Del watched Spike wake up. She’d been up for a while, but the human seemed to need sleep rather badly. Seeing that he was fully aware, she approached, holding out a breakfast cake. He took it, surprised at her sudden appearance. The human looked down at the cake warily.

“It’s sweet,” Del said, contrition obvious in her voice.

He bit into it experimentally. It was sweet, dense and full of fruit and nuts. He quickly ate the heavy treat, which settled solidly in his stomach. He got the impression he wouldn’t be hungry for a long time.

“We need to get going if we’re going to reach the village today.” Spike reluctantly got up, folding the blanket. He left it with Del and walked into the forest, looking for an appropriate place to relieve himself. He was not looking forward to resuming human bodily functions.

The travelers set off, picking up the brisk pace they’d set before. Spike was impressed; dalhari, if they were all like Del, could give vampires a run for their money in terms of strength, stamina, and speed. Then there was that flying deal. As a human, he was hard pressed to keep up, and Del slowed the pace several times to let him catch his breath. He studied the woman as the traveled. Now that his initial shock had passed, Spike found her considerably more attractive.

They stopped midday, once they’d located another stream. Del carried water with her, but it was better to find it fresh and conserve their supplies. After a quick snack, they set off again, with the promise from the dalhari that dinner would be fresh and served by someone else. Spike walked with renewed vigor at the promise.

Being human again wasn’t all bad, Spike decided. True, he was weak, vulnerable and mortal. But walking through the forest, feeling warm bands of sunlight filter through the trees, the blonde found himself missing vampirism less and less. It was lovely, being outside during the day. The cold had been uncomfortable the night before. It didn’t bother him, though, because at least he could feel again. For the first time in a century, Spike cared about heat and cold. It was truly a novel experience.

At the first sight of the village, Del stopped short, catching Spike’s duster.

“What?” The human asked, impatient to reach some sort of civilization.

Del grimaced. “You’re not marked.” Spike cocked an eyebrow.

“This is a fairly human-friendly area, but free humans around here are marked in some way to associate themselves with another species, so that they get left alone by hunters,” Del explained, rummaging around in her pack.

“So I need some sort of mark then?” Spike asked. What’s a mark?

“That’s the idea.” Del retrieved a small pouch from her pack. Opening a water skin, she dipped one finger into the water, then into the pouch. She then drew the finger along Spike’s jaw line, tracing a design there. It swirled from beside his ear down along his neck, all along the left side of his face.

“Bloody hell, you’ve finger-painted all over me,” Spike snarled. There wasn’t any way for him to examine the mark, but he was sure he was covered in the dark pigment she’d used. Del stowed the pigment and resumed walking toward the village, having gained some measure of security for the human.

“So, what does the mark mean?” Spike asked, catching up to the dalhari.

Del thought carefully about how to word it. “It means that you’re associated with my house-a dalhari house. No one will bother you.”

Spike stiffened. “Associated?”

Del frowned. “Not like you’re implying, Spike. It means just that, associated. Dalhari houses are more than just a bunch of related dalhari. Other species belong as well, including humans.”

“I don’t see you wearing the mark.”

“Most dalhari rarely need to wear their markings. We look like dalhari, and one dalhari can pretty well tell what house another dalhari’s from by sight, sound, or smell. Other species, though, wear the mark when they want to be identified with their dalhari house,” She said, pausing for a moment. “Just like dalhari wear the house markings of other species when they want to be associated with those houses.”

Spike digested this. “So, are you a part of any other species’ houses?”

Del shook her head. “No. I’ve got relatives, though, who are.”

“Why not you?” Spike asked.

“I never spent enough time in a particular hold to get adopted. Crossing over like that isn’t exactly common, but it isn’t rare either.”

•••

Before long, they’d reached the village. It was smaller than the one that Spike had appeared in, but contained all the necessities: an inn, smithy and various craftsmen. Del immediately pulled Spike into a small shop beside the forge.

A tall, stout man with wild orange hair warmly greeted them. “Del! What brings you to Fartha?”

Del returned the hug. “Passing through, Tisk. My friend here needs clothes for the winter. Help us?” She gave her best puppy dog eyes, which to Spike exceeded even Xander’s best efforts.

The massive craftsman turned an expert eye on Spike. “It shouldn’t be a problem, Del. Give me a few minutes in the back…” The man turned around and entered his workrooms. Spike and Del wandered through the front room, Spike admiring the fine quality of the leathers and clothing he saw. The tailor was quite proficient.

