text: [Themes: family friendly, action]
  
  At first you think the captain has merely gone as far as we wants to go this afternoon, fearing that another step might make him late for sup-time. But then he and Riggs crouch down to examine something in the snow. Before anyone can order them differently, Yesmer and Youngjones step forward to see what they see. You and Olix follow.
  
  The underbrush has begun to thin, and so the snow on the ground is less disturbed. Whereas beforehand the passage of your quarry was marked mostly by the damage it caused to the spruce forest, here there is much less clutter and you can begin to make out distinct footprints.
  
  "This was not Joöno the Snowman going out for a midnight stroll," the captain says. The print before him is just as large as you had promised, with four distinct toes clear for all to see. This is a Cryndy footprint.
  
  "At least there's only one," you say, observing the continuing tracks in the woods.
  
  "Are you sure, redhead?" Riggs says. You are confused as to what he means, so he points — first to his right, then to his left. In each direction there are additional footprints, each coming from a separate direction. Multiple Cryndys, each converging on a spot just a few hundred meters ahead.
  
  "I smell smoke," Youngjones says, clutching his rifle close to his chest.
  
  "Me too," Yesmer says beside him, scanning the woods with his wide, frightened eyes.
  
  "That makes five of us," Captain Oberlin confirms; everyone is speaking in hushed voices. He, too, scans the forest ahead of you as if convinced the aliens are camped out somewhere nearby. You see no such sign yourself, other than the converging tracks and the smell of smoke.
  
  "Elia, you and that fox of yours need to go back to the crawler," the captain says.
  
  "No!" you say, almost losing control of your voice.
  
  "Shouldn't we all be going back, Captain, sir?" Riggs says, his voice clearly shaken.
  
  "We Guardsmen have a job to do, Sergeant Riggs. We need to get a closer look and assess the threat. This child needs to get as far away from here as possible."
  
  The men all nod in reluctant agreement, but you are immediately offended by the words "this" and "child." The first seems to be a reference to your hair, and the other is an unfair underestimation of your age. But the captain cuts you off before you can object.
  
  "I'm not giving you a choice, Elia. It's for your own protection, and that of your pet. I know you know what I mean."
  
  "But—"
  
  "I mean it. Just go back to the crawler. There's a radio inside that works every now and then. If we're not back within the hour, try and get a message through to Preace and Aldernes."
  
  The other Guardsmen don't share the captain's eagerness to proceed forward, toward the alleged Cryndy camp, but they all line up in unified resolution that you, the redheaded girl, should not be part of this mission.
  
  Seeing no other options, you pick up Olix because you know if given the choice he'll stay with the patrol, just because it will be something new and exciting. "All right, we'll go back, but I think you're making a mistake! If something goes wrong, you may need all the manpower you can get."
  
  Captain Oberlin furrows his brow at you. "More likely, we'll need all the luck we can get." The other Guards nod their agreement.
  
  This burns you on the inside, but all four men insist on watching you trudge back into the thick brush with Olix before continuing their patrol. In just a matter of seconds you are concealed from them by the forest.
  
  "I'm glad that's finally over," you overhear Riggs behind you. It inspires you to stop and listen further to the Guardsmen who must be relieved to have the redhead out of their presence.
  
  "I knew Elia's parents, long ago," the captain says. "I'm sure she means well, but—"
  
  "Let's not go and make excuses, sir. Everyone of us is glad she's gone. Now unless you have other orders for us, let's go see what's out in those trees and then get our hineys back to camp, all right?"
  
  "All right," Oberlin says. "Spread out, mouths shut, guns up. Let's go." And then you hear their footsteps walking away through the snow.
  
  It may be the middle of winter, but you are burning up inside, especially at Riggs's superstitions and the captain's complicity. He knew your parents? Big deal! When Riggs got insulting, Oberlin sent you away like a misbehaving child.
  
  Olix stirs in your arms, trying to squirm away. You rest your chin on his downy forehead, your bestest pal in all the world right now. Here you both are, left alone in the forest, the captain making it clear he thinks your hair is a token of bad luck, ordering you back to the crawler to man the radio. So what do you do? You originally approached the Guard station because you hadn't wanted to be in these woods alone, and yet here you are anyway. So do you do as you've been told, or do you follow the captain and his men anyway?
  
  > follow the Guardsmen.
  You wait a moment to give Oberlin and his men time to put some distance between you, but then you set Olix on the ground. "What do you think, dude? I say they need our help whether they realize it or not."
  
