"Quistelle!"

Again my voice echoed back to me as I wandered through the woods hoping for some sign of the wandering damsel.

I came upon the little stream I used to play in with the girls when we were little. Careful not to wet the hem of my dress, I removed my gloves, letting the cool water kiss the tips of my fingers. I could sit there forever, listening to the melodious birdsong, and feeling the gentle touch of the sun whose fingers slipped every now and then between the trees. But I was instantly drawn out of my day dream when I spied something on the other side of the stream. Snatching up my gloves, I crossed over using a nearby fallen tree whose roots shot out of the ground like old, gnarled fingers. Upon reaching what had caught my eye, I gave a start. 

Quistelle's boot!

What by Gordorf happened here! A series of mad pictures availed themselves to me as my eyes darted all around. Her shoe! Before I'd time to completely lose my wits, there was a ruffling of branches and leaves high overhead. At first I saw nothing. Then, having taken a few steps toward the nearest tree, I caught a glimpse of movement among the branches.

"Quistelle?!" 

She sprang deftly onto the branch of the tree nearest me, and climbed onto a lower one, smiling broadly.

"You found my boot!'' She seated herself comfortably on her branch. "I thought I'd lost it somewhere near the boulders up yonder. But you came along with the eyes of a leanjax and found it. How very good of you!"

I hadn't the slightest idea of what a leanjax was and stared blankly at her.

Before I'd had a chance to say anything, she jumped across to a lower branch. "I daresay, you wouldn't happen to have seen the other one have you?"

"What?"

"The other shoe, silly."

"Why on earth did you take them off?" I ran beneath her branch holding out my arms. "Don't be so reckless up there, Quis–!"

"Oh! Well, you see it's more comfortable to run about without them." She extended her arms on either side and walked back and forth along the branch with graceful abandon. "Father Pal used to make me wear them, you see,—said it was 'proper' for a lady to wear shoes. I had no idea what that meant but I wanted to please him. And besides," she said with an expressive look, "he does not like it when I cover my feet."

Who's Father Pal? And does he prefer her with shoes or not? And why won't she stop moving?!

"I came to find you and I have. Now be a good girl and come down from there."

She sat down on the branch, swinging her long legs to and fro. "You could not have found me, Miss, because I was not lost." She pointed at the boot in my hand. "That was."

Setting down the shoe, I wrung my hands.

"Alright, fine, you weren't, but it's about high time we went inside to tea and I've come–"

"With your good nature to bring me back to the house as no other girl would have dared," she finished.

She pulled a few leaves from her dishevelled hair. 

"Well, maybe Miss Fiatson, she's a bold one. Miss Partridge might have too, if she weren't so afraid of the woods."

She sighed then gazed off somewhere. "It would be nice to have a friend."

Closing my eyes, I let out a sigh and leaned against the aged trunk. "You can have me for a friend, Quistelle. And we can start by your coming down so we can have us a good conversation on our way to—"

She alighted upon the ground in a flash like some silent creature and fluttered before me with excited eyes.

"You mean it? Like a true, real friend?" She clasped her hands before twirling around. "We can take lovely walks together and do...things friends are supposed to do! And—and you can make me like you! How exciting!" 

Words cannot express how I felt in that moment, and inwardly, I grinned like a cheeky cheshire cat. To be like me! My plan was finally making headway! And I exhaled as calmly as possible while she spun about cheerfully with her messy braid whipping about her.

She turned delighted eyes on me.

"Your eyes! They do change colour!"

She smiled. "Yes, you won't find a Morovi whose eyes did not colour shift once in a while."

"More- row - vee?" I drew my brows together in thought. "Is that what you are then? A Morovi from beyond the mountains?"

She laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"The way you say it, Miss! I truly cannot help but laugh!" 

I smiled too. She was contagious, really, and it appeared nature agreed. The birds, who had been chirping their own musical notes, suddenly fell silent as Quistelle erupted in laughter. They again picked up their tune, this time in accompaniment with her laugh! It was beautiful and happened so fast, I wondered, as she stooped to retrieve her basket from among the brush, if she was aware of what happened.

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"The birds and the singing and— Laugh," I demanded at last.

"Miss?"

"I'm on the brink of a discovery, Quistelle," I said with an impatient stamp. "Simply do as I say."

Her face became serious. 

"I am only obliged to laugh if something permits me to do so, Miss."

I threw up my hands.

"Oh, it can't be that hard! Think of something funny. Something that happened in your presence that made you laugh."  

She turned her eyes skyward for a moment. Looking back at me, a sparkle in her big eyes, she tried holding back a snicker.

"I saw you go head over heels when you came upon that fallen tree on your way down here. My, how you rolled!"

"You saw that!"

"You see everything from the trees and oh! how funny it looked!"

The birds silenced themselves for an instant then quickly picked up on her sounds adding a tune of their own. It was a sweet melodious choir.

"Amazing!" I said in awe as she finally composed herself. Taking her boot from me she settled on the ground and began inspecting her shoe.