“How do you know him?” Spike asked casually.

Del turned around at the question. “I come through here occasionally. We also knew each other as children. His family lives near mine. Tisk moved here with his mate when they bonded.”

“Um…what is he?” Spike asked quietly, not wanting to offend the giant man.

Del laughed. She should have expected this question. “Orth. And just so you know, Tisk is considered petite. Don’t tell him I said so, though.”

Spike’s eyes bugged out. Tisk reminded him a bit of a large troll. Petite? Gods.

Tisk returned carrying a large array of garments. “The humans haven’t started stocking up for the cold months, so I have a large inventory now. You’re lucky; the tinker’s lad told me that the ones working the upper fields were coming down in two days to clean me out.”

Del began to help Tisk sort through the clothes, immediately discarding several items. Eventually she and the orth thrust some clothes at Spike, gesturing toward a small cubicle.

“Try that on, Spike. Boots too.” She gave him a pair of leather boots and closed the stall door.

Tisk immediately cornered her. “So, Del-syralia, what is a human, a *male* human, doing wearing your mark?”

Del scowled, which failed to budge her old friend. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time. Spill,” Tisk growled.

She sighed in surrender. “He’s not from around here.” Tisk rolled his eyes. “Literally. As in from another dimension.” His eyes bugged. “Some sort of magic. He just appeared, stuck in a display case in Atrik’s shop.” Tisk snarled. He hated Atrik with a passion.

“So he’s with you why?” Tisk asked.

“Come on, I couldn’t leave a human there-with a t’kth-vaal stalking him right in the shop! Besides, his dimension is nothing like ours. I’m taking him to the freehold. Maybe the witches there can figure out something,” Del finished, having left out how difficult it had been to get Spike to trust her. “Other than humans, he hasn’t ever seen any of our species. *Any* of them.”

“Oh. Well, you must be a shock then,” Tisk said, referring to her bright dalhari coloring.

“And you’re not, shorty?” She shot back. They turned at the sound of a stall door opening. Spike stepped out, clothed in new garb.

Spike wasn’t sure what to make of the clothes he’d been given. At first he had been planning to tell Del to stuff it; he liked his trademark tight black jeans, t-shirt and duster. The fact was, though, that after spending a night and two days in the forest, he was ready to admit that maybe something more comfortable for a human was called for, something more like the looser trousers, high boots, layered shirts and laced-up leather of Del’s own clothing, with perhaps a cloak or something.

The clothes proved more of a challenge than he’d expected. The trousers layered; he’d quickly realized that the fabric pair, in a dark brown, went over what he thought was underwear, and then the similarly colored leather trousers over that. The brown leather boots were amazingly comfortable; a removable liner resembling sheepskin would keep out the cold. The boots laced and buttoned to just below his knee, supporting his entire foot. Clambering about on the increasingly uneven terrain would be easier in these than in his clunkier Doc Martens.

As he’d hoped, he’d been given several shirts—three of them, in varying fabric weights in a very pale cream material similar to linen. To cover the shirts was a leather vest that laced up both the front and sides. It reminded him of what he’d seen in etchings of medieval clothes, as well as renaissance festival garb. The leather was significantly heaver than most of those items, though. Smooth, heavy leather dyed dark green was accented by a swirling, twining design in a very dark burgundy. He thought he’d gotten the lacing right until the other two people in the shop started tugging on the laces.

“Oi!” He jumped, but Del’s strong grip held him still.

“Just checking for fit.” The two people re-laced the vest quickly. Finishing the task, Del and Tisk stood back to survey.

Spike was amazed at the improvement. The garment was, he found, designed to protect, both by keeping his posture straighter and by warding off minor blows. He’d barely felt Del’s and Tisk’s fingers prodding at the laces, and the vest took a lot of strain off his back.

“Nice taste, Tisk. Got anything to keep him from freezing?” Del said, nodding her approval. Spike looked much better in normal clothes.

Tisk grunted, and then went back into the storage room. He returned with several items. First was a heavy, fur-lined cloak. He tossed it at Del, who helped Spike put it on, showing him how to work the ties. Spike was surprised at the weight of the cloak, which was lined inside not just in fur but in full skins. The outside was immaculately treated and oiled. Nothing was getting through this puppy. The hood was also thickly furred. Next came a pair of gauntlets that reached nearly to his elbows. Again, they were fully lined leather, but surprisingly supple.

