Mornings meant waking with thoughts of Serenity. Shaking off the dream, Kelton's mind always shifted to Juno and her kiss. Every day started the same. Serenity then Juno. One had become a reminder of his humiliation, the other of a waking dream barely formed. He could still feel her lips. It hurt knowing his memories of her would fade with time. He should have climbed back up the rope. He should have never climbed down.

Two days after leaving Rolic, loneliness darkened Kelton's travels. Before, he was seeking the end. The inevitable final confrontation. He prided himself on being alone and absorbing the finality to what he started without forcing others to share his fate. Rolic had awoken a different view of the future. Survival was barely a dream, and now it was a plan. The plan isolated him from everyone he knew. If successful, it meant winters of loneliness. Rolic was right, leaving Gossamer was a mistake.

Kelton trudged over the leaves that littered the ground, leaving the tree branches stark against the gray sky. Winter was making itself known. Minute flakes fell from the clouds, too sparse to mark the ground. They swirled in the wind reminding Kelton to stop well before dark to build a shelter before sleeping. Getting caught unprotected in a snowstorm was uncomfortable at best, deadly at worst. He smiled to himself, remembering the many winters spent with Gossamer. Stuck in makeshift shelters trying to stay warm, they would talk for hours as the snow piled up outside. The memories were warmer than the times they reimagined.

A wide road crossed Kelton's path. He chose to follow it to the north-east, easing his journey for a short time. The way looked well-traveled though traffic was sparse, most likely chased away by the oncoming winter. Once, he had to scramble into the forest and allow an open wagon with two men aboard to pass. Merchants, most likely. They were huddled against the growing cold, oblivious to Kelton's observation. He thought it best to remain hidden, showing himself only when necessary.

It was midday when Kelton felt them. At first, he thought it a small town ahead and visions of a hot meal excited his steps. Nearing brought confusion and forced him back into the trees. There were no buildings and yet there were three groups of people ahead. Four individuals were scattered around solo, almost in a circle about the groups. Kelton laid behind an ancient fallen tree and peeked beyond its mangled exposed roots.

Four pillars of light smoke rose from the bare trees ahead, three exactly where Kelton sensed the groups. They were on higher ground, the top of a small hill that the tree had fallen sideways against. He recognized the single bodies as sentries, the same formation he encountered when Joycelyn's family had been taken. There was too much light to attempt sneaking past the sentries this time. Winter's lack of foliage added to his exposure. He sensed over twenty men, with four sentries set out in the cardinal directions.

Even with the Knowing, Kelton was beyond outnumbered. If it weren't for being Unseen, he'd have walked right up to them, as quiet as they were. It could be they were resting, a good time to backtrack and go around - way around. Kelton started to crawl backward without thinking, fear cluttering his thoughts. His knee found a brittle stick and snapped it in two, sending a horrible sound echoing through the forest.

Kelton froze, his sense telling him that the southern sentry was shifting his position, possibly trying for a better vantage point. The snap was heard. He silently cursed himself as he retracted his knee, then lowered himself nearer the ground. The sentry started moving toward his position, slow and silent. Running was guaranteed to give Kelton away, there wasn't enough vegetation to cover a retreat. Staying put was foolish. Hiding was the only option. He crawled under the fallen tree as near to the root ball as he could. Whatever storm ripped the massive tree from the ground did Kelton a favor by leaving space enough for one person to be unexposed on three sides, the hill itself hiding him from the sentries view.

With eyes closed in prayer, Kelton silently drew his sword. His blood was loud in his ears as it pumped hard through his body. A shiver ran along his skin when he heard the boots of the sentry jump atop his shelter, proving his Knowing correct.

"Got something?" a voice called from above the hill.

"Heard something," the sentry yelled back, the volume emphasizing the closeness. Kelton held his breath. "Could have been an animal. Don't see anything." Eternity passed as the sentry shuffled along the tree's trunk. Kelton readied himself, sure the man would jump down and see the idiot hiding under the tree. 'Survive,' Rolic had said. Kelton wasn't sure it was an option.

"Come on back, Crag. Anyone with a mind is inside today."

"What's that say about us," Crag yelled back. Kelton heard and felt the man jump off the tree and head back the way he came. The relief was instantaneous. Kelton struggled not to breathe too loudly as his lungs tried to return to normal. He waited for the sentry to return to his original post. Waited longer for the man's essence to settle before Kelton sheathed his sword.

