend I was a member of the royal class and there would be book lessons and magical music in the morning. I failed. My stomach groaned.

A coyote howled in the distance, a mournful sound and one filled with yearning. Another coyote answered and I thought, 'At least you have someone to answer your howl, I have no one.', and then I chided myself for self pity. A slave had no room for self pity (more wisdom from my mother).

Dawn came too soon after the restless night. We all trudged out of our cabin to be counted into the predawn chill, our moccasins soaking with morning dew. I could not help but notice several of the others were annoyed that I was still there. They wanted me to know how much I was hated. I pretended not to notice. They'd get used to me.

A slovenly guard counted us, lewdly checking me head to toe. I did my best to shrink into my shoes. He spit on the ground and walk on toward the next cabin. In the light of day, I could see that the seven cabins were arranged much like a small village, with the store and barn set off a bit. Our cabin was in the worst repair and I imagined that it leaked when it rained. In the direction of the rising sun, a forest spread over a rising hill, and in the opposite direction, down the slope of the hill, I could see the fields surrounding the manor. Golden wheat swayed in the wind, seeming to be a large golden sea. To the north, there was a village, dirty and brown, already showing movement that from this distance looked like ants. And south, the forest blended with the hill.

Steve turned to me as the others started down the trail toward the field. "Stay in the cabin. Do not use any water. Do not burn any candles. Do not eat anything. Don't touch anything. Just sit there. I'll try to think of what to do with you while I'm working today." I nodded and he waited, watching, as I returned to the cabin. After I had given him enough time to walk a fair distance, I went and looked out through the window. It was coated in dirt and I pushed at it until it opened. It obviously had not been opened for some time.

I watched the guys trudge down the hill. I suppose I would not be eager to run down the hill, either. When they were just little specks in the distance, I turned to examine the cabin. I needed more light, and opened the other 3 windows. They were each nearly glued shut with grime. There was a layer of dirt covering the floor, deep enough to leave visible tracks where everyone had walked. The blankets I had thought of so fondly last night were threadbare and smelly, as were the mattresses. Half of the pillows were bundled rags that were no longer fit to wear. The wood stove in the corner had some partially burned wood in it, and the small pile of sticks next to it was near depleted. There was one pot on the shelf, covered with a board. In it, I discovered some lumpy substance that must have been last night's gruel. My stomach groaned painfully and I recovered the pot. There were 9 bowls and 8 spoons that had been wiped clean, but still had that greasy unclean texture. A barrel in the corner was half filled with somewhat stagnant water. In the corner, a locked chest, finished off the room's contents.

The door off the back led to a rather deep trench. I relieved myself and threw some dirt on top, as seemed to be the pattern. A shrub nearby was missing quite a few leaves.

I stood, staring at the forest for a bit, delaying going back inside. I saw a squirrel collecting acorns for the winter and in addition to thinking of the squirrel as food, I pondered eating some acorns. Surely, Steve would not mind, unless it was his intention to starve me to death. If it was, he was in for a surprise, because I was a survivor.

The first acorn I cracked open with a rock was so bitter it was inedible and left my mouth tasting dry and prickly. The next several proved to be the same. I shook my fist at the squirrel who was watching me from a branch overhead. It ran to the end of its branch and jumped to another tree. I half followed the squirrel deeper into the woods, searching for food. I continually checked behind me to make sure the cabin did not disappear from sight. I found some brambles with blackberries on it. I discovered that if I took a tall stick and pushed aside the thorny branches, I could get in the bush farther, where the larger berries were. I startled a family of rabbits. I ate my fill and had purple stains on my hands and fingers, and no doubt, my mouth. But my stomach had ceased whining.

I thought that maybe if I brought some back to the cabin, the guys might appreciate it. A peace offering. A bribe. The squirrel looked at me strangely when I returned to the bush with a couple of bowls. I went between the brambles and the cabin two more times, until there were no more edible berries I could get. I had 4 bowls of berries. That would have to do.

Then I set about cleaning the cabin. The fresh air blowing through the open windows did wonders, and I took the mattresses, blankets, and pillows out back and away from the trench to air out. My back ached, but I had learned that to stay still would just make it hurt worse when I did move. It was better to learn the nature of each agony. Fashioning several branches with leaves on them, I made a broom of sorts, and swept out the bunks, and then swept the floor. Without using water, I could not wash down the windows, and as far as I could tell, there was no soap anywhere. I collected some more sticks and piled them neatly next to the wood stove.

It was mid-afternoon when I finished and brought all of the bedding back in. I tried to replace everything exactly as I had found it. I was hungry again, but refused to touch the 4 bowls of berries. They were important.

I went back out to the forest edge and watched the squirrel collect acorns. The sun began to set, and the squirrel started looking anxiously in the direction of the field. It was nearing time so I went back in and looked out the window. The guys were trudging toward the cabin, shoulders hunched, drawn and weary faces. I felt a twinge of pity and wondered how I could feel pity when I shared the same fate.

I sat on my bunk quietly, feeling my heart thumping anxiously. They came in and sat on their bunks, too worn out to talk, kicking off their moccasins, and stripping off their shirts.

Steve noticed the berries first and swore. He glared at me furiously. "Where did these come from?"

I was confused by his response. "I found them in the woods out back and thought you might like them for dessert."

"And I'm a king." He swore again, and came toward me like he was going to beat me. He towered over me and the rage emanating from him was tangible. I shrunk back from him. "Peter gave them to you, didn't he?" he shouted. Mutely, I shook my head. "Don't you lie to me!" He called me a vulgar name and spun around. He took the bowls of berries and dumped them out back. "I'll not have anything in this cabin that was contaminated by him!"

While I was trying to figure this out, there was a knock on the door. My escort from last night, whose name I still did not know, answered it.

"What do you want?" he asked, snidely.

"Peter has sent some flowers for the lovely Mary, to thank her for today," the voice outside said.

"You just tell him that there will be no more in the future." And Mr. Escort slammed the door in the person's face, not even taking the flowers.

If I had thought that the guys of the cabin could not hate me more, I was wrong. One of them, who had ignored me last night, mouthed the words 'I'm going to kill you.' at me, and I could feel myself drowning in the contempt coming from everyone else.

Steve came over to me and I whispered, "No." to him, pleading with him with my eyes. He punched me and I fell unconscious gracelessly.

Someone was shaking me. My back was in flames. My head was pounding.

"Get up. It's time to be counted." Steve pulled me into a sitting position. I moaned. He pulled on my arm until I was standing and then dragged me outside. The same slovenly guard went by and this time he grinned and nodded at me knowingly. I guess I had a new bruise on my face.

After the count, Steve dragged me back inside, and said, "If you leave the cabin today, I will kill you." and he left. I slid to the floor and cried for some time, confused. That empty, aching feeling consumed my entire soul and I felt like I could easily sit there and die. After a while, for I can not mourn too long, I decided to find Peter and return the favor. A bully will continue to bully you until you bully right back.

