Chapter 27

By midmorning, as the sun rose ever higher behind the bank of obstinate, grey clouds, the fog cleared in ribbons and rags as the mist fell from the air, rejoining its kindred in the great, wide sea. It blew by them in a quiet exodus— first, in wisps, then, in ripples, and finally, with a gusting wind billowing from the East, in a great, wet cloud, sidling silently up the slope from the verdant valley, leaving behind a sparkling, twinkling clarity. The grass was wet with its remnants and it kept Bella's trousers damp, though the wetness did not chill her as it might have done in the mountains. The air was warmer here, even with the overcast, and before they'd walked an hour from the stream, Bella was grateful for the cool dampness at her back. The air would have felt sticky and close had the great, sprawling plain not been so open, but the further they moved, the warmer it grew.

The morning passed in a exultant, frantic blur. The air, so fresh and new, held none of the damp musk of the jungle trees. The world beneath their feet was soft. Gone were the brackish, mossy puddles, so rank that they were hardly fit for beasts, and they had been replaced by clear, flowing rivulets and creeks, from which the three travellers drank readily. Their water pouches were gone, lost in the chaos of the night, but they did not find thirst a great trial, as there seemed to be an abundance of streams, no matter how far they moved from the trees.

"I've never seen so many," said Rosalie, her voice low and somber. Bella had noticed how her companion stared, her face stricken with a great, powerful awe, at the rolling, lazy landscape around them. She eyed the grass with almost comical confusion. The streams, which she thoroughly inspected any time they stopped to drink, made laughter bubble on her lips. When they passed farms lined with low, sturdy fences to mark fields of barley and rye, she could not tear her eyes away and took in the sight almost greedily. Finn, too, seemed similarly affected, and it was only as the clouds broke, some time just before noon, that Bella learned why.

"There is nothing like this in the west," she'd replied, breathless, when Bella had built up the courage to ask. To Bella's astonishment, Rosalie's face was flushed with shame and she looked away, her voice low. "We've got no farms like this."

Bella, nodding carefully, did not reply.

"We hunt, mostly." They were skirting the edge of a great, swaying field of wheat, and Rosalie reached out a tentative hand to touch it. The stalk curved beneath her hand, bouncing back with a wave when she let it go, and Finn, delighted, giggled and clapped. "We've got some crops— mostly root vegetables— but precious little grain."

Bella didn't know what it was like to live in a world where food was scarce. Troubled and stingy though her early life had been, she and her mother had never gone hungry. She had always sat a full table at mealtimes, and once she'd moved in with her Uncle Charlie, the bounty had only increased. Bella suspected, though Rosalie did not say so, that she and Finn were used to empty bellies and meager meals. Her abject astonishment at the grain would have been comical, had it not made Bella so disconcertingly sad.

"Those cakes we had were precious." Rosalie interrupted Bella's thoughts sharply. "They were made from the last of our stored grain from last year's harvest, and they were meant to hold us over until the next reaping. The Gods only know what Rojce is eating now, and I know that he is cursing us with every breath in his body."

Bella, fighting back a grimace, said nothing. The thought of Rosalie's husband— that man she'd been so eager to flee— made Bella feel vaguely ill, as if something sour and rank had settled deep in her belly to fester and rot. She had never met the man and she hoped she never would, and she suppressed the urge to grimace openly, lest Rosalie see her.

But those shrewd eyes did not miss a thing, and when she saw Bella work her face back into neutral disinterest, she laughed. Mistaking her disdain as a reaction to their lost rations, Rosalie poked her side, teasing.

"They're not made for their taste," she said easily. Finn, mesmerized by the swaying, golden plants, was running up and down the row now, dragging his fingers along the stalks. "They're made for sustenance."

All thoughts of Rojce packed safely away, Bella shook her head.

"They served their purpose," said Bella honestly. "I can ask no more than that."

"They're made from seawater," explained Rosalie. "It's why they're so salty. Freshwater is precious in the West to all except those lucky few who live by the river's edge."

Bella, frowning, bit her lip.

"The land is arid," continued Rosalie. She snatched at Finn, who had bravely begun to venture into the field itself, and pulled him back at once. The boy sulked, but said nothing, toying with the end of his mother's long plait. "The West was not made to sustain such large a population as it has been. The soil is thin, salted by the sea, and the rock beneath the dirt is near, and is made from the same, hard stone as the mountains themselves. There have always been rumours, of course… rumours of the bounty and flourish of the East, but I never thought them true."

Bella, staring down the long, sloping hill, continued to say nothing, her head buzzing with questions.

"We must find food, if we are to go on as we are," was what came out of her mouth. Rosalie's face darkened, pinched as if she were pained, and she spared a soft, gentle glance at her son, who had rested his cheek on her shoulder. Bella could see the thinness of his face and the bones of his fingers, almost birdlike in their delicacy, clutching idly at his mother's braid.

"Yes," she agreed, her voice soft and low. The child closed his eyes. "Yes, I think we must, though I know not where to look, or who to ask."

Bella, feeling the gnawing in her belly rising like a tide, stared out into the wide, swaying plain.

"There are farms," said Bella slowly, glancing at the shining wheat once more. "And if there are farms, there must be farmers…"

But Rosalie, staring down nervously at the hilt of her knife that was still stained red with blood, said nothing.