Kelton crawled from his hiding place and moved with the silence his previous life as a thief taught him. Staying low to the ground, he used the minimal cover to create distance from the soldiers. It was a laborious way to travel, the cold ground unfriendly with many dried noisy sticks to be avoided. When he deemed the separation far enough, Kelton rose slowly behind a tree and looked back at the encampment. He could no longer see the pillars of smoke and barely felt the men themselves. He took a deep breath and brushed off the debris his clothes had collected. He turned away, and his body stiffened, fear invading every pore.

"Thought it might be you," a white-robed Brother said, emerging to his left.

"The end of your travels has come, my boy," another said, approaching from the right. They both had swords drawn. Kelton drew his which slowed their approach. "It is useless to fight. Allow us to make the end quick. Less pain that way," the Brother continued with a smile. Rolic's words echoed in Kelton's mind. He ran before they closed the gap. It caught the Brethren by surprise as Kelton's fear put strength into his legs, thrusting past them and through the trees.

The advantage the headstart gave him dwindled quickly. The Brethren were unencumbered by a pack. In a panic, Kelton shook his pack off his shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Still, the Brethren gained. Kelton's chest was burning, his legs tiring even without the weight on his shoulders. A glance backward almost had him tripping to the ground but informed him of his inevitable demise. He turned toward a thicket of trees, where their two swords would be hindered and less effective. If they fought like Rolic, it wouldn't matter. He entered the thicket and turned. The space between the trunks disallowed wide swings, leaving only straight thrusts. At least he would see it coming.

"A stand of trees for your last stand, huh pup," the first Brother said as he slowed his approach. A soft chuckle followed his words. His hair was braided down his back like the first Brother Kelton killed. He was shorter than Kelton but stockier. The sword moved artfully in his hand as if he were born to it.

"You'll find us more of a challenge when we know you're coming," the other said. He had Kelton's height and short cropped hair. His chin and cheeks were pockmarked surrounding oversized lips. Neither of the two showed any signs of the fear that was coursing through Kelton. Their confidence increased Kelton's dread. It took all his courage to face them and not run until a sword was thrust into this back.

"Any final words?" Braided asked. Pockmarked laughed as they both took a step closer. Kelton raised his sword. His mind was jumbled, unable to voice anything coherent. All he could do was steady himself and try not to die.

Pockmarked thrust forward between two trees. Kelton backed around another tree, his sword late to the parry. Braided attacked from the other side, forcing Kelton to retreat again. The close-knit trees were keeping them from attacking together, yet still, they were forcing him backward. Their thrusts were unexpected and lightning fast. Kelton's blade was always slower, barely able to meet steel to steel. The terrain forced him to move his eyes, glancing behind to make sure he found space between the trees. Backing into a tree would mark his death. The Brothers were relentless.

The dance would soon end. Despite Kelton's futile attempts at staying inside the thicket, the Brothers were steering him toward a clearing. They were working as one as if the battle were pre-planned. Kelton's sword was slowing, his arm tiring. Their two blades were increasing in tempo as his become sluggish. All he could see was flashing metal, first one side, then the next. Kelton's mind began to adjust to the inevitable, almost welcoming the idea of a deadly thrust that would end the fear clogged nightmare.

Kelton stepped away from another of Braided's vicious thrusts, maneuvering around the last tree that kept Pockmark from attacking in consort. Behind him lay open land. He could not outrun them. His sword arm ached, his blade heavier than it had ever been. Kelton let it drop to his side, a moment of rest as he scrambled backward into the clearing, never losing sight of his executioners. The Brothers smiled in unison, allowing Kelton his brief rest as they sauntered from the trees.

"Are you done?" Braided asked. His voice was steady, not winded as Kelton had hoped.

"Aye," Kelton replied, then raised his sword. He took a fighting stance that he knew was useless. He should have never climbed down that rope. A smile graced his face as he remembered the kiss. A good memory to die with.

An arrow sank deep into a tree behind Pockmarked's head. It startled the three of them. A second one buried itself deep in the bark next to Braided, chest high. The Brothers dropped to the ground, terror apparent on their faces. Kelton stood frozen, his mind twisting between imminent death and surprise.

"Captain! To me, to me," Braided shouted as he squirmed back into the trees. Pockmarked followed, their heads never leaving the ground. Kelton turned and saw a shadowed body fleeing between the trees on the other side of the clearing. It had to be Rolic, the only Unseen Kelton knew with a bow.

Braided screamed for the soldiers again. The yell shocked Kelton into action. Instinct took over, and he ran across the clearing. Hope filled his muscles with new energy as he broke back into the trees unmolested. Rolic was nowhere in sight. Kelton kept running over a small hill, calling out and receiving no answer. He turned once he was sure he was no longer in view. Shouts could be heard in the distance, soldiers joining the hunt. There was no time to look for Rolic. His legs settled into a steady pace as he steered away from the men he could sense. The thought of more arrows would hopefully keep the Brethren in the middle of the soldiers, and the soldiers were easy to detect and avoid.

