When Hazel returns with the water, Sol goes to work on scrubbing this evening's dinnerware. She fills a large wooden tub with water, then proceeds to add shavings of what looks and smells of lye. Placing the dishes in the basin to soak, she procures a second tub of water to rinse.

It's truly fascinating, something so simple as cleaning dishes, the way Sol goes about the task. Such menial labor here outside of home. In a way, it was soothing, witnessing something so... normal. Especially after so many things about the Outlands that are foreign to me.

After setting the bowls aside to dry, we settle onto a roughly-hewn settee in the den, my mind buzzing with questions for my host. Hazel sits across the room, fiddling with a small doll with hair of straw.

Sol shifts and unrolls a swath of brilliant colors, her work from earlier. Her fingers go at the knots, alternating colors every few rows.

"Why do you think Summus Aspen wants Markee?" I ask the older woman, the words feeling strange on my tongue.

"I do not think it is a matter of why he wants her, but what he wants from her," Sol replies, her fingers never faltering in their work.

Her words make me uneasy, for a man to be so cunning only makes things worse.

I take a calming breath. "And what do you think that is?"

"An answer."

At my silent ponderance, she raises an eyebrow. "And your next question will be..."

A small grin splits my face. "An answer to what?"

Sol's hands pause. "Surviving has been more difficult for us each summer that passes. Our crops are not always enough, and with such little game still in the area, it is a wonder that we are not yet starving." She closes her eyes for a brief moment, and when she opens them, they seem to be reflecting on a distant past. "Not all will survive the year."

"But... what power does Markee have to stop that?" It doesn't make sense to me.

She drops her stitching and meets my eye. "Only the Summus has the answer to that. Tomorrow, I will bring you to him."

Hope makes my heart swell. This woman, a practical stranger, is willing to go out of her way to help me. An outsider to her culture, her people. I can tell by her determined hazel gaze that she means it.

"How can I ever repay you? You have already done so much for me."

"Survive. Whatever is to come, you must survive it."

I wonder if all Outlanders speak in such cryptic ways.

◊ ◊ ◊

Sol insists that we leave when the sun has risen fully above the horizon, which means I'm spending my first night in the Outlands.

Sol has given me her bed, the one I first woke up in. I comb my fingers through my sweat-matted hair and wince, wishing for my hairbrush from home.

As I settle onto the pallet, I briefly question my safety at being lost to slumber in a stranger's home. The thought is quickly brushed aside by Sol's warm eyes as she enters the room. She is offering me refuge, nourishment, and a soft place to sleep. It may be otherwise foolish to be so naive in this situation, but I feel like Sol truly understands what I'm trying to do. Not only that, but she has decided to guide me toward Markee. I can't help but wonder where her generosity comes from.

"Can I ask you something?" I ask Sol as she sits beside me on the cot. She grins, knowing my questions have no end. I don't know how to phrase what I want to say without seeming rude, so I just come out with it.

"Why are you helping me?"

Sol's gaze intensifies, and it feels as if she is looking right through me. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle in uncomfortable awareness. She puts a calming hand on my arm and speaks in a voice so soft, I have to focus to hear.

"There's something inside you, Sophie. Something special."

I blink, confused. That was not what I expected to hear. In fact, in all of my existence, those words have never been spoken of me. I'm an average girl of Herald, with average grades, and less-than average experience.

I am not special.

No, that would be Markee; me, her shadow.

So for Sol, an Outlander who has known me less than half a day, to say these words to me, I am immediately disbelieving. Sol sees the denial in my eyes, and I shake my head to tell her so, but she continues.

"How many young girls have ventured past that wall?" She asks me.

I rack my brain, but have no idea how to answer her. There is no knowledge of anyone in Herald who has gone past the wall willingly, much less who has made it back to tell the tale. I didn't think anyone was that stupid, but look at where I am.

"Seeing your people out here isn't exactly common, but we still get quite a few visitors," Sol grins. "Though, none as young and brave as you." The surprise is evident on my face and her gaze softens.

"You, and all of the people in this village here... you're not hateful, or--or violent at all, are you?" It's not a question, but a realization. One I can finally admit aloud.

Something in Sol's eyes wilt. "We are all trying to survive, just like you."

She squeezes my hand and leaves to make her pallet, leaving me to my thoughts.

As I lay there, my gaze unfocused on the rough-cut beams above me, my mind drifts through the forest, over the wall, and into Herald. I know exactly how my parents would take the news of my disappearance--I saw it first hand with Rhett. It starts with the shock. I pity the civil militia whose job it is to deliver the blow. After the initial shock, there will be screaming--loud, distraught, unwilling to believe this has happened again. Lastly, the tears. The anguish at losing the last of their children. This time, the healing may never happen.

I'm sorry, Mom and Dad. My eyes blur with unshed tears. I have to do this, and I have to succeed.

When Sol puts out the last oil-burning lamp and I'm plunged into darkness, the day finally catches up with me. The darkness doesn't last long, because I dream of Markee's red hair, golden sunlight, warmth of feeling special, and eyes as green as the trees.