Will awoke slowly, blinking at the sunlight streaming through the cabin's unglazed window. He rolled over and yawned contentedly. That had been the best sleep he'd had in what felt like years. Sitting up, he glanced at his surroundings, gaze circling the room until he lit on Evanlyn's sleeping form.

Even with her hair shorn off, he mused, she really was quite beautiful. Her eyes, now closed, were framed by long, elegant lashes. Her lips were chapped but full and her smile, Will remembered, was radiant. But what drew Will to her, even more than her beauty was… her. From what he had seen, Evanlyn was brave, resourceful and determined. Her lashes fluttered as she turned over in her sleep and Will remembered how she had insisted on tracking the Wargals to the bridge, even though she had already been terrified of them; how she had raced back across the bridge to help him, even though by doing so she had placed herself in mortal peril. And she had saved him from the warmweed – she had saved his life. Thinking about this, Will was overcome by gratitude for her.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he whispered. The sound of his own voice startled him and he blushed, realizing he had just spoken out loud. Casting a quick glance at Evanlyn to make sure she was still sleeping, Will got to his feet, grabbed the small sack they used for game, and slipped silently out of the cabin.

The minute the door was closed, Evanlyn sat bolt upright in bed. In truth, she had woken up right after Will, but had thought it prudent to feign sleep as he seemed to be concentrating hard on something. Then, he had whispered those words, apparently unaware that she had been listening. She wondered if he even knew he'd spoken out loud. Evanlyn was equal parts elated and confused. One part of her wondered what exactly Will had meant by the admission, while another part of her was too busy jumping in joy to care. Smiling to herself, Evanlyn got up and started to prepare breakfast.

* * *

Outside, Will looked around as he checked the last snare in the line. Empty, just like all the rest. His heart sank as he thought of another scant meal at the cabin. It was hard enough to keep their food supplies from running low in good times; now, small animals had become wary of the snares he and Evanlyn had set, and game was scarce. With a small sigh, Will began his slow journey back to the cabin.

There was a lot less snow on the ground than there had been even days previously, and the surrounding trees were starting to look greener and more vibrant. Dimly, he could hear birds calling to each other in the distance. He would have to inform Evanlyn that the spring thaw was almost upon them and that it was time to leave. That was a harrowing thought. Dispirited, Will made his way through the melting snow. The weeks spent in the throes of the warmweed had taken their toll, on his strength, however, and he had to stop to lean against the door to the makeshift stable to catch his breath.

The stable's sole occupant – the pony Jarl Erak had supplied – regarded Will with a baleful brown eye. For an instant, Will was reminded of Tug – but he forced that thought away. He could worry about Tug once they returned home to Araluen. Home… a sense of loss overwhelmed him until he almost couldn't breathe. How long had it been since he'd been home? How long had it been since he'd seen his friends? His throat felt tight as he thought about everyone he'd left behind in Araluen, without so much as a goodbye. Jenny and George; Alyss and Horace; Gilan and Halt… His chest ached with longing; he wished his mentor were here to tell him what to do, to reassure him that things would be alright.

Will was startled to find tears trickling down his cheeks. He sniffed, scrubbing at his face with his shirtsleeve. Resolutely, he pulled himself together and trudged back to the cabin. If he ever wanted to see Araluen again, then he and Evanlyn had some planning to do.

"Morning, Will," Evanlyn – there was no other word for it – chirped as he walked through the door. "Did you catch anything?"

She seems cheerful today, Will thought, but immediately forced himself to focus on the topic at hand. "No. I didn't. But listen, Evanlyn, the spring thaw's coming and the snow's melting, which means the hunters won't be far behind. We need to leave soon."

At Will's mention of hunters, Evanlyn felt a momentary jolt of fear as the image of the dangerous man on horseback flashed through her mind. "Or the rider," she said, before she could stop herself.

Will shot her a sharp glance. "What rider?"

Evanlyn marshaled her thoughts before telling him of the fur-clad man she had seen in the forest. Will frowned thoughtfully. "Halt mentioned a people called the Temujai, who live in the Eastern Steppes. They're nomadic – or they were, before they were united by their General Haz'Kam – and very fierce warriors. We're close enough to the Steppes that he could have been one of them."

"But what would they be doing in Skandia?"

Will's brow wrinkled in thought. "I have no idea," he admitted. "But that man might have been a scout for a raiding party."

