Summary: They had no idea where the woman had come from, or how to speak to her. But she didn't always seem happy. Sparky, post-Lifeline.
Rating: K
Spoilers: Mostly just Lifeline, but pretty much all you need to know is how Elizabeth was lost.
Disclaimer: I own nothing and profit nothing by this story. Dang it.

They had no idea what had happened.

The village was a quiet, prosperous, mainly agricultural community, its people steady and sensible and down-to-earth. Then one day a young girl came running for the doctor. She led him and his wife past the frozen, snow-dusted fields out into the forest, where they discovered what had frightened the child. A white-faced woman lay unconscious on the ground, naked, eyelashes almost frozen shut. She was more dead than alive. Snow dusted her dark hair and covered her thin body, which was covered in long, shallow scratches, blood dried black around them. Her breathing was slow but even, and her heartbeat felt faint but steady. No one had the first guess who she was or how she had gotten there.

The doctor and his wife took the woman into their home and tried to care for her. Once cleaned up and covered with a blanket, she rested near the fire, a little less deathly white. The townspeople wondered among themselves - who was she? - but no one had any answers.

She woke up a few days later. The doctor's wife, a skilled nurse herself and mother of nine, had managed to give her a little water and thin broth. Her eyes finally opened one night as several of the children banked the fire. The doctor came in and asked how she was feeling.

Hueirehmai? Huaariu?

She couldn't speak properly. Strange, guttural noises came from her cracked lips, though the fear and confusion in her green eyes was evident. The doctor exchanged a long look with his wife and tried again, a little more slowly. He slowly pronounced his name, his voice gentle. She was safe now, he promised. Did she know what had happened to her?

Aimsahree'aidoounduhndrrsdend. Hueirehmai?

She didn't seem quite as afraid, but still spoke that unintelligible gibberish. The doctor gave up for now, and let his wife help the woman to eat a little more. Perhaps it had been a head injury, addled her mind. He had never heard sounds like that before. It was odd - air puffed out of her mouth in some sounds, leaking in a small, odd sort of explosion that produced an almost harsh, rhythmic cadence, while some vowels were long and others were clipped short. If this was some real system of language, she was certainly from somewhere more distant then they knew.

After a few weeks, the woman had gained remarkable strength. The doctor was pleased and surprised at how quickly she had recovered. The scratches had healed without serious infection, save one on her cheek that would probably never disappear completely. Her eyes were brighter, her face had more color, and her voice had grown clearer.

But they still knew nothing about her. Nobody in the village, or any of their neighboring communities, recognized her. And no one could understand anything she said. They didn't even recognize the sounds, and she listened in vain to their smooth, melodic speech without the faintest comprehension. Their only method of communicating with her was through hand signals. They had learned what they were reasonably certain was her name, but it was a long, complicated, multi-syllabic phrase, with one of the strange exploding sounds that none of them were comfortable attempting, so they morphed it into Helissimas, which sounded fairly close, and she seemed to accept it. The children took to calling her Issim , and the adults chuckled at the irony. Helissimas was just the closest they could get to the sound of her real name, but iss was an old word for a snowy night, so issim meant literally "girl from the snow."

She still lived with the doctor's family as spring began to appear and the days grew warmer and brighter. The oldest girls helped take care of her, though she was beginning to show signs of independence. There was some question of what to do with her - after all, she must have come from somewhere; she might have a family or friends who were looking for her - but for the time being, the villagers decided to just help her recover and try to understand who she was.

Helissimas was a smart woman, they realized. It wasn't long before she was picking up fragments of words, and began to try to speak to them. The doctor and his family encouraged her, spending endless time teaching her words and phrases to try and help her along. She learned quickly, listening intently to conversations, desperate to find a way to speak to them beyond hand signals.

It became apparent that she wanted to do something other than sit around and stare at the fire. But for such an intelligent woman, her abilities were surprisingly limited. She could cook only a very little, her sewing skills were basic, and her hands were ridiculously soft and smooth. Though she tried willingly to help with laundry, a single day left her hands raw and bleeding so badly the doctor told his wife to find something else for Issim to do.

Her most useful ability, it seemed, was watching children. Five of the doctor's children were still too small to help much watching the animals, and the doctor's wife discovered that Issim, though she could barely speak more than a few words to them, had a natural gift for caring for the little ones. It was such a relief; this made housework easier, and the doctor's wife happily let Issim help keep the youngest children out of trouble.

Issim's ability to speak soon grew from single words into short phrases. Spending time with the children helped her. But she still couldn't explain herself or her past. She tried once, but soon seemed overwhelmed by the ideas she had no words to describe, and had to abandon the attempt.

She had grown much healthier in the months since she had appeared. Her face had gained a healthy glow, she had put on a little weight (though the doctor insisted she was still much too thin) and she seemed more content. But though she loved caring for the children and helped as much as she was able, she still seemed restless at times, and occasionally in the evenings she would sneak out and look sadly at the stars. The family never bothered her; the doctor's wife only shook her head and shooed the children away from the window. Don't bother Issim, she chided them. I think she has lost someone. She may have a family of her own somewhere. Maybe there's someone she wants to find.