For hours, chasing the rising sun, Bella and Rosalie walked, their feet aching with strain and their eyes heavy with tiredness. Bella had slept poorly the night before and Rose had slept not at all, and together, squinting against the bright, white blaze of clouds, they forced themselves on, their eyes fixed on some distant, invisible spot on the horizon. The air was hot now, almost unbearably so, and the sweat ran down her back and made her tunic cling to her sides. The mist had completely vanished, leaving in its wake a rippling, rising heat, and though the streams were plentiful and clear, the water had grown warm. Finn clung to his mother, unable or unwilling to walk, and Bella knew that his added warmth must be a torture to Rosalie. Still, her companion did not complain. She trudged determinedly on, her obstinate gaze trained towards that invisible goal far in the distance, and Bella wondered at her resilience. She, herself, carried no child. The only added weight that troubled her was the shirt on her back, and even that seemed like an impossible burden, hot and tired as she was. Rosalie held two— the one on her back and the one in her belly— and as it did each time Bella thought of that tiny, unborn creature, her stomach tied in knots.

There was nothing else that she could do, either for Rosalie or her children, and yet the longer they lingered out in the wild, without shelter or rations, the guiltier Bella felt. Rosalie, this woman she'd only just met, had taken her in like a little wounded bird. She'd fed her when she was hungry, sheltered her when she was cold. She'd saved Bella, in more ways than one, as they'd fled from their assailants, and it was due to Rose's diligence and generosity that Bella had made it out of the jungle at all, in which she'd been hopelessly, endlessly lost. Rosalie had killed a man for her, which was more than Bella had ever done for anyone, and she had not complained once, though her body was as bruised as Bella's and her feet as sore.

Bella, poor and tired as she was, could give her nothing in return. She had nothing to offer, nothing to pledge, and it made her sick with guilt, knowing just what this woman had given up to help her. Bella knew little about pregnancy, having never been in such a state herself, but she knew enough to remember that stress and hunger were not healthy. Bella, as useless as an infant in the wild, had done nothing but eat Rose's rations and bring chaos and havoc, and the very thought of it made her feel wretched.

If Rosalie lost that baby— if that little thing died before it even had a chance to live— Bella was sure that she would never forgive herself.

It was this thought in her mind— the image of that tiny baby, newly made and freshly loved— that distracted her. Her imaginings, which ran like a film in her head, were cut brutally short when she felt her toe catch on some invisible stone and she fell, sprawled out clumsily in the dirt, her chin stinging with a fresh scrape.

Rosalie knelt at once, her hands on Bella's back.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice a mere breath in Bella's ear. Tears, stinging and angry, welled in Bella's eyes and she brushed them away. She would not look at Rosalie— not to show such weakness— and she turned away at once, her bruised pride flaring in protest. She rubbed her palms into her eyes, digging them in hard to hide the wetness, and let her head fall to her knees, her breath coming in sharp, hard pants.

Every single piece of her, from her head to her toes, felt like one great, aching bruise. Her wounds were sharp and stubborn, and made their presence known in strange pinches and pricks, all of them blurring into one, great mess of frayed nerves. When Rosalie pressed her hand to Bella's back, she felt the marks from the man's fists flare, and when she snapped her head up to protest, she felt the scabbed cut on her neck tighten and strain. Her wrist, more swollen than ever, flared like fire when she pushed herself away, and her feet, torn and bleeding, made her cry out when she tried to stand again.

She was utterly and completely defeated.

"We'll rest here a while," said Rosalie quickly, her eyes surveying Bella with concern. Finn, who had been released from Rose's hold, hovered nervously at her back, his wide, blue eyes fixed on Bella. She could not meet them, could not bear to look at his sad, little face, and instead stared fixedly at the grass, which waved and rippled in the breeze from the East.

"Can you lie down?" asked Rosalie, her voice hedging and soft. Bella, frowning, looked up at her with consternation, and the mask of pity morphed to one of surprise when Rose saw the frustration brewing in her face.

"We can rest," said Rose again, her voice lowering. "We can sleep here, if we must…"

"We must keep moving," said Bella roughly, her voice gritty. She shifted on the grass again, and had to bite back a cry. "We can't stop here, in the middle of nowhere…"

"We must stop sometime," said Rosalie, "and it does us no good if we're half dead with exhaustion."

"We've got no food," protested Bella. As if in acknowledgement of this, her stomach snarled audibly, and Rosalie bit her lip. "We've got no water."

"We'll figure it out," she said gently. "We'll find something."

Grass, Bella thought sardonically, though she kept that thought to herself. Grass will be our supper…

"Finn needs to eat," said Bella with finality, glancing at the wide-eyed child, who still cowered behind his mother. "You need to eat, for that matter."

Rosalie said nothing, but continued to stare, troubled and somber.

"I'm fine," said Rosalie finally, after a long moment of silence. "I'll be fine…"

Bella, unable to help herself, glanced down at the swell of her belly. It was still small— too small to see through the tunic— but she knew it was there nonetheless. She remembered the hardness of it, the soft, round globe beneath her flesh, and Bella felt a pang of pity for that little creature, barely given a chance at all in the wide, mean world…

"We must move." Bella, biting back her cry, forced herself back to her feet, which trembled and ached beneath her. "We must go on, if we are to reach the capital, and I won't be the one to slow us down."

