"Is that it?" Heather asked some time later. Smoke was floating up from just over the rise, or so it seemed, and the braying of dogs near at hand seemed to confirm the presence of human habitation.

"It is," the ranger replied, coming to a standstill to better study the smoke.

She'd already caught her breath when she came abreast of the man, but her face fell as she considered the black clouds. "Strider, what will I do when I reach the city."

"Start a new life, I expect."

"But... how?"

The ranger's laughter was deep and harsh at that. "Am I" he asked, gesturing at himself to encompass his ragged raiment. "truly the best person to ask?"

"I don't know anyone else."

The ranger bit his lip and nodded. "I think that I would go down and ask for work, then lodging. I'm certain you could find someone who has need of aid."

"But... relying entirely on charity? You put too much faith in the kindness of others."

"I assure you, I do not. Here," the ranger said, and he pulled his pack from his shoulders. He untied the wolf's pelt from the rest and set it aside, then pulled out his purse. Slinging his pack back on, he picked up the two things and handed them to her. "It's not much, but it should fetch you the price of a meal, if the innkeeper keeps his coffers tight."

Opening the sack, she peered in and found the few copper coins and two tins that Strider still had to his name. When she pulled the drawstring closed once again, she looked ready to cry. "Strider, this won't do me any good. It would hardly buy me a share of grain from the stables."

He shrugged wearily. "That well may be, but sadly it is all this poor ranger has."

"Liar!" she hissed, her eyes wild with unchecked rage. The ranger stumbled back in shock. "I know what you carry! I've seen that bauble on your hand! It looks to be silver. It could buy five taverns and all that was in them! But no, you would send me on my way with change and a ruined skin! You would have me be a harlot in truth, wouldn't you!"

"No!" he exclaimed, entirely confounded. "I would have you lead a merry life, far from harm!"

"Then you could surely spare the ring, after all, I'm sure you've more ill-gotten treasures hidden away in the hills."

"It was passed to me by my father, more dear than I can tell. I could not part with it were I dying. I beg you, understand me."

"I cannot believe this," she said, walking away, one hand on her hip, the other running through her hair. Then she spun. "I thought we were friends! I thought you cared for me!"

"We are! I do! I would give you a hundred golden rings to aid you if I could."

"But not one silver ring."

"Not this ring."

"Ah Heather! Your trust in men is ever to be misplaced it seems. I should have known from the moment I saw you that you were trouble! How could I not see?"

"Please," he whispered, taking a deep breath, attempting to be a calming force. "Listen to what you are saying. I've never done aught to harm you. Be reasonable."

"REASONABLE!" she roared. "Reasonable! You would have me 'ply my trade' to earn my bread! Now I know the truth of your ilk! This is why they say never to trust a ranger, but did I ever listen to them? No, and how I regret it!" Stepping nearer to him, she pointed at his chest. "You are the most conniving, faithless... Bye-blow I could ever have met!" she shouted, stabbing him with her pointing finger, punctuating her words. With each prod, the ranger took a small step back, holding his hands up, palms outward, willing her to stop. His efforts were useless.

All at once she let out a shrill scream and bolted off into the woods. Not knowing what else to do, Strider charged after her.

"Heather? Heather!" he called, crashing through branches and brambles. Several paces away he could see her racing up the hill, cresting it, plunging down the other side. Normally, he would have thought himself hindered compared to the slight woman, an elk crashing through the wood would have been caught up far more than a squirrel, but that did not seem to be the case. Whatever grace she had, it was surely overcome by her blind anger, for he could see her striking the branches of trees and coming in harsh contact with all else that grew there. When she finally fell, he was not far behind her. Clambering down the uneven slope, he came to a stop a few paces away, wary of approaching her as he would a wounded beast. "Heather, Heather, are you alright?" he asked, edging forward, using one of the hardwood trees to steady himself.

Hair clotted with leaves and twigs, she turned her wild blue eyes on him and he gasped. Her face was cut in many places, bruised in others. Her lip was bleeding where it had split. Her thin, white arms were similarly abused, appearing instead to be a myriad of colors. "Come no closer!" she cried. Then, spinning in the dirt where she sat, her hand found a rock. Bringing it up, she struck herself with it on the forward edge of her arms, across her face, raining blow after blow upon herself.

The ranger was at a complete loss. "Stop!" he called. "Stop now!" Not knowing what else to do, he raced forward and grabbed her arm, stilling it. As soon as he did though, she fell backwards and shrieked.

"Let go! Let go I tell you! Leave me be!" she wailed so loud that it echoed. Finding his hold iron strong, she reached across with her wounded limb and raked her nails down the ranger's arm.

Choking back a cry, Strider nonetheless kept his grip firm, lest she should strike herself again. But he was not one to let another harm him at will, and he pinned her other arm down as well with his free hand.

"Get off me!"

"What madness has come over you?" he asked softly, searching the small woman's face for some sign.

"Let go!"

"Only when I know that you won't strike yourself again."

Sobbing, she struggled against him, thrashing about like a pinned snake. Then her eyes flicked to the side and the corner of her lip twisted upwards.

He stared up at the sky, lost in it's brightness and the tiny clouds floating across, and was quite content to continue doing so. That was not right. Experience had taught him well that if he did not wish to rise after a fall, something had gone amiss. If only he knew what it was!

Starting to pull himself upward, he shivered and clutched at his sword-arm. Something was wrong with it. Then his hand closed around a wooden shaft and the ranger's eyes widened. He'd been shot? Heather!

He turned his head to where he had last seen her and briefly glimpsed the copper-haired woman with the thick arms of a man folded about her. Then a boot slammed into his chest. Falling back to the ground with a grunt, he looked up to see a heavy-set man standing half on him, an ax at the ready in his hand. "Not a move from you, filthy ranger or I'll end you!" the man spat.

Panting heavily now as pain worked its way to his muddled mind, Strider let the woodcutter's spittle roll off his face, silver eyes boring through his attacker. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

The burly man just leaned down harder on him saying, "Quiet you!"