Disclaimer: as ever.

Thanks for the reviews! I hope you enjoy this chapter…

Tess smiled, her lips blood red. 'I knew from the first moment I saw you. You're to be our greatest offering!'

Nigel let out a long, tremulous sigh and raised his eyes to heaven. Yes, he was scared. A tribe of warbling druids wearing embroidered bedsheets surrounded him. They were clearly mad. What's more, they were interspersed with horrid, black-hearted ponies. No doubt the former wanted to cut him into little pieces, leaving the latter to chew on what was left with their blunt little fangs.

Nevertheless, he felt he had been here before many times. He could handle this, he told himself. After all, he was a grown man… and Sydney couldn't be far away, could she? He just needed to stall them!

As the hooded figures slowly closed in, Nigel glanced back at Tess. She was still grinning at him like a Cheshire cat: one that had caught a particularly delectable mouse, and intended to play with it for sometime before she mercifully killed it. Moving his gaze swiftly from her to the group, he raised his hands abruptly as if to say 'halt!'

'Um, this is all very… interesting. In fact, I'm fascinated by mediaeval and prehistoric ritualism. However, would you mind telling me what is meant by 'offering?' To be blunt, I'm unsure I can 'offer' myself in any way that would be congenial to Mother Earth…'

There was no response. Nigel was unsure if the chanting had got louder, or whether it was just that the chanters were now very close. Their words began ringing in his ears, infiltrating every corner of his consciousness: 'Matris Terra perussi quod dat vita… Nos planto nostrum vitualamen ut Matris Terra.'

It was bad Latin, but he discerned it's meaning well enough: 'Mother Earth consumes and gives life… we make our offering to Mother Earth.'

The chanting stopped, as what seemed like a thousand limbs exploded from under the concealment of the cloaks. Dozens of hands hungrily seized his arms and wrists. Something warm encircled his waist and fingers tangled in his hair. He was powerless to stop his jumper being peeled off over his head, leaving him feeling exposed in his thin cotton shirt.

Nigel squeaked: 'Please, I'd rather keep that on. It's a cold night…'

'We'll keep you warm!' Nigel could not tell from under which hood the honey-sweet voice came. A scornfully concordant peel of laughter echoed it.

'I'd…I'd…rather have my jumper back anyway…' Nigel bit his lip hard enough to taste blood. A thousand light fingers danced across his torso, fiddling with his buttons, parting and creeping under the fabric onto his flesh. He could no longer protest when he felt the all-pervasive hands glide under his knees and grip his ankles. His feet left the earth and his whole world turned askew.

A shuddering tide bore him forward, and Nigel found himself staring upwards at an increasingly clouded sky. As a faceless phantasm gently brushed his hair from his brow, Nigel descended into a dreamlike state of denial and his mind grew disquietingly blank. The motion was strangely comforting, and it seemed all too soon that the dappled moon spun out of his vision, and the castle and his captors swerved upright again. Nigel found he was leaning back against a large stone: undoubtedly the monolith in the middle of the castle keep that he had spotted before. He snapped back to full consciousness when the fondling human touch was suddenly withdrawn from his wrists and ankles, only to be replaced by something inanimate and rough. Nigel glanced down to confirm the suspicion that he was being tied up with ropes.

'That isn't good,' he muttered to himself.

'Sssshhhh! You must relax…' He couldn't tell from which figure the command came; the hoodless Tess had long since disappeared. An anonymous soul had unfastened his last tenacious, shirt button and was skimming a single finger down his chest, from below his neck to past his navel. The unwanted intimacy caused him to shudder violently.

'Please…' whimpered Nigel. The hand that now stroked his face was young and delicate, with painted purple fingernails: didn't Claudia once wear that shade? His terror intermingled with an irrepressible excitement.

As his shirt was slipped from his shoulders, Nigel resolved on making a last-ditch attempt to act assertively to salvage his dignity, and maybe his life. Leaning his head back against the stone, he shut his eyes and yelled at the top of his voice: 'SYDNEY!!!!'

…………………

'Professor Fox! I'm awfully sorry but I can't find it… it just isn't here!'

Giles had been gingerly dissecting pony droppings in the cold and dark for about an hour. Sydney, who was also quite sick of excavating the excrement, let alone of listening to Giles whinging, finally agreed. 'Okay, it's not here.'

'What we going to do then?'

