"Em!" The joy-filled cry pulls at my heart, and I wince guiltily. I shouldn't have run off.

Dusk, the mysterious lady 'tween night and day, light and dark, is here, pooling dark shadows and chill winds beneath the brows of overhanging hills.

I was gone longer and had run further than I had realised; it took an hour or two for Rogern and I to finally reach the last place I'd seen Mum and Dad.

"Em, you're back!" Mum slams me in a giant hug, squeezing the breath out of me, and I hug her tightly. Neither of us apologises.

Dad hovers in the background, hand at his blade, keeping a wary eye on Rogern.

"It's okay, Dad," I say, breaking free of Mum and trotting forward to squeeze his hand. "Rogern's with me; he says he can help us."

"We don't need help," Dad says coldly, and I notice Mum's hand as it strays toward her knife; her eyes dart worriedly at a small bundle near the fire, which I realise must be Izak.

"So th' gal sez," Rogern admits, swaying slightly as he squints, licking his lips. "But that's wot I told 'er, I sez 'girl, ya need more'n a map 'round 'ese parts, y' need 'sperience an' 'ead-knowledge, an' 'at's wot I got,' I told 'er."

I raise my eyebrow at Dad. Not quite, I think, hoping he'll understand.

Mum and Dad share a glance, both looking unconvinced. But then, to my surprise, Mum nods.

"Alright," she says, letting out a breath. "Sounds good to me. We'll provide food and temporary protection in return for your 'head-knowledge'." Sarcasm laces her tone, but concern shines in her eyes as she glances once more at the sleeping baby.

"Wellll nowwww," Rogern drawls. "Ain't nat swell? I toldja, kid." He turns his head to face me, grinning like a satisfied wolf; a shudder wracks my body.

"Em." The hand placed on my shoulder is heavy, giving me a fright, and Dad's voice is dark and stern. "Help me light the fire."

I roll my eyes, pulling a face, but obediently follow Dad to the stone-rimmed patch of dirt.

"Bring some of that kindling," he says shortly, pointing to a small pile of weedy, uprooted scrub and dead grass. They were busy while I was off sulking, I observe guiltily.

Stooping, I quickly snatch up the entire prickly pile and trot behind Dad to the fire-pit.

"Ta. Right, remember how to do it?"

I shake my head, shrugging in slight confusion.

"Matches?" I try, and Dad snorts.

"One thing we forgot — apart from gas-matches."He shakes his head in slight disgust.

He instructs me in the method of how to layer the wood: kindling first, real wood second, so on so forth, and I do my best to set everything up right.

"Now for the tricky part," Dad says, still unsmiling, and scoots closer to me, drawing his knife. "Grab a stick and your knife.

"Good," he continues as I fumble to select a stick and unsheath my blade at the same time. "Steady-on, now. Right, so cut a groove in it, like this." With two swift, sharp movements, he slashes a triangular chunk out of the branch.

I try to copy his movements but the branch slips awkwardly out of my hand and the knife-blade flashes just centimetres away from my exposed palm.

"Em!" Dad barks, and I nearly jump out of my skin; why is he so on-edge? "Focus, pay attention, and calm down; your impulsiveness is going to get someone killed!"

I stare at him in shock, unable to form a coherent thought or even close my mouth properly. Does he really think that? I would never! Or would I? What is wrong with him today, doesn't he trust me? He's never acted this way before.

Slowly, Dad sighs, nearly seeming to relax. "I'm sorry. You just need to stop being so hasty and careless, Em.

"Right, now try again. Calmly."

I release a small breath before carefully gouging a small piece from the branch. I guess it's safer. I guess. But it takes longer.

"There, is'at good?" I ask sarcastically, holding the wood up for Dad's inspection.

His eyes narrow, scrutinising the wood carefully as he leans forward.

"Yeah. Looks good," he decides finally. "Now grab another and follow my movements, 'right?"

I nod, watching intently as he selects a second stick and, placing it in the groove, begins to rapidly rub it back and forth.

"Come on," he says, frowning slightly as he sees I'm not copying.

I carefully select a good-sized stick and place it in the groove.