Obviously there were forces at work in this camp that I did not understand, but Peter had known how Steve would react to the flowers. He had known I would be hurt and that's about the same as doing it himself.

I stretched and worked out the stiffness and pain in my back and went to find Peter. He was bound to be around somewhere if Steve thought I could have met him yesterday. I went into the store and found a elderly man, a slave too, by the tattoo on his arm, and he greeted me.

"You look a fright, my dear," he said gently. "Have you come for some supplies?"

"No, Sir. Actually, I'm in search of Peter, and I was wondering if you might direct me?"

He frowned. "Well, I can tell you, if you really want to know, but I don't recommend it."

"Oh?"

"The Cabin 7 boys probably wouldn't take it too well if you were to go visit Peter." He sounded more urgent and pleading, than informative. I could feel myself starting to like him.

"They thought I did yesterday."

He studied my face, obviously judging the newest of my bruises. "They're good boys, really," he commented softly. I said nothing. "If you must, Peter's cabin is the one closest to the field road. You know which one?"

I nodded. "Thank you!" I reached out and touched his hand, and I felt a light tingle, and for a moment, he seemed to change in front of me, and his hands and arms glowed red and pulsed. I released his hand, and the vision went away. He didn't seem to notice anything unusual. "They are good men, I'm sure." I stuttered briefly trying to comprehend what just happened. I turned and practically ran from the store.

Outside, I tried to calm my breathing. Maybe the lashes on my back had gone septic and I was hallucinating? There had been another slave that I recall vaguely, from when I was little, that had gone insane. The master had chained her to a pole and left her there to starve. My mother had commented that he was hoping that the lack of food would starve some sense back into her. The woman had died to exposure and hunger.

I would not go insane. I had a task to do and so I focused on that. I went directly to Peter's cabin and pounded on the door. It opened and the blond from the barn was standing there.

"I'm looking for Peter." I demanded.

"You've found him. Have you come to make amends?" he sneered.

I punched him as hard as I could, directly in the nose. It hurt my knuckles and unfortunately, Peter only swayed slightly, more surprised than hurt. Then a trickle of blood fell from his nose and he glowered. I turned and ran, shouting, "Thanks for the flowers!".

I guess there's some wisdom to be gained about picking fights with someone twice your size, who is ten times meaner. I was tackled from behind and while he was beating me into a lump of clay, he called me more foul names than I knew existed. I did my best to protect vital areas like my throat, chest, and stomach.

"Peter, stop. You'll kill her!"

Suddenly it stopped. "That's what I was intending."

"Enough."

"She hit me." He punched my shoulder.

The weight was gone. "Little girl, let's get something straight. I'm in charge, and if I tell you to lick my shoes, you will." He kicked me. Hard. I spent the next few moments gasping for air, but I guess he had gone, because there was nothing more.

My body throbbed. Suddenly there was a shadow, and I threw my hands up to block my face. "That was really stupid," the shadow said, and I recognized the voice of Mr. Escort. I relaxed, for some strange reason feeling safe.

"I got one good punch in," I whispered, ending on a choking cough.

He picked me up and I felt secure in his strong arms. "This is the second time you've rescued me from certain death." I continued in my halting speech, before I could lose my nerve, or my stupidity -- I wasn't sure which. He merely grunted and I took that as a positive sign. "So, my gallant hero, might I have the pleasure of your name at least?" I looked up into his eyes, which were a deep green, and seemed to reflect the world.

"Adam. Now, shut up and stop your chattering."

I smiled and it hurt. I began to feel really dizzy and knew I was going fade away. I needed to talk to keep from drifting off. "How did you know to come rescue me, Adam? Aren't you supposed to be in the field?"

"Steve thought you might get into trouble and we voted that it was worth the loss of a day's wages to keep an eye on you."

"I didn't go see him yesterday." I let my head fall against his chest. A strong chest. A secure chest.

"I figured that when you asked for directions to his place and then asked for him."

"Why didn't you stop me from getting in trouble?" It was starting to get really difficult to hold onto consciousness.

"Steve didn't say to stop you. He said to let you, and then we'd deal with it. He just wanted to know."

"Oh." The dizziness claimed me.

When I started to regain consciousness, an argument was swirling about me and I opted to lay there quietly, letting my body ache and pretend to be asleep.

"She had to ask where he lived," Adam was saying forcefully. I'll admit he had a strong voice, deep tones that were soothing and protective.

"I still say she knew you were there," growled a voice I didn't recognize.

Someone else swore. "Fool thing to do in any case."

"I say we trust her," said Adam. "She looked like an avenging angel. You all would think so too if you had seen her."

"We're going to starve because of her," still another unfamiliar voice whined.

"Enough!" Steve commanded. "We are not going to starve. While some of you may not trust her, we have to deal with her. Therefore you will all be kind and respectful. If she isn't on Peter's side, we don't need her turning to him."

"What are we going to do about this winter?" that whiny voice asked.

"We are going to do what we have always done," Steve said definitively. "Discussion is closed. Let me worry about it."

After a few minutes, I tried moving and passed out again. I suppose I faded in and out for a few days. Time didn't have much meaning when each day was the same. I never mentioned overhearing that argument. Adam remained coldly distant, but I determined that it was mostly show, after all, he had called me an avenging angel.

As soon as I could walk, even though slowly, I began walking in the forest. The forest was soothing and there were always wild animals to watch that seemed to know I wasn't a threat. I became particularly fond of the squirrel, who came to me and sniffed at me, and took an offered acorn from me.

I healed quickly which was both a boon and a curse. The guys had lost their outward hatred of me, which was really good, but neither were they friendly to me. Having to feed another person who could not work to bring in money for food meant that there would be no blankets for the pending winter. We might all freeze to death or we could buy blankets and starve to death. To me, seemed like a foolish way for our owner to protect his merchandise. I guess the owner had enough breeding slaves not to worry about us.

When I had the strength, I began gathering wood for the fire and exploring deeper into the forest in search of more food. I felt at home in the forest and the animals seemed to warn me of any dangers.

I'd also go check the board in the store and look for any job I might remotely be suitable for. Peter had posted for a personal maid to rub his feet. Blond female required. It was a mockery and he offered to pay more than any of the other jobs. I ignored it. The boys in my cabin never mentioned it, though they were all aware of it.

I found out the store keeper's name was Olan and he had worked the fields all his life, growing up in this very camp. He had arthritis pretty bad, but he had outlived all of his peers and didn't have any plans on dying soon. We became friends, which in turn, gave me employment. Olan hired me to help out at the store in the evenings. It didn't pay really well, but it seemed to appease the guys some. I still had time during the day to walk in the forest.

