Okay. The thought of people reading the first few chapters (which were terribly written) has been haunting me for a while, so I eventually decided to re-write them, even though I said I wouldn't do this until I was finished. I can't bear the thought of these being on here. However, I only have time to do them one by one, so there will be a weird change of style at some point until I get to a point where I'm happy with the writing. When I reach there I'll take this off.

I get that this chapter is hugely long, but now it's longer I couldn't split it into two chapters because the 'submit new chapter' thingy won't let you specify where. Aargh. Yeah. So sorry it's so long. It bugs me. Thanks to all the reviewers who left CC, it is thanks to you that I am much happier with this chapter now. I hope it's at least marginally better. Anyway, enough from me! Hope you enjoy!

There was a heavy knock at the door. Freya's eyes flicked warily to the dark hallway behind her, and after a moment's hesitation, she slipped silently off her chair and padded out of the circle of light from the meagre fire.

In the hallway, she swung open the heavy wooden door a crack and peered out. Instantly, the pattering of the rain grew louder and somehow more persistent, the sound invading the silent, empty house. Before her stood a dark figure, lit only by the pitiful light from a gas lamp on the wall by the door. The man on the step stood hunched over, one hand holding his hat firmly to his head, the other holding a bag to his body, as if to protect it from the all-invading rain. Behind him all was dark, the faint outline of trees on the horizon swaying perilously below a threatening mass of cloud.

"Come in," she said quietly, her voice barely audible over the rain. The doctor nodded, and briskly stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. He sighed in relief, shrugging off his soaking coat and removing his hat. His greying hair was plastered to his head, and droplets of water ran slowly down his crooked nose, hanging from the end. He hung his sodden jacket on a hook embedded in the stonewall, and it dripped slowly, the sound echoing loudly in the empty house.

"Where is he?" he asked gruffly.

She indicated silently up the stairs into the shadows. He picked up his bag, and after a moment's pause, she moved, running lightly up the stairs into the darkness. He trudged heavily after her.

She walked into a room much like the rest of the house, stone floors and walls, built for durability rather than elegance. The floor was covered by a thin, worn rug, and the walls were bare. A single gas lamp sat alone on the floor, beside what appeared to be a pile of blankets, the weak light casting everything in a feeble glow. The doctor crouched down, groaning under his breath. He shifted one of the blankets slightly, uncovering the face of a small boy, who looked about eleven years old. His face was peaceful, serene almost, thought Freya, studying him again. His fair hair tumbled lightly over his forehead, half covering a face which seemed frail and delicate, the straight narrow nose and small mouth dwarfed by the eyes, which were for now, closed. He was breathing, but it was hard to tell, the flutterings of his chest hardly making any movement at all.

Freya glanced back at the doctor, twisting a lock of her black hair around one finger nervously. "Would you like a drink?" she asked timidly.

"A black coffee would be grand," he said without looking up. He opened the boy's mouth and looked inside.

Freya paused a moment, reluctant to leave the boy alone, then mentally shook herself, and went silently out of the room. She padded silently down the stairs. Taking a light from the living room, she walked through to the kitchen. She turned the rusty tap, wincing at the screeching of metal on metal. Straining to hold the cast-iron kettle under the stream of icy water, she shivered. As soon as there was enough water she hung the kettle above the fire and crouched before it, pulling her shawl tighter around her. The only noises to be heard over the crackling of the fire were the branches of the trees rubbing eerily against each other, and the occasional rumble of thunder. The unrelenting drumming of the rain soothed Freya a little.

There was a sudden noise from the hallway, and she started, her dark eyes instantly wide and alert. The doctor appeared in the doorway and Freya sighed thankfully.

"He seems fine. A little thin, perhaps, but in good health," said the doctor, still standing in the doorway.

The kettle began to whistle, and Freya wrapped a cloth around the handle and poured it into two mugs. She handed one to the doctor and cradled the other between her own hands, trying to warm herself.

"Thank you."

She indicated through the doorway to the living room, and they sat down by the fire. "So where did you find the boy?"

Freya's voice was soft, almost a whisper. "Down by the shed. I went out to lock the cows in, and he was lying by the door in the rain."

The doctor nodded and took a gulp of his coffee. There was an awkward pause. "How are you managing here all alone?" he asked, his eyes flickering briefly to hers before returning to the fire.

