“Your brother is alive, right?” asked Feagrim.

Eorrid kept her face buried in his thighs as she nodded. “I don’t care about him anymore,” she mumbled.

Asbjorn dropped a log on the fire. “You left Feagrim because I told you to. You had no business out here in the condition you were in. It was better to make you believe you had a responsibility to save your brother and get your attention off Feagrim.” Asbjorn stood and pointed at the hole in Feagrim’s pack. “I knew the bolt didn’t go through it. Sure it knocked him off balance as he was trying to get away from Badgersnatch. I didn’t know whether he’d hit his head or was playing possum. None of this was planned. Your brother was saved, for better or worse, from being goblin food, which is what he intended to be Feagrim’s fate.” Asbjorn’s face became very stern. “It was very nearly yours tonight! You’re out here again and without anything. You have no food, no shelter, or even a cloak. I see you found weapons and brought a purse this time. How are you going to eat, stay warm, or dry?”

“Asbjorn,” Feagrim started, “the knives are mine. I arranged for them to be kept with Derntor. When the goblins raided town and mother was slain, I set aside weapons for myself and Eadryth, though I was sure she would handle that herself. And for Eorrid as a last resort. My guess is with all that happened, Derntor decided to give them to her.”

“She’s going to have a hard time of it without equipment,” said Asbjorn, “she needs to go back to Dawnwick and see to her affairs. This is no place for an inexperienced girl running on emotions.”

Eorrid whirled angrily at Asbjorn, firelight danced in her eyes. She thrust a lock of hair away from her face. “I will not! I’ll do my share and make do with what I have! You forget my menagerie! I’ve come to the forest many times before to gather food and herbs. Eadryth gave me this before she bade me go.” She brandished a satchel, very similar to Feagrim’s battered one. “She said it was meant to be part of the things she packed for Feagrim and didn’t because he’d be too lazy to use it.”

Asbjorn folded his arms across his chest. “Fine, be stubborn.”

Feagrim’s eyes went from Eorrid’s satchel to his own. “I think I have something of yours.” He reached into the satchel and felt around in the dark for a moment.

Eorrid’s eyes went wide as Feagrim pulled out something slender that shone in the firelight. A few strands of red-brown hair fluttered from it. Her hand lingered in his as she grasped it and her eyes flicked up to his. Feagrim’s stomach growled. She quickly backed away and slipped the hairpin back into place. She turned towards the fire and fell quiet.

“Very well,” said Asbjorn, “Stormfort is only a couple days’ travel. It’ll be a longer trek because both of you are injured. We’ll just have to push through.” He bent and started cutting into the igoatel. Juices flowed down his blade and glistened in the flickering light. Feagrim shared out the cheese and bread he’d taken from his family’s pantry. Feagrim and Eorrid’s clothes steamed in the heat of the fire while they ate in silence.

Feagrim broke the quiet. “I think this may be the first time I’ve had a meal, at least in a good long while, when I could relax. I was always watching over my shoulder for some surprise or trick from Garmer.”

“Famous last words lad,” Asbjorn said, “you aren’t in town, there are other things out here. Don’t let your guard down too much.”

“What things?” Asked Eorrid, “I haven’t been able to get away from my brother for a while to look for berries and things.”

“Besides the goblins? Most of the smaller threats have cleared out because of them, right?” Asked Feagrim.

“That is so. There are things that don’t consider goblins much of a problem like ursars. What makes it worse, is since the smaller things they would normally hunt have either left, gone into hiding, or been eaten by the goblins, they are having trouble keeping their bellies full. Same goes for the hunters around Dawnwick. When we get to Stormfort I’ll need to see when the next expedition is.”

“Expedition,” snorted Feagrim, “there was one just a few months ago.” He threw a bone into the fire angrily.

Eorrid looked at Feagrim in alarm, then confusion. “What is this expedition you’re talking about?”

“Stormfort, and the other cities that have a branch of the Adventurer’s Guild, send patrols into the countryside,” said Asbjorn.