While it solved one problem, it created another. As soon as Peter heard I was working in the store, he began showing up and taunting me, always out of sight of Olan, who sat out front in a chair most often. Peter wasn't quite so good at taunting as the third floor maid had been and spent a lot of time just staring at me. It was unnerving. As I did not want to jeopardize my job, I didn't say anything to Olan. Instead, I mentioned it to Adam. Adam said I chattered too much and that he didn't want to be bothered with my problems in these last few days before his doom.

The next night, Adam showed up at the store when it was time for me to leave and walked me home, not once saying anything. Thereafter, he walked with me each night in his typically silent disdainful way. Sometimes I listened to the night sounds, and sometimes I told Adam about my day and what I had seen in the forest or done at the store. On those talkative nights, Adam would stride silently beside me, until just before we were at the cabin, and would say, "You chatter too much.".

The nights were starting to get really cold and sometimes none of us slept, because we couldn't stop shivering. We skipped dinner one night and Steve bought a blanket from the store. We took turns using it and the other threadbare ones.

I knew it wouldn't be long before one of us froze in our sleep and I discovered I couldn't take my turn with the blanket, if it meant risking someone else's death. Adam called me stupid that night, and said I would use the blanket. Exhaustedly, Steve overruled him and said that if I wanted to freeze, then to let someone else be warm. Adam didn't speak to me for two days, even to say I chattered too much. Gerald acquired a violent cough that shook his whole body, and made the rest of us cringe in sympathy.

In my forest exploration, I came across a clearing filled with tall grasses and I decided that I would weave us a couple of blankets. While we might itch, at least we would be warmer. I sat most of the morning, weaving and had two somewhat delicate woven mats that could serve as blankets. The sun came out and warmed the air enough and in my tired state, I determined that I could probably weave faster if I rested a bit.

Despite my empty stomach, I fell asleep between the grass mats, warm for the first time in days, with the fall sun beating down on me. I dreamed about a she-wolf running through the forest, and hunting in the clearing. She was a magnificent creature and caught a rabbit effortlessly.

When I woke, the forest and clearing had changed, glowing vibrantly. Everything seemed to sparkle with clarity in the mid-afternoon sun. Where things were broken, where I had mashed down grasses sitting, and where branches were shedding from trees, there was a pulsing red. I sat up and looked around, and gasped slightly when I saw a mangy wolf sitting a short distance away, staring at me hungrily. I stayed perfectly still, looking back at it, terrified to move. Then I noticed it's shoulder was throbbing red, and there was a dead rabbit at its feet. It whined at me softly and nudged the rabbit toward me. When I did nothing, it took the rabbit in its powerful jaws and approached me, dropping the rabbit in front of me.

I don't know what possessed me, but I reached out, ever so slowly, and touched the wolf's shoulder. My fingers tingled and I could feel the rough fur of the wolf. I smoothed my hand down it's fur and the pulsing red faded and disappeared. Suddenly, the wolf called out and bounded off into the forest. I would have said I dreamed the whole thing, except the rabbit was still there and the forest still sparkled.

I took the mats and cried out when they felt dead and lifeless in my hands. Irreparable. I took the rabbit too, before I lost my nerve. It, too, was painful to hold. I stumbled back in the direction of our cabin, practically running. I hugged the mats and rabbit against my chest so I wouldn't drop them. The forest sparkled brilliantly. I was in agony. I saw the squirrel, who just looked at me inquisitively, as I staggered past.

Then, suddenly, it was gone. The forest was normal. The mats were just mats and the rabbit just a prospective meal. I was still shaking when I reached the cabin. I dropped the mats on Adam's bed and set the rabbit next to the stew pot. Then I collapsed on my mattress and cried. I felt empty and lifeless. I had just stopped crying by time the guys returned.

"Mary? What happened?" Adam shouted at me. I looked up at him, stood and embraced him, bursting into tears all over again. "What happened?" He demanded, trying to push me back so he could see my face.

"Just hold me," I whispered. "Please."

He wrapped his strong arms around me, and I sobbed into his threadbare, smelly shirt. He absorbed my terror, and after a while, I calmed enough to notice that I liked being in his arms, and how secure I felt. I instinctively pressed against him and felt myself grow warm. It was an odd feeling, a craving of sorts and startled me. I glanced up and lost myself in his deep green eyes. I knew he felt it too. There was nothing I wanted more than to spend the rest of my life snuggled safely next to him.

He pushed me away. "You are late getting to the store, Chatterbox," he said coldly. He must have seen how hurt I was, because he added, "I'll walk you."

We left and I could feel the rest of the guys staring at us.

"Thank you, Adam," I said quietly, once we were away from the cabin.

"Shut up, Chatterbox," he responded gruffly. He was annoyed that I hadn't told him what happened yet.

"Adam, please understand," I pleaded. "I'll talk to you when I can. I promise."

He said nothing and stared resolutely ahead.

On our walk back to the cabin, I said nothing. The night sounds were still there, but I didn't hear them. I was thinking about how confused I was. First there was the incident in the forest, and then that yearning for Adam that I still felt, but could not define.

Before we got to the cabin, he grabbed my arm and pulled me into the shadows. "Mary, I was scared you were hurt."

"I was upset about the rabbit." I half-lied. I would not go crazy. I would not be tied to a pole and left to die.

"You did good getting it for us, Mary. Everyone was really happy. There's some stew for you when we get back. It's good. You'll see. And the grass blankets were a wonderful idea. I've never seen the boys in such good spirits."

I smiled tentatively. "I don't think you've said that many words to me in the whole time I've known you, Adam."

"Shut up. You chatter too much," he whispered. He pulled me to him and kissed me firmly on my mouth.

For a brief moment, I was frozen, and then a fiery jolt spread through my body and every part of me was alive and tingling. I pressed myself against him and kissed him back, exploring his lips. My hands were in his hair, and on his shoulders, and running the length of his back. He held me so tightly he was almost crushing me. When we finally separated, it was by mutual agreement because we needed to breathe.

My heart was pounding and my breath ragged. He took my hand and lead me to the cabin. Just before we entered, he kissed me briefly on my forehead and released me.

Several of the guys thanked me for the rabbit and blankets, including Steve, who gave me a bowl of rabbit stew. It was by far the heartiest stew I had eaten in my life, or at least seemed to be. Hunger can make a lot of things taste good. I could feel Steve's eyes lingering on me and I did my best to pretend everything was normal.

I did not sleep that night. Steve insisted I have the best blanket, and as soon as I could hear his steady breathing, I went and put it on Gerald over the grass mat blanket. Gerald had gotten progressively worse and his cough had turned to a constant wheezing. He was pale and weak and the dark circles under his eyes made him look dead while he was sleeping.

