The air was cold and crisp. The sky was clear of nighttime clouds, and the small, bright stars looked like holes in a dark blue blanket in front of a candle. Arch ran as fast as he could, following the high-pitched, shrill screams that pierced the peacefulness of the night. He was breathing hard, and each intake of the cold air stung his lungs, and every exhale made a small cloud in front of his face that he ran through as he tore across the town.

Arch had no idea how on earth he knew it was Zia who was screaming- he just did. Some instinct told him that the little girl he had met in the warming sunlight was being hurt, and badly. He chided himself for not bringing the girl home with him for the umpteenth time that day.

As he found himself in the dark, abandoned market, he heard one last, hopeless, tortured scream, and then the night turned silent again.

A cold hand gripped Arch's heart. Why had the screams suddenly stopped? Had the foul old drunk taken a knife to the girl? Was she dead?

Lights were flickered on as the townspeople woke from their sleep, angry and bitter for being woken up and scared and curious as to what was happening. Arch tore off after where the last, heart-wretching scream had come from, trusting his instincts to lead him to the noise.

He fell upon a small, untidy house by the small creek at the edge of the town. Despite the panic that he felt, he realized how close he lived to the little girl he met in the market. How had he never seen her before?

The candles were still on inside- that much he could see through the space between the door frame and the door itself. Light was pouring through the cracks. He tried to see through the holes, but he was blinded by the light for a moment because his eyes were accustomed to the dark night.

Inside, he heard Daxtor Myrna grunting, and then the sound of a small girl grunting in pain.

Anger boiled in his veins. He kicked the door so hard it swung off its hinges, making the fat Daxtor inside jump, nearly losing his balance and landing on his fat rear. He had been standing over Zia, who had dozens of cuts and bruises up and down her body. She was passed out on the floor, looking terribly pale, and her eyes appeared to be swollen shut. She was sprawled at an odd, painful angle, her arms and legs covered with blood and bruises. Her head was sporting a new, bloody gash, and Myrna's hand was cut and covered with blood from hitting the poor girl so much. For a terrifying moment, Arch couldn't tell if she was alive, until she drew a short, raspy breath. She was knocked out, not dead.

Daxtor Myrna's brown eyes were so dark they looked nearly black, and they were wide from fear of being caught hurting his daughter. It was strictly against the most sacred laws of Otar to lay a harmful hand on a child as he had done, punishable by death, and he had broken that law many times before. He was breathing in sharp rasps, as if his fat body hadn't moved so much in all his life.

Arch glared at the old, stupid, ugly drunk with so much power that Daxtor, in his drunken state, shuffled backward nervously, and tripped and fell over Zia's legs. He lost his balance and fell on his fat backside with a thump! so powerful it shook the frame of the entire house.

Hatred for this man piled up inside Arch's chest so powerfully he thought it might consume him. The hate he had had before for the old drunk was nothing in comparison to what he felt now. It was as if someone had fed a forest worth of fuel to a large fire in his chest, and it roared inside of him, growing stronger with each cut or bruise he counted on the unconscious girl's small body.

Arch's breathing came fast and heavy from his nose, both from the loathing of the man before him and his ugly deeds, and from his earlier run.

Arch strode up to the man whom had been the cause of so much pain to one so young, who shuffled back into the corner of his house, trying to make his overly-large body as small as possible.

Arch was about to smack the living daylight out of the man, but just then, a firm, deep voice shouted, "Halt!"

Arch turned to see Jay Holden, the Captain of the Royal Guard. He was wearing his armor, and his sword was drawn, ready for any attack. He had five Guards with him, all with various weapons, all in glinting armor.

After taking a quick look around the room and Arch's raised hand, threatening to hit the fat man in the corner, Jay thought that Arch had hurt this girl.

"I'll take care of this," Jay said gruffly.

Arch seemed to realize that the Guard thought that he was the abuser, not Myrna. "No, sir, you don't understand-"

One of the Guards strode up to Jay and whispered something in his ear. Jay listened.

"Who are you?" Jay asked. "I had one of my Guards set up nearby the minute I dropped this girl off. He saw you running towards this house like a mad-man. He saw you coming toward this house before he could even send someone to alert me. What was your business here?"

"I heard the screaming," Arch said breathlessly.

