Excerpt:

Sneakers made very little noise on the soft ground, though each twig and fallen branch she stepped on sounded like a gunshot. It was about all she could hear above her own breathing and her heart pounding in her chest. Her path twisted and careened through the trees, leaving bruises when she stumbled or misjudged and bounced off a tree.

Chocolate brown hair streamed out behind her in a tangled mess and Catherine blinked tears of pain from her eyes as a passing branch snagged it again. Her foot caught on an unseen root and she tumbled to the ground with a soft cry. She managed to roll, stealing most of the momentum from her run, though she had to catch her breath.

She opened her eyes to flickers of warm light on the leaf mold, the smell of dirt and plant life making her nose itch. She rubbed at her nose with the back of her hand, trying to stifle a sneeze as she slowly lifted her head.

There had been no hint of light, not even moonlight as Catherine threw herself through the woods. Given the way her night had gone, she could think of no good reason for its sudden appearance now. Her first thought was that her personal nightmare had just gotten worse. Forest green eyes widened as they took in the scene spread out before her.

She'd literally fallen into a small clearing and it was occupied. Not by anything or anyone even her fevered imagination could have come up with, nor by anything that appeared to be a threat to her. She got her feet under her, but stayed in a crouch, still breathing heavily, as she stared at the two other occupants of the clearing.

The man lay, pale and silent, on a raised cot or platform. She couldn't tell which. His dark hair lay lank against his forehead and would have fallen nearly to his shoulders. The contrast of his hair and beard against the pallor of his skin made her think that perhaps he was dead or dying. And that was before she saw the blood.

She swallowed hard, fingers digging into the soft loam of the forest floor before she stood. She didn't want to know if he was dead, what had caused him to be laying there in the middle of an east Texas pine forest. Even as she told herself that and knew it to be true, she slowly stood up and found herself taking a few hesitant steps toward the center of the clearing, toward the unknown man.

Catherine shook her head, willing herself to stop, to turn around and take her chances with the night and the forest, but her body didn't listen. She hardly noticed the huge hound that lay at the man's side watching him. A distant part of her mind noted the dog, warning her that it could be dangerous, but it was a faint thing compared to the compulsion that had taken hold of her.

She was shaking by the time her feet stopped and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, before willing herself to look at the man again. She swallowed hard again and forced herself to consider what she saw analytically for the moment. The artist in her noted the way light and shadows played on his body even as she began to note how truly strange he was.

Not that the whole night hadn't been strange – but this was completely bizarre, even by her standards. She hadn't noticed the gold circlet on his brow from where she'd entered the clearing initially. No more than a thumbs width, it had the warm glow of real gold where the light touched it. The green eyes darkened thoughtfully as they scanned down his form. His clothing had the feel of the far distant past, certainly not appropriate for current times – or for east Texas.

She peered at his arm under the loose tunic and inhaled sharply. She'd never seen real chainmail, but even so, she was fairly certain that was what he was wearing all the same. A deep purple cloak or something covered most of him, but his left leg was uncovered and there she found at least one source of the blood.

She froze, staring at the jagged wound and the bright blood that seeped slowly from it. It wasn't until the hound whined and pushed its nose into her hand that her brain stared working again. Catherine looked at the man closer and was rewarded by the sight of his chest rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths. He was alive.

She scratched the dog's ears as she thought. No matter how strange the scene in this clearing, they were still in Texas, not that far from town. She knew that much – she wasn't in good enough shape to have run that far after all. She should be able to get some help, but she couldn't leave the man bleeding out here. He might bleed to death before she got back.

The dog's brown eyes watched her and it licked her hand as she moved, crossing to the other side of whatever the man laid on so that she could get a better look at the wound. The blood was only seeping out slowly – it wasn't spurting or flowing fast. Catherine supposed that was a good thing. She didn't know much about first aid, but it seemed to her that putting pressure on the wound should help stop the bleeding.

She knelt, the leaves and loam cushioning her knees as she looked around for something to use for a bandage. It would have to be his cloak or mantle or whatever it was. She certainly wasn't going to rip her t-shirt to shreds. Catherine reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out the pocket knife her brother had given her years ago. It was all she had left of him now and she was never without it.

