Jalintu's laughter followed the herdsman into the next room, but to his relief, the woman herself did not.

He threw his bundled clothes to the floor and dressed quickly. One glove was missing, no doubt left behind on the floor of his room, but he went out into the snow without it.

It was not long before dawn, and a faint green light lit the east. But the stars could still be seen, bright pins holding up the tent of the sky.

The air was frigid, incredibly cold, so clear it seemed it could break, like glass. Or water, when a pebble is thrown into it. Fyar's breath came in huge white clouds, cascading over his beard and catching there like dew, then like frost.

The cold cleared his head.

He had not expected Jalintu's visit. He had noticed her watching him, felt her eyes following him, but had assumed it was from wariness and distrust after all she had suffered.

Now he realized he had been wrong. His face burned, and not only from the cold. Embarrassment and shame, at misjudging her, at the way he had fled just now, combined with the sting of the frigid mountain air to turn his cheeks bright red beneath his frosty beard.

In addition to the shame was a sadness, a loneliness he could not quite explain.

Why? After a thousand years of solitude, why feel lonely now when there is a beautiful woman wanting you in your bed?

The herdsman thought of how quickly Jalintu had recovered. Had gone from flinching at his touch to craving the warmth of his skin. Had gone from fear to trust to desire.

He wanted to feel scorn for such fickleness, such a quick change of the heart. But in truth he felt only admiration and envy. He supposed humans, for all their violence and fault, could be admired for other qualities. Their resilience, their adaptability. Their reckless tendency to hope.

And here you still stand upon your lonely mountain, caring for nothing more than your goats.

Sighing, he turned to return to the caves.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The rest of the day, the herdsman was not sure how to regard the woman he had taken in.

Jalintu followed him about his daily routine as she always did, assisting with chores, nothing but the faint smile about her lips giving any indication she recalled the night before.

While noting her smile, Fyar also observed her lips were a very soft shade of pink, like a river shell's smooth inner side.

I wonder if they'd feel as smooth.

Catching himself in the thought, the herdsman quickly refocused on his current work, pulling briars from Thymonos's coat.

"You're more trouble than you're worth," he grumbled to the old whether, who bleated back.

Jalintu, holding the goat's head to keep him still, laughed and stroked Thymonos's nose fondly.

"He only found you," Fyar grumbled with mock discontent. "And yet he gets such treatment? I'm the one who took you in and clothed and fed you."

Jalintu's eyes when she looked up were merry, and the smile about her lips promised much more, if he would only let her.

The herdsman swallowed and quickly looked away.

After that, it was hard not to become acutely aware of a hundred other little details he had somehow neglected before.

The silver-white of her hair, the way the short strands curled about her ears. The curve of her jaw, and the slender lines of her neck. Her lithe fingers, and the way they deftly learned whatever he taught her. Her laughter, her smile, the mischief in her sea-colored eyes.

He wondered what other emotion those eyes could show? What could he do to make them widen in surprise, or love, or longing?

By evening, all his thoughts were of her.

At dinner when his hand touched hers as she passed him a plate he nearly jumped off the bench, worried the contact would somehow alert her to his thoughts, which had become increasingly indecent as the day went on.

And I thought to criticize Jalintu for her own quick change. At least her interest grew over several days. It has taken me only one.

After dinner was cleared he quickly retreated to his room. In bed the thoughts continued to plague him. He thought of her hands the night before, running over his chest, and what would happen if he let them run lower. He let his mind wander further, imagining what would happen if he were to touch her in turn. What sounds could he make her usually silent mouth speak?

He thought he would like the challenge.

Sleep evaded him, and when he could stand it no longer he rose and dressed. He crept silently through the kitchen, careful not to wake Jalintu where she slept soundly by the fire, and outside.

For the second night, he found himself in the frigid cold as the day was dawning. But the cold did nothing to clear his head. Still thoughts of Jalintu and her closeness filled his mind. Now that he had entertained the idea, the temptation grew with each passing moment.

He shook his head, the feathers braided into it rustling.

The herdsman turned, looking for distraction, and picked the shapes of the goats out of the snow, down near the saddle. Instead of walking along the well trodden path, he forced himself through the drifts of snow, sinking near up to his waist. Sweat broke out on his back beneath his furs before he had gone ten steps, and his breath came in larger and thicker clouds.

He stopped, staring up at the sky. The stars were fading.

The sweat quickly cooled on his body, and he knew he would have to go back to the cave to change. Though he rarely grew sick, it would not do to chance it, especially not when he had Jalintu under his care.

Just as he turned, movement caught his eye, down in the saddle, near his goats.

Something too tall for a four legged creature. A man dressed in leather and furs, in the fashion of the horsemen of the steppe, and beside him a hound, bound by a leather thong, furiously sniffing at the snow.

The herdsman stilled. Very, very still. So his breath was his only movement. Then he sunk down into the snow. With his hands, one gloveless, he dug a small gap, just wide enough for him to see through to the mountain below.

The man followed the hound. It pulled at its leash, leading the man directly to the spot where Fyar had found Jalintu several days prior.

The hound stopped, casting around in a wide circle.

The herdsman felt a wave of relief wash over him. I picked her up, he thought. It cannot find the trail because I picked her up.

The hound cast about once more, then giving up, lunged toward the goats gathered a short distance away, who scattered.

Two other men appeared over the curve of the mountain's slope, both mounted on shaggy plains horses, leading a third horse behind.

They dismounted and gathered around the first man and the hound, and appeared to be conversing.

