The night passed slowly. Very slowly. Then the day came, lit by the faint sun, the mist rising from the lake and the forest looking like it was covered in thick cobwebs. Tiyan felt a throbbing, faint pain of fear in his heart, which he was able to tame enough not to show to his family.

But they knew, of course they knew. They always knew. He would be naive to think it wasn't so. But he was glad that they allowed him to keep it inside him, buried under the shallow earth.

Alina Markon would never give her son to fairies. That was out of the question. His father was against it too. Mina wasn't even aware of what was going on in the hearts and minds of others. And Korr, Tiyan's dog, slept, with a dreamless sleep.

Tiyan finally put on the warm clothes, the shawls and the heavy boots, and walked slowly, like a funeral procession, to carry the remaining meat to old Mer's house. Mer died in the war, and so did his sons. Only his old wife and daughter lived in the once important house. They could not hunt, they had never learned the trade. An unpleasant thought crossed Tiyan's mind: if he were sent into the forest to die, these women wouldn't be able to rely on him. Others could help them, of course, and probably would, but they were living their own silent nightmare. Only Tiyan seemed to care enough. The current world brought hard, merciless people to life. And he liked to feel needed. By his family and by others. It helped him to accept the present life more.

The snow muffled his footsteps as he passed the silent people. Sometimes they nodded at him, but mostly they kept to themselves. Only one woman stopped after he had passed her and looked at him with a smile.

"Tiyan?"

He stood in the middle of the path, as if paralysed.

"Noyd."

They had tried something together, not so long ago. To fill the empty void that sucked the life out of the village. They desperately sought warmth, understanding, even pleasure, quick and painful in its bitter truth. They clung to each other like snow to trees. They drank sweetness that seemed forbidden when everything was falling apart.

She would like it to continue. Tiyan... couldn't.

Now he was so glad it was in the past. If they were still together, the lesser folk would know. And do something he would not be able to unsee.

They stared at each other. Unspeakable things hang between them, heavy, difficult. Tiyan shook his head.

"I think I would be better off," he said. He would indeed be better off. Perhaps his mind was no longer open to the fairies... but who knows what they read in his thoughts. Perhaps a finished, unhappy love... or perhaps something more... tasty.

What a terrible word. Terrible and wrong.

He saw disappointment in her green eyes.

"Maybe we could..."

"Maybe," he buried his eyes in the package of meat he was holding.

"So..."

"Yes."

"Go. Don't keep them waiting. Because they are waiting, yes?"

"Them-?" he quickly realised she meant Mer's family. Of course, them. Not the hungry night.

She walked away, the legs of her thick trousers wet with snow, her woolen hat pulled tightly over her long copper hair. Tiyan inhaled and exhaled slowly, the air taking the form of a cloud of breath.

There go my decisions. Perfect.

The mer's wife greeted him with a faint smile, an old woman from a good house, not used to small village life. What was happening now was draining her like a leech. Her hair was still brown, not white like his mother's. She had never seen war first hand. She never fought with the spells of the Unseelie. She was never captured. But she looked weaker and more frightened than Alina, as if not having experienced all that had made her even less prepared for this kind of life.

"Where is Soira?"

"Still sleeping. She's still fighting the illness from last month."

"Tell her I asked how she was feeling."

"I will."

"There's salt in the meat. So it kept you both going longer."

"We appreciate it."

He handed the package to her and allowed her to invite him to join her for a thin tea made from herbs. No one made and mixed herbs like Dolsa Reinard.

She made him a glass, took the second herself and began to drink slowly, a tea made of snow. Tiyan sipped too. It was really good.

"So... Anglor," she smiled softly at him.

"Yes," Tiyan returned the smile. "Everyone seems to know what I bring them. Am I that predictable?"

"Yes. But that's not a bad thing. It keeps you coming back to us."

Tiyan had never been good at taking compliments. Maybe because he had low self-esteem. Or because he thought he was always doing things wrong, especially when he tried hard. And that's why he has to try harder than others, because good things won't come to him as easily as to them.

"I know. You don't like it," Dolsa laughed. A kind, motherly laugh. "But it is true. You have a good heart, Tiyan Markon."

"I..." he lost his words completely.

"You know it, deep in your heart. You judge yourself too harshly. Perhaps it would be good if you gave the girl another chance. I see the way you look upon her. Or rather, how you don't look at her."

Tiyan suddenly had the feeling that falling to the ground would be better than hearing praise. He almost got up, but Dolsa put her old hand on his own.

"Don't go."

Tiyan stumbled heavily. His heart sank. Do not go. A word that appeared far too often in his nightmares.

"Talk to me. I see something weighing on you, something heavy. Would you tell me?"

But Tiyan couldn't tell. He couldn't and didn't want to. The compliments warmed him and gave him hope, even if he was not used to them, even if he refused to acknowledge them. But they would cease to fall on his heart and be replaced by the acid of disappointment and contempt when she heard how he endangered his family and a village.

But he stayed.

And talked.

About everything but himself.