Feagrim awoke to a dull throbbing in his head. A breeze moved grass that tickled his ear. Wincing, he pushed himself up. The task was made more difficult due to the weight of the heavy pack he still wore. He sat on his haunches and pulled his shoulders out of the straps. The pack fell away and toppled to one side. He rubbed his head and felt a large knot. Dimly, he couldn’t recall Garmer landing a blow there. A wave of nausea swept over him. He put his hand down to steady himself and felt something hard and cold. A large stone protruded from the ground. He sighed, realizing he must have fallen on the rock. His vision cleared and his stomach settled. Looking around the clearing, he saw the trampled grass where he’d been attacked by Garmer. Something caught his eye. A small golden twinkle between the blades of grass. Carefully he stood up and walked over. Red speckled the grass around a pool of congealed blood. He remembered Asbjorn holding Garmer back so he could get away without coming to lethal blows. A dim memory of a scream echoed through him. Foggily he shook his head unable to recall anyone else that had been there. It had sounded...feminine? He looked through the grass for the thing that caught the light. To one side of the pooled blood, he found a slender, two-pronged pin with a trefoil made of braided wire for its head. A few red-brown hairs were still tangled in it.

For several moments, Feagrim stood there, conflicted. He considered going back to the village. The idea that blood had been spilled and he might have been involved did not sit well. Not knowing whose it was, finding jewelry, and remembering a scream unsettled him even more. He walked back to where he left the pack and sat on a nearby fallen tree. His fingers fidgeted with the hairpin. He was relatively unharmed, and that Asbjorn wasn’t laying in that pool of blood meant it was probably Garmer. Feagrim felt confidant that if it was Asbjorn that was wounded, Garmer wouldn’t have helped him. He mused that maybe Garmer would learn something from his fight with Asbjorn. He chuckled at the thought of a more contrite Garmer and he dropped the hairpin into his satchel.

He looked down the road he was heading. A lot of daylight had been lost. If he could get moving again, he might still get several more miles before darkness. He reached for the pack and prepared to take its weight once more. As he righted it, he saw the thick bolt sticking through the back of it. He touched it in disbelief. He’d been shot in the back; that explains why he’d fallen down and thus hit his head and missed the end of the fight. He might have been assumed dead and Asbjorn took the still living Garmer back to save him. Feagrim tugged at the bolt only to find it stuck fast. Confused, he opened the pack. The contents should be food and other sundries. He shook his head, he hadn’t checked it and had no reason not to trust Eadryth to put the kit together. There shouldn’t be anything to stop a bolt or arrow from being pulled out. His hands shook. There shouldn’t be anything to stop a bolt or arrow from going through. He swallowed and opened the flap of the pack. He felt for the shaft of the bolt and followed it through packages of trail bread and dried fruit. The bolt had passed nearly through the pack. The head was wedged into a battered book nestled against the padding for his shoulders.

His lip quivered as he recognized the book of stories. Carefully he pulled the bolt free and withdrew the book. Gently he paged through the worn book. The margins of all the pages were filled with a meticulous, flowing script. He knew the handwriting like he knew his own. He read a few of them. Detailed memories of their time together, the things they did, her candid thoughts, her wishes, and dreams. He turned the pages to see where the point of the bolt had stopped. His eyes fell on the first undamaged page and he sat down heavily on the log once more. Held between the pages was a thick braid of brown hair streaked with gold was curled into a circle with a silver clasp. On the clasp was engraved a warding charm with the crest of the house of Kursk worked into it. He caressed the familiar hair for a moment before slowly closing the book, his eyes watering, blurring the cover. Her words came back to him, “Answers might be closer than Stormfort.” He wondered if her sudden tears were only because of the spicy food. Feagrim turned to look back down the road to the village and wondered if he was doing the right thing.

He saw movement in the road. Reflexively he reached for the pack to go hide in the woods. Looking more carefully, the traveler had a longbow over one shoulder and he recognized the colors Asbjorn favored. Feagrim took a deep breath and steadied his nerves to wait for his friend.

“Ho there! Not dead of a shot in the back I see!” Asbjorn waved as he approached.

“No, and I think I’m alive by a miracle.” Feagrim gripped the book tightly.

“So you say.” Asbjorn looked down at the book in Feagrim’s lap. “Not the sort of place I’d expect you to be getting in some reading.” He paused, taking in the slight redness around Feagrim’s eyes and his paleness. “Having second thoughts?”

