The brothers received the news in a state of shock. They were standing in Nana's kitchen, Groggy the goat nibbled quietly on the Guards cloak. Fortunately, Nana was out, making arrangements for their soon-to-be guest, to stay with them. That's when the guard showed up with a letter of notice.

"Serpents Bend! Now? At the start of Winter! You must be mad to think we would brave the roads in such weather. Aren't the Early Storms omen enough!?" Vir shouted. Tolan, clearly disturbed by the news was silently offering prayers for his kin.

"Tolan, Say something, this is Madness!" Vir was shaking Tolan with a clenched fist.

"Calm yourself, Brother, there are ways to traverse without running afoul of Mountain storms. The season is just beginning, we still have some days of good weather and light ahead of us if we hurry," he said, forcing his voice to remain at an even calm.

"We will require time to gather supplies, and I don't think our-" He glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping figure. "Guest is in any condition to travel quite yet. Wouldn't you agree?"

His words held a minor sway over the guard that had been sent to deliver the notice "These Orders are from the Judge himself, You have no grounds to refute them." He grimaced, Tolan didn't have an answer to that, but Vir had a response.

"Did he say when we had to leave?" Vir growled the tone made the man reach for their weapons, but Tolan calmed them saying "A good point, When are we stated to leave then? "

They looked down at the official document and searched its contents.

"No, it does not say. Merely that you are ordered to bring yourselves and the Stranger to the Blessed in Serpents Bend, for the Ritual of Honey and Flowers" he grumbled, clearly not enthused in having to put up with questions.

"Well, given that Winter has fallen. It would be prudent to wait for the Spring, I see no Fault in that. However, as such. I will make a point of noting. That if you are not gone from Pine Rest before the next week, I will have you for Disobedience towards a Courtly Verdict. Understand?" Tolan forced his Brother to humble himself and bow to the Judge.

"Good, now. If this matter is done with. I see no reason to keep you here any longer. You have a business to attend to, as do I. Good Day." and with that, the guardsmen left the house confines, pulling his cloak from the goat's mouth, and into the temperate air of the afternoon.

"Well, now what?" Vir demanded. Tolan looked at him and said. "Now Brother, we plan for the journey ahead of us." Vir sighed in helpless surrender.

"Where do we start?" he asked flatly.

"We'll need the sled and food," Tolan thought for a moment. "And a harness for the goat." Vir smiled at the thought of that.

"That's where we'll begin," Tolan replied.

Althea laid awake, secretly observing the strange men that had taken her in, they had placed her on a cot and covered her with a thick quilted blanket. Thankfully they hadn't touched her harshly or tried to remove her coats. That she knew of, her mind dismissed the disturbing thought.

Sleep pressed her like a slave driver, but she fought him bitterly, as her breathing struggled to stay slow and imperceptible to the prying eyes around her.

The fiery Od that had sustained her this long was strained and near breaking, only food would replenish her vital flame. But she was too fearful to as to trust these strangers and their rough words, not until she could make them understand.

The one from before, with the soft words, she didn't know if she could trust him yet. But it seemed he would be her best chance. The other seemed cut from a cruder cloth. Fear intruded and pushed her thoughts into the harsh realization of her surroundings.

She was far beyond her people's lands, she could not feel the pull of her mountain home. Various modes were surrounding her, one sharp and grizzly, like a timber wolf or a puma, the second was steady but mournful. like the sound of a weeping brook.

These two were the closest, and yet she could barely feel their vitality. She tried to feel the lands around her, something to draw strength from, but the entire air and the earth itself felt, brittle or crushed, like something underfoot, it was an oppressive sensation that purveyed the land's breath.

She made an effort to steady her breathing again, the Ode inside her faltered and waned painfully. Soon she would be at the mercy of these, outlanders. It frightened her to the core.

Her Ode faltered again, the fear turning and tightening the Gordian knots deep inside her stomach, she would have to release it soon, else it could snap and leave her helpless without aid.

Aid that was worlds away, if Her Od broke here, it would be possibly never come back.

She held the power a moment longer, trying to eke out just one last drop of stability and warmth from it before she was forced to release it. The result was instantaneous.

The hunger began to gnaw at the corners of her mind, like many ants crawling there, or crumbling sand giving way to a pitiless void. She would have to release it soon, Her Od was breaking, Burning inside her. Finally, she yielded Her Od slackened and cooled, like a burning wire cooled in water, twisting and shrieking as it did.

