Midnight Amethyst

By Linda Austin

My name is Vellin. I have been commissioned by a power much greater than myself to be your guide through this adventure. Storyteller, I never considered myself to be, but I will do my best to bring you this tale of magic and majesty.

I am not the major player in this cycle, but to properly set the stage, you need to know a few bits about me. There are other places in this ebon void of ours than this amethyst and crystal shard upon which you abide in such bright beauty and boundless bounty. My shard broke into being the same time yours did, when the Dark Rebellion destroyed the crystal world the Elder Gods formed. My kind live a long time and I chose, after my family returned to the light and the air as we do when our lifepaths end, to travel. The Bright Goddess allowed me a wondrous blue orb, so soft and comfortable. I do admit to enjoying my comforts and I will confess to being spoiled. This lighted circle of transportation allowed me to visit several neighboring islands in this vastness in which we float. I traveled, observed, abided for a time. I thought, wrote, sang and learned. On your beautiful shard I found my bliss.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483683843

Linda Austin

Linda Austin, M.D., is a practicing psychiatrist in Bangor, Maine, and a Professor of Psychiatry at the Medical University of South Carolina. A frequent lecturer, she is best known for her nationally syndicated radio program, What's On Your Mind? She lives with her husband in Bangor, Maine.

Book preview

BEGINNINGS

Out of the Dark and the Nothing came the Beginning. The Gods and Goddesses of the First floated in the Nothing. The Elder Judge, weaving his hands together saw a thread of light drift from one finger. Summoning his comrades, he displayed his creation and soon most of them discovered they too could produce the same transparent filament, bright and beautiful against the ebony void. The word, Let it Be, was spoken.

After the Beginning came Time, and the Gods used Time to spin threads of sparkling crystal, which their Goddess sisters wove into delicate webs to create a crystal world of light and color. The Deities made beautiful Bright Beings to populate this new world.

All seemed perfect in this realm until the Lord of Darkness complained how the shining pained his eyes. He yearned only for his dark silence and the quiet of the Nothing. This disgruntled God spun a rough thread and the Lady of his Heart wove it into a web. These two dark plotters threw the heavy web over the crystal world, plotting only to conceal it, but broke it into shards, scattering points of light throughout the Universe.

One small shard, a jewel with five even points, had been the heart of this wonderful world. It caught in the Lady’s web as she reeled in her netting. She fancied the stone. The Lady wove a fine dark stole into which she embedded her prize and wore it near always over her robes.

The Fracturing of the First World sent the Gods and Goddesses to the end points of the Universe, diluting their powers. The Dark Lord and his minions retreated to the far edge of the void, turning their backs to the shining. The God’s Beings of Light were scattered across the vastness and settled on various pieces of the broken world. Twelve of these beings took shelter on a shard they named for the sound of the universe, Umm. They wandered Umm bringing life to the shard with their gift called Magic.

The Gods had given their Light Beings special powers to help them survive in physical form. The Twelve used part of these powers to create land, mountains, valleys, oceans, rivers, plants and animals, filling the shard with life and beauty. Umman Beings were set up to care for these creations. As the Gods had done for them, the Light Beings gave some of the Umman wondrous lesser powers.

The Dark Lord and his Lady saw what the Twelve had wrought and vented evil wrath there toward. The clear light of Umm, mixed with flashes of emerald and amethyst from its heart, especially irritated the Dark One’s eyes, leaving him exceeding fractious. He sent his Lady down to the small shard purposing a darkening.

Rememberest now, Love, ye possess great powers. Through the wee bit of the old web ye wear, ye can summon all the strength of creation. But summoning be naught commanding, and we know ye own naught any manner to control what ye order up.

Aye, Consort, the light races to me calling it, right to me fingers it does, but then it becomes capricious, scatters so easily and goes off in all directions. I know none of where it journeys.

The Dark Lord turned her toward him, traced her aquiline face with a long cold finger. He pulled his cowl closer about his face. Even the small light from her crystal pained his great eyes. Covering the gem with a graceful hand, she listened, head bowed.

Love, ye possess wondrous beauty and great strength, but ye are cursed with that inconstant humor. Discipline yer temper! It will bring us to ruin, mark my word, Love. Make me naught come down there to straighten yer web this quest. Spouse, that damnable light does pain me vilely. Besides, perchance I need rescuing ye yet again ’twill make me foolish in the regard of me brothers.

