"Very nice to meet you, very nice indeed. And you've been with our Merrin, then?" The soup finally journeyed to their end of the table and Master Tanner made a grab for it as T'mor did. There was a brief contest of wills, and his father emerged victorious with two rolls, a bowl of soup, and a baked potato. T'mor captured the tureen directly afterward, ladling his own bowl near to overflowing, and -

"Why, T'mor, how polite t'serve your sister first." Master Tanner neatly commandeered the bowl, and Merrin received a large helping of soup in return for her own empty vessel. T'mor raised resigned eyes heavenward and began again.

Grinning, Merrin snatched the top two rolls off the rapidly dwindling pile and dug in. "Yes," she said between bites. "Kendath and I - and Garthag, and Adeila - have been...traveling together." She tried to mask her own hesitation.

"Have you now? And where'd you be going? Is this dragon of yours along?"

Too close for comfort to the telling of all that had happened in the last month, Merrin stared down at her plate before replying. "All...all over," she said, and then, "no. Wyvern...couldn't be here."

"Tsk, that's a shame, 'tis all the twins talk about - Merrin and her dragon." Master Tanner scooped up his rapidly disappearing soup with the remains of a roll. "Y'haven't been at Vryngard, I hope."

Looking up sharply, Merrin realized that the news had traveled even this far. "No," she said quietly. "No, not at Vryngard."

Her father reached over to pat her hand. "As long as you're safe, lass. And you'll tell us all of where you've been, then?" He winked. "Educate us country folk?"

Merrin tried to smile. "Aye - later, after dinner, when Jayen's here."

"Good, good. You a dragonrider too, then?" Master Tanner leaned around T'mor to inquire this of Kendath. "We're much obliged t'all of you - keepin' the villages safe."


At the other end of the table, Mistress Tanner managed to scold her offspring into remembering their manners. "Bunch of rapscallions," she reprimanded, fixing Liand with a stern look, and then turning to Adeila with a cursory glance at Garthag beyond. "I do apologize for their manners. We haven't had company in so long."

_________________

The soup scalded his tongue, but the roll was soft and delightfully warm, Kendath realized upon devouring it in three bites. T'mor had finished his as well, and Adasin was doing something strange with his - piling them into what could have been a snowman - and Kendath was just beginning to relax into the rhythm of the meal when -

Vryngard. The name speared through the clatter of spoons and the thumps of bowls against wood. Kendath swung his gaze up to stare first at Master Tanner, then at Merrin. The rest of the Tanner family quieted, curious. The bright atmosphere didn't change, but Merrin's face darkened. Vryngard's fall must still gape in her mind like an open wound.

But she dodged the question with commendable skill, and Kendath, relieved, dropped his attention back to his soup. He masked his grimace at Master Tanner's comment - keeping villages safe... hah. In the pause that followed, he ladled his soup and tried not to meet eyes with Merrin. Mistress Tanner's voice cut through the din, making him jump.

_________________

"They are perfectly fine," Adeila insisted, waving a hand dismissively. The level of activity around the crowded table was enough to make anyone's head spin, but it was almost a welcome sensation. The past week - stars, had it only been a week? - had been filled with danger and hardship and grief. It was refreshing to be surrounded by a family as lively as the Tanners, in a town that seemed to still be relatively untouched by the war. Like her home had been before...

Adeila forcefully ended that line of thought before it could go further and turned her attention back to Caire. "This is delicious," she commented, indicating what remained of the meal. "T'mor did not exaggerate. You-" Before she could finish, a sharp yip came from beneath the table, followed by Dragon hastily vacating his spot between Kendath's feet. It took all of two seconds for Adeila to note Svit's absence and correctly surmise the cause of the commotion. As if on cue, the reptile in question darted out from below the table and returned to his spot on the back of Adeila's chair, flicking his tongue in the dog's direction.