Sydney silently shook her head and deposited her now ruined black gloves in her bag. It was particularly when she wasn't with Nigel that she appreciated what good company he was - if she had to put up with anybody whining at great length, there was nobody more pleasant than Nigel. Her Nigel, who only a couple of hours ago she was lusting after in a semi-naked state; her Nigel who had just been kidnapped by an enigmatic cult, possibly bent on human sacrifice!

The thought propelled Sydney into action. 'Right. We can't waste any more time. How long do you think it will take us to get to Hangman's Hill?'

'By trekking across the forest from here? A couple of hours, I guess.'

'Fine.' Sydney hooked her satchel over her shoulder in a businesslike manner. 'But we're going to have to bring that pony with us.'

'Bring the pony? That's impossible!'

'Nothing is impossible, Giles…' An image of Claudia receiving a Nobel Prize for astrophysics popped into Syd's head. 'Well, maybe some things are, but tethering this pony certainly isn't. I'm going to use your scarf to tie around its collar. We can lead it with that.'

'My scarf? Hmph.' Giles wasn't a boisterous enough fellow to argue with Sydney Fox. All the same, he grumbled loudly under his breath as he handed it to her.

Sydney snatched it and marched purposefully up to Stewie, who was sleepily standing a few metres away. To get his attention without alarming him, she began making a 'kissy' noise with her lips.

The pony raised his head, but did not bother to look in her direction or appear unduly alarmed. Hoping he had become accustomed to her company, Sydney reached the verge of hooking the scarf around his collar. At that moment, Stewie let out a disgruntled whinny. He swerved his head to face her, and for a terrible moment their eyes locked.

'Jesus,' thought Sydney. She swallowed a pang of what she believed to be irrational fear.

Sydney went in for the kill. So did Stewie. The pony got there first.

'Ow!' Sydney dropped the scarf, and gripped her arm. As the pony bolted off across the field, she turned to Giles, openmouthed with disbelief.

'That lowlife bit me!'

………………..

'SYDNEY!!!! SYDNEY!!!'

Nigel yelled out her name three, maybe four times. He couldn't believe this was happening. The evening had been going so well! How did he get from sharing a bathroom with a practically naked Sydney, to being stripped naked himself by some psychopathic members of a quasi-mediaeval cult? 'SYDNEY!!!!'

His increasingly anguished shouting, however, had some effect. The women had stopped chanting and ripping his clothes off, and he was now surrounded by the indiscernible buzz of whispered conversation. Unable to work out what they were saying, Nigel decided to cry out one more time: 'SYD…mph!'

Nigel's word was cut short as somebody placed a gag over his mouth. His tightly scrunched eyes flew wide open, as it was tied, not too tightly, behind his head. None of the women were touching him any more, but their concealed faces were still pointed in his direction and their voices were raised. He only heard the words he didn't want to hear: 'knife,' 'rope,' 'cut,' 'lets get this over with.'

For the first time, Nigel felt his tummy wrench with genuine fear. His heart was pounding so fast that he could hear the blood churning in his ears. Panic set in, and he began to struggle violently against the ropes that secured him to the monolith. Finding no leverage, the rough material began to tear into his flesh.

'Sssshhhh,' said somebody. 'Keep calm…'

Then he saw the flash of a blade. Squeezing his eyes tight shut again, he held his breath and prayed…

Seconds later, the cut came, but it was not accompanied by the expected searing pain. Instead, the ropes that tied him were severed, and his hands fell free.

'Girls! This isn't a game. The ceremony isn't due for two days, and can't you see the poor creature is terrified?'

The voice was mature, cultivated and matronly. Even amidst his nigh hysteria, it reminded Nigel a little of one of his undergraduate history lecturers. It certainly had the effect of authority. The younger female voices around him started to whine:

'It was her idea!'

'We thought he was enjoying it!'

'Tess told me to…'

As he rubbed his sore wrists and felt his ankles released, Nigel ventured to open his eyes. Doing so, he found himself face to face with a gracious looking woman, of medium build and with thick, shoulder-length grey hair, sections of which were pinned up with butterfly clips. Like the others, she was wearing a white robe, but her hood was down. She was untying his gag with thin, dry and consoling fingers that skimmed gently on the skin at the back of his neck.

'There you are, dear,' she said, finally removing the offending device. 'I'm sorry about that. The girls got a little carried away. '

Nigel, still very shaken, stared at her. 'Do you mind if I sit down?'

'Not at all,' she smiled, as Nigel slumped onto the damp, dewy grass, still leaning against the stone. Pulling back on his shirt, he began refastening his buttons.

