The packbeasts had been led away to graze on a grassy meadow close to the stream. Farinka and Piet walked across the meadow slowly.

There were perhaps twenty animals in all, including mares and youngstock. All but one were shades of black, bay, dun, brown or chestnut. Farinka's eyes were drawn to the only grey amongst them – a bigger, finer animal than the others, close to pure white with just a hint of silvering here and there, and he looked to be around fifteen hands. None of them were gelded, but in spite of some petty bickering among the other males, none of them approached this one.

Piet laughed when he saw which way she was looking.

"He's no good," he said with a grin.

"Why not?"

"Well, he's a white one. If you've handled so many packbeast – "

"Never one like that," she said.

"You've not had one of these?" Piet asked. "You're lucky. The whites are no good to anyone. They won't be tamed – won't even be caught. You can't even eat 'em – that's the worst luck anyone can bring on himself, so I've heard. You eat a white one and the others will never work for you again. One day soon he'll be off – he'll just go. They always do. Some folk even say it's unlucky to have one around – but I've never found it so. We've had several. Usually one born every couple of years – but then the adults always get to serve the mares they want – the other stallions won't fight 'em for it. Not that they want many; they're unusually choosy."

He stopped and sat on a fallen tree, looking at the beasts.

"The red mare's a good one – but she's got a foal at foot and he's not old enough to wean. You could have any of them, really."

Farinka kept watching the grey colt – for he was not really mature enough to warrant the title of stallion. Perhaps three, maybe four, she thought, looking at him. Ever since she had walked onto the meadow he had been watching her, sometimes out of the corner of his eye while he grazed, sometimes lifting his head and gazing squarely at her.

"I'd like to take him – if he'll let me," she said.

"Well, you being a Seeker might make a difference. There are old, old legends," he added thoughtfully. "You're welcome to try. I tell you now he's never been touched – he certainly won't let me near him. I'll leave you to it. If you can't catch him, pick another. I'll see you back by the hearth, with whatever you bring back." He stood up, looked at the grey thoughtfully, and strolled off in the direction of the village. Farinka noticed that he stopped under the shade of a big tree, almost hiding behind it, to watch her progress.

Farinka cast her Awareness towards the grey, almost as though focussing a spotlight on him. As soon as her mind touched him he lifted his head, instantly Aware of her. A kindred spirit, she found herself thinking. He stopped chewing, blades of grass sticking out from the corner of his lips.

– Well, big fella?

He tipped his head on one side, and chewed thoughtfully. She sensed the lack of fear in his thoughts – and a burning curiosity, almost excitement. He swallowed, and kept his gaze on her.

– Will you let me come to you, big fella?

He dipped his head once – it was so like a nod of assent that she almost laughed. She stood up from the log, leaving behind the rope halter that Piet had left with her, and walked across the meadow. He kept his eyes constantly on her, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his ears pricked, his nostrils flared. She came to a halt a few paces from him.

– Well, I've come to you. Now you come to me.

She held her hands out in front of her, palms inwards.

He took three steps forwards, sniffed at her curiously, and in a sudden gesture of friendship – not quite of submission – lowered his head between her hands as if into the halter that she did not hold.

She rubbed the sides of his head, working her hands up behind his ears and onto his neck, stepping close enough to reach both arms around his neck. He rested his head over her shoulder, blowing sweet grass-scented breath warmly onto her neck, then curled his neck around her and lipped at the jacket, pulling her closer with his jaw.

They stood still for a few moments.

"Why do I get this feeling that you were waiting here for me?" she whispered. "Come on, then. We've got a long way to go together." She patted him, then turned back towards the village, keeping her hand resting on his withers. He trod as quietly beside her as the riding school's Riffie had always done back at home.

Piet was by the hearth when she walked into the village proper, looking as though he had been there for ages. The other men watched curiously as she led the grey over to her house and told him to wait there. One of them walked over towards him, but he laid his ears flat and threatened with one hind leg.

"Don't try to touch him," advised Farinka. "Do you have a brush I could clean him up with?"

A selection of brushes and combs was found for her, and a hoofpick.

