Dry leaves make up my bed and while the large weeping branches above my head are bare, the falling snow is unable to penetrate the willow dryad's bower. I should be sleeping, but my mind is a whirling mess. I keep going over the events of last night.

Last night I had lain with my head against Aren's chest, lulled by his steady heartbeats. It would have been so easy to have fallen asleep in his warm embrace. Sure, we would have been in trouble if discovered, but I so desperately wish that I was with him now.

Instead, I left him sleeping ever so peacefully and walked away from the best thing in my life. It practically broke my heart to do it. Then outside, I was greeted by a night as somber as my mood; there was no moon or stars to light my way and the half-frozen drizzle compounded my misery.

My night of torment was far from over, for the ghostly figures of three nymphs awaited me in the inky black water. Terror gripped me and for a moment I was almost as frozen as the ice-encrusted bank. It was no small feat on my part to slip into the frigid river. Thankfully, the nymph's touch staved off the biting cold.

All through the remains of the night they propelled me through the water, effortlessly moving against the current, until the grey of pre-dawn forced them to seek shelter for me. True to the beech dryad's word, I have found sanctuary with one of her sister dryads.

Which brings me to where I am now. A sob catches in my throat and fresh tears well in my already reddened eyes. I clutch Aren's shirt to me. It smells of him and makes me regret that I am not back in his arms. I'm not certain that I have done the right thing.

"Shh," the willow dryad croons and strokes my head.

She has slender limbs and long trailing green hair cascading almost to her feet. The skirts of her dress are stiff, with deep ridges, similar to the furrowed bark on the tree. She starts to sing about the seasons. I can't understand the words, yet somehow I know their meaning. I close my tired eyes and images of spring replacing the barren days of winter flicker within my mind.

.....

When I awake, it is already growing dark again. I feel less fragile, but certainly hungry. Possibly hearing my stomach rumble, the dryad smiles and hands me two wooden vessels. The goblet is filled with sweet, refreshing liquid and the bowl contains a hunk of a nutty kind of bread, which is incredibly filling.

Barely have I finished when a silvery-blue head pops up from the water. "We must make haste," the nymph calls with a voice like a babbling brook.

After thanking the dryad, I sink into the icy embrace of the river. I guess this is one way of facing my phobia of drowning.

On and on we glide. It is quite hypnotic being suspended in the darkness, not really seeing where I'm going, but aware of the water sluicing around my body.

Many hours later, the monotony is broken when a foaming wave crashes over my head and causes me to choke. We are buffeted from all sides and for the first time since they started aiding me, the nymphs struggle to swim against the current. I try to remain calm, but can feel terror start to sink its claws into me.

Somehow we struggle along and they manage to steer me into a small inlet, where the water is less turbulent.

"We can carry you no more," one trills.

"Make your own way to the far side of the waterfall and we can resume our journey," instructs another.

Then they submerge, disappearing into the water like phantoms. I clamber out and double over as the shock of the cold air hits me like a punch to the guts. Crawling over slippery rocks, I ungraciously make my way to firm ground. All the while my teeth chatter so hard it's a wonder that there's no damage.

With stiff fingers, I peel off my sodden clothes and hastily pull on the unflattering, yet gratifyingly dry dress I recently bought.

Treading with care in the almost pitch black, I slowly follow the course of the river. The ground gets steeper and steeper and the roar of the waterfall becomes almost deafening. It's difficult to gauge time, but one benefit from the arduous climb is that I no longer feel cold.

Once the ground levels, I stop to take a breather. I have been so focused on not breaking my neck that I didn't stop to consider where I am. Now, I realise that I'm on the edge of Nero's land. Does he know? Will he sense my presence?

Nerves taut and all my senses on high alert, I creep forward through the darkness expecting to be assaulted at any moment. I almost jump out of my skin when a feminine voice calls out my name. Heart pounding almost as loud as the waterfall, I whip my head around and exhale in relief when I just make out the ghostly head of a nymph.

For the second time tonight, I slip into the frigid dark water. While grateful for their assistance, this is a wretched way to travel. I find it difficult to relax, for they are taking me deeper and deeper into Nero's territory.

At the approaching signs of dawn, we stop and the nymphs point out a glade of sliver birches not far from the riverbank. With weary, squelching footsteps, I walk towards the trees.

Twin dryads step forward to greet me; one male and one female. They are tall, slender, and almost identical. Their brown hair has a reddish tinge like their tree's winter colours and their clothes are made from a stiff white silken material.

"Welcome..." says the male and the female finishes "... to our bower."

The male touches my arm and somehow draws all of the water from my sopping clothes. I had been so preoccupied that I had forgotten to change.

The female beckons me to sit and offers me refreshments, which I gladly receive. However, my hand pauses halfway to my mouth at the sound of voices. I give a little whimper of terror, recognising one as belonging to the captain. No, not him.

The female dryad cocks her head. "What troubles you?"

"He ... he is here," I whisper, my voice cracking.

The dryads reassure me, "He cannot touch you within our bower."

"He may pass within a leaf and not see..."

"... nor hear..."

"... nor smell you."

Despite their words of reassurance, I find it difficult to suppress my fear, for not twenty yards away is the captain with several black-clad elven guards.

The female dryad takes my hand and proclaims, "One day, he will fear..." The male dryad takes my other hand and finishes the sentence, "... the merest whisper of your name."

Dubious, I stare at the captain who pulls off a leather glove, revealing four angry red crescents on the back of his hand. Gritting his teeth, he rubs at them.

"I feel like she is close," he growls through clenched teeth.

His eyes slowly scan the trees, his searing ice-blue gaze cutting right through me and I'm unable to exhale until his head turns away.

The captain barks out an order, "Increase the guards. If she passes this way, we will secure her. Lord Nero demands no less."

"Will he deliver her to the king?" asks one of his elves.

The captain laughs. "Not before he first claims his prize."

..........

The Watcher navigates between the basins, shimmering with silvery fluid, each reflecting a scene from different parts of Elysium. His eyes flicker to the one faintly glowing basin, the merest hint of a smile gracing his ageless face.

All bar one of the walls of the octagonal room holds a man-sized mirror. Motioning to two adjacent mirrors, the images of his counterparts at Arcadia and Alfheimr appear on the shifting surfaces.

To the Elven Watcher at Alfheimr, he says, "She travels towards you, I believe."

The Elven Watcher nods in affirmation.

Turning to the Animages Watcher, he asks, "What news is there from Arcadia?"

"King Torbjorn holds a council of war. His youngest son has been confined to his chambers. They seek the girl, but can find no sign of her." He gives a sly smile and shrugs. "Alas I see nothing. What news is there from Avalon?"

"Lucifer is in a foul mood. Alas I too see nothing." He fixes the two men with a steely look. "These past eighty solars we have watched as Elysium grows weaker, slowly sickening. Now I sense the stirrings of a recovery. We serve Elysium first. We will protect the girl."

The two Watchers hold their right hand to their chest in a silent pledge of loyalty and their mirrors go flat.