Shamil was at a loss.  With her source of income gone, she was forced to take a profession, but she had no idea as to what she wanted to do.  She finally settled on apprenticing under the master tailor, but as fate would have it, she wasn’t to be there long.
        Normally, an apprenticeship lasts nearly thirty years, but Zook was uncannily apt to the techniques of fighting.  After five short years of living, eating, sleeping, and breathing fighting, Zook decided he had acquired enough training.  He wanted to go out and prove himself conquering giants.  Against the advice of his elders, he packed up his supplies and set out to make his mark on the world.  A tearful farewell to his friends and family and he was gone.
        A year passed and sporadic letters trickled in and found their way to the home burrow of Boddyknock, Caramip, and Shamil.  Then they stopped.  Nearly two years passed and not a single breath of Zook reached the village of Dimble.  As the days and seasons blurred into one another, Zook’s parents began to give him up as lost.
        On the day of the Midsummer Festival, three years after his family lost contact with Zook, a strange gnome arrived in Dimble.  He was ruggedly handsome in Shamil’s eyes.  He appeared to be in his mid-to-late sixties.  Tall for a gnome, 4’3”, he had dark oaken skin and eyes the shade of new spring clover.  His face was creased with old worry lines and his hair, light brown, was streaked with sun-lightened strands and gathered into a leather thong at the nape of his neck.  He sported a closely trimmed goatee and moustache that did nothing to hide his full, and in Shamil’s eyes, entirely kissable lips.  He wore the dusty leather armor of the traveling fighter and was leading a slobbering mastiff on a short length of rope.
        Shamil was outside helping to get together the bonfire for the celebration and as she carried firewood, she kept her eyes glued to the handsome stranger.  She watched as he went to the village well and drew a bucket of water that he poured over his head.  He drew a second bucket and ladled out a dipper to drink, and gave the rest to his dog, the mastiff lapped the water noisily.
        As the strange gnome watered his dog, Shamil decided that she was thirsty and the newcomer was too interesting to ignore.  Brushing the bark dust off her, she strode to the well.  The stranger picked up the now-empty bucket and sat it back on the edge of the well.  He looked up when he saw a hand reach for the bucket.
        He saw a female gnome in her late forties or early fifties with long brown hair falling in soft waves and sky-blue eyes.  Her skin was very fair—a light tan.  He also noticed she looked very fetching in her yellow dress that sported small shamrocks embroidered in a shimmering green thread along the hem.  She had plaited a section of hair near her left temple, and interwoven in the braid were little yellow flowers that perfectly matched the dress.
        “Hello,” her voice was soft and low-pitched, “I’m Shamil, also known as Vinestitcher.  Who might you be?”
        The stranger was at a loss for words.  He had been seriously wounded many times, but this was the first time that he had ever been stunned by something he didn’t clearly understand.  He cleared his throat and managed to croak out, “Jory.  Ahem…Jory of Clan Thussel.”
        “Well, Jory, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.  What brings you to Dimble?”
        “Loogie,” Jory pointed to the mastiff.
        Shamil giggled.  “Okay, fair enough.  What’s your business here?  Just passing through?”
        “No.  I need to find Boddyknock and Caramip of Clan Turen.  Do you know where they live?”
        “I should hope so.  They’re my folks.  Why do you need to find them?  I wasn’t aware they were lost.”
        A grin tried to force its way onto Jory’s face.  “Good one, but I need to talk to them—and you too, as you must be Shamie the Ghostpicker.  It’s about Zook.”
Shamil felt a sharp pain as her throat tried to close around a quickly drawn in breath.
         “Zook?”
        “Yes.”
        Shamil dropped the bucket into the well with a mute splash and quickly began walking home, motioning over her shoulder for Jory to follow.  Zook?  Shamil mused.  What happened to Zook?  Why didn’t he come back?  Is he dead?  Shamil fought back tears at that last thought.  He can’t be.  He promised he’d come back.  Besides, I’d know if he were…  Shamil shook her head to dispel the thoughts.
        Jory followed a few steps behind Shamil, leading Loogie.  He was tired.  He’d been on the road for years, but the last few weeks, he’d traveled constantly, hardly stopping to sleep.  Although he was road-weary, he didn’t mind the sudden change of scenery.  Watching mountains change to plains and back again was nothing to the tantalizing swaying of feminine beauty in front of him now.  He could forgive Zook for sending him on this particular errand.  Too bad Zook only described you as his baby sister.  I’d have come sooner and traveled twice as far if I knew you were this pretty.
        When they reached Shamil’s home, she opened the door and turned to Jory.  “You can tie the dog around back.  That’s where the hitching post is.  Then come on in.  I’ll see if Mom and Dad are here.”
        Shamil found her mother in the process of preparing a light lunch.  “Hello honey.  The bonfire all set to be lit?”
        “Not quite.  I ran into someone.  He’s brought word from Zook.”
        Caramip turned pale and sat down, just as the door to the kitchen opened and Boddyknock and Jory entered.  They all took seats at the table.  Jory began, “I’m Jory of Clan Thussel.  I’m a close friend of Zook’s.  He asked that I come and find you—”
        “Why didn’t he come himself?”  Boddyknock interrupted.
        “He couldn’t.  He asked that I come and find you if anything ever happened to him.  We were—”
        “What happened?  Is he…?”  Caramip asked her voice wavering.
        “Dead?  No.  At least, I don’t think so.  We were up north, contracted by this noble to take care of a giant that had become a problem in the area.  We tracked it for nearly a month when it happened.  One night, we were sleeping, when this crashing sound woke us up.  I had barely enough time to reach for my sword before the giant snatched at Zook.  He tried to get away, but his feet were all tangled-up in his bedroll.
        “The giant carried Zook into the forest and I followed.  I pursued them for several minutes through the trees.  All of a sudden, they just disappeared.  I don’t know what happened to them.  One second they were right there in front of me, and the next, they were gone.  I searched for tracks until well after sunrise, but never found any.”  Jory took a deep breath.  “That afternoon, I decided to come here and let you know.  This was near mid-spring.  I’m sorry it isn’t better news, but it’s all I know.”
        Silence followed in the wake of Jory’s tale.

