This place is a frequent haunt and the earth in the campsite has been worn to flattened dirt. Despite that, all around us is a vibrant green forest.

“You going to play for us tonight Rey?” I look over at Micah, my friend since childhood and grin.

“Sure. I could play now.” I offer.

“No. You play too intense. Your fiddling is meant for the night.” I chuckle at his words.

“Ever the poet.” I quip affectionately. Micah has dreams of attending the college of bards, but it's something forbidden to wanderers. Most things are. 

We are considered thieves and murderers, ruffians. It's true of some Wanderer tribes but not this one. We just kept to ourselves. I don't see what's wrong with not wanting to be beholden to anyone, King or Queen. Then again, I'd been raised by Wanderers so of course I would see it their way.

This is a rest time. we will stay here until we are found and driven out. Breakfast is hearty this morning. The area is rich in game, which is why we chose to set up camp here. After everyone's eaten, one of the elders makes his way to me.

“Reya, you are one of our best foragers. Go out into the woods today and see what surrounds.”

“Yes, Elder.” I state respectfully. He nods and makes his way around to everyone handing out assignments. Everyone does their part for the good of the tribe. I stretch and stand up, heading into the woods.

I've been exploring for several hours when I realize that all the noise has stopped. No birds are singing. The foliage isn't rustling with wildlife. The only sound is the babbling of the small creek I'm standing next to. 

I look about me with a critical eye. When the forest goes quiet, it usually means there's a predator. I pull my knife out quietly as I search, unmoving.

That's when I  spot it. There's a glint up ahead, something shiny. I move towards it and gasp when I come upon a tiny little clearing. There's a man here. He wears armor that's been severely damaged and a giant arrow sticks out from his shoulder.

He's sitting up against a tree, panting. It looks as though he’s collapsed. I approach warily. If he's wearing armor, that means he's some soldier, and they tend to attack Wanderers like me.

“Mister?” I ask softly. His eyes fly open. I could swear they are red, but I blink, and they are just a dark brown color. I must be seeing things. He studies me with a sharp intelligence that thrives despite his obvious pain and exhaustion.

“Where am I?” He questions.

“Technically this territory isn’t claimed, sir. It’s just on the outskirts of Volocinia. What happened to you?” I ask, looking around me for enemies.

“You’ll find none pursuing me.” He says, his voice rough.

“If I help you, are you going to kill me?” I ask.

“No. I have no hatred of Wanderers.” I smirk and move forward.

“You’re a rarity then Mister.”

“You have no idea.” He murmurs, eyes not leaving me as I draw near and crouch right in front of him, not even half a foot away.

“We should get your armor off.” I say. He nods and struggles to sit straight as I help him with deft, sure hands.

“How is it you are so familiar with armor?” He asks. It's not a strange question. Most women aren't.

“My father was a blacksmith sir. When I was younger, I would assist him with fitting those who came to trade or buy.” I explain as I help him with his helmet. 

His obsidian hair is long but pulled back into a ponytail. One side of his face is a mass of scars. I've only ever heard of one person who has such a disfigurement and hasn't been killed.

It's a sin to become disfigured in any way. It's considered an affront to the Gods. If someone is disfigured or becomes so, the law states that they must be killed. Only one person has survived this tradition. The Sorcerer. I swallow my fear and meet his gaze brazenly. I refuse to be cowed.

“When we get back to camp you may want to hide your scars.” I murmur. He narrows his eyes at me.

“Why? I care not what anyone thinks of them.”

“I’d rather not give my elders a heart attack. You did destroy many tribes of Wanderers long ago.” He nods, expression bitter.

“If you like I can hide them so you need not look upon them.”

“That’s up to you.” I say, turning my attention to the arrow, and working out how best to get it from his shoulder. “I don’t mind them, nor do I care for the opinions of the Gods. Their laws are foolish.” I say dismissively.

“Then you have a mind.” He murmurs. I look over at him, realizing for the first time how close our faces are. I clear my throat, heat creeping up the back of my neck at the intensity of his gaze.

“I have some skill in healing, but the arrow must come out first.”

“Go ahead.” He says. “The pain does not concern me.” I nod and quickly snap the arrow head off. He's lucky. The arrow went straight through his shoulder, missing bone and tendon. 

