If anyone had asked, Allan would have said his life was comfortable enough. He had a little cabin in the woods, where he kept all the things he needed to do his work. Those same woods were home to a great variety of life, and that life was his wealth. He took pelts and meat, bone and horn, and other, more esoteric things as he found them; in exchange, he gave his thanks and respect. Each time he found a beast in his traps or snares, or brought it down with an arrow, he whispered a prayer to that animal’s spirit, thanking it for its sacrifice and wishing it life anew. He checked his traps often, leaving nothing to suffer long in them, and his kills were as quick and merciful as he could make them. Anything he could use, he did, wasting little, and returning the remains to the forest.

But it was a lonely life, and sometimes Allan yearned for some companionship. When he brought his goods to market, he tried to be social, but none of the women he met made more than passing conversation with him, and none caught his eye that he was minded to make the first query.

The closest he came to that was not with any maiden, but a youth; a dark-eyed young man with brown hair, who thanked him for the salt fish he’d brought, and pressed something small and metal into his hand – a fine bronze chain, bearing a malachite figurine of an otter, so lifelike in proportion and pose that Allan half-expected it to scurry off and slide down the muddy lane.

“It’s beautiful,” Allan said, amazed that someone would give him so precious a thing for a modest packet of salt fish. “Are you a jeweller?” But the young man just smiled at him, and there was something in that smile, in his dark eyes, that made Allan’s breath catch and his heart race.

And then, before he could recover, the young man was gone, vanished into the crowd; and try though he might, Allan did not see him again before the time came for him to go back into the woods.

The encounter weighed on him, and he turned the figurine in his fingers as he strode along the river, only to be distracted by something splashing ahead of him. He hurried forward, and found that an otter had got its foreleg caught in one of his fish traps. Wary, he crept forward, low to the ground, but the beast seemed to understand his intent, and stayed still as he cut the tether. It quivered in his arms as he carried it out of the water, carefully disentangling the cord from around its leg.

Once it was done, he set the little beast down and turned toward the river, staring down at the tiny statue. Even if he’d saved this one, the cost of his profession seemed all too high, suddenly.

Then a hand reached in to grip the chain. “It’s for wearing, silly,” a voice breathed, and the chain settled around his neck. A dark-eyed, brown-haired young man slipped past him, wearing only a grin. The youth dove into the stream with fluid grace; and then an otter cavorted in the water, barked at Allan, and vanished from sight.