“The last one to Dawnwick did the best job ever.” snapped Feagrim sarcastically.

“If you think you can do a better job, then sign up,” said Asbjorn around a bite of bread.

Feagrim bowed his head. “Forgive me, I know it's hard to clear out all the monsters, and their leader was definitely capable of handling the task. I just can’t help but think if they’d come sooner, or something, maybe Dawnwick would have been spared the raid. Maybe I could have worked things out with mother.”

Eorrid turned to face Feagrim. He was staring into the fire, his jaw clenched. “You’re not alone anymore.” She reached out and touched his leg. “I said I was coming with you and I mean it. You saved me from being torn apart by the goblins which is another reason for me to do all I can for you.”

Asbjorn cleared his throat. “Right now, your ‘All I can do’ needs to be getting some rest. You two have had a tough day, I’ll take the first watch.”

Eorrid gathered her dress around her and started to lay down by the fire.

Feagrim jerked the strings that held a thick roll of canvas to the bottom of the pack. He pulled it free and unrolled it. Inside was a large, thick blanket. He placed the square of canvas by the fire and threw the blanket on top of it.

“Take it.” He said to Eorrid. “You’ll get sick laying there like that. Roll up in the blanket and flip the edge of the canvas over yourself to keep the dew off.”

“I...I can’t do that, you need it.” she stammered.

“He’s right,” said Asbjorn. “You need to stay healthy. He’s spent time out of doors, a few nights in a cloak is nothing new.”

Feagrim sat on a rock by the fire. “I’d really rather not have to carry you all the way to Stormfort because you can’t walk on your own. If you’re slowed down it’ll take even longer and that’s more chances for something worse to happen. Take the bedroll, my cloak is enough this time of year.”

Eorrid reluctantly crawled over to the blanket and started to unfold it.

Asbjorn whistled. “That’s big enough for two in a pinch. It’ll be warmer if you fold it in half first.”

Feagrim watched as she fumbled with the blanket. He wondered if Eadryth had planned to go against her father’s wishes and run away to come after him. He also wondered what quirk of fate pushed Eorrid on him. A vision of her washing up in the brook replayed in his memories and he was again shocked at how thin she was. He shook the memory away because it reminded him how frail his mother was before she was slain. Eorrid was neither frail nor sickly like that. Further, she had enough backbone to run after him not once, but twice, had held off the goblins for at least a few minutes, and still had the fortitude to fling a dagger into the neck of their leader. He’d seen plenty of girls fall limp into a crying heap in the face of Garmer’s bullying. He hoped it was the right thing not to force her back to Dawnwick. He wondered if he would be able to find her Aunt.

Warmed, and feeling mostly dry, he moved away from the fire and pulled his cloak around himself. He laid down where he could just feel some heat and padded his head with an arm. The hood he pulled up and placed a small stick by his chin to prop it open. He closed his eyes and wriggled his hip into the ground a little to get settled. He opened his eyes for one last look around the camp before going to sleep. Eorrid was watching him, her eyes shining in the firelight. Feagrim rolled over, got as comfortable he could, and closed his eyes.

Their camp was barely lit by the last glows of the fire which had burned itself to embers when Feagrim next opened his eyes. Moans and the sound of thrashing came from behind him. He shook the sleep from his eyes and seized his sword from the ground beside him. Sweeping the cloak away, he leaped to his feet. By the side of the fire, Asbjorn held Eorrid to the ground. She moaned incoherently and struggled against him and the tangle of blanket.

Feagrim’s knuckles went white on the grip of his sword. He stepped briskly towards Asbjorn. It was unthinkable he would force himself on Eorrid but the scene before him made him see red. Feagrim prepared to club Asbjorn in the back of the head with the sheathed blade. He was already bringing the weapon down when Eorrid suddenly went limp.

“Brother, no, not this, not again. Don’t want to. Please brother, no . . .” She whimpered, trailing off, her jaw going slack.

Feagrim pulled his stroke and stopped it inches from Asbjorn.