I was afraid to go to sleep and afraid to stay awake. If I closed my eyes, I could see the wolf and the forest, in that strange augmented way, and I could see Adam stepping protectively between me and the wolf, barring me from it, and I was both overjoyed and terrified. I guess I did fall asleep, because I woke up shivering violently. There was a layer of dew in the cabin, and the door was open.

I sat up, every fiber of me becoming alert. In the doorway, the wolf stood, growling at something outside. Out of the darkness, I could see Adam approaching the back of the wolf with our only knife poised for attack.

"Adam, no!" I shouted and jumped to my feet. Without warning, my sight shifted again. I could see clearly despite the night darkness. I could see insects, spiders, ants, all with that sparkling clarity. Adam's back was streaked with pulsing red, along his muscles. There was some red pulsing around each of the guys. The most intensely glowing was Gerald, who looked like he was burning in red flames. Oddly, the wolf was sparkling with clarity, and oblivious to Adam approaching it.

I ran at Adam and tackled him. "No! The wolf is mine!" It was a bit like running into a wall. I wrapped my arms around him, and I could feel my hands tingling as sparks seemed to pass between my hands and Adam's back. The red faded.

Then everything started happening at once. The wolf ran off. Gerald collapsed back onto his bed. Adam pushed past me to chase the wolf, and Steve raced to the window. Quickly, before it went away, I rushed to Gerald's side, and knelt down. I put my hands on either side of his face, and I could feel the heat. A jolt as energy seemed to rush out of me into him. I pushed the blanket and grass mat out of the way, and pulled his shirt up, ignoring how dead and cold they felt. I put my hands on his chest. The tingling was so intense it was painful. I could see into him, past his skin, into his lungs that were the source of his sickness. I tried to draw it out and heal him. Trying seemed to slow the retreat of the red, so I stopped trying and just let my hands rest on his chest.

The red dissipated, turning a pulsing pink, and fading away completely. Gerald coughed and went into a spasm, his arm flying out and knocking me backwards. I hit the floor hard and the wind rushed out of me. As I gasped for breath, my sight returned to normal. I lay there, shaking uncontrollably and gasping. I hurt everywhere. I felt like I was on fire.

Steve was leaning over me. "Mary, are you all right?" I could barely breathe, and certainly could not answer him.

Adam returned and ran to my side, and pulled me up against him. "What happened?" he glared at Steve. Adam smoothed my hair and hugged me to him. He leaned close to my ear, and whispered, "I'm here, Mary. I've got you. You're going to be all right."

I closed my eyes, and let myself succumb to the burning. Even the insides of my eyelids were burning. I was vaguely aware of Steve saying I had hurt Gerald, and now Gerald was unconscious, and Adam carrying me to bed, defending me. The wolf was howling in the distance.

When morning finally arrived, Adam was still sitting on my bed, with the knife in his lap. He carried me out to roster, while Steve carried the still unconscious Gerald. I made Adam put me down when the guard was coming around, though I was still in agony. The counting was over quickly, and Gerald was put back in his bed, and covered with all the blankets. Steve commanded me to stay away from him, and I nodded, painfully. Then they were gone, heading down to the fields for harvest.

I sat on my bunk, staring across the room at Gerald. He seemed to have better color. He wasn't wheezing. I began to feel really claustrophobic and slowly made my way outside. I went back into the forest, and collapsed in a bed of new fall leaves. They were soft and cooling, caressing me. The squirrel saw me and approached me. It scampered close enough that it could have reached out and touched my nose. It chattered softly at me, looking at me, as if expecting me to understand.

I smiled, and speaking softly, I murmured, "Little one, I don't understand you." It twittered unhappily, and scampered off, returning to its foraging. I slept, listening to the birds' melodious chirping. By mid-afternoon, I awoke, and felt perfectly fine and refreshed. I returned to the cabin.

Gerald was still sleeping, but he looked almost completely healed. The dark circles were gone and he seemed to be sleeping peacefully. I left him and went to the store early.

Olan grinned when he saw me. "Been out in the woods today, Mary?" he said teasingly, reaching out and pulling a leaf from my tangled hair.

I nodded. "Apparently so." I smiled. "I thought I'd come early today, and see if you needed help with the stock."

"I do, but you know I can not pay you more?"

"Yes, but that does not stop me from wanting to help you. I know how your arthritis hurts these days." I went over to the three boxes piled next to the counter and began prying open the first one.

"Don't you get all condescending and pitying. I may be an old man, but I am still young enough to give you a sound spanking." He chuckled.

I handed him one of the blankets, and pulled the rest from the box, winking at him. "Only if you can catch me. Now bring that over here?" I neatly arranged the five blankets on the shelf.

I pried open the next crate, and there were sacks of grain. I pulled one out. "Where do you want this?"

"Over on that far shelf." He watched me as I put the rest of the sacks with the first. The last crate had miscellaneous supplies in it and I unpacked it under Olan's direction. Then he went to sit outside, while I swept and dusted, as he sometimes did when he was feeling tired.

"Mary, Mary," Peter said admonishingly behind me. I jumped, spinning around. He approached me, much like a predator and I retreated, much like prey.

"What is it, Peter? Did you want to buy some grain?" I was careful not to put any inflection in my tone at all.

"No, I came to see you. Doesn't Olan mind that you show up without even having the decency to wash or brush your hair?" He approached steadily and I stepped to the side to avoid being trapped in the corner. "You'd be quite pretty if you took care of yourself."

"I have work to do, Peter. Did you want something?" I tried to put the counter between us. I was unsuccessful.

"I came to get what you owe me."

I stepped toward the door and he moved in my way. "What is it you think I owe you?"

"What you've been giving to all the boys in your cabin. What you've been giving to Olan."

"I haven't been giving anything to anyone." I said, discreetly scanning around for something hard to hit him with. I decided on a frying pan and started edging toward it.

"Olan wouldn't have hired you unless he were bedding you. We both know he doesn't need you here to help him with the store."

I was almost there. "Buy something, Peter, or go away. I have work to do."

"Hey, Peter." Gerald was leaning in the doorway. Peter hesitated and then backed away from me.

"Hi, Gerald. You're looking good for someone who's going to starve to death this winter," Peter said snidely.

Gerald did look good. He was still gaunt, but there were no traces of his illness. He walked to me. "Doesn't it ever grate your nerves, Peter, that you made a mistake that first day when you snubbed Mary?" Gerald put his arm around my shoulders familiarly. He leaned toward me and said to me, "You ok, love?"

I was too shocked to do or say anything. Gerald didn't seem to mind. He turned to me, pointedly putting his back to Peter. Tenderly, he stroked my cheek with his other hand and gazed at me fondly.

"It was not a mistake to seal your doom." Peter strode from the store.

As the door shut, Gerald released me and his demeanor abruptly changed. "What happened last night? The last thing I remember Adam was trying to kill a wolf."

