Sunlight crept on Branden’s face. Ugh, so tired. Hope Jack made bacon. His eyes fluttered open and memory slowly returned. Alive!? How? Attempting to raise himself to his elbows, he immediately collapsed onto his back with an agonized grunt.

“Do not try to move,” a dignified, deep, slow voice said.

Craning his neck, Branden caught a glance of the green-furred creature. “Olonto!” He clawed at the dirt, but white hot pain stabbed him.

“Do not try to move,” the creature said.

Two earthy brown eyes, grass-green fur, and teeth yellow as the sun loomed over Branden. His heart thudded. “My friends… are they?”

“Yes. Dead. I am sorry.”

Looking away, Branden said nothing for several minutes. Finally he peered up again. Unmoving, the creature still gazed down. “Where are their bodies? Did you eat them, leave them to rot, or what?” He chocked back a sob.

“I know your people bury their dead. Take comfort. They lie within the earth.”

He shook, but forced his eyes to meet the deep wells of brown. “Do it quickly.”

The Olonto slowly shook his head. “No. I will not kill you at this time.”

“Why? You want me to suffer first?”

A little gust of the creature’s breath stirred Branden’s hair. Did it sigh? “You know very little of Olonto for one who hunts them.”

The Olonto moved out of Branden’s sight, though he could still hear its slow breathing. He vainly tried to rise again. “You’ll have to pardon my ignorance. You see I - and my friends - only hunt Olonto when they raid our settlement, steal our horses, and slay our fellows.” Despite the pain, he clenched his fists. “Maybe you know little of humans: if you or that grey-furred monster do such things, expect to be hunted! And we won’t give up. We’ll live in peace or not at all.”

“Will you indeed, TRAPPER?” The last word boomed like thunder. Birds nearby cried and took flight.

Still prone, Branden nodded. “That’s it then. They say Olonto slay the Great Peoples to protect mindless beasts. No better than the Elves and their trees.” He laughed bitterly. “I’m not apologizing for making a living.”

“Is that what you do? So you eat what you kill, or sell it to those who will?” Thudding back, the Olonto bent over him more closely.

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Branden met his gaze. “You know we do it for fur. And why not? We don’t grow any ourselves, in case you haven’t noticed. You expect us to freeze?” Another stab in the shoulders quickly cut short an attempted shrug. “A lot of the meat gets wasted, but that’s not my fault.”

“Then you only kill to keep your people warm? You do not slay dozens of mink to provide a symbol of wealth? You do not slaughter beings to adorn your walls and your floors? You do not discard the worn garment that still keeps out cold?” The brown eyes stared down irresistibly.

Gazing aside, Branden studied the green grass and yellow flowers of the clearing, so different in the morning light. “I supply what the market in Burgeford pays for. I have to eat.” His coin purse lay oddly heavy in his pocket.

“Are there fish in the stream and deer in the forest?”

He sighed. “Yes.”

“Does the sun warm the ground and the rain water it? Does grain wave golden in the breeze?”

“Yes,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“Berry and nut, do they still dot the landscape? Fruit growing wild, can it still be found?”

“What do you want from me?” Branden cried.

“For you to open your eyes.”

Reluctantly, Branden dragged his gaze from the green field and the forest beyond back up to meet the Olonto’s eyes. He lay still and silent. The sun warmed his aching torso, though an occasional puff of wind chilled him. Inhaling deeply, he caught the familiar yet surprising scent of turf. Away in the trees birds chirped in a dozen distinct melodies. The Olonto stood without a movement or a word.

“You do not want me to suffer, my body is broken, and you despise the way I choose to live. Yet you will not kill me. What then?”

“An Olonto can heal wounds others cannot. Your injuries will require thirty days of complete rest and my care to heal,” the Olonto said, moving out of sight again. “Then you may return.”

Return to what? “And I suppose I must vow to change my ways and give up trapping, if I want to be healed. Preferably converting as many Atolions as possible to your way of thinking.” And I’ll be alone anyway. “Well, I’m no traitor.”

“No. I kill to protect myself or the creatures of the earth. You threaten neither at this time. If I release you and you return to old ways, hope we do not meet again.”

Branden shook his head, strangely sad. “You are a fool. I won’t change.”

“Perhaps.”

A cry like a hawk’s, but much louder and richer, pierced the air. After several minutes, a hawk’s screech answered, still distant. Straining his neck once more, Branden saw the Olonto cup his hands and repeat the first cry. The reply came much sooner and nearer this time. “What are you doing?” Branden said.

Crying again, the Olonto thudded back to Branden. “Thirty days is a long time to lie.”

So you’re bringing me a bird? “Why did you spare me and not my friends?” His eyes drifted to where Samwell fell.

“We love the ten Great Peoples just as we do the weaker creatures. Your courage and loyalty seemed worth saving.”

Branden looked in the Olonto’s eyes, seeing a lighter brown, almost golden. “I was afraid.”

“Yes. You still stood by your friend.” A small hawk, brown and white, perched atop the Olonto’s shoulder. “That is why I shall lend you something precious.”

“What do you mean?”

For the first time, Branden saw the strange creature smile. “You cannot use your body. Will you borrow another?”

Crying loudly, the hawk turned its yellow eye to Branden.