I blink. There is a woman standing before me. Her hair is a tawny brown with streaks of gray weaving through the long wavy locks. Her face is gentle, but her eyes tell me that she's seen her fair share of hardship. I open my mouth to speak, but my voice is shot. I try again.

"I... eed... your elp," I croak. It was difficult for my parched throat to form words hours ago, but booking it to the village to arrive before nightfall has drained me. I force my dry tongue to swallow, and open my mouth to try the words a third time, but my voice comes out even more hoarse.

"Sit, child. You are thirsty," the woman says, and I am pressed gently into a chair by large, warm hands.

My gaze drops back to the ground and my head spins. I suddenly feel myself sagging, vision going dark.

Something hard bites into my temple. I open my eyes and see the wooden floorboards under my cheek. When did I get on the ground? I blink and roll over to see worry in the woman's big eyes. Her fingers are pressing something cool to my lips. She slips her hand under my neck, coaxing me from the floor, but I'm sweaty all over and the heavy weight dragging my head back down is too much. All I can manage is a few sips before exhaustion takes over me and I pass out in the middle of a stranger's kitchen floor.

◊ ◊ ◊

Opening my eyes this time is a lot harder. It's as if there are tiny sandbags holding my eyes shut. I give in to the weight and focus on my other senses. There is a softness beneath my head, and a warmth covering me from my chest down. I must have been tucked into bed.

I feel guilty for intruding, showing up unannounced, and passing out on some woman's floor. If that wasn't trouble enough, I'm now occupying a bed that doesn't belong to me.

"When will she wake up, Momma?" A young girl's voice drifts to me from across the room.

I try again to open my eyes, and this time I succeed. They follow the beams along the ceiling to the wall opposite me, where a girl watches the tawny-haired woman as she sits in an old wooden rocking chair. Something colorful is draped across her lap. Her hands move deftly, tying strips of fabric into knots to make a blanket. Or maybe it's a rug? She pauses her work and my eyes flick up to meet hers.

Caught awake, I sit up slowly. The girl's head whips around at my movement, eyes wide. As soon as she catches my gaze, she bolts from the room.

She's timid as a hare, and just as quick.

For fun, Rhett and I would run around the forest, chasing rabbits into their holes. He'd always know just where they would be hiding. It's no wonder why he was placed as a Hunter. We'd stay out all day, just to tally up who could find the most. When it would get too late for the rabbits, we'd move on to birds. One would sing its song and whoever would name the species just from its song first won. In the woods with Rhett, there was always something to entertain.

The woman nods beside me, and I notice a ceramic cup sitting at the bedside. Water. I down it, thinking too late to check for poison. I shouldn't expect too much kindness in the Outlands.

The instant the liquid hits my tongue, I feel better. Thirst is the creature that sneaks up on you, choking you a little at a time so that you don't even notice you're dehydrated until it's too late. Then it's torture; our bodies are sixty-percent water, yet it cannot survive without having more. Always more.

Once my immense thirst is resolved, I realize the girl's mother has left. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and tip-toe to the open door, but jump back abruptly when she returns with a wooden tray of something that smells so savory, my stomach actually growls. I realize I haven't eaten all day.

"Thank you," I say softly as she hands me the meal. "I was wondering if you could help me find my friend."

"Yes, yes. You can explain everything after you put food in your belly." The woman sits on the edge of the pallet I just woke up from.

"I appreciate it, but I really need your help." I sit beside her. "My name is Sophie and—"

"It's rude to deny food from your hostess on this side of the Wall," she says, not the least bit offended. I have a feeling she's giving me a useful skill for my journey that's just begun.

I close my mouth, chastened, and begin eating.

The dish is warm and rich. There is a little bowl of seasoned rice, and some kind of squash. On a separate plate lies a sweet potato, split open and oozing with butter and cinnamon. Despite my nerves, I scarf it down as if I hadn't eaten in days.

"Sophie, is it? My name is Sol. I am the clan mother." She watches as I chew and swallow, gauging my reaction for understanding. It is clear that she knows I am from Herald. I am surprised, but grateful that she would take such care of an outsider. When I don't show any obvious signs of confusion, she continues.

"We here are a part of Natio, what your people call the Outlands." I almost choke. Though I can sense no hostility in the word, it's awkward hearing it from an Outlander's mouth.

When I swallow my last bite of rice and she is satisfied with my empty plates, she takes the tray from me. I follow her into the kitchen.

"Hazel," she calls, and the girl pops her head inside. "Fetch another pail of water from the well, please." Hazel takes off through the front door and the woman places the dirty dishes in a large wooden tub.

"Thank you for the meal," I say gratefully and she graces me with a smile. Bolstered, I find the courage to ask a question that's been in the back of my mind since I awoke. "The Outl—I mean, the guy who brought me here...has he gone?"

Sol nods, unperturbed. So he really just dumped me on her doorstep and fled. I shouldn't have expected anything else, but he did come back for me after I lost my way.

"You mentioned you were looking for your friend," Sol says. "Tell me what happened."

I want to trust this woman. She has taken me into her home, fed me, and let me rest. She has almost completely dissolved my apprehension, but to describe what happened? I'm worried my resolve will shatter once I relive today.