*     *     *

Havoc and despair followed on the heels of the Dark Lady and her Flying Dragon Reign as she set foot on Umm. The crystal shard turned white and cold. Frost became deep and all on the shard began to die. The Twelve Beings of Light, gathering together, set the place spinning and sacrificed themselves to create a yellow-white ball in the sky to warm Umm as it circled through the ebon void. The spinning created an endless cycle of light and dark on this young creation.

Before they departed, the Twelve planted their seed into the bodies of certain umman women. The offspring of these women would possess remnants of the old magic and hand it down to their progeny. The Legends and Songs of Umm began with these children, each of whom carried the mark of the five-pointed heart of the crystal world somewhere on their bodies. The Dark Lady, her own eyes red and dry, till she wove herself a cloak and cowl of finest thundercloud down, took up residence in an ancient dungeon called Mystic Hall.

Time upon Time passed. The Lady, commissioned with the darkening, if naught the ruin of the small place on which she found herself, gathered about her creatures who, such as herself, sought darker parts of the shiny shard. She and her dark spiderlings set up her own web, kept even from her Dark Lord, whom she remembered with slight fondness when she happened to think of him. She used this web to search her lands and what parts of the universe it could reach. Endlessly the Dark Lady scanned it for knowledge and what she needed most: Evil. The darkling craved fine things, hiring the best artisans to furnish her dark, cold dwelling. Admiring beauty, or those strange twisted objects she took to be beautiful, minions scoured the area and collected such for her. She sought learning and read everything. She collected her dragons, her objects and her scrolls. She had servants and warriors at her command. She had her own great powers, and even greater powers, when her Dark Lord be beneficent.

*     *     *

The Dark Lady stood in her library, needing naught the small rush light her troll footman carried. Reaching the third shelf on the left, she tenderly lifted down the ancient scroll, damaged by water and misadventure. If only the first column be naught missing. Will I ever find it? Long nails flashed black as they tapped, tapped the ancient leather. Shall find it, I shall, she vowed, and when I do, total power shall be mine.

On her writing stand a turning glass filled with lovely stones tipped with a click. She paused, looked down at her short gray retainer, Ah, a signal. ’Tis time. A spinner is coming into her power. We have another to hunt. Oh, look at the size of that amethyst! We are after a real prize today. She reached for her twisted dagger. Saddle the dragons!

CHAPTER 1

Battle Joined

Stand to, Ladies, Goddess held up a bloody hand. Taryn, a long bow, quick. Devlin, grab that torch and hold it afore me.

Mistress, all be lost, panted a stout retainer. We must be away.

Nay, we be naught defeated. We stand together still. The tall silvered haired one, flowing locks scorched, nocked an arrow, took a stand, focusing on the leader of the attacking dragon horde. This one wilt never be defeated, our cause be just.

Holdest I your standard, Sister, I does’t, the voice, gloating, echoed through the burning hall. Victory escapes your grasp! Bow before me and I shall allow yer underlings the freedom of their lives.

A great explosion of green smoke and orange flame flared from a crumbling tower.

The day-darkening dragon flapping above it reared, near to tossing his rider, the ebony clad speaker, into the conflagration. Shrieking a curse, she clung to his neck and struggled back into her saddle. She smacked him hard across his crest and he rolled to hiss at her. A belch of fire took away a chunk of her hair. He tucked his wings and dived. Desperately, she retained her grasp on the crimson-stained unicorn banner.

Standing on the broken parapet of her one remaining tower, Brightness watched the flight of the purple sky-flyer. Judging with a sharp eye, she touched the arrow to the flame and led her quarry just as the small fairy dropped the torch to avoid singing her wings. The arrow flew, piercing the trailing banner which vanished in a streak of smoke. Its holder screamed in frustration as the exhausted combatants hugged each other and laughed.

You hold nothing, dear Sister, Brightness shouted. I hold my keep, and my kingdom and my…

Ariel, bleeding from many wounds, collapsed in the doorway, Goddess, the child be missing!

The light within Castle CloudCroft dimmed.

CHAPTER 2

Ita’s Web

Ita’s left hand began to burn as she struggled up the back steps with her load of wood and attempted to sidle past Cook whose ample form took up most of the space between the worktable and the hearth. She panted from her burden and the heavy heat of the late summer afternoon.

With that wastrel Boris gone, we be behind in the work, and Duke Dale’s men will be staying the night. The would choose the Gray Goose Inn! Ye would think they could kill their own dinner. Cook glanced up as the sound of hooves and rang in the courtyard. Oh, wolves breath, she growled, our own hunters have just come in as well and they be heavy laden.

