It didn't take long to make arrangements, and within the hour Zevran was climbing back up the slope toward the pass with Timon and four other people. Timon and two of the others were Avvar, one was an elf, and the last was a woman who had stumbled across and joined the settlement back in the Blight year. All of them were hunters, and well-equipped to travel in winter. Zevran was less well-equipped, having lost so many of his belongings, and could only hope that their little expedition would help to remedy that.

It took them almost two hours to climb to where the slide was. He could see where Tipo's corpse must be long before they reached the site, local scavengers – ravens, mostly – spiralling up and down around its location and making a tremendous noise as they pecked at the frozen corpse, slowly eating the poor dead horse. The tack had already salvaged from the corpse the night he and Fenris had been rescued; he'd been shown it down at the village, and left it in the hands of a leather-worker to be repaired.

There'd been snow that night; though thankfully not enough of it to hide all traces of where several large animals had headed north from the slide. Careful examination of the southern side also showed a much fainter track there; likely a single animal. After some discussion the party split up, the woman and one of the men heading southwards, the rest of them going north.

The slide was soon out of sight behind them. The trail left by the fleeing animals turned downhill toward the treeline, entering the trees some distance to the north of the slide area. It meandered back and forth for a while, then came out in what would be a meadow in finer weather. It was clear the animals had stopped here for a while; their paths wandered around as they'd grazed on the grass tops sticking up above the snow, and in some places dug down to reach more. At the downhill end of it was a spot where the horses must have spent the night, a well-trampled circle of snow. When they'd moved on again, it had been as a group still, heading further northwards and wandering both up and down the slope of the mountain, stopping to feed any time they reached another meadow.

"Something came after them here; look, there is blood," one of the men pointed out in the third such meadow they'd came across. The hunters cast around, soon finding where the confrontation had occurred; a wolf, they guessed from the tracks. It had wounded one of the animals, but not escaped unharmed; where its tracks led away, it was running on only three legs, and leaving blood spoor of its own.

"One of the mules might have kicked it and driven it off," Zevran guessed. "The pair of them killed a mountain lion one night."

"I've heard they'll do that," Timon agreed. "We have none here; our ponies are too valuable to waste on breeding mules, if we even had any donkeys to breed them to."

They continued on, following the tracks further, along a game trail through the woods and out into another slide zone through the trees; a large one, almost a mile across, old enough since it had last been scoured clean that long grasses and a few scattered bushes and small saplings were showing through the snow. The tracks turned downhill there, meandering back and forth down the slope as the horses wandered in search of food.

"Look – there they are," one of the hunter's called out, pointing off downhill and toward the far side of the clear area. A group of large four-legged shapes was just barely within sight near the bottom the slope.

Zevran shaded his eyes, looking towards them, then pursed his lips and whistled shrilly. He waited, watching them, then whistled again. One of the distant shapes started moving in their direction, the others after a brief pause following behind. He grinned. "One of them is my Feo," he said confidently. "They will come to us."

He whistled a couple more times as the horses and mules picked their way back up the slope toward them, waiting and watching anxiously to identify the animals in the group. Feo, both pack mules...

One of the men swore softly. "Imhar's balls... that is a very fine horse," Timon said, sounding shocked. "Yours?"

"Fenris' horse... his name is Arianblaidd," Zevran said softly, then whistled a final time. Feo plunged forward through the snow, making a snorting sound and lashing his tail. Arianblaidd and the two mules followed behind at a slower pace, Arianblaidd still carrying Fenris' gear, the mules still loaded with their packs. One of the mules was limping slightly, one leg bloodied, and the pack on the other mule had shifted position, leaning precariously to one side.

Feo headed directly for Zevran, stopping in front of him and butting his nose against Zevran's chest, then beginning to sniff inquisitively at him. Zevran laughed softly, rubbing at his jaw for a moment before digging in his pocket to dig out a bit of dried fruit to give to Feo as a treat. Arianblaidd immediately moved closer too, almost prancing despite the deep snow, wanting a share. The mules were only a little slower in noticing there was something to be had and crowding close.

