While the teen headed back to town in search of his parents, his young companion turned toward the Baron's manor to find the guardian. Ethyn easily found the first trail and sprinted blindly in what he thought was the correct direction.

The boy's youth and enthusiasm soon gave way, and he paused to suck in deep breaths of air. He examined his surroundings. He had made it to the clearing where the town held gatherings and festivals throughout the year.

Ethyn nearly cursed his foolishness. After running full out, he had very little energy left, yet he wasn't any closer to helping his friend. A more seasoned runner would not have made that mistake. Long distance travel requires stamina over speed, he realized. He was suddenly pulled from his thoughts.

"Stop right there!"

From where he stood in the clearing, Ethyn froze, hoping the command was for someone else, but knowing it was not.

"Turn around and come here." The man ordered.

The boy turned slowly. A few paces from him, one of Borit's men stared ominously at him.

Ethyn turned his panting into a controlled breath and forced a smile. "Oh good, a soldier!"

"Huh?" the man said, forgetting he was wearing a borrowed uniform. His long hair swished across his shoulders as he cocked his head to one side with a squint.

In contrast, the boy wore a childish pout. "Please sir, can you help me find my mother? She was just here." Taking a step toward the criminal, Ethyn made himself look very small. The man, confused but sensing no threat, lowered his sword slightly.

"I don't know where..." he suddenly remembered why he was there. "Wait! You are one of the kids that Borit is after."

But his revelation was a fraction too late. With a roll, Ethyn ducked under the man's sword. From the crouched position, the redhead jerked on the bottom of the man's ill-fitting uniform. The pants, which were too loose and not cinched, sped quickly to the man's knees. The ruffian fell to one side with a surprised cry.

Ethyn ducked into the shadows. Remembering anything and everything he could, the child ghosted with the swaying patches of darkness until he was free of the clearing. throwing himself among the brush, the boy waited, knowing he would be pursued.

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The squinting criminal quickly recovered his wits and pursued the boy. Although he had not seen exactly where the child had gone, he had a fair guess that it was somewhere behind where he had been standing. Swishing his sword through the tall brush at the edge of the clearing, the man sent leaves, small branches and even a sleeping turtle dove flying into the air.

The sweeps were getting closer and closer until one of the blades cut so close over his head that he could hear the sharp edge sing as it cut through the small branches of the bush. The bush, now relieved of its upper half, no longer shielded Ethyn from the Enemy's gaze.

Yet the boy did not move. Instead he clung flat to the ground even more, willing himself to look like a rock or rise in the ground. The man took another step, and the heel of his hard-soled boot landed on Ethyn's smallest finger. The boy's eyes watered, but he continued to hold his breath. Another fateful step would bring the other boot crashing onto the child's red mop of hair, and there was nothing he could do about it.

By a hair's-breadth, the other boot brushed Ethyn's earlobe and landed above in the space between his head, shoulder, and splayed arm. The boy dared not look up, pressing his face into the dirt even harder. After what felt like an eternity, the pressure on the captured pinky finger was removed and the enemy moved forward.

With the speed of a snail, the boy brought his finger to his side to protect it. Flexing his fingers, he did not think the tiny appendage was broken, which was a relief. The man, having no idea that his small query was already behind him, moved off into the woods still striking at any foliage he saw.

When the man was a safe distance away, Ethyn rose to his knees and then formed a low crouch like he had been taught. Once he was safely beyond the cursed clearing, he straightened and relaxed, trying not to think how close to the end of a blade he had just come.

Setting off again, the boy slowed his pace to a jog for the better part of an hour, resting periodically in the safety of the trees. When he passed over a stream, he stopped for a drink. The cold water stung his cracked lips, and slid down his dry throat like tiny needles. But Ethyn was refreshed and rehydrated, so the child ignored the pain.

As he continued on his journey. Ethyn's lungs ached and his sides pinched painfully inward. It was only natural after such a harrowing night. But he couldn't give up. Failure was not something he could stomach.

Although the path started out straight enough, it eventually split several times off into game trails and a few minor roads. Without the stars above the thick newly budding trees to guide him, the boy was moving purely on intuition and luck. Finally, his luck ran out.

The road split into two equal portions. Ethyn hesitated. He had never been to the baron's manor, and he only had a vague inclination of its direction. He closed his eyes and played a quick game of "onesie, twosie, threesie, four" while pointing back and forth between his choices.

His option selected, the boy rushed on into the night. As the morning dawned, Ethyn realized his error. He was not heading northeast as he had thought, but was instead heading north by northwest. He was lost.

Crestfallen and exhausted, Ethyn sprawled out on the ground. It was hard and dusty, but at least it was drier than the dewy grass along the path. The boy went still, and he felt himself slipping off to sleep.

Suddenly he jerked awake. How long had it been? The boy couldn't be sure. The light was brighter now and time had definitely passed. With great effort to overcome his stiffness, he sat up and took stock of his situation. He was far off course and would never reach Silver before he returned to town.

What else could he do? The dark of utter hopelessness crept into Ethyn's thoughts. For a moment, he entertained giving up. It was no use after all. He had even fallen asleep. How could he do that! No matter how Ethyn looked at the problem, he couldn't save his friend…

Or could he?

An idea came into his mind, and before Ethyn could dismiss it, he rose to his feet.

"Help!" he called as loudly as he could. Nothing happened, except a couple of startled mourning doves took flight from the brush. "I know you are out there. Please! We need your help. Can you please help us?"

It was quiet for a while longer, and the boy began to feel foolish. Just as he turned to retrace his steps to town, a wind sprung up and tousled his hair gently. "Hello," a tinkling voice said, "I was hoping you would call."