The robed figures had now dispersed into the dark, some of them having thrown back their hoods to reveal, in the candlelight, the dim outlines of neatly groomed, pony-tailed hair, and pretty, youthful faces. Some of them were glancing in his direction, guilty and sheepish. He spied Tess sitting on a crumbling piece of wall, picking at her fingernails with malice and generally looking very fed up indeed.

The older lady strolled confidently over to where his jumper had been discarded upon the grass, and picked it up. She then turned it back the right way, shaking it out with a motherly efficiency, and handed it back to its owner. 'There you go, dear.'

'Thank you,' said Nigel, only half resentfully. As he pulled it back on, regretting it was now rather soggy from the dew, the woman sat down next to him, neatly folding her skirts around her as she did so. Once fully dressed, Nigel ventured a question: 'What were they going to do?'

'Oh, nothing too bad,' she sighed, with a dismissive hand gesture. 'They get a little carried away sometimes. It simply isn't time yet.'

'What's it not time for?' Nigel's inquiry was understandably urgent.

'I'm afraid I can't say, dear,' she said airily. 'All I can tell you is that you're a godsend to us.'

Nigel, whose fear was swiftly abating, was now staring at her, increasingly nonplussed.

'Look,' he began. 'You seem like a very reasonable woman, but I'm afraid I can't 'offer' myself to anyone. If you think I'm some sort of 'pure soul' or something, you're quite mistaken… and, to be blunt with you, I'd like to go now. I'm sure this evening's proceedings have been quite illegal!'

The grey-haired woman looked at him sympathetically. 'There are greater laws than those of men, dear. I'm afraid I can't possibly let you go. However, it would be of great use to everybody, including your Professor Fox, if you could finish looking at Giles's research. We can then pass on any useful information to her at dawn.'

'At dawn? What happens at dawn?'

'Nothing for you to worry about.' Here the woman rubbed Nigel's knee affectionately, causing him to curl his lip. He was sick of being petted. 'I expect you'll want to sleep by then.'

'Well, that would be nice!' Nigel's statement dripped with sarcasm. 'Look, that guy, Henchard, you've got locked up in the dungeon, claims you've driven several men mad, and caused a couple to vanish entirely. Now I'm certainly not keen on 'disappearing', and I'm quite fond of my mind, as well…'

The woman's face suddenly convulsed with anger. 'That man in the basement is the reason that it is so important the staff is found, and the ritual carried out,' she spat venomously. 'That man - if you can call him a man - wants to rip out the heart of the forest. This is why I cannot let you go!'

'Umm…fine.' Not liking where this conversation was going, Nigel glanced hopefully around, wondering if he could make a run for it.

It didn't look very optimistic: although the girls had backed off, there was that at least two dozen of them, milling around and blocking the exits between the ruined walls. It also occurred to him that attempting to run might land him up back in their pretty, malevolent hands. Going along with the older woman, might at least give him time to think of a better plan… or for Sydney to turn up.

The grey-haired lady had overcome her sudden outburst and was now regarding him calmly: she obviously didn't think Nigel was going to scarper. Brushing the damp grass of her skirts, she rose and stretched out her hand to him:

'Come! Let us go back into the vaults and my sister, Carolyn, will tell you everything you need to know.'

……………………..

Sydney Fox was not a happy woman. The pony bite had not broken the skin, but it had hurt her pride, just as much as her arm.

To add insult to injury, the pony had then loafed quite happily over to Giles when he had produced an apple from his pocket. It had munched serenely as the museum curator tied his scarf around its collar.

No. Sydney Fox was not happy.

'Okay, Giles,' she snapped as she refastened her dishevelled hair in an attempt to restore her dignity. 'Seeing as you're the 'Beastmaster,' you can lead that thing. We need to get going, if we're going to get to Hangman's Hill by dawn.'

Giles, sensing that Sydney's equilibrium was currently a delicate one, readily agreed. This, however, did not prove to be easy. Attaching the scarf was one thing. Moving the pony was quite another.

Eventually, it was agreed that Sydney should pull from the front, while Giles should attempt to push at the back. This proved disastrous. The pony kicked him – smack! – in the stomach.

At this point, Sydney decided enough was enough.

Once Giles had regained enough puff to be able to speak, and ascertained that none of his ribs had cracked and punctured a lung, she made an executive decision.