"I don't think there was a person in town that didn't," a Guard said gruffly. He was punched forcefully on his exposed arm by one of the other men.

"But why would you be so desperate to reach this girl?" Jay asked, back on task. "Who is she to you?"

"I met her in the market today," Arch began.

"You too? She certainly leaves an impression on you, doesn't she?" Jay laughed lightly, then turned to Daxtor Myrna, still cowering in the corner. He gestured to one of his men. "Take him away. He'll have to have a trial with the King and Queen for violating one our land's most sacred laws." His voice was cold and hard, and it sent shivers down Daxtor's spine.

Two Guards strode forward and roughly pulled the shaking man to his feet, his small, jerky movements causing his stomach to jiggle. Arch noticed that one of them was the same who had whispered in the Captain's ear a few moments ago. They grabbed Daxtor, one shoulder and one wrist to each Guard, and escorted him away.

Once the fat man was gone, Arch knelt down by Zia, examining her hurt body. First, he moved her arms and legs into a more comfortable position, Zia moaning in protest of begin moved and the pain of having her fresh wounds disturbed.

Arch had no idea where to begin. She was so covered in cuts and bruises that he didn't know where one wound stopped and the next one began. He was no crack-shot at injuries, and now he was wishing that he could be better help to Zia.

Jay strode forward and put a friendly hand on the farmer's shoulder. "I think it would be best to take her to the town healer." His tone was light and kind, but also held an undertone of demand. He wasn't suggesting it, he was ordering it.

 Arch nodded.

Jay gestured to one of the three men still with him. "Percival, go get him."

The Guard named Percival nodded and ran swiftly into the dark, cold night.

Jay turned back to Arch. "I'm not the best of healers, but I can tell that with a little treatment and a lot of rest, she'll be fine."

Arch nodded, and turned away so that Jay couldn't see the tears glistening in his eyes. How could someone be so cruel to someone so innocent?

It was silent for a long time, until the sound of a wagon pulling up outside and the call of a horse was heard through the silence.

Percival reentered the house with a small, balding man in tow. He was very short, only a few inches taller than Zia would've been if she were standing. He carried the medical bag that all healers had. His hair was thin and wispy and did very little to cover his shiny scalp. The healer's eyes were bright blue, and were very nervous. Being called to the house of the town drunk in the middle of the night by the Royal Guard was not his idea of fun.

"Ah," Jay said in greeting. "You must be the healer, Mr....?"

"The name's just Link, sir." The healer gave a humble bow. His voice was high pitched and it squeaked in his nervousness.

Jay smiled. "Well, then, just Link. The name's just Jay, without the bow."

The old healer nodded. "Pleased to meet you sir. What was it that you needed-" His eyes fell on Zia sprawled out on the floor, and he instantly got to work, his question long forgotten. He ran to her side and knelt down, which wasn't really necessary for him to reach her. He dug into his bag at his side and found what he was looking for. He pulled out a bowl with a rag hanging over the side and handed it to Arch.

"Would you fill that up with water for me, sir?" His voice was kind and polite, but Arch could hear the undertones that left no argument.

Arch nodded, and went to the basin that was full of cold water and dipped the bowl inside, swiftly returning it to Link.

"Thank you." The healer worked fast and flawlessly from years of practice. His hands were steady and calm, but moved fast and gently. He dipped the cold water gently on the bruises that covered Zia's body, and gently rubbed away the blood coming from her cuts. Arch's stomach lurched each time the small man pulled the rag from her body and he saw it with a new red stain, and pieces of torn flesh.

It's alright, he told himself. She'll be fine. Myrna is gone and he can't hurt her anymore.

After a few moments, Link took a deep breath and grabbed another bowl with another rag and handed it to Arch. "This one too, if you don't mind. Just a little bit, please." Arch didn't argue, and quickly returned it with a few inches full of cold water.

"Ah, thank you." Link grabbed the bowl from him and started to dig around in his bag again. He pulled out many herbs and powders that Arch didn't recognize, and Link threw different measurements of each one into the bowl. He added one petal of a white and lavender flower that Arch didn't know the name of, and pulled another tool out of his bag. It was a stone that had been beat and smoothed until it was shaped like a cone rounded on both ends. He used the tool to smash and mix the powders, herbs, and all the other things into a blue, pasty concoction.