"You passed out. The wolf ran away. I came over to check on you and Steve said I hurt you, but I didn't. The sleep must have been good for you. You look well."

"I've never felt better." He studied my face. "I was dying, Mary. We both know it. Why are you lying to me?"

"I'm not lying. You were unconscious."

He shrugged and turned to leave. "I'll tell Olan not to leave you alone with Peter anymore."

"Thanks, Gerald."

He left and I slid to the floor, feeling winded.

Olan came in and asked if I was all right. I said I was and stood up and went back to my sweeping. Things seemed to be happening much too quickly, and I felt like a leaf floating down a river, getting tossed this way and that way, and occasionally bumping into the shore. I had no more idea what was happening to me than that leaf would.

I was terrified I was going crazy, and yet, I know what happened, and I know it did happen, and it was truth not hallucination. I healed Gerald. I put my hands on him and he became well. I healed the wolf too, and the muscles in Adam's back. My eyesight changed and I had healed others.

Adam arrived punctually at the store to walk me home. As we walked, he seemed to get more and more anxious. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision, and said, "Gerald and I spoke. He said Peter was in the store trying to hurt you."

I nodded. "I would have hit him over the head with a frying pan before I let him touch me again."

He didn't seem to approve of my answer, but ignored it. "Gerald's not sick anymore."

"Sleep must have been good for him," I answered.

"Please tell me what's going on, Mary? I felt my back tingle when you touched it, and it stopped hurting." He was whispering.

"I wish I knew. Really. It just happened. I don't even think I could do it again." I replied softly.

"Ok, Chatterbox." He seemed disappointed. I reached out and tentatively took his hand. He squeezed gently, and I knew he still trusted me.

The guys were oddly silent and kept their distance from me. I ate my gruel and lay on my bed, pretending to be asleep.

That night I had a horrible nightmare. Peter was pounding on me, hitting me and kicking me. He yanked my hair back and tried to kiss me. I spit in his face and he slapped me. I fought back as hard as I could, but I was no match for his strength. He was going to kill me.

Adam shook me awake, and told me I was screaming, and that it was just a bad dream. I sat, cradled in his arms, the rest of the night.

Just as the sun was rising, we awoke to hear shouts and screams from outside. We stumbled over each other trying to get out of the cabin to see what was happening. Adam stayed by my side protectively. It took a moment to adjust our eyes to the pre-dawn light and get oriented. I will have nightmares the rest of my life for what we saw.

Bees and wasps swarmed around Peter's cabin. Spiders crawled over every surface. Peter and the rest of his cabin mates were running around, frantically batting at themselves, trying to get away from the insects.

Suddenly, as if they had been given the command to cease, the insects and spiders began to wander off, aimlessly, ignoring anyone trying to kill them. We retreated to our cabin and Steve made sure everything was closed tightly, so none of bugs would get in our cabin. We took turns looking out the window, watching the spiders crawl away. There was no roster that day, and work was started late. I did not go into the forest at all, even to collect wood.

I was a demon or a witch. I had caused those spiders and insects to attack Peter because he scared me. True, I hadn't done it deliberately, and I wouldn't ever, couldn't ever. But somehow, I had summoned those things. Just like somehow I was able to heal. It was terrifying.

That night, as Adam walked me back, he seemed distant, and was unwilling to talk to me. Gerald watched me the whole evening, with a mixture of apprehension and awe. Everyone was tense and silent. Someone else had gone out and collected firewood to last us through the night.

I did not sleep. I sat in front of our stove, watching the flames lick at the cast iron, and occasionally feeding it a new stick. There were no nighttime forest sounds, no crickets, no birds, no raccoons foraging through the leaves, no wolves howling. It was eerie. I could hear snoring echoing from another cabin, and the rhythmic breathing of the guys around me.

I avoided the forest the next day too. It seemed to loom about me, calling me to do it's demonic work. Even the trees along the path seemed to call out to me. The birds were oddly silent, and I pointedly stared at my toes while I walked, so I wouldn't see the trees. I felt dazed and scared.

Peter died the next day from being stung and bit too many times. I did not leave the cabin to watch as his body was carried away and buried. Adam said it was swollen and a blackish blue. He did not come to the store to walk me home. The night seemed darker, more foreboding. As I walked, staring adamantly at the ground right in front of me, I began to feel like someone was watching me. The hair on the back of my neck raised. I trudged on, as if nothing was unusual. If something was going to jump out at me, it would not matter what I did.

When I arrived back at the cabin, I discovered why Adam hadn't come for me. He was out back, filling a hole. The guys were standing around somberly watching him. I went and stood next to Gerald. "What happened?" I asked him.

"A wolf attacked Steve and we're burying it."

I then noticed that Steve was not in the group. "Where's Steve?"

"Randy took him to the healer in the town to the north." Randy was not in the group either.

"He's that bad?"

"The wolf was crazed. It was the same one that had been to the cabin the other night. It took four of us to get the thing off of him." Gerald held out his arm and showed me a long, red scratch mark.

I watched numbly as Adam finished throwing dirt in the grave, and then stamped it down.

"You can't eat meat from crazed animals," Gerald whispered. "It'll poison you."

I nodded. I was having difficulty summoning any feeling whatsoever. My wolf was not crazed. It was helpful. It would not have attacked anyone. Steve was hurt. My wolf hurt Steve and Adam killed it.

Adam strode past me, and said to me, "You should have let me kill it the other night."

We all went back inside and went to bed. No one wanted to talk. After everyone else was asleep, I rose, and sat in front of the stove. I heard some shuffling noise outside, mixed with the usual night sounds, and ignored them. It sounded like a raccoon digging through leaves. After a while, the noise stopped. I almost fell asleep twice sitting there, but kept shaking myself to stay awake. If I was too tired, I couldn't do anything like the spiders. That happened while I was asleep. I even thought that maybe the wolf knew I had somehow done that evil act, and was trying to get back at me for it.

There was a faint mewling out back, and I rose to investigate. There was a full moon and I could see clearly. The grave had been dug up, and dirt was spread around, leaving the deep hole. In the shadows by the trees, I could see my wolf, sitting calmly, staring at me. It mewled pitifully, and I noticed that its neck was oddly bent. Almost hypnotically, I slowly approached it.

There was a hiss, and from the corner of my eye, I saw a dark shape jump out at me. It tackled me and held me down. I struggled.

"Shhhhhh!!!!" It whispered violently at me. A male voice. "Stop struggling lest it decides to attack."

I stopped struggling and the dark shape moved off of me. Once the light was no longer behind him, I could make him out. He appeared to be an older man, with silver and brown hair. He was wearing an old, worn green buckskin, that was dappled with brown and white. On his back he had a small buckskin pack, and a quiver filled with arrows. He slowly retrieved his bow from the nearby ground, and smoothly pulled and notched an arrow.