'You stay with the pony. Just don't let it out of your sight until that key emerges. I'm going to give this 'Forest Sisterhood' a piece of my mind…'

Sydney sprinted off, embarrassingly pleased to be shot of 'Stewie.' She was also sort of glad that Nigel hadn't been there, let alone any of her rival Relic Hunters, to see the great Sydney Fox bested by a five-foot high pony. Only she knew how difficult her nigh-infallible image could occasionally be to maintain…

……………………………………

Nigel reluctantly followed the woman, who casually introduced herself as Valerie, back down the spiral staircase into the dungeons.

He was not taken back to the cell with the other men. Instead, Valerie opened the wooden, metal-studded arched door to one of the chambers on the side of the corridor. She graciously motioned that he should enter, and smiled as he stepped tentatively through. The door clicked shut behind him.

At first, Nigel believed he was alone, and wasn't sorry for it. The room looked comfortable enough. Multi-coloured drapes had been hung over the great stone blocks of the walls, and sweet smelling candles burned in little alcoves. The floor was covered with homely looking cushions, in all sizes and in plush fabrics, velvety and silky.

As he suspected, though, he wasn't to have his desired solitude. Kneeling amidst the soft furnishings, in equally gorgeously hued clothes, Nigel noticed a petite woman, who he assumed must be Carolyn. She was around the same age as Valerie, maybe a little younger, and her graying brown hair was cut into a neat, boyish bob. As she looked up at him from a book, Nigel couldn't help but notice her striking features were immensely beautiful. She wore her years with grace, and her gaze, when it met his, conveyed a youthful 'joie de vivre.'

'Good God,' thought Nigel to himself. 'You look vaguely familiar…'

As she digested the sight of him, her look of studied concentration flowed into a ravishing smile.

'Nigel! I'm so glad you came…'

Nigel didn't reciprocate her warm welcome. 'I didn't come,' he stated. 'I was kidnapped, and, if you would be so kind, I'd like to go now.'

Carolyn looked sympathetic. 'Ah, yes, the kidnapping. I'm sorry about that. Valerie and I have great difficulties keeping the girls under control these days. But I'm probably to blame, at least partially…' Nigel furrowed his brow, not consoled by this news, and much perplexed by a strong feeling that this woman was no stranger to him. 'Please, take a seat and I'll tell you everything. And then,' she broke off, lowering her voice to whisper. 'I might then be able to help you get out of here.'

The woman patted a fluffy green cushion next to her, beckoning him over. Racking his brains to think where he might have seen her before, Nigel sidled over and sat down.

'That's better,' smiled Carolyn. Nigel noted that, unlike all the other women, she didn't try to touch him. It was a nice change.

'That was me, who was watching you in the forest yesterday. I was trying to work out what your presence must mean, when I had to flee. But when I told Valerie and the girls about you, they got so excited! They thought that your coming back, after all this time, and at a moment of such need, must mean that you're 'the one'…'

Nigel was confused. 'What on earth do you mean, 'the one''? He emphasised the final two words with a sarcastic attempt at the sinister, suddenly conjuring up images of 'The Matrix.' Could he be trapped in a perverse virtual-reality computer game? It didn't seem very likely. He certainly wasn't embroiled in the usual macho-nerd cyber-universe. It was all too much of a female fantasy…

He was snapped out of these musings when he realised that Carolyn was laughing softly to herself. 'Oh… so you don't remember me at all? When did you last come to the Great South Wessex Forest, Nigel? Was it 17 years ago, on Scout camp?'

Nigel's eyes widened with realisation. 'It was you! You rescued me from that pony!' His fear rekindled when he remembered what else she had done: 'And you made that funny sign on my forehead. My brother said you were marking me for human sacrifice! '

Carolyn laughed heartily. 'Your brother was a fool!' she chortled. Nigel didn't argue with her about that. 'I did nothing of the sort. I just said a little prayer to Mother Earth, inscribing you with the sign of Venus. I asked that you would grow up beautiful in mind and body, and that women everywhere would love and adore you. I see my prayer was answered.'

In light of the evening's happenings, Nigel wasn't convinced by this rose tinted version of events. 'If you didn't mark me for human sacrifice, what on earth were your girls doing earlier?

Carolyn shook out her bobbed hair, and waved a hand dismissively. 'Look, I'm sorry about that. But it wasn't what you thought. The girls should know that it isn't time yet… '

Nigel's expression didn't lighten. 'Time for what? I've read books about prehistoric Earth Mother cults! I know that their 'offerings' of choice were young and…'

'…male?' interjected Carolyn, suppressing a half smile.

