His head snapped around at her tone, and tilted attentively. “What?”

“I’m bleeding.”

He walked back to her. “Where? Did they cut you? I didn’t see…”

Fawn swallowed hard, thinking that her face would be scarlet if only it had not been green. In an even smaller voice, she choked out, “Between…between my legs.”

The loopy glee that had underlain his expression ever since the killing of the malice was wiped away as if with a rag. “Oh.” And he did not seem to require a single further word of explanation, which was a good thing, as well as being amazing in a man, because Fawn was out of everything. Words. Courage. Ideas.

He took a deep breath. “We still have to get off this ground. Deathly place. I have to get you, get you someplace else. Away from here. We’ll just go a little faster, is all. You’re going to have to help me with this. Help each other.”

It took two tries and considerable awkwardness, but they both managed to get aboard the bay mare at last, thankfully a placid beast. Fawn sat not astride but sideways across Dag’s lap, legs pressed together, head to his left shoulder, arm around his neck, leaving his right hand free for the reins. He chirped to the horse and started them off at a brisk walk.

“Stay with me, now,” he murmured into her hair. “Do not let go, you hear?”

The world was spinning, but under her ear she could hear a steady heartbeat. She nodded dolefully.

5

By the time they arrived at the deserted valley farm, both the back of Fawn’s skirt and the front of Dag’s trousers were soaked in too-bright blood.

“Oh,” said Fawn in a mortified voice, when he’d swung her down from the horse and slid after her. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Dag raised what he hoped was an admirably calm eyebrow. “What? It’s just blood, Little Spark. I’ve dealt with more blood in my time than you have in your whole bitty body.” Which was where this red tide should be, blast and blight it. I will not panic. He wanted to swing her up in his arms and carry her inside, but he did not trust his strength. He had to keep moving, or his own battered body would start to stiffen. He wrapped his right arm around her shoulders instead, and, leaving the horse to fend for itself, aimed her up the porch steps.

“Why is this happening?” she said, so low and breathy and plaintive he wasn’t sure if it was to him or herself.

He hesitated. Yes, she was young, but surely—“Don’t you know?”