Very early the next morning, pink fingers of light spread out like an open hand beyond the tall, jagged mountains of High Grave.

Soon the sun rose up over the edge of Mount Rillmorrey, sending a lemon-yellow haze into the early morning, misty air.

Fair slept soundly in the comfort of Sauveren’s protection. He opened his eyes at the sound of approaching footsteps and pricked his ears. He didn’t want to wake Fair, and so he stayed as as still as possible while searching with just his eyes to find out where the sound came from. His eyebrows rose and dipped as he looked from side to side.

A foot lifted up over the low fence of the courtyard and stepped onto the dirt. The foot was dirty and bare, and the lower part of the leg was uncovered, because the pantleg above it was torn. It was hairy and wild.

Soon, the next foot appeared and a face thrust itself into the chicken shed. The figure squatted on his heels and stared at Fair, running his fingers through his tangled beard. He looked at Sauveren and muttered one of his rhymes.



Down beneath the drink, I think.

Under you must go.

I bury you to help you live.

To rise you go below.



“Welcome back, Woolly,” Sauveren whispered. Fair opened her eyes and blinked into the dark world of her blindness. “Get away from me.”

“It’s alright. Pewgen Flype isn’t here. We’ve escaped,” reminded Sauveren.

Fair sat upright. Her memories of the night before came back to her and she smiled weakly. She said, “I’m safe.” She turned around and wrapped her arms around Sauveren.

“Grubs and bugs,” said the Woolly. He spilled a handful of squirming, bulging bugs the color of peeled potatoes onto the ground and said, “Eat ‘em.”

“The Woolly, is that you?”

“Grubs and bugs,” he answered.

“Come here. Let me feel your face.” The Woolly came over towards Fair and took her hand. He placed it on his forehead. Fair felt his face. “No monkey fur. It’s skin.” When her hands came to his beard, she said, “But how? You were a monkey and the Harrold said . . .”

“Anything is possible, Fair,” Sauveren said.

Fair understood. It was Sauveren. He undid the spell.

“What about Azanamer and Gibber Will?”

“Rock and rabbit no more,” said the Woolly.

Fair felt like her whole journey along the grassy path had been an illusion. It was all part of bringing her right to the place she was. Right then. And she laughed. She also realized she felt starved. She groped and felt for her moving morning meal, and popped the grubbs into her mouth a few at a time.

“Thank you,” she said with a final gulp. “I’m so thirsty. I wish I had a little something.”

“I have prepared the way,” the Woolly said, and handed her a flask of fizzy milk.

Fair drank. She thought of the flames she had seen in his eyes that afternoon at Lamb’s as she wiped her mouth. “What do you mean?”

“They’re coming,” the Woolly said, as though he were talking about nothing in particular.

“Who’s coming?” Fair asked, nearly forgetting about the fact that she was being hunted. Then, her heart began to pound. She remembered.

“It’s time to run,” said Sauveren.

“To the drink,” the Woolly said. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a sky blue strip of torn cloth. Azanamer had torn it from the inside hem of her skirt and given it to him. He put it in Fair’s hands and said, “Tie this around your eyes. Protect you from branches.”

Fair tied it around her eyes and fashioned a knot at the back of her head.

What he didn’t say was that very early that morning he had been seen on Clvoen Grave road by a group of Protectors returning to Osden Shorn after a fruitless search for Fair. It was still dark when he walked past them. He was going in the opposite direction.

“Where are you headed, hoomin?” one of them asked him.

“Drinkwater.”

“We ain’t thirsty,” said one of the Protectors.

“Naw, I bet it’s a code, like he’s talking about a place. Like maybe he’s gonna be taking the maiden and her dog there. I seen ‘em together before. They’re friends, like.”

“Him and the dog? I ain’t so sure.”

“Me neither, but there’s an old hoomin who knows about this sort of thing.” The Protectors took off at a fast pace for Osden Shorn, and that’s when the Woolly ran straight for the chicken coop as though he knew where Fair—or Sauveren—would be.



k



Sauveren said, “Hop on my back, Fair.”

Fair was silent for a moment, listening to something deep inside her. She thought of how much she liked her home and family—or what she had once had. As she slipped on to Sauveren’s back she said, “I miss mother and father so much.”

“I know.”

She patted the fur in between his shoulders. Her voice shuddered and she could feel her chin quivering, “Choose what is right let consequence follow…that’s our family way.”

“It’s been that way since long before you were born.”

“Follow your heart, come joy or come sorrow,” she finished.

“To drinkwater. Come joy or come . . . sorrow.”

“To drinkwater,” Fair echoed. “What will we do when we get there?”

“Make a sacrifice.”

“For Shobba?” she asked. She thought a moment and offered, “We can bring one of these hens if you like. You could use our best one. That’s what Mother always does . . . er . . . did.”

“That won’t be necessary, Fair.”

“Alright then. I’m ready to go.”

Leaving the little, dusty red treasure box behind in the chicken shed, they silently followed the Woolly through a path in the woods he had carved out over the previous shoomin. The bells on Sauveren’s collar tinkled in the morning stillness.