“The book stopped the bolt,” Feagrim paused, “it was special before, but I think it’s priceless now.” He opened the book and showed Asbjorn the pages of handwritten notes in the margins.

“You’ve got some admirer their lad,” Asbjorn winked, “but keep your fantasies to yourself eh?”

“There’s more.” Feagrim opened the book to the charm.

Asbjorn whistled. “Whew. Take her seriously.” He reached out and carefully closed the book in Feagrim’s hands.

“I always have,” said Feagrim. “One day, I’ll be worthy to be by her side.

“By what I see here, I think she doesn’t care about that.”

“But I do.” Feagrim slipped the book back into the pack and started fastening the flap. “As I am, I don’t offer enough to match her.”

“I see.” Asbjorn watched him put the book away. “Which one are you missing?”

Feagrim looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

“They’re both back there,” Asbjorn jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards Dawnwick, “patching up Badgernag. Getting along rather well from what I saw.”

“This one,” Feagrim patted the pack where the book was, “will be the most missed, but I’ll bear it with her gifts. I almost feel bad for him,” he started, “what was that? Both of who?”

“I’ll say it again, take that one seriously. Don’t think less of yourself when others think so much more.” Asbjorn tapped his temple. “Badgernag’s sister had come after him. I don’t think you noticed her at the edge of the clearing, she screamed when I put an end to his fight. That lock of hair matches the girl that met us at their house. He started to panic as soon as he saw her. She took charge and started bossing us around. His sister just hung her head and did as she was told. Poor thing looked like she hadn’t slept, she was covered in bruises and her clothes were torn.” He smirked, “I knew something was going on and kept quiet.”

“So it’s true then, he’s been assaulting his own sister too.” Feagrim’s hands tightened on the straps of the pack.

“Looks that way. A lot of people saw her when she ran through the town, and again when we brought her brother back. It can’t be ignored anymore.” Asbjorn looked down the road. “It wasn’t my intention to do more than just watch from the trees until you were on your way. I don’t come from the same sort of stock as those other people.” He waved a dismissive hand towards the village. “I can’t stand idle when someone is being unjustly attacked.” He tapped his temple again. “I know someone in Stormfort that I haven’t seen for a while, so our road is the same. Care for the company?”

Feagrim stood up and took in Asbjorn’s weathered face. The old ranger had spent plenty of seasons in the wilderness and had already taught him a few things about living in the woods. He was beyond tired of dealing with Garmer. If not for Asbjorn interceding, he would have been the one to wound Garmer. After hearing the confirmation that he had been assaulting his own sister, Feagrim wanted to end the terror of Garmer forever. He took a deep breath and remembered the notes in the book. The reasons to stay would also become the reasons he would continue to be rejected by Eadryth’s father. He couldn’t allow them to also be the chains that held him in her shadow.

“How far do you think we can get before dark?” Feagrim shouldered the pack once more.

“In a few miles is a brook I’ve camped near before. With a knot like that,” Asbjorn pointed at the purpling lump on Feagrim’s forehead, “you shouldn’t push things. We’ll go easy, bed down early, and get back at it by first light.”

Feagrim nodded, and the two of them settled into a brisk hike. Over the following few hours, Asbjorn explained how Garmer broke the strap on his trapping crossbow and attempted to murder Feagrim with it. He felt that was justification enough to retaliate and inflict a serious wound that would render him unable to interfere with anyone for a while. He also told about Eorrid’s abrupt dash during the altercation, how badly she had been bruised, and she wanted to help Feagrim before her brother.

“Don’t think she didn’t want to check on you lad.”

“Why would she be out here to begin with?”

“In a word? Responsibility. That is if I understand things.”

Feagrim recalled the long talk with Eorrid on the night of the wake for the slain. “I can see that. And I guess word got around I might have been leaving. I was hoping to get away quietly.”

“Didn’t work that way. Catrine told me about the fight you had with your father which is how I knew you might have been heading out.” Asbjorn elbowed Feagrim in the ribs. “I know you said you’d be missing the Kursk girl but I bet you’re wishing that trouble maker was out here and not me.”

Feagrim rolled his eyes. “Everyone seems to be nosy these days.”

“Can you blame them? Nothing ever happens in these sleepy backwater towns. You’re the only entertainment they had.” Asbjorn smirked. “This might be the last thing that hornets’ nest needs to get stirred up.”

“This didn’t exactly happen overnight,” Feagrim said angrily, “it’s been years and no one’s stepped in. I doubt anyone will do anything now.”