        Jory stayed with Shamil and her family for several months, telling of his and Zook’s adventures in giant slaying, of his childhood—being raised by a half-elf, and with Shamil in particular, his wonderful sense of humor surfaced.  Shamil knew what Jory was doing.  It was sweet, actually, the lengths he went to get her to smile.  After awhile, however, Jory began to feel the need to go find Zook.  He felt partly responsible for what had happened.  He had to find Zook—until he did, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.
        Jory woke up one morning, not long before midwinter, and stared into the mirror behind the door of the room that Shamil’s parents graciously allowed him use of.  He didn’t like what he saw.  The strain of continually blaming himself for Zook’s disappearance coupled with his growing affection for Shamil was tearing him in two.  He felt he could be perfectly happy living here in Dimble with Shamil for the rest of his life—if it weren’t for Zook.  He felt the obligation of friendship at odds with his personal life.  He knew he wouldn’t be able to live like this much longer, so he made a decision to leave that night, after everyone went to bed.
        He decided against saying anything to anyone ahead of time, but spent the day with close friends, bidding them a mental farewell.  Milo and Cade suspected what he was up to, as they were probably closer to Jory than anyone else, save Shamil, and she was clueless, but they kept their thoughts between themselves.
        That night, after the evening meal, Jory retired to his room and wrote two letters: one for Caramip and Boddyknock, the other for Shamil.  The first just said how much he appreciated their hospitality, but how he needed to at least try to find Zook.
The morning after Jory left, Shamil woke up to a piece of parchment on her bedside table.  She unfolded it and saw Jory’s impeccable, precise handwriting.  Tears silently slipped down her cheeks as she read the note.

Dearest Shamil,

        I’m sorry that I have to leave you this way.  I have to find Zook.  I know he’s your brother, but he’s my friend.  I feel responsible for his disappearance.  I have to find him.  After I do, after I know, I’ll return.
        From the first moment I saw you, you held me captive.  My heart  is yours, do with it what you will.  When I return, I want for us to make a home together.  I want to spend my life with you.  Sweet, kind, funny…you’re everything I didn’t know I was looking for.  Please, I know this is a rotten way to ask, but will you marry me?  I guess I’m asking this way so that if you answer “No,” I don’t have to live with a broken heart until I return.  I will return.  I promise.  If I have to buy every god in heaven in order to do so, I will.  I swear by my soul, I will return.
 
