She has been here before. Here is when the world is a pinpoint as vast as the sky. Here is where a wink lasts a lifetime while kingdoms rise and fall in the twitch of a cat's tail. Where all motion is frozen while stillness spins in frenzy. She has been here before, and yet it is not the same. It ought to be solid with void, but instead all that space is taken up by fur, wind, jolts and an overwhelming smell of power.

She becomes aware of pain and a hissing, rhythmical sound. Its source is somewhere nearby. So close that it seems part of her. No, it really is part of her. The pain is in her clenched teeth. The hissing sound is her breath through her nostrils.

The fur and smell belong to the bear she is riding, the wind to her galloping speed through the night forest. And that place where everything is nothing is where she went during the fever which left her barely alive but took two of her brothers and one sister away, the year before the consumption took her parents.

But that was then and this is now. The memory of her dream at the back of the temple returns but this is nothing like that. No sense of smooth gliding, no cloud-leaping. No feeling of control, of power, that the dream gave her but that she lost in falling. Perhaps this is a continuation of the dream. Perhaps Brun caught her at the end of the fall to carry her away.

There is power here, to be sure, but it all belongs to her steed. All that is left of her own strength she wills into her fingers and her legs, while the rest of her is slung about like a rag doll by Brun's lumbering gait. She forces her jaws to unclench too, to spend that little strength better.

That is when she starts to shiver. The reality of this unreal night begins to seep in. Brun and Arkteia out of the pit. Herndel believing he witnessed a miracle... or perhaps it was a true miracle? The blinding light. The eerie voice. And herself, here, on her way to a meeting with mysterious beings of power.Power that they will perhaps be willing to share.

She did it.

She ought to feel triumphant, but all she knows is these shivers that grip her and will not let go. They get worse every moment and soon they will break her grip on Brun's fur. Perhaps the fever is back to claim her this time, so close to her goal... She tries to call for Brun to stop but only manages a convulsive croak. Yet the bear seems to hear and understand that something is amiss, for she slows down and turns her head back.

In the dark, Wrenne cannot see the bear's eyes but she has no time for explaining anyway. Her head spins and she half slides, half falls down into a cold bed of mosses and decaying leaves. She feels her gown soaking through to her knees in an instant, clumps of moss come loose in her hands and then her entire body is racked by a huge spasm that sends vomit flying through her mouth and nose and out in the darkness. She continues retching until her stomach is empty and then some. When at last the cramps subside, she falls helplessly to the side and begins to cry.

Why is she crying? There is no sadness in her, nor any anger. Certainly no joy nor even relief. The only emotion she feels at the moment is frustration at her own weakness, this betrayal by her own body. As if it decided that it needs to rid itself of some more bodily fluids, without asking her. She can't seem to find her arms and legs, they are not listening to her, stranding her here on the ground. And the chill keeps slowly but relentlessly seeping in through her gown from the damp, mossy forest floor.

Then she feels a great weight settle beside her and a warm, strong paw work its way underneath her. Gently she is lifted off the ground and cradled in a warm, dry embrace. The smell of Brun once more envelops her. She still cannot stop her infernal crying, but it is not as cramped anymore and her shivering gradually stops as her body gratefully accepts the warmth streaming in. After a while, she can breathe normally again, rise and wipe her tears.

"I thank you for your warmth, Brun. But I want you to know that I need nobody's pity."

A glint of Brun's eyes flashes before her, then she hears a non-committal grunt and the soft crush of the bear rolling over and getting up. Wrenne sighs. "I wish I could understand you like Arkteia. But I don't suppose you'd want to talk to me anyway."

She can feel the chill sneaking up on her again through her damp clothes. Her lips draw back a grimace, as much for the cold as for the thought of what Brun must think of her.

"I want you to know that I'm not happy about how I trapped you. But you gave me no choice. I mean it when I say I need no pity. I need strength of my own. I need..." A pang silences her and she swallows before continuing, more quietly. "I need an ally. Someone like you. Someone I know I can always rely on."

This time, Brun makes a shushing sound that sounds more human than bear. Then she moves to Wrenne's side and nudges her.

"I understand. You want me to shut up and get up so we can go on. Right."

After a brief silence, Brun hums softly and nudges her again. She bites down and clambers onto her back. A surging hunger reminds her of the emptiness of her stomach but she welcomes it, uses it to match her mood to the pitch dark of the moonless night, as they move on towards wherever Brun is carrying her.