Rosalie stared at her, torn between furious argument and grateful appreciation, and in the end said nothing, but turned back East and began to walk, a little slower this time, keeping her gaze fixed on her companion.

As the sun rolled overhead, moving invisibly behind the wall of clouds that blocked the sky, Bella's life became an agony of misery, a waking nightmare of drudgery and boredom sharpened by the reek of fear and injury. She had never before felt so tired— not even in the days after she'd woken in the tall, tower room in Edward's great, red castle. Not even in the jungle, when she'd been hunted and pursued, and not even after, when she'd made her miraculous, desperate escape from the clutches of the West.

Like she had in the jungle, she stared at Rosalie's back as they walked. Finn was torn between a desire for warmth as the air grew cool again, and a desire to run through the fields. When he was free, Bella fixed her gaze on him, watching his little legs scramble furiously through the grass, his hair tousled and his face turned up to the cloudy, overcast sky. He brought a little warmth to her heart, a beacon of light in her own, personal darkness, and she moved all the quicker when he bounded out of sight, ignoring his mother's cries of rebuke. When he did this, Rosalie would catch him and scold him, and then she would carry him, an added burden on her tired frame, until he grew too heavy. She would release him then, with warnings to stay near and close, but as soon as his feet hit the grass he would flee, hooting noisily like a wild thing.

The longer they walked, the more exhausted she grew.

They trudged, plodding silently on until the sun was at their backs, their muscles aching with weariness and their bellies growling with hunger. Darkness grew in the East— a mass of black, inky clouds was rising like an ominous tide— and Bella, halting behind Rosalie, felt completely and utterly depleted.

"We must find shelter," said Rosalie gently, speaking to Bella for the first time since that afternoon. Finn, tired of running, was draped on her back again, his legs resting on the bump of her midriff and his arms clenched tightly around her neck. "We must find someplace to rest, for we cannot travel after dark."

Bella, despairing, looked around at the green landscape, her eyes roving for any sign of life in the empty, open plain.

"There's nothing," she said sullenly, spinning around in a full circle to be sure that this was true. "There haven't been any houses for miles."

Rosalie squinted out into the blackness, her shoulders slumped.

"We cannot sleep in the open," she said nervously, shaking her head. "We are out of the jungle, but there are still animals who might prowl the fields…"

Bella shivered at the thought.

"We must find something, or we must move on," said Rose, and Bella felt like crying again. Her stomach, still empty, snarled viciously and she fought to keep herself upright, holding her breath until the pinched, cramping pain went away.

"We could double back," said Bella dubiously, her muscles aching at the very thought. "That farm a while back looked empty, but there was a barn out front…"

"We can't double back," said Rosalie quickly. Her face, stricken, was filled with a loathing reluctance. "We can't, Bella… we'd not make it before nightfall, and it will set us back at least two hours."

Two hours, Bella thought, that she might not have the strength to walk again.

Her knees shook and she sighed, her shoulders slumped in quiet acceptance. It was an option, but one that was not even remotely favourable. She glanced around at the darkening field again, and felt her eyes sting with tears.

"We must rest, if dark is coming," she said softly. "We will simply have to make a watch, that's all."

Rosalie's face fell.

"We've got no blankets," she said. "No furs for warmth… nothing but this knife, and I fear that neither of us are in any state to fight, should we find ourselves in need…"

A flash of annoyance struck Bella like a bolt, but she kept it in check, glaring mutinously at the ground.

"I'm fresh out of ideas, then," she said tensely. "What else can we do?"

Rosalie looked helplessly around as if she half expected some rescuer to spring from the grass, but none came and she slumped with a sigh, her fingers clutching her son's hands.

"Then I suppose there's nothing else for it," said Rosalie softly. "We must rest, for we are running on nothing as it is…"

Disentangling Finn from her back, she brought the child down to sit at her feet. Bella watched, pity warring with despair in every fibre of her being, as she lowered herself to the soft grass and fell with a thump to her back, throwing her arm over her eyes.

"I'll take first watch," said Rosalie, and to her astonishment, Bella felt the warmth of the child settled at her side. Rose's voice was thin now, too, as if she were also close to tears. "You rest. Keep Finn close."

Bella, surprising even herself, shook her head.

"I'll take first watch," she countered quickly. The boy, confused and unhappy at being jostled again, went slowly to his mother when Bella nudged him, rubbing his eyes. "I'll wake you in a while. You didn't sleep a wink last night."

Rosalie, peering carefully through a gap between her arms, frowned.

"You're injured," she countered gently. "Worse off than me. You should rest, while you can."

"Go to sleep," Bella said firmly, and with more authority than she knew she had, she pulled the knife from the waistband of Rose's pants. It was heavy in her hands, and still crusty with blood that could not be washed away in the stream, but its weight comforted her, as if she might stand a slight chance at winning should she be ambushed or attacked.

Rosalie stared at her, her face a mask of worry.

"Go to sleep," said Bella again, her voice growing sharp. "It'll do us no good if we both stay up. I'll wake you if there's trouble, and if not, when I'm too weary."

Rosalie pulled Finn, who was drowsing already in the soft turf, to her side.

"Don't forget to listen," she said finally, her eyes falling on the knife at Bella's knee. "If you hear anything strange, you must wake me."

"I know," said Bella. "I know… now go to sleep."

She forced her own eyes open, staring into the darkening twilight. Rosalie, giving her one last, wistful look, settled next to her boy with a quick kiss to his cheek and was asleep in minutes, her face more peaceful than Bella had ever seen it in waking.