There was an instant tension in the air. "Fine."

The doctor nodded again and drank deeply. Freya uncurled her legs from beneath her, and slipped lightly from her chair. She leant forwards, pulled a log from the pile and threw it on the fire.

"Well, I should be getting off," said the doctor, getting up. "Thanks for the coffee." He put the empty mug down. "I'll let myself out."

Freya's eyes followed him to the door, and didn't relax until she was sure he was gone. She felt a sudden pang of loneliness, but dismissed it from her mind. She stared into the fire and took small sips of her coffee.

When only the dregs were left, she crept up the stairs and into the room where the boy was sleeping. The stone floor was numbingly cold, but she knelt anyway, wanting to look closer at him. She brushed his fair hair gently off his forehead, examining his face. His pale skin was cool to the touch. She took his hand and wondered at its fragility. Each and every tiny bone was visible through his translucent, pearly skin. On an impulse, she kissed the back of his hand, then climbed to her feet and lifted him off the ground. He weighed almost nothing at all, even she could carry him with ease. She arranged the blankets on the floor and laid him gently upon them, holding him as if he was made of glass. She tucked another blanket around him and gazed at his face for a moment before shaking her head and walking to her wardrobe. She pulled a nightdress and jumper from the piles of colourless garments and walked to the bathroom.

While the sink was filling, she pulled on the nightdress and the jumper, noting the goose bumps rising on her skin. She splashed her face with water, and brushed her teeth, then ran lightly to her bedroom and slipped between the coarse sheets on her bed. Curling up and closing her eyes, she allowed sleep to envelop her.

§

She woke at dawn. Life on a farm meant she needed no alarm clock, she now instinctively woke early. She snuggled down into her bed. It was warm, if rough, and she new how cold the stone floor would be. Her breath formed a mist before her face. It was a moment before she remembered the boy, and when she did, she crawled quickly to the end of the bed, keeping the quilt around her.

He hadn't moved since last night. Mustering up her nerve she got gingerly out of bed, shivering instantly from the cold. She ran quickly to her wardrobe and took out some clothes. In the bathroom, which was even cold than her bedroom, she pulled on a thick pair of trousers and a heavy woollen jumper, she returned to her bedroom. She stood in the doorway, looking at the boy, who was lying in the strange half-light of the dawn, then turned and went down the stairs. At the kitchen door, she pulled on a long hooded coat and tucked her trousers into fleece-lined boots. Tucking her long, shining hair into the hood, she pulled it over her head and braced herself, ready for the biting wind.

She pulled open the door and stepped out into the misty winter morning. The wind hit her immediately, trying to push her back into the house, but she fought it, pushing her way to the cowshed.

Inside, the comforting animal smell greeted her, as did the plaintive calls of the cows themselves. "Shh," she murmured, patting their flanks. She smiled to herself. She hauled a pail over from the corner and sat on a stool beside one of the eight cows. They used to have more, until Freya's father had died, and she had had to sell them – she couldn't handle very many on her own. She was competent for a sixteen year old, but she struggled trying to manage a farm alone.

Resting her forehead against the cow's side, she teased milk into the pail. She loved this part of the morning, the sunrise, the birds calling, the routine of feeding the animals, doing what she did best.

Once she had finished all of her chores – milking the cows, feeding the flock of sheep and the goats, collecting the eggs – she returned upstairs and sat by the boy. He was still lying perfectly still, his gentle breathing making hardly a sound. She looked out of the window, at the early morning sky.

She loved the sky, she always had. As a child, her father had taken her out to the hills and they had lain on their backs, the smell of grass and earth surrounding them, and watched the lazy clouds go slowly by.

Today, the sky was a clear, bright, blue – a few soft clouds hanging high, the undersides still tinted with pinks and yellows from the fast fading dawn. She sensed the boy move, and looked down, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension filling her stomach. He stirred, turning his head and blinking sleepily. He looked at her, his pupils focussing slowly. Freya couldn't look away from his eyes. The pupils were black, and surrounding them was a ring of clear blue. She could make out a fringe of clouds around the edges of his irises – yellow and rose at the edges. They were the exact reflection of the sky out her window. She gazed at him in wonder, and he returned her stare with a look of friendly curiosity. After overcoming her initial surprise, she smiled nervously at him. "What's your name?" she whispered.

"Quelin." He replied.