No rush anymore, Brun walks instead of galloping. That suits Wrenne fine, with limbs only just strong enough to stay seated. As she looks around, she realises it is not as pitch dark as she thought. Overhead, she can glimpse stars and a sky that stands out a lighter black against the deep jet of treetops. Below, occasional hints of the faintest of light tell of puddles or brooks that they walk past. To the sides, slight variations in the darkness whisper of shrubs, trunks or boulders.

Though it is a relief not to feel entirely blind, she realises that she is completely at the mercy of the bear and marvels at how sure she seems of the way. From time to time, she stops for a moment, sniffs the air, turning her head from side to side before moving on. When Wrenne samples the air, all she can feel is an abundance of chill, damp forest.

How much time has passed since moonset? It was less than half an hour gone when she came to the pit. How long did it take to get rid of those two wretches, then put Randel to sleep, free the two captives and then confront Herndel and his still obscure needs? She shakes her head. Even if she could have worked it out, she has no idea for how long Brun ran before she collapsed. That part of their flight was like a hole in time, anything from a few minutes to an hour or more gone without a trace. How long until dawn? The sky gives no clue.

Her arms tremble with the strain of holding her body upright, so she leans forward, propping herself up with her elbows. But now the head is too heavy for her neck and shoulders, so she rests it against Brun's neck, and before she knows it, she wakes up with sunlight in her eyes.

For a moment, she is back in the chilled-out shieling, waking up underneath salvaged scraps of cloth on top of stale-smelling straw. Marvelling at the strange and lifelike dream she has had. But she is warmer than she ought to be and the walls are too far away and with too wide gaps. Confused, she raises her head and realises she is in the forest. She is wrapped up in a blanket, whole and thick, not torn and worn. Her bed is not straw but fern fronds, in varying states of withering but all dry and fresh, thickly heaped both beneath and over her against the broad trunk of an ancient alder that stands between her and a lively creek.

Next to her on her other side is another heap of fern and blanket, at the edge of which a few tufts of mouse-brown hair sleepily peek out. Beyond that, a lump of fur that can only be Brun rests on the ground at the edge of the heap. Careful not to wake them, she crawls out of the fern bed, dragging the blanket along as well as a mass of dry fronds clinging to the wool. A curse and a shiver escapes her as she realises her gown and tunic are still damp. Cloak and blanket are enough for keeping it from chilling her for now, but it's still uncomfortable.

Stretching and yawning, she walks down to the stream and crouches down on a low rock, scooping up water to splash her face. Icy water on the eyes makes the spirit wake and rise. So her mother always used to say.

The thought of mother cramps her where she crouches and she spends a minute rocking back and forth, dry eyes burning, jaws clenched. Then she draws a deep breath and rises, turning her back on the water and the memory.

There is a neatly folded parcel of cloth on a little rock beside the alder. A closer inspection reveals it as a set of trousers, a shirt and a men's tunic, roughly her own size. She looks sidelong at Arkteia, still fast asleep just like Brun. Oh well. Quickly, she slips out of her clothes, puffing against the cold air on her naked skin, and into the new ones. She fumbles with the laces for the pants and shirt, making up a few new curses along the way, then leaves them loose and clumsily hops over to her cloak and new tunic, drawing them over her head to at least keep warm while working it out. Then she folds her gown and puts it damp side down on the rock, sits down on top of it and leans against the alder trunk, starting again on the laces with more patience. As long as she's reasonably warm, there's no hurry, after all. She is on the track where she wanted to be. And while she is anxious to see the end of it, she is not sure if she is quite ready yet.

At last the laces seem to be all in place. Standing up, she tries her work by jogging about a little and smiles grimly when the garment stays in place. The feeling of her legs all wrapped up and yet freer to move than in the gown is unfamiliar but not uncomfortable. "So that's what it's all about," she mutters, looking at her still sleeping companions. "I guess I can live with this. For a while."

All at once, her stomach reminds her of losing her last meal tonight - and that was only some half-dried bread left over from the evening meal, washed down in the middle of the night, waiting for moonset along with Linder. Perhaps they have left her food as well as clothes? A promising sack rests on the ground next to Brun. Quietly snatching it, she brings it back to her seat and after some rummaging finds herself munching down bread, cheese and a couple of apples.

The water of the brooks tastes like mead after this timely meal. Having drunk her fill, she sits down on the rock again, picking a straw of grass, fiddling it between her teeth while she watches the glints of rising sun in the cheerful waters of the brook. After a while, she moves to the fern heap and lies back, rolled into the blanket, arms behind her head, watching the sparse, brown leaves still hanging and the little clusters of cone-like fruit of the alder. A slight breeze moves through the branches, fills her head with gentle whispers and wafts her mind away to elsewhere.

