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firmly and concentrated. From the hilt of her sword a warmth began to seep through her gloves as she stood poised, blade pointing down. The lifestone embedded in the hilt gathered its energies as she gathered her strength, and with a cry she drove blue flashing steel into the very depths of the bridge. The weapon sank to its hilt guard. With a gasp, Gwyn tore her hands from the grip, and then she hurried to secure the rope’s end to the hilt.
    She thought again how much she hated the cold as she slipped over the side into that icy wind.
    Carefully, trying to carry as much weight on the rope in her hand as possible, Gwyn inched along the underside of the wagon. Its massive weight shifted above her, and she felt her heart pound. There was very little comfort in realizing how heavy the thing over her head actually was.
    The child was a leggy girl of four-and-more tenmoons who was obviously finding courage that she’d never known she possessed. Her skin had darkened to the velvet-black tones of the furs beneath her, and her hands were bleeding where they clenched the thin ropes that tied in the wagon’s load. But her face was tear-stained, and there was a visible trembling to those small limbs that warned Gwyn of expiring strength.
    “Are you all right, Min’l?” Gwyn called, smiling cheerfully as she looked up from beneath the edge of the wagon.
    The girl nodded, her twin braids bobbing. But her lips were bloody from biting them in fear.
    “I’m Gwyn,” she continued, struggling a bit to work her way lower and still keep the rope tightly wound around her one hand. “Do you have a name? Or does everyone call you Min’l?”
    The teasing almost roused a smile from the child. “Mak’inzi. They call me Inzi sometimes.”
    “And what would you like me to call you?” Providing anyone calls either of us anything again, Gwyn thought. A piece of the shattered corner of the wagon box broke in her grasp and she almost lost all hold. The wagon shifted under her frantic fumbling, and then reluctantly it settled. She heaved on the rope in a little jump upwards and gasped, thinking her shoulder was going to tear in two, but she managed to loop the line around her wrist one more time. Gwyn swallowed hard and forced her attention back to the child; somehow she had to edge the girl’s mind away from the panic. “So, what should I call you? Or would you rather I called you Min until we’ve have a proper sort of introduction?”
    Her efforts won a real smile, if only a fleeting one. “Mak’inzi is good, Amazon.”
    “Now, now,” Gwyn threw her a warming smile, “I said Gwyn. After all, if you grant me the privilege of your given name, why shouldn’t I do the same for you, hmm?”
    The wind tore at her feet as the river roared, and the wood above cringed, squeaking. They both held their breaths, glancing at the bridge overhead. They looked to one another. Gwyn shared a rueful grin from her place below and admitted, “Not much room for formalities, you could say.”
    Mak’inzi nodded, bravely plastering a smile over her fears.
    “Now then,” Gwyn quickly rechecked her position, assuring herself of some stability for a second or two. “I need your help here.”
    Again the girl nodded, her dark eyes glued to Gwyn’s face.
    “I need you to work yourself back down to me. Yes — that’s good Mak’inzi, like that.”
    Slowly the child lowered herself, teeth biting her lower lip again as the cuts in her hands began to open. Somehow she managed to avoid Gwyn’s face with her feet and finally, hesitantly she dropped her hips free.
    “Good. You’re doing well, Mak’inzi.” Gwyn wished she had more than two hands as she hung there spread-eagled between the rope and wagon. It was a useless wish though, so she tried to make her voice sound encouraging. “Now you need to let go with one hand and turn around to grab my neck.”
    “But you’re behind me!” Mak’inzi’s voice almost slipped into a whine, but she caught it