She winced at the shape of it, such damage would take days or weeks to heal properly, to bind itself back together. Weeks of helplessness, afraid and powerless, deprived of a fundamental substance. As necessary as air, the lack of which no strangled her. She took a breath struggling to breathe.

The first thing she felt, was cold.

Shivering inside her thick clothes as the hollowness of her stomach began to roar like a beast unchained. The Pain tightened again, the Hunger, Starvation's hand burst through into her fearful mind. It was sickly and unbearable, like a disease wasting away at her innards. As if a buzzard was eating her alive in piecemeal bites

It was such that desperation held open her eyes and gave a hunted gaze towards anything that could be called food. Her senses gave up a lump of bread and a bowl cold, something. Which she wolfed down desperately and improperly. Choking down the last crust of bread, Water became her next target, her gaze swung and landed on a cup. In a rough-looking man's hand.

She hesitated for a moment, but thirst and hunger got desperation got the best of her and she near tore the drink from his hand trying to gulp it down. The cool liquid soothed in her throat as some right thought returned to her even as she spilled the drink across her chest. Gasping down air she felt something settle inside her, a fear calmed, now that survival had been assured for the moment.

Looking towards her host, it was clear that she'd taken him by some surprise. Looking about sheepishly she saw that the rough-looking man was sitting at a table, with an old woman and a second, younger man that might have been his brother. A small family of barbarians, now starring at her in shock.

She gave a small cough and attempted to set herself. Properly, as she should have.

"I- I am Althea of the Honorable House Charcoal, under Head Elder Smoking Pine. Thank you for rescuing me." The object of her gratitude merely stared at her, one of them loosed a string of garbled words in a rough tongue that she didn't know. She felt her lip twitch in agitation.

Of Course, foreign and barbaric lands, how could she have forgotten? Perhaps,

She tried to stir her merger Od, but the thing had shrunken up into its kernel stage and wouldn't budge. She would have to repeat the Budding all over. And it was such a pain the first time.

She decided to try something else, A trade language shared by the House Elders and the Shepards below in the Mountains valley. Perhaps that would be of more use here.

Her grasp on the tenants of the language was, lacking, but desperation wasn't something she was accustomed to either, and she at least could carry a rough conversation with her father this way.

She took a breath, remembered the words, and repeated her greeting to the men there. When they failed to respond to that, her hope plummeted even further.

Where in all the Gods and Elders was she that they didn't speak in the language of the Mountain or the Valley? Just how far had her captors taken her? How would she get back? What would her Father say, this could ruin the entire proceedings with House Tranquil Lake and-

The thought of the rival house brought up a very important detail.

"Ye Gods, The Wedding!" She muttered and cursed.

Her union with Elder Salmons's grandson, Red Fish, was supposed to be happening this Summers's Eve! And at this rate, it would take her a year or more to find her way back to the Mountain, let alone find her Father and explain everything.

The whole world seemed to swirl about her head as it all rushed forward into her contemplation. It was a perfect storm of confusion and fearful scatterings.

She took a breath, Steady yourself, feels the ground, Breath, Become a mountain. Her mothers' words guided her back to safety. She could feel the wood planks beneath her feet, the heat in the air, the smell of fire and smoke in the corner, and the crude bed beneath her and the three, very nice and charitable people, in front of her. She could get through to them, she had to.

Steadied now, she was ready to try again and communicate.

First, she took a breath, because she was exhausted completely now. She sat straight up and began again.

"I am Althea," she stated simply, She could work them up to titles later, right now, getting her plight crossed was more important. She gauged their faces in the dim light. Nothing

The Old woman rose and stalked towards the stove, poured herself a bowl of hot soup, she guessed, and then stomped back. She placed it on the table and pushed it towards her. giving an eye full to the two men around her

She balked a second, Not what she wanted. What, was she in a village where women held more power than Men? That would help, but without a common language, comically useless to her.

She almost said something, but she was suddenly hungry again. The spiced smell alone had caught her stomach's attention. A Pained and pathetic sound like a moaning pup, stretching its grubby hands towards the rough wooden bowl on the table.

Traitor.

She was eating before she could protest her actions. Talking could wait, she concluded. tonight. Food and rest. She'd badger them all into proper speaking later.

Taking another slurp of the broth, she pushed the bowl back as it was emptied. Another one appeared, and she found herself at a disadvantage to the foreign cooking.

If she had to complain about something, too many root vegetables. Made the soup taste strange, but the taste of the unfamiliar meat stock was deliciously savory and countered it well.

Even barbarians like to eat well apparently.