door. Anin opened it and entered, leaving it open a bit after Paine entered so that Bog could enter when he returned. Paine was surprised to see how much Anin had done. He had not expected her to prepare sleeping pallets for them or gather as much wood as she did. He turned to her. “Sit, you have done enough.” “Your cloak,” she said, stretching her hand out to him. “You would not want the fire to catch hold of it.” Paine slipped it off and handed it to her. Anger stirred in him when she snatched the cloak from him, her hand purposely avoiding his. He turned away from her and got busy snapping the larger branches against his bent leg and tossing them into the fire pit. He should be angrier at himself for wanting to feel the touch of her hand upon him. She was right in avoiding his touch. It was not right for her to do so. She belonged to the King, not to him. Only out of necessity in keeping her safe was it right for him to touch her, and he best remember it. Anin spread his cloak over the brush that would be his sleeping pallet. She was glad her back was turned to him, her brow having wrinkled with concern. His face had turned angry when she had taken his cloak from him and she wondered why. She was sorry that she had not rested her hand on his when she had taken the cloak, for then she would have felt what troubled him. But she had purposely avoided touching him for that reason. “Get off your feet,” he snapped. Anin turned and sat on the pallet, not far from his, that she had made for herself. He did not look at her. He was too busy setting the meat to cook over the flames that had already begun to fill the small room with warmth. Bog suddenly hurried into the dwelling and rushed behind the fire pit as if hiding from something. “He hears the thunder that will be upon us soon,” Paine said and went and closed the door and shoved a sturdy twig through the broken latch to keep it shut. It was barely a few moments later when a clap of thunder shattered the silence and Anin could have sworn it trembled the dwelling. She drew her cloak more tightly around her. “Are you afraid of storms?” “Some more than others,” she said and shuddered when another clap of thunder sounded as if it was right outside the door. “You have nothing to fear from the storm. The sky is just reminding us of its power. Sometimes it boasts more loudly than other times.” She smiled. “You are much kinder when it comes to my fear than my brothers. They would tease me and even once they locked me away in a dark room when the thunder began. I was so very frightened. I cried the whole time.” “How many years were you?” “I just passed my fifth year. My mum found me curled up tight and shivering in a corner. I remember wrapping my arms around her neck and refusing to let go.” “Were your brothers punished for what they did?” “My da yelled at them and warned them never to do it again. Then he yelled at me for being afraid of something that could not hurt me. My mum agreed with him and I was left to sleep alone that night with the thunder still strong.” Anin paused as if lost in the painful memory. “I did not sleep that night even when the thunder stopped, I was much too frightened. I felt so alone, as if I had been deserted by the ones who cared for me.” She shook her head. “It was such a strange sensation. After that I hid when a thunderstorm approached so that my mum or da would not be angry with me and my brothers could not find me.” He wished her brothers were standing in front of him right now, for he would thrash each one of them for failing to protect their little sister. “I also did not want to listen to my mother repeatedly tell me that Lammok women were warriors and they feared nothing.” Anin shook her head again. “I tried so hard to be as strong as my mum, but I fear I never will be.” A tremendous clap of thunder shook the small dwelling and fear had Anin jumping up and