Chapter 4: Russet

Anger proved a powerful motivator as Daine marched steadily through the snow covered forest, unfazed by the bitter cold. It wasn't until Russet finally complained of exhaustion that the girl agreed to find some shelter for the remainder of the night.

The pair spotted a nearby farm and crept stealthily into the warm barn. Daine assured the various horses and sheep she found there that Russet wouldn't harm them, and though they weren't pleased with the prospect of sharing their sleeping quarters with a wolf, the barnyard animals trusted the girl who may have looked like a two-legger on the outside, but who was all People on the inside.

Daine curled up next to Russet on a pile of straw, smiling softly as several cats braved their close proximity to the wolf to nestle around the girl's legs. But despite the great warmth and comfort her friends afforded her, Daine lay awake for long hours, staring up into the shadowy rafters of the building, the earlier events of the day running through her mind.

She had always been a survivor. She had stared down death and hardship more times than she cared to remember. She had survived the murder of her family, rejection and eventual assailment from the people of the village where she'd grown up, and the many daily hazards a woman faced in a life spent on the road. True, she had a short and raging temper, but deep-seated pain had been such a close companion for so long that mere distress or anger wouldn't normally cause a sleepless night.

She had spent the last six years building up a resistance to people like Numair Samalin. The rich and unbearably self-righteous who treated her like trash. How dare he sweep in and presume himself her savior! How dare he brand her as stupid and worthless! How dare he be so cruel.

Daine encountered people like him often- she had to deal with prejudices and scorn like his almost daily. Ordinarily she wouldn't lose sleep over it.

So what made her lie awake so long? What the hell made Numair Samalin so extraordinary?

Russet roused her from a fitful doze by softly nipping at her forearms. Almost dawn. she told her two-legger. Better get going before the farmer wakes up.

Daine nodded and stood up, careful to disturb the sleeping cats as little as possible. Then she shouldered her pack, and the girl and the wolf headed back out into the cold, making their way toward the road.

They walked and walked, watching the sun rise and settle brightly overhead at midday. Russet was possessed of her usual high spirits, chasing rabbits and barking playfully at the birds perched high overhead in the evergreens. Daine smiled as she watched her friend, thanking the gods for the millionth time for saving Russet from the bandits who'd killed the rest of her pack. The civilized world may have disowned her, but Daine knew she would never be lonely with Russet by her side.

Suddenly the birds stopped singing. An unnerving quiet settled over the forest, the only sound was the rush of the wind hollowly echoing amidst the dark trees. Russet and Daine moved protectively nearer to one another and continued to walk down the road.

The hairs on the back of Russet's neck bristled as she sniffed the air, a familiar stench filling her sensitive nose. She growled menacingly at several dark figures who slowly emerged from the tree line.

So, lassie, snarled the Greasy Man. We meet again.

After recovering from the initial shock of Daine's surprise blow to his face, Numair rushed out into the night after her. He looked for the better part of an hour, but the softly falling snow flurries made it impossible for him to track the young woman.

He reluctantly returned to Cria where he retrieved his horse from the public stables and checked into the Red Lion Inn for the night. He accidentally overslept, and the grogginess only added to his foul mood. It was nearly midday by the time he was on the road again, and he had barely arrived at the next township by evening.

Soon after arriving in the village, Numair found himself sitting in the filthiest and noisiest tavern he had ever seen. The bar had been crowded with customers, so he had opted for a small table in the back of the establishment. He sat there for hours, his dark cloak covering his head and shrouding his face in shadow, nursing ale after ale; waiting for the alcohol to overtake his senses and make him forget how much he hated himself.

Several men in tattered attire entered the tavern and sat down at the table nearest to Numair's. The mage frowned when they began talking raucously. He was about to snap at them to either move the party or shut the hell up when his words died in his larynx. He knew these men. And once he'd begun to listen in on their conversation, it took every ounce of his willpower to refrain from striking them all dead right in the middle of the pub.

No lads, not yet! Greasy Man said with a laugh. You all can take your turns once I've had her... but until then-

Daine...

Numair's head was reeling, a million thoughts raced through his mind as he sat silently, listening helplessly as Greasy Man and his goons congratulated themselves on the capture of a certain fiery tempered young woman and the slaughter of her canine companion.

 Numair's heart leapt when one of the bandits stood and announced crudely that he needed to take a piss. The mage downed the last of his drink for fortitude and inconspicuously followed the criminal out of the side door and into the alleyway.

Once the door had closed behind him, Numair immediately grabbed the bandit by the throat and slammed him against the wall of the building.

Where is she?



Daine felt herself stumble back into consciousness as a pair of arms lifted her from the grimy floor of the wagon. Remembering where she was, she began to scream and struggle, scratching and hitting the arms that now held her firmly against a broad chest.

Daine, I'm not going to hurt you. said a shaky voice.

Her bloodshot eyes tried to focus on the face so near hers. The Tortallian Mage? It couldn't be. She must have hit her head harder than she thought...

Numair gently grasped Daine's wrists, stilling her flailing arms. He had drunk up the sight of this woman before- and he did so again- though this time it was without enjoyment.

Her hair on the right side of her head was matted so thickly with caked blood and dirt that he couldn't even see the wound beneath the mess. Dark bruises were already starting to show on her face and arms, and her dress had been torn to reveal long scratches trailing down her mud splattered legs. Her feet were bare and almost purple with cold, and by the way she was blinking at him, Numair could tell she had suffered so much head trauma that her eyesight had been affected. Numair remembered seeing this same woman by firelight nearly twenty four hours before. It seemed impossible that those beautiful, storm-filled eyes belonged to both creatures.

This is all my fault.

Almost delirious from pain, Daine continued to struggle weakly as Numair stood, cradling her in his arms. She couldn't see the tears that coursed down the mage's face as he carried her away from Greasy Man's deserted camp and back towards the golden lights of the village- but she could have sworn she heard him give a strangled sob when she called out Russet's name.