It took them a little time to sort out the animals. Feo was in fine fettle, having carried nothing more than his bridle since the day before yesterday, but Arianblaidd and the two mules were clearly in some discomfort from their own burdens, and Arianblaidd was in no mood to let strangers too close to him. Zevran finally managed to calm him enough to remove Fenris' belongings and tack, which they transferred to Feo. The hunters divided much of the mules' burdens among themselves, lightening their load substantially, and after tending to the mule's leg – a nasty looking scrape, but superficial damage only – and straightening out the pack saddle, the group of them set off back to the village.

"It will be after dark by the time we get back," Timon said, glancing at the lowering sun. "But not so much after that we should consider staying overnight on the mountain."

Zevran was relieved to hear that; he couldn't help but worry about Fenris, and wanted to be back with him as soon as possible.

"What animal is still missing?" Timon asked as they walked.

"Fenris has a black gelding, nowhere near as fine a beast as Ari here is, but a good solid horse. It must have been he that went south."

Timon nodded. "If he is to be found, the other hunters will find him," he said confidently, then looked admiringly at Arianblaidd. "I can see why you said you valued the animals most. That is a horse fine enough for a king."

Zevran grinned. "He was a very princely gift to Fenris from a noble friend. Or equally well might be said to have been a noble gift from a princely friend." Timon gave him an enquiring look. "Fenris saved the life of the Prince of Starkhaven a time or two; the stallion was one of several rewards he was later given."

"Starkhaven... that is in the north somewhere, is it not?"

"Yes, quite some distance north," Zevran agreed.

The route they took back to the village was not the same as the way they'd came; the hunters knew a shorter way that didn't require climbing back up to the pass, instead heading further down the mountain and around its flank. They stopped briefly as darkness fell, lighting a fire to make hot tea to go with their otherwise cold meal, and then lighting torches from it before continuing on. It was, as Timon had said it would be, quite late in the evening before they finally came out on the shore of the lake some distance from the town. They stuck to the shore as they made their way around the lake, it being early enough in the year still that Timon wasn't sure that the ice would be up to holding the weight of them and the horses. A light sifting of snow had begun by then; the glow of lights and fires within the houses and the scattering of torches lighting the square stood out beautifully in the darkness.

Timon led the way to a small fenced pasture on the edge of town, shared bu several of the stocky mountain ponies and a pair of goats. They stripped the everything but the bridles off of the horses and mules and turned them out into it, then helped to carry everything up the hill to Merissel's house. She was still awake, and smiled welcomingly, gesturing and talking softly in the local patois as she showed the hunters where to pile Zevran and Fenris' belongings.

"It is late; we can sort out the payment tomorrow," Timon said gravely to Zevran once everything had been brought in. "Hopefully Gill and Meri will have found the last horse and returned by then."

Zevran nodded, and thanked them tiredly for all their help. After they'd left he went to the bed to check on Fenris. The other elf was still sleeping, through to Zevran's eyes his colour was better than id had been earlier in the day; the rale was gone from his breathing. He sighed in relief, and smiled warmly at Merissel, who smiled back, and patted his shoulder before taking herself off up to the loft for the night. He peeled down to his underwear, and climbed into bed with Fenris, curling up contentedly against him.

Fenris opened his eyes to find himself lying propped partially upright on a bed in some dimly-lit place. He was sore and stiff, his mouth dry and tasting terrible. He could hear a fire crackling somewhere to his left, and when he slitted his eyes open, saw firelight reflecting off a roof not far overhead. A peaked wooden roof, with things hanging from the beams; bags, bundles of herbs, coils of sausages and the like. He tried to shift position, and couldn't stop himself from moaning softly as knee and shoulder throbbed. Not the terrible stabbing pain he last remembered; a much duller ache.

He heard a scrape of movement to his left, and managed to roll his head and look that way. A silhouette, between him and the fire, a woman judging by the long skirt and cloud of curly hair, fire-lit from behind into a red-gold glory. He drew a deep breath to speak, only to have it trigger a coughing fit; a painfully deep one, as he hacked up a wad of thick, foul-tasting phlegm.

The woman spoke, her tone reassuring even if his inability to understand her words wasn't. She moved closer, leaning down to wipe his lips and chin clean with a soft cloth, then sat on the edge of the bed, picking up a shallow cup from somewhere nearby and lifting his head as she held the cool rim of it to his mouth. He wasn't sure if it was safe or not, but found himself parting his lips and taking a cautious sip anyway. Some sweet liquid... water with mint, sweetened with a little honey, he thought. He drank thirstily after that, quickly emptying the small cup.

