They both lay on the floor for some time. The aerian was exhausted. The last of his strength had been used up. Flame Song was still chilled to the bone, and she felt as though her tail ought to be blackened and burned, or perhaps frozen all the way through, but when she raised her head to look it looked normal. Slowly she shifted, curling her tail around, and started grooming it, as though she could clean the touch of the demons off of her fur. She tasted nothing different as she groomed, but when it was done she felt a little better.

Her eyes went to the aerian sprawled next to her. His eyes were open and he was staring up at the ceiling.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He turned his head as though that tiny motion were a great effort. "Better than I've been in a long time," he said, his voice still weak and hoarse.

"I should see if I can do something about that wing," said Flame.

"Thank you. And thank you for saving my life." He paused. "What's your name?"

"Flame Song Firedancer," she said.

He smiled. "I'm Aidan Rhiannon." He pulled himself slowly up into a sitting position, his good wing fanned out behind him. "I don't suppose you have anything to drink?" he asked. "They were giving me some water, but never enough."

"There's water not far from here," she said. "I'll go fetch you some. You just stay put." She got to her feet. She shook herself all over and gave her shoulder a lick, as much to reassure herself that she was unhurt as for any other reason. She padded up the sloping passage into the kitchen, then out into the main hall. There she stopped and shifted into human form. She needed hands for this. Her human form was that of a slender young woman, looking perhaps twenty-five, with fair skin dusted with a few freckles and hair that was vivid fire-orange. Her eyes were, as ever, grass green, though now the pupils were round. She was dressed in an outfit of plain brown, light jacket over tunic and trousers beneath that. Where her clothes went when she changed out of this form she never knew, but she always found herself wearing whatever she had last worn when she shifted.

She had brought along a few basic supplies and among them was a water skin. She picked it up, and went to the entrance tunnel. There was snow on the ground outside, but only a thin layer. She felt cold. She hated being cold, but there was nothing for it. She hurried across the flat space in front of her home to a little gully not far away where a thin trickle of a stream ran. It was frozen now, but only a few yards away was its source. A tiny spring brought water to the surface. Somewhere, deep under the permafrost, there was liquid water. The pressure of the earth forced it up through some tiny crack and it came out here in a constant trickle. When winter really settled in it would freeze and she'd have to melt snow for water, but for now the water only had a thin skin of ice over the pool where it bubbled up. She broke it with one booted foot and filled the water skin. Then she shifted back, no longer needing hands and very glad to have her fur back, and picked the skin up carefully in her jaws.

She carried it back down to where the aerian boy lay on the floor of her cellar. He was still, his eyes closed, and she had a momentary fear that he had died. He wasn't in very good shape. But he opened his eyes and looked up at her as she approached. He sat up and took the water skin from her. He drank, but slowly. The water was cold and wonderful on his parched throat, but he knew that to drink it too fast could make him sick. He continued drinking, though, until it was completely emptied.