The tiny fire did little to banish the dark, was small comfort against the occasional gusts of chill autumn wind, and like as not would attract many more unpleasant things than it scared away, but Kellin didn't care. The little dance of flames was cheering on such a dreary night, in such a dreary land, by such a dreary, endless little rutted track of a road, and the skinny little hare was beginning to sizzle on its spit over the fire.

A lucky shot, that, and one she hadn't expected to make, even (especially) with the autumn wind howling straight at her back. Made it she did, though, and now as full dark settled over the unspectacular hills, Kellin huddled close to her little fire, bone-deep weariness temporarily forgotten in anticipation of her first taste of anything other than hard tack, salt pork or thin oat porridge, tasteless as parchment.

Kellin was trying to leave the little beast alone until its skin was crackled and brown, just beginning to split, and the meat beneath cooked through, but the scent was driving her crazy. She hovered closer to the fire, and tried to think of anything - anything at all - to distract herself.

Idly, she pulled a pair of coins from the small bag cinched onto her belt, one copper, the other gold. The copper coin was dull, still thick enough, though worn from use. In contrast, the gold coin had been shaved so thin about the edges that - squinting her eyes half shut and holding the coin close enough to her left eye so as to block all vision, Kellin fancied she could see the gleam of the fire through the metal.

Kellin could count the number of times she had seen or held a gold coin on both hands. In