Even her sewing skills had improved. The doctor's wife smiled encouragingly at Issim's handiwork on a re-hemmed skirt. "This is very good."

Issim smiled back. She didn't smile often. "I - thank. You being - much kind."

As the harvest season came in earnest and many of the men worked long days in the fields, Issim began to look after more than the doctor's children. On laundry days the women and older children were busy from dawn till dusk, and Issim ended up herding a small crowd of little ones. Her speech was steadily improving, but even with her limited vocabulary, the children instinctively obeyed her. She radiated authority that they never questioned. It was odd; she had a definitely motherly, protective air, but the doctor was fairly sure from first examining her that she had never given birth. His wife shrugged. Maybe she was unable to have children. Was she married? They still weren't sure.

With the harvest coming to a close - it was a good year - the air became cold, and soon the first snow fell. The doctor and his wife began to talk about what to do with Issim. She was healthy, strong, pretty, and could function almost independently. Even with her hesitance at language, maybe they should start thinking of finding her a husband. There was a widower with a good farm nearby who had hinted that he was interested. But when the doctor's wife asked Issim, the woman shook her head. "Please, no. I want no husband now."

They let her be. She still hadn't been able to explain her previous life to them, but the doctor's wife still thought that maybe Issim had a life to go back to, and wasn't ready to give it up yet. She just wished they knew how to help her.

The winter was unusually snowy this year. Drifts as high as the fences piled up against the houses, drowning the fields in a sparkling landscape of white. The doctor's family spent the long winter evenings close to the fire. Their youngest daughter had shown some knack for making the same noises Issim had first made, and Issim spent long hours teaching the little girl, in the hope that maybe this would make it easier to communicate.

With spring came planting. As the snow melted and the grass began to appear, the air growing warmer, Issim continued to practice the tricky art of spinning. She was slow but a steady learner, and her finished products had gotten progressively smoother and finer through the months. Her hands had long since become tougher and callused, so the yarn no longer cut into them. She had even gotten to be a respectable cook, and the doctor's wife praised her stew highly.

The summer had been surprisingly rainy. The farmers were pleased, predicting a wonderful yield and slogging long days in the rich mud. As mornings grew chillier and harvest season approached again, Issim had become a full-fledged villager, helping with housework along with the doctor's wife and the other women.

Then one sunny afternoon, as the doctor chatted outside his neighbor's house, he saw a group of people approaching the village on foot. They were unfamiliar, dressed in some odd combination of black and dull green, carrying shiny black objects.

Quickly calling over all the neighbors nearby, the doctor led them out to meet the strangers. They stopped just outside the village, the fields green and rich and thriving in the warm sunlight. Delicate wildflowers lined the paths.

The doctor glanced around at his neighbors, but stepped forward resolutely. "Hello."

The man in front, his eyes bright and perceptive, looked around and spoke to them.

Hai 'aimkurrnuhl 'djauhnsha'purd -

The doctor looked at his wife, whose sudden smile confirmed what he had thought - he didn't understand what the man was saying, but he recognized the harsh, guttural sounds. Encouraged, he stepped towards the man. "Do you know a dark-haired woman?"

He listened blankly, clearly not understanding. The doctor thought for a moment - what had she called herself when they first asked her name so long before? Something difficult to say, he didn't even remember it now. He settled for her name now. "Helissimas? Helissimas?"

The strangers still didn't understand. The doctor pointed to his wife, then at his neighbor's wife, at his daughters, but this didn't seem to help. He placed a hand on his own chest, pronouncing his own name, then at his son, pronouncing his name, and his wife, saying hers.

The stranger put his hand on his own chest. 'djauhnsha'purd.

So he understood. The doctor nodded encouragingly. "Helissimas?" he repeated, holding a hand beside his own chin to indicate her height, then pointing to his own hair and gesturing down to show how long hers was, then at his own eyes and at the grass to say that they were green, and finally cupping his hands over his chest to mimic a woman's breasts.

How to explain further? The strangers understood that he was asking a question, but stared at each other blankly, repeating - "Helissimas? Helissimas?" - and murmuring in confusion.

Then the man in front looked back at him, eyes lit up with cautious curiosity.

'uhlizuhb'uth?

The doctor smiled, nodding. That was what she had called herself. He did his best to repeat the difficult glottal name, adding the last part she had always included "- 'uhlissuhmuthuiirr?"

The dark-haired man looked back at his companions, eyes wide. He and his companions followed the crowd as the doctor led everyone towards his own home.

"Issim? Would you come out here please?"

"I come," she called from the house. The doctor's wife glanced back at the strangers' leader. At the sound of Issim's voice, he took in a long breath, mouth open in disbelief, his brow furrowed. His companions behind him started to murmur excitedly.

