Months had gone by, and she still stayed. He had to hide her away from the village. The people wouldn't understand. All they would see was a Carnelian, an enemy of Larimar. But, the storm was in his favor. With the cold winds and the ever lasting snowfall, it hid her quite well from prying eyes and hateful words. She stayed with Fern. 

Amalia was a skilled hunter. With bow and arrow and knife, she could catch dozens of rabbits. Plenty to last them. She helped with feeding young Willow, who was growing from frail to a strong and happy child. He was thankful for that. 

Amalia stood by the door, fiddling with her coat buttons, her bow slung over her shoulder. “I'll be needing to come with you.” Fern said, getting his coats and scarves. “I need to find more herbs for when summer comes.” He looked out the window and grimaced. “If it ever comes.” They trekked outside, lifting themselves constantly out of the deep snow. The wind was forgiving that day, but cold fog settled over the forest. Amalia was quite easy to see, what with her dark hair, he could spot her, and stayed close. 

The healer shivered, not from the freezing temperature, but from fear. This forest that he lived in was next to a densely populated village, just over the river’s bridge. And he didn't live on the edge of the Wood of Beasts. But there was still that fear, that nagging sensation that creatures were following. Maybe Amalia really was a fae, here to replace his daughter with a changeling. Or maybe she was some kind of beast, here to kill him for some transgression. His mind whirled with awful thoughts. 

But they stopped when she put up her hand, signaling for him to stay. He dug at the base of the tree they stopped at and started filling his basket with moss and plants buried under the snow. He had no time to inspect them now, they would freeze if they didn't carry on. They stopped many more times, every now and then, Amalia would draw her bow and fire at an animal he could not see. She caught many little animals, but it seemed the bigger ones would not be back until spring. 

At another tree they stopped, and the same ritual commenced. Fern would dig into the snow for plants he could use and Amalia would fire her bow occasionally and get a rabbit or bird. But this time, they both heard it. The strange sound of a fox's cry. It sounded like a cub. Amalia and Fern looked at each other and tumbled through the snow to find the source of the distress. There, hidden in a hole at the base of a tree, cowered a small boy, no older than three.