When they emerged from the cottage, the wraiths were nowhere to be seen. Dylan looked around her, eyes wide and frightened, and then sighed with relief. There was still the valley to travel through, though, she thought.

It was a gloomy morning. The sun was shining brightly, but its rays were unable to break through the thick, swirling mist that coated the landscape. Tristan took a long, measured look around and then glanced back at Dylan, smiling sympathetically.

"You're nervous." It wasn't a question.

He nodded. He walked over to her and grasped both of her hands in his. "Look at me," he commanded. "You don't have to be afraid. I will protect you. I promise." He bent his legs a little so that he could look into her eyes. She tried to hold his gaze, and felt a glow tingle into her cheeks.

Dylan gazed at the mist and comprehension dawned. "I made this?"

"You're cute when you blush," he said, laughing as his words caused the blush to go into overdrive. "Come on," he said, letting go of one hand as he turned, but keeping hold of the other and gently tugging her forward.

As Dylan stumbled after him, she was dimly aware of the mist thinning as the sun's rays finally began to fight their way through. She thought she understood why, and so her blush was slow to fade. Two minutes later she had convinced herself that his words were nothing more than a strategy -- to lighten her mood and evaporate the mist, lessening the risk from the demons. Still, his hand remained tightly folded around hers as he led her on.

"See those two hills over there?" Dylan nodded. "The valley we have to pass through lies between them."

"That's a long way," Dylan said dubiously. It was already mid-morning, and the hills looked fairly far away. Surely it would already be dusk before they reached them? She certainly didn't want to be caught down there in the dark.

At the top of the first hill, Tristan paused and surveyed the landscape. He fixed his gaze on something to the left and pointed towards it.

"Optical illusion, it's much closer than it looks. We'll be there in about an hour. We should be fine as long as your good mood holds out." He smiled down at her and squeezed her hand. Dylan felt as if the sun shone a little brighter. How humiliating, to have your emotions made so obvious, she thought.

From here, the two hills guarding the valley appeared to tower above her. Tristan had been right, they seemed much closer now. All that stood between them and the hills was a flat expanse of marshland. Large puddles shimmered at intervals, and reed-beds grew in sporadic clusters. Dylan internally cursed, imagining the cold mucky water that would soon be seeping into her socks. She glanced at Tristan.

A narrow path wound its way down the side of the hill, wide enough for only one of them to negotiate at a time. Tristan led the way, finally letting go of her hand as he picked his way over small stones and clumps of weeds. Dylan walked slowly and cautiously behind him, leaning back slightly to compensate for the slope and taking tiny, shuffling steps as she sought out safe footholds. She held her hands out away from her sides, both to help keep her balance and to save her if she fell.

It took them about half an hour to make their way to the bottom of the hill, and Dylan sighed with relief when the ground evened out beneath her feet and she was able to stretch her legs and take longer, bounding steps.

"Maybe we should just take a little rest here?" she suggested, hoping to postpone trudging into the muck.

He gave her a withering look and she sighed. Plunging her hands into her pockets, she rocked back on her heels, reluctant to take the first steps forward.

"That's a great idea." He frowned at her, unimpressed. "We can just wait here till mid-afternoon and then hit the valley at nightfall. Live dangerously, why not?"

The marsh was not more than a couple of miles across, but carving a path through the large puddles and reeds, and slogging through the mud, that at times sucked her down below her ankles, was hard work and they made slow progress. Tristan seemed to have much less trouble with the mud than Dylan did. His feet were able to find the firm ground more easily, and even when she trod in the same spot as him, she was sure that she sank deeper. It stank as well. It wasn't like anything she'd ever smelled before. It was a putrid and wafted up with each step.

"Okay, it was just a suggestion," Dylan grumbled as she took the first step into the marsh. Her trainer squelched ominously. She winced, but her foot stayed warm and dry. Not for long, she thought to herself as she continued to trudge along.

"I don't suppose a piggyback is part of your guide duties?" she asked hopefully.

"Tristan!" she yelled, even though he was just a few metres from her.

About halfway across, they hit a patch that was boggier than the rest. Dylan's foot sank down almost to her knee in the sludge and when she tried to jerk herself free, nothing happened. She rocked backwards and then threw her weight forwards. Still nothing. She tried twice more and then, panting, was forced to admit defeat.

She raised both arms in a gesture of hopelessness. "Stuck."

"Don't be funny, get me out!" She put her hands on her hips, a cross look on her face. He grinned and shook his head. Dylan decided to try a different tack. She dropped her arms, hung her head and looked up at him from underneath her lashes, pouting.

He turned and looked at her. "What?"

A wicked look came across his face. "And what do you want me to do about it?"

He laughed louder, but began to slosh his way over to her. "You're pathetic," he joked. He grabbed hold of both of her arms, locked his knees and braced his body, then leaned back and heaved. Dylan heard a sucking, squelching sound but her feet remained firmly stuck.

"Please?" she whimpered.

"I stepped," she snapped, slightly peeved at his mocking attitude.