I pull the rest of the bolt through; impressed that he hasn’t made a sound. I press my hands to the wound and allow the power in my blood to come forward, not fully. I've been warned against doing so, but enough to take the edge off his pain and prevent infection. “That is more than a little skill.” He says.

“Unfortunately, it’s not usually enough.” I admit sadly, remembering the children who died of fever last summer. He nods, still taking my measure. “Are you able to walk on your own?” I  ask.

“Yes.”

“Come with me then. We need to put a poultice on that wound and stitch you up. I’ve done all I can without real medicine.”

“Lead on.” He says, standing to his full height. I feel completely dwarfed

“What of your armor?”

“Leave it. It will be collected soon enough.” I nod, wondering how he plans to accomplish that. Will he send someone to get it, or will he use magic? 

“Okay.” Without any other word, I lead him toward camp. When we arrive, everyone stops what they're doing and stares at him. It's rare that a stranger is allowed into camp, and everyone no doubt wonders if I've taken leave of my sanity. Who can blame them? I wonder if I've taken leave of my sanity. I ensured he will survive. I should have simply left him there.

There's something about him, though. I'm not sure if it's the deeply hidden emotions behind his eyes, the keen intelligence he can't hide, or the fact that he's so infamous he's a legend, but I can't bring myself to just to leave him. Something in him calls to something in me, and I find myself unable to ignore it.

We reach the healing tent and I hold the flap open for him, meeting his gaze again and finding myself captured.

“What is your name?” He asks.

“Reya. What’s yours?”

“Do you really want to know?” He wonders as we move into the tent and I direct him to a cot.

“Yes. I don’t suppose your title to be your actual name.” I smirk.

“No, it is not.”

“Well?” I raise an eyebrow and sit down on the stool near the cot that's meant for visitors. His expression never changes but still, I could have sworn he's amused. Maybe I'm just putting my mood off on him.

“It is Ahti.” I grin at him.

“So your name means God of Magic?” I chuckle.

“You are educated?” He asks in some surprise. Again, I can't blame him for wondering. Most Wanderers never touch a book. 

“Self-educated mostly. I love to read.” I say. “Your mamma must have known something of the future.” I murmur, thinking of his reputation for using magic to conquer nations. 

“And yours?” He asks, clearly wondering why he has yet to see a parental figure taking over my guardianship of him. It's considered improper for a woman of my age who is unmarried to tend to a male alone. That's true of any class in any circle of influence.

“My parents are dead sir.”

“How?” He wonders.

“My mamma said father died while on a hunt. She died some two years ago now of camp fever.” It's a disease that affects wanderers specifically. No one knows why, just that it is. Much like the plague sometimes sweeps through the cities, fever sometimes sweeps through wanderer camps. Either way, the results are always devastating.

“My parents are dead as well.” He states.

“Did you kill them as everyone says?” I ask, unashamed in my curiosity. How often is it a Wanderer like me gets the chance to question the Sorcerer himself like this? I'm not willing to let the opportunity pass me by.

“Are you always so curious?” He asks.

“Yes.” I admit confidently.

“I did kill them.” He states.

“Why?” I bite my lip. “Sorry. That’s probably too personal.”

“It is.”

“I have a thing about boundaries.”

“And what is that?” He wonders.

“I rarely notice them.” I shrug. I barely catch his lips twitching towards a smile a bit. Again I have the feeling he finds me amusing. Finally, the healer comes into the tent, no doubt drawn here by the talk of a visitor.

“Rey.” The old woman sighs, smiling in an affectionately indulgent way. “Are you bothering the injured man?”

“Yes. What of it?” I say mischievously. The woman swats at me with a towel.

“I have been tending you since you were a babe. You will respect my rules, young lady.”

“Yes, ma'm.” I grin.

“Imp.” she murmurs affectionately. Then she turns to Ahti, who has been watching our exchange with interest. “Now what have we here young man? Rey? What did you do to him?”

“I did nothing. I found him in the wood with an arrow through his shoulder. I did what I could, but he needs real medicine.” The healer nods and begins working on a poultice right away. When she's done, which is quickly she turns to me.

“Would you like to help?”

“Sure.” I agree,

“Good. Stand behind our young lad here, and help him take his shirt off.” 

I do as I'm told, blushing the whole time and grateful he can't see me. He's built, all rock hard muscle everywhere I look. Most of the men I've seen up close are Wanderers.