She moved, just enough to allow the little maid to pass. A log threatened to slip and Ita held it in place with her chin. Trembling, she dumped her load onto the stone and began to arrange the logs in place after shaking her palm.

And ye be no help at all, worthless bit of nothing. Why Old Gram insisted on keeping ye, me ne’er reckoned. Blast her dead eyes. The woman swatted the child, hard, on the head as she stomped out, bellowing for the lackeys to dispatch yet more chickens.

Ita rubbed at the offending palm and through tear filled eyes, watched Cook turn back to glare at her. Though she scrambled to squeeze herself into her refuge, a small space beneath the neglected altar to the Goddess of Light, she was caught and dragged out. Her tangled head was roughly checked and blood wiped from her pointed chin with a filthy apron.

Here now, no time for hidin’ yerself away. Fetch the chopping knife and finish up the carrots. Throw them in the pot as ye do them. Quick now. Cook waved a broad arm toward a cartload of vegetables.

She tossed most of the wood into the fire under the huge cauldron just as a familiar bellow came from the Great Room. More bread and wine, now.

Make sure that pot be stirred. Cook loaded trenchers onto Ita’s arms and they hurried out.

*     *     *

By late candle lighting, crumpled into her kitchen corner waiting for the Duke’s rowdy men to finish feasting, Ita held her head and worried.

She had naught felt well for days. Her head hung heavy, she slept lightly or dreamed of frightening creatures chasing her. Her joints ached as if she alone had hoed the entire garden. Now her stomach growled and she realized she had eaten naught since breaking her fast with a bit of hard bread, dipped in butter and a pimkin of buttermilk as the sun rose. That explained the lightness of her head, but what was this odd feeling of everything about her small self aching?

The accident earlier on had naught helped. Ita rubbed her bruising shoulder. The tables had filled early, the two bands of hunters being rough and jovial. Many chicken bones and roasted joints were stripped of meat and tossed to the hounds lying in the corners. Cook, cross with the extra victuals needed, had piled the huge platter high with the last of the roast vension and the vegetables and sent Ita out into the moving mass of strong legs, swords and yapping dogs.

Barely able to carry the load, she made herself as large as possible, to no avail. A gray giant raising his tankard to shout a toast, knocked her off her feet into a heap with the hot food.

Cook had been on her in a breath, beating her with a great spoon and screaming curses. Dogs snapped at the meat which she tried to protect.

In all this fear and confusion she felt strong hands pull her from the press and away from the blows and fangs. A stranger, young and full of short curly hair, lifted her across the space and back into the kitchen. He seized up a large cloth, plunged it into the water barrel and cooled her hot skin. He helped her to her feet.

Be ye hurt, tiny one? Dark eyes forced her to look him straight on.

Thinks’t no. Thank ye, sir, she managed to squeak.

One so small as ye should naught be forced to such work.

Used to it, I be.

He wiped pungent grease from her cheek, handed her the cloth, patted her and returned to his table. Holding hard onto the dampness, shaking, Ita slid down the wall, making herself even smaller.

Cook nudged her back to attention. The kitchen needed tidying.

Ita stood on her short stool as she always did to help with the dishes. The woman beside her asked, How long has’t ye been with us?

Startled, Ita had to think. Eight snows, Ma’am.

How big be ye when ye came?

Knowest naught. When first here, me carried logs, one by one to the fire, to keep Gram warm while she spun. Stepped on a cinder once, burnt me big toe.

"Eight snows, ‘eh? So ye mayhap be eleven or so seasons. Same as Mistress’s youngest.

She be twice your size. Ye work as well as the rest, I vow. Cook adjusted her apron, then continued, When we be done here, fill the water barrel afore ye sleep. She slid over the large platter and held it while Ita dried. They finished their tasks in silence.

With the last dish safe in its cupboard, Cook banked the fire and retired. Ita packed in wood for the morning fires and filled the water crocks along the wall. She put out the peel buckets for the lackeys to feed the swine on the morrow. Absently, she scratched Old Cat’s ears as the scrawny orange beast snoozed on Cook’s porch chair. He opened one eye and leaned into her fingers.

Nice, he purred.

Feeling worked to death, she then sought her pallet, but found no sleep.