Tristan dropped his grip on her arms and took a step forward. He wound his arms around her waist, hugging her tightly, their full bodies touching. Dylan froze a little at the close contact, her pulse racing. She hoped he couldn't hear it. Squeezing her hard, he pulled backwards. Dylan felt the mud start to loosen its grip on her legs. With a disgusting, plopping sound, the bog finally released her. Without the marsh to hold her, Tristan's pulling launched her forward. She let out a sound that was a cross between a yelp and a cackle as he staggered backwards, trying to keep his balance. Splodges of muddy water splashed up and spattered their faces and hair.

"Bloody hell," he panted. "How did you do this?"

Tristan's arms tightened around her as he tried to stop the two of them from falling into the marsh. Taking a couple of awkward steps backwards, he finally managed to steady them. Looking down, he saw Dylan's mud-freckled face staring up at him and he was caught for a second in the dazzling green of her eyes as she laughed.

The next instant, he had released her. He stepped away and looked off towards the hills. Dylan stared at him, confused. What had that been? She had thought he'd wanted to kiss her, but now he didn't even seem to want to look at her. It was very puzzling, and not a little embarrassing. Had she just made a fool of herself? She wasn't even sure. She stared at the only safe place: the ground.

"We should get going," he said, his voice oddly rough.

Tristan waded ahead through the bog, trying to put a little distance between them to give him time to think. He was perplexed. For decades, maybe even centuries -- it was hard to accurately count the passage of time in the wasteland -- he had protected and guided souls as they made their journey. In the beginning he had taken the role to heart in a way that had proved impossible to sustain. He had cared for each one, listened to their stories and tried to comfort them over the loss of their lives and futures and, of course, the pain of leaving those they loved behind. Each soul that waved goodbye at the end of the journey had taken a small piece of him with them, torn off a tiny piece of his heart. After a while, he had hardened. He no longer reached out to them, and so they could not get inside him. In the past few years, guiding souls had been little more than a chore. He had spoken as little as possible, and attempted to hide the truth for as long as possible. He had been a cold machine. A sat nav for the dead.

"Right," Dylan mumbled, still slightly dazed. He turned and splodged on, and she traipsed after him.

Held tight in Tristan's embrace, Dylan swayed, not yet sure of her feet and still a little giddy. She grinned up at him, momentarily losing her shyness. He was staring right back at her. The moment deepened and the laughter died in Dylan's throat. Suddenly it was hard to breathe. She drew in shallow gasps and her lips parted slightly.

But there was something more than that. He couldn't define the feeling. Holding her in his arms had caused something inside him to stir. Odd feelings, feelings that had him thinking about her instead of watching the sun lowering dangerously in the sky. He felt almost… human. That couldn't be right, but Tristan had no other word for it. Human.

This girl had somehow managed to cause his old self to resurface. She had uncovered the truth at an astonishingly early stage, and had accepted it with more maturity than many who had spent a full life on Earth. She treated him like a person. Here in the wasteland that was a rare thing. Souls were too wrapped up in their own demise to even entertain the thought that their guide was someone. She was a soul worth protecting. A soul worth caring about. A soul that he wanted to give a piece of himself to.

But he wasn't. He shook himself awake with a jolt. Feelings like this were dangerous; they could cause him to lose his focus. They put Dylan at risk; they needed to be smothered.

Dylan heard the repressed panic in his voice and felt a tight knot it the pit of her stomach. She knew her fear would not help the matter -- in fact, it had the capability to make the situation far worse, but she couldn't smother the emotion.

"Tristan." Dylan's voice broke through his reverie. "Tristan, it's getting dark. Maybe we should wait and go through the valley tomorrow?"

He shook his head and kept on walking. "Can't," he replied. "There's no safe house this side of the valley. We've got to make it through tonight. We'll just have to go as fast as we can."

Ten minutes more of trudging and the ground started to firm up beneath their feet. The grass held her weight when she stepped on it. She tried to scrape off some of the mud that now coated her trainers and jeans by trailing her feet and rubbing them against the tough stems. She didn't dare stop to do the job properly; she could feel Tristan's impatience to move faster. At last the puddles became less frequent and Dylan was astounded to see, when she looked up, that they were in the shadow of the two hills. Before her was the valley Tristan seemed so concerned about.

It looked unremarkable. A fairly wide path wound through it, and the sides sloped gently upward. Dylan had expected a narrow crevice, claustrophobic and tight. She felt relieved, but a glance at Tristan's tense posture had her stomach somersaulting again. She reminded herself that he was a much better judge of where the danger lay. Grimacing, she tried to shuffle faster, closing the distance between them.

"Almost there," he muttered, so low that Dylan wondered if she'd even been meant to hear it.

Dylan was anxious to begin, wanting to dash through as quickly as possible, but Tristan paused on the threshold to the valley. He seemed to be bracing himself. Dylan eyed him surreptitiously. Was he thinking about the other souls he'd taken through this place, some that he'd lost? How many had walked this path with Tristan and not made it to the other side? Feeling nervous, Dylan stretched out her fingers and curled them around his left hand. She smiled timidly up at him and squeezed. He returned the smile tightly and then gazed back down the valley, looking almost defiant.