She spent some time working on him, teasing the tangles out of his mane and tail, cleaning out his feet, brushing away the loose fuzz from his moulting summer coat; aware all the time of the watching gaze of the village people by the fire – and of Shiffih from inside the house. The Child was lying, silent and still, on the bed of rushes, her eyes never leaving the white packbeast.

– He's beautiful, she said after while. Has he got a name?

– I've no doubt he has, replied Farinka, but I don't know how to ask him what it is.

Shiffih smiled, her eyes twinkling. – He's very dusty. Maybe we should call him Dusty.

Farinka found herself grinning. – Possibly a bit down-to-earth, she said.

– Well, okay. How about Moondust? Shiffih suggested.

– Yes, that would suit him. I expect the people here have been calling him Whitey, or some other truly inspired name.

Shiffih grinned, and a low chuckle escaped her.

– Careful, little one. Stay very quiet. They have no idea that you're awake. Which also means that you'll have to act like a pack again when we go. Okay?

– Yes, I know. But it won't be for long.

Farinka left Moondust standing quietly outside her house while she collected together her things. Annse came over to her. Moondust rolled one eye in Annse's direction, but allowed her to enter the house.

"I've found a sheepskin and bellyband for the beast," said Annse quietly. "And some bands to tie ... her ... across him. I'm glad you're taking her – it would only have caused trouble for her to stay here – whether she lived or not."

"Thank you," said Farinka, glancing over to where Shiffih lay, eyes closed now, on the rushes. "And thank you also for your hospitality. I wish you Luck."

Annse's face creased into a smile.

"Seeker, our thanks for your Luck. I will tell the others." She went back out, circling warily around Moondust.

By the time Farinka had tied the sheepskin onto Moondust and felt ready to go, it was dusk, deepening into early night. The fire flickered in the village hearth; the children had said goodnight and goodbye and retreated to their beds; and she had drunk a cup of hot mead with the villagers.

Farinka undid the chain from Shiffih's wrists and ankles, and replaced it with soft suede bands. She lifted the Child easily and swung her across Moondust's back, tying the bands to his bellyband.

Piet came over to her.

"It won't make any difference if you turn that one loose when you don't need him," he said with a grin. "He won't come back to us. He's chosen to go with you. Keep him – and welcome."

Farinka briefly hugged Piet.

"My thanks," she said. "Look after Annse."

Piet's brow creased for a moment. "What makes you say that?"

"She's pregnant," replied Farinka with a grin.

Piet's face lit up. "Wow! And we've been trying for years! Thank you, Seeker!"

"Believe it or not, I had nothing to do with that one," said Farinka, still grinning. "I must go. I want to be well clear of your village before real dark – the 'devils' will leave you well alone if they know that this one's not here."

"I hope that you're right," said Piet. "Take a halter – you might need it."

"The rope's a bit rough for his nose," said Farinka.

"I've got a soft hide one we use for training," said Piet.

"Thank you. That would be useful."

***

The firelight was no more than a dim and distant flicker behind them as they made their way along the track towards the hunting grounds. They passed under the shadow of the trees, Moondust's hooves making little more noise than Farinka's boots on the soft carpet of leaf-mould. After about a quarter of a mile into the woods Farinka felt the hairs on her back prickle. Moondust flicked his ears back, then shifted his head towards her and blew on her arm.

– Yes, I know, she said. little one, we've got company.

– The big man. He's about two hundred yards behind us.

– I'm going to untie you so you can sit up. Stay on Moondust – he can get you out of danger.

– What about you?

– I'll be okay. You go on ahead. I'm staying here.

Farinka unbound Shiffih quickly, and the Child shifted one leg over Moondust's back to sit upright. Moondust hesitated uneasily, but Farinka whispered "Carry her for me," to him, and sent him on and stepped behind a tree, loosening her knives in their belt-sheaths.

She could hear Bern clearly. She stepped out onto the path when he was some ten yards from her, and he stopped abruptly. An ugly grin spread across his face.

"Well, Seeker-girl? You want some fun?"

Farinka's knives flickered into her hands, blade upwards.

"Make my day," she said, walking towards him. "Try it."