"Svit!" Adeila scolded, swatting him half-heartedly. She looked up at the others and evinced a small, apologetic smile. "It would appear that my own little one could stand to learn some manners as well. I apologize - he means well, but sometimes his curiosity gets the best of him. I don't believe I've ever allowed him to meet a dog up close. It will not happen again." She turned to give Svit a pointed look before continuing. "As I was saying, you are very kind to allow us into your home like this. I'm sure you were not anticipating having to entertain this many guests."

The twins craned their necks for a better look at Svit, while their affronted pet sneezed several times, failed to attract any attention, and disappeared through the back entryway.

"Is he a dragon?" Liand wanted to know, giving Merrin a wide-eyed look because Adeila was at the other end of the table and therefore too far away to answer demands.

Merrin grinned. "No. Well, perhaps a very small one."

"Can I pet him?"

"Ask Adeila. After dinner." Merrin found, to her surprise, that her soup was almost gone. Perhaps the days of reluctantly acquiescing to eat large portions of meals had rubbed off - though she had a feeling Adasin had managed to steal her roll at some point, because it took three for a snowman.


Mistress Tanner was waving a dismissive hand. "That dog is a nuisance," she said. "Oh, goodness, don't think of it. These bottomless pits eat enough that I make plenty extra."

She began collecting the nearest bowls, stacking them neatly in one another for washing, and flapped a hand when Merrin began to rise automatically. "No no, sit down. Jayen and T'mor are gone so often that the twins do the dishes. They're very good at it." She smiled tolerantly down the table at the twins' groan.

"Don't tell people that," muttered Adasin, getting up. "Girls are supposed to do the dishes."

_________________

At Adasin's comment, Kendath choked on his last mouthful of potato and hastily gulped it down. Mistress Tanner was collecting the bowls. He handed his over, considered agreeing with Adeila on the delectability of the meal, then caught Mistress Tanner's eye and snapped his mouth shut. How in the abyss did that woman manage such a piercing stare? She made staring piercingly seem effortless. Kendath wished he could do that.

The fire blazed higher in the hearth, and he realized with a start that dusk had come and gone. Rosy shadows slumbered in the corners. Outside, beyond the sill of the half-open window, a crescent moon sailed upon the mountaintops. Night had already fallen. He glanced at the door, but it remained securely closed. Perhaps Merrin's oldest brother wasn't coming home tonight after all.

Kendath stole a glance at Merrin and forced himself to relax. Supper hadn't gone too badly. It could have gone worse. At least the twins hadn't attempted talking to him, and Svit was entertaining himself on Adeila's shoulder. Even Garthag had refrained from acrid comments. The mage wasn't merely silent - he actually seemed to be comfortable. The irony.

_________________

Master Tanner gave a cavernous yawn and pushed his chair back as his children did. The twins were busy over the dishwater, one turning out clean bowls with remarkable speed and the other receiving them to rub vigorously with a dishtowel, both casting inexplicably surreptitious glances at their father all the while. Rhie bounced from her chair over to the broad hearth and T'mor followed with less effervescent buoyancy, collapsing on the hearthrug to affectionately bother his sister.

To the sound of Rhie's giggles and T'mor's jibes, as well as the crackling of the fire, the increasing rattling of dishes from the twins, and their mother's admonitions - "That is not clean, Adasin, do it again. Liand, do not break that plate. Pair of savages..." - Merrin could nearly slip back in time. She rested her chin in her hand, watching T'mor and Rhie on the hearthrug and half-smiling at nothing in particular.

"Well then, come and sit, come and sit down." Her father's rumble jolted Merrin out of a reverie and she rose belatedly, aware that the twins were muttering amongst themselves and clinking even more dishes than they had been. She floated after him, still half-immersed in the recollections, with a smile and a gesture for her companions to follow.

There was plenty of room before the lively fire, whose shadows danced on the walls and dwarfed the candles and lamps. Master Tanner sank into his chair with a grunt of contentment. In response to the unvoiced invitation, Rhie eluded T'mor with one last shriek of giggles and scrambled into her da's lap to chatter animatedly, red curls flaming in the firelight. Merrin could remember doing the same.

Her mother, still occupied with twins and clinking bowls, had not yet come to occupy the rocking chair opposite. T'mor lay sprawled across the hearthrug, head on one hand.