“Someone was handling it. There was a certain young man who was standing up for what was right. Someone was taking on the pain directed at others despite the failure of the ones that should have mattered the most to support him.” Asbjorn slowed his pace to make Feagrim turn to face him. “Never forget that you made a difference in a lot of lives. They know you’ve been going through hell so they could live in peace. That kind of sacrifice is hard to repay. Most folks don’t know where to start and just stay silent until something stirs them up and they have a direction.”

Feagrim turned away from the old ranger. “It’s out of my hands now.”

“Exactly. You pulled the cork. Now someone else has to deal with the leak.”

Feagrim glared at Asbjorn.

“Don’t blame me. It’s just how things are. Fortunately, our efforts are not completely lost and there are a few organizations that work to make up for the lack of appreciation. You’ll understand more after we’ve been in Stormfort for a while.”

Feagrim held his peace and the two friends hiked on in silence. Just as the light began to wane, Asbjorn pointed out the thin trail that led away from the road and down to a brook. Its faint glitter just visible through the trees. Asbjorn led Feagrim away from the brook, through breaks in the underbrush to a secluded clearing out of sight of the road.

“Creatures have been on the move lately. It’s best not to camp by the easiest access to water if you’d rather not deal with them,” Asbjorn said. “This is close enough we can get our fill of water ourselves. If we’re quiet we should be left alone.”

Feagrim just nodded. As the day had gone on, the ache from hitting his head on the rock when he fell had worn on him. He shrugged out of the heavy pack and sat down to rest his feet. Asbjorn collected rocks and scooped out an old firepit. When he started to gather wood, Feagrim began to stand and Asbjorn waved him back. Within minutes Asbjorn had a small fire going and was propping a spitted young igoatel to roast in the heat.

“When did you catch that?” Asked Feagrim.

“This morning, as I was walking through the woods before Badgernag started the fuss. There’s a new colony of them I’ve been trying to control before they become a nuisance.”

Feagrim pulled his leftover breakfast out of his satchel and laid it out between them. The bread wasn’t warm anymore, but it was still fresh and soft. They snacked in silence while the igoatel cooked and the sky grew darker.

In the growing dark, Feagrim looked up through the trees and watched the starflies spreading in the sky. Asbjorn was turning the meat to roast the other side. He pulled coals closer with a charred stick. Feagrim yawned, lulled by the warmth of the fire. He started to stretch and stopped, confused. Asbjorn had also frozen, firelight played on his alert expression. There was a faint sound. They heard it again, it was a voice, and it was almost unintelligible except for the pitch and seeming panic.

In one smooth movement, Asbjorn stood and dashed towards the road. Sluggishly, Feagrim followed, loosening his swords as he dodged through the screen of brush. He lost sight of Asbjorn. Seconds later he burst out into the open and nearly into several short, hunched humanoid creatures.

He staggered, trying to halt his headlong sprint. Startled, they turned towards the intruder and blades flashed. Feagrim jerked at his swords and sparks flew as the enemies’ weapons met his own before he could even get them clear of the scabbards. A sharp whistle flew past his ear and an arrow appeared the eye of the green-skinned creature in front of him. It clawed at its face feebly and fell forwards into Feagrim’s legs forcing him to jump to one side and collide with another. Goblins, a dozen or more hemmed Feagrim in. His blood rand cold as the nightmare that plagued him played before his waking eyes.

The voice came again, very close by. “Help! Anyone!” In terror, it wailed.

Another arrow whistled by, followed by a meaty slap and gurgle. Feagrim pressed in the direction of the voice, slashing at the goblins that barred his path. He clove the head of one, and with his left drove the point of his shortsword through the breast of another. A goblin ducked under his arm and slammed its ax into his ribs. Breath flew from Feagrim’s lips, but the jerkin held. He kicked the goblin away and flicked his longsword low, opening the arteries in its groin. Another lunged at him. He barely brought the shortsword up in time. The goblin spun away, the flesh of its temple pressed into the cracked bone.

“No!” the voice shrieked, “get off me!” The voice was feminine.

Fire flew up Feagrim’s back. He lunged into the mass of Goblins and laid around him with his longsword. Three, four more fell as he pressed forwards in the direction of the voice. The slick ground threatened to betray his footing. He thrust forwards with a vengeance, sweeping another goblin off its feet, and leaving another staggering, the head dangling by a scrap of flesh.

Through the gloom, he saw her. She had her back to a tree and was wobbling, barely able to stand. In each hand, she bore a dagger, one longer than the other. At her feet were two dead goblins. Her dress was spattered with gore and her shoulder-length hair was matted with sweat. Blood trickled down her arm. More goblins prepared to rush her from the sides. She turned her head to the sky, her cheeks wet from streaming tears.

