A/N As a warning, there is some sexiness in the following chapter. Be warned :)

I'd finished with Freddie by the time that night began to fall. The net flow of people had shifted to the "in" direction, and two torches had been lit by the front door to guide the late-comers. I stepped outside briefly, to escape the pungent smells of human life.

I found the man known as Orin standing next to me.

"Congratulations on getting to live," he said without looking at me.

"Congratulations on not getting punished," I spat back, cranky from a day of hard labor.

He looked at me then, and smiled. My crankiness was immediately washed away. That simple gesture turned his face into a perfect picture of goodwill, and I couldn't help but be cheered.

"Oh, I'll be punished," he said regretfully. "Getting on Claude's bad side is punishment enough."

I only noticed then that a vivid bruise was beginning to flower on his chin.

"Brute," I muttered.

"Yeah, but he knows what he's doing. I mean, who do you want protecting you from the beasties?" he said with a wink. It was one of the only signs of humanity I'd seen that day. I wanted to hug him.

"Is that what you were doing last night? Protecting?" I asked.

His smile vanished. I wanted to kick myself.

"We're hunters. We try and take at least three of the bastards for every one of ours they take."

"Does it work?" I asked.

He shrugged.

"There's really no way to tell if we make a difference. But it's better than doing nothing."

Then, I heard something in the distance, far down the block. It was a mewling noise. A baby crying.

I looked around, and realized that Orin and I were the only ones around. I started towards the noise, only to feel Orin grab my arm. I pulled away instinctively when he pressed my bruises, but he had my attention.

"If you hear noises, don't follow them, whatever you do," he told me firmly, his dark eyes locking on mine. I couldn't have looked away if I wanted to. "When we say they've adapted, we mean it. They know our weaknesses. They know how to lure us away from the light."

I followed him inside, where the process to close and bar the doors had began.

"Oh," he said, turning around. "I almost forgot. What is you name?"

"Lucy" I said. It was the first time someone had asked.

"Lucy," he repeated, and his smile returned.

The next time I saw Orin was nearly a week later. The hunters had left before I'd awoken my second day in the fort. I'd dealt with typical fevers and coughs as best as I could with the small resources available. I'd had the foresight to bring some with me, but medicines had to be watered down until they were little good. The strong doses had to be saved for when the hunters returned.

When the first hunters began to trickle in through the archways, the people stopped what they were doing, and gathered along the sides of the hall, piling atop the beds. It became clear that unions existed in some form, as select women lined the interior, proudly holding their children. When the hunters came they embraced their families in a rare moment of emotion. The bachelor hunters, I presumed, were more raucous. They raised a cheer among the people. When all the hunters were present, the crowd began to move to the outside of the building. I followed.

There, on top of a quickly-assembled wooden pyre, were a mass of shapes. When the rust smell hit my nostrils, I instinctively took a step back. These were the prizes of the hunt. There was no shape to them from where I stood, just heavy black fur. Even in their death, they played tricks upon my eyes. I kept finding my gaze slipping, not being able to focus. It was the paragon of camouflage. By looking from the side of my eyes, I determined that they were as large as bears, but had bodies more like the wolves of old.

The mood was more joyous than I'd ever seen the tribe. Mother Rowan stood forward and spat on the corpses, raising a cheer. She then took a torch from one of the hunters, and presented it to Orin. I assumed this was a gesture of honoring, because when Orin raised the torch above his head, the crowd roared its approval. He then set the pyre alight, and the real celebrations began.

There were drums, and pipes, and singing, and dancing around the bonfire. I stood on the side and clapped in time, my eyes watering from the heat, and my blood pounding in my ears. It was a celebration of life in its most basic form, I thought. Then Orin danced by, grabbed my arm, and swung me into the dancing.

I would have been annoyed at the rough handling, if I wasn't so happy to see him again. He didn't even look that much worse for the wear, though his arms showed a couple of new scratches. He spun me around, and I felt my hair break free of its rubber band. The clothes I wore were patched and dirty, I sweated in the blaze of the fire, my hair was unwashed and my steps clumsy, but I never had felt as beautiful and graceful, and free. Orin slid his strong arms around my waste and lifted me into the air. Once again we were the last, as the dancers fell away into the clapping crowd. When the music came to a close, which it did far too soon, Orin gently put my feet back on the ground, and the crowd applauded.

It was a perfect moment, save for the one scowling face in the crowd. It was Claude, glaring at the two of us. Brutish even in victory. Was he wishing they'd left me for dead even now?

Orin distracted me then with a roguishly stolen kiss. I was taken aback by my own reaction, which was to grab his dark head and prolong the connection. Even with his layer of grime, he smelled, and tasted, delicious. A bouquet like red wine. I felt a wave of heat wash over me, entirely separate from the bonfire. His hands began to explore my back, pressing into muscles that I, with all my medical training, never guessed would react that way.

