Sol and I spend the next hour packing my leather satchel with provisions for the coming journey. She replenishes my food rations with two loaves of flat bread, dehydrated fruits and vegetables, cheese, a few sugary clumps of whole oats, and a few strips of dried meat. When Sol informs me that we will eventually have to gather and hunt, I get the feeling this will be a much longer trip than the one to Keir.

Sol also lends me a change of clothes. She insists I'll take them for extra insulation, if not to rest my current attire: denim shorts and sky-blue tank from my wardrobe at home, which I've been wearing three days straight. Along with that, she straps a bedroll to me like a backpack.

Coen hands me a package of bandages for "just in case." I'm grateful to him for thinking of such a thing; I have no doubt that I will use it.

"Sophie," Sol takes my hand in hers. In it, she places a small, reddish-brown rock. I look at it, confused. What would I do with a rock? Not wanting to offend her, I smile and take it, slipping it into my satchel.

"Harbor no illusions," she says, grasping my hand once again and squeezing. The touch is a comfort to my growing bundle of nerves. "It will be a dangerous journey. Trust Luke. And remember what I said before," Sol's eyes pierce mine with a meaningful intensity. "Survive."

Our conversation is interrupted by a brief knock at the door. It opens, and Luke stands in the doorway, a leather bag similar to mine slung across his shoulder.

"Aunt Sol," he greets, and she leaves me to wrap him in a warm embrace. Right, Sol is Luke's aunt. His mother was her sister. I guess it hadn't occurred to me that this was the nephew Rik was talking about.

Clive practically tackles Luke when Sol releases him. Luke deftly shifts milliseconds before impact and grasps him in a headlock, grinding his knuckles into Clive's head. I smile at the camaraderie.

"Come on, Luke! I give! I give!" Clive pleads, flailing under his arm. When Luke releases him, Clive rubs his head, grimacing in Luke's direction.

"You never learn," Coen says, shaking his head in disappointment. He definitely seems like the responsible brother.

"Where's the fun in that?" Clive counters. He holds his hand out to Luke. "Here, I'll refill your canteen as a prize."

A minute later, Clive returns with the canteen and gifts me with a second canteen heavy with water. I'm hit again by the hospitality I've stumbled into when I ran into the Outlands. I dare not think of how different things would have been if I had encountered anyone else. What would happen if I had crossed paths with a Skinwalker instead?

Neither Luke nor I have acknowledged the other's presence since his arrival. The Summus ordered him to be my guide, but I guess that doesn't mean we're going to be friends.

I take the time to study the man I'll be spending the next who-knows-how-many days with. The Subter of Kier. Luke Aspen. A hunter. A man.

A man.

A different kind of nervousness is added to my anxiety. It makes me feel restless, like I need to run a mile. Or two.

While his attention is focused on securing the canteen in his pack, I inspect his figure. He's as tall as I remember, his form towering nearly a foot above me. His long, lean limbs give him the look of a swimmer. Which is ridiculous, it's not like there are swimming pools in the Outlands. But then the image of Luke cutting through the serene water of a blue lake invades my mind, and I wonder if his sun-lightened hair is as soft as it looks.

Where did that come from? I feel my cheeks warm at my own thoughts. This is no time to be checking out a near-stranger. And an Outlander at that.

Especially when this particular Outlander finally turns his attention to me. I nearly shudder beneath the cold, emotionless gaze he bestows upon me, so different from the frustration and annoyance he showed during our first meeting.

"It's time."

These are the only two words he graces me with before turning toward the door.

Not one for goodbyes, I assume, judging by personal experience.

Embodying the complete opposite, I fling my arms around Sol. I squeeze her with all the strength I can muster, trying my hardest to put all of my affection and gratitude in the hug. You never know when life will separate you from those you care about. Sometimes permanently.

Coen wishes me luck, and when Clive ruffles my hair, it reminds me of Miles. I miss him. I wonder how he's holding up, if his wounds are healing okay. I hope he isn't worrying about me too much, but I know he is.

With a final wave, I follow Luke. He's several paces ahead of me, and I realize that he has no intention of waiting up for me. I rush to catch up with his quick gait.

It's mid-morning by the time we're navigating the forest surrounding Keir. Even under the shaded canopy, the summer heat is unforgiving. We've been walking for nearly twenty minutes and I'm already drenched in sweat. If it wasn't for the humidity, I don't think I would be this uncomfortable.

I remember Sol's advice from before and cover the back of my neck to save it from sunburn. From my viewpoint, I can see the tanned skin exposed above Luke's collar. I gather that he doesn't burn often, with such dark pigment to protect him from ultraviolet light.

Luke navigates the trees a few steps in front of me. He walks, I follow. Nothing is said. When I'm not watching the ground to make sure I don't trip on the copious undergrowth, my eyes are glued to his back. A bow and quiver is slung across it, the striped feather fletching catching my eye. Did he make them himself? And what of the bird? Did he hunt the fowl for dinner, and pluck its feathers to make for hunting more?

I have little trouble imagining him crafting the materials by hand as I have yet to meet an Outlander who doesn't take advantage of the natural resources.

We continue this way for the better part of an hour, until my curiosity gets the best of me. That, and the thought of spending this entire journey in silence.

"What kind of bird was it?" I ask, interrupting the silence between us. After the words are out of my mouth, I realize how out-of-context the question is, and I mentally slap myself. "The feathers. On your arrows," I clarify, blushing.

For the next few seconds, only the crunch, crunch of our footsteps are heard. Just when I begin to think he won't reply, he does.

"Turkey."

Oh-kay. So what if he doesn't want to elaborate? He at least answered my question, which is more than I expected in the first place.

Still, I feel uncomfortable with the silence between us. With Sol, we shared a companionable silence, both of us were comfortable in each other's presence. All Luke and I are sharing right now is awkwardness. It's like wearing shoes on the wrong feet.

"I haven't officially introduced myself," I stammer, attempting to fill the lull.

Wow, I must be desperate. Especially to pull that dumb line out of some dusty corner of my stupid brain. Nice going, Sophie.

"I know who you are," Luke all but grunts, clearly unamused with my attempt at conversation.

Yeah, well this isn't fun for me either, buddy!

Giving up for the time being, I resign myself to the robotic motions of trekking through the woods. Left foot, step. Right foot, step. Why can't there be an easy, clear path like the one I took to Keir? Then I wouldn't be swatting ferns and other underbrush away from my face just to see the ground.

There are countless things to trip over: tree roots, small plants, and vines, the latter of which happen to be the worst. More vines have looped themselves around the toe of my shoes than all the rest combined. The harmless-looking little leafy vines have stems of steel to trip me up and make me eat dirt.

All this high-stepping makes my thigh muscles burn, and the pace Luke sets doesn't help. I'd rather eat dirt every day for the rest of my life than ask him to slow down. After the millionth time I stumble, Luke stops.

He turns and looks at me like I've just stolen his favorite toy.

"Could you be any louder?" he barks.

"Excuse me?" I haven't said anything in the past hour!

"Look, when you take a step, try and roll your foot from heel to toe," he instructs. "Maybe then you won't sound like a stampeding elephant."

Oh no he did not.

"You can't just go around comparing people to elephants." I cross my arms, appropriating a defensive posture. This man was getting on my nerves. "That's not nice."

"I don't have to be nice, princess." Oh, how I hate that eight-letter word.

Why am I putting up with this again?

Oh yeah. To free Markee.

Sol was right: this will be a dangerous journey. We may kill each other before we make it to the end.