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After the last child began to take the breaths of deep sleep, Sabina took a deep breath and accepted the cup of cold water offered by Henri. “I need some air. Watch over Gab for me?”

The winter air bit into her skin as she stepped outside the door, unprotected from the elements in her cotton trousers and tunic. Sabina ignored the painful touch and took several gulps of air, clearing her mind from the horror that the children must have felt in those moments before they stumbled into this world.

A high-pitched screech behind her was followed by a loud thump and low groan. Sabina spun around to fling open the door, cursing the few seconds it took for her eyes to adjust to the dimness within the structure.

Henri stood, knife in hand, between Gabriella and the stranger with the purple eyes. The man was on his knees, unarmed, one hand pressing around the arrow shaft in his chest while the other supported his weight. The children remained asleep; their bodies past the point of arousal, and the other occupants of the infirmary looked too tired and hurt to bother caring.

“Henri, what happened?” Sabina took the few steps needed to cross to her friend, who had already begun sheathing his still-clean knife.

“He cried out when you left, and made to follow you. Gabriella shrieked a warning.” He gave his head a frustrated shake. “I shouldn’t have pulled the knife, him being injured like he was. He didn’t even make three steps before his legs gave out. It startled me, though.” Henri’s eyes never left the injured man, who was now staring intently at Sabina from his position on the ground.

“He was fast, so fast,” Gabriella said softly from her position by the children. “With as much blood loss as he’s had, and his injuries, he should not have been able to move that quickly. It scared me.”

Sabina stared at him a moment, before carefully walking forward. She approached him as she would an injured wild animal, slowly, calmly, keeping her eyes fixed on his face and shoulders, aware of every slight motion.

“My name is Sabina. Do you understand our language?”

The man kneeled on the ground, breath coming hard, the arrow shaft rising and falling as new blood trickled around the smooth wood. His eyes narrowed in concentration, and then he shook his head.

She sucked in her breath as his head dipped down in exhaustion, the action revealing his neck, and a black circle with a jagged sunburst and series of lines. Though it was sharper and darker, it was an exact replica of the curious marking on Alcine’s neck. On a hunch, she tried the language that her mother had taught her as a learning game, the language that her mother had started to learn from Alcine’s mother, Mairi.

“We are friends. We mean you no harm. You are safe here.”