Kelton felt the mass turn where he had. The party must have a tracker. Kelton jumped over a shallow stream, thought better of it, and stepped into it. Cold water invaded his boots as he followed the stream, careful to disrupt as little of the bed as possible. His body shivered, the water mixing with the winter air. The stream became deeper the farther he trekked, the water reaching his knees before he came upon a worn trail barely wide enough for a single horse. It moved north to south. He chose north out of habit.

Exiting the water, a dull pain invaded Kelton's frozen feet. His mind registered his missing pack, and he slowed to a stop. Besides the clothes on his back, a sword and a belt knife were all he possessed. He looked back weighing the risk of returning for his supplies. There was a small chance it wasn't in the hands of the soldiers, that they let it lie in their haste to track him down. Circling back and not finding the pack meant he was worse off, closer to his enemy and still without resources. He looked down at his soaked feet. Without a way to dry them, the night would not go well.

It was Kelton's sense that made the decision for him. He could feel the soldiers following the stream, moving slow and relentlessly. Turning back was too big of a gamble. He'd rather freeze to death than die on the Brethren's blades. His feet had to stay moving, at least until he could start a fire. He began a steady pace that was just short of a run. Each step sloshed and shifted the cloth that wrapped his feet in uncomfortable ways. He ignored it and moved with the determination of the hunted.

Night was falling when the trail merged into a wider road. Deep scars, carved by wagons, spoke of heavy usage. Kelton had left the soldiers well behind, his sense lost track of them long ago. Kelton moved up the road in a northerly direction, the sun setting to his left. His breathing was labored, and a thin mucus dripped unstopping from his nose. The sword kept switching from hand to hand. With no sheath, his fingers tired quickly in the cold and needed to be warmed in his cloak. His hand covers were lost with his pack.

Kelton considered two choices. Keep moving or try to start a fire without flint. The fire would be difficult and leave him exposed if the soldiers tracked through the night. He coughed trying to empty his chest of the congestion that was growing like moss in his lungs. If he kept moving, he would add distance from his pursuers and possibly find the town the road must connect. Possibly food and warmth. A fire meant warmth now but no food. His cough continued unbidden, driven by the lung's demands.

Kelton's feet were numb, the pain decreasing with each step. He knew he should be feeling something as he walked, yet there was little noticeable below his ankles. It was a stumble that made him rethink moving on in the growing darkness. A rut, something easy to avoid, had caught his boot and he knew his sluggish movements would be useless in the coming night.

Kelton moved well off the road and found a huge evergreen for shelter. There was a thick layer of needles underneath that could serve as a sticky blanket. Without his gear and low on energy, it would have to do. He foraged for deadfall to serve as fuel.

It was pitch black, the stars hidden behind a layer of clouds when Kelton's kindling finally caught. His hands were shaking when he struggled with igniting the mixture of leaves and wood with friction. Gossamer had taught him the skill many winters ago. It took longer than he remembered. Much longer. He missed his flint which was secure in his pack, wrapped in his blanket.

Welcome heat grew with the flames. Kelton had gathered enough wood to last part of the night. The needles would have to conserve his body's warmth beyond that. With a clearing mind and a healthy flame, Kelton removed his boots and unwrapped his feet. They were sickly pale, waterlogged and wrinkled oddly. Holding them out toward the flames brought feeling back, along with some welcome pain that let him know his feet still worked. Using his sword, he began drying his boots and wraps. They would have to dry fast before the wood ran out. It was a struggle holding pieces of clothing over the fire like meat on a stick.

The boots weren't fully dry when Kelton re-wrapped his feet and pulled them back on. The wood was running low, and exhaustion was taking a toll. Using his sword, he cut down branches from the conifier. He piled up the needles and burrowed in like an animal, tucked away in a fetal position. He used the branches to hold the needles in place, adding to the insulation. It wasn't as warm as he would have liked. It was better than freezing.

Kelton tried to set a mental agenda for the morning. Water was task one. He couldn't remember that last time he took a drink. The cold had a way of hiding the body's need. He wanted to wipe his persistent runny nose but feared to move and break the seal of needles he had created. He let it drip. Food and shelter were his next goal. Either one would be welcome. In another day or so, food would take precedence.

Kelton's thoughts drifted back to the tavern. Juno's warm body holding his as he slept. He should never have climbed down that rope. It wasn't long before exhaustion forced his mind into a fitful sleep.