"Some say our destiny is tied to the land, as much a part of us as we are of it. Others say fate is woven together like a cloth, so that one's destiny intertwines with many others. It's the one thing we search for, or fight to change. Some never find it, but there are some who are led."

-Brave-

The first thing Foster felt was the pain. Pain wasn't always a bad thing. Sometimes, pain was the body's way of letting you know you were still alive. But this was more than a bruised rib or a busted lip. This pain was coming from deep within, radiating out from the fleshy part of his side, just under his ribs. Foster ran his large hand gingerly over the area, feeling slightly relieved when he encountered the carefully applied bandage. Whatever happened to him, it eased his mind a little to know that he was obviously being attended to by a skiller healer.

Foster knew immediately that he was in an unfamiliar place. Even before he opened his eyes he could smell the oddly stagnant air that came with being inside a low-lander house. They had homes in the mountains. Even a Farrell couldn't survive a mountain winter without shelter. But inside their homes, you could still feel the mountain air. You could smell the morning dew and hear the birds twittering outside. This was different. The bed was too soft. Foster couldn't hear or smell nature's bounty. He knew he was far from home even before he blinked his eyes open and saw the large mason jar on the small table next to the bed. There were chunks of ice floating in the clear clean water. A sure sign that he wasn't on the mountain. The only time they had ice there was in the winter. Slowly melting, the ice was causing condensation to form on the outside of the jar. It was dripping down the sides of the glass, leaving a discolored ring on the polished wooden table. The owner of said table must not care about the stains. Because Foster could see the table top was littered in circular stains, only partially covered by the well worn paperback book that was resting a few inches away from the jar full of water.

Foster moved slowly as he slid himself into a slightly more upright position. He wasn't sure how badly he was hurt and had no desire to injure himself further. Reaching for the water, he gulped greedily at the water despite the way the unnatural temperature of it bit at his teeth. After he'd chugged nearly half of it down, he realized he wasn't alone in the room. There was a large dog lying on the bed near his feet. The beast was a sandy reddish color, the extra folds of skin on its face giving it a comical appearance despite its intimidating size. The dog's long pink tongue was lolling out the side of its mouth, drool dripping down from it onto the quilted blanket. Seeing that he was awake, the giant dog crept slowly forward until it was stretched out against Foster's side. The beast rolled, displaying its soft underbelly to him. Foster smiled, favoring the animal with a gentle scratch on the stomach. The beast wriggled against his hand, its giant paws paddling at the air.

"Where's your master?," Foster asked, grinning at the animal as though it might actually answer him. Whoever helped him was clearly a low-lander. Foster knew that just from where he was. But unlike most of them, this one was obviously kind enough and smart enough not to have taken him to one of their low-lander healing centers. Foster was under the impression that most town dwellers hated his people. And it made him curious that one of them had not only helped him, but brought him to their home and placed him in their own bed.

Foster clearly remembered coming down the mountain. He still felt the harsh sting of his baby brother's untimely death. It fueled him on his drive down, filling him with the desire for revenge. Something he knew was as much a poison as nightshade berries. But after the man that killed his brother dropped dead in front of him, Foster's memory got foggy. He'd been attacked by a group of low-landers. He knew that. But he wasn't sure how many. When they knocked him off his wheels, his head hit the pavement. And then there was only the pain and the feel of a motorcycle purring between his legs. He could remember a soft pleading voice, urging him to stay awake as he climbed a set of wooden steps. He wasn't even sure if his savior was a man or a woman. All he could remember clearly was the smell of oranges and campfire smoke.

The sound of knocking somewhere inside the house tugged Foster from his thoughts. The large dog that was lounging against his side popped up, leaping over him and running like crazy for the bedroom door. The dog's nails scraped against the wooden floors, the sound receding as the beast thundered down the stairs. Foster could tell when the animal reached the source of the noise. Because the thundering stampede was replaced by loud menacing barks.

Foster cupped his injured side with his hand, applying pressure to the wound as he slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed. On his way towards the door, Foster stopped to look at a framed picture that was lying facedown on top of a wooden dresser. The glass front that was meant to protect the image was shattered. But the photo of a smiling couple was still visible. The woman was young and pretty with long dark hair. The man looked a little older than her. He had some gray in the temples of his hair. But it was clear from the way they were hugging each other and the expressions on their faces that they were in love. And as Foster glanced over the picture, he realized the woman looked familiar to him. It took him a moment to remember where he'd seen her before. And when it came to him, he gazed down at her picture with a smile.