He whispered something in a language I didn't recognize, that was both musical and crackling all at once, and the arrow seemed to glow. He released the arrow, and it flew true, piercing my wolf through the chest. As it collapsed, its yellow glowing eyes went dark, and I felt a strange release.

The man turned to me, speaking softly. "Quickly, help me bury it. Maybe he'll think his conjuration failed."

"Who are you?" I asked. Everything seemed to be swirling about me in a dreamlike state.

"Shhhh. Quietly, we do not want to wake your friends. I am named Marten in the forest three leagues to the south." He dragged the wolf over to the hole and let it fall in. He began pushing the dirt back in the hole.

I helped.

"I wasn't sure who you were until just now," he said quietly. "I've been watching and waiting for three days. He doesn't know who you are either, though, so that's good. You should have made the wards."

He seemed to be waiting for me to say something, but I didn't understand him, so I grasped at something that made a little sense. "Who is he?"

"He's a rogue druid. Practices the dark arts, which you just witnessed. That thing would have torn you to shreds, my dear. Why didn't you turn it?"

I didn't have an answer for him. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

He took a small amount of dirt. "May I?" he asked, and I nodded, not knowing what he meant. He reached up and touched my forehead with the dirt. He pulled his hand back suddenly. He seemed shocked. "I can't read you. You are pure."

"What are you talking about?" I wiped the dirt from my forehead, probably smearing it and making it worse, considering my dirty hands. "Can you tell me what is going on? Please? I'm so scared. I healed someone, and then I killed Peter. What is wrong with my wolf?" Why did it feel perfectly natural to be having this conversation with a complete stranger? Maybe I was dreaming.

He glanced up and chattered at the tree. My squirrel chattered back at him, and scurried down the trunk. It ran over to us. It chattered some more at the man, and the man chattered back at it. He was talking to the squirrel. He looked back at me, and seemed to make a decision. "You must come with me. We need to leave here."

"No." I shook my head. "I'm not going anywhere." The squirrel chirped at the man angrily, and I instinctively calmed it with a soft murmur. "I can't leave the cabin or they'll be punished."

An owl sounded in the distance, and the man's head tilted as he listened. "Go," he pushed me in the direction of the cabin. "He comes. You must pretend to be asleep. Pretend to know nothing. Do not mention me."

I turned back to him to protest and saw him shape-shift into a coyote and disappear with a leap into the forest. The squirrel ran back up the tree. I went back into the cabin and lay on my bunk. My heart was beating wildly. A stick broke outside, as something stepped on it. I did my best to calm down.

Several days went by normally, except for the apprehension in their glances at me. I think they thought I was a witch. Gerald had resumed work and I spent days sitting in the cabin staring out the window. What was out there? I saw nothing unusual. Had I dreamed it all? I felt normal enough. There were no sudden vision changes, no more unaccountable healing. The insects that killed Peter were never mentioned. They had become a taboo topic. Randy and Steve returned. The healer had done what he could as far as bandaging and Steve healed slowly.

I continued working with Olan and without Peter coming in routinely to torment me, things settled into a pleasant routine. I felt guilty every time I thought how nice it was that Peter wasn't around. The first snowfall, while a beautiful dusting of white flakes, brought with it an ominous cold. The rest of our savings had been used to pay the healer for Steve, and there was nothing left for blankets. At night we huddled together with the blankets piled around us, trying to sleep through everyone's shivering. I often thought we'd be warmer outside buried in some leaves.

Adam became distant and cold toward me. One night, as he walked me back to our cabin, he told me that he couldn't trust me if I couldn't confide in him. I told him I didn't have anything to confide. He said he wouldn't be walking with me anymore. I shrugged and said that it was his decision. That night as I sat staring into the flames of our stove, the numbness and shock wore off and I hurt worse than after Peter had beat me. There are so many different kinds of hurting.

A week passed. Walking home was lonely without Adam. I stared at my feet and ignored the forest. I only spoke when absolutely necessary to Olan and he respected my silence.

The hurt turned to anger and I decided I was tired of moping and ignoring the fact that I was a witch. I must have dreamed about the wolf and the strange man who spoke to the squirrel. The healing had happened and the spiders had happened, but the rest was a dream. The wolf's grave was undisturbed. There were no other strange things.

The weather grew frigid and we had to rub each other limbs to keep them from turning blue. Steve gently asked me if I would try making a few more blankets. He surprised me and I suddenly realized that no one had spoken to me in over three weeks. I told him I would try.

The next morning we were so cold that moving was painful. There was another layer of snow. The guys trudged through it slowly as they made their way down the slope to where they would be counting and packing the crops. I put off going into the forest as long as possible, but finally decided that it had to be done.

I ventured slowly, watching my step as I navigated the fallen branches and snow covered shrubs. I suppose the glistening whiteness was beautiful, but I was freezing. The trees did not block enough of the chill wind, and the snow fell into my shoes, making my ankles cold and my feet wet. When I arrived at the clearing, my heart sank even farther. The tall grasses were bent from the piled snow, and dead and brittle for the season. Even if I could clear them of the snow, they'd still take a while to dry, and wouldn't weave.

As I looked around the clearing despondently, I noticed what seemed to be an animal trail around the edge of the opposite side. I made my way over to it, and discovered that there were human footprints. The trail was worn, as if someone had been using it for a while, and the tracks seemed fresh in the snow going both directions. As I couldn't tell which set of footprints were the most recent, I decided to follow the trail to the right. Maybe I'd find the mysterious man from that dream?

Eventually the trail lead to a small ring. Someone had moved rocks into a small circle. Ashes in the center, told of a past fire. There was a rather large rock, probably for sitting on nearby. Someone had been here last night, I thought, as I glanced around and the trampled snow. To my disappointment, the ashes were cold. As I was digging in the ashes, I noticed a discreet, dark triangular shaped opening, almost completely hidden in a shrub on the edge of the trampled snow.

Investigating it, I discovered that it seemed to be a shelter of sorts, and that someone had built it deliberately, but the snowfall last night had worked to completely disguise it. I felt a bit uneasy bending to peer inside, after all, the owner could be home. I couldn't see anything, and shocking myself, I crawled in slowly. The hole ended abruptly in a pile of leaves and grasses that had been stuffed into the low passage, and as I was trying to turn to ease myself back out again, I found a triangle of woven sticks and grasses. It took me a minute to realize that what I was looking at was indeed a shelter. The occupant apparently went in feet first, buried himself in the leaves and grasses, and pulled the triangular door closed to hold out the drafts. I imagined it was incredibly cozy and warm. But where was the owner?

As I walked back to the clearing, I thought on how warm that shelter must be. What could I do to make our cabin that warm? It was a delicious thought, imagining all of us sleeping outside in similar shelters and getting up in the morning for the count, completely rested and warm. It wouldn't work though, because sporadic surprise inspections in the middle of the night would get us all whipped. Stuffing the shelter, though, had been a good idea. It didn't matter if the grasses were too brittle to weave if you stuffed them.