Her left hand hurt more than her head. Ita rubbed the palm and it lit up. Terrified, she shook it, trying to throw the light away. It faded abit. She stared at the thin glowing threads. Long had she known about the brown lines in the flesh of her left palm, having found them several summers ago, while snapping beans. This, howbeit, be the clearest she had ever seen them. They touched each other naught, but resembled the silvery spider webs on the bushes she admired every dawning as she began her duties.

The light grew again as did the pain. She closed the hand, only to increase the heat.

She remembered the burned toe. Old Gram had called for fresh cold water from the well and had placed Ita’s whole foot into the bucket. By the time the water warmed, the toe no longer throbbed. Mayhap cold water would help

She rose, collected her small buckets and made her way to the well.

The night air had cooled most pleasantly. Closing her eyes, she breathed it in, feeling her hair lift, enjoying the coolness. The summer heat lingered still, long into harvest. Folk, wearied by the heaviness, yearned for relief, she among them.

The silver moon shone full, hanging low and heavy in the ebony sky. Never had she seen it so large, or so close. She stared in awe. The trees swayed in a rising wind. Old Bily, leader of the goat herd, hiked himself to his hooves and trotted over. He nudged her, tickled her with his beard.

She scratched his ears as she sat on the well wall and reached for the bucket. When she touched the stone, light flashed from beneath her hand, she felt the stone snap. Jumping up, she found the pattern of a spider’s web burned into the stone.

Ita dropped the bucket into the well and heard it splash. She waited for it to fill then started to raise it when the moon darkened. Looking up, she saw something moving in front of the silvery orb. The black shadow of a long lizard, great wings spread wide, almost hid the shining circle. From the creature’s mouth blazed crimson streaks of fire and Ita heard a terrible roar. A grand figure, great billows of hair the color of midnight amethyst, blowing about it, rode the beast. Around them flew other creatures, skeletal horses, other strange winged beasts. A great horde of boney forms, some men, but with the antlers of forest creatures, clouded the skies. Bellows, shrieks and screams came from the sky flyers.

Fire bolts tore through the sky and blasted into the huge building behind her. Sparks and burning embers rained down. She felt herself pushed away from the well and heard Bily’s warning cry, ending in a bleat of horrible pain.

The most awful stench caused her to retch as long shadows flew across the moon. Horses in the sky! When did horses learn to fly? She raced to the garden’s edge, scrambling deep under the tangled hedge, making herself even smaller than she be.

Come out come out, Little One. Where be ye? Come’st for yer powers, did me. Blazes, I smell ye naught. Came I too soon? Me fingers itch, ye be here, I feel ye. Surrender yerself!"

The voice came from everywhere, ringing in her head, hanging in the air. Huge booming wings again darkened the moon.

Powers of night, cover me, Ita prayed. Squeezing her eyes shut, she froze. Great leaves shook above her, Bangs and booms split the air. Bolts of red fire and columns of acrid smoke tore up the ground about her. Ita opened one eye. Flames engulfed the Inn. She heard hissing and popping as fire roared through the old timbers eating the supports from under the roof which collapsed with the noise of thunder.

The angry voice screeched, again. The creature who spoke took the form of a woman.

She seemed to grow larger, coming to float over the charred ruin. Black hair, black raiment blew in the fury of a swirling wind. Winking from the dark creature’s bosom was a silvery shining web.

Ita gasped as her pain grew, she found her palm winking at her, like the faraway stars.

Quickly, she buried her hand in the dirt. All was still for one long breath, as the dark lady surveyed the area around her, then, strangely vanished!

A voice echoed in Ita’s head. "Ttwart me now, ye may, but naught forever, Youngling.

This one shall indeed have ye back. Mark me!

Ita made to rise, but fear held her still.

Dear Goddess, what be this about? Ita stared at the fading moon. Why me? Tears of fear and frustration ran down scorched cheeks.

The first faint fingers of dawn crept across of a ruined landscape as Ita crawled from beneath the crisp leaves hiding her from the invaders. Putting a hand to her head, it came away with charred leaves and long strands of limp green hair. Her heart jumped. Green hair! When did she have green hair? Mindlessly she reached for her dropped water buckets. They crumpled to ashes.

She turned on trembling knees toward the blasted inn. A pain filled cry caused her to look down. The blackened shape of Old Bily butted her. She clearly heard the near dead animal command her, Run!

The inn still smoked. Two charred bodies lay afore it. The stable’s thatched roof showed a black hole in its middle. Fences lay burned and fallen, the garden all cinders, Bily’s young son, blackened and stiff, the chicken coop upset, empty. She heard Old Cat yowling but did naught see him.