Tiredness ate at her bones like a sickness, but Bella did not let herself sleep, flexing her sore muscles and angry wounds to keep herself awake. It would not do to have a shabby guard— not when they were so exposed and vulnerable— and with the determination of a mule she kept vigilant, her eyes raking the swaying, empty fields.

Sometime in the night, long after Bella's first watch, the darkness melted away in the east, and with it rose a cool, pale dawn.

The child woke first. Blinking sluggishly into the burgeoning light, he had glanced first at his mother, who slept soundly by his side, and then to the sun, which was just beginning its ascent into the morning sky. He blinked at it, dazzled by its brightness, but that astonishment did not last long when his gaze fell on Bella, who was watching him wearily, her face a grey mask of exhaustion.

"Good morning," she said gently, and the boy blushed furiously. He sat up carefully in the grass, his lip between his teeth, before he crawled slowly forward, using Bella's good arm to haul himself to his feet.

In an astonishing display of tenderness, he put his arms about her neck and sighed, settling himself down in her lap with a sweet, gentle caress. Bella, her heart growing fondly, kissed the tip of his pink nose. He wrinkled it comically, glancing back at his sleeping mother, and Bella held a finger to his lips.

"Shhh," she said softly. "Let Mama rest for now."

The child sat placidly in her lap, saying not a word.

They sat together like that, silent and contemplative, as the sun rose in the clear, blue dawn. Bella was pale with tiredness, having slept badly during her turns to rest, and every muscle in her body was in dire need of a stretch, but even with those complaints shouting angrily in her head, she could not deny the beauty of the sunrise. It was clear, here, on the downward slope of the great, island basin, and she watched it with awe as it began to shine, sending crystals of light dancing in the dew. Black, inky sky quickly made way for deep indigo, laced with violets and pinks as bright as blossoms. Orange came next— first a hint, then a wave, before the entire eastern horizon was aglow with fire, a spot of yellow creeping up just as the sun itself began to peek over the grass.

Finn, staring just as eagerly as Bella, let his eyes begin to water before Bella turned him away, fearing that he'd damage his eyes if he stared at it too long.

"It's very pretty," she said softly, and he grinned up at her shyly. "It's very bright."

He cuddled closer, letting his eyes fall shut again.

Bella did not begrudge the child sleep. Small and young as he was, Bella was surprisingly proud of the fortitude he'd shown, his bravery in the face of blatant danger and terror. She was pleased that he'd found comfort enough in her arms to sleep, and she let him rest his eyes for several long moments before he opened them again and sat up straight, his hands on either side of her face.

He stared at her, his head cocked and his lip between his teeth, with a little furrow marring the porcelain skin between his brows.

"What is it?" she asked softly, and the child hitched his shoulder to his ear. He sighed, his fingers running over the blackened flesh of her left eye, and shuddered.

"Mean," he said softly, and Bella sighed, shaking her head.

"It's alright," she soothed, pulling away from his hands. "It'll be fine before you know it, don't you worry."

His fingers traced the angry, red cut on her neck next, and he looked as if he might cry. It stung when he pressed it and he jerked his fingers back, appalled, when she let out an involuntary hiss, burying his face in her chest again, shamefaced and sorry.

"It's alright," she said again. His hands, tucked beneath him now, did not move again, and she frowned. "Don't be frightened…"

His head snapped up and he shook it violently, scowling.

"Not scared," he said lowly, worming his way onto his knees. Bella let his legs slip between hers, as his sharp, jabbing kneecaps angered the tender skin of her thighs. He rested his hands there instead, looking up at her with almost comical affront.

She kissed his cheek out of pure impulse, and this time he squirmed. Bella pulled away nervously, wondering if she'd crossed some kind of boundary, but her fears were allayed when he brought his face near hers, and pressed a wet, childish kiss on her scraped chin.

"Better," he said, satisfied. He fell back on his heels, bouncing proudly as he watched her newest injury, and when Bella smiled, despite herself, he grinned wildly back.

"All better," he said again, and she laughed this time. He liked her laughter— his little face perked right up at the sound— and before she could stop him, he had taken her arm and was pressing rows of quick, messy kisses all the way from her wrist to her elbow.

"Better, better, better…" he sang as he bounced, each word punctuated by another kiss. He made it up to her shoulder, looking satisfied and content, before he moved on to her truly injured arm, glancing apprehensively at the angry, blue swelling.

"Better," he said hedgingly, his lips pressed feather-light to the skin. It did not hurt her, and Bella did not protest. "Better, better, all better…"

Rosalie, stirring at the sound of his voice sat up slowly, her face scanning the field with momentary confusion before her gaze fell on the pair of them. She blinked, surprised to find her boy so close to Bella, but grinned fondly when she caught on to his mission and said nothing until Bella gently nudged him away, pointing at his newly risen mother.

"Look," she said, and the boy whipped around. "Your mama's awake."

He spared her only a grin, waving a little hand dismissively in greeting, before he continued his quest to cure her, growing frustrated when the arm remained blue, even after copious kisses.

When he pressed his final kiss to the tip of her nose, much as she had done to him just that morning, he sat back and assessed his handiwork, seeming satisfied enough with the smile on Bella's face.

He reached out to his mother then, scrambling over on bended knees, and held his arms up to demand a hug, his eyes bright.

