WHen Finn awaoke again, sunlight was streaming though the windows. He could hear birds chirping,and the smell of the dying hearth reminded him of home. He turned on his side, forgetting about his injuries. He was surprised at the dull ache in his back. It was a far cry from the searing pain he remembered. He also noticed he could feel his right leg again. He  pushed himself up to a sitting position on the side of the bed, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. 

    Someone had been there last night. He remembered seeing the two figures. He also had the feeling another had visited too, though he didn't recall seeing them. His eyes were instinctively drawn to the dark corner by the hearth. It had been there. He stood, shakily, and shuffled forward. When he reached the spot, there as no sign anyone had been there. Even the dust was undisturbed. He rubbed his right thigh, then realized the bandage was gone. Turning so the sumlight fell across the wound, he saw it was completely closed, though there was still and angry red mark where the gaping hole had been. His pain had nearly vanished, and surprisingly, he still had some strength left in the muscle.

    He rested his hand on the small table and sat, placing his head in his hands. This was a peculiar situation to find himself in. He did not know eho he owed his life to, and he wasn't sure if he should thank them, or curse them for extending this existence he had grown to loath. 

    Finn thought again about his situation. His brother was dead, his father and family blamed him for it. Ian had been his hero and beacause of his selfish and thoughtless actions, his hero was dead. Finn's father had never cared for him, favoring his firstborn, instead. Now the leader of Clan Donnelly had the perfect reason to wish his youngest dead. After Ian was killed, his father had Finn placed under arrest. He treated with the enemies at the gate, trading  the small holding FInn was to inherit for a tenuous peace. Everything Finn had in the world was gone. His brother, his family, his future - all was stripped from him in one moment. A tear slipped down his cheek and he simply stared at the rough timbers of the table.

    A noise from above brought him sharply back to the present. He sat up and scrubbed his face with his hands. Looking up, he saw the same door in the ceiling open and small, bare feet hung down. Curious, he stood and continued to look at the opening. A small figure dropped through and landed nimbly, it's back toward him.

    The figure turned, and Finn jumped back in surprise. She was small. She smiled, and looked him up and down with her large, owl-like eyes. Finn couldn't move from surprise. She reached out and took his arm and guided him back to the bed. She was chattering away in amusical language he did not know, but somehow he felt he understood. He turned and sat when he reached the bed and she stood in front of him. She gently pushed him back to lie down, then moved to examine the injury on his leg. The girl frowned a bit and turned back to the table where she made quick work of gathering herbs and grinding them with a crude mortar nd pestle. She added some water from a pitcher and formed a paste which she turned and applied to Finn's wound. 

    Finn could not take his eyes off the girl, if that was what she was. Her long, greenish-silver hair was arranged in intricate braids and her skin seemed to have a faint glow. She reached up and absently scratched at her ear. It seemed nearly human, except for the barely noticble double point. Fin sucked in his breath just as she applied the paste to the most sensitive part of the wound. She was Fey! Just as he made this realization, another figure dropped down into the dwelling. This one was taller, and appeared to me male.

    The girl started talking in her sing-song language, and the newcomer answered. Finn looked back and forth between the two in confusion. The male seemed to be agitated with the girl, but she seemed not to care. Finn, growing impatient, interuppted thier conversation.

    "Who are you?" he demanded.

    The girl stopped and looked at him, tilting her head to the side. She regarded him for amoment, then turned to look back at the male. He said something to her and she smiled softly. She whispered to herself, then placed her hands over his ears. The male raised his voice in obvious concern just as Finn felt his ears grow warm and a strange senastion rushed through his head. He turned to look at the male who was began speaking in a raised voice. Just as the sensation passed, the words Finn heard began to make sense.

    "- and the ELders did not give you permission for this!" the male insisted.

    "I can understand you?" Finn said.

    "You can now," the girl grinned.

    "How?"

    The male strode over to where Finn lay. He regarded his female counterpart darkly.

    "By magic," she said.

    "Unauthorized magic," he added.