"Make room," said Merrin, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"I'm quite comfortable, thank you."

"I didn't ask if you were comfortable. Ox." Merrin shoved his feet out of the way and forcibly made room for herself in the fireplace's aura of warmth, an elbow in T'mor's ribs creating space for Kendath besides. She stretched out her legs and closed her eyes and reveled in the warmth and the cheerful noises of chatter underpinned with crackles of flame.

"Well then, Merrin, you've yet to tell us of your travels!"

She opened her eyes, feeling a chill shiver down her spine. No, please, not now, begged the part of her whose only desire was to retreat once more into Merrin Tanner. Not in this place. Not here, where it's bright and happy still...not here... Her father couldn't see it. He was grinning at her over the top of Rhie's head. "Come, lass, regale us."

"Not without us!" came Adasin's affronted bellow from the kitchen, as prompt as if he'd been expecting it. Merrin understood his muttering and glances. "Don't let her tell without us!"

Somehow, Merrin managed the weak semblance of a grin in return, up at him from her place on the hearth. When would Jayen be back? She could not tell it all twice. She could not. But they did not see, did not understand that Merrin's adventures were no exploits of a hero. They were a desperate struggle with darkness, a journey into places not fit to enter the thoughts of any in this place of happiness. "Wait for the twins," she said, the effort to shrug proving monumental.

Her da steadily held her eyes, and Merrin realized that she was wrong. Her feeble facade did not veil anything. The moment did not last, but when he gave a nod - "Oh aye, a moment, then" - and returned his attention to Rhie, she stared at the floor. Did he know? He knew of the fall of Vryngard...could he know of the Chosen of the Gods? Why did he insist she speak of everything that had happened?

The answer to that was easy. Because she could not hide it, not from them who were so close to her.

Merrin shifted, twisting the fringe of the hearthrug in her fingers and feeling the blaze of warmth at her back. How badly she wanted the firelight to chase it all away.

T'mor leaned past Kendath to toss a pillow at her head. A hard pillow. "That ended up on my bed, you know," he said. "And it's as like a rock as when you made it."

A dragon, clumsily embroidered in red, still traipsed across the blue of the cushion. Merrin had to smile at her pitiful housewifely skills. She handed it to Kendath with the explanation - "And this is why I am a dragonrider."

_________________

Kendath took one look at the pillow and couldn't tell the difference between it and the dozen other pillows in the house. Well, all right, it was hard on the lap. A bit clumped in places. And he was fairly certain none of the other pillows boasted dragons. Nevertheless it was warm, and it occupied his hands. He decided to keep it.

What did everyone do now? he wondered. Talk? Certainly Rhie was doing enough of that, though he realized with surprise that he didn't mind. The girl's voice didn't shrill as loudly as others'. Something about her reminded him of Merrin, and it took phenomenal effort not cast a glance at the latter. How much could Merrin hide from her family? How much did her family already know? He realized, with a sinking in his stomach, that Merrin couldn't keep the secret forever. She'd never paraded herself around, and already people knew about the Chosen of the Gods. And those who knew...

The flames thrashed in the hearth. Flames could devour Riversmeet in a day. The Meiltha dragonriders were faster. They could track Merrin down within hours.

The secret couldn't be kept forever. Only as long as possible.

"Merrin," he said quietly. He shot a glance at Master Tanner, who had his hands full with Rhie, then at T'mor, who sprawled within earshot. T'mor didn't matter, but Kendath dropped his voice anyway. He held Merrin's gaze. "You can't tell them."

_________________

Merrin raised her head sharply to look at him, jolted out of her own uncomfortable thoughts. "Can't - tell them?" she repeated, remembering nearly too late to keep her voice low. T'mor was quiet enough that she was sure he listened. She searched Kendath's face. "I - I have to."

Yes, she'd dreaded having to tell them of how the world teetered on her shoulders. More than that, dreaded having them know how close she'd come to death, and dreaded voicing the raw desperation of the journey when they expected to hear of adventures. But she must tell them, and she could not lie to them. "They need to know," she added, tearing her eyes from his face. He looked bleakly somber. "I can't hide it."