She rose to her feet,walked over to set the empty cup down on the table, then walked away out of his view. He heard a creak, saw the room brighten with light – daylight – and heard her call out, Zevran's name first and the only part of it that was at all recognizable to him. She moved back into his view, and a moment later the light dimmed as Zevran came dashing into the room, looking anxiously in Fenris' direction and then grinning widely as he dropped down to sit where the woman had been, taking Fenris' hand into both of his.

"You are awake at last," Zevran said, sounding relieved.

He looked well; properly dressed in his red fox fur coat instead of loosely wrapped in it, his face seeming tanned to an even darker gold shade than usual instead of the drained, pale colour Fenris had last seen. He swallowed, and spoke, startled by how hoarse a rasp his own voice was. "How long?"

Zevran smiled, and moved one of his hands from holding Fenris' hand to touch his cheek. "Over a week. You frightened me very badly, mi amor; you almost died, after saving me."

"Died?" Fenris said, shocked, and then frowned. A week?

"Yes. You were very badly chilled, as well as injured. You were already feverish when you were found; by the time I'd been found and carried here as well, you were very ill. I only needed a little healing and a day of bed rest before I was on my feet again; you have taken rather longer than that."

"Our horses?" Fenris asked worriedly.

Zevran smiled. "All found, though it took us several days of searching to find your Aerynos. He wandered far, and made new friends – when he was finally discovered, he had joined a herd of the wild mountain ponies. The hunters tell me it was quite a sight, this big black horse in the middle of all the shaggy little ponies," Zevran explained, and grinned, then sobered. "Except Tipo, of course."

Fenris nodded. "I saw," he said, then grimaced. "I ache. And I need a chamberpot."

Zevran grinned "I can help with both," he said, and turned and talked haltingly to the woman for a moment. She nodded, and turned away, going over to the fireplace and beginning to put together something in a mug.

With Zevran's help Fenris took care of necessary things while the woman kept her back politely to them, only turning again once Fenris was back in bed and Zevran had carried off the chamberpot to empty and clean. She brought over a steaming cup with a medicinal smell; elfroot and some other herbs, by the scent of it. Fenris let her hold the cup while he took careful sips from it, surprised by how weak and tired he felt. Zevran soon returned, and took over from her. By the time he'd finished the tea some of the worst of the aches were fading.

The woman returned again, carrying a tray with a couple of bowls of stew, and several chunks of dark bread spread with soft cheese. Zevran smiled warmly at her, then looked to Fenris. "Fenris, this is Merissel, an herbalist. Merissel, mafalon Fenris."

Merissel smiled again, and said something, nodding her head, then returned to the fire to get a bowl of stew for herself. Fenris looked questioningly at Zevran. "What did she say?"

"Something about being pleased that you are awake, I think; I only know a little of the tongue spoken here yet; it is a trade tongue based on Avvar and very old elven, I am told."

"Avvar? They are mountain people, yes?" Fenris asked.

"Yes," Zevran agreed, then put a small chunk of bread and cheese in Fenris' hand. "Eat that. Can you manage the stew yourself, or shall I feed you?"

Fenris grimaced, thinking of how weak he felt, how he'd not even felt up to taking the mug of tea from Merissel. "I think I'd better let you feed me, or I think very little of it will end up eaten," he said, and took a bite of the bread. It had a sweet nutty flavour, which contrasted interestingly with the soft, rather sour-flavoured cheese. By the time he'd chewed and swallowed it, Zevran had a spoonful of stew ready for him, after which the assassin alternated between feeding spoonfuls of stew to Fenris and eating from his own dishes. Merissel had only put a small serving in Fenris' bowl, but he found himself too tired to eat all of it.

Zevran smiled crookedly at him, leaning forward to take hold of Fenris' hand, thumb rubbing softly across the back of it. "You will recover quickly now that you are awake and eating again," he said confidentially. "You see; within a few days I am sure you will be strong enough to go out and visit Arianblaidd. Which is a good thing; your horse is pining for you."

Fenris smiled as he pulled his hand loose and settled back against the cushions, eyes already drifting shut in exhaustion. He felt sure that it was not just the horse that was missing him. He listened as Zevran carried away the tray, exchanging a few soft words with the woman, and felt the bed dip as Zevran rejoined him there, and after that he slept again.