  He looks at you expectantly. To Olix, this is all one big game; to you, there is something to prove. The idea of returning to the crawler now seems highly distasteful. If there is an alien menace lurking in this forest, you want to be part of the discovery.
  
  With Olix close at your heels, you step back out of the brush and into the open hardwoods, rifle at the ready. There is a medley of footprints in the snow now: the alien tracks converging on that unseen spot up ahead, the Guardsmen's prints making the opposite pattern, fanning out as if in a bid to surround the Cryndy encampment.
  
  You decide to circle around to the left, flanking whichever of the men it was who has gone this way just ahead of you. It's only been a few minutes since you've been separated, but already you are unable to see Oberlin's patrol. There is a slight rise in the terrain, and you surmise the patrol has already crested it, and that the Cryndy are somewhere just beyond.
  
  As you climb the rise, still circling left, Olix grows more and more skittish, just like he was when the two of you first stumbled across the giant tracks. He was put off by the scent then, but he'd apparently put that concern beside him when you started following the trail of destruction through the brush. Now you are crossing two, three more sets of four-toed tracked, and the scent must be fresher, more concentrated. At the third set of alien tracks, Olix comes to a complete halt, like there is an invisible barrier in his way.
  
  You want to stop and comfort him, but the need to keep quiet is paramount. And if indeed there are Cryndy on the other side of this knoll — the worst possible things anyone could find — then perhaps it is for the best your trusty fox remains here, at a safe distance. The best you can do right now is hope that he'll be fine for a few minutes without you.
  
  But you don't dare say anything comforting to him, lest you give yourself away. His eyes are dark and bulging; his fear fills you with guilt for putting him in this situation. Hopefully, this task you are taking on won't keep you apart for long.
  
  Before you can talk yourself out of your own plan, you turn to stalk silently up the small, forested knoll — trying not to be swayed by Olix's pathetic whimpers behind you. Captain Oberlin was correct about at least one thing: you aren't going to cause much damage with your little hunting rifle, certainly not against a foe that required Battle Mechs and genetic enhancements when they first appeared a few centuries ago. You tell yourself that just like the Guard patrol you are here only to assess a possible threat to your Stead.
  
  One step. Two steps. From here you can neither hear nor see anyone; Olix, for the first time all day, is not following at your heels or bounding fearlessly ahead. Five steps. Ten. A big snowy log lies in your way; it sits near the crest of the little hill, and from it you might have a good look at whatever lurks beyond.
  
  Twelve, thirteen steps. The fallen hemlock with its purplish-brown bark is covered with snow; you kneel down beside it, rifle held before you. Carefully, you lift your head above the level of the log to see what there is to see on the other side.
  
  > Next page.
  You've known Joöno Öoto, the Snowman living back at the Stead, for many years; despite his size and odd appearance, however, he has never really frightened you. He is a gentle giant, more concerned of late about his tippards of ale than anything else in life.
  
  What you see in the glen before you, however, is another matter.
  
  There are six creatures sitting in the snow below your position, each bigger than Joöno by nearly a meter, not even counting the enormous bony protrusions emanating from their skulls — rather more like antlers than horns, except that they lack the symmetry of a deer's rack. These grow wildly above their shaggy heads, reminding you of a dogwood bush without leaves. The snow around them is splattered in crimson, making you fear for a second that the Cryndy have already pounced on the Guard patrol — and his now hungrily gnawing on their bones! As if the stories about these ancient enemies wasn't horrific enough without adding cannibalism! But then you notice the squathog skulls and hides tossed carelessly into the woods, and you realize the Cryndy are merely feasting on wild animals, the leaping boars once created in a lab in the Way Long Ago that now roam the forests and wastelands as natural-born inhabitants.
  
  None of the Cryndy speak — not that you are likely to understand anything they might say anyway. They seem preoccupied with their feast, devouring the remains of the poor squathogs like ears of corn, methodical in their bites. There is indeed a small fire at the center of the group, but if the meat was cooked it was not for very long; squathog blood has been spilled all over this patch of ground, turning the snow into that color that has been so associated with the Cryndy ever since the invasion. You unconsciously pull a lock of your hair back behind your ear.
  
  Do they pose a threat, though? Not at this precise moment, no; they currently have other concerns on their minds. But just their presence so close to the Stead will be alarming to your neighbors. And to Captain Oberlin and his men, who must be observing this same scene from somewhere nearby.
  