    The hunter crouched and gathered a handful of earth.He breathed in the pungent odor odor of animal and cedar and closed his eyes. Listening intently, he sought out any sounds that might give his quarry away. Minutes passed and then it came.

    Snap!

    The man inhaled and leaped to his feet, crashing in the direction of the sound. The chase of this good-sized boar had taken all morning and he was ready to take it down quickly. It had been weeks since his last good meal and he was fueled by a mix of hunger and desparation. He saw the dark, oily pelt of the boar through the brush just before he burst into the clearing. 

    In a second, it was over. There had been no time for him to stop his forward motion. In the space of an instant, he realized this was not the beast he had been chasing. It was easily three times the size of the eighty pound sow he has seen earlier that morning.  The boar turned and charged, goring him squarely in the thigh. The hunter knew even before he hit the ground his wound was mortal. He could feel the warm rush of blood pouring from the gaping hole in his leg. He heard the boar snorting behind him, but didn't have time to worry about another attack before his eyes closed and the forest faded into darkness.

    He woke and knew immediately that he was freezing. This seemed odd considering where he was sure his eternal resting place would be. It was night and the cold ground pressed against his face. . He twisted his head to try and get a look at the damage he had sustained and was surprised to find no pool of blood surrounding him. He tried to move but was wracked by a searing pain that radiated from his right leg to the center of his soul. He cried out amd slammed his fist into the ground beside him. After the wave of agony had ebbed, he tried to look again, but took his time. He couldn't reconcile how the boar  had struck him, and the fact he was still alive. He scanned his leg, trying to understand, and then he saw his saving grace. The pack he wore had slid from his shoulder when he took the hit and had fallen in front of him. He landed in such a way that the pack and his body weight had acted as direct pressure on the wound. The supple leather had molded to his leg and had controlled the bleeding. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed. He couldn't feel his leg, but he knew the possibility existed that if he moved off of the satchel, the bleeding would begin again and he truly would end up dead. 

    He twisted carefully to allow his other arm to reach down by his side. He needed to reach his belt and remove it so it could be used as a tournequet. He was face down on the forest floor and his body was bruised and stiff from the cold, but he was able to suck in his stomach to allow for his hands without jostleing his leg. After unbuckling the belt and slowly working it from around his waist, he needed a moment to rest. He had lost enough blood to weaken even the strongest of men. 

    The next steps would mean life or death. He had to roll off of the leather bag and tie the belt around his leg - all before losing consciousness and bleeding to death. He didn't know the extent of his injuries - his leg might be shattered. It was a risk, but this was his only option considering the circumstances. He inhaled deeply, braced himself, and heaved off of the bag and over onto his back. 

    Fortune was with the hunter. His leg was not shattered, but he was not prepared for the pain in his back. As he tried to pull himself to a sitting position where he could properly address his leg wound, a stabbing sensation as powerful as a broadsword ignited his back in agony. He screamed and began to weep, but he managed to wrap the belt around his leg. Just before he pulled the belt tight, he considered letting it fall so he would drift out of the pain he was in, but the will to live was too strong and he gripped the belt and cinched it tightly until the blood slowed. As he wavered on the brink of unconsciousness, he felt a rising panic. He wasn't going to survive. With a wound like this, he would never make it out of the forest, and even if he somehow managed to, how could he seek out help when there was an army on his heels?

    He hadn't realized it before, but felt tears streaming down his face. This was not how his life was suppossed to be. He had survived far worse for far longer. He wasn't suppossed to be cut down by a damn pig! He chuckled in between whimpers. That's what his brother, Ian would have said. He would have laughed at him and teased him for days.

    "Well, brother, I suppose you'll have a chance to laugh at me in person soon," he mumbled to himself, though he knew even that was an impossibility. Ian was the good son who was noble and fair. He did what was right, and he got himself killed for it, too. No. Ian would be resting with the angels. They would never meet again. The hunter sighed. He had been running for too long. Maybe it was time to give up. If he didn't, he would be running for the rest of his life. Now there was no choice. It was over. His father had finally won. If they ever found his body, it could be proclaimed that Finn, the Scourge of Clan Donnely, was vanquished by a pig. He chuckled again as his eyes slowly closed.