"Like this?" I ask, beginning to rub, and Dad nods absently. I frown. "What's eating you?"

He fastens me with a stern gaze, then quickly glances over his shoulder at Rogern.

"Em, what you did was wrong." His voice is low, and what with the constant rasping of wood-on-wood I have to strain forward to hear him. But the instant his words register I draw back slightly, putting up a barrier in my mind; running is a coping mechanism for me, and they know it. If Mum didn't want to upset me, she never should have hassled — him. Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away. His next words, though, catch me by surprise.

"You put Izak's life in danger."

Confusion starts a war in my mind and I gaze up at him, quickening the pace of the branch.

"How?" The word comes out blunter than I meant it to be, but I let it hang in the air between us; I don't understand and his accusation sounds ridiculous, but I can't stop my eyes from flicking uneasily to Rogern, who Mum is currently occupying with a bowl of... something.

Dad notices the direction of my gaze and nods slowly, his eyes dark.

"But — but how?" I ask — although I'm currently pretty sure I know the answer.

Dad gives a particularly powerful jab and his branch snaps like a grass-stalk, sending a loud crack echoing around the landscape.

"We have no idea who he is!" Dad growls furiously. "He could be a disowned trader, yes, but he could also be a bandit — or one of Simeon's spies! For crying out loud, Em; you accepted that he was a trader without even stopping to wonder why the rest of his group left him behind, didn't you?"

I continue rasping in silence, stung and avoiding his accusing gaze.

A gusty sigh drifts from between Dad's lips, and he stretches a hand out for another stick.

"You're too trusting, Em," he murmurs finally. "Normally, that's a good thing. But not here. Not now."

I sit in silence, thinking over his words with growing aggravation. My sticks refuse to produce any fire.

"Stuff it!" I explode finally, dumping the branches in a clattering heap. "It's never going to work."

As if in answer, a small spark leaps from Dad's branches and he cradles it gently in a small bed of moss, blowing softly.

I let out a frustrated puff of air and spin on my heel, tempted to run away again; I'm next to useless. Instead I stop myself, taking a deep breath in an effort to release some tension. Mum and Dad need me — for emotional support, if nothing else. With dragging feet, I make my way over to Mum's side, wondering what she's up to.

Rogern lies still, snoring peacefully as Mum hurriedly turns to scoop Izak up.

"Mum?" I frown. "What —"

"Hush!" she whispers fiercely. "Quick, take the baby."

I stand still, slightly stunned, as she dumps Izak unceremoniously in my arms and races over to Dad. What even? What's going on?

I watch as she bends over to speak quietly, and Dad instantly rises to his feet, forgetting the fiery moss.

"Em," he calls quietly, "make sure your bag is packed; keep Izak quiet; stay away from Rogern."

"Why?" I ask. "What's going on?"

"We're leaving," Mum says in a hushed, no-buts voice. "Your helpful friend is a thief at the very least."

I stand still, surprise and annoyance warring inside. How does she know?

"I've seen his kind before," she states grimly, stuffing belongings in her bag. "Quickly, you two, before the drugs wear off."

I raise my eyebrows in disbelief, eyes involuntarily widening. She drugged him? What with? How? A slight chuckle escapes from my throat; I'd never picked Mum as the type to drug someone — I'd better watch my step from now on.

Laying Izak along the length of my arm, I quickly make my way over to my bag, ensuring everything's still inside.

"I'm good," I call softly to Mum, and she nods in response, quickly slinging her pack across her back before stepping across quickly to help Dad hoist his bag up; he's still got the smouldering moss, clutching it like a lifeline.

"Are you okay with him, Em?" Mum demands in a soft murmur as she hoists my bag up and carefully maneuvers my arms into the straps.

Nodding, I roll my shoulder-blades, making the pack settle in a more comfortable position. Delighted nervousness fills me, and butterflies flutter circles in my stomach at the thought of the journey ahead. Mum's entrusting a lot to me, letting me wander through unfamiliar territory with him.

"Let's go," Mum says, and I turn quickly to examine our second abandoned campsite. Rogern snores softly, alone and all but forgotten in the dark night, and my mind drifts to thoughts of warm beds and companionable talking.

I want to go home.