“Ah, as usual—perfect,” Tisk said, boasting mildly. Del snorted.

“Uh huh, right. It’ll do.” She then turned, grinning, and gave Tisk a hug. “Spike, you might want to unlayer for the time being, before you melt.” Spike obediently went to the stall to strip off several layers.

“So, what’s the total?” Del asked outright. Tisk mumbled for a couple of minutes, adding things up mentally.

“Considering what I owe you?” Del nodded. “Um…what do you have with you?” Del smiled. Tisk preferred trading with her whenever possible. It was a tradition that reached far beyond their own friendship; bartering and trading was the preferred transaction between friends. Money was too impersonal.

Del opened her pack, pulling out several fabric-wrapped bundles. She unrolled them on the counter, displaying her wares. Tisk made small, approving noises as he ran nimble fingers over the blades. Del was a master weapons maker, and these daggers were no exception.

“Never disappointed, Del. Let’s see…how about these four?” He indicated several of the larger knives, all with carved bone handles. Del snorted.

“Four? Three.”

“Five of the smaller.”

“Four of the smaller.”

“Three of the smaller and two of the larger.”

“Two of the smaller and two of the larger.”

“Done!”

Del wrapped up the four daggers, presenting them to Tisk. She then stowed away the remaining knives. “Tisk? Do you have the things I left here my last trip through?”

Tisk turned, nodding. “Yes, just a moment.” He retrieved a case from his workroom. “Here you go.”

Del opened the case. Inside were six paired short swords. She’d made them a few years ago, bringing them with her. In the end, she’d left them with Tisk instead of selling them further west. She ran her fingers down the mirror-bright blades, testing their sharpness.

“You’ve been practicing, I see.”

Tisk blushed. “I never can get them as sharp as you can. Oh well. You did say I could…”

“That’s why I left them, fluffhead.” Del pulled out the bottommost pair—slightly lighter and more slender than the ones Tisk used. She closed the case, which Tisk replaced in his workroom.

“Lost yours?” Tisk asked slyly.

“Shut up, Tisk.” Del fastened the wrapped blades to her pack. “So…when are you and Vem moving back to La’iv?” She asked, avoiding the orth’s gaze.

Tisk shuffled around nervously. “Del…” The orth cleared his throat. “It’s not that easy.” Del smiled slightly, nodding her head. She hated it that her best friend lived so far away, but it wasn’t her place to say anything. Vem was uncomfortable with their closeness, and no amount of discussion could comfort her.

They bantered about for several more minutes before Spike exited the changing stall, spare clothes in hand. Tisk bundled them with two other sets of shirts and cloth trousers, in similar bright colors, and placed the entire thing inside a knapsack similar to Del’s. He handed it to Spike, then shooed the pair out the door.

“Get out. I want dinner.”

“Good to see you too, Tisk. Give my memories to Vem.” She laughed as the door slammed in their faces.

•••

“Did I…What?” Spike was obviously confused at the orth’s abruptness.

Del frowned, and then straightened. “Oh, that? That’s an orth thing. He’s fine.” She smiled. “We need to buy food, which you need to try before we stock up so you can actually eat it.”

The pair laughed in memory of Spike’s reaction to typical dalhari fare. “Del, how much were the clothes?” Spike asked. The fact that he even cared surprised him. Vampires didn’t care what others spent on them. Of course, he wasn’t a vampire now…

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Really, Del.” Spike was serious about the subject.

Del sighed. “We’ll settle up later. Don’t be anxious about such debts.” Her tone brooked no argument.

Buying food with Del proved to be an adventure. She was considerably less outgoing around the vendors, with whom she was unfamiliar. Still, she bade them allow Spike test out the wares before they purchased, an activity they allowed because they were buying in quantity.

Spike quickly realized that Del was steering him toward dried foods or fresh ones that would last. She brought him to a stand of dried meats, asking the man there to select a variety appropriate for humans. Del then left, explaining that the smell of meat did nothing for her appetite. Spike would have offered to eat purely vegetarian fare, but soon realized why Del hadn’t even offered.

In his dimension, humans could eat a variety of beans, grains, and the like to make up for the lack of proteins in a vegetarian diet. While grain did abound here, he noted a complete lack of beans and corn. The place made up for it in sheer variety of vegetables, most of which were dried for long storage. Still, other than dairy products, protein sources were limited.