“Why won’t I be saved?” she gasped as she staggered, trying to remain standing.

A flash of memory clouded Feagrim’s eyes. Cruel laughter rang in his ears. Taunts echoed over and over. He shut them out and charged through the last goblins. They slashed at him. He felt tugging on his skin as their blades found flesh. Feagrim forced his way through and stood between the girl and their assailants. She slumped to the ground. The goblins rushed them.

Feagrim’s swords flashed, again and again, sending goblin after goblin spinning, falling, gurgling, spraying blood. He bled from a dozen wounds and his arms grew heavy. The ground under his feet was soaked with blood and other things. His lungs burned. A great shadow loomed before him as their leader raised a great ax over his head. Feagrim lashed out, spending the last of his strength. A spark flew through the air as his blade struck true, opening the great goblin’s stomach sending its intestines to the ground at his feet. He looked up at the slack-jawed face to see a dagger buried to the crossguard in its throat. Slowly the standing corpse fell backward.

The last of the goblins, fell back, scrambling for the woods. For several long moments, he listened to the goblins crashing through the trees. Feagrim fell to his knees, gasping to catch his breath. He released the swords to put his hands out to catch his fall. They encountered smooth fabric instead of muddy ground. The surface was warm and yielding. A very feminine yelp pierced his ears and small hands pushed him away. He tried to shake off the haze.

“Sorry miss,” Feagrim mumbled, “don’t mean to hurt you, it’s just too dark to see. I think they gave up; we might be safe for now.” He tried to clear goblin corpses away, but quickly the small hands grabbed his again.

“Th-thank you,” the voice was small and trembling, “please, let me get to know you a little before you touch me like that.”

Feagrim jerked his hands back. “I’m so sorry!”

A sudden flare of light came nearby, and Asbjorn stood illuminated under a torch.

“Well, well. I always did hear a little life and death fight could make you frisky, but most folks get cleaned up beforehand,” said Asbjorn.

Feagrim squinted in the light. He and the girl were tangled with goblin corpses. Her dress was disheveled and several large, bloody handprints were on her thighs and chest. She raised a hand to shield her eyes and squealed in shock.

“Its Feagrim!” She exclaimed. With a tremendous squirm, she freed her legs of the mess of bodies and lept at him. “You’re alive!”

Feagrim was nearly bowled over as the girl threw herself at him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and cried into his tunic. Through the tears, she thanked him over and over. Baffled, he looked down to see the girl was Eorrid.

Asbjorn cleared his throat noisily. “Come on kids, get down to the water and clean up. I’ll put more wood on the fire so come back to dry off and don’t take too long.” He stooped to prop the torch between two of the corpses and walked away into the darkness.

Feagrim pushed Eorrid back. “Asbjorn’s right, we need to wash off the blood.”

Eorrid wiped at her tears and nodded. She looked up at him and gave a thin smile.

Feagrim wrestled his legs out of the rapidly decomposing goblins. He stood and picked up his swords before helping Eorrid to her feet as well. Together they found her dirk and pulled the dagger from the goblin leader. Taking the torch, he led the way to the brook and braced it between some rocks. Without hesitation, he stripped off his cloak, jerkin, and tunic and started to rinse the gore out of them in the water. He winced loudly when the water hit his wounds, but he carefully made sure they were cleaned out. When he didn’t hear accompanying splashes, he looked around for Eorrid. He saw her standing nervously to one side. Frowning, he stood up, water streaming down his skin, soaking his trousers.

“It’s not going to wash itself off, you know.”

“That’s not, um, well. . .” she stammered.

Feagrim sighed and rubbed his eyes. Catrine never had a problem showing skin. “Years of watching me, and now for whatever reason you come chasing after me, you throw yourself at me the minute you realize it’s me and now you’re going to be shy?”

Eorrid stared at the ground, blushing. “This is all new and not something I expected.” She glanced up furtively. “Are all those bruises. . .” she trailed off.

“Gifts from your brother. Except for this one.” Feagrim tapped his ribs gingerly where the goblin ax was turned by his jerkin.

She flinched. “Eadryth gave me a potion to heal some of mine, but it didn’t heal everything. Even when I wash I still don’t feel clean.”