The herdsman was surprised. Usually the wards he had set alerted him to anyone's presence on the mountain. Perhaps the wards had weakened.

Or perhaps you were too distracted with your licentious thoughts to notice, you damn fool-

CRUNCH.

Fyar looked back, startled. Cresting the ridge just behind him, following in his own hastily made trail, Jalintu came, stumbling through the snow.

CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH.

Her eyes were wide with fright, her jacket forgotten and her boots only partially tied.

She must have seen the men from the cave, he realized.

He hissed to get her attention, then gestured her down, into the snow. She froze, staring at him, the fear in her eyes close to pain, like a rabbit caught in a snare.

Quickly, the herdsman stood, dashed back to her, and threw them both down into the freezing shelter of the snow.

Half dragging, half carrying Jalintu, he made his way back to the hiding spot he had dug, peeking out once more.

Then men were still deep in conversation. The herdsman sighed in relief. They must not have seen anything. With the light growing in the eastern sky, the hill they were on was in shadow, and probably not as visible as the saddle below.

In his arms, Jalintu was trembling terribly. The herdsman sat, pulling her under his thick bearskin and against his chest.

"Shhh," he soothed. "You are safe. They cannot hurt you here."

His hand, reaching to rub her back, touched cold metal. He looked down, realizing she had grabbed a knife from the table.

"It is alright," he soothed, carefully taking the knife from her hands and tucking it into his boot. "You are safe. You are safe, Jalintu."

He peered once more through the hole he had cleared.

The men still stood talking. One of them gestured to the goats and then turned and retrieved a bow from his saddle. He reached to the quiver of arrows on his back and selected a shaft, aiming it at one of the goats nearest him.

The herdsman tensed and cursed, realizing what they were going to do. In his lap Jalintu also tensed, then quicker than he thought she could move, her hand snapped to his boot and grabbed for the knife.

"No!" he hissed as she tried to spring up, knife and all. He wrapped his powerful arms around her as he had done last night, crushing her to his chest, then bent, hiding them both beneath the ridge of snow.

They crouched, their mingled breathing harsh as the cold snow against his cheek.

It was then Fayr noticed something hard beneath his boot. The tip of a rock, poking through the snow. He had dug far enough to reach it.

A rock that is connected to the earth.

One arm still holding Jalintu, he reached out the other and found the rock with his ungloved palm.

He breathed deeply.

The ground shook just as the bowstring twanged. Angry bleating reached them, followed by the sound of goat hooves thundering away.

Fyar peered through the hole. The horseman had missed, and the goats had scattered. The men turned their horses and rode away, the hound following.

The herdsman let his breath out in a whoosh, then cursed once more,

*~*~*~*~*~*

It took the rest of the morning to round up the scattered goats and herd them back to the cave.

Once there Fyar secured Mavros by a rope to a stake in the ground. The rest should not wander far without him.

Then he moved to check the wards.

Jalintu followed him throughout it all, tripping through the high snow. He asked her to wait for him at the cave, but she shook her head.

Still trembling, she trailed after him like a kid goat following its mother.

He checked all the wards. They were unchanged from when he had checked them a few days ago. The thought made him frown, for if they had been in affect the men should not even have come this far without his notice, hound or no.

They must have even more powerful magic with them.

He wondered on it after they returned to the cave. The steppe men must have carried a charm perhaps, to let them pass unseen wards. Or one to track and find. He glanced at Jalintu. Such magic was rare, near unheard of, and he wondered why someone would go to such lengths to pursue her.

But he did not want to ask. The woman's already pale skin had grown paler. Her trembling had stopped, but her usually lively eyes stared listlessly ahead of her as she sat before the fire, as though not seeing the flames. As though not seeing anything at all.

"Shall we have supper early, and then retire?" Fyar asked with forced enthusiasm. "I was thinking perhaps we should finish the wine skin we opened last night."

She did not look away from the flames, but did not decline.

He set out food, olives, bread, dried grapes sweetened further with sugar, and a particularly fine cheese he had been saving.

Jalintu did not help him as she normally did, but joined him to eat.

As they ate, the herdsman cast about for something to talk of. Finally his eyes settled on the sword mounted over the fireplace. He pointed it out. "The fellow who wielded that claimed he would take my head in a single swipe and carry it to his master as prize."

Jalintu looked at him for the first time that evening, and he went on. "He didn't even get close. Instead he tripped over a rock and broke his arm."

Jalintu raised an eyebrow, nodding to the sword.

"Ah, I took it while he fled," the herdsman explained. He pointed out another weapon, a javelin, made of polished teak laced with metal for added strength and snap. "That belonged to a man hunter who also came after me."

The herdsmen grinned. "He tried to climb the peak to find a place to snipe at me when I emerged from my cave. But the rocks near the peak can be treacherous, and he fell."

He saw a ghost of a smile on Jalintu's mouth. "That spear as well, and the shield. Both owners couldn't keep their footing. You would think the mountain was covered in ice, the way they slip."

Jalintu rolled her eyes, clearly saying, "It is covered in ice."

The herdsman laughed. "What I am trying to say is you do not need to worry. Many have come before. The mountain will keep us safe."

They finished their meal, the herdsman doing his best to keep Jalintu distracted from her thoughts.

The wine did a far better job, and before long she fell asleep on the table, head on arms.

Fyar carefully cleared away the food and plates, then lifted the sleeping woman and laid her on the skins before the fire.

As he covered her, he whispered his wishes. "Sleep well."

To his surprise, one of the women's hands reached out and grabbed his arm. Her sea-blue eyes opened, finding his own.

ONC Word Count: 10277