"Snack, Mama?" he asked inquisitively, and Bella saw Rosalie's face fall. "Snack?"

"Soon, baby," she sighed, glancing once again around the empty, green field. "We'll find something before nightfall."

Finn had no understanding of such timelines and went quiet at once, trying to sort it all out. Bella's own stomach, at the very thought of food, snarled viciously, and she glanced warily out towards the eastern sunrise.

"How much longer until we make it to the capital?" asked Bella softly. Rosalie, patting Finn's wild, tangled hair down with the palm of her hand, shrugged. "Will we make it by nightfall?"

"I think so," she said slowly, leaving Finn on the ground as she stretched up to her full height. The bruises on her arms and sides— relics from her fight the day before— had grown darker through the night, and were now like ghastly splotches of ink. They wrapped around her like snakes, coiling tightly about her strong, wiry arms, and enveloped her sides in blue and purple, which made Bella fear for the baby she carried.

"Are you alright?" Bella stood at once, her face stricken with concern. "You're black and blue."

Rosalie, shrugging, pulled her sleeves down at once.

"I'll be fine," she said easily. "We'll all be fine, so long as we can get our hands on some food. If my calculations are correct, we should make it to the capital just after nightfall. It's a long walk yet, and I know we're tired, but if we can make it far enough to find a farm or house, we might find ourselves lucky."

But Bella, refusing to be assuaged or distracted, stared down at Rose's belly with concern until the other woman rolled her eyes, hiked up her shirt, and pressed Bella's hand to the hard, round globe.

Bella, uncertain, kept her hand very still, taking the time to inventory the bruises that ran down from her chest to her midriff.

"There," said Rose, and she pushed Bella's hand, quite hard, into the soft, pliable flesh. Bella balked, trying to pull back, but Rose's grip was strong. "There… did you feel that?"

Bella shook her head. Rosalie, frowning, fell still again.

She moved Bella's hand minutely to the left before she pressed it in again.

"No," Bella said, pulling her hand away as soon as Rosalie's grip loosened. Rose sighed, pulling her shirt back down, and took Bella's hand gently in her own.

"I appreciate your concern," she said softly, "and I know it's warranted. But I can feel him moving— he's been rolling and kicking since the day I left the West— and there's been nothing to suggest that he's in any danger."

Bella bit her lip.

"I didn't feel Finn until months later than this," she said gently, and Bella, glancing quietly at the contemplative, rosy-cheeked child, cracked a smile. "He was a stubborn one— almost never moved. This one's an acrobat, I tell you… it might be too soon for you to feel, but trust me when I tell you that I can. He's as safe as he can be, and it won't do either of us any good to worry over it when there's nothing more we can do."

Bella glanced back at Finn, her face flushed.

"He's heavy," she said softly, and Rosalie laughed at her.

"I'm not an invalid," she said shortly, though not unkindly. "I've carried heavier things than Finn all my life. It won't kill me now."

Bella, feeling no remorse for her fussing, simply nodded her head.

"I can take him, if you get too tired," she said finally, and Rosalie, grinning sardonically at her, shook her head.

"If you weren't so… damaged, I just might let you," she said, and Bella flushed indignantly. "You're about ready to fall apart."

"I'm not," she said hotly. "Not even close…"

But Rosalie stared down at her again, and Bella looked too, her face hot with embarrassment.

Her feet were torn to shreds, her sandals barely hanging on by a thread. Her legs, which were skinny as sticks, trembled with the weight of her own body, light and soft though it was, and the angry, ragged cut that had been inflicted by the assailants at Terosankta had not healed fully, leaving behind an angry, red scab. Her arms were bruised— marks in the shapes of hands where the skinny man had grabbed her, and angry remnants of violence where the larger man had struck her, and though she could not see her face, she knew it must be a sight. Finn had kissed the scrape on her chin, and another scratch on her nose, and she knew, from the pain his little fingers had brought, that she had at least one black eye, and a very sore wound on the back of her scalp. Her lips were cracked and chapped, her muscles ached with strain and weariness, and her throat, which thankfully, had not been done a fatal injury, felt tight and sore along the scabbed cut, and she knew that any sharp movements would open it right back up again.

She said nothing in reply to Rosalie's silent point, and made herself stand as tall as she could, handing the rough, hilted blade back to Rose with affront.

"If I absolutely need to," said Rosalie softly, taking the weapon back with slow hands, "I'll let you take him. Is that a deal?"

Bella, feeling rebuked and childish, simply nodded, glancing back at the boy.

"Walk?" he asked, looking between the two of them with wide, eager eyes. "Walk, mummy? Walk?"

"Yes, Finn," said Rose, and the child sprang to his feet. "Yes, baby. We're going to walk."

And with that, the child sprang off into the grass, giggling and tumbling down hills and valleys.

Finn's joy had lasted only until midday, when the clouds had rolled back in and a drizzle, misty and damp, had begun to pelt down on them from the heavens. The mist was cold, and so fine that it seeped right in to the thin fabric of their clothes, making their pants stick and their shirts drip. The grass became slick and treacherous, turning idle valleys into perilous, muddy slides, and it slowed them considerably when they had to halt, picking a careful path to avoid the sharpest stones and steepest slopes.