Link dipped the rag into the paste and began to spread it over his patient's most severe bruises. When he had done all he could with what he had, he turned to Jay and said, "I'll have to take her to my apothecary. She'll need more treatment, and I'm afraid that I don't have all my supplies with me."

"Of course," Jay said.

Through all this, Arch had been silent, but now he spoke up. "What exactly is wrong with her?"

Link shrugged. "It could be a number of things. Examining her body, I'd say it's not the first time she's taken a hit. She took one nasty blow to the head, and she could have a concussion, but that's very unlikely." He shrugged again. "I just can't tell at this point. I'll need to run some additional tests on her. There doesn't seem to be anything permanent. She'll need lots of rest, though."

Arch nodded and let out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. She would be okay. He hadn't killed or crippled her by not taking her with him.

Jay put a strong hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you go home?" he said. "She's in very good and able hands. She needs to rest."

Arch nodded, and then turned with pleading eyes to Link.

"I'll send for you when she wakes," Link promised.

Arch nodded his thanks to Link, and his good-bye to Jay and the remaining Guards, not trusting his voice.

Before he left the shabby house, Link called him back. "What is the girl's name, sir?"

"Zia." His vice was weak, so he cleared his throat and said again, "Zia."

He left that house alone that night, but with a hope burning in his chest that Zia would be alright.

Zia woke up feeling like she had been through a flour mill. Her head pounded, her body ached, and she was sore all over. She blinked a few times to get used to the sunlight that was gleaming through some unseen window, and she realized she had no idea where she was. She sat up quickly, which caused her head to spin, and she put it between her legs to stop the pain. When the world finally stopped spinning like a cart wheel, she took a few deep breaths, steeled herself, and slowly, inch by inch, raised her head from her lap.

She was in a soft bed with actual padding. The pillow she had been laying on was fresh and white and fluffy as a cloud. The blankets were warm, but very light, and she was in a fresh change of clean, newly-made clothes. She was dressed like a boy, and she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she rather liked it. The white wool tunic and matching breeches were far more comfortable than the frilly, puffy, dresses that the women wore around town.

She was in a small little cabin, and judging by the smell coming from the open window above her, it was placed near the forest. The bright light that shone through the window also told her it was late in the afternoon.

There was a desk in the corner, which was piled with clay jars and bowls, glass vials, and some things Zia had never seen before. There were instruments that had various blades at the end of them. She briefly wondered if Daxtor had moved her to a secret torture chamber. But then she remembered her clean clothes and dismissed the idea; Daxtor would never have wasted perfectly good drinking money on new clothes for her.

There was a stand to hang hats and cloaks in the corner, and it only hosted one small, very worn cloak the color of mud. The small door was open and hung on its hinges like it was the only thing keeping it from collapsing. Suddenly, a small, stout man appeared through that door, humming a merry tune. When he saw Zia, he nearly jumped out of his skin and dropped some herbs he was holding.

"You're awake!" he shouted, which made Zia's head buzz. "Oh, my bad, miss," the small man said, lowering his tone to a near-whisper.

"Where am I?" Zia asked. Her voice was raw and scratchy, like it hadn't been used in years.

"You're in the infirmary," he said. "I'm the town healer, Link."

Then it all came rushing back to her. She remembered Jay the Royal Guard dropping her off at Daxtor's house, her father beating her, and then her passing out. She remembered the screaming, and she knew it had been her own. That explained her raw throat.

"How did I get here?" she wanted to know.

"Well, that's quite a long story, but to put it simply, after your lamb's dropping of a father knocked you out, Arch Reems ran into your house and stopped Daxtor from beating you. The Royal Guard appeared and took your father away to await trial before the King and Queen. Then a Guard sent for me, and here you are," Link said simply.

"How long have I been here?" she asked, fearing what his answer might be.

"About two days," Link said. "You took one nasty blow to the head. That will explain the headache, my dear. You'll be a bit sore for a few days, but I don't think there's any permanent damage done."

Zia was slightly taken aback at his knowing of her head pains, but then she mentally slapped herself. He was a healer. He was supposed to know about these things.

"Arch," she said. "He saved my life. Where is he?"

"Oh, he's been in to see you every day since you came. If he comes at the same time he has in past times, he'll be here within the hour. He's been quite worried about you, my dear," Link added.