Asbjorn let go of Eorrid and leaned back, breathing heavily. He looked up at Feagrim and startled, said, “easy lad.” He held his empty hands out. “It’s not what you think.”

“You know what I saw when it woke me up.”

“I know what it looked like, and I can’t blame you for thinking it.”

Feagrim looked down at Eorrid, who was now crying in her sleep, a tear trickled down her cheek. The dim light of the fire made her look even paler. The dark rings under her eyes were blacker in the shadows. Long, finger-like bruises lingered in the skin of the slender neck. Her hands clutched the edge of the blanket, while thin, were not bony. The sleep-tumbled red-brown hair glowed around her face. He felt again an impulse not unlike when he was stopping Garmer from abusing others. It was more specific this time. It was Eorrid. She was worth protecting, and he wanted to.

“Well, I’m awake now. I’ll take over watch for a while.”

“Fine by me, lad. I could use a little sleep, but you’re going to need more rest than that.”

“I got this for now,” said Feagrim. The tired ranger turned to go to his beroll. “And Asbjorn?”

“Aye lad?” He paused to look back.

“If you see the same thing . . .” Feagrim trailed off.

He smiled. “I’ll club you in the back of the head too.”

Asbjorn moved away from the fire and laid down on his own blanket. He pulled one corner over his feet and folded the other corners over himself and laid still.

Feagrim stooped over Eorrid. She murmured in her sleep again. Her hands, which had been grasping the blanket tightly, loosened and he pulled the blanket over her shoulders. A tear still glistened in the nook between her eye and nose and he resisted the urge to smooth her hair.

Picking up several small pieces of wood, he added them to the fire. With a stick, he scraped a thin layer of ash over them. Moving away from it, he sat once again on a rock. With his back to the fire, he let his eyes adjust to the dark. He pulled his cloak close against the damp chill and took in the sounds of the night.

He tried to pay attention to the woods but his thoughts kept drifting. His eyes went to his pack. It was heavy and he had not taken the time to see what Eadryth had packed for him. Asbjorn was right, that blanket was far bigger than one traveler would need and the pack was certainly more than enough for a few days in the woods.

Eorrid was mumbling in her sleep again. She kicked at the blanket and squirmed for a moment before going still.

He wondered what extras Eadryth packed in Eorrid’s satchel. It was reasonable to conclude that Eadryth must have had a plan to join him on the way to Stormfort. Maybe she didn’t anticipate the fight with his father or that it would force him to leave early. She must not have been ready or able to join him. Their family income was primarily her mother’s who came from a wealthy family of merchants. Her mother had plans for Eadryth to succeed her business as a merchant. Feagrim looked up through the leaves. Between the gaps, he could make out a few starflies. Patiently he watched them move ever so slowly through the darkness far overhead. He felt insignificant. They used to watch the starflies in the yard by the house before her father forbade them from meeting ever again.

Ruefully, he did agree with her father. She deserved better than, as Master Mason Kursk said, “an indecisive vagabond with nothing better to do than be the personal punching bag of an ill-bred ruffian.” Word about his heavy-handed edict quickly spread through the town. For a while, his wife had to conduct all of the family business claiming he was away overseeing one of the caravans. The fact that most of the tools that were ordered by the Master Mason were made in the Derntor smithy and made at least in part by Feagrim during his unofficial apprentice time wasn’t lost on anyone.

“Well, I guess I’m at least acting like a vagabond now.” Feagrim muttered to himself, “I don’t care for the self-fulfilling prophecy, but I’ve got the boots on so I’ll walk a few miles in them until I can be worthy of her.”

“Go to sleep lad. You’re talking to yourself.” Asbjorn had raised himself on one elbow and was unwrapping his blanket with his free hand.

“Are you sure you’ve had enough rest?”

“It’ll do. I’ve lived on less,” Asbjorn yawned. He slapped his cheeks and sat up. “Go on then, lay over. Can’t have you nodding off on the hike later.”