"Don't you dare peek." Clary gave Tom a solid poke for emphasis.

"I won't, I wasn't going to." He grinned at her. "I thought you were putting them on under your dress anyway."

She gave a small huff. "It's not as easy as it looks. I only practiced putting them on once, to check they fitted closely enough. Klee's been growing lots lately, so they do fit." She poked him again. "I bet you've never tried putting breeches on under a dress."

Tom laughed. "You're right, I haven't." He turned his back on her. "I'll stand guard for you then." He looked around the clearing, the same one at the end of the street with the stream where they had met three years before. Not many people used it, other than to cut between Eversoul Road and Sawdust Lane.

"I'm finished," she said a couple of minutes later. He turned back around to see her pulling her boots back on. She gave him one of her funny little smiles. "I'm surprised they still fit, after the amount of food that your mother put in the picnic basket."

He shrugged. "She says I'm growing so quickly that I need lots of food. My sisters have taken to calling my stomach 'the never-ending depths'."

The side of Clary's mouth turned up in a half smile. "I hope I don't eat that much when I'm fifteen, I'd never get up this tree."

"That's the one you want to climb?"

She nodded. "It's the highest one and I'm going to climb right to the top…well, as high as I can, anyway. Are you going to come too?"

Tom shook his head and smiled. "You said it yourself, I'm too big to be able to get up there. You're small and light, you'll be fine so long as you remember to always keep a good grip." She nodded seriously and he added "Do you want me to give you a lift up to get started?"

She shook her head, looking at the tree with determination. "I can do it myself." Eyeing the lowest branch, she jumped and caught it with her hands, but then slipped off before she could get onto it.

"Here," said Tom. "I'll lift you up."

She glared at him. "I just told you, I can do it myself," she snapped.

Tom shrugged, and she jumped again. She caught onto the branch again, and this time was able to swing herself up and onto it. From there she could reach the second branch with no trouble, and she was soon sitting on top of the third one up."See? The first one's always the hardest, and then the higher you go, the closer together they get." She pulled her long hair out of its horsetail, letting it fly out behind her in the breeze. "It's so nice up here, Tom. I could stay here for hours."

He laughed. "Your mama would skin me if she found out."

"You'd just have to climb up here too then."

She continued to climb higher, and Tom wandered down to the stream. Sitting by the bank, he greeted the water sprite again. He wasn't sure if the sprite was still there, and he felt a little silly talking to something he couldn't see or hear, but it seemed rude to not say anything. He was enjoying the sun when he heard Clary's voice drifting down to him.

"Hey, Tom! I can see the top of your house from here!"

He looked up and saw her, a small figure about halfway up the tree. "Can you see yours too?"

"No," she answered. "There's another tree in the way still. I can see the Olorun though, and the hill with the palace, way off in the distance. I'm going to go even higher so I can see my house."

"Be careful, make sure you're hanging on tightly to the branches," he called.

"What do you think I am, a looby?" came the reply.

He grinned to himself. Typical Clary. He was just beginning to relax in the sun again when he heard the loud crack, followed by a series of smaller ones. No more than a few moments could have passed as she fell, but they seemed to stretch out forever as he scrambled to his feet. He turned just in time to hear the sickening thud, and he could see the small figure lying at the base of the tree.

"Clary? Clary!" He ran towards her as quickly as he could, nearly tripping over his own feet in his panic to get to her. As he got near, he saw her move. "Gods be thanked, you're alive!" he said in relief as he knelt down. "It's lucky you hit other branches on the way down, they must've slowed you." She blinked at him a few times and then pulled herself up until she was sitting.

"I swear I didn't let go of the branch, Tom. It broke."

"I know, I heard," he replied. He pulled out his handkerchief and pressed it to the cut on her face. "Don't worry about that now. Gods, Clary, are you alright?"

To her surprise as well as his, she took a breath to talk and then burst into tears. She quickly drew up one of her knees and buried her face in her arms. "Leave me alone," she snapped, and shoved him away when he tried to comfort her. His bloodied handkerchief was thrown in his direction as an afterthought.

He ignored her and put his arm around her shoulders. "Don't be embarrassed, you're just in shock," he told her. He rubbed her back gently as her sobs gradually quieted.

"Tom," she said finally, her voice barely more than a whisper and muffled by her arms. "My ankle hurts."

He leaned forward, concerned. "Is there anything else that's hurting?"

"No," came the reply. "Well, yes, but everything else just hurts a little bit. My ankle hurts a lot."

Now he understood why she hadn't moved her other leg before. "I'll take a look," he told her. He shuffled down until he was right beside her foot. There was no blood pouring everywhere, but that was about all he could tell while she still had her boot on. "I'm going to take your boot off, alright?" He could see her nod from the corner of his eye, and gently took hold of the boot. She flinched, and he snatched his hand back as though it had been burned.

"I just wasn't ready, that's all," she said.

"You're sure?" he asked, concerned.

"Just do it."

He nodded and reached for her boot again. He carefully undid the laces and pulled them as far out as he could, and then lifted her leg gently to pull the boot off. He heard her sharp gasp of breath and looked up to see her biting her lip, with tears escaping from her tightly shut eyes.

