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    He looked slowly down at his own legs, so straight and perfect, so strong, and his heart leaped. He could walk! He was whole! Suddenly, the cottage seemed a small price to pay for such a gift.
    The Witch had said there would be a price. He drew a deep breath, unable to resist the grin that turned up the corners of his mouth. What would you give? she had asked him. What would you give? he asked himself.
    He took a few hesitant steps, then flung up his arms and rejoiced. The cottage was, indeed, a small price. Drushen could build a better home, and they could both have beds. This time, Innowen could help!
    The storm grew weaker, and the rain almost stopped. But the wind rose again, strong as ever, and the night wailed with its power. Innowen, still new to the subtleties of balance, turned into it and was blown over into the muck. He rose on his elbows at his guardian's side.
    The wind blew through the forest, and the sound of its rush through the leaves, through the grass, took form in his ears and spoke to him in the Witch's voice. He shot a wild look around, searching for her, but she was not there. Only her words remained on the wind.
    Dance, my Innocent , the wind said to him. To walk, you must dance. Every night you must dance, or never walk again. Dance, dance as no one has ever danced. Dance the world away. Dance, dance, dance....
    The wind laughed and laughed, then fell suddenly and "dissipated. The leaves rustled weakly as it faded away. For a moment, silence ruled. The rain ended. The barest hint of lightning flickered far away in the heavens. In the distance, the thunder gave a last rattle and died.
    Innowen rolled over, his face close to Drushen's. The old man looked serene, his eyes gently closed. No trouble or worry creased his brow. He slept as if still in his bed, oblivious to the mud beneath him and to the destruction of his home.
    Innowen planted a small kiss on his guardian's cheek and got to his feet. He had to think about shelter. Drushen couldn't be left in the chill all night. He looked around, wondering what to do.
    Then, the words of the wind echoed in his head. Dance , it said.
    He didn't know how.
    Experimentally, he lifted one foot, pointed the toe, and tapped it on the ground. There should be music, he thought. But there was none. The leaves rasped suddenly as a fresh wind stirred with new gentleness through the branches. That was music of a sort, Innowen reasoned.
    He drew back his foot, threw out his arms, and began a tentative turn, following it with another.
    I can dance, he whispered softly to himself. I can dance!
    The trees swayed with him, keeping time like great metronomes, and the wind rose again, but subtly, and it sounded ever so much like laughter.
     
     
     

 
     
    Chapter 2
     
     
    Innowen sat with his back against the trunk of an old tree. A thick, broken limb hung down to the earth, providing the only shelter he could find from the misty, intermittent drizzle and the wind that had turned so chilly. Droplets of water from the leaves above fell with annoying regularity in his eyes and on his face. He did his best to ignore them and to forget the cold muddy ground beneath him.
    He gazed down at Drushen and brushed the damp, graying hair back from his guardian's face. The woodcutter stirred ever so slightly; the corner of one lip twitched, and a hand settled on Innowen's knee. Drushen slept in apparent peace, but the Witch had warned he would wake hungry. Innowen thought of the stew Vashni had prepared by the hearth. But the hearth was only a pile of stones now, scattered among the ruins of the cottage.
    A dark blot in the greater darkness of night marked where those ruins were. Innowen had dug among them, hoping to find some bit of fire in the fireplace to carry back to his shelter, just a small flame, a handful of coals even, to warm Drushen in his sleep. But the collapse had smothered the fire and his hope. He had only his body to keep his friend warm, and he wrapped his