A/N: This timeskips a fair amount of time, and despite the opening sentences, Halt doesn't recognize her (yet). Her condition will be explained as time goes on, but for now it's a mystery that everyone wants to solve. Yippee!

Halt never expected to see her again.

At least this time, he didn't break any rules saving her life.

He was doing his usual weekly rounds around Selsey, a quiet coastal village just off Redmont Fief's western border. Not that Halt particularly wanted to have the responsibility of watching over the sleepy town, but being the closest Ranger to the area meant he had no choice in the matter.

It was a dreary morning- the near-constant drizzle that had accompanied him for the last few hours was fading fast, leaving behind a mist that clung to the treetops, hazy in the morning light. Occasional patches of sun burst through the cloud layer, breaking the montonomy of grey for just a few seconds before disappearing again.

The village was soon behind him, as Halt continued down the shore- He always traveled at least a half-mile in either direction, just to be sure there'd be no trouble in the week between his visits. The sound of his horse's hooves sinking into the soft ground, and the rolling, splashing rhythm of waves against the shoreline formed a sort of discordant beat in the backround. There was a faint breeze, tasting of salt and bringing with it the coolness from the sea.

He continued to be on his guard, eyes scanning the distant line of forestry and the open ocean in a seemingly random pattern. An average citizen would brand him as paranoid- and maybe he was, but no more so than any other Ranger. He and his fellow craftmasters lived by a simple rule: "If you're not looking for danger, chances are you won't see it until it's too late." Countless times in the past those words had proved true. And so, even in a town like Selsey, Halt was wary and alert.

He had Abelard, his horse- trained to pick up even the slightest unnatural sound or smell, and discreetly alert his rider. But always counting on his horse to warn him was another thing Rangers would never do- their steeds weren't perfect, and two pairs of eyes were always going to be better than one.

It was this constant state of readiness paired with some sort of uncanny sixth sense Rangers tended to develop that led Halt to stop his horse suddenly in it's tracks. There was a jumbled mass of gray cloth, lying half in the water, a ways down the beach.

He slid out of the saddle easily, motioning for Abelard to wait for him in the shelter of a collection of rocks. There was a slight twinge of doubt; that maybe this thing on the shore was a distraction, a ploy to grab his attention and allow an attacker to catch him unawares. (He also thought for a moment that maybe he truly was paranoid- but that was a problem for another day).

Halt approached the jumble of cloth and seaweed cautiously, dropping down onto one knee in the sand and tugging the sandy gray fabric away.

And in an entirely un-Halt-like moment, he cursed. Loudly.

Because staring up at him, icy blue, glassy and lifeless, were the eyes of a girl.

Her face was gaunt and sallow, the skin stretched tightly over her bones. She was cold, with lips swollen a frigid purple-blue. Halt unraveled her from the grey cloth (it looked to be some sort of crudely made cloak) and searched for a pulse. There- a slow, fluttering beat. She was alive. He didn't know if that was good or bad.

He cursed again.

With this new twist came the problem of what exactly he was going to do with her. Leaving her with the villagers here didn't seem like an option- Halt doubted anyone brought in by the likes of him would be treated with anything more than distrust. Sometimes, he had to admit, the reputation of the Rangers was more a hindrance than a help.

Bringing her back to his cabin wasn't an option either- he only had Abelard, deciding that bringing a pack pony on a (what he thought would be) short and uneventful trip was unnecessary. In the near-death condition she was in, he somehow doubted she'd manage to stay in the saddle. He wasn't going to leave her here- figuring out what had happened to her was important, and as cold as Halt was, he wasn't heartless.

That left one option- he'd have to camp for a day or two with the small amount of emergency supplies he had.

Great.

Halt grudgingly had to admit he had a certain weakness for unsolved puzzles- most Rangers did. After all, it was in their trade to gather information, and opportunities to do so were (usually) few and far between, at least with the current state of peace the country was enjoying.

Naturally, his curiosity was raised by the current riddle presented to him- the girl. Currently, she lay unmoving besides the shallow rise-and-fall of her chest, inside his sleeping roll and wrapped in his cloak. The dangerously gray-blue pallor of her skin had receded after he'd managed to peel her sodden clothes from her body. It was horrifying, really, to see just how bone-thin the girl was. He supposed maybe she'd been pretty at one point, but that would have been long ago. Now, she only looked cold, small and tired.

After unsaddling and briefly rubbing down Abelard, he started looking around the makeshift campsite. searching for dry wood to use to make a fire. There wasn't much- the rainfall from earlier had made things damp and soggy. At first, Halt was reluctant to stray too far from the camp; without another able-bodied person to keep watch, he was afraid the girl would try to run away if she woke up- but remembering how skinny and ragged she looked, he reconsidered.

Halt's decision ended up being a good one; he located a trickling freshwater stream maybe a half-mile away, which would save him from buying water from any vendors in Selsey. A dense thicket of brambles and shrubbery proved to be a good source of firewood, having been protected from the rain by a tall pine that stood proudly above it. Content with what he'd found, he headed back to the campsite. Starting the fire was easy enough, and Halt busied himself with unpacking the emergency supplies he carried, setting to work on making some sort of broth or stew from the hard rations in his pack.

He figured it was the smell of the smoked beef as it simmered in the water that woke her. Or maybe the sharp crackling of the fire. Either way, she shifted in the sleeping roll, trying to sit up. She couldn't manage it, however, and fell back onto her forearms. Great, racking coughs shook her frail body- it only made sense she'd have inhaled at least some seawater. The coughing faded away after a few minutes, and she looked around. The fear in her eyes was obvious- it was a childish sort of fear, too, which was a little disconcerting.

"Where am I?" The girl rasped- her voice sounded like sandpaper. The question was followed by another bout of coughing.

"Safe." Halt replied gruffly- he wasn't very good at appearing kind or harmless. Probably because he was neither.

She looked much like a cornered animal, eyes darting from side to side, looking for a way out. When Halt scooped a little of the broth into a bowl and started towards her, she scrambled back as best she could, looking up at him fearfully.

"Relax," He snapped, his patience already thin- if not for her, he'd be back in his cabin by now. Kneeling down to her level, he extended his arm slowly, bowl in hand. She still flinched, but after a few seconds, she must've realized he had no intention of hurting her.

"I have food for you. And water. But first I need to know who you are." He tried his best to speak calm and slow, realizing now that the cornered animal comparison was more than accurate- any sudden movements or sounds were likely to set her off again.

She looked up at him with those unnervingly ice-blue eyes, brow slightly furrowed. The look of confusion slowly disappeared, and her pupils began to dilate in fear- no, absolute terror. The color she'd gained from the warmth of the cloak was quickly disappearing. The seconds dragged on, but she didn't answer him- her lips were moving faintly, but no sound could be heard.

When she finally did answer, it was nothing more than a breath- a near-silent whisper that even Halt had to strain to pick up.

"I don't know."