Again she falls. But this time, she falls away from the earth, towards the full moon. It trembles and quivers before her and then it splits into three, moving apart into a perfect triangle. They start to spin, faster and faster, stirring up a maelstrom that sucks her helplessly upwards. Up into a funnel that squeezes her on all sides, while eerie whispers of light welcome her into their midst.

Then another sound, faint but clear, pierces the whispers. Birdsong, far away, at the end of the tunnel she is swept along. It promises a harbour, an anchorage in this turbulent unworld she is hurled through. She strains towards it, wills herself into a faster fall. Wakes up to a bright noon underneath an alder tree singing like a little bird.

She sits up with a jerk, staring at the singing tree. Gaping and blinking while her mind catches up with the waking world. Until her eyes finally catch hold of the little hole in the bark, where a tiny bird has taken refuge, chirping and chiming with abandon as if spring were in full bloom. When she rises, the birdsong falls silent, replaced by a flutter of little wings swiftly receding in a flash of yellow brown. Was that a wren?

Then a familiar grunt behind her alerts her that she is not alone and she turns around to face Brun and, as it turns out, a silent Arkteia, seated on her blanket on the ground with her back against her ally, peacefully finishing a noon meal. As Wrenne pulls her fingers through her tangled mane and clears her throat, Arkteia washes down the last mouthful with a drink from a water skin. For a few moments, they regard each other in silence, Brun watching them both, chin on the ground, eyes alone moving. Arkteia smiles curtly and nods. "I see you found the clothes and food. Good. Are you rested, too?"

Wrenne rubs her eyes with a grimace. "I'll manage. But I do look forward to whenever I can have a whole night's sleep for a change. And you? You must be worn after... after the pit."

"Not really. It was only a day and we spent most of the time there resting. I was hungry but now I have eaten. I spent half the night at work but now I have rested. You have been working much harder than I have, no wonder you need more rest."

Wrenne raises an eyebrow. "You spent the night at... work? Stealing?"

Arkteia shakes her head with a tired smile. "Call it compensation for injury suffered. And I left my ruined clothes in return, though I doubt they'll want to use them."

"You left them?"

"Yes. In the pit. That should spark their imagination." She smiles and looks at Wrenne with eyes that show no sign of frost. For some reason, Wrenne's own eyes burn for a moment and for the first time since she ran away, she wishes she could cry. Instead, she smiles back and suddenly they both laugh.

"I'm not sure whether to pity Herndel or envy him," Wrenne admits. "He witnessed his miracle but oh, what a fool."

Arkteia's smile dims as she looks long at Wrenne. "I think I pity him and envy him at the same time. But not with the pity for a fool. It seems he will never forget the girl he lost to his shining lord."

"What girl? Oh..." Wrenne blushes and looks away. "That wasn't really me. It was all an act."

Arkteia opens her mouth but stops herself and sighs. "If you say so. Well, we have a couple of days before the full moon and we'll need no more than one to reach our destination. We'll spend today resting. Tonight I'll have to visit another village anyway, for provisions."

"Tonight?" Wrenne frowns. "How will you... oh, you'll steal again."

Arkteia gives her another weary smile. "I have tried trading in fur but that's risky. For one thing, this isn't the first time I'm called a witch. People are so superstitious. For another, poaching is illegal. Have you never had to steal?"

Wrenne shakes her head vigorously. "Don't you know what they do to thieves?"

Arkteia rises and waves her hand dismissively. "Is it worse than what they do to free women? To vagrants, beggars? To anyone who comes in their way? Worse than starving or freezing to death?"

A hollow laugh escapes her and then Brun makes some humming, wheezing noises. Arkteia cocks her head and glances at Wrenne. "You think so? Yes, perhaps. If she would."

Wrenne frowns. "Would what?"

"Oh, Brun just suggested that I should take you along tonight. Show you what it's all about."

"Me?" Wrenne pales and retreats a few steps. "We'd get caught! Then what would we do?"

But Arkteia shakes her head with a smile that Wrenne cannot read as anything but wicked. "I won't get caught as long as they don't know I'm coming and set cunning snares at my feet. Perhaps you'd get caught if you don't do exactly as I say. But somehow I feel confident you'd find a way to wriggle out of it. And if you can't, I'll get you out anyway."

