It was late afternoon when I returned with the single rabbit my assorted snares had caught. The girl was still asleep, but as I passed her on my way to the kitchen she stirred. "Hello?"

"It's just me," I called back to her. I tossed the rabbit on the kitchen counter and returned through the swinging door to the living room. "How do you feel?"

"Very tired," she said. "I woke up a couple of times while you were gone, but fell asleep again."

"Any muscle aches or dizziness?"

"My leg muscles hurt some, but that's not surprising. Nothing else feels bad." She sat up and shook her head experimentally. "I'm not dizzy, either."

"Good. The tiredness is just a side effect of the medicine I gave you." I sat down next to her, glad to get off my feet. "I think that you're going to be all right."

She inhaled sharply. "Don! I almost forgot—did you get to him in time?"

I shook my head, forgetting how useless that gesture was. "I'm sorry. He was already dead when I found him. I buried him at the side of the road."

Her sightless eyes closed, and a tear welled up under each eyelid. I wanted to put my arm around her and comfort her, but a part of me was still too nervous to try that. So I contented myself with resting my hand gently on her arm. "Was he your husband?" I asked after a moment.

She sniffed and shook her head. "He'd been my friend for the last three years. Sort of a protector and employer. I'll miss him." She swallowed and took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'll be okay. Can I help you with anything?"

"No. All I want you to do right now is rest. I'll get dinner ready—I hope you like rabbit. Uh, by the way, my name's Neil Cameron."

"I'm Heather Davis."

"Nice to meet you. Look, why don't you lie down again. I'll call you when dinner's ready."

Supper was a short, quiet affair. Heather was too groggy and depressed to say or eat much, and I was far too out of practice at dinner conversation to make up for