Light seeped through the cracks in the door, outlining it in a bright yellow glow.

Zan stood to remove the wood from the beneath the handle, grimacing as he heaved the heavy plank away from the door. He pulled it open and stood outside for a moment, allowing deep breaths of bitter air to fill his lungs. The breeze brushed against his green skin, and the muddy floor was covered by a thin sheet of blackened ice that cracked beneath his toes. He couldn't stand on it for long. Up until recently, he'd owned a pair of Snarker skin shoes, but they'd been worn down to a wafer thin sole.

There’d be no hope in catching another Snarker without his bow, and that was lost with everything else in the fire.

"I'm going out sis," he said as he poked his head through the door. Zami sat upright with her knees pulled up to her chest, and a blanket draped over them.

"I come," she said, reaching out to him.

"No, stay. Too dangerous. I won't be gone long."

He pulled the door shut and hoisted himself up onto the riverside platform, carefully looking around to make sure he was alone.

The market was a hive of activity by first light. The square was filled once more with hundreds of tables laced with goods, some finer quality than others. Zan sat against the wall and watched the people go by. They were mainly Rilaris, their dark green skin shimmering in the light of the day. Occasionally a Zal would shuffle by, their pale yellow complexion mostly hidden by the cloaks they held tightly around their faces. They went largely unnoticed but Zan knew what they were trying to hide. There was an uneasy truce between the two races.

One man in a cloak shuffled around, visiting the same stall repeatedly without buying anything. He carried a cloth bag half hidden beneath his robe. Occasionally, he'd walk up, take a look and then turn and meander around the square for a few minutes before going back. Zan's eyes followed him around. He shambled along the floor, dragging his soles across the icy setts, and the dirty edges of his cloak wafted about his ankles. A hood kept his face in shadow and he frequently put his arm in his pocket as his fingers began to tremble.

After following him for an hour, he watched the man make his way across to the shoe stall. A crowd gathered around it, served by a flustered woman who struggled to keep order. The man casually placed his hand on a pair of Snarkerskin shoes as if to look at them in more detail, before sliding them off the table into his bag.

He immediately shuffled off to the main street, pulling his hood around his face.

Zan followed.

The man walked down the street for a time and then darted left down an alley. Zan walked around the block a different way and when he turned the corner, he found the man standing at the opposite end of a narrow ginnel looking out onto the main street sheepishly. As he did, Zan crept up behind him. He crouched as he went, his bare feet soft on the stones and numb to the cold, and they made no sound. The man reached inside the bag and slowly pulled the shoes out by the straps, along with a small, flat wooden box.

Zan seized his chance, and quick as a flash he was stuffing the goods in his robe and fleeing. "HEY!" the man shouted as he gave chase. Through the narrow winding passageways Zan dashed, turning in random fashions. After several minutes, not even the hardened skin on the soles of his feet could take any more pounding. He slowed, panting, and the cursing that had echoed through the maze of lanes and alleys had faded.

As he caught his breath, he sat down in a doorway of a shop long since boarded up and derelict. It was a place Zan knew well, but he couldn’t live there. This was an area subject to inspections.

He wiped his feet free from dust and dirt, and placed the shoes on, strapping them around the top. They felt tight around his toes and rubbed at the edges, but they were still preferable to the feeling of the cold wet slime that he stepped on when walking through the market.

His attention turned to the small box. It was quite light and filled the palm of his hand. The wood was polished, with an X ornately carved onto the lid. Zan prised it open, and his eyes widened at the sight before him. There were four slots in a turquoise velvet lining. Three were empty, but one had a small vial placed snugly inside it, with a beautifully swirling purple liquid within. Sykana Violet. 'SV', as it was known, was an illegal drug used by some to relieve pain. It wasn't just physical pain relief that was on offer, but emotional pain relief. It was famous throughout the galaxy for its potency, but its scarcity made it one of the most valuable commodities in existence. Zan knew little of the effects, as he'd never come across any before, nor did he know anyone that had. He'd only heard the tales he'd been told by his parents, and by his friends parents and other elders. Some of the more interesting tales, Zan remembered, gave it magical properties of a dark nature.

He snapped the lid closed and placed it in his pocket, looking around to check it was safe.

A few flakes of snow began drifting down from the sky, meandering across the air like butterflies trying to find a petal to land. The clouds had rolled in and by mid-afternoon the sky was heavy and orange, and a blanket of white had covered the ground.

As he wandered back toward the river, a cry came from one of the shop doorways. It was high pitched and squeaky, and from a young girl wearing a thick woollen jacket draped over her like a pencil in a sleeping bag. Her blonde hair waved from side to side as she ran over. "ZAN!" Her shrieking could probably be heard all the way across the sea, he thought, and it made Zan anxiously look around in all directions, acutely aware of the attention it brought. He pulled his tatty shirt collar up around his face and kept his head down before hastily walking away, pretending he didn't answer to that name.

The girl caught up with him and grabbed his arm. "Zan," she said as she peered around the front of his clothing. "It is you!" She smiled and let out a horribly excited giggle while clasping her hands and bending her knees as if to jump into the air. Her arms flung around him like a snake attempting to strangle the life out of its prey. His arms, however, were limply daggling by his side as he felt his chest constrict.

She let go while Zan remained silent and continued walking, attempting to restrict her view of his face.

"Zan... I know it's you." She stopped dead in front of him, and smiled again. "I can't believe it! You're alive! Papa will never believe it. We thought you were dead after the –." She stopped herself. "How did you...I mean what happened?"

Zan recognised the girl straight away. It was Elisa Leriton. She was his best friend growing up, and she hadn't changed a bit. The same long curly hair, the same beautiful smile, and the same childlike excitement whenever she saw him. It was an excitement that used to make him feel good inside, and always put a smile on his face. But not now. He'd felt abandoned by everyone he'd known, including her. He hadn't seen her for two years, and in any case there was no-one he could really trust except himself.

The smile drained from her face as she took a step back and looked him up and down. "Zan," she sighed. "What happened? Why are your clothes ripped? And your hair Zan! It used to be white, and now it's all brown and matted. She reached out to push back the strands drooping down over the side of his face, but he flung his hand out and grabbed her arm before she could make contact.

"You know what happened," Zan said. "The fire burnt, my family died, and I didn't. That about covers it." He continued walking.

"Zan, I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were still alive. We looked everywhere for you. Papa sent a transmission over the radio every night for months. How did you survive on your own all this time?"

"I don't know, I just did," he snapped. "Go away."

"Not until you stop and talk," Elisa said, trying to block his path every time he turned.

"There's nothing to talk about - leave me alone."

"I can help. You have to believe me – I couldn't find you. I never come this far from home. The only reason I did today is because Papa needed a replacement part for his damn transmitter," she said. He felt her arms push against his and he stopped momentarily as she looked into his eyes. "I'm glad he sent me now." A smile broke across her face.

"I'm not," he said as he carried on, shoving her to one side.

"Zan," she shouted as he walked away from her. Her voice tore at every string of his heart, yet he couldn't let her in. No-one could find out about Zami, that was the only way. He wished it was different, and he longed to meet up with Elisa again, properly. But it just wasn't possible.

Zan arrived back to the ferry house before the worst of the weather hit. Inside, Zami tossed and turned beneath her covers. He crawled under his own blanket to warm up. Normally he'd get a fire going, but the lack of sea mist made the venting smoke more visible. Besides, he had the flint but not the tinder.