Suddenly, I had a thought. If I could dry out the grasses enough, maybe we could sew them between two blankets, and triple the thickness of them? We'd still have to huddle to use them, but they'd be warmer. Maybe we could even use the mattresses to make a shelter within a shelter, to keep out the drafts?

Back at the clearing, I collected as much of the grass as I could, shaking it free of the snow. My fingertips were quite blue by time I started the trek back, but I felt happier than I had in a long while. I guess doing something positive, no matter how little, is enough to lift even the broken of hearts. Maybe even deep down inside, I harbored a secret hope that Adam might be pleased with my efforts. I made several more trips and spread the grasses out everywhere I could in the cabin where they might stand a chance of drying.

Olan was pleased to see me in a cheerier mood and said so. I told him I had just been a bit unnerved by the insects. Olan accepted this, but I think he knew I was more distraught about Adam no longer walking me home. I unpacked the newest supplies and made sure the store was meticulously clean. As the even wore on, I found myself getting more and more anxious to go back to the cabin and start sorting through the grasses, and making use of the ones that were dry enough.

Usually the moonlight was enough to see the path back to the cabin, especially reflecting from the snow. Tonight, the sky was darkly clouded over and an ominous tension filled the air. Halfway home, I almost stepped on an owl. It shrieked at me and flew toward my face. If I hadn't ducked back, it would have smacked into me. I was pondering over how strange that was, when my forest squirrel ran up to me and began chattering. I continued walking faster, certain now that something was dreadfully wrong. The squirrel hopped along beside me, underfoot. When I almost tripped over it, I waved at it to get it to back off. "Go on, before I step on you, Squirrel!" In the near blackness, I couldn't run but I wanted to.

As I approached the cabin, I paused. It looked normal enough, except there were no sounds. The single candlelight was flickering through the windows. Caution made me hesitate. The squirrel ran up a nearby tree and watched intently. Quietly as I could, I imagined myself a mouse on an evening foray into cat territory, and edged close to the window. I peered in. Quickly, I ducked back out of sight.

The guys were in the far corner. Gerald and Adam were holding Steve, who was pale and breathing hard. The side of his shirt was red with blood. All of them were staring over by the stove, where a man in a brown leather outfit was pointing a crossbow at them. The man radiated a cool patience, and if it weren't for the crossbow, he didn't seem threatening at all.

My heart was pounding and I crept around to the back so I could peek in the other window to make sure there was only one uninvited visitor. I had no clue what I was going to do. I swallowed a gasp when I saw the dirt piled around the wolf's grave. It looked like the wolf had dug itself out. I didn't see the wolf in the shadows, so I quickly glanced in the cabin's window. There was only one enemy. Plus the wolf somewhere.

The wind was icy. It occurred to me, as I stood there freezing and terrified, that I probably invaded this man's camp, crawled around in his shelter. I lead him back here. He was waiting for me. I knew with certainty that if I went in the cabin, I was dead.

For an instance, I wondered if I could call the insects on him, but bile rose in my throat at the thought. I considered climbing to the roof, throwing something out front to make a noise, and then jumping him as he came out the door. I could immobilize the crossbow then and maybe daringly grab an arrow and stab him with it. The thought of me in hand to hand combat with someone of that muscular size was so intensely amusing that I almost smiled. Almost. Maybe I could throw a rock and knock him unconscious as he came out? Provided my aim was impeccable, provided it just happened to hit him perfectly, provided I happened to throw it hard enough to do some serious damage. Most likely, it would just make him angry.

My sight altered. The trees glowed with life. I could see every living thing suddenly. And with a dawning terror, I realized he could see me, just as I could now sense him through the wall. He was crossing the cabin toward the back door. If I started running, all I would do is give him a nice target to shoot down at his leisure. I slipped around the corner to stay clear of his crossbow path.

"I know you are out there," a chilling, deep voice called.

"I didn't mean to invade the privacy of your shelter, Sir," I hollered back. "I'm very sorry. I'm sure we can clear up this misunderstanding." I had to really concentrate to sense him through the wall of the cabin. Instinctively, I stepped to the side. A crossbow bolt flew through the wall where I had been standing and landed in a snowdrift. I retrieved the bolt as quickly as I could. "That's not very forgiving of you," I shouted, dodging to the side immediately. Another bolt. How many did he have? Maybe I could deplete his resources?

"I'm not here to forgive you. I'm here to kill you," he bellowed. "This land is mine."

"Fine by me! I can leave it to you!" I sidestepped. No bolt. Was he out? Was he waiting for a sure shot? Had he decided he wanted to see the fear in my eyes as I died from a bolt in my heart rather than anonymously through a wall?

"You had your chance to leave." There was a pause. "New approach." There was a 'twang' and a scream, followed by shouting and confusion. "Do you care about these slaves?" he cried out. "One of them just died. Surrender yourself at the front door, as you are closer to that."

There was a low growl from the tree line. It took me a moment to recognize the wolf, as he didn't glow with life like the rest of the things around him, but seemed rather to be a terrible blackness. The conversation and his shooting someone were merely distractions, to keep me from noticing the approach of the wolf. The wolf pounced and I had just enough time to throw my arm up and block the powerful jaws and teeth from ripping out my throat. Pain seared through my arm, and I tried to shake the wolf off. Maybe I screamed. I don't know. The weight of the wolf pulled me to the ground and another crossbow bolt whizzed overhead.

I struggled to stab the wolf with my crossbow bolt. He was cold and stiff, and I felt sorry for my wolf suddenly. That evil man had taken my wolf and turned it into this creature. I remembered the wolf bringing me the rabbit, tentatively dropping it at my feet. Just like I could sense the life fluctuating around me, I could sense a tiny flicker of my wolf deep within this creature. Peace, it pleaded, give me peace. I reached in and touched it with my mind. Like a drop of water extinguishing a flame, I extinguished the tormented life in my wolf. It dropped dead. Apparently the animation of my wolf needed some life to keep it moving. I pried it's jaws off my arm, wincing. I touched my arm, hoping that maybe I could heal myself, but I only flinched from the pain. Letting my arm dangle uselessly, I retrieved my crossbow bolt, and tried to sense where the enemy was. If I lived there would be time to worry about my arm.

He was outside, in front of the cabin, coming this way. Using my good arm, I pushed myself to my feet. Unfortunately, leaning on the crossbow bolt caused it to snap. I grabbed the sharp end.

He had a bolt notched and ready in the crossbow when he came around the corner. I would have been killed immediately if my squirrel hadn't jumped in the man's face causing the bow to misfire harmlessly in the trees. I charged him with my half an arrow. Before I reached him, another wolf leapt out of the trees and tackled him to the ground. There was a struggle and they rolled, leaving a streak of pulsing red blood in the snow. The wolf shifted into Marten, the man I thought I had dreamed.