"Medic," came a most unwelcome growl.

I pulled away from Orin, as best I could at the angle I'd dipped into, and straightened up. I'm sure my face was scarlet red as I regarded Claude.

"What?" I managed, though my breathing was somewhat uneven.

"There's those that need tending to," he spat out, looking at Orin in a way that clearly put him in need of a different kind of tending.

"I'll come with you," Orin offered.

"No, I better go alone, you're too distracting," I told him honestly. He smiled and leaned in for another peck. I playfully pushed him away, but his presence was a very real danger to my clarity of thought. I felt dazed as I followed the silent block-like Claude.

He led me to a more sobering sight. There were two blanket-covered lumps laid before the opposite side of the building. I pulled one blanket back, then immediately put in back in place.

"There's nothing I can do for these men," I told Claude.

"You can say the words," he said gruffly, "while I bury 'em."

I saw that a shovel was already wedged into the ground nearby.

"What should I say?" I asked.

Here he looked at a loss.

"I don't actually know. Medic David always used to say something before, then Medic Marian did too, only that's Medic Marian," he told me, pointing to the second, slightly smaller blanketed lump.

I simply stared.

"Are you ok?"

"Lucy."

"What?"

"My name is Lucy," I told him. "I want someone to know that when they bury me."

Instead of belittling me, he nodded.

"Do they really need words?" I asked him.

He nodded again.

"Wouldn't be right, otherwise."

"Ok, you just start digging, and I'll come up with something nice."

He shouldered the shovel and began to dig. While I searched my brain for the proper funereal prose, I looked at Claude through new eyes. Perhaps I had underestimated the man that spent a well-earned celebration burying his fallen compatriots. Subconsciously I began to hum a lullaby I had once known. When the words came to me, I began to sing, quietly.

Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come
'Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far
And grace will lead me home

Between Claude's industrious digging and my well-meant song, the Medic Marian and the hunter Peter, who I had never known, where laid to rest before sundown. We joined the rest of the crowd as they moved back into the building, tipsy from celebration.

"Lucy," Claude called me before he lost sight of me. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure, Claude" I told him sincerely.

I stoop on my tiptoes and looked for Orin, but he didn't appear in the milling crowd. I pushed my way back to the sick ward to see if any of the hunters needed attention.

Miraculously, the worst injuries were slight scratches, easily treated with some rum and cotton. While I was cleaning up the worst one, Mother Rowan came in and sat down.

"I'm glad to see you and Orin getting along so well," she told me upfront. "It's best for both of you newcomers."

"Newcomers?" I responded, not looking away from my work. I'd grown more comfortable with Mother Rowan's presence in the past week.

"Orin was originally from another tribe, you know, that got wiped out less than a year ago."

"There are others?" I asked.

"Yes, some, but we don't run into them often. They're usually split-away groups that don't last more than a generation of two," she said conversationally. "Orin's tribe was hunted to near extinction. He had a hell of a time convincing us of his trustworthiness. If you two start a family, it'll help your standing."

"Good to know," I replied dryly. Mother Rowan meant well, but like matriarchs anywhere, she was a busybody. I finished the cut and turned away.

"It's worth thinking about," she said meaningfully before leaving the tent. After putting away my supplies, I followed suit. It had been an exciting evening, and even though my blood was still running a little quickly, I knew rest would do me good.

Only, Orin had different ideas. I was headed out the curtain when he appeared, and immediately gathered me in his arms. Once again, his overwhelming presence was enough to make me feel quite faint. His lips were ambrosial as they poured into mine, molding to me, nipping gently. I felt an answering sweetness begin in the back of my throat, and flow far downwards.

He pressed me back into the tent, now empty. There was a convenient bed that we fell into, my body gladly molding to his. His tongue caressed the roof of my mouth. My back arched as I felt his hand slide under my back, curving to grip my hips as he pressed against my lower half. I felt intoxicated as his hands began to pull my pants downward, pressing and pulling away, the kisses becoming more and more demanding. I had slid my hands under his ragged jerking, and I ran them over the flexing muscles of his back, pressing myself as close as flesh would allow.

I could feel my pants waist pressing against my hips as he ceased to pull downwards and began to focus on his pants instead.

"Wait," I gasped. I had to close my eyes to break the intensity of his stare. "Mother Rowan knew, didn't she?"

"I had to ask her permission," he murmured, his hands moving towards my center.

If ever there was a statement like a cold ice bath, that was it. I pressed his hands away.

"You did what?"

He looked puzzled.

"I asked her permission," he repeated, as if I were slightly slow.

"Orin, this isn't happening," I told him through gritted teeth. I kept my eyes closed, but threw back my head so it looked like it was in exasperation. Really, it was the only way I could keep my resolve. "Please get off of me."

"This is what you want," he told me, all too accurately.

"Tell me this doesn't mean we would be starting a family," I asked him, near tears of frustration.

