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gather more. So, taking up the sack and rope the men used, she saddled her horse, and rode some way
into the forest where she found a ready supply of dead wood. She filled one sack and dragged it back to
camp; seeing the men had not returned, she decided to fetch another.
She enjoyed this humble task - the day was bright and crisp; the snow on the trees and on the high
mountain peaks gave everything a glistening sheen - and allowed her mind to drift where it would, losing
herself in the aimless flow of her thoughts as she moved among the trees looking for fallen branches that
would be easily broken up. She thought about Sydoni waiting at home, worried by their absence - and
then remembered that they had originally planned to winter in Cyprus, so those left behind in Caithness
were not yet missing them.
Unexpectedly, this thought moved her to prayer. She prayed that Alethea was well, and would be found
before the supplies ran out and they were forced to give up the search for the winter. Please, Almighty
Father, she prayed, send a sign that you are with us, and that you care.
No sooner had Cait sent up her simple prayer, than the answer came speeding back with the swiftness
of an arrow. For she heard a strange jingling sound - like tiny bells high in the air.
Amazed, she looked up quickly. The sound seemed to travel - as if an angel was gliding slowly from east
to west over the treetops -but she could see nothing for the close-grown branches. She started forward,
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following the sound as it drifted overhead and soon found herself standing on the edge of the wood and
gazing up into the crisp, blue sun-bright sky at a soaring falcon. As the majestic bird wheeled through the
cloudless heavens, she noticed something dangling from its legs - the leather jesses of a trained hunting
bird.
The recognition caused Cait's heart to quicken; such a hawk in flight meant a hunter nearby.
Darting back into the forest, she ran to retrieve her mount - only to discover the animal had wandered
away; probably it had returned to camp, leaving her to carry her burden by herself. Taking up her
half-filled sack of firewood, she began dragging it over the rough ground, scolding herself for failing to
adequately secure the horse. The sack was heavy and she laboured with it as she struggled back through
the trees.
Upon emerging from the wood, she paused and searched the sky once more, but the hawk was gone.
Unaccountably disappointed, she turned and resumed her walk, dragging the sack behind her. The track
down to the camp passed by a hillock around which the stream coursed as it wound through the valley.
Upon drawing even with this small promontory, she heard the light clinking jingle of the hawk's bells once
more and turned towards the sound.
It was not a hawk this time, however, but a great black stallion, his glossy coat shimmering in the
sunlight. At the sudden appearance of the beast, Cait stopped in her tracks and jumped back, giving out
a small cry of alarm.
Then she saw the man: astride the horse, his head swathed in a shimmering black turban, a richly
embroidered black cloak flung back from his shoulders and over the stallion's hindquarters. He saw her
in the same instant, and although he gave no outward sign, she saw in the quickness of his keen dark
glance that he had not been expecting to encounter anyone in the glen.
That he was a Moor was as obvious as the curly black beard on his face; in aspect and appearance he
looked very like the bandits. But where they were sloven and cowardly, the man before her was regal,
bold, a man of wealth - his cloak was sewn with silver, and his high-cantled saddle was fine black
leather, ornamented with shell-like silver bosses and trimming; the horse's long, thick mane was braided,
and each braid interwoven with threads of silver.
Cait stood motionless, holding her breath as the man regarded her with disarming curiosity. Turning
away, he lifted his head and raised his arm into the air; he wore a heavy leather gauntlet. He uttered a
piercing whistle, which was echoed by a shriek from on high, and an instant later there was a rush and
rustle of wings as the falcon swooped down to take its place on its master's fist.
'I give you good greeting, woman,' he said, turning his attention to her once more. His face was fine and
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