When Taren awoke, night had descended.  He was confused at first.
Where was he?  Where was his sister?  Why did his head hurt so badly?  Then it 
all came back to him:  the riders in gray, the kidnapping, the mercenary.
	He rolled to his side, wincing as his weight shifted to his right 
shoulder; it was throbbing from the impact of the cross-bow.  He peered through 
the dark until his eyes rested upon a shadowy figure a few yards away.  It was 
the mercenary, lying on his back with a cross-bow bolt jutting out of his 
chest.  Taren gasped in relief.
        He did not know who had sent the mercenary to track down his sister and 
himself.  He didn’t care to know.  Yet after leaving his home only a week ago, 
he had discovered that more than one person would like to find him.
        Taren rose stiffly to his feat.  The pain in his head intensified for a 
moment at the movement.  His muscles protested as well, but Taren forced his 
way to the pack lying near the wall.  It was not as heavy as it had been when 
they first started out.  He was grateful for the lighter load, but that meant 
the provisions were getting sparse.  Taren had never been much of a hunter.  He 
knew a little of what plants near his home could be eaten, but the terrain was 
changing and he recognized fewer and fewer of them.  There was still five day’s 
journey to the city.
        The pains in his body drove away the hunger for now, so he shouldered 
the pack and turned his attention northward.
        There was only one thing to do now.  He must journey to the city.  He 
must find his father.

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