The farms were all deserted. Each homestead, bringing with it a new, anxious hope, was dark and still, without candles in the windows, or smoke from the chimneys. They passed four new farms before noon, each with billowing fields of grain and green, but when they knocked timidly on doors or peeked carefully into glassless, shuttered windows, they saw only stillness, and dark, and mess.

Sheds, which Rosalie told her were bound to hold food, were barred. The barns, in which they might have found grain for the pigs and horses, were all guarded by howling, barking dogs that promised no food, but perhaps a bite or a scratch. Houses were locked tight, their doors and windows blocked with thick, wooden shutters and Rosalie, frustrated by these unexpected findings, cursed their bad luck and wished, fruitlessly, for an axe or shovel.

She'd break them down in a minute, she said. She'd force the door or smash the shutters, and maybe then, Finn would stop crying. But she had no tools, and there were none left out for her use, and their feet, which were weak and sore, did nothing whatsoever to the thick, solid wood.

Finn grew listless in his mother's arms. He'd begun by bartering, absolutely convinced that his mother, in a fit of meanness, was simply hiding the biscuits from him, or that she had stored the tasty, dried meat down the front of her tunic. He'd investigated her thoroughly, stopping just shy of looking in her trousers, and when he found nothing to suit him, he had begun to cry.

Bella knew that toddlers of all makes and dispositions were renowned for throwing fits. She knew how they flailed and screamed, kicked and bit, and it annoyed her back home, when the cause was a wayward balloon or a coveted treat. She hated the screaming, the uncontrolled noise and chaos, but there was something about this fit that made her feel nothing but pity.

Bella realized, as she watched Rosalie's fruitless attempts to soothe him, that she had never truly seen a hungry child. She'd seen children whose meals had come an hour too late, or whose meal had been rejected in violent fits of temper. She'd seen children denied favourite snacks or sugary treats before supper, but there had been nothing in her experience, until this very moment, to prepare her for the confused and painful suffering of a child who hadn't eaten in almost two days, and whose little body was wracked by the same terrible hunger pangs as her own.

The crying went on for hours longer than Bella thought it ever could. He wept all through the afternoon, switching between screaming, crying, wailing and kicking, until Rosalie had a new bruise on her thigh, where his little foot had dug in. He cried when they rested, stopping for breaks along the path they'd made, and when they ran, jogging brazenly through the grass when they caught sight of more empty, barred farmhouses. He cried as the sun went down, sinking beyond the western mountains, and he cried still when they caught the first glimpse of the lights— blazing, fiery torches lining the walls of the of the capital city, which glowed yellow and orange in the deepening darkness.

Finn did not look at the lights, which might have delighted him if his belly were full and his clothes warm and dry. He did not bring his head up, did not shift the slightest in his mother's grasp, even when Rosalie, astonished and wonderstruck, halted at the sight.

The city glittered through the rain.

"Gods above." Rosalie's face was as white as canvas, her eyes wide as saucers as her gaze fell on the city. Even when she nudged him, Finn remained draped over her shoulder and did not look, continuing to cry with his face buried deep in her tunic. Rosalie turned to Bella with astonished apprehension, her shoulders suddenly slumped.

"May the Gods help us," she said slowly, her voice trembling. "I've never seen anything like it in all my life… May the Gods help us both."

Bella, a palpable relief growing in her breast at the very thought of an end to this journey, felt giddy and tearful all at once. They would be housed, once they reached the city. They would be safe. There would be a bath, and a meal, and a bed, and the baby would be settled, and calm…

"Come on," said Bella quickly. "We need to go. We're so close, Rose…"

But Rosalie, her eyes glued on the wide, high walls, did not move. She was staring blankly at the grandeur, taking in its many firelit torches that lit up like lamps along the main street. In the fading light, Bella could make out the great, iron gate, guarded on either side by tall, crenulated watchtowers, and the winding serpent of the western road, which she'd heard about in passing, but had never seen for herself. Beyond that lay the castle— a hazy silhouette that jutted into the sky like a spear, and even there, Bella could make out tiny, lit windows in its towers and halls.

Bella tugged Rosalie forward and she followed with heavy, reluctant steps. Bella felt lighter than ever, tripping through the rain-slicked grass, until they reached the mud of the road which was deeply rutted by wheeltracks, and made for a hard, sticky terrain.

Finn, empty of tears, lay desolately on Rose's shoulder, his face a mask of misery. The city did not cheer him— indeed, Bella doubted he knew what it was— and his white face looked more gaunt than ever as they neared the yellow lights at the gates. Bella felt his pain as deeply as if it were her own, but the promise of care and rest was more than enough to temper her misery. Rosalie said nothing, her mouth pressed in a hard line, and she walked with an uncharacteristic stiffness that made Bella hedge, but not stop.

The gate was a flurry of activity.

Late and dark though it was, the western road was aglow with life. Soldiers, paired two by two, walked the high, crenulated walls above them, their eyes staring down at the small gathering from behind visors of silver steel. Fires had been lit— three great, lively things that dried the earth around them to a hard, packed dust, and upon which rested great spits of meat, turned by pageboys who wore the King's colours. The people were gathered about a round, wooden table, some drinking, some laughing, and others eating, picking nibbles of cheese and bits of fruit from a great, heaping platter at the centre. One man played a pipe, its high, reedy music ringing off of the stone, and another group of men were drunk, playing a rowdy, raucous card game to pass the time. The smell of it all was delicious— even Finn perked up when they passed— but they did not stop to ask a bite. There would be food enough, Bella knew, once they reached the castle…

Bella rushed at the gate with single-minded determination, dragging Rosalie behind her, until a deep voice spoke sharply from the gloom.