    Ian was standing on the flagstone steps leading down from the keep. Finn could see by his posture something was wrong. He looked past his older brother toward the horizon and saw a line of soldiers marching steadily toward Dalweir, the home of his people - his clan. The bright blue of the Antarian army fluttered from the bannermen leading the throng. Finn's stomach turned. He was frozen. This was his fault. They were coming because of him. 

    Ian knew it, too. He was the only one who would. Ian turned to Finn and his face said everything. They were ruined. There was no hope of defeating such a large army. Finn had called the devil, and it was writhing at their doorstep.

    "You..." a deep voice rasped from behind Finn.

    Finn turned. His father, Angus, chief of Clan Donnely, wore a mask of rage. Finn turned back to Ian, his heart racing. He hadn't known what he was doing. He was trying to be like his father - strong and unyielding. His brother was always trying to get others to see reason and it yielded nothing. He wanted to show them he could be trusted - that he could lead the warriors for the clan better than his brother. 

    "I will ride out, father," Ian had said, trotting down the steps to the stables. He had given neither of them an opportunity to protest. 

    Finn watched his brother ride forward, the rich green and blue Clan Donnely standard in hand with the white ribbon of peace streaming behind it. He sat so tall, so confident in his ability to stop the coming onslaught.  When the arrow struck him in the heart, he had not noticed at first. He simply pulled his horse up to a walk and looked at his chest. Then, he look up toward his father and brother before he fell. Finn felt the arrow as if it had struck him, as well. He f ell to his knees and shouted, "Brother!"

    "Brother!"

    Finn awoke, sweat pouring off his brow. His chest heaved and he was disoriented. He shivered and pulled the blanket up under his chin, drifting back into sleep.

    Finn's eyes snapped open. A blanket? He dared a look at the cloth he held clutched in his hand. He shifted his eyes upward expecting to see the canopy of forest trees, but instead saw stone that flickered and glowed with firelight. He breathed in and the air smelled of herbs and food. Turning his head, he saw he was in a dwelling of some kind, but unlike any he had seen before. There was astone hearth surrounded by a depression filled with soft-looking furs and pillows and many grottos and depressions in the walls that housed bottles and pouches and dried flowers and plants. A movement caught his eye and he turned to see the most enormous owl he had ever seen perched above the hearth regarding him with only mild interest. Curious, he lifted the blanket aan saw his leg had been bandaged with a yellowy gauze that smelled slightly of comfrey and peppermint. He leaned carefully to one side and found his back still ached, but was not so awful as before. Try as he might, he had no idea how he had come to be in this place, and what this place was remained a complete mystery.

    He heard the sound of voices, and then a panel in the ceiling jiggled and dropped inward on hinges. He closed his eyes quickly and feigned sleep. The voices lowered to a quiet whisper and he heard feet drop to the floor. Finn stealthily cracked one eye open. Standing in from of the hearth were two creatures unlike anything he had ever seen. They were pale and willowy and wore clothing that shimmered like dew on the flowers. Their movements were fluid and time seemed to hesitate around them. Their hushed voices spoke in a musical language he didn't recognize. One of them turned in his direction and he was frozen, unable to tear himself away from the scene before him. It appeared the creature was female, and she glided to where he lay, kneeling down beside him. She placed her hand on his brow and it was cool and light, almost like she was made of the air itself. She hummed softly and he found himself becoming drowsy, his racing heart slowing and relaxing. Her voice continued and he closed his eyes, drifting back into sleep.

    He awoke again and this time he could see the moonlight streaming through the high windows above the bedwhere he lay. The fire had died to flickering embers, and the room was dark, save for the silvery moonbeams that sliced throuigh the air. FGeeling stronger, Finn rolled over to his side. He slowly eased hinmself up to a sitting position and found himself staring into the embers of the hearth. Where was this place? He tired to rise, but his leg burned with icy pain and he thought better of it. As he eased back to the soft, down mattress, he noticed movement in the corner by the hearth. Thinking it was only the owl, he lay back, exhausted.

    Finn