  You feel you've seen enough. Olix must be out of his mind by now, and if you linger too long you may miss Oberlin leaving with his men in the crawler. Besides, you clearly don't stand a chance against these dudes, not on your own. But just as you get ready to back away from the fallen hemlock, one of the Cryndy lifts his face to smell the air. It is an idle movement at first, but then something about the scent catches his attention even more. He drops his leg-of-squathog in the snow and begins to rise to his feet; the other Cryndy begin to sniff the air too, and one by one they join their comrade.
  
  A chill goes through your body, and not because of the air temperature. Are the aliens aware of your presence? Perhaps you got too close when you crept up to this log? Is it true your hair really is bad luck? Maybe the captain was right — maybe you should have gone back to the crawler!
  
  But the direction they all turn to look is not toward you. Rather, something to your right has caught their attention — and unless you're mistaken, that's where the patrol is hiding.
  
  "Red stars!" a voice exclaims from somewhere across the glen, and you recognize it as Riggs. Next you hear a rustling sound from about the same location, as if someone were stirring over there. "No, sir!" Riggs shout-whispers again. "They're onto us! We can't outrun 'em; we need to stand our ground here!"
  
  Oberlin must be losing his cool subduing his man, because he is the next one to give himself away. "Sergeant, that's an order!"
  
  It's too late, though; any pretense at remaining hidden has been lost, and the Cryndy are now fully aware of the patrol. A shot rings out from the same spot where Riggs was just complaining to the captain, clearly from one of the old armor-piercing Mechkiller hand rifles; the round grazes one of the Cryndy and nearly cuts a stripe-maple in half.
  
  You lean into the hemlock log, rifle pointed... knowing full well that it doesn't possess anywhere near the same magnitude of firepower as the Mechkiller. Still, it's all you've got. So you aim at the furry aliens and wait for one of them to get close.
  
  And you wait. The thing is: none of them come at you. None seem to realize you're even there. It was the patrol that gave themselves away, maybe even Riggs's own pheromones of fear, if not that big mouth of his. The six Cryndy spread apart as they climb out of the glen, two of them wounded by a volley of Mechkiller shots, but this just causes the other four to become crazed. They lunge into the hidden positions from which the shots are being fired, and you hear the shouts of fear and pain from the hapless members of the patrol. You duck back behind your log, cringing in terror in its shadow.
  
  The skirmish does not last long; no more shots are fired, and the shouts of the four men are cut short one by one. You expect the Cryndy to seek you out next, or worse: maybe Olix will choose this moment to overcome his inhibitions, scampering headlong into a fray he has no hope of surviving.
  
  But once the Guard patrol has been exterminated, the killers return to their fire, the injured ones tending to their wounds. Minutes pass before you are willing to consider they aren't coming for you after all. Feeling a desperate need to know what's going on, you carefully pop your eyes back up to look over the log. The Cryndy seem anxious; one is kicking snow onto the campfire, another is gathering the dropped pieces of squathog meat, and the others are examining their wounded comrades. All of them seem eager to leave this place, getting the bleeding members of their party to safety — as if there were a Cryndy hospital somewhere deeper into the woods. With the two wounded creatures limping, the party vacates the campsites. You can hear them grunting to each other as they disappear through the trees, heading well in the opposite direction of the Stead.
  
  This leaves you breathing heavily, alone by the log, as if a stone had been lifted from your chest. You survived! But the Guard patrol...?
  
  You shudder to think what might remain of them.
  
  For a second you felt flush with the thrill of this experience, but then the reality dawns on you: Captain Oberlin and his men are almost certainly dead, the Cryndy culprits have gotten away, and when you return to the crawler to report what just happened over the radio, you know who will be blamed:
  
  Elia Redling, the redheaded girl who didn't follow instructions, and whose locks of eternal bad luck brought this fate down upon the poor, brave Guardsmen. Even though you know it was almost certainly Sergeant Riggs who gave away the patrol's presence, you comprehend equally well the foregone conclusion your fellow Steadsmen will reach: you brought the wrath of the Cryndy; you are a threat to the safety of everyone.
  
  The chill of fear lingers in your belly, although now it is more a dread of the near future than it is fright at what the Cryndy might do. You have no idea what your next step should be, so you drop to a seated position against the tree. The woods are silent now, except for the clapping and swaying of branches in a high, gentle breeze. And the patting of paws against snow. Opening your eyes, you see Olix about five meters away, his dark fox eyes imploring you to get up and finally find him something to eat.