“Now clean the wound of the blood. I must see the wound clearly.” The old healer says. I don't realize Ahti has turned his head to watch me until I looked up for a moment. Our faces are barely an inch apart.

“Did I hurt you?” I ask.

“No.”

“You’re staring at me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You are very strange.”

“I’m less strange than you.” I murmur.

“On that, we can agree.”

“So what do you find so strange?” 

“Nothing.” I furrow my brow at him, not believing him for a second, but I let it go for now. I finish cleaning the wound and help the healer fasten the poultice.

Why am I suddenly nervous? I've never been shy around anyone before, not even Thierry.

I've had a crush on Thierry for almost a year now. So do most of the other women my age in the camp. Needless to say, I don't have much of a chance with my strange looks. 

Pale skin and black hair are almost non-existent among wanderers.

“So, how did you end up in the forest?” I wondered.

“I meant to end up at my castle. But the blood loss was greater than I imagined and I fell short.” He states. 

“End up?” I wonder.

“Travel by magic.” He mutters.

“So you do use magic?”

“Yes.”

“Have you done all the horrible things people say you have?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Why?” I wonder.

“Could you honestly understand it even if I explained it to you?”

“Could you sound like any more of a condescending prat?” I mimic his tone exactly. 

“I could kill you.”

“For what? Being honest with you? Would you prefer I lie?”

“No.”

“Then what’s the point in threatening me?” 

“Respect.”

“Threatening me won’t earn you my respect if that’s what you’re after.”

“Oh? And what would pray tell?” 

“Being worthy of it.” I shrug. “It’s different with each person for me.”

“So there is no clear answer.” He observes.

“Well, I am a woman. Aren’t we supposed to be confusing?” Finally, the healer comes in and begins to stitch him up.

“Leave us now Reya, and join the others. I believe Micah needs help with setting up the cook fire for the night and getting everything ready. Thierry brought down some good game. We’ll all eat well tonight.”

“Wonderful.” I grin. During lean times, some folks die of hunger. One year I got so thin I'd been able to see all of my ribs. 

This past year was nearly that bad. I'm too thin even now, and a good hearty catch was just what the camp needs to lift spirits. Stepping out of the tent, I'm nearly relieved to be out of Ahti's presence. He dwarfs me; makes me feel small and delicate in a way I haven't experienced before. I can't decide whether I like it or not.

I take a deep breath of the fresh air. The healers tent always smells of herbs, a scent I enjoy; but it's overwhelming when mixed with the smell of a certain sorcerer. 

He smells like winter. He smells like a quiet winter night when the snow is knee deep in the forest, and big snowflakes are coming down from the evening sky, and the entire world is silence. 

**

She watches the young woman leave the tent and smiles, turning towards her patient. She knows exactly who and what he is. The eyes of a healer no matter how old and faded are impossible to fool.

“Where is your woman, young man?” She asks, pretending to be fooled by the magic hiding his scars.

“None would have me I think, were I to search for one.”

“Oh? I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“I am not as handsome as you may think me.”

“No indeed. Few of us are, and yet we all manage to find someone.”

“Not me.”

“I think Reya would give you a chance were you so inclined.” He freezes for a moment.

“She is very young healer.”

“Yes, she is. But she’s meant for something bigger than this camp, and the life of a wanderer. The way you looked at each other when she was in here tells me you may be her catalyst at the least. Perhaps she is yours in return.”

“The way we looked at each other?”

“Aye. She’s fascinated with you, in a way I’ve only ever seen from a girl developing a crush. She probably doesn’t even know it yet. But I’ve seen that look many a time in my life. I am ancient after all.” She chuckles, gesturing to her wrinkled and lined visage. “Come now, are you saying you wouldn’t enjoy an evening by the fire with her on your lap?” He looks away.

“You don’t know what you speak on.”

“I think we both know I do young man.” She pats his arm comfortingly. “Just some food for thought. That wound should heal soon enough.” The sounds of laughter filter in through the tent. “Go and join the party now. No use in traveling by night, and it will give you a chance to stare at her like she’s the moon on a dark night.” He stares out the tent entrance pensively for a time, watching Reya as she moves around the camp. Finally he looks back at the healer, and loneliness like she's never witnessed has settled over his features.

“The light doesn’t shine on people like me Healer.”