He backed off, pulling his own belt knife and throwing it swiftly.

Farinka twisted aside and let the knife pass her, embedding itself in the trunk of a tree.

Bern made a bull-like lunge at her; Farinka dodged aside, crouching, and came round behind him in a roll, slicing across one of his heels with her left-hand knife and cutting through most of the tendon.

Bern let out a howl of rage and pain, falling heavily on his side. He twisted towards his knife-hilt, sticking out of the tree, but Farinka was there before him.

"You want this?" she asked. Bern shook his head.

Farinka held one of her own knives between her teeth and pulled Bern's blade from the tree. She threw it back down the track towards the village. "Go fetch it," she said. "Don't come back. And Bern – my Luck no longer protects you."

She watched him get slowly to his feet and hobble down the track, glancing back over his shoulder occasionally until he could no longer see her in the darkness. There was the soft sound of hoofbeats, and Moondust was standing close to her, Shiffih holding tightly to his mane with one hand.

"Has he gone?"

"Yes."

"You should have killed him, Domina. He has a badness in him."

"No. That would have been pointless, little one. And unnecessary. Are you hungry?"

"Yes."

"We'll find somewhere soon to eat."

The night thickened round them, what little moonlight there was barely reaching the track at all through the tree cover. In places there was a small patch of light, where a tree had fallen and the saplings under it had not had time to reach the leaf ceiling; but eventually they came to a small clearing into which the moon shone clearly.

"We'll rest here," said Farinka. "Don't jump down – you'll hurt your feet. I'll lift you."

Shiffih slid down into her arms, and tried to stand, wincing as she did so.

"Sit," said Farinka. Shiffih sat.

Farinka took the sheepskin and bellyband off Moondust, and he wandered around the edges of the clearing, picking at the grass occasionally before settling himself in the middle, turning round twice and lying down with his head facing back along the track. He rested his muzzle on the ground, but his eyes stayed watchful for some time.

Farinka made rough sandwiches from bread and meat, and Shiffih chewed on a couple of willow leaves before eating the wedges.

"Helps take the pain away," she said through a mouthful.

"Don't chew too much. You'll upset your stomach."

"Mm."

"You can use Moondust's sheepskin for a cover. I want to be moving again as soon as the sun comes up, so get some sleep."

Farinka covered Shiffih, and unrolled her bearskin, using the backpack as a pillow.

In the centre of the clearing, Moondust kept half an eye and half an ear open for trouble.

A mile behind, Nemeth sat on one of the lowest branches of an oak, his back against the trunk, keeping an eye on the village in the distance.

***

Morning found both Shiffih and Farinka cold and stiff. There had been a heavy dew in the night, and the skin covers were themselves covered with droplets.

Farinka shook most of the water off them, and hung them in a patch of early sunlight while she and Shiffih ate a cold breakfast. Moondust was grazing as though there was no tomorrow, relishing the wetness of the grass. Occasionally he stopped to rub his forehead against his leg, as if it were bothering him.

Farinka watched him for a while, then went over to him.

"What's fretting you, lad?" she asked him.

In reply he snorted, and rubbed his forehead vigorously against her shoulder, almost knocking her off balance.

"Hold still a minute and let me look," she said, catching hold of his head between her hands.

There was a thumbnail sized patch of bare skin showing in the centre of the hair-whorl on his head. It was slightly raised. Bee sting? she wondered, and touched it gently to see if it was warm. A jolt ran up her arm as if she had put her hand on an electric fence – but without the pain. She felt momentarily dizzy, and shook her head abruptly to clear it. The lump was quite warm.

"Did something sting you?" she asked. Moondust shook his mane and blew into her ear, then wandered over to the skins hanging in the sunlight. He glanced over to her suggestively, and pulled at the sheepskin.

Shiffih burst out laughing.

"I think he wants to make a move," she said.

"Could be," agreed Farinka. She tied the sheepskin onto him and lifted Shiffih up. "I'll walk," she said.

It was close on mid-day by the time they reached a broad alpine meadow dotted with wild sheep and goats, and carpeted with rich grass, an abundance of herbs, and a mass of many-coloured wild flowers. The hum of bees was audible.