Eventually, food purchasing was complete. They had found that Spike was used to foods far blander than what humans in this dimension ate. He was resolved to learn to like the local cuisine, but they ended up purchasing a fair amount of very bland foods.

Del led the way to the village’s only inn. She quickly paid for a room, the only one available, as well as dinner, supper, and breakfast. She showed Spike the inn’s bathing room, which was in a style he recognized from his pre-vamp days. No showers here.

Dinner was a subdued affair since both were tired out from the morning’s walk and the day’s shopping. Del left Spike in the room while she bathed.

Spike wondered what the sleeping arrangements would be. There was only one bed, albeit one large enough for two Tisks. He shrugged. They’d figure it out later.

Later was sooner than he had reckoned. Del returned to the room, hair damp from her bath. It hung in dark, almost black, strands between her wings, past her hips. Yawning widely, she climbed on the bed, lying on her stomach. Her agile tail curled next to one leg and her wings settled gently on her back.

“Sleep now, Spike.” She’d left more than half the bed for the human, so Spike fell onto the far side of the bed, pulling a blanket over his body and quickly drifting off.

Spike woke up, noticing that the sun had set some time earlier. He pushed himself out of bed, feeling the need to bathe and relieve himself. On his way out of the bathroom, he noticed a mirror in the corner. He hadn’t seen his reflection in more than 120 years.

“Christ!” He turned his head to one side, examining the design on his face. When he’d bathed earlier, he’d scrubbed off the remaining pigment, feeling the stuff come off his skin. It seemed to have stained him, however, because the design was still there in a deep green color. It reminded him of a combination of traditional Celtic knot work and the neotribal designs that were so popular among tattoo artists. He hadn’t realized how much of his face and neck the design covered, however. There was no way anyone could miss that mark.

He studied the rest of his face carefully—he’d almost forgotten what he looked like. The bleached-blond hair made him grin. Of course, unless by some miracle potent hair bleach existed here, he’d be a brunette before long. He ran one hand over a stubbly cheek. Shaving was not something vampires really had to worry about, but humans did. Unless he wanted to look like a wino, he’d better find a razor. At least he knew how to use a straight razor; something told him that disposable safety razors hadn’t made it to this place quite yet.

The human inquired over such items with the innkeeper, who provided him with a newly sharpened blade. Spike managed to shave himself without doing too much damage and returned to the room, finding Del awake.

“Hey.” Spike greeted her softly, watching the dalhari wipe sleep from her eyes.

“Hiya yourself. You shaved.” She studied his face. His skin accepted the mark very well, maybe too well. It would be months before it even began to fade. “Your hair’s different…longer?”

He grinned shyly. Without hair gel, his bleached locks fell in soft waves. “No hair gel.” He laughed at the confusion on her face. “Something to keep it back. I don’t suppose you’ve got hair bleach here?” She cocked an eyebrow. He reached up, tugging on a lock. “It’s not my natural color,” he pointed at a dark eyebrow. “This is. It’ll start growing in dark before long.” Spike sighed. Apparently, he was in fact going to be a brunette once again.

Spike sat down in the room’s sole chair. The nap had given him a little energy, but he was still tired. Del didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get out, so he relaxed for the moment. “Anything else we need to be doing?”

Del yawned. “No, just supper and sleep. We have to leave early tomorrow—by dawn at the latest. I’m expected at a f’lh holding, Grumdkaim, tomorrow.”

“F’lh?” Spike was trying to keep the various species separate.

“Remember the meat vendor—short, stocky fellow with yellow fur and stubby horns?” Spike nodded. “That’s a f’lh. They’re not too bad, but they enjoy fighting a lot. I get a lot of business from them.”

“Business?” Spike asked.

“I’m a smithy—specifically, I make weapons, blades, arrows, and the like. I usually work at my hold, then either sell the forge’s wares locally or take or send them to whoever orders them. Trips like this help build up a clientele for the forge,” She explained.

“I see. So the f’lh are clients of yours?”

“Maybe. The elders of the holding we’re going to asked me to visit. If they like what I bring to display, we’ll have more work.”

“Do f’lh…hunt humans?” Spike wasn’t looking forward to staying in a place that ate his species.

Del smiled. “They can, but humans aren’t their preferred food source. Everything I’ve heard about this place is fairly good, and Tisk doesn't know of anything unusual going on there.”