Casually, enough that he could have been idly joining in the conversation, T'mor sat up. "News travels," he said, voice as low as theirs. Dishes still rattled in the kitchen. Rhie was bouncing, chattering about the pie she'd made with Mama. "Soon enough they'll know - the whole village will - whether or not it's her to tell them."

_________________

Kendath stared at them both in helpless frustration. Like sister, like brother. Fear once more pitted in his stomach. How could he make them see?

"Merrin," he said again, as gently as he could manage. "No one is worth trusting. The people in this village, the people in your family even - anyone could be a Meiltha spy. Your neighbor could smile at you one instant and murder you the next. You can't hide forever, but you can hide as long as possible. Until we leave, at least." He wished Merrin would look at him. "Please."

_________________

He was right. He was right, and she hated it. Merrin hated it with every fibre of her being, that even here she had to hide. The thought of Adeila's village, the thought of all those haunted eyes and all those fatherless children, made her feel sick. More than anything, when she raised her eyes to find Kendath's and see the reality in his face, it was that image that made Merrin hug her knees tighter to her chest and nod silently.

She heard T'mor draw breath to speak, and saw his frown of disagreement, but just then the twins bounced in from the kitchen with wet hands, followed by their mother, and flung themselves down on the warm hearthrug.

"Mama said we can stay up later tonight," announced Liand.

Adasin added, undisguised eagerness in his expression, "So you can tell us about Vryngard and dragons now, right, Merrin?"

Mistress Tanner took her customary place in the rocker and reached for the ever-present knitting to preside over her brood with a matronly smile. "Not for long," she cautioned the twins. "I won't have you awake until ridiculous hours. Even for Merrin." There was a smile for her daughter, and then Caire settled back in her chair. "Go ahead, then, dear. They can't sit still. 'Tis a pity Jayen isn't home, but you can never tell with that boy, of late."

Rhie turned to jam a thumb into her mouth and sit contentedly with her da, and the twins planted their elbows on the floor and their chins on their elbows, and Merrin took a deep breath. She felt as though she might suffocate. How could she hide this from Jayen? From Mama and Da? Perhaps it was only the twins and Rhie from whom she need conceal the truth. After all, they were little, and perhaps could not keep the secret, not well enough.

She focused on the twins' eager faces, aware of T'mor and Adeila listening as well, and knowing the story she told would not be the one they knew. She would tell Mama and Da. They would guess soon enough.

With a jolt, Merrin realized that they wanted stories not only from this last month - this last exhausting, terrifying month - but from all the years she'd been gone. Could she even recall, that far back? Back when she was a peasant girl among nobles, a chit with hardly any hope of becoming a rider?

Thoughts could drown her. Merrin took the plunge. "When I came to Vryngard," she started falteringly, and followed with the memories from those years. How she had stared, awestruck, at the Renegade capital. How many of the other pages had known how to read and write already, besides much more, and the nights she'd spent, far into the late hours, struggling to catch up. They had known history, geography - the retired dragonriders who spoke to the aspiring pages in daily lessons were educated and intelligent, with draconic wisdom behind their words, and Merrin had understood mere minutes of it. That part, the long months it had taken to learn so many things that her fellow pages already knew, sounded disheartening. It had been.

More than a year into her revelation, Merrin took a breath. The twins, she knew, would thrill to this. "There was a ball, one night," she started. "I didn't go. Everyone was still sleeping, the next morning, so I got up - early - and went down to the hatcheries. Wyvern was an egg, then. I wanted to see him." Someone had been there - someone cloaked in black, like a wraith. Someone whose dagger hovered over the dragons' precious offspring in their eggs. They'd drawn blades. Somehow - inexplicably - Merrin had managed to delay him, chase him up to where his own dragon waited. She laughed as she told it, at her own rash defiance, finishing the episode with - "They made me a dragonrider. For stopping him."

As she'd predicted, the twins were bursting with questions. "Did you duel?" demanded Adasin, simultaneous with Liand's, "Did they lock him up forever?"

