There was a shallow ditch running along the side of the road and there was a potato cart lying in it with a broken axle. The cart must have been travelling at some speed when it happened and the cart had run off the road and overturned. The horse had torn itself free and had disappeared down the road, scared away by the wolves. It was probably half way to Sweddell by now.

     The driver, a young lad around Tala's age, had been thrown from the driver's seat and was lying at the bottom of the ditch. His leg was bent at an unnatural angle and blood stained his clothes. He had a long dagger in his hand which he'd been using to hold the wolves at bay, but he lowered it when he saw Tala peering down at him. "There are wolves," he called up to her in a weak voice. His face was white, she saw, and twisted with pain. He was in a bad way.

     "They're gone," Tala replied as she carefully picked her way down to him. She put her shoes down so she could use both hands as she made her way down the scrubby bank. "They ran off. Is your leg broken?"

     "Why would they just run off?" the lad asked, though. He glanced to left and right as if looking for them to return.

     "They don't normally bother people," Tala replied as she reached his side. "They probably didn't fancy getting slashed by your knife. That leg looks broken to me."

     "Yeah." He winced with pain. "Hurts pretty bad."

     Tala took the knife from him and used it to cut a long slit up the leg of his trousers. Then she peeled back the cloth to bare his leg. His shin was black and swollen but it wasn't an open fracture. Still, he must have been here for some time for his leg to look like that. There was hardly any traffic between the two small towns. People generally went from the small towns to the big one instead. If Tala hadn't come along, it might have been more than a day before someone else came this way.

     "I thought someone might come to see what happened when the horse turned up without me," the lad said as Tala continued her examination. There was a nasty cut higher up the broken leg, she saw. The lad had tied a rag around it but he hadn't had the strength to tie it tightly enough and blood was still leaking out. Tala undid the knot and tied it as tightly as she could while the lad gasped with pain. The bleeding stopped.

     "What's your name?" she asked him.

     "Dougal," the lad replied.

     "I'm Tala. You're going to be okay, Dougal. Can you stand?"

     "No. I tried."

     "Well I can't lift you." She thought of her travois, back in the shed beside her cottage, but there was no way she could pull it, with the lad's weight on it, by herself. She took his hand. It was cold and clammy and his pulse was rapid. Whatever she did, it would have to be fast.

     "I'll go get help," she said. "Will you be okay for an hour or so?"

     "What if the wolves come back?"

     "They won't. They were probably just curious."

     "No, they wanted to eat me."

     "Well, they've gone now and the sooner I go the sooner I'll be back." She began to scramble back up the bank.

     "You're leaving me?" the lad cried in fear. He stared around again, looking for the wolves.

     "I'll be as quick as I can. I promise. Try not to move. Save your strength."

     She reached the road and began running, her long, young legs carrying her swiftly along the muddy road. Her bare feet splashed in puddles and muddy water splashed her fine clothes. She'd been running for several minutes before she realised she'd left her shoes behind.

☆☆☆

     It was an hour before she returned, squeezed between Bern the Blacksmith and Grady the village healer on the seat of the doctor's cart pulled by Oscar, his large, black horse. They stopped beside the wreck of the potato cart and the two men jumped out, scrambling down the grassy bank.

     Dougal had fallen unconscious while she'd been away. Grady gave him a quick examination and told the blacksmith to pick him up as carefully as he could.

     "Will he be alright?" asked Tala anxiously.

     "He should be," the doctor replied. "With rest and warmth. Drink and a good meal will sort him out, if he wakes up."

     "If?" asked Tala.

     "He has to be awake to eat and drink. If he doesn't wake up, all we can do is watch him die."

     "He'll be fine, lass," the blacksmith assured her as he laid the lad carefully in the back of the cart. "We'll find a way to wake him up. Right, doc?"

     "A wet rag over the face and pouring water over it generally does the trick," the doctor replied. "You've got to be pretty far gone before that doesn't wake you up. Fast now, Bern. Fast back to town. Don't worry about bumping him. Speed is the most vital consideration."

     "Right."

     They all climbed back aboard and the blacksmith whipped the horse into a run. <Ow!> cried the horse. <That hurt!>

     <I'm sorry,> Tala apologised. <Just run as fast as you can. Please?>

     <Tell him not to whip me again.>

     <Run fast and he won't need to.>

     They went half a mile further along the road until they came to a gate into a farmer's field. They entered the field and used it to turn around leaving wheel ruts in the soft, newly ploughed earth. Then they returned to the road where they hurried to Ellford. Ethel, the doctor's wife, was standing in the narrow, dirt road waiting for them and, as Bern picked Dougal up again, she ushered them into their small cottage and into the back room where there was a bed waiting for him. She and the doctor then ushered the others out of the room while Ethel began undressing him.

     "I know that lad," said Bern as she and Tala went back out into the street where a small crowd was beginning to gather. "Drisco's son. He's a potato farmer. Lives out Crosby way. Someone should tell him his son't hurt. I'll get Sam, my prentice, to go. He knows the place." He turned to face Tala directly. "Lucky you found him. What were you doing on the Sweddell Road?"

     Tala felt a moment of fear. What plausible explanation could she give for being there? Her eyes drifted irresistibly to the stocks where, in years past, green witches had been locked while being stoned to death. The stocks were kept in good condition in case another witch should ever be found and caught. Seeing it, her wrists and neck itched as if she could already feel the heavy wood pressing down on them. She was friends with almost everyone in this town, but she knew they'd turn on her without hesitation if they found out her secret.

     "I wasn't," she said, as casually as she could. "I was on the Merrin road. I heard him calling out."

     "Must have been calling loudly," said the blacksmith thoughtfully. "He must have been a mile away from you, with trees in between."

     "He was in a lot of pain," said Tala, trying desperately to keep any trace of nervousness from entering her voice. "He was almost screaming."

     "Poor lad," said Bern softly. "I hope he's okay. They're a good family. His grandfather fought in the green War. They say King Roderick himself honoured him for his service."

     The service being the hunting down and capture of the Beckby coven, Tala knew. She couldn't keep herself from looking at the stocks again. There was a neatly piled stack of stones on the other side of the town square, each one the size of her fist. She shuddered, then wrapped her arms around her body as if cold, to cover the involuntary gesture.

     "Yes, it is cold," the blacksmith said, nodding his great, bearded head. "You'd best be getting indoors. Your pupils will be wondering what's happened to you."

     The children had probably already gone home, she knew. They wouldn't have waited long when she failed to turn up. She nodded to the blacksmith, though, and hurried over to the church hall. As she suspected, it was empty.