        Always and forever,
                              Jory

        That Jory!  She thought.  He didn’t even ask me if I wanted to go with him.  I would have.  It’s not like I don’t have skills to offer.  How dare he leave me here!  Shamil’s thoughts rambled on for a while.  Before long, they turned from “Why didn’t he take me with him?” to “I wonder if I could catch up with him.”  Shamil hurriedly made up her mind to try her damnedest to catch up to and go with Jory.  Thoughts of what would happen if he turned her away tried to crowd in on her mind, but she pushed them away.
Running out to the kitchen area, backpack in hand, she nearly decapitated her mother when she whipped open a cupboard and began stuffing dried roots and wrinkled fruits into the bag.  Her mother raised her eyebrows in a combination of amusement and confusion.  “What under Garl do you think you’re doing?”
        Shamil jumped when she heard her mother’s voice and dropped a small loaf of honey-bread.  She whirled around and saw Caramip standing in her house-robe, hair still disheveled from sleep.  “Mom!  He left without me!  I’m going to try to catch up with him.  Please, don’t try to keep me here.  I’m going to catch up with him if it’s the last thing I do!”  Shamil knew she was teetering on the verge of hysterics, she also knew she didn’t care.
        Without knowing quite how it happened, Shamil found herself hugged tight to her mother, sobs muffled by mother-love.  “Shh.  Shamil, honey, it’s okay.  You go catch him, then both of you bring Zook home.”  Caramip stroked her daughter’s hair.
        With her parent’s help, Shamil was able to get properly packed by noon.  When packing the few personal items she was going to take with her, she happened across the strange silvery object that she and Zook ‘ghostpicked” those many years ago.  She still didn’t know what it was, but she brought it along—she might find some use for it yet.
        Cold sunlight cast skeletal shadows on the snow at their feet.  Shamil stood near her mother, each of them making their farewells, when Boddyknock came out of their burrow.  He was carrying a loosely wrapped package.  “Shamil…I was looking through an old trunk of mine, when I found this.  An old friend gave it to me.  I want you to use it.  But, please, bring it back in one piece.”
        Shamil opened the package carefully.  She caught her breath at a suit of well-cared for, beautiful studded leather armor.  “I will, Daddy.”  She knew that he had told her to be careful without coming right out and saying it—a master of subtlety was her father.
Her mother slipped another, much smaller package into her hands as they embraced for one more hug.  Shamil opened the leather case.  “A compass?”
        “Don’t get lost.  Don’t trust everyone.  And for Garl’s sake, don’t go around thieving.  It’s one thing for you to do that sort of thing here, where we know you don’t mean anything by it, but you never know how someone would take that sort of thing outside of the village.”
        The family made their final goodbyes and Shamil headed north.  That was the only clue that she had.  If Jory and Zook were in the north when Zook vanished, then, if Jory was going to try to track down Zook, he’d have gone north.  At first, after she got out of the area of the village, it was easy to follow Jory’s trail, as the snow showed the path he took quite clearly.  The further north she went, though, the thinner the snow became, until it at length disappeared entirely and she was left with frozen solid soil to follow.
        After a full day’s travel, and most of a night, Shamil saw a thin line of smoke rising from the near horizon.  She quickened her pace, even though she was exhausted.  The sky was tinted with pinks and golds from the newly risen sun—the light lending color to the drab landscape.  When she neared the campsite, she realized that the inhabitant might not be Jory.  About 100 yards from the edge of the campsite, Shamil used the hiding techniques she had developed while ‘ghostpicking.’  Slowly and cautiously, she made her way to the camp.
        She saw a small tent, which was a good sign.  It was the right size for either a halfling or gnome.  There was a pot of water steaming over a fire pit, the makings for tea nearby.  When she was close enough, she could see a very familiar mastiff staked on the other side of the tent.  She had found Jory!
        Shamil didn’t see anyone around the campsite.  She heard whistling a little ways to the east.  She saw Jory making his way through the tall grass with a cunningly fashioned collapsible bucket filled with water.  When he looked up, he saw Shamil, and subsequently dropped the bucket, water splashing him halfway up his front.
        “Shamil?  What are you… How did you…”  Half-formed questions tripped over each other as Jory stood in confusion.
        Shamil just shook her head.  “It doesn’t matter.  What happened to your face?”  She pointed to a long, thin, fresh wound that angled down from the middle of his forehead to the left corner of his jaw.
        “It’s nothing.  I was getting water from the river last night and Loogie came up behind me and pushed me in.  I scraped off a bunch of rocks.  That’s why he’s tied up, I usually let him run loose when I’m traveling.”
        Shamil picked up the bucket Jory had dropped.  “I’ll refill this.  Where’s the river?”
        “That way.” Jory pointed.
        Shamil filled the bucket and then proceeded to prepare some tea for the two of them.  I should have known she’d want to come.  She and Zook were close.  Not to mention I think she followed me because maybe she really wants to be around me.  And what else was she going to do?  It’s not like she’s got anything going for her in Dimble.