Head bleeding, knees and elbows scraped, she reeled about, looking, searching-for what, for whom? Flee, get away from the cursed place. Mistress, Cook, Cat, where be ye? Where be anyone? All gone! Dead! Run!

Silence, deafening as the attack, rang.

Needs me cloak and boots. Heavy gear hung by the back door. Near to entering, she stopped, afeared of what she might see. Billows of breath stealing smoke drove her back. Turning, she stumbled off, across the yard, then the meadow, finally into the edge of Dark Forest she ran. Chauncy, the rooster, who announced the dawn, sat high in a tree, missing his purple plumage, clucked distractedly.

Forest dark engulfed her, a mist chilled her. She ran, till she pitched straight onto her face, tripped by a log. Ita stared. What? What be she seeing?

CHAPTER 3

Flight

Something alive and scratchy skittered over her shoulder. Scrambling up, she stared at her right knee where a large patch of skin be missing. Her left hand, full of briars and stubble, added to her pain. Stubbing at tears with the back of her hand, she caught sight of the huge bone which had caused her fall. Backing off she stepped on yet another. Heart racing and head spinning, she turned about fanatically. She was surrounded by bones bleached white and scattered wide. She knew what the insides of cattle and horses looked like, this had to be the largest horse ever! The head lay some distance away, under a thorn bush.

Horrified, fascinated at once, she ran one direction, then another. A sickening sight stopped her still. Be it a person? One of the strange creatures of the morning? Huge! In a heap! The bones, clean and white, shone in a gleam of sunlight. Close by an outstretched arm, the hand appearing to be reaching, pointing, lay a short surcoat, odd leather and heavy wool patches. Dare me? After several false starts, she snatched the garment, shook it to check for bugs and bones, and throwing it over her shoulders dashed on.

*     *     *

Bily, partially buried in charred stalks by the garden fence, but chilled by the strange rain, stirred, struggling to rise. Chauncy, also trembling, perched on the overturned trough as the yellow cat clawed himself from beneath it.

Dear me whiskers and hoofs, what happened? Bily bleated in pain as he tipped over.

Nanny, his first mate and Wily’s mother, sniffed him over, Lie still, Dear. Yer front leg be broke. Put no weight on it. She began to weep. Wily got roasted, the rest are all vanished. The ummans are deader than dead. What will become of us? ’Tis going to chill. Master Chauncy will freeze.

Painfully, the elderly goat managed to rise to his three good hooves. Let us get into the stable. Part of it still stands, and I smell some hay. Nan, let me lean on ye.

*     *     *

VELLIN SPEAKS

I had been rudely awakened that dawn by an unfamiliar chirping. Thinking we were visited by a new kind of bird, I turned over and pulled a pillow over my ear. The chirping grew more insistent. Trina rose to seize a broom and searched under the table and up the chimney.

Ma’am, that green thing ye brought home is all a-blinkin’.

Sliding into my chair, I found a note whirling inside the chrysalis. It stilled when I touched the glass skin. I read, Quickly, Friend, get yourself to CrossRoads and follow the Princess. Her time is here and Sister is in pursuit. Best Be, Brightness.

Trina refused my going till I breakfasted. Summoning the orb, and commanding the destination, I departed. My flying chair is naught the swiftest mode of transport and I was sorrowed to see only smoke and ruin upon my arrival.

I found a horse and a cow taken refuge along the river bank, seemingly unharmed. In the ashes of the garden some animals huddled.

What happened here? I asked, while still in the air above them. Cat caught the shimmer of the orb first and mewed a greeting. They all stared as I stepped down.

Oh, do naught be frightened. I am called Vellin. I travel and I sing. I told them, taking a deep breath, the stench caused me to wrinkle up my face and hiss in distaste.

Phew, I spat and lost my mid-air position, landing a bit harder than I wished for dignity’s sake.

A sky flyer tried to get us all dead. The nanny goat sniffed. All my babies, the beautiful chicks, our mistress… .

Her dark wings be cursed, I smell the Black Lady in this! I picked myself up, dusting my backside. The de-feathered rooster glarked in surprise. I patted him, Come now, I will help you to shelter from this pelting. The rain fell cold and steady now. I sensed no umman life about anywhere. Princess I did naught feel. She was gone beyond my powers of the moment, so I turned to what little I could do.

I picked Bily up carefully, he still trashed in pain, carried him into the stable, laid him in a stall full of hay and straw.