Spike nodded. “The t’kth-vaali, they’re aggressive, then?”

“Yes, although they prefer indirect action—they aren’t very strong for their size, although they’re more than a match for any human. Mostly they’re greedy and care little for other species. The only thing that keeps t’kth-vaali in line is treaties that ensure they’d suffer otherwise,” Del explained.

“And the gnome?”

“Gnome?” Del asked.

“The other guy in the shop, the short one with the long beard,” Spike explained.

“Atrik? He’s a gupwur. They get along better with t’kth-vaali than any other species does. They’re another one humans tend to avoid, since they are the primary flesh-merchants.”

“Oh. So t’kth-vaali and gupwurs are two species that enjoy snacking on humans?”

“Yeah. Let’s see, f’lh can but don’t unless they can’t find anything else. T’kth-vaali, gupwurs and maith use humans for food. Orth eat meat, but never humans, as do pakra. Dalhari and siv don’t eat any meat at all,” Del summarized.

“Any other species I should know about?” Spike asked. He’d counted eight species, nine including humans.

“No, that’s the nine species.”

“So who’s friend and who’s foe, since my parents couldn’t teach me?” He recalled her statement from the day before.

Del flinched. She’d been rather hard on him. “As a human without any family of his own species? You’re very safe around dalhari and siv, who won’t harm you or sell you. Orth and pakra are generally ok, but there are a few flesh traders among them, usually those who’ve been exiled from their houses. F’lh will leave alone any marked human, but if there’s a famine or drought unmarked humans are considered fair game. Unless you’re in a safe place or with another species that will protect you, stay away from t’kth-vaali, gupwurs, and maith. They’ll tie you up before you know what hit you.”

“Pleasant that.”

Del hummed in agreement. “Anything else?”

“Do any of the other species get hunted? You’re voice is accented differently from the people around here. How old are you?”

Del shook her head at the unrelated questions. “Yes, to some extent all the species are hunted—but humans are the only ones that get sacrificed, and they are the easiest to catch for food. Also, humans replenish their numbers faster than other species. My voice is accented because my primary language is dalhari—not this language, the trade language. Most people speak it to some extent, but the dominant language varies by region and species. How old am I? I turned 435 this spring.” She stopped, watching the human process the new information.

“Four hundred…what, dalhari are immortal?” He asked.

“Pretty much. We can still get hurt and sick, though. But unlike humans, we don’t grow old. How old are you, anyway?”

Spike smiled. “Oh, 140 or so.” It was his turn to enjoy the look of shock on Del’s face. “I was about 25 when I was turned into a vampire, and vamps don’t age either. I guess I’ll start aging again now that I’m back to human, but I’ve been around a while.”

Indeed, he had. Humans rarely lived 80 years, and by that point they were fragile and easily injured. Spike looked, well, young.

“So, are you young or old—for a dalhari?” Spike inquired.

Del sighed. “Both. That is, I’m well into adulthood; actually, I’m pretty old for an unmated dalhari. Most of my species have bonded by my age. But in terms of average age, I’m quite young. My father is nearly 1000, and he’s not considered near old yet.” Spike’s jaw dropped. That was old, even for a vampire. Few demons could claim that 1000 was not old. “Dalhari are the longest-lived of the species. Humans live much shorter lives than do any of the other species, but they can reproduce at a faster rate. It balances out ok.”

Spike’s questioning was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Del opened it, retrieving their supper, some type of stew and large loaves of bread. She set one bowl in front of Spike. He sniffed experimentally. It smelled divine and he hoped it was as good as dinner had been. The two were soon occupied with their food and all discussion stopped.

Spike used the last of his bread to sop up the little broth remaining in his bowl. “Not bad at all. What was that, by the way?”

Del looked up from her meal. “Yours was hif shwir. Mine’s the same without the meat.”

“Hif shwir?”

“Vegetables, meat, spices. Very common fare around here, a staple of this region’s diet.” Del offered Spike the last of her bread, which he took gratefully. He couldn’t remember being this hungry when he was last human.

Del set the empty dishes on the floor outside the room, and then returned to the bed. “We’d better get some sleep, tomorrow’s a long day.” Spike nodded, exiting to go relieve himself. When he returned, he found Del already curled under the covers, sleeping soundly. He locked the door, then did the same, surprised at how fast he fell asleep considering the long nap he’d taken earlier.