'Yes, male! And from what I've heard, all Odo seemed to do was drive men mad and…and…'

'…perform human sacrifice? A few of the sisters believe that cruelty and sacrifice were a historical part of the spring ritual - and that the emerald and the scarlet in Odo's emblem represented the poisonous venom of the snake, and the blood of death, rather than the beauteous green of nature and the blood of life. But I, for one, don't believe that Odo would have done such a thing. I can assure you that nobody in this day and age will ever lose their life or their mind at the hands of the Forest Sisterhood! Mother Earth gives, not takes life!'

Nigel was still grumbling under his breath and shifting awkwardly on his cushion, as Carolyn explained further: 'Valerie and I became interested in Odo when we were studying mediaeval history at university in the sixties. We were young, it was the summer of Love, and all we wanted to do was dance barefoot with flowers in our hair! Then we discovered documents about Odo, who made offerings to Mother Earth to celebrate the continuance of life and the joys of nature, and it all stemmed from there.'

'Oh,' said Nigel, still feeling slightly uncomfortable, despite instinctively wanting to trust this shadowy figure from his past. He vaguely suspected her of mind control.

'Look, please forgive the girls,' she entreated him. 'It wasn't what you thought. I think you were supposed to be finding it pleasurable…' Carolyn's playful eyes conveyed the rest.

Nigel stared at her, agog: had it really all been some sort of sordid sex game?

'Besides,' continued Carolyn prosaically, 'they just wouldn't listen when I told them that you and she were together.'

'Sydney and I? I'm afraid that's not quite true. Not that I want to be 'offered' or anything, but we're not together, as such, we're just colleagues. Nothing else has happened…yet.' Despite his words, Nigel did optimistically wonder if such self-effacement was necessary. Recalling her jealousy of Tess the evening before, he couldn't help conjecturing what Syd would have done had she'd seen two dozen women attempt to strip his clothes off!

Carolyn must have read his thoughts. 'It will happen. I was watching you together. Yours is an unconventional relationship, but she loves you. I saw the look in her eyes when she believed you were in danger - there was fire and passion, underlain by a true tenderness.'

'Really?' said Nigel. He couldn't quite decide if he was surprised or not. Sydney had certainly been lusting after him lately in a playful manner, but something deeper, tenderer… that was something else. That needed thought. Could it be anything more than Sydney's loyalty to him as a friend?

'You can make her very happy,' concluded Carolyn, as if reading his thoughts. 'Now, I did you a favour, many years ago, and I will do you another one now in helping you escape, if you do something for me.'

'What is it?' asked Nigel, slightly suspicious. She was the first woman he'd encountered in some time who hadn't asked him to take his clothes off. Was that about to change?

It wasn't: Carolyn's enthusiasm at that moment was for history. 'I want you to get back out there with your friend, Sydney, and find me the barrow and the resting place of the staff. But I don't want it for any silly rituals! I have been reading Giles' research and, as I suspected, you are on the verge of an amazing discovery. You must realise the historical significance of these signs of Neolithic culture? Along with the mediaeval staff, it will be more than enough to save the forest from that awful man, Henchard, and his building developers. They'll make it a World Heritage site!'

Night was heartily relieved that her request didn't involve anything to do with offerings or sacrifice. 'It is an exciting find,' he conceded. 'If you let me go, Sydney and I will find it. But I'm going to need Giles' research back if we're going to have any hope at all of finding the relic in two days.'

'Of course, you may have it. I suppose you already know we need to be at the barrow for sunrise on the first day of spring. The rays of the dawning sun will reveal the chamber where the staff is hidden, which can only be opened with Odo's key…'

Nigel repressed a wince, remembering that the key was probably still 'in' Stewie, but decided not to share this with Carolyn just yet, if just to maintain a semblance of dignity.

'From what I can see,' said Nigel, 'the staff's location is revealed by the passage that Giles translated on the font in Wintoncaster Cathedral. I haven't quite worked out what it means, but I have translated it. It goes: 'Life is found …

Carolyn interrupted and finished his sentence: '…at the heart of the perfect number! Yes, I was looking at that just now, translating from the Latin. I thought it might lead to something.' She paused, quietly recognising that Nigel was impressed by her abilities.

'I came up with a theory from the riddle, but it led to nothing,' he admitted.

Carolyn smiled thoughtfully, and pulled out Giles' brown leather research folder from under one of the cushions. She handed it to him. 'Of course,' said Carolyn nonchalantly, 'in female mythology, seven is considered the perfect number, because it has neither factors nor product. It is the symbol of the maiden goddess Athene, and of the strength of the woman standing alone…'

'I'll bear that in mind,' said Nigel, a small smile twitching on the edge of his lips as he realised he may have a new lead on the hunt. 'Now, how am I going to get out of here without your girls eating me alive?'