When Foster followed his father down the mountain on their last raid, she was there. The other low-landers were cowering and shrieking at the sight of him. But not the woman with the dark hair and the light eyes. As Foster loaded his wheeler with bags of sugar, she stepped forward with a square package in her hands that was wrapped in bright blue plastic. The woman tossed it into his basket next to the bags of sugar and laughed. If you're gonna rob the place, might as well take something good. After that she stepped back and watched him finish loading his basket with her arms crossed and a smirk on her face. It wasn't until later, when Foster was in bed with G'win sleeping next to him, that he peeled the package open to find that it was filled with cookies. They were thin chocolate wafers with some sort of white cream in the middle. And the fearless low-lander woman was right, they were good. He ate so many of the tiny cookie sandwiches, it gave him a stomach ache that G'win had to make him mint and ginger tea to soothe. He hid the rest of the package away after that, only treating himself to a few at a time until they were gone and only memories of the woman's teasing smile remained.

Placing the photo back the way he found it, Foster began to shuffle slowly through the door and down the hall. He braced his forearm against the wall for support. The wood was cold against his bare feet. And he was relieved that while he'd been stripped from the waist up, his kilt was still covering the lower portion of his body. As he moved, the sound of the barking was replaced by a long menacing growl and the sound of woman's voice.

"Remy. Stop. No bark. Sit."

Foster reached the top of the staircase in time to see the tiny slip of a woman nudging her giant dog out of the way so she could crack the door open.

"Hey Wade," she said. "What's going on? Is something wrong? Jenny Gunderson didn't call in another complaint did she? 'Cause it's not Remy's fault she can't keep her little yapper dogs under control."

Foster couldn't see the person she was talking to. The only partially opened door was blocking his view. All he knew was that it was a man with a thick low-lander accent.

"No no no, this has nothin' to do with Jenny Gunderson," he said. "I got a report about an incident last night that I need to investigate." There was a slight pause before the man continued. "Where were ya last night?," he asked.

"Last night?," the woman repeated, like she was confused about the question. "I was here. Why? What happened?" Foster heard the man hem and haw a little before he spoke again.

"I got a report from some fellas that got roughed up outside the corner bar downtown. They said they were attacked by a giant Farrell. And you."

The woman laughed. And even though Foster could tell it was less than sincere, the noise still made him smile slightly. She had what Lady Ray called a musical laugh.

"Wade!," the woman exclaimed. "Lemme get this straight. Some of those drunken fools down at the corner bar said they were attacked by me and a giant ferret? Were you drinkin' with 'em? You'd have to be to believe that shit."

"Not a ferret," the man huffed. "A Farrell."

"A Farrell?," the woman asked. "Why would I be running around town with one of those crazy mountain people?"

"Your mom was a Farrell wasn't she?," the man asked. Foster's eyes widened slightly at the question. In theory, he knew that sometimes people left the mountain for a life in the modern world. But he never considered until now that some of the people living in the town below them were his kin. But it made sense now why this woman was so willing to help him. Foster pressed himself back against the wall as the woman pulled the door wider. Stepping forward she pointed at the man, pressing the tip of her finger against the screen door. Her large dog shifted closer to her, adding his growls to her sudden anger.

"That's what this is about? My mom moved down here from the mountain over twenty years ago. So now you're gonna accuse me of attacking random men outside a bar? This is some real fuckin' bullshit Wade! If one of those drunken assholes got jumped outside the corner bar, it was probably his own wife that done it. That's who shoulda done it!"

Sensing the woman's anger, the dog charged between her and the door and began to growl and bark at the man outside. Foster could only guess that the man moved back. Because when he spoke again, his voice sounded further away.

"Listen, Delilah! When I get a report, I have to investigate. Okay! That's my damn job," the man hollered over the growling and barking. Foster chuckled a little at the terror that was nearly shaking the man's voice, even though the man did him a slight favor. Because of his cowardly ramblings, Foster now knew the name of his savior.

"Investigate this!," Delilah huffed, flipping her middle finger up at him before she jerked her dog back by the collar and slammed the door shut.

Once the door was shut, Delilah leaned forward and began rubbing her hands over the fur of her giant dog. She favored the animal with lots of praise, telling him what a good dog he was as she roughed up the wrinkled skin around his face and head. When the giant beast had its fill of her affection, it turned and trampled back up the stairs. After rubbing its body along Foster's leg, the dog sat down next to him and leaned in as he scratched it behind the ears.

When the woman turned to follow the animal with her eyes, Foster got his first real look at her. She was slightly shorter than average height for a woman, which would put her at over a foot shorter than him even if he wasn't towering over her from the top of the stairs. Her long dark hair was complemented by her lighter eyes and only slightly tanned complexion. Like most low-lander women, she was wearing pants instead of a dress. But hers were snug enough that he could see the curve of her hips. Her shirt was as sung as her pants, dipping low enough that he could see the cleft between her breasts. He'd never really been around a low-lander woman before. And it wasn't until she started to grin up at him that Foster realized he was staring at her with his mouth hanging open. Something he assumed was probably considered rude in any culture.

"You're awake," she said, the relief clear in her voice. "How are you feeling?"

Foster considered the question. His side hurt like the devil. His head wasn't much better. But mostly his stomach was growling like crazy.

"Hungry."