As the fuzziness gradually gave way to consciousness, the throbbing beat a painful rhythm against my skull. I groaned aloud at the awful thump-thump-thump in my head and put a hand to my face.

I froze.

My head was wrapped in a bandage.

I pried my eyes open and found myself inside a wooden room. I lay in a bed pushed into one corner. The ceiling had a few beams running across it and seemed to be piled thick with branches and broad leaves. I rubbed my eyes, hoping to get a clearer view of my surroundings. When I opened them again, I nearly jumped through the roof.

The room was full of people I'd never seen before in my life. Had they been there the entire time? Just . . . watching me?

With the blanket in a death grip against my chest, I sat up, immediately noticing I was naked. Where are my clothes? Still clutching the blanket, I scooted back in terror until my back hit the corner. My eyes flitted wildly from one person to another, not registering facial expressions or even if they were men or women. My entire body shook, images of Grash pressing me against him flitting through my mind, and I shouted, "Leave me alone!" The sound was almost a sob.

"Come on, everybody," a woman's voice said. "Go on out. You're giving the poor girl a fright. Go on, shoo! You too, Nirrin. Out!"

My panic subsided only a little with the crowd's departure. I stayed where I was, huddled against the corner, breathing quick and shallow, gripping the blanket for dear life.

"There, there, little one," the woman soothed. "No one is going to hurt you here."

I struggled through the haze of hysteria to compose myself. She sat in a chair next to the bed, looking at me with gentle, gray eyes that reminded me of Nily. I briefly wondered if Nily was even still alive.

I finally found my voice and asked, "Who are you? Where am I?"

"My name is Bren, and you need to drink some water." She offered a wooden bowl to me, and I stared at it dumbly. "Go on, girl, take it."

I slowly took the bowl from her and peered inside. It looked like water. It smelled like water. I tasted it with my tongue, discovering that it truly was water. Without another moment of hesitation, I upended the bowl into my mouth, eagerly gulping down the liquid and feeling it wash away the coat of dust in my throat. Water dribbled down the corners of my mouth, and I swiped it up with my hands, sucking the moisture off so as not to waste a single drop.

"My, you are a thirsty one," Bren said, amusement in her eyes.

I sheepishly returned the empty bowl before I resorted to licking that clean too. She smiled, dipped the bowl in a nearby bucket, and handed it to me again.

I drank in a more civilized manner this time. The water worked its magic, lessening the throbbing in my head. "Where am I?" I asked again in between sips.

"You are with the Forestfolk."

I frowned. The Forestfolk? They were real? I'd heard stories about them from the Plainsmen. They were stories told to scare naughty children.

"Are you . . ." I felt silly for asking, but I wasn't exactly rational at the moment. "Are you going to eat me, then?"

Bren burst into peals of laughter, throwing her head back. Her long brown hair was laced with thick streaks of gray. "Oh my, that's a new one. Wherever did you hear that?"

I looked down at my hands, cheeks flaming. "They told us stories."

"Where are you from, child?"

"The Zurbo tribe."

Her brows knitted, and she cocked her head, as if trying to decide if I was lying or merely mistaken. "You don't look like one of them."

I continued staring at my hands. "I know. My mother was like me. We're not from there."

Bren shook her head. "I'll never understand the warring ways of those Plainsmen. Always taking what isn't theirs, never satisfied with what they have. So you've never known anything else then? Zurbo was your tribe?"

I shrugged. I never felt like part of the tribe.

"Do you wish to go back? We can help you."

My eyes snapped to hers, and I vigorously shook my head. "I don't ever want to go back there!" I looked down again. "They're not nice people."

Bren eyed me with concern. "Did they hurt you?"

Fear held my tongue. If I explained too much, they would suspect what I was.

"Well," she said, respecting my silence, "you're welcome to stay with us as long as you like."

"Thank you. Um . . ." I hesitated, embarrassed again. "Where are my clothes?"