For a moment a sad smile touched her lips. The knife had been their father's and their grandfather's before that. It wasn't one of those fancy things they sold today. It wasn't even a swiss army knife. Just a single blade, slightly reshaped by the years of honing and sharpening, that folded into its handle.

Not the best tool for cutting up fabric but it would have to do, since she didn't think she was going to come across a pair of scissors out here. Catherine hesitated before grasping the edge of the purple garment. Rather than try to saw through the hemmed edge, she poked the pointed tip of the blade through the fabric, about an inch from the edge, and pulled it toward herself. That gave her enough to be able to tear a strip of the fabric from the garment. Repeated a few more times and she thought she had enough to wrap the wound. She tied the strips together, hesitating only when there was nothing left to do but apply the makeshift bandage.

The dog nudged her shoulder, watching her with sorrowful brown eyes. She took minute to scratch its jaw. “I'll do what I can, but I'm no doctor, “ she told it, wondering as she did if she was speaking to comfort the hound or just to hear some sound. It was awfully quiet.

Another nudge at her shoulder and she turned her attention back to the task at hand. Gingerly, she shifted the man's leg so that she could slip the end of the bandage underneath. She thought the wound should probably be cleaned, but there was no way do that out here, so she pushed the thought away. She tried to be gentle. The man was unconscious, but that didn't necessarily mean that he couldn't feel pain. Catherine concentrated on keeping a gentle pressure on the makeshift bandage as she wrapped it around the wound, sighing softly when she finally tied it off.

“I don't know if it will do any good, my friend. “ She stroked the dog's head looking over her handiwork and thinking about what to do next. She was thinking about heading back toward town when the dog whined again. It pulled away from her, pacing slowly to the man's shoulder and sitting down before looking to her.

Catherine frowned, half rising and moving over to the hound. It touched its nose to its master's arm, hidden under the purple cloth. She closed her eyes for a moment, hoping not to find what she half-expected. Opening her eyes, she carefully lifted the fabric and folded it back to reveal another jagged gash, this one running down the outside of his forearm. She sighed and set to work again, her hands a bit more confident this time. Once the wound was bandaged like the first, she folded the knife shut and slipped it back into her pocket. She'd have to hone the blade again soon, the fabric had dulled it.

Patting the dog's head absently, she stood up and stretched, shaking the kinks and minor cramps from her arms and legs. For all his pallor, the man seemed to be resting well enough to her admittedly inexperienced eye. He didn't seem worse anyway.

As she stood there, considering her next move, she felt the hairs rise on her arms and the back of her neck. She realized the small sounds of the night were absent. She hadn't realized she'd heard them before now – but Catherine definitely noticed their absence now. She turned a slow circle, trying to see beyond the clearing, but beyond the first ring of trees there was nothing but a pitch black darkness that seemed a physical thing.

The hound stepped up next to her and Catherine heard a quiet growling coming from deep in the dog's chest. She laid a hand on the dog's shoulder, realizing then just how large the hound was. It's head nearly reached her waist.

Catherine suddenly realized that she didn't want to venture out into that darkness. It felt wrong. It felt dangerous. She had a strange certainty that she would be safe if she stayed in the light of the clearing – even if she didn't know where that light was coming from. She certainly felt safer with the hound, a female she now noticed, at her side. She thought it was a wolfhound of some kind though she'd always been more a cat person.

Backing up until she was even with the man's head, Catherine lowered herself to the ground, keeping one hand on the hound's shoulder as she did so. She'd just wait for morning. No use stumbling around the woods in the darkness and possibly getting herself lost or hurt. That would do this man no good. Besides, that strange darkness beyond the trees terrified her. She couldn't, and didn't want to, work up the courage to venture out there.

The hound curled up behind her, providing a bit of a backrest and Catherine leaned against her just a bit. She'd just keep watch in case anyone else stumbled into the clearing. Not that she could do much if they did, but she didn't want to be caught by surprise. If it came right down to it, she could always run away – again.

“Mari.”

The combination of a man's voice and the shifting of the dog behind her brought Catherine awake with a jolt. The hound got to its feet and paced to the other side of the man's head, licking his face, her tail wagging happily at the sound of his voice, weak though it was. Catherine found herself caught in the golden gaze of the stranger, now awake and aware.