Padric nodded and continued down the trail, keeping the mysterious fire in sight. Within a few minutes the light was almost directly to their left, some distance into the forest where the trees grew less dense. A voice issued from the woods, causing Padric to duck down instinctively. It was faint and low and Padric realized it was not directed at him. Someone was out there, with a fire, speaking in the dead of night amongst the trees. It was a man’s voice, Padric was certain.

“Find a good high branch and stay there,” he whispered to Rosheen.

“I can look easier than you.”

“No. Folk in the wilds can be suspicious of Fae. Best I go.”

Padric felt Rosheen wriggle out from under the hood and fly upwards. “Tread softly.” It was difficult to make his way, despite the ambient light from his destination. He picked carefully through the trees, wincing at the loud crushing of leaves under each step. Low, unseen branches scraped and tickled unpleasantly at his face as he slid along, half-blind. The thick, pleasant smell of something cooking flitted into Padric’s nostrils, pulling him closer, knife still in hand. The voice grew closer, easier to discern. Padric caught the intonation of a question, but not the words. If there was a response, Padric could not hear it. He could see the fire clearly now, bright between the trees. A tall figure moved around the flames, tending a stewpot hung in the center.

Padric doubted he could get any closer without being heard and trying to sneak up on someone in the dark was not likely to further their hospitality. He had to make a choice and he had to make it quickly. Rosheen was out there, alone in the cold. Gripping his knife tighter, Padric knelt down close beside the nearest tree.

“Ho the camp!” he yelled. The tall figure quickly rose and fetched something close to hand, turning sharply to face Padric’s direction.

“Who calls?” the figure barked back steadily.

“A traveler seeking only warmth! Not to give or receive harm!”

A moment’s pause. “Come ahead, then!” the figure called.

Padric rose slowly and reluctantly sheathed the seax. He made his way noisily over to the fire, noting the figure kept his back to the blaze so as not to blind himself. As Padric entered the clearing he saw the figure was indeed a man, tall and lean of body and face. He wore the rough clothes of a woodsman, skullcap pulled tight, his long, hooked nose and sunken cheeks cut sharply in the shadows created by the firelight. A grizzled vulture, the man appeared older than Padric’s father. A great chopping axe rested easily in his large, knotty hands.

“A kindness,” Padric said. “I thank you.” He made his way over to the fire, to give credence to his claim and allowed the man a chance to look him over.