Oh, this is where the big horse sleeps. Nice! Nan approved. After some searching I found two sticks and some rope with which I splinted Bily’s leg. Upturning a trough, I found an unburned bucket and carried in water for them. Pulling down an old sack from the wall, I showed the bird how to wrap himself in it for a cloak till his feathers regrew. After checking the ruins, I asked Chauncy to give his call and several small chicks came running. They tucked up around Bily lying in the straw. Nan and I walked about the blasted ground, looking around carefully. Several times I bent over and picked up something. Returning to the stable, I held several tiny chicks, all looking limp and dead, so cold they were.

Nan, lay by Bily and breathe on these for me, holding the tiny flat fluffs in my lap, I dried them with my kerchief, rubbing and warming. One twitched, then another, and soon all wobbled weakly to the warmth of the goat’s fur.

The Black One’s spells do naught alway hold, so others may yet reappear. Believst the ummans are indeed dead or fled. You will be safe several days. I will leave word with the healer at WellSpring and beg a boom for thee from her. I paused a moment, not liking the feel in the weather. On second thought, all of you climb in with me and I will take you to safety. The healer there will send someone to collect the horse and cow. Come with me. Master Rooster, tell the chicks to let me collect them, and Sir Goat, I will carry you. We will get you safe and warm.

We managed to fit into the soft confines of the orb and soon set down before the healer’s door at WellSpring. We had naught met, I am certain she had never seen one such as I, yet she greeted me kindly, tended the creatures, tucking the chicks up in a wool lined basket by the hearth. She gave Chauncy a softer cloak than the rough bag, reset Bily’s leg, and sent her young serving lad out to the stable for feed for them She asked I abide the night, and I did, knowing I would naught, even with my eyesight and the powers Goddess had given me, be able to find the lost Princess in the darkened storm. I did naught sleep, searching my mind for her. I did naught feel her death, but knew naught to where she could have fled.

The animals, still frightened huddled together. Bily drifted off to sleep, grieving the little umman who had been so kind to him. I rose to pat him.

*     *     *

Again Ita fell and this time lay weeping into the hard ground beneath her too tired to move. She was deep in Dark Forest now, the way growing rougher and steeper by the step. The ground, either covered by brambles so thick she could find no way to enter, or open, but under the twisting limbs of the giant old oaks whose limbs reached down to seize her. She had heard the terrible screeches of the flying beasts until the sun near set. Night calling birds took up the racket, and she trembled on hearing them. Colder and darker it grew. Deep sobs shook her, the awful smell surrounding her coming from the cloak she wore gagged her as she sniffed and sat up.

A great gray beast sat in front of her. She gasped and failed to rise to her feet trembling from fear and weariness. She shook her head. A well fed wolf, heavy fur and piercing blue eyes, fluffy tail wrapped around the body, long pick tongue dangling from between gleaming white fangs, sat in front of her, close enough to touch.

She caught its eye, and the tail wagged a bit They regarded each other a long moment, the wolf quiet and calm, the child seeing only the bright fangs. Biting her hand to keep from screaming, she sat up ever so slowly, hoping to move away from the furry thing.

It did naught move, except to thump the tail on the ground.

Nice—nice puppy, she stammered.

The wolf wagged and waited.

She continued to huddle in a heap before him.

At last, he rose and trotted off, tail high. She let out a sobbing breath. She was so alone and cold. All day she had been afraid the sky beasts were going to eat or burn her. Now the forest dog did naught even want her for his supper. Almost disappointed, she watched him go, at least it would be an end to a terrible day and a bad life. Struggling to get her bruised feet beneath her, she did naught notice him turn and trot back to her, so she startled to hear a friendly bark and to see him standing afore her again. He turned from the dying light, tossed his head and pranced. She took a few steps the opposite direction and found him blocking her path. His shoulders met her waist, he was bigger than she and stronger. He eyed her, licked his whiskers and whined.

I no hurt, he barked. She shook her head. Always she had chatted with Bily and Old Cat, but thought only their answerings to her had been of her own making.

He woofed, low and inviting, Friend I be and from Goddess I come. Follow. Again he turned and trotted off. Again she hesitated.

This play no good, he complained, rubbing against her knees and urging her on. Grows late and ’twill be cold. Ye wear no fur. He pushed. Trot, he told her taking a small hand gently between his large front fangs. She obeyed.

*     *     *

Bright, crisp, morning light bejeweled about her, caught by dew drops dripping from overhead leaves. Everything was shiny, shimmery. She felt warm, soft and safe. Odd, safe. How