Folk were accustomed to seeing me in the kitchen early, since I was the one who generally saw to it that the baking was underway and the clearing and setting of fires being attended to. I observed that without my supervision the day’s domestic activities were unfolding precisely as they should. All I did this morning was refill my water jug and help myself, surreptitiously, to a small crock of honey. I glanced into the hall, saw no sign of activity, and fled back upstairs. Perhaps that rider had not been a messenger after all.

The sound hit me as soon as I opened my chamber door. The changeling had flung off the swathing shawl. His limbs were flailing, his eyes were screwed shut and he was crying in jerky sobs interspersed with gasping breaths. Setting down my jug and jar I hastened to gather him up, to wrap the shawl around his twiggy form, to reassure him. “There, there . . . Hush, sweetheart, I’m here now . . .” His small body was rigid with distress; he seemed beyond comforting. I had not been gone long, but he had woken alone and starving. I could feel his terror in my own body.

I put him against my shoulder and managed to get the stopper off the honey jar. I tipped a few drops into the water jug. I found a cloth. The baby raged and sobbed against me. Right now, it was just as well I was the only one who could hear him. “Hush, little one,” I murmured. “I need you to help me. Be calm now.”

I sat on the bed, cradling him in one arm, and dipped the cloth into the bowl. I squeezed a drop or two into his gaping mouth. “Just a bit,” I murmured. “Slowly does it.” Please don’t be sick, I begged. Please, please be able to drink this.

He drank, choked, drank again. He was sobbing so violently he could not really swallow. I lifted him, held him against my shoulder once more, sang a verse of the lullaby. “Oo-roo, little dove, stars are twinkling high above, owls are gliding, shadow-gray, time to bid farewell to day.”

The sobs were dying down. He nuzzled my shoulder, turning his head from side to side. When I tried the honey water again, he drank more thirstily and did not choke. He sucked hard at the soaked cloth; he was swallowing the mixture as quickly as I could gather it up. When I paused to add more honey he squalled in protest. “Hush, hush,” I murmured. “Just wait a little.” As I began to feed him again his eyes softened, then closed in contentment. I was hard put not to burst into exhausted tears. After all, I would not have to watch him starve.