They had been climbing steadily for the past eight miles or so, roughly following the course of a stream which rippled over pale pebbles. Minnows flicked in and out of the rushes by its banks where the stream had spread in flatter areas, and three times Farinka caught sight of the swift flash of vivid blue as a kingfisher hunted the water from overhanging branches.

Farinka lifted Shiffih down from Moondust's back, and removed the sheepskin, sending him off onto the alp. He got down and rolled several times, then scrambled to his feet and shook himself. He came back over to them, slaked his thirst at the stream, and returned to the alp to graze.

Farinka and Shiffih sat on a sun-warmed rock by the stream, having drunk their fill, and ate yet more meat sandwiches.

"There's watercress here," said Shiffih, rummaging along the edge of the stream and emerging with a dripping handful. She washed the wildlife out from the leaves in the swift water, and they supplemented the sandwiches with greens. The cress was less bitter than Farinka had been used to, and much crisper.

Farinka stood, eventually. "Well, sitting here is getting us nowhere fast," she said. She felt her attention curiously drawn to the track up which they had climbed, and flicked Awareness quickly along it.

For a moment she had a vague feeling of something – or someone – there, but the tingle was replaced by a sudden blank patch which tried to deny that it was anything but her imagination. She scratched her head, still looking. Well, there had been no sense of threat.

***

Back down the hillside, Nemeth was suddenly conscious of a mind-touch. He shielded almost instantly, grinned to himself, and carried on grilling the trout he had tickled from the stream. It would be nice to find out more, he thought to himself. The trouble with that game is that it's mutual.

***

That evening Farinka collected together enough dry moss to start a fire, and spent several minutes with a flint from the path and the knife-sharpening steel from her pack trying to get a spark to land in the right place. Eventually there was a glow in the moss, and she cradled it in her hands, blowing gently on it to coax it into a small flame. A few dry twigs later she had the makings of a small fire, which Shiffih fed with larger sticks which she had been gathering.

"There are rabbits just down the path," said Shiffih in a whisper. "Shall I get one?"

"That sounds good," said Farinka.

Shiffih pulled a small catapult out of her pocket, and chose three or four round pebbles. "May I borrow a knife?"

Farinka handed one over with a smile. "Good hunting."

"Back soon," said Shiffih, and trod carefully away, placing her feet with caution. Farinka had made crude soft shoes for the Child out of some small pieces of lambskin from her pack, but Shiffih's feet were still pretty painful.

***

Nemeth sat quietly high in a tree, watching Shiffih as she sat half hidden by a bramble thicket, downwind of the rabbits which nibbled the short grasses alongside the trail.

She fitted a pebble into the catapult, picked out one rabbit – young, not too tough – aimed carefully and killed cleanly. The other rabbits darted away; Shiffih stayed quite still. In a few minutes the rabbits crept out again and started to graze. Less than half a minute later another one dropped like a stone. The rest disappeared again. Nemeth could almost feel Shiffih wondering whether to go for a third one, and was relieved when she decided to.

He could never quite get over just how stupid rabbits were, for in another couple of minutes they were back again. Instinct didn't take account of invisible predators. The third rabbit was swiftly accounted for, and Shiffih came out from beside the bush.

Nemeth sent a thought gently across to her.

– Good hunting, Little Sister.

Shiffih froze, her eyes looking for him.

– Nemeth?

– Here. He swung down from the branch, dropping almost soundlessly and wiping his hands on the front of his tunic.

Shiffih ran to him, screwing her eyes up against the sharp pain from her feet, and was folded in his arms as he lifted her. She wrapped her arms round his neck and buried her face in his shoulder; allowing her joy in seeing him to wash over him, and feeling the backwash of his relief enveloping her like a blanket.

– I thought I'd lost you, Little Sister, he said, breathing in the scent of her hair and shutting his eyes.

– I've been in good hands, she said.

– Yes, I know. I wasn't sure at first. Who is she?

– A stranger. Domina.

– Really? How?

– I don't know. Will you eat with us?

– I'd love to. I'll give you a hand with these rabbits.