"Halt!" it cried, and Bella, startled, stumbled back. "Halt!"

A man, tall and nondescript, emerged from the shadows near the gate, his fist clenched around the long, shining blade at his side. Bella felt an instinctive flash of fear— she'd had more than enough of fighting— and her hand went out to stop Rosalie, who had her arms wrapped tightly around her boy. Rosalie was glancing at the walls, where the archers had stopped to watch, and Bella felt a cold tingle in her chest when she saw that an arrow had been knocked, though the bow was not raised.

"State your purpose!" said the soldier, pulling her attention back. In the light, Bella saw that he wore the King's colours too, the familiar red and gold making her heart pound in her chest. "State your purpose, madam, and tell why you seek to enter!"

Bella approached the gate with slow, careful confusion. She had spent enough time in the Capital to know that the gates had never been locked before, and certainly never guarded by armed soldiers, and she was at a loss, glancing nervously at the growing crowd of soldiers atop the wall.

When the light hit her face, making her squint, the soldier reeled back at once, his eyes aglow with amazement.

"Gods above, what's happened to you?" he demanded. He reached out a hand, pulling it free of his glove, and ran it over her cheek, his bare finger brushing gently under her eye. It was a strangely familiar gesture and he seemed to realize it too, for he pulled away as if she'd burned him, his glove forgotten on the ground at their feet. He reached for a lamp, plucking one from a hook on the stone wall, and held it to her face in concern, his eyes roving up and down the marks on her cheeks and neck. The light made her eyes water and he pulled it away only slightly, glancing warily towards the gate, where more men stood waiting.

"Where have you come from?" he asked, a little more gently this time. Rosalie, still dumb with fear, said nothing, and Bella shifted awkwardly.

"We came from the mountains," she said slowly. "We need to get home."

"If home's in here, you'll have to wait until morning," said the man, and Bella felt her stomach drop. "The city's under curfew… haven't you heard?"

"We've been… away," said Bella awkwardly, and the man stepped back from her, his eyes narrowed. "We had no idea."

He stared at her, glancing only briefly at Rose and Finn.

"If you've got family inside, we'll let them know you've arrived," said the man slowly. "You can meet them at dawn when the gates open."

"I…" Bella glanced back at Rose, who had no family here in the city, and hedged. "We…"

The soldier, staring piercingly at her again, took another step back.

"By the Gods…" he hissed, his eyes hot with fury when he saw the bruises on her arms. "By the Gods! Who inflicted this violence on you?"

"I don't know," said Bella at once, and the man's face darkened. "But…"

"A healer should see to them," he said, and this time, he sounded unsure. "The wound on your neck…"

Bella brought her hand up, feeling the ragged scab.

"That's a nasty cut if ever I saw one… Ruben!"

The last word was shouted, and it made Bella start. Rosalie, creeping slowly up behind her, placed a worried hand on her shoulder, her fingers shaking.

"I know the healer," whispered Bella gently when the man turned away. "Carlisle is a good man…"

Another soldier, smaller than the first, appeared in their circle of light, and he blinked, astonished, when he saw Bella's face.

"Sir…"

"Go and fetch a healer, boy," ordered the first soldier. "This woman is injured, and I'd not like her to wait out in the cold until morning."

"Sir…" The boy— for he really was little more than a child— spoke with sudden excitement. "Sir, it's the woman!"

"I know, you daft fool," the first soldier snapped. "It's two women, if you'd use your eyes, and a child, too… fetch a healer at once!"

"Not a woman," said the second agitatedly. "The woman, sir! The missing Lady!"

The first soldier froze, astonished and dumb.

"I'd know her anywhere!" cried the youth, and this time, he gave Bella a low, respectful bow. The older man simply stared. "I was there, you know, at Terosankta, when we burned the dead and fought the West…"

Rosalie, whimpering with terror, seemed to sag against Bella, her whole body trembling.

"The Lady?" The first soldier, still hesitant, glanced nervously about him. "There is a curfew…"

"She must be brought in!" said the boy, shaking his head quickly. "She must be brought back at once!"

"Fetch the Commander," said the first soldier in a rush, and Bella felt a thrill of hope. "Fetch the Commander! He'd know her too, and he's got control of the city."

Summarily, the boy was dispatched, and Bella watched him with growing anticipation as he bounded off on quick, light feet, disappearing into the guard tower and down the long, winding road that was just visible behind the gates.

"My Lady…" The first soldier, looking ashamed and astonished all at once, placed his hand at her back. "My Lady, come with me…"

Bella, pulling Rosalie along with her, followed the man into the warm, dry guard tower.

They sat, bewildered and exhausted, on chairs of hard, polished wood. The soldier, whose name Bella still did not know, poured both Rosalie and Bella cups of water from an ewer by the window, which they gratefully accepted. Rosalie drank hers slowly, cajoling Finn to take a sip, and when the man noticed the child again, as wary and frightened as his mother, he shyly offered Rosalie a small, sweet cookie, which made Finn's face light up with interest.

He scarfed it down like a mad thing and the soldier, noting his thinness, offered him two more.

