Alun trudged along the mountain path along with the other score or so workers from Barstow’s illegal mine. It was a good two hours back to Otraxis, and with the snows coming early this year he was keen to get back to the relative safety—not to mention warmth—of the Creep. Ahead of him, Quentin cursed and stumbled as his too-often-repaired sandals came apart. Alun bent to help the old man, his younger fingers better suited at coaxing the leather into a temporary knot.

Quentin smiled his gap-toothed smile as Alun knelt down. “Thank you, young’un. Fingers ain’t what they used to be,” he said.

“It’s all right Quentin. Most of us would be dead without you. Helping you out with your sandals is hardly a decent repayment.”

“You’d be surprised, Alun my boy, you’d be surprised…”

His task completed, Alun straightened up again and turned to resume the descent. “We really need to find you some new shoes,” he said, negotiating his way carefully down a narrow rubble-strewn defile.

“And by ‘find’ I suppose you mean ‘steal’?” asked Quentin, putting his hand out for assistance with the last few steps across the treacherous shale.

“Not necessarily,” Alun lied, his cheeks already flushing. He turned away from Quentin so the old man wouldn’t see—which was when he saw the girl. She was just behind them, at the top of the defile they’d just passed through, and obviously uncertain about where to put her feet.

“Hey,” Alun called up to her. “You need help?”

Quentin turned to see who Alun was talking to.

“No thank you,” the girl replied. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Suit yourself,” shrugged Alun. “We’ll stay here though, in case it takes you a while and you get lost.”

The girl simply glared before she started down herself.

Alun turned to Quentin. “Hey,” he said quietly, “have you ever seen her before?”

Quentin squinted back upslope, one hand absently combing his scraggly beard. “Nope,” he replied. “Not that I remember, anyway.”

Alun turned back to watch the girl making her way carefully down. She was wearing clothes that had seen better days, but that had obviously once been good quality—nothing like the third-generation rags that he wore. Twice he cringed as it looked certain that she’d tumble down the rocks and he’d have to look after her—all the way back to the city—but she eventually made it without incident, and came across to stand before Alun with her hands on her hips.

“See?” she said. “I don’t need your help.”

She pushed past Alun and began heading further down the mountain. Alun turned back to Quentin with his eyebrows raised, but Quentin just grinned his infuriating grin and started down after her.

“Come on,” Quentin called. “You know how Bethany gets if we’re late for dinner.”

Alun sighed and began following them both back toward the Creep.