Maybe this man was the reason Issim always looked up at the stars.

She appeared in the doorway, frowning in confusion at the large crowd in the middle of the village in the middle of a workday, so close to the harvest season. "What?" she asked curiously, the little children clustering around her as she wiped her hands on her skirt. Her curly hair was tied back, and a few burn spots discolored the edge of her sleeves from the cooking fire.

"Issim, do you know these people?"

The crowd of villagers drew back and Issim saw the strangers. Her face went ashen, her hands suddenly motionless. She let out a long, shuddering breath as her gaze fixed on the dark-haired leader, white to the lips, her green eyes wide.

'uhlizuhb'uth?

'djauhn?

The doctor's wife started to smile as the two of them stared at each other, oblivious to the crowd around them and the rest of the smiling strangers, and then the man stepped forward and Issim all but fell into his arms. As if a dam had burst, the entire group of strangers converged upon them and wrapped her in one huge, multi-armed hug as they cheered and cried out in joy. The doctor glanced at his wife, who smiled back at him, pointing at Issim. It was the most they had ever seen her smile.

Gradually the crowd cleared, giving a little room, but Issim still stood held tightly in the arms of the dark-haired man, tears streaming down her face as he gently ran a hand down her back. She had not cried in almost two years.

It was immediately determined that there would be a feast that evening. The villagers had grown to love Issim as one of their own, and seeing her so happy and reunited with her family called for celebration. The children took to the strangers at once, particularly the doctor's youngest daughter, who had become remarkably adept at Issim's language and surprised the dark-haired man, 'Djauhn, by tugging on his sleeve and introducing herself. Hellohmainehmisssenna.

Dinner was a masterful display of the cooking prowess of every woman in the village and the bounty of the fields. It tasted wonderful. The strangers were eager and willing to talk, with Issim and the little girl interpreting as best they could. Most of the villagers settled for smiles, laughter and hand gestures. Food was a universal language anyway. After dinner had been served, a half-dozen villagers pulled out a few drums, a flute and two stringed instruments and struck up a lively type of jig, and dancers sprung up around the bonfire. Issim, who had only occasionally danced at the weddings in the past year, pulled 'Djauhn up with her and convinced him to try, though he stumbled badly over his own feet. Finally they sat, breathless from laughing, as the sun went down and the music continued.

The doctor's wife smiled and patted her neighbor's shoulder, pointing to the spot near the bonfire where Issim sat beside 'Djauhn. He had an arm around her; he had been reluctant to give up physical connection with her all evening. Of course, it made sense. They had been apart for almost two years.

"I think that's the reason she never wanted to marry the widower."

The neighbor woman laughed. "Can you blame her?"

Suddenly a great cheer and whistling went up from the strangers as they turned to discover Issim and 'Djauhn kissing. The villagers cheered too, tossing handfuls of grass at them - a traditional symbol for fertility - and as the two of them broke apart, they were smiling. Her face was scarlet, and he was grinning widely as he pulled her closer and she hid her face in his shoulder.

The feasting and dancing lasted long into the night. The villagers generously opened several homes to the strangers, who were all too happy to sleep on thin mattresses with extra blankets. As usual, Issim slept in the room with the doctor's six youngest children, the youngest girl curled up beside her. But now on a mattress beside her slept 'Djauhn. The doctor's wife asked her husband not to separate the two, so the man was given a makeshift bed. When the doctor's wife came to wake them in the morning, she found Issim with the little girl huddled against her and 'Djauhn's hand twined with hers, their fingers laced together gently.

She left with them a few hours later. Issim had difficulty explaining exactly where they were going - all she could say was "It's far" - but promised to return. The children clung to her, pleading with her to stay with them, but she hugged them all and told them to behave for their parents. The doctor's wife gave her the last hug and a warm smile.

"Take care of yourself, Helissimas. And don't lose him again." She glanced over at 'Djauhn. "I think he suffered as much as you did."

Issim flushed. "Thank you, for everything."

She turned back to rejoin the others, but 'Djauhn took her by surprise and kissed her again, curling an arm around her waist protectively as her hands slid up his arms and the others whistled, throwing more grass at them.

He let her go, and she eyed him playfully, asking something. uahtuuhzddat?

dduhlidduhlgrrl'toldmi'tuu.

She turned to the doctor's youngest daughter, who was giggling. "I told him to, Issim."

Issim laughed, still blushing hotly. "Promise you'll behave?"

"I promise!"

Waving a long goodbye to Issim and 'Djauhn and their companions, the crowd started to scatter, the excitement dying away as they realized that Issim was gone. A slightly somber mood settled over the remaining group.

But the doctor's wife was still smiling. "What?" her husband asked.

She laughed. "I'll wager it'll take less than two months."

Her neighbor nodded. "After two years, he's not going to let her go again."

"I can't imagine what it would be like," the doctor added. "Being cut off from everyone? Not even knowing how to speak?"

His wife smiled. "But she knew he'd never stop looking."