Deep in the chasm of Hellsfurrow they came upon a river the color of a plow abandoned in the field, that smelled of brimstone. This they crossed upon a thin and swaying bridge of spider-silk strung high above the river, left unguarded by one of the fearsome creatures who made their home within the gloom. And still on they pressed, up paths worn by mountain goat and wild ass, so steep that Jaris bore the child upon his back when she could climb no further.

At last they reached a valley hidden among the crags where Jaris could see hope of survival. There grew fruit trees and among them hares and foxes ran, and a clear spring that flowed from a great cliff wall.

In this place Jaris chose to bide his time, until the autumn and then winter had passed, and the campaigning parties had retreated for the season, so that he might then take her to safety among her kind in the north. A sharp-witted man might make note that this plan left no allowance for what Jaris would do once his self-vowed task was complete. And, indeed, Jaris himself knew not, for there was no place for him among Man nor Hob now.

During the dwindling days of summer Jaris made for the two unlike companions a meager home, with a crude-roofed hut and simple bed of grass, for in truth Jaris knew only the life of a Knight and had few skills beyond the sword, and those needed to survive on campaign.

Less still did he know of the raising of girl-children, for that was the work of women. Having little knowledge to impart, and nothing further to occupy his days, Jaris resolved to teach the child those few skills he knew well.

Upon a warm day just beginning to feel autumn’s chill breath, Jaris brought the child to a clear space among white-barked trees, and said to her: “I have decided to teach you how to wield a sword, so that you might defend yourself. Do you remember what this is called?”

“’Tis a parrying dagger, sire.” she responded, showing due understanding.

“Well answered,” said he. “And it is fortunate that I have it, for you are too small to lift up a sword. Now take it in hand, and I will instruct you in its proper use.”

And so did Jaris teach the Hob child the warlike arts, a little each day as the sun crept lower in the sky and the air grew ever-colder, just a he might have his own son had he lived still.

The child, none could deny, was clever, and learned quickly. Jaris marveled at just how like a child of Man she was in wit and way, growing more-so by the day. He said nothing of this to the child, but continued his education of her in stoic manner.

Through the bitter winter they passed the days with hunting and sword-teaching, Jaris with the blade bestowed upon him by the Liege whom he had forsaken, and the child with her parry-dagger. Hob, Jaris learned, were not so resistant to the grip of cold and frost, so he made for the girl a heavy tunic of rabbit furs, a thing he had not done since his days as a squire. And each day he would toil after the sun had hidden itself behind the craggy peaks, gathering wood for the fire that burned within their mean hut, so that the child might sleep in warmth.

Never did Jaris lament this work, nor the girl-child speak of it, though she obeyed every command issued her, without protestation.

Then, when at last the warm breath of the vernal gods had begun to push back the winter snows, Jaris returned from gathering wood to find the child crafting with utmost seriousness a garland of red frost-flowers, not unlike that she had laid about her mother’s head the year past.

“For whom do you make that garland?” Jaris asked.

The child presented it to him and said, “’Tis for you, sire, for you have taught me so much these last seasons, and gave me food, and kept me warm. There is nothing I can do to repay your kindness, sire, though I will most certainly try when I grow bigger. But until then all I can think to do is make you a garland. I made it the same color as the flower you treasure so.”

Jaris took it from her small hands and regarded it.

“I will understand, sire,” said she, “if you do not wish to wear it, and your taking it from me is all I would ask.”

It was some while before Jaris spoke in response to this, for within him a thing not unlike the pride of a father had made itself known, most unexpectedly. “I thank you for your gift, child, and accept it. I will wear it proudly,” said he, and hung it about his neck.

That night, in the embrace of a hut into which the cold wind blew through cracks between hewn branches, the two strangers felt closer to being near a parent and child each than either had for some while.

When the only snow to be found was in those places untouched by the sun from morn till night, Jaris spake thus to the child upon her rising: “The day has come to leave this place, and travel to the north, where your people live, and they will care for you, and you will be among your own.”

The Hob child gave no answer to this, but nodded dutifully and began preparing for the journey in her small way. She gathered up sacks of figs dried by the sun, and placed her dagger-sword across her back as Jaris had taught her, and put on her hare-hide leggings. Then the two abandoned their meager home among the rocks and fruit trees and set off.