“I’ll bet she gave you more than just a potion,“ Feagrim snapped. Then more gently he said, “We all have to bear a little dirt, it’s part of living. Right now, you’re splattered with goblin blood and other things that will make you sick if you don’t get it off. If you’re not comfortable washing up while I’m doing the same ask yourself if you want to be left alone here, in the dark after what just happened. You’re lucky to have the chance at a second life.” Feagrim sat on a rock and took off his boots. “It’s not too late to go back to Dawnwick . . .” he trailed off as he looked back up at Eorrid who was standing just a few feet away, her fists clenched at her sides, shaking.

“I’m coming with you,” she said quietly. She walked into the brook where he had been washing his tunic and began to pull off her dress.

He was shocked at how thin and pale she was. Too thin, fragile, he thought and averted his gaze. Feagrim quietly picked up his boots and moved farther downstream. Keeping his back to her he called over his shoulder, “Let me know when you’re ready to go up to the fire.” He disrobed and finished washing off the blood and rising it out of his trousers. He was struggling back into his wet clothes when he heard her.

“I-I’m ready,” Eorrid called, her voice shaking.

He turned around to see a wet and rather bedraggled Eorrid, but it looked like she’d washed up as good as anyone can in a brook. He came back and picked up the torch. She was having a hard time meeting his gaze.

Together they walked past what was left of the goblin corpses and crossed the road into the underbrush. After a few moments, Feagrim could make out the light from the fire. Asbjorn had built it up much higher. They walked into the clearing and Feagrim tossed the nearly spent torch into the fire. Shivering, Eorrid quickly sat by the fire and held her hands to the heat. Feagrim sat by his pack and opening his satchel pulled out clean clothes and ointments to deal with his wounds.

Asbjorn broke the silence. “You are not the one I expected to see out in the woods.”

“I needed to make things right,” said Eorrid. “I can’t stand it that my brother does these things and won’t abide by it any longer.” Her voice strengthened. “That is not what my family should be like and I don’t have a place for him.” She looked to Feagrim, “I want to do whatever it takes to make up for the torment and the years he stole from you.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility to take onto yourself,” said Feagrim. “Your brother will meet his own fate someday. He very nearly did today. If not for Asbjorn,” Feagrim paused, “well, with all the other recent things I’m certain I wouldn’t have been able to restrain myself.”

“After last night I would have rejoiced,” whispered Eorrid. “When I heard you were leaving, it felt like I had no reason to stay either and I had to find you.”

“I want an explanation why I was the reason you left Dawnwick,” said Feagrim. “It was terrible you had to see your brother get cut down, I heard your scream.”

She wrung her hands. “I am so, so sorry I couldn’t warn you about his intention to murder you in time.”

“You needn’t worry about such a thing with him,” Asbjorn hooked a thumb towards Feagrim. “Again, I wasn’t expecting you to be in the woods. Back then,” he paused to look at her carefully, “you were pretty banged up and limping. When I saw your house don’t think I didn’t see torn cloth on the floor and furniture that had been moved around. Just try and tell me Badgersnatch didn’t do something foul.”

Eorrid buried her face in her hands. “The night Feagrim fought with his father, the blacksmith came by and said he was looking for someone, but we weren’t them. After he left my brother started raving about how he figured out who it was and how he was going to make sure Feagrim would never come back. I tried to talk him out of it, to get him to wait until it wasn’t raining and he turned on me.” She looked up at Feagrim. “It wasn’t the first time he hit me or tried to force himself on me. If not for what Auntie taught me things would have been much worse. But it still hurts so much, like he takes part of me, rips it away, and dangles it in front of my face, gloating.” Fresh tears began to trickle down her cheeks. “I pray for death every time and the only thing that brings me back is remembering that someone had the strength to stand up again and again. I couldn’t bear it to think if I could do something and didn’t just because I’d let my brother win. So I ran out of the house and village not knowing what I might get into, only that I could warn you and I had to do everything possible to reach you in time and I failed.”

“With the ordeal Garmer put you through it's amazing you got out there at all,” said Feagrim.

“But I failed you again!” she cried. “I went back with my brother, I didn’t stay with you!” She wiped at her tears, stood up, and knelt at Feagrim’s feet. She hugged his legs. “When I saw you fall I thought all the hope I had died with you. I didn’t scream for my brother, I screamed because I thought I lost you! It took getting scolded by Eadryth to make me realize just how much you mean. To her.” She looked up at him, “and to me!” She buried her face in his lap.

Feagrim looked at Asbjorn who was deliberately not looking his way and was busying himself with the fire and testing the roasted igoatel. He sighed quietly and tabled his own thoughts. Gently he stroked her hair until she calmed down.