Late one afternoon, her gaze drifted toward the forest of the little people and saw fires along the periphery. What was that? She grabbed her bow and arrows, now down to half the number she had started with and made her way down the slope toward the forest.

As she crept closer, she could see figures outlined by the fires, people her size moving about the boundary of the firelight, hand-in-hand, singing in high-pitched voices. Slowly, she crept from rock to rock, getting nearer the blazes. The singing had a bouncy vibrancy, ebbing and flowing with the dancers’ movements. The language, however, was foreign to her, consisting of short phrases and strange rolling sounds.

She watched transfixed as the energy of the dancers pulled her in, almost wishing she could spring from her cover and join in. For weeks now, she’d heard nothing but her own voice, the wind, dripping of rain, and burbling of water in nearby creeks and the spring. The sound of laughter, of community, of people made her chest ache with longing.

She stood watching the ebb and flow of the music and movement, crouched behind a large boulder. The warmth and the energy of the frenetic movement lulled her senses, such that she didn’t see, or even feel, a tug at her elbow.

“Why aren’t you dancing?” a high-pitched voice spoke.

She jerked around, surprised to see a curly-haired child tugging at her arm. Or was it a child? The face had several lines. The clothes were colorful, full of browns and yellows, a scarf of orange and pumpkin, ribbons in her hair, and a tunic that flared around small breasts, narrowed at the waist, and flowed out into a white skirt with long strands of weeping willow trailing from it.

“Oh, you’re not one of us,” the person said, their brown eyes searching her face. Her features grew darker. “You’re not one of them, are you?”

“Them who?” Faline answered, suddenly wary.

“One of those Reavers,” the person said, looking seriously at her sidelong.

“I don’t know what a Reaver is,” Faline admitted.

“They are violent cutthroats,” the girl said. She pursed her lips. “But you look too young to be a Reaver, and no Reaver in their right mind would come this close to our homeland.” She paused before continuing, studying Faline’s face more carefully. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Faline.”

“My name is Alax. Where do you hail from?”

“From Thornhaven in the South, the settlement of the Finn.”

Alax studied her. “So you’re human. How old are you?”

“I am thirteen years old. You?”

Alax narrowed her eyes, studying Faline’s face as if trying to determine whether she was lying. Her gaze lingered on Faline’s eyes for a moment—even dimmed as they were. Did she see something unusual about them? Then Alax smiled. “I am thirty, which is young for Harrowfolk. At thirteen, I was never let out of the burrow.” Her expression softened with something that might have been sympathy. “You must be very brave, or very desperate, to be out here alone.”

“Desperate,” Faline admitted before she could stop herself.

Alax’s eyes widened slightly. She glanced around, then lowered her voice. “So, are you alone?”

It was then that Faline realized she had probably over-shared with this little person, though she seemed to mean well. It would probably do no good to let her know Faline was on her own. “Ah, no. I’m just… I was just curious what was happening here,” she said, pointing over her shoulder.

With a glance around, Alax backed away, disappointment crossing her features. “You’d better go back to your people then before others realize you’re here.”

“Oh,” Faline said, realizing she’d made Alax suspicious by saying she wasn’t alone. A sense of desperation grew inside her. She’d been alone for weeks now, and this was the first real conversation she’d had with anyone. “Please don’t send me away. I am alone.”

Someone appeared behind Alax, a hand or two taller, with grayish hair and a stern face. “What is going on over here?” From appearance, Faline guessed this was a male; his clothes were cut more square and severely tailored, giving him a fit and trim look. His eyes narrowed as he considered Faline. “Another of those damnable Reavers, I see,” he growled out, then yanked Alax away. “Go on, get out of here, before I summon guards to make you.”

“Now wait,” Alax said, trying to brush off his arm. “Faline, this is my father, Erasmus.” She pointed to the south. “Faline is not a Reaver. She came from the South.”

Alax’s father stared at the ridgeline and turned back to Faline. “Nothing good comes from that way. They usually end up being Reavers. Go on then,” he said, shoving Faline roughly away. “Go back south where you belong. This is our land.”

Faline could take a hint and realized there was no point in arguing that she was not an intruder. She turned away; her throat tight. Back to the waterhole then. Back to nothing but her own voice and the endless silence.

But Alax’s voice rang in her ears. “Father, she is only thirteen, and only a child.”

“Thirteen?” Erasmus said, his tone shifting slightly. He turned back. “Where are your parents, girl? Why are you out here so late?”

Faline stopped and turned. She looked at Alax and back to Alax’s father. “My parents are at home, in the settlement.” She stopped, not sure what else to say.

Alax’s father tilted his head, studying her more carefully now. “They left you out here? On your own?”

Faline felt her eyes glisten and struggled to hold back the memory bubbling up inside of her. Papa’s face as he walked away. Mama’s sobs. The rock with her bloody handprint. She nodded, not trusting her voice.

“How long has it been?” Alax asked softly.

“Sixteen days. Or at least, I think so.” The days had started to blur together.

“Where have you been staying?”

She pointed up the rock face, toward where, in the darkness, the waterhole lay. “Up there.”

Alax turned to her father. “That isn’t right, Father. She shouldn’t be living up there, certainly not alone.”

Her father shook his head. “You know we can’t take in outlanders. The Guild would never allow it.” His voice was firm, but Faline caught something else there—not quite sympathy, but not hardness either.

“Can we give her something to eat?” Alax asked.

Erasmus rubbed his chin, glancing between his daughter and Faline. Finally, he sighed. “I suppose. Go gather what you can from the celebration.” As Alax ran off, an awkward silence fell between Erasmus and Faline.

He studied her for a long moment, and she found herself standing straighter under his gaze, refusing to look pitiful despite the tears still wet on her cheeks.

“Do you have some means of taking care of yourself?” he finally asked.

Faline thought for a moment. “Some, but I’m running out of arrows, and game is getting hard to find.”

“Have you tried fishing?” Erasmus asked.

“I’ve nothing to fish with, and besides, where would I do it?”

“The Gulf. You can fish in the surf either with a fishing line or a forked pole.”

Faline sighed. “Neither of which I have.”

Erasmus nodded his head slowly, seeming to make up his mind about something. “I’ll send Alax to the waterhole with some supplies and anything else I can think of. That much I can do.” He paused. “But understand this—if the Guild learns I’m helping an outsider, there will be consequences. Not severe ones, but I’ll be labeled as someone who consorts with humans. It’s… not a good reputation to have.”

“I understand,” Faline said quickly. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

“See that you don’t.” But his tone wasn’t harsh.

Alax arrived with a full sack. “This is all I could get my hands on. Everyone is starting to head back to the village.” She handed the sack to Faline and turned to her father. “The Guildmaster was asking for you.”

Erasmus sighed. “We’d better go. I wish you luck,” he said, and for just a moment, his stern expression softened. “You’re tougher than you look, girl. Try to stay that way.”

Faline nodded, clutching the sack to her chest as the Harrowfolk vanished into the darkness. The light from their fires disappeared one by one as the little people extinguished them.

She turned and made her way back up the rock face, feeling the loss of interaction with Alax and her father, even as short and temporary as it was. But at least now she had something. Food. The promise of supplies. And most precious of all—proof that she hadn’t been completely forgotten by the world.

She hoped that Erasmus was serious about sending Alax to the waterhole. It would be nice to have a visitor, even for a few moments. That said, she wondered about fishing as a food source. It was not anything she’d ever done before, and wasn’t certain how to do it well.

Perhaps Alax would know what to do.