“Are you alright?" The corner of Eirnin’s mouth quirked up with a hint of a smile, probably remembering her reaction when he’d asked her that a moment ago. Story smiled sheepishly back up at him. "I'm fine. I think I just stepped on a rock and cut my foot. If I ever find out who took my shoes, I'll kill them." He lowered himself to one knee and bent over to pick up her injured foot. "I'd be willing to bet it was one of the fey. They're very territorial by nature and often take things that are left lying—” His voice cut off abruptly, and he stiffened before jerking to his feet and backing away from her as if she had a contagious disease. He stopped only when his back hit a tree. Eirnin of the Eáchan clan’s silver eyes—now with hints of bright yellow to them—widened in astonishment, and he stared, transfixed, at the red blood dripping from her foot. "What are you?"