I tried to figure out how to stab the brown clothed man while missing the green dappled one, but they were moving too fast. Too many limbs flying, too much of a chance of them rolling. My sight suddenly shifted back to normal, and I was left in darkness. I could only hear the fight. That was the worst moment, waiting to find out which one would win. I clutched my broken crossbow bolt in my good hand, ignoring the burning pain in my other arm. Out of the darkness one shape rose and limped toward me.

"Don't stick me with that." Marten said. My legs felt weak with relief. I was going to live. Naturally I fainted.

I wiggled my fingers. There was no pain, which was really surprising considering that most of my arm had been chewed, if I hadn't dreamed the whole thing. I opened my eyes. Nope, I had died. I was in a soft bed with real sheets and real blankets, with a real pillow. The walls were a warm, soothing yellow, and there were light green curtains framing the only window, where sunlight sparkled in the frost on the glass. A light oak table near the bed held a pitcher, a large bowl, and a neatly folded cotton cloth. Beyond the table, a small stove provided warmth. Next to a comfortable looking rocking chair, there was a living miniature tree in a decorative clay pot. Neatly tied and hanging upside down, a variety of dried plants decorated the wall opposite the window.

I stared at the plants blankly, trying to remember where I had seen such an arrangement before. Then I remembered. They were just like the ones belonging to the healer we had taken the beaten woman to. I looked at my arm. It was bandaged. I pushed the sheet and blankets aside. I was wearing a forest green soft leather robe. I could not remember ever wearing anything so fine. I stood up, admiring how it seemed to float around my legs. It was a little short.

The door opened to another bright room apparently a combination living room and kitchen. Marten was sitting at a table drinking from a steaming wooden cup. He wore bandages wrapped around his head, his shoulder, and left hand. Across the table, an older woman swirled the liquid in her cup. She had long brown hair and was wearing a light tan dress that was belted at her waist with a braided leather cord. She smiled when she spotted me, and the warmth of her gaze reflected the warmth in the room. "It is good to see you awake, my dear. Come in and have some blackberry tea."

I nodded and hesitantly stepped forward. Marten was watching me with an intensity I couldn't quite fathom. "Thank you for healing my arm," I said to the woman, and she dismissed my comment with a firm wave of her arm, and gestured for me to sit on the bench next to her. I looked at Marten and said, "Thank you for saving my life." I sat down, taking a smooth wooden cup from the woman. I sipped the tea. It was hot and strongly herbal, though not bitter. "I'm not sure how I can repay either of you."

The woman smiled gently. "There is no need, my dear. We healers tend to each other. Marten told me there was a healer up at the camp, but I could not imagine why you would want to stay there. I thought he was jesting merely to prolong our association." She winked saucily at Marten, who missed it because he was still staring at me intensely.

"How did you kill the undead wolf?" he asked me. He seemed accusing.

"It asked me to. I'm not really sure." He didn't seem to believe me. "Really. It just happened. There was this light and I thought it was my wolf, and it asked me for peace. I just gave it peace. I don't know how. And then the wolf was dead."

"Amazing, my dear," the woman said, "We did the aura test while you were unconscious." I just shrugged, completely baffled. Marten later told me that this was what convinced him that I was telling the truth. Apparently no one would dare a breach of privacy like that. He said it was a bit like rape. The woman just continued as if it was a normal thing, "You are pure, as Marten said. Probably the strongest healer I've ever had the honor of meeting, and you don't know it?"

"Healer? Is that what I am? I'm not crazy or dead?" I asked.

"Heavens, no, child. Certainly not crazy or dead." She paused, studying me. "I suppose if you didn't have any training, your powers might lead you to believe that. I can't imagine what it would be like to just one day discover you have the talent. Most healers, including me, are taught from childhood what to expect and how to prepare for it."

I quirked an eyebrow at Marten. "So you are a healer?"

He burst out laughing. "No, I'm a shape shifter. We're sort of kin."

The woman poured Marten more tea. Addressing me again, she said, "You'll have to be trained. I can't do it, though. I'm not even in your class. You'll need one of the high priests or priestesses to show you everything you can do." She rubbed her chin, and then pointed at Marten. "Marten, you'll take her." She seemed inordinately pleased with herself for deciding this for us. "I can't leave my shop untended, and she'll need a powerful protector for the journey."

Like a splash of cold water, I realized how impossible this was. "I can't go anywhere. I've got to get back to the cabin before I'm reported missing." I stood.

Marten pushed a piece of parchment at me. I hadn't noticed it on the table. I took it and read it. I was a property release. I wasn't a slave anymore. "No one can own healers," he commented. "I just pointed this out to your 'master'." I was so shocked I fell back onto the bench. He grinned.

"I don't know what to say." I really didn't. What would I do? Where would I go? How would I make a living? Then I shivered. I would go with Marten in search of a high priest or priestess. Someone who could show me how to heal someone when I wanted to, how to control my eyesight.

The woman patted me gently on the arm. "Don't worry about anything. Marten will take excellent care of you. He knows all about travelling in the wilderness. You can keep my robe; it suits you. Now, you two really should be on your way. I sense I'm about to have visitors." She managed to escort Marten and myself to the door in a hurried but unhurried manner.

"Thank you for everything," I whispered as I hugged her goodbye. Marten saluted her, and as we turned to leave, two men, apparently brothers, were lifting an adult sized bundle out of a wagon.

Marten looked at me and shrugged. "I don't understand how healers know that kind of thing. You'll have to ask when we get to the Glen."

"I need to go say goodbye."

Marten nodded and we left the village and started the steep climb up to the cabin. "How did you know to come save me?" I asked.

"I thought you called me?"

I shook my head and we climbed the rest of the way in silence, each dwelling on the path our life was about to take. Maybe he was trying to figure out how he heard me call him, when I didn't.

The cabin was exactly as I remembered it, except there were eight new blankets. Adam greeted us at the door and invited us in. He thanked Marten for the blankets. He was calmly reserved as he told me that Steve was dead, having been shot by the rogue druid. Adam had been put in charge of the cabin. I could tell he was hurt because I hadn't confided in him, and that we would never be together because of it. Apparently, Marten had explained some of what had happened, and Adam believed I knew all along and just hadn't told him. I said my goodbyes and made my peace as best I could. I thanked the squirrel through Marten. He couldn't understand why I didn't understand the squirrel's language. He said it was a natural ability. I guess I would find out some day.

Marten and I set off for the Glen, which he told me was a home and meeting place for most of us with special abilities. He said the Council would have to be told of the rogue druid. For the first time since I was young, listening to the bedtime stories the mom was reading to her child, I had hope and could let myself dare to dream.

THE END