He was silent.

"It's the way of the tribe that…"

"Get off of me Orin!" I cried.

I felt the cot creak as he did so. Well, at least my would-be-future-husband was a gentleman. Of all the lectures they'd given us in RePeace training, why, oh why, had the one on cultural relativism have to be true?

"I'm not starting a family with anyone I've only known a week," I told him, opening my eyes to slits. "It wasn't the way I was brought up."

I waited for his reaction, praying that he both would and wouldn't start kissing me again. He looked at me for a minute, then nodded.

"Ok."

"Really?" I asked, ever hopeful.

"Yes," he said with a smile. "We'll do what you're comfortable with. Only… you understand why the tradition is what it is?"

I thought about the hunters kissing their families. And the two sad little blanketed lumps.

"Yes, I think I do," I answered. "It'll take time for that to settle, I think."

He nodded.

"May I kiss you goodnight?"

I scrunched my eyes up again. "No. Go away."

His ringing chuckle filled the tent, and I didn't open my eyes until it had disappeared through the tent door.

I was readying the sick ward for a new day when I heard Mary's cries. They rose in volume, cleaving the usual early morning murmur.

I peeled back the curtain to reveal a growing crowd. Grabbing my ever-handy medical case, I pushed my way through in case my services were needed.

In the center, given a respectful amount of the space by the crowd, was Mary. She was stumbling, looking once and again in the same places while she cried a garbled name. Mother Rowan stood nearby, pacing with her and speaking in quietly firm tones. Eventually May collapsed on to the floor. I shouldered my way to her side.

Her eyelids were fluttering, and I saw she'd scratched the side of her hand raw.

"What brought this on?" I asked Mother Rowan.

"She's convinced her son's disappeared over night," she answered grimly.

"And…?"

"He's nowhere to be found. Like as not he didn't come in last night. She's got five kids she's been raising on her lonesome, I wouldn't blame her for imagining she'd tucked him in."

I didn't ask the next questions, because I already knew the answer. With a couple of quick orders, May was carried to the sick ward.

"I think its better if she wasn't left alone. Or with the other children," Mother Rowan told me pointedly.

I nodded.

Mother Rowan walked away. I knew a search party was out of the question. Night time in the city was a death sentence. As a medic and a newcomer, it was my job to shut up and treat the casualties.

The next time the hunters went out, it was without a medic. I could have gone, only the girl that Mother had been training wasn't ready to assume my responsibilities if things went bad. The last hunt had been lucky. Injuries were normal outside of the fortress, and sometimes things had to be sewn or amputated on the spot. I imagined, when the party left, that the women had taken a little extra breath that it wasn't their man that would succumb to wound poisoning.

The hunters returned empty handed a week later. Their supplies had been carried off with one of their group, cutting the venture short. Thankfully no one had died, but there were more than a few nasty cuts to be treated. I was busy late into the night. My last patient, as it were, was Claude.

I took one look at his dirt-covered features, put my foot down.

"I'm not touching you before you wash."

His eyes glinted, and he shrugged.

"Cuts heal," he muttered as he rose to leave.

"Oh, please!" I exclaimed. "You would rather risk an infection than touch soap?"

He bared his teeth at me.

"Keep your soap for those that need it. My dirt is the healthy sort."

I wanted to smack him, but he was already gone. Instead I indulged in a childish gesture and threw my wet rag at the tent door. After my temper had cooled, I went in to the next tented room to check on the sleeping patients. I noticed that Ross, the vaccination-poisoned boy was no longer occupying the closest bed. I shook my head sadly and began to gather the sheets. Mother Rowan must have dealt with the body while I was busy.

Time passed quickly until the next time the hunters returned. It was the only time marker, the bonfire celebrations. That night, as I stood on the outside of the circle and clapped my hands, I tried to count the nights, and realized with some surprise that I'd been in the fortress for some three or four months. Was this how people did it? I wondered. Living in the moment, for the moment had kept my fear and dread from dominating my life in the fortress. I'd been surrounded by predators, night after night, protected only by being cloistered, and yet I'd been happy.

Orin had been part of the reason, for sure. He was always irresistibly charming, and I could nearly feel the blood run faster in my veins when he was around. Perhaps that was the reason I'd been avoiding him, or at least sidestepping tempting situations. I loved to drink in his presence, but I was scared by my lack of control. When he left it was heartbreak, when he returned it was games of hide and seek. I think he enjoyed it.

That night though, I felt too old for dancing. Instead I watched. In the past months I'd treated the scrapes and cuts of half the boys, given special salves and instructions to a third of the girls. I felt happy when I looked on, but I could also taste the bittersweet ashes. That's why I drifted away, to where I knew Claude would be at work.

There was only one body this time, to bury. The rhythm of shovel in the ground blended with the rhythm of the drums, until there was only one inescapable melody.