Chapter 2

When Angelina woke up, she was surprised to find a stranger's jacket covering her. She yelped and sat up, looking around and not recognizing where she was. Where were her mom and the Adderhead, who'd held her captive for so long? When she finally remembered where she was, she was very sad. She looked around for the man she'd seen the night before, who'd made the fire flower for her.

"…Well, why can't we take her with us? It's just gathering firewood—" Dustfinger trailed off when the little girl approached him. He still didn't know her name. "Hey there," he said to her, smiling in his mysterious way. She looked up at him with big, brown eyes. It would appear that he'd earned some favor with her after making the fire flower. "How are you? Hungry?" She nodded. "What do you want to eat?" The only answer was a shrug. "How about some soup?" Another nod. He sat back, rubbing his hand over his face. This girl was going to be harder to get to speak then he'd thought. He got up and went to grab her some soup. She followed him.

"Here," he said when he turned around to find her standing there. "Watch out, it's hot." He held out the bowl of soup, which she took from him and put to her lips. A small cry escaped her lips as it scalded her tongue. She stuck it out and looked at the end where it was burned, and then looked up at him with a bewildered expression. It took everything in his power not to laugh.

"Here," he said, holding out his gourd of water to her. She took it and took a sip to cool her tongue before giving it back. She glared at him with an expression that Dustfinger recognized. One of his daughters used to look at him like that, every time that he made a flaming flower and she burned her finger on it, despite his warnings. She used to glare at him like that for hours, until he finally apologized. The memory alone made him feel the gaping wound in his chest open up, the very wound he'd tried to heal ever since his family was taken with fever. He bent his head and wiped his eyes, thankful for the cover his long hair provided from the other men.

"Dustfinger, are you coming?" The Black Prince stood at the mouth of the cave, looking at his best friend. Dustfinger looked up at him.

"Yeah, I'm coming," he said, getting up to leave. The little girl stood up, too, but he smiled sadly at her. "No," he said. "You've got to stay here. I'll be back soon, I promise." She looked up at him with such a heartbroken look that, for a second, he nearly told the Prince to go on without him. By the fire of the elves, look at yourself, he thought angrily. The girl gives you one look and you want to bend over backwards for her, and you don't even know her. Get a hold of yourself, Dustfinger! He smiled kindly at her, and then turned his back on her, walking towards the Black Prince.

"Let's go," he said, slinging his ever-present backpack over his shoulder. His martin, Gwin, chattered and climbed up onto Dustfinger's shoulder, probably hoping for food. He threw one glance back over his shoulder at the girl, and then he was gone.

Angelina stared after the man, Dustfinger. He'd left her. Left her! The mere thought of it made her want to cry, though she had no idea why. Her mom had told her often to trust her instincts about people. She knew that this man would keep her safe, even if he didn't know her. Something about the way he acted assured her that he was the sort of person that had a soft heart, even if it took a while to get to it. Maybe it was just the fact that he was exactly how she'd always imagined her father; mysterious to a point, but with an open heart towards young girls like herself. She knew for a fact that he did have an open heart towards her, because he wouldn't have let her fall asleep in his lap the night before. Sighing, she glared out where he'd disappeared. She still couldn't believe that he'd just left her. People were so mean.

"Hello," a little girl said, coming up to her. She turned, silently, and looked at her. "I'm Toria. Do you like dolls?" Angelina nodded, still studying the girl. She had fair hair that was braided in cornrows, and pretty, dark eyes. She held up two corn-husk dolls, obviously handmade. "Do you want to play with me?" Angelina shrugged. The little girl took her hand and dragged her away to another part of the cave, telling her what the doll's name was, the 'right' way to hold it, and explaining how they'd play the game.

"You hold the doll and make him go where I tell you. I'll tell the story, but you just make the doll move," Toria said. Angelina nodded, although she didn't think that sounded like too much fun for her. She crouched down in the dirt, doing as she was told and acting out the story of two people who loved each other very much.

Angelina played with Toria for hours, constantly throwing glances over towards the cave entrances. A few people asked her who she was waiting for, but she simply shrugged and didn't answer.

It was late in the day when Dustfinger, the Prince, and Cloud-Dancer finally came back from hunting firewood. Dustfinger had just about enough time to set down his share of wood before the little girl was clinging to his leg. He looked down at her and smiled.

"I see you missed me," he said, pushing her gently away from his legs. She clung to them again, looking up at him with a very innocent expression. Sitting down, he once again tried to push her off of his legs. Letting go, she moved to a more preferable spot; his lap. She put her head on his shoulder like one of his daughters would have a long time ago, except she was much more silent than any of his daughters had ever been. She was staring into the fire, and for a moment he wondered what this little girl who couldn't speak was seeing in its depths. It certainly couldn't be anything worse than what he saw when he looked; a sickly woman, two dead children, tears of pain and tears of fear. No, nothing that this little girl had seen could be worse than that, and he hoped it stayed that way.

"Are you hungry again?" he asked, because it was around lunch time, and the girl didn't look like she'd eaten even a bite since he'd left. She shrugged, but her stomach rumbled, and that was enough of an answer for him. Getting up, he fixed her a small portion of food, just as much as he had to spare. He held out the food to her, and she took it willingly before clambering into his lap again as he sat down.

"Seems to me that the child likes you," the Prince said, sitting down beside Dustfinger.

"Yeah, she does," he said, stroking her hair back. The Prince looked at him with a mild expression.

"You seem to be attached to the child, too," he continued. Dustfinger shot him a wry smile.

"What did you expect? You know how soft my foolish heart can be," he said. The Prince laughed, reaching up and stroking his bear's head as he thought.

"Yes, that is true," he agreed. "I can't help but think, though, that the girl might have some family to return to."

"Yes," Dustfinger said in an evasive tone of voice. "I know this."

"Are you sure that it's wise to…" The Prince didn't finish his sentence. He didn't have to. Dustfinger sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back. After a while, his eyes opened and he scrutinized the ceiling of the cave.

"Is it wise for me to let the little tyke get close to me?" he finished the Prince's sentence. "No, it probably isn't. Am I still going to do it?"

"Yes, even though you'll be hurting for years and years afterwards," the Prince said. "You've always been funny like that, Dustfinger. I don't think that I'll ever understand why you open your heart for breaking."

"I don't. That's the problem," Dustfinger said, sitting up and stroking the girl's hair again. "The more I try not to get hurt, the harder it is to stay away from people like this one." He looked up at the ceiling again, as if the answer to himself lie in the scratches and stalactites above him. Well, Dustfinger, if that isn't the story of your life, then what is?