"Clary, you should've told me I was hurting you."

Her only response was to wipe angrily at her eyes with the back of her sleeve.

"Don't do that, you'll get blood in your eyes," he told her. He pressed his handkerchief to her cheek again. "If your handkerchief's still clean, then wipe your eyes with that."

She gave a huff of irritation, but did as he suggested. After tucking her handkerchief back away again, she turned her head away from him.

"Clary, you need a healer. You can't walk, but I'll be able to carry you home."

He waited patiently while she thought about this.

"Alright," she said finally. "But wait for ten minutes or so first." She paused and then added "If we go right now, people will see I've been crying."

Tom couldn't help but laugh. "Everybody knows you're no lily-livered craven! This is much worse than when you sprained your wrist that time, I think your ankle might be broken. Honestly Clary, if my ankle was broken, I'm pretty sarden sure I'd be crying too." He could see her mouth turning up at the corner just a little. "You need a healer. The pain won't just go away by itself."

"Mother's going to be furious."

"There's no sense in worrying about that now. The most important thing is to get you home and get your ankle fixed." He rose onto his knees again and bent over her. "Put your arms around my neck," he told her. She did, and he wrapped one arm around her back and the other under her knees, making sure to scoop all her skirts up. He cautiously stood up. "Is that alright? You'll have to take care not to jostle your ankle."

"Tom, when did you get so big and strong?" she asked, her voice sounding surprised.

She could feel his chuckle. "My sisters would tell you to thank the 'never-ending depths' of my stomach. Ma says I'm a growing boy, and Da says it's the carpentry in my blood." He readjusted his grip on her. "Have I got you properly?"

Clary rested her head against his chest, exhausted. "Don't be a looby, Tom. You wouldn't drop me even if you were paid to."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Tom knew the Wright family well enough to avoid the house and go straight to the workshop at the side. "Master Wright?" He saw Clary's father at work and walked through the wide doors, taking care not to bump either her head or her feet. "Clary's hurt her ankle, I think it might be broken."

Master Wright quickly cleared a space on his workbench. "Sit her up here."

"Tom's comfier," murmured Clary.

Tom grinned. "I'm fine with her," he said, although his back and arms were starting to ache. He ignored them; they surely couldn't be anywhere near as bad as her ankle was.

Klee came as soon as Master Wright called him. "I need you to go and fetch the healer for Clary," he explained. "Do you remember where she lives?"

Both Clary and Klee rolled their eyes. Their mother had made all three of the Wright children memorise the healer's address as soon as they could. "Mistress Noryse, 13 Riverview Close. I go down to the end of the street, cross Barrelmakers Way, and go right until I reach Riverview Close on the left."

His father nodded and Klee left. "You take Clary upstairs and put her on her bed," he said to Tom. He gave Clary a look. "I'll tell your mother. She's not going to be happy."

Sure enough, Tom had just settled Clary onto her bed when her mother came up. "A broken ankle, your father said. And on top of that you've taken Berkeley's spare breeches and torn them! And just look at your hair, it's a tangled mess! Your brother and sister never caused this much trouble. I don't know what you were thinking, Clara!"

"It's not like I sarden broke it on purpose, Mother," snapped Clary.

"You won't be sarden doing anything until that ankle's properly healed," came the sharp reply. "It might be a week."

"A week! I'm not staying in bed for a week!"

"If you get bored, you can make yourself useful and mend those breeches."

Rosalind poked her head around the door. "Trust Clary to go and do something stupid," she said smugly.

"GET OUT OF MY BEDROOM, YOU SARDEN BUM-LICKING JINGLENOB!"

Tom snorted, and found himself being glared at by all three of them.

"Rosalind, out," ordered Mistress Wright. "You too, Tom. It's not appropriate for you to be in here."

"But I want Tom to stay," said Clary.

"You'll be fine," he told her. "I'll come and visit you tomorrow." He saw her mother pursing her lips. "Or I'll write you letters."

The healer came bustling in, and Clary sighed as Tom left.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

An hour later, Clary found herself left alone and told to go to sleep. The healer had said that she had to stay in bed for three days to make sure that the healing set properly, but that she'd probably sleep for most of that anyway. Three days was better than a week, but Clary still wasn't happy about spending three days stuck in bed. She was tired, but she didn't feel like sleeping. She wished that Tom was there to talk to, he always made things more fun and interesting. Her eyes caught sight of Tomcat up on her dresser and she smiled to herself. She shoved the covers back and carefully swung herself out of bed. She kept all of her weight on her good foot, testing her sore and bandaged ankle very cautiously. "Pox," she muttered as pain shot through it. She'd been glad in the past that the healer was so good at curing fever, but she wished she was better at healing broken bones. Wobbling on one leg, she stretched herself out until she could grab Tomcat off the dresser, and then let herself fall backwards onto her bed. Satisfied, she pulled the covers back over both of them and curled up, holding the stuffed toy close. She kissed the slightly worn spot on its nose and sank into a deep sleep immediately, a small smile on her face.