He sank down to the forest floor and wept.

Then he heard the baying of the hounds.

He did not need to guess their quarry. The Soldiers of the Cross had picked up his trail and were closing in. He would not be permitted even his hour of grief in peace!

He was tired, for the physical exertion was wearing, and so was the energy required to change form. But he changed into his crow form, spread his wings, and ascended to the open sky. He flew at right angles to his prior trail, so that the dogs would have no hint of his location.

He reached the edge of a village north of the one he had left, and landed. He reverted to man again.

He was naked; he would have to get some clothing. His cache of valuables was back in the retreat, now forfeit.

He would have to scrounge.

There was a cottage outside the main village area. It was a standard peasant dwelling, with stout posts buttressing thin logs, the walls chinked with twigs and mud, the roof thatched with straw. The occupant might be friendly or unfriendly; Parry would just have to risk it.

He went up and knocked on the twisted board that served as the door. In a moment an old woman appeared in the dark interior. She stared at him apprehensively. "I have lost my clothes," Parry said quickly. "I-I'm a refugee from the soldiers. They killed my wife. If you have anything I can wear, I will work for it."

The woman considered. He knew she was trying to judge whether he spoke the truth, and whether it was safe to help him.

"Are you Christian or heretic?" she asked at last.

"Christian, with heretical leanings." That was the literal truth. "Whatever kind of Christianity the crusade represents, I'm not it."

"Get in here, then," she said, and lifted the board clear.

Parry ducked his head and entered the cottage. This was the stall chamber, and several sheep were in it. Their manure flavored the air.

They passed into the second chamber, which was the residential one. The woman evidently lived alone; there was a single bed of straw at one side. She dug out a ragged old tunic. "My husband's, rest his soul."

Parry accepted it and quickly donned it. "My thanks, good woman. I will earn it." The thing was patched and restitched and dirty, but did not seem to have fleas; it had been too long unused. That was a blessing.

She found some battered shoes. "You're about his size."

He tried them on. They were a bit tight, but would do."This is more than I-"

"You hungry?"

Parry realized that he was; he had been too busy to eat recently.

She fetched a soiled wooden bowl and poured some cold pease porridge into it. Parry tilted it to his lips and took a swallow. It was bland, formless stuff, but it was food, and he was duly grateful.