Astrid stopped.

Seeing her not moving made the others stop too. Rhystian paused to catch his breath, while Micaiah asked, "what's wrong, Ast?"

She made no motion to speak, but Micaiah's ears perked. She caught a sound.

"Someone's coming."

"I knew it wasn't going to be easy," Rhystian huffed.

"…Rhys, they're coming fast." Micaiah's pale face was flushed with cold, and her red eyes flashed with fear. "What do we do?"

It took him a moment to think. "…Astrid, go ahead. You're faster than us."

She nodded and ran deeper in the forest without a second thought.

"But where does that leave us?"

"Follow me." Rhystian grabbed her arm and ducked through the brush. His foot caught on a tree and he fell into a bush.

"Rhys!" Micaiah whispered, but instead of moving, Rhystian pulled her down with him. "Hide."

"It's pointy," Micaiah complained, feeling all the thorns poking her skin. Rhystian didn't answer, only pulled a thorn from his palm and waited.

Micaiah caught the sound again, even buried in the bush. It was strange. "They're coming fast. But I don't hear footsteps." She paused. "Okay, I do hear footsteps. But the fast ones aren't them."

Rhystian nodded. "Tell me when you see them."

She squinted in the dawn, trying to catch the sight of anything. Finally she noticed something. "I think I see them."

"Really?"

"Really." She focused harder. "They're short. Kids…" She froze, and Rhystian touched her arm.

"What's wrong, Caiah?"

"Nothing's wrong. The two are kids. And they have wings."

Rhystian may have not been a Kitsune, but it was kind of hard to miss two half-bird kids ramming into you at full speed.

"Read it again, Rhys!"

"No."

"Please?" Micaiah pouted, crossing her arms against her chest, but Rhystian didn't budge. It made her frustrated. "Rh-hys!"

"No."

"Please?" She flipped the book open and stared at the symbols. She couldn't make heads or tails of it, but knew that somewhere on that piece of paper there was a story--her new favorite--and she wanted to memorize it, to repeat it on a moment's notice.

"No. Caiah, I'm tired. I'll read it later." He stretched, exaggerating, and put his arms behind his head.

"Liar." Micaiah stuck out her tongue; Rhys smirked.

"Rhys, Caiah!" Mia called, throwing open the door of the shack; she had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and her face was pink from cold.

Micaiah waved. "Hiya, Mia. Done already? Or do you want us to hel-"

Mia ignored her and turned to Rhystian. "Hide. Anything."

"Huh? Why?" Micaiah asked; Rhystian didn't say anything and stood up, tossing the fairy tale book under the bed and stuffing a blanket under after it. His old blank book was slipped under his shirt.

"What are you doing?" Micaiah asked again.

"The Master's coming," Mia explained, absently tiding up the little shack. "His Daughter thinks we've stolen something from her. A book."

The two froze.

And Micaiah stayed motionless until Rhystian grabbed her hand. "Calm down, Caiah," he ordered gently. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"No, but you did," She answered. He squeezed her hand. "Don't worry."

The door opened, and the Master and his Daughter were standing in the doorway; they were alike and identical, with dark hair and brown eyes. Micaiah's own eyes froze on the Daughter's face.

"Good afternoon, Master," Mia greeted, and suddenly Rhystian was pushing Micaiah's head down in a gesture to bow. She did so, and she and Rhystian squeaked a "good afternoon, master," in unison.

"They took it from the library, father. I know they did." The Daughter glared at Rhystian and Micaiah, who kept their heads bowed and averted her gaze.

"Took…?" Micaiah glanced at the two younger slaves, who didn't look up. "We haven't taken anything, sir, I promise you. You can take a look around if you'd like."

"I will," The Daughter declared, and began searching the room. She tossed blankets to the side--checking everywhere, although there wasn't much to check. Finally she grunted, getting on her hands and knees to check under the bed. She tossed the blanket aside and stood up, holding a thin paperback book.

Rhystian's grip tightened against Micaiah until it was nearly unbearable; when she glanced up at him his jaw was set, and all traces of color had gone from his face.