Wrenne suddenly feels her fatigue acutely and sinks to her knees in the midst of the fern heap. Picks up a wilted frond, twists it absently around her fingers while studying the still smiling Arkteia. "Why would you? I mean, I had my reasons for breaking you out of the pit. Surely you'd have no reason to rescue me that way?"

Arkteia bites her lip and thoughtfully studies the sky beyond the bare alder crown. Then she walks over and sits down next to Wrenne. "I have several. The plainest one, at least to you, should be that I bartered with the sisters for my freedom, at your request. My part of the bargain is to guide you to the meeting place. If I go back on my word, I'd rather not consider what they'd do."

Wrenne's eyes widen as she meets Arkteia's grave gaze. "You make it sound as if you'd run the greater risk, bringing me along on your burglary, even if I'm the one more likely to get caught!"

Arkteia doesn't even blink. "Perhaps I do. I told you I would rather have nothing more to do with them. It wasn't idle speech. So you really wish to enter their service?"

For a moment, Wrenne quails at the thought. But then Brun also comes over to lie in the warm heap by Arkteia's side. She reminds her of what is at stake and the bright day galvanises her intent.

"You run your risks," she says, "so why shouldn't I run mine? At least I want to see them and decide for myself of what ilk they are."

Arkteia nods. "Yes, so it must be."

Side by side with Arkteia and Brun in silence, Wrenne feels herself shifting into a weird state of mind almost floating out of her body. It seems to her that Arkteia is a humming, swirling cloud by her side, like a thunderhead, promising life-giving rain and furious fire at once.

Then the sensation passes and she shudders. "You said you have several reasons. What are the others?"

For a few moments, Arkteia remains silent. Then she rises and holds her hand out to Wrenne. "I'll tell you later. Right now, I have in mind to make good on Tirisi's word."

Wrenne takes the offered hand at lets herself be pulled to her feet. "What word?"

Arkteia walks over to the sack and picks something from the ground. It looks like a slender stick with a handle in the middle. Then she draws a string out of a leather pouch and starts fastening it to the end of the stick. It dawns on Wrenne that she's looking at Arkteia's bow.

"Tirisi told you I could teach you about hunting. I guess today is all we have, so we might as well get to it, unless you have something better to do?"

Wrenne shakes her head in awe. "Nothing comes to mind. Let's go."

In the waning light of the setting sun, watching now the hare roasting on the spit, now the dancing flames, Wrenne slowly begins to remember why she is here. The thrill of hunting swept all thoughts of past and future away. She learnt much during these few hours - the difference between various animal droppings, their favourite hideouts, the way to stalk them. How to make fire with a bow and an ash stick - with the hare's hip bone for a handle for the top of the spinning stick - since Wrenne wasn't clever enough to bring flint and iron and Arkteia lost hers. Above all she learnt how much there is yet to learn.

The most thrilling part was stalking the stag. They came so close! Arkteia could have shot it, she even had it on her aim, only to slacken her draw and sneak away, leaving it be.

"I just wanted to show you. No good killing a stag here and now anyhow." So she explained, but when Wrenne nodded sagely and talked about the wisdom of letting the king's own animals be, Arkteia just threw an odd glance at her.

"I have no king," she replied. "If we had enough mouths to feed, or enough time to dry or smoke the meat, that stag would have grazed its last leaf. For a single meal for the two of us, smaller game is enough."

Stalking hares was nearly as heart-pounding an experience anyway. When they finally managed to get within shooting range and Arkteia's arrow sent the animal tumbling, Wrenne couldn't resist a cry of triumph that made Arkteia laugh out loud. It stirs old, bittersweet memories of friendship. Suddenly she notices how hard the ground is and shifts in her seat.

"Why?"

She realises that the word left her lips without her meaning to. Raising her eyes, she can see Arkteia cocking an eyebrow at her from across the fire and Brun raises her head. Blushing, she tries to make sense of what she was asking, only to realise that she knows it all too well.

"Why are you so friendly after all I've done?" she explains.

Arkteia nods and shifts her attention back to the spitroast without answering. For a while, Wrenne accepts that she has been ignored and deservedly so. But then Arkteia talks. "Tomorrow is the last day before the full moon. We'll travel to your meeting place then. It's not far, just a few hours. That is the time for answers."

Wrenne shivers a little. "It has to be at the full moon, hasn't it?"

Arkteia presses her lips into a thin line. "I don't know. I guess. It was for me. And this isn't just any full moon." Their eyes met through the flames. Arkteia's voice seems distant, soft but clear. "Tomorrow night it's the Hunter's moon."