"Ah yes, they were filthy and quite soaked with blood. I wager you have quite a story to tell. We looked for major injuries on you, but could only find cuts and bruises from your fall. From the look of things, you were shot with an arrow in the shoulder. Your dress had a bloody hole there."

"Oh." My breathing quickened. I couldn't tell them I was an Aberration. It scared people, and they would shun me, maybe even kill me. I shifted uncomfortably. "I was running from raiders."

Sensing my increasing distress, she patted my hand. "Don't worry dear, you can tell us about it later. Here are some clothes you can wear while yours are being washed. You never told me your name."

"Siena," I answered as I accepted the neatly folded pile from her.

"That's beautiful, dear. Now, I'll give you some privacy and you can get dressed."

Bren stood up, arched her back, and shuffled out the door. Daylight still peeked through the doorway, but I had no idea how late it was. Or how early. I heard her admonishing tone as soon as she went through the heavy cloth covering the entrance. "Didn't I tell you lot to get out?"

"We are out," an impish girl said.

"She's been through a lot. Give the girl some space. Shoo!"

I heard the stampede of footsteps romping off, and then it was quiet. I waited a bit, in case someone else came in, then quickly donned the outfit Bren had given me. The shirt was a soft cloth material I'd never seen before, rich brown in color. The trousers were made of soft deer hide and felt comfortable as I pulled them on. I'd never worn trousers before. Always dresses or skirts, as was the custom in the tribe. The sleeves on the shirt swallowed my hands, so I rolled them up until I smiled with satisfaction.

I pulled the drawstring tight on the trousers and sat back on the bed to examine my surroundings again. The walls were made of logs with the bark still on them. I ran a hand along one, feeling its rough surface, still trying to shake off the last of my jitters. These people seemed to be helping me.

From the corner of my eye I saw a small movement, and turned my head to see the cherub-like face of a girl about Pimo's age, maybe eight, peeking through the curtain. She seemed to be sizing me up. I didn't know anything about her, so I stayed quiet.

"You don't look like any of the Zurbos," she said.

"I know."

Her eyes narrowed a little, then she flounced inside and plopped into the chair next to the bed. "I'm Nirrin. What's your name?"

"Bren didn't tell you?"

Nirrin wrinkled her nose and said, "Bren doesn't tell us anything. We have to find things out on our own."

"I'm Siena. How did you know where I was from?"

"Remi said he saw the Zurbo place on fire. He was the one who found you."

I would have to thank him later.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"I just turned fifteen."

Her mouth was round with surprise. "Really? You're a little small for your age. Most Zurbos are like trees by the time they're fifteen. Even the girls!"

"So I've been told." A lifetime of meager scraps could do that to you, but I didn't tell her about that.

"I don't think you're one of them at all," she said, admiring my hair. "You look like an Iceling."

"A what?" I'd never heard this word before.

"An Iceling. They're the people who live far to the north, where it snows a lot. They have such pretty hair the color of honey, and the most amazing eyes, like the sky!"

She stared so unabashedly into my eyes that I blushed and looked away. She didn't seem to notice.

"I wish I was an Iceling. Instead, I have this." She jerked on the brown hair that framed her face. "I just look like another one of those mean Plainsman. So boring."

"I don't think you're boring."

Her face lit up. "Really? I'm gonna go tell Goben. He says I'm boring because all I do is talk."

Without waiting for another word, Nirrin took off running.

Alone once again, my stomach rumbled. I looked around for my roll, hoping they had brought it along. I found it leaning against the foot of the bed, my pointed stick tucked into the cord holding it closed. I hid the stick under the pillow, then unrolled my meager supplies. I chomped into the corn cake and swallowed after only a couple of chews, then took another large bite. I ate as if I hadn't eaten in days. Then it occurred to me . . . how long had I been unconscious? Maybe it had been days.

I found the bucket of water and sucked down a bowlful, and then another.

I left my scrap of dried meat, just in case I needed it later, and rolled the supplies back up. Satisfied, I settled back into the bed and laced my fingers behind my head. I was safe.

For now.