"Miss... Malstoyke was it? In answer to your question earlier, yes, I am a Morovi from a place called Ovidia in the land of Deldur, or as you people say, beyond the mountains." 

As she slipped on her shoe, a bruise on her left wrist peeked from beneath her sleeve. Casually and unconsciously, she pulled it down, but I snatched her hand and undid the two buttons of her sleeve. I gasped as a dull but unmistakable scar glared viciously from her honey coloured skin. I brushed my fingers against it; a smooth, yet ugly scar as this was a terrible sign.

"Quistelle..." was all I could say.

"They used to bind me with ropes," she said in a tone of indifference. "Morovis are considered valuable due to our... differences," she finished simply. "My kind has a history of being run aways—a habit I suppose, and thus," she waved her wrist, "the binds." 

She chuckled. 

"When Father Pal saw them," she pulled up the other sleeve revealing another similar scar, "he turned a ghastly white, like the porridge Miss Goods served for breakfast this morning–I had never seen food so white let alone a person!" 

She laughed then, so freely, so innocently, but I could not even muster a smile.

"I had medicine for it, to help it heal. Father Pal made it, you see—he studied maps and medicine, you know—and he would apply it every hour. But I left it behind, careless of me! I never saw the point of it. But he did, he was most adamant that I remember to put the paste on my wrists and ankles." 

I placed a hand on her arm, glancing at her legs. I'd never seen her without stockinettes.

"He even assigned the maids, Wister and Crayes to apply it when he could not, but they wanted nothing to do with me, nor I with them. And most times the medicine went untouched. Perhaps that is why the marks remain." 

She traced the ring around her wrist. 

"It wasn't until I came here that I realised Crayes and Wister had had a fear of me. It is rather funny actually, since I was afraid of them too." 

She smiled sadly. "Perhaps... perhaps I could have had friends if I had only been brave enough to see that things were going to be different."

I sat beside her. "So your father...?"

"I have never met my birth father, but Sir Palton took me in and taught me a great many things. He insisted I call him Father." She giggled. "He hated to be called Sir, said it sounded ancient!" 

She drew down her sleeves, fastening the buttons. 

"He always had me cover them," she explained. "He said people wouldn't understand and that he wanted me to be respected. I never knew what he meant."

I took a deep breath and knelt before her.

"Look at me. Sir Palton was right: people won't understand, especially here. You mustn't show your scars to anyone. No one can know what you've told me, do you understand?" 

She stared at me in surprise and I suppose the earnestness in my expression forced her to take my warning to heart. She nodded slowly, her eyes wide in apprehension. I sighed and shook my head decidedly. 

"No, they won't understand, they won't try to, so they can never know."

She smiled and petted the top of my head, something no one has done since I was a child.

"There, there, Miss, no need to be so serious. I trust that you'll keep my secret. And I suppose it would only be fair that I keep yours."

"Mine?"

"Why of course," she said springing to her feet. "I am almost certain Madame Prue would tell of your clumsiness with utmost animation that it would have the ladies laughing for days."

"No, no, no, you mustn't tell that to anyone, Quistelle. The minute the girls hear about it, the story will somehow reach a certain person whose name I will not mention and I'll be teased mercilessly for life! "

"And who is this unnamed person?" she said falling in step with me as we made our way back. "Friend or foe? "

"Sometimes both, but most often, friend. I'll give you a name if you'll tell everything about you, who your friend is for a start. "

She put a finger to her chin, then flashed me an audacious smile. 

"You shall learn everything you need to in due time. We're friends, after all." 

There was something creepy about the way she said the last part, as though she had something dreadful planned for my meddling in her affairs. And if she was a caster of spells, as most of lower Gordorf believed, I don't imagine I'd last very long.

*          *          *

"Oh, look!" 

Quistelle ran ahead and snatched her missing shoe from the overgrown grass. We reached the clearing between the lonely woods and the gabled roof of the Bedlaam house. I carefully examined myself.

"Well, it could've been worse," I said, examining a small stain on the hem of my skirt. "A good wash ought to get that out." I started towards the grounds.

"Come along Quistelle, I do not fancy cold tea–" and looking over my shoulder, I saw that she was kneeling in the dirt tending to her plants.

"Go on without me," she said, tearing up a deep rooted weed with fierce strength when I approached. "It would not do you well to be seen with me. I'll be there in a minute."

 I raised my chin. 

"What happened to being friends?" I said leaning forward. "You will come with me to the house and that is final."

She paused her work to face me. Her bronze eyes had taken a darker shade. She shook her head.

"We can be friends, but it is my wish that you go up first. Here, you may take my basket to Ms. Laggsby, there are some big ones in there for supper. Go on now, I have some work to do before I can go indoors," and with that she turned her back to me and continued to pulling at the few remaining weeds.

I stood there wondering if I'd actually been dismissed—again. But seeing that she was indeed engrossed in her task, I turned away and strolled to the house alone, looking back once more at the solemn Morovi tending to her clumps of halstung or Wishingbell flowers.