Bella said nothing, and Rosalie did not move, until the door to the guardhouse was flung open unceremoniously and the light was blocked by a massive, hulking figure that Bella, in a glory of relief, recognized at once.

"Emmett!" she gasped, and the man, who was staring at her in astonishment, let his helmet fall to the ground beside him. He blinked at her, his face a mask of shock, before Bella, in a wave of impulsive relief, flung herself upon him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight, shaky hug.

He patted her awkwardly on the back for a few moments before he cleared his throat and stepped away, his face mottled and shy.

"Where in all hell have you been?" he asked softly, and Bella, feeling tears pricking, shook her head. Emmett knelt before her, his face suddenly gentle, and took in her injuries with cold fury, his eyes lingering on the wound at her throat. "How in God's name did you get back here?"

"We walked," Bella said, her voice thick and tremulous. "We walked…"

"Walked," said Emmett lamely, shaking his head to clear it. "You walked?"

"For days," she gasped, and with a sudden ferocity, she felt her knees begin to shake. "Through the jungle, and then the farms…"

"I thought she was another pilgrim, fleeing the West," said the other soldier anxiously. "I didn't realize who she was until Ruben spoke up."

"And what a good thing he did," said Emmett softly. "We've been looking everywhere for you. Edward, Carlisle, and Jasper are on their way back from the West as we speak, where they've been searching the jungle…"

Bella said nothing, sniffling pathetically, until she was handed a handkerchief.

"Edward's been an absolute nightmare," continued Emmett, "what with this curfew and the Council…"

Bella did not know what he was talking about, and she didn't have the energy to ask.

"And you've brought a friend," said Emmett quietly, glancing curiously at Rosalie for the first time since his arrival. "I don't think I've had the pleasure." He winked cheekily at Finn, who was scounging for cookie crumbs at the table, and the child quailed at once, climbing his mother in his haste to shy away.

The sight made Emmett frown, and Bella saw a new, pitying anger brewing in him again.

"No need to fear me, little one," said Emmett, though his words did nothing to comfort the boy. "You're safe here, with us…"

Rose, trembling from head to foot, glanced agonizingly at Bella.

"This is Rose," said Bella slowly, and at once, she felt a new, nauseous fear. What would they say, when they found out who she was? "She helped me escape the jungle, and the men who pursued us…"

"Men?" said Emmett sharply, his attention snapping back to her. "What men?"

"The men in the jungle… the ones looking for…"

Emmett listened closely, his mouth downturned, and he frowned when Bella hesitated, glancing back at her companion.

"Looking for what?" he asked lowly, looking at Rose with a new suspicion. "Do you know who they were?"

"I…"

"They were awful men," said Bella at once, and Rosalie quivered back into the shadows. She whispered to Finn, too low for Bella to hear, and the boy shook his head in fierce rebuttal, making Rose's face fall. "Terrible, awful men with swords…"

Rosalie placed Finn on the chair, where he whimpered and clung, and she turned to face Emmett with a kind of shaking courage that Bella had never seen in her before. No matter what Rosalie said to them, Bella knew that Emmett would not hurt her, but she supposed that Rosalie did not. To her, Emmett must seem like a coarse and brutal man, what with his sheer size, the great, sharp sword at his waist, and the nasty scars that crossed his arms, evidence of a fierce warrior who did not shy away from violence.

"They were looking for us." Rosalie's pretty face was proud, though her voice was unsteady. "My boy and me."

Emmett drew himself up, his arms folded.

"And why would they do that?" he asked slowly. "Who are they?"

"I don't know who they are," said Rosalie, "but I do know why we're wanted."

"Go on."

"I…" Bella, feeling a pitying worry growing in the pit of her stomach, was astonished when Rosalie, kissing him fiercely, scooped Finn into her arms and passed him off to her. The boy squawked in protest, squirming fiercely against Bella's hold, but one sharp, rebuking glance from his mother settled him down, and he sat, still and stiff in Bella's arms. She bounced him, as much for her own comfort as his, and Emmett watched this display with growing concern. Rosalie hesitated before she drew the rough, bloody knife from her waistband, laying it gently on the table, and Emmett held his hand up for silence, stopping the clatter of shields and blades that had arisen at the sight of the weapon.

"I ask for peace," said Rosalie at once, peering so desperately at Emmett that even he paused. He took her knife carefully in hand, slipping it into an empty scabbard at his waist. "I ask for peace, and not violence…"

The room seemed to crackle with electricity and Emmett, saying nothing, stared at her with hard eyes.

"My name is Rosalie," she began, her voice cracking with strain. "My boy— my son— is called Finn." She swallowed hard, tears threatening to fall before she mastered them. The child squirmed at the sound of his name and Emmett glanced at him again, the hardness melting at the sight of his frailty. Rosalie took a deep breath, spreading her hands on the table, and Bella saw her close her eyes in a silent prayer for strength before she spoke again, her words biting like a sword against stone.

"My husband— his father— is Rojce of the House of Lamman, brother to the Western commander Jamos, and I come to your city to beg your King for mercy."

A/N: They're finally home!

There is ANOTHER updated version of the map on my Weebly site if anyone is interested (moonchild707 . weebly . com). I'll keep adding details as the story unfolds, to make everything more relevant. I've added some minor waterways and another "X" to show just where Bella and Rose exited the forest, in case you're curious. The scale has also changed to better fit the timeline of the story.

As always, let me know what you think!