Zia thought about what on Earth she had done to win the old farmer's affections. She hadn't given him anything. She hadn't even said a particularly nice word to him. So why did he choose to do so to her when she had never returned the favor?

There was a knock on the door and Zia was so startled she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Speak of the devil," Link smiled. "Arch, come on in. She's awake."

Arch entered the small hut, bending down as he did to avoid hitting his head on the low threshold. His light blonde hair had grown out longer and shaggier since she'd last seen him, even if it had only been two days. His pale blue eyes had bags underneath from lack of sleep, but when he saw Zia sitting up and looking pale but healthy, he smiled.

A little boy entered behind him, shyly hiding behind his father's bulky frame. His eyes were soft brown, and his hair fell into them in brown waves. When he saw Zia he gave her a large, friendly smile that took Zia aback. No one ever smiled at her.

Arch strode forward and inspected Zia. She was ghostly pale, but she had been for the past few days. Her left eye was swollen, but it was going down, and the cuts and bruises were healing nicely as well. She still looked like a sea of blue and yellow bruises, but whatever paste Link had rubbed on them must have been working.

He smiled warmly and said, "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been thrown under a dozen horses in a gallop," she replied as she lowered herself down on the soft pillow beneath her.

Arch chuckled lightly then turned to the little boy who had entered with him. "This is my son, Ike. Ike, this is Zia."

Zia wasn't used to people talking to her, or even to people her age, so she just nodded politely and Ike did the same with a broad smile cutting through his lips.

"Wow, Pa was right. Your eyes do have pic-mule-clear in them!"

Zia had no idea was pic-mule-clear was, so of course her hands went flying to her face to try and get it out.

Arch laughed at her reaction and rubbed his son's hair affectionately.

"Pa's told me a lot about you," Ike informed her, sitting on the end of her bed. "You've been the subject of family dinner talk for the past two days."

Zia stopped rubbing her eyes and looked to Arch for conformation, and she saw a loving twinkle in his icy blue eyes that told her it was true.

"I'm glad to see you awake, Zia," he told her. "I've been quite worried about you."

Ike rolled his eyes. "'Quiet worried' my foot! You should have seen him! He was pacing the floor like a madman. He couldn't sit down for more than a few seconds at a time."

Zia wasn't accustomed to laughing, but she managed a small smile. She found herself liking Ike. He was friendly, but wasn't too pushy. He could tease, and could obviously take a tease, too. He seemed to be perfectly comfortable around her too, like they had known each other all their lives. His easy-going manner put Zia at ease.

Arch laughed good-heartily at his son's remark and said, "Well, we better get out of your hair, Zia, you need to rest. Thank you again, Link," he called to the old healer.

Link smiled a toothless grin and waved it off with a bony hand. "Think nothing of it. I see what you mean. This girl makes quite the impression."

Zia smiled shyly. She wasn't used to such a gentle, joking manner.

Arch turned to leave when he suddenly stopped and dug around in his pocket until he pulled out something gold and shiny. "I almost forgot!" He gently pressed it into Zia's hands and said, "Keep it safe."

His eyes held a mischievous glint that made him look almost as young as his son, and together Arch and Ike departed.

"Why don't you get some rest, my dear?" Link suggested in a kind tone.

Zia had just finished her third bowl of rabbit soup spiced up with herbs and spices that Link had gathered fresh from the woods that morning. She had never had so much to eat, and Link gladly filled up her bowl until she was afraid she'd burst open. After a warm, hearty meal, Zia was sapped of her strength. She laid down gratefully on the plush pillow that Link fluffed every so often, and instantly her eyelids started to droop.

"Link?" she said.

"Yes, my dear?" he answered quietly.

"Thank you for taking care of me."

She could sense Link smiling. "It's been a pleasure, my dear. Now, go to sleep."

She nodded sleepily, but suddenly a thought hit her, and just as she was slipping into the grasp of sleep, she whispered, "Link, what happened to Daxtor?"

"He's to be tried and punished as the King sees fit," he replied gently. "Remember?"

She did remember, but she needed to hear it again, just to be sure she hadn't merely been dreaming about that. "Will he be hanged?" Zia asked. She wasn't sure why she asked that. She guessed it was just the drowsiness getting to her.

"If that's what the King desires, my dear," Link said as he stroked her head gently.

"Good. I hope it is." And those were the last words she could remember before allowing herself to sleep.