Then I realize that life must be vastly different out here. I'm so used to everyone being in each other's business in Herald. We grow up knowing someone who knows someone, so we're all connected. The familiarity of our neighbors, the farmers across town, the workers in city hall. Nothing is new, and as that may be boring to some, it's comfort to others. Safety. To us, Outlanders are literally outsiders—and not just because of the wall that separates us.

I've already picked up on the little differences between the Outlanders and I. The unrefined cloth that makes up their attire, versus my evenly-stitched clothing. The lack of communication in the Outlands compared to the widespread information through Herald. The inaccuracy of history textbooks widens the gap between us further. All we know about the Outlanders are in those texts, and so far, my experience has caused nothing but doubt and confusion to take root in me. I don't know what to expect anymore.

Why has no one gone into the Outlands to seek peaceful relations? At the very least, why not learn as much about the enemy as possible? I wonder how far a little understanding can go. Especially if not all of the Outlanders are savage, but civil like Sol.

How else are these people different from us? The entire systemized community is abandoned outside of Herald. It's a wonder how we speak the same language. My mind whirls with so many questions.

What else were we wrong about?

"You have nothing to fear from me, child," Sol reassures me. She waits patiently until I am ready to speak.

So I do.

I tell her about the Outlanders in Herald, how there was so much fighting. I tell her how Markee was swiped by one of her people. I tell her how I fear I won't ever see her again and how I followed her captor over the wall, only to get lost. I mention the Outlander with the bow, and how he directed me here, where I ended up at her door dehydrated and on the verge of exhaustion.

"I don't know why they took her, or where they might have taken her, but I have to rescue her."

Sol puts a small hand on top of mine, but instead of pity, I feel understanding from her. It's a lot warmer than I expected.

"We heard rumors that the Summus was looking for a particular urbanite," she tells me candidly. "I suppose those were not merely rumors."

"The Summus?" I question. Sol gives me a sympathetic smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Summus Aspen. To you, he would be the equivalent of president, or king. Is that not what you have in your walled city?"

"No, we have a council of leaders who decide how to govern Herald." It's been that way since before my great-grandmother's time.

Sol takes this information in stride. "You will have to forgive me, we do not communicate much with your people."

I grin. "You and me both." But her words lodge themselves between my ribs. "Why would your leader—the Summus—what could he want with Markee?"

Sol ponders this, taking time with her reply. "This I am not sure of."

If the Outlander's Summus wants Markee for something, it can't be anything good. Dread wells up and seeps into my bones.

When Hazel returns with the water, Sol goes to work on scrubbing this evening's dinnerware. She fills a large wooden tub and add shavings of what looks and smells of lye. Placing the dishes in the basin to soak, she procures a second tub of water to rinse.

It's truly fascinating, something so simple as cleaning dishes, the way Sol goes about the task. Such menial labor here outside of home. In a way, it is soothing, witnessing something so... normal. Especially after so many things about the Outlands that are foreign to me.

The interior of Sol and Hazel's home is very warm. There is a wooden table and chairs in the kitchen, though I'm not sure if "kitchen" is the appropriate term. There is no true sink nor refrigerator, only an open-door pantry storing dry goods. Walking over to the table, I startle when I feel a soft breeze. I look up to see that above the table is a woven span of straw mounted on a hinge, swinging back and forth. There is a rope attached to it and my eyes follow it out the open window and to a crank being turned by flowing water.

Something jolts in my mind. Everything here is so... primitive. The oil lamp on the table, the thickly-woven table cloth it sits on, the table and chairs in need of a good sanding, and the makeshift fan. I remember my Early Herald History textbook called it a punkah. That was before, when Herald was a great nation united.

The air feels so good on my burning skin.

After setting the bowls aside to dry, we settle onto a roughly-hewn settee in the den, my mind buzzing with questions for my host. Hazel sits across the room, fiddling with a small doll with hair of straw.

Sol shifts and unrolls a swath of brilliant colors, her work from earlier. Her fingers go at the knots, alternating colors every few rows.

"Why do you think Summus Aspen wants Markee?" I ask the older woman, the foreign words feeling strange on my tongue.

"I do not think it is a matter of why he wants her, but what he wants from her," Sol replies, her fingers never faltering in their work.

Her words make me uneasy, for a man to be so cunning only makes things worse.

I take a calming breath. "And what do you think that is?"

"An answer."

At my silent ponderance, she raises an eyebrow. "And your next question will be..."

A small grin splits my face. "An answer to what?"

Sol's hands pause. "Surviving has been more difficult for us each summer that passes. Our crops are not always enough, and with such little game still in the area, it is a wonder that we are not yet starving." She closes her eyes for a brief moment, and when she opens them, they seem to be reflecting on a distant past. "Not all will survive the year."

"But... what power does Markee have to stop that?" It doesn't make sense to me.

She drops her stitching and meets my eye. "Only the Summus has the answer to that. Tomorrow, I will bring you to him."

Hope makes my heart swell. This woman, a practical stranger, is willing to go out of her way to help me. An outsider to her culture, her people. I can tell by her determined gaze that she means it.

"How can I ever repay you? You have already done so much for me."

"Survive. Whatever is to come, you must survive it."

I wonder if all Outlanders speak in such cryptic ways.