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seen.
    Leave the track. Follow the trail down the hill into the dell .
    It ain’t hardly what I call a trail. If you didn’t know it was here, you’d never know it was. We weave our way through the trees. Pine needles soften our way, give off their warm scent as we crush ’em unnerfoot. Nero flits from branch to branch over our heads. He caws, all excited, tellin us to hurry.
    The ground starts to slope down. It gits steeper. Then steeper still. The goin gits harder with the pine needles makin it all slippy. I take hold of Emmi’s hand so she don’t fall. We gotta slide on our bums some times an other times go down sidewise. We go on an on.
    Then. Cookin smells tickle my nose. Meat. My mouth waters.
    Is that stew? says Emmi.
    I sure hope so, I says.
    At last we’re at the bottom of the hill. We step outta the forest into the open an we’re in another world.
    A shaggy haired pony grazes nearby in a patch of sweet green grass. He lifts his head to look at us fer a moment, then goes back to his meal.
    We’re in the dell that Pa told us about, at the bottom of a small river valley. Straight ahead of us, the land rises in a gentle slope. Two streams trickle down from the top. Near the bottom, they join to make one narrow little stream. Crosscreek. It winds an sparkles its way along the valley floor.
    There’s a flat bridge spans the creek an there, on the far bank, shaded by pine trees, sits a small wooden shack. Mercy’s cabin. A red bench stands next to the open door. A cookin pot hangs over a fire.
    There ain’t no sound but the soft murmur of shallow water over stones. It’s like the whole place is sleepin, quiet as a cat in the afternoon sun.
    I ain’t never seen such a place. Never even imagined there could be somewhere like it on this earth. Tears spring to my eyes. Pa never said it was like this. He never told us.
    But he knew this place was here. He knew an he kept us by a dyin lake all these years, with food gittin scarcer an life gittin harder an all this only a few days’ walk. I don’t unnerstand. Why didn’t he bring us here? I guess Lugh was right. Pa didn’t care about us, didn’t care about what happened to none of us.
    I move like I’m in a dream, walkin slowly.
    If Mercy ain’t there, sit on the red bench by the door an listen to the creek while you wait. She won’t be long. She ain’t never far away .
    I cross the bridge, drop the barksacks. I unlace my boots an kick ’em off. I walk into the creek. It’s ankle deep. I kneel an scoop up some water. Clean. Cool. Beautiful. I drink. I splash it over my face, my neck, my head.
    Then I lie down. I lie on my back an let the water flow around me.
    I close my eyes.

    It ain’t every day I find somebody asleep in my creek, the voice says.
    I open my eyes. A face hangin above me. The wrong way around. I blink. I feel slow. Stupid. Must of fell to sleep fer a second or two.
    Are you upside down, I says, or is it me?
    I guess that depends on your point of view.
    A hairy dog face lunges at me. A long pink tongue slops at my face.
    Hey! I says.
    Tracker! Down, boy! A strong hand reaches out. I take it an it pulls me to my feet. As I stand, water pours offa my hair, my clothes.
    It’s a woman. Standin in the stream. Tall. Lean. Tanned. Lined face with shrewd brown eyes. Sharp cheekbones. White hair cropped close to her head. Nine year ago, it was nut brown an shiny an down to her knees. A blue-eyed wolfdog with one droopy ear leans aginst her side.
    I nearly missed the windchimes, I says. You sure do make it hard to find you.
    I like to keep the riff raff away, she says.
    She touches a finger to my birthmoon tattoo.
    Saba by Silverlake. Her mouth crooks up at one corner. You’ve grown some since I last saw you. I’m Mercy.

    A bit more, Emmi? says Mercy.
    Mmuh huh! Emmi shovels a last spoonful into her mouth that’s already full. She holds her bowl out.
    Didn’t your pa ever teach you manners? says Mercy.
    Emmi, I frown at her. Yer s’posed to