Standing in the shadows, she was pale and thin, and her dress shown in the places where the moonlight touched it. Within his dark face, only the whites of his eyes could be seen peering from behind her, just above her head. He whispered low in her ear, and her eyes grew wide with fear. In the distance she could hear them coming, their footsteps like rain and their weapons like the wind.
"Are we safe here, Mark?"
"We are as safe here as we would be anywhere, but we must be away from the windows, they will be here soon, and we must be far from their sight."
Mark stepped from the shadows, his size making Miriam but a doll beside him as he clasped her hand and led her to the basement door. He pulled the door to behind them as the sounds of rain reached the house and the wind began moaning through the windows. Miriam looked at him as though about to speak, but he placed a finger to her lips and carried her down unseen steps on silent feet.
The wind whistled at the basement door, as rain fell on the floor above them, leaving tiny rivulets to run beneath the door and bringing small gusts through the frame. Miriam slowed her breathing as Mark had taught her, both to guard against detection and to distract her from the fearful screams she wished to cry. A few minutes more, and the floors were dry, the wind was silent and the threat had past. Then Miriam looked to speak, but still Mark silenced her. A drip began to sound somewhere above them and a tiny whisper fluttered through the shadows, but the rains did not return and at last the drip was gone and the little wind had become silent.
Still Mark did not move and Miriam kept silent until the footsteps they heard above were those of mortal men and daylight peered around the basement door. And when those footsteps had also past through the house and the sun shone but dimly around the door, Mark lifted Miriam to her feet and they returned to the upper floors to scavenge what food remained and to watch the evening sky for the next day's movements.