The Elf reached out and put a hand on Tip's shoulder. "Weep not, wee one, for thou and thy comrade, ye have found us, whatever be thy need."

"I say," piped up a plaintive voice from behind; it was Beau, now sitting up. "Speaking of need, have you anything to eat? Even crue will do."

"This is delicious," said Beau. "What is it?"

"Mian," replied fair-haired Loric, the warrior Elf who had given the wafers of Elven waybread to the buccen. " 'Tis made of honey and oats and various nuts, and it will last long, several seasons, in fact, without turning."

Tip and Beau and two of the Elves made their way across an open wold, the slope gently rising and falling, the land yet covered by a sheath of ice, yet the buccen were steadied by their sure-footed escort. Free of the woods at last, they were headed for a campsite said by the Elves to be safe, and Loric and Arandar had been assigned to conduct them there.

"Well it certainly puts crue to shame," said Beau, taking another bite, "and I'm glad we ran into you, even though you did try to kill us."

"We thought ye to be a pair of Rucha, small as ye are."

"Well, that makes us even, I suppose," said Tip, speaking around a mouthful, "for when you grabbed me I thought you and your comrades were Hloks."

"Lucky for us you were not," added Beau, taking another bite.

"Indeed, Fortune turned Her smiling face toward ye, for Spaunen set ambush in that vale earlier," said Arandar, his dark eyes grim, his steady hand on Beau's shoulder.

"Lor'," breathed Beau. "We could have walked right in among them, just as we did you… -Say, what happened to these, um, Spaunen?"

"They no longer enjoy life," replied Arandar.

"Oh, my," said Beau.

They walked for long moments without speaking, but at last Loric said, "It must be quite a tale as to why ye two were traipsing about in that dire wood-"

"Traipsing? " blurted Tipperton 'round his last mouthful of mian.

"-but it can wait until we reach the safety of our camp and Alor Vanidor and the others finish the patrol."

Tip looked up at Loric. "Alor? Alor Vanidor?"

"Lord," replied Loric. "Lord Vanidor."

Tip's eyes widened, but he said no more.

With the weary buccen flagging rapidly, the moon sailed another two handspans of nightsky ere the two Elves and two Warrows crossed a frozen stream, to pause at the far bank before a grove of ice-laden pine while Loric sounded the low chitter of a night-feeding winter-white weasel. A like chitter answered him, and together the four of them moved up the icy slope and in among the trees, where they passed a pair of sentries, who said nought but stared at the Waerlinga in wide-eyed wonder, for the Wee Folk were a most uncommon sight in this part of the world. Stepping through the grove, Tip and Beau and their Elven escort came to a hidden fissure jagging back into a low stone bluff, where another sentry marveled as the buccen passed by. They stepped into the cleft and 'round a bend, where they waited while Arandar lit a small lantern taken from a niche in the wall.

"Lor'," said Beau, stamping a boot to the dry rock of the cave floor, "solid footing at last. I'll tell you, I've had enough of slipping and sliding in my very own tracks."

Tip grunted a noncommittal reply as Arandar set off in the lead, the lantern hood but barely cracked, a thin slit of light showing the way. And they zigged and zagged through the narrow slot with dark stone arching above, and here and there both Loric and Arandar had to stoop, though Tip and Beau did not.

At length they came to the end of the rift and stepped out into a fair hollow where starlit sky stood overhead. All around, the bound of the basin rose up and inward, forming a broad overhang, and 'neath this sheltering jut and against the curved wall stood stone dwellings, ruins for the most part, though here and there an undamaged cote remained. To the left a small smokeless campfire flickered and Elves were gathered about, lounging on nearby boulders or sitting on the ground. Beau released a great sigh and Tip sagged in relief, their anxiety taking wing, for they had reached the Elven encampment and felt safe at last.

"Welcome to Kolare an e Ramna," said Loric, "where Lian stand vigil on this one sector of the long Drearwood marge."

Tipperton looked up at Loric. "Kol-kol-"

"Kolare an e Ramna," repeated Loric, "The Hollow of the Vanished."

"The Vanished?"

Loric gestured at the ruins. "Those who built these dwellings. We know not who they were, for they were long gone ere we discovered this basin, and other than these ruins, they left nothing behind to signify who they were-no symbols, no carvings, nought.

"But come, let us to the blaze-for warmth and hot tea at the least." Loric turned leftward and started for the fire.

Tears came into Beau's eyes as he followed. "Lor', a fire and hot tea. We haven't had either, or warmth for that matter, for, let me see…"

"Ten days," said Tip. "Or thereabouts. Ever since leaving Twoforks."

"Twoforks?" said Arandar. "On the River Wilder?"

"Yes," replied Tipperton.

"Then ye passed west to east through the full of Drear-wood." His words were a statement and not a question.

Tip nodded.

"Ye twain and none else?"

Again Tip nodded.

Both Loric and Arandar looked at the two buccen in amazement, and Arandar exclaimed, "Ai, but indeed Dame Fortune did smile down upon ye."

"Hal, Loric, Arandar!" called one of the Lian at the fire. "Ana didron enistori? "

"Hai!" replied Loric. "Waerlinga! En a Dhruousdarda."

"Waerlinga?" cried some voices in surprise, while others called out "En a Dhruousdarda?" Lian stood and peered toward these oncoming wee folk, waiting to see just who these Waerlinga visitors were who had come from the Drearwood.

A place was made near the fire for Tip and Beau, and mugs of hot tea were passed over to them. The buccen wrapped their hands around the warm cups and took long draughts and closed their gemlike eyes in bliss.

At a sign from Arandar, two steaming bowls of stew were passed to them, along with torn chunks of bread. Spoons were handed over, and with tears brimming, Tip and Beau dug into their first hot meal since the one Tessa had fed them back at the Red Fox Inn.

"From the Drearwood?" asked a ginger-haired warrior, shaking his head in wonderment and looking at Arandar.

"Aye," he replied. "In Vagan's Vale."

"Vagan's Vale, a bad place that, nehl"

Arandar nodded, and Loric said, "Had they come but a candlemark or two earlier, it would have been Rupt they met and not us. But we came across the Spaunen first, and so those in the trap were trapped. None escaped."

"Kala!" exclaimed the Lian, making a fist, other Guardians doing likewise.

"They were lying in wait," said Arandar, "mayhap for us, mayhap for the Waerlinga, mayhap for reasons else-wise. Yet Alor Vanidor sensed the ambuscade, there in Vagan's Vale, and we divided and took them by surprise instead."

"Did any take wounds?" asked the ginger-haired Elf.

"Nay, Ragan," replied Arandar, then smiled grimly, "none but the Rupt, that is."

"All fatal, I deem," said Ragan, his tilted eyes flinty.

"Aye, all fatal."

Ragan glanced across at the Waerlinga, both buccen using bread to sop up the dregs of stew from their bowls. "And then…?"

"And then these twain came along-we thought them Rucha come to join their brethren in the snare. We nearly slew them by mistake."

Wide-eyed, Ragan gestured at the buccen. "But what were Waerlinga doing in Drearwood?"

Loric held out a hand. "Let us wait for Alor Vanidor before having our guests answer that question, else they will be telling the same tale twice." Then he looked down at the Waerlinga and smiled, for warm and well fed, both were nodding over their empty bowls, sleep overtaking them.