Carolyn nodded towards two white robes, embroidered with the now familiar red and green markings, hanging over the top of a painted screen.

'Oh… that old chestnut,' said Nigel with a sigh. 'Ah, well, it usually works when one wants to escape from strangely dressed cults. Mind you,' he mumbled to himself, 'if memory serves, we usually seem to be trying to break in to their nasty lairs… heaven knows why!'

His friend looked surprised. 'How many times have you done this, Nigel?'

'More times that you'd believe!' he replied, reaching for the robes. 'Can we go now, please?'

………………………………….

Sydney was about an hour into her cross-country trek, when it started to rain. She was crossing a moor-like tract of open land, typical of that which seemed to make up much of the so-called 'forest.' The ground was covered in prickly scrub and endless, tufty ridges and muddy furrows threatened to trip her up. It was no fun, particularly with only a small flashlight to show her the way. She was just grateful that she had the GPS to keep her on track without too much effort.

Then disaster really struck. As she hurried on, her foot suddenly sunk and jammed in a particularly deep channel, twisting her ankle painfully. Sydney fell forward into the trench, landing on her hands and knees in thick, muddy water.

'Ow!' Sydney screwed her eyes shut as little lights flashed in front of her vision.

For a split-second of anguish, Sydney reverted to a little schoolgirl, who'd fallen over in the playground and was now tottering on the verge of tears. Her hands were covered in mud; an icy dampness was soaking through her leggings and permeating her flesh to the bone. The trauma of the fall had even aggravated the throbbing in her bitten arm.

With a sharp intake of breath, the micro-moment passed, the little girl vanished, and Sydney Fox returned. Thankfully, she'd felt a crunch, not a snap. She knew the ankle wasn't broken, but it hurt like hell. She had to get up, and get on… or Nigel would suffer. Straightening herself up slowly, but not putting any weight on the ankle just yet, she reached for the torch that had fallen from her hand, still lit, and into a patch of thistles. Extracting it, she felt into her pocket for the GPS.

'Damn!' She felt the other pocket, just in case. It wasn't there.

With dread, she reached downwards into the sludge, and extracted the little black box. When she shook it, it made a waterlogged, squelchy nose. She knew it was history.

Sydney offloaded her growing frustration by pitching the useless device off into the darkness, baseball-style, and screaming.

She then took a deep breath, and returned to her task. The sky was completely blank at that moment but, although a little disorientated, she was pretty sure she needed to continue in the direction she was facing when she had fallen. She decided to keep going across the field in that direction, by which time, hopefully, the moon would have reappeared and she could work things out from there…

Very gingerly, Sydney tried to put some weight of her ankle. The instant the tip of her toe hit the ground, a thunderbolt of agony shot up her leg. She hissed through her teeth, but proceeded to press her foot down. It was just a twist, she told herself. The pain would pass. Nigel needed her.

'Go with the flow,' she told herself, although she hardly felt capable of flowing. 'You can't let him down…'

It was then she saw a flash of light, a tiny flicker, at quite a distance off. Sydney paused. She could do with some help right now, if just to ask somebody to confirm the right directions. On the other hand, could this be a member of the cult who had captured Nigel?

'Hey, come on, Syd,' she told herself. 'You can still fight them off if you have to…' She nearly believed herself.

'Hey!' she shouted. 'Over here! Can you help me?'

'Sydney?'

Sydney could barely believe the she was hearing the familiar voice that answered her. Yet it was unmistakable.

'Nigel? Nigel! Over here!'

Sydney waved her torch, which blipped and went dead. Cursing yet again, she realised the battery had died. At that instant, the dim light of dawn broke over the horizon in the West. Faintly silhouetted against the glimmering smudge of pink, she saw a small figure.

Nigel stood motionless for a subliminal moment. She knew his intricate mind was working out the direction from which her voice had come. A second later, he began to run straight towards her.

'Sydney? Syd… I'm here, I'm coming. Are you all right?'

'Nigel! I'm here. I'll be fine, but I've hurt my ankle…'

'I'm coming.'

Sydney sank back onto the hostile ground, so grateful to rest her ankle that she barely felt the barbs of the foliage. She almost laughed. After her mad struggle with the pony, and her desperate dash cross-country to save him, it was Nigel who was coming to rescue her.

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