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Madoc slapped his thighs. “I came to deliver a message but nearly forgot what it was. My wife wants to see you.”

I was surprised. “Your wife? The healer?”

He nodded. “Amara and I have set up our camp over there by the stream. Will you come?”

I glanced around. We’d finished setting up our tents. Draven had gone to tether the horses. Guinevere was resting. Lancelet had gone to the stream to see if she could catch some trout. Hawl, as usual, was about to make dinner. We were spoiled, having the Bearkin with us.

The exmoors, I knew, would be somewhere nearby. They were close enough that I could sense Nightclaw. He was prowling. I smiled to myself as I caught a flash of sensation. Prowling for trout and half-wet already.

But the exmoors were far enough away that none of the refugees would catch sight of them and become afraid.

I followed Madoc through groups of refugees settling in for the night, keeping my head down as the genial man stopped over and over again to say hello to this one and ask another if they needed anything, to bop a child on the nose, to touch a baby’s cheek.

“How did you come to lead these people?” I asked quietly as we finally neared the stream. I could see his wife standing outside a large tent, hands clasped in front of her. A smaller tent had been erected nearby. One was her healer’s tent, I realized. Of course she still had the sick and injured to treat, even as the refugees traveled.

“I was a farmer before this,” he answered. “Not even an elder on the village council. Can you believe it? And yet somehow, here I am. Sometimes you step forward because there’s no one else who will. So many have given up hope.” He shook his head. “Amara and I have no plans of doing that.”

His wife smiled at me as I approached, then tilted her shining dark head questioningly at her husband. “I thought I told you to bring them both.”

“He wasn’t at their camp. I’ll go and find him now,” Madoc assured her.

“Who? Do you mean Draven?” I asked with a frown. “Why did you wish to see us?”

“It’s all right,” Amara said soothingly. “We aren’t the ones who wish to see you. Here, step inside. Someone has been asking for you and your husband.” She lifted the flap of the large tent, and I saw someone lying on a pallet inside. “I believe you already know her?”

I said nothing as I followed Amara into the tent. A lantern sat on a little table, illuminating the space.

An old woman lay on a low pallet. A child was crouched beside her.

“I’ve never seen this woman before,” I started to say in answer to Amara’s question.

Then I paused, realizing I had seen the old woman before.

On the road, as we had met up with the refugees. I had looked down to see this same woman walking with a young girl. The same girl who now sat beside the old woman’s bedside.

“I’ve seen this woman before, yes. Amongst the other refugees. But I don’t know her,” I said, turning to look at Amara. “Why have you called me here?”

Amara looked surprised. “The woman asked for you. She was very specific in her description of you and your husband.”

I glanced at the pallet and lowered my voice. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing but old age,” Amara said softly. “Old age catching up to her. The road is even harder for the elderly. She had a place in a wagon with a kind farmer’s family. But even that wasn’t enough.”

“She wasn’t injured in the attack? Or poisoned?” I demanded sharply.

Amara shook her head. “No, nothing like that. She’s simply old. She was frail even before this. Her body was under tremendous strain, and now... Well, it’s simply breaking down.” She glanced past me at the woman. “She doesn’t have much time. Perhaps a few hours. I suppose she was muddled when she thought she knew you. Perhaps you reminded her of someone.” Amara smiled and took my arm as if to lead me out.

“Wait,” I said suddenly. “I’ll sit by her for a while.”

If Madoc really had gone to get Draven, the least I could do was make sure we didn’t know the woman somehow.

“Is she... sleeping?” I whispered to Amara as I moved towards the pallet. “Her eyes are closed.”

“Just resting a little, I think. If you speak to her, she should hear you.”

“And this girl by her side? Who is she?” I asked, glancing downwards. The child remained unspeaking, her eyes on the old woman.

Amara shrugged. “A granddaughter perhaps? She doesn’t seem to talk. I’ve tried to ask her questions. Only the old woman will answer them.”