They soon left the mountains, and travelled stealthily among the scrub and treed slopes that ran along the south-reaching spine of the Shaelfells. They had to hide from passing columns of soldiers several times, and once spent the whole day sheltered in a thicket of leaves because of draig-riding knights sweeping low over the forest-tops.
Dapplegrim snorted as he watching the swoop of the shadows above. “They’re hunting,” whispered Dapplegrim.
“Hopefully not for us.”
“Oh, they’re hunting us. Who else would they be looking for with such fervour?”
It was cold and wet most nights. They avoided lighting fires for fear of being seen, and after a few days of this Caewen started to worry about lighting any fire at all. Once, Ode suggested they could try just a small smokeless fire to warm some food, but she reacted with strange discomfit. Dapplegrim questioned her about it.
“I don’t know. It was something the old witch-scarle said. I’m probably just over-thinking things. I’d just rather we avoided lighting fires for a time. That’s all.”
“You? Hur. Over-thinking, rather than under-thinking? This is a new and worrisome development. Hurm.”
After a few days of quiet, carefully threaded walking, they came to a point where Caewen stopped and said suddenly, “We’re close to your village.”
“What? Wurmgloath?”
“Yes. This is near where we met. It’s across the open fields and roads though. I don’t know if you want to stop and see if everyone is alright? Your father might be there still. But we’d be exposed if we–“
“I can go, tsssk, tsssch. Look. Spy. See.”
Ode had half-forgotten that the shadow-thing was riding in the little bag at Caewen’s hip, it had been so quiet for so long.
“That would save us the risk of being seen if– that is, I mean–” started Caewen, trailing off.
“It’s fine. I understand.” The day before they had seen sizeable detachments of midnight-armoured knights and warrior-scarle with dead-white fur and eyes as black as night. “Would you go, Fetch? If you can? There were people in the village who were kind to me. Not many. And I should like to know if, well. You know.”
The fetch leapt down from its hiding place and twisted itself away, as smooth as a snake made of air. They didn’t have to wait long. It returned, and there was an air of foreboding about it’s silence.
“Well?” said Caewen.
The little fetch just shook its head.
“Still, I’d like to know what has happened,” said Ode.
It shook it’s head more firmly. “No you don’t. I don’t much care for you mortalfolk. It is not in my nature to do so. Tssck. But even I found myself unsettled by that which remains. Someone or something was very unkind in the dealing with your village. You do not wish to go there. No Tssssch. Not ever again.”
“I’m sorry,” said Caewen.
No one else said anything. There wasn’t anything else that could be said. They forced themselves into a walk, and moved off again, picking their way among the old oaks and elms. Ode went last, and he paused to take a last look over his shoulder, peering out through the bars and shadows between the tree trunks. He thought he caught a glimpse of some fields, and maybe some blackened structures beyond the muddy brown road. But he couldn’t be sure of it. There was too much in the way. Soon enough, it was all lost to sight.