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sleep and I gathered two of the Hounds, positioning them close to her bedside and ordering them to stay. Then I took the other two and tied the thick leather leashes to their collars. I dressed in my heaviest wool coat, though the day was warm. The coat and my boots, along with the Hounds, would hopefully protect me from the wind.

    Much time had passed since I had walked unaccompanied in the world, and I feared I would lack the fortitude to face it. Those first few steps away from the Manor, I admit, were difficult ones. It was as if a strong magnet pulled at my heels. I was overcome with dread at leaving the protection of the Manor’s walls and at the same time longed to be free of its grasp. Yet once I stepped beyond the shadow of the massive oak doors and through the front gates, my courage was renewed.
    The day being mild and the Hounds knowing the way, I was able to walk freely and quite quickly down the long driveway to the railroad bed. The Hounds pulled endlessly on their leashes, but I held firm. They had caught a scent along the tracks that pleased them, and this kept them on course.
    The air was full of the smell of hyacinth and elderberry flowers, the ground soft and muddy in places, and the fields, now free from the grip of snow and ice, prepared themselves once again for the growth of a new season.
    As the Manor disappeared from sight and its grip on me loosened, the open air and the aromas consumed my senses. This happened so suddenly and thoroughly that even the image of Wysteria in her desperate state fell away, replaced only with thoughts of spring. Had I not had the Hounds with me, I might have forgotten my mission altogether, so entranced was I with the beauty and freedom of the outdoors.
    In the flat terrain near the lake, ospreys resided, building their giant nests at the very tops of the dead pines. I waited each year for the first glimpse of these regal birds. I loved to watch them patrol the shore, diving for fish with their great talons poised and ready for the catch. I found them loyal and steadfast, for they returned each year with the same partner to the same nest, adding to its breadth until the tops of the trees resembled giant broad-brimmed hats.
    As there was yet no sign of the ospreys, I turned my attention fully to the journey at hand and proceeded down the rails at a steady pace. I kept my focus on our forward progression, guiding the Hounds around the numerous bends and keeping my eyes upon the tracks. We moved along smoothly until the Hounds stopped short and I looked up to see several figures walking toward us. Had I known a shorter way or a trail through the brush, I would have taken it to avoid an encounter, but I could not risk being led off course and getting lost in a thicket with Wysteria in such dire need.
    It was a group of six or seven boys, and I knew that in a very short time, they would spot us and block our way, as the railbed was narrow and the banks dropped off steeply from the sides. And indeed, that is how it happened.
    “Who is that?” I heard one of the boys shout to the others upon catching sight of me.
    “It’s the Bourne Mouse,” another answered. They walked closer to examine me, but not too close; I could tell they feared the Hounds. When they had reached a sufficient proximity, a stout and sullen-looking boy with a scarf loosely tied about his neck, obviously the leader of the small group, stepped forward.
    “Does the Mouse speak?” he inquired. Why he addressed me by this strange name and spoke to me in such a disrespectful manner, I could not comprehend.
    I looked up at him and the rest of the boys. They were, of course, taller than I, bigger in every way, and I could see now that my nickname was familiar to them, though my face was not. They were most likely the sons of local fishermen who lived on the pier. I surmised that, like me, they were outcasts in their own way. They had been teased and struck and hardened. I could see it in their eyes. They