Evanlyn shivered at the memory of the man's cold eyes. "As if we needed more encouragement to leave. But we should at least know where we're going first, so we don't end up as Skandian property again – or worse. I have a vague idea of where we are, but this would be so much easier if we had a map…"

"Of course," Will agreed, standing. "I'll be right back."

He stepped outside only to return a few moments later with a short, supple stick, which he rubbed liberally into the embers of the fire. He gestured for Evanlyn to pass him a spare plank of wood, which she did, curiosity plain on her face.

Will took the plank and started drawing on it, using the charcoal-coated stick to plot out the contours of mountains and countries.

"I think we're somewhere… here," he stated, pointing at a spot in the middle of a mountain range marking the border of Skandia and Teutlandt.

"Hmm," Evanlyn peered over his shoulder, "that looks about right. The Teutlandt border should be about here," she sketched a line just south of Will's estimation of their cabin, "so assuming we travel only on land, we can travel through Teutlandt and into Gallica. Then, it's just a boat ride across the Narrow Sea and… we're home."

She breathed the last words reverently, her green eyes luminous with hope. Will smiled at her, unable to help himself.

"And if we stick to the seaside when we get to Teutlandt, there's no way we can go wrong," he said.

Evanlyn grinned. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's get to work."

* * *

Horace sighed quietly. He and Halt had been travelling for what felt like forever. Halt's increasingly dark mood cast a pall over what might've been a companionable silence. Horace sighed again. They were halfway to Teutlandt and Halt was still scowling. Privately, Horace thought his face might freeze like that. If it hadn't already.

Bored, Horace looked around. Inside, he was bursting with questions to ask Halt, but one look at the Ranger's forbidding face told him it would be best to keep quiet. Not for the first time, Horace wished desperately that Will were here. Will, with his sense of humour and his open, easy laugh and his boundless curiosity. Maybe then Halt wouldn't be so disagreeable all the time.

And Evanlyn too, Horace mused. Thinking back on that strange, waif-like girl, Horace wondered if she had been telling them the whole truth about herself. Of course, she could well have been a lady's maid, but the strange hesitations in her speech and her advanced knowledge of the Ranger Corps all pointed to something entirely different.

"I wonder who she is?" Horace asked, not really expecting an answer.

Halt glanced up in some surprise. In truth, he had been hoping to avoid conversation today but Horace clearly didn't feel the same.

"Who whom is?" he asked gruffly, though he felt he should already know the answer.

"Evanlyn," Horace replied calmly. "The girl we were travelling with. She… she got captured along with Will, but we travelled with her when we were tracking the Wargals. I just… don't know. Whenever she talked about herself, she always hesitated before she answered – even when we asked her name! And she seemed to have a pretty good grasp of politics for a maid…."

Horace trailed off thoughtfully. Halt glanced sharply at him. He trusted Horace had asked the question purely out of curiosity, but was it a good idea to trust him with the information? At last, Halt reached a decision. Horace was risking his life by accompanying him on this mission; he deserved to know what he was in for.

"She was trustworthy," Halt began slowly. "She was just trying to protect herself."

"Well that plan didn't work out very well, did it? She was captured anyway when she ran across the bridge to help Will," Horace pointed out.

"That is certainly a problem," Halt admitted. "Especially considering your Evanlyn in actually Princess Cassandra of Araluen, King Duncan's only child and heir to the throne."

Horace flushed. "She's not my Evanlyn – wait. What? Princess Cassandra? Really?"

"You do realize that no one else can ever learn about this?" Halt said, trying to get Horace to see the gravity of the situation. "If the Skandians ever knew they had captured the Princess of Araluen… let's just say things wouldn't be pleasant."

"Couldn't they hold her for ransom?" The ransoming of nobility was common in times of war.

"They could do that," Halt agreed. "And during the approximate two years it would take to negotiate terms, the Skandians could decide they're in need of some inside information on Araluen. And what methods do you think they would use to obtain that information?"

Horace sucked in a sharp breath. "They – they wouldn't torture her, would they? They can't – I mean, that's illegal!"

Then he reached the possibility that Halt had been dreading all along. "What about Will? He's a Ranger. What if they tor-"

Halt cut him off sharply. His voice was low and deadly, tinged with an emotion Horace would eventually come to recognize as desperation. "Don't."

"Sorry," Horace said, immediately falling silent. Looking sideways at the Ranger then, Horace realized that despite his gruff, uncaring exterior, Halt felt Will's absence more than he let on. He really does care, Horace mused; and in that moment, he felt very sorry for the Skandians indeed.