Her mother's knitting needles were clicking disapprovingly. She seemed to be holding back scandalization. Her father had let loose a pleased guffaw at the conclusion of the story, and Merrin found she was enjoying this. Enjoying it.

The next years passed with a wave of her hand. Patrolling, learning to be a rider, watching as Wyvern grew. Even then, she'd had few friends, but he'd made her world as bright as it needed to be. Three years of what could almost be called happiness. She told them of the skirmishes, the first time she'd ridden her own dragon. She'd grown to be able, with her light rapier, to hold her own in a battle. The twins groaned with longing. Merrin laughed.

She was smiling still, feeling the warmth of firelight on her back and the fascinated eyes riveted upon her, when words brought her to the moonless night when Kendath had first tied her hands and heaved her into Demon's saddle. Merrin's tongue stumbled over itself.

Letting go her grasp about her knees, she reached for his hand, and slipped hers into it, unnoticed. In the story, he became a nameless Meiltha. The twins' eyes were like saucers, and her mother's needles were clicking violently. Even her father looked grave, as though he might like to cover Rhie's ears. Merrin went on. Slowly, slowly, she managed to tell of the Star Crystal and the Cloud Crystal, letting the nameless Meiltha who'd bound her wrists fade into the background until he disappeared. In halting words, she even told them what the world had been like, two thousand years ago. She held back tears, the day she thought Wyvern had died, and with the siege of Vryngard, brought the tale to a halt. She never mentioned the Chosen of the Gods.

There was more. The nightmare of the Shadowers' Citadel loomed large in her mind, and the unreal, hellish reality of - before. The night when Kendath...

Merrin squeezed his hand tighter. That part of the story could remain untold.

Feeling as though she'd just run a race spanning miles, Merrin lapsed into silence. A moment, and then - "I'm done," she said slowly, with a tentative smile for the twins, and another for her mother. "I missed you. All the time."

Even the twins were quiet. For a second, maybe two.

Then they leaped to their feet, bombarding her with questions. "How big is Wyvern?" "When will you see him again?" "Did you fight Meiltha?" "When are you going to fight to get Vryngard back?"

At the last, Caire Tanner put away her knitting and waded in, firmly grasping one twin's collar in each hand. "Tomorrow," she said. "Now to bed, both of you!"

_________________

Twisted, mutilated and amputated was the form of the tale that she presented, but all in all it each second remained breath taking for her poor peasant family. It was quite the tale, indeed a tale, that remained consisted of half-truths and lies, all in order to protect her families well-being. However the more Garthag pondered about the form of the tale, he could not help think that she was not attempting to keep secrets from them because they would spread the knowledge.

Well, lest you count the twins, none of them would mention her secrets to anyone out loud. More likely she wished to protect her family from the very fact how world altering these adventures of her had been and what was to come. Subtlety and a certain degree of discretion remained the best course of actions however, one never knew how fast information traveled or whom might suffer as a consequence.

Garthag felt a certain sense of amusement towards the tale she had managed to conjure and how he had hardly come apart of it at all, yet then again presenting him as a cold, self-serving mage might not have inspired a great deal of comfort or trust at the moment. His somewhat bored glance turned over the cottage, eying the very simple outset that he had taken for granted. However compared to a now non-existent cottage in the north, this one was sprawling with more life and decorations despite sharing a similar modest atmosphere. Garthag sighed as he stared at the quieted elders of the family and the towering T`mor, who knew more than well that the tale did not ring true.

It might remain a mystery whether T`mor, despite Merrin`s apparent wishes, would choose to tell the truth to their parents. Whatever his choice, it might not even matter, the two were not fools and would not spread such information. Garthag coughed briefly and chuckled briefly, in a manner that hinted he knew more than was apparent.

"Quite the tale, was it not? Certainly not one that you would have expected your Merrin to have experienced?"

He inquired, out loud and almost cheerfully, from the family that remained within the confines of the room.

_________________

Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!

Everything faded. For a while, there existed only the crackle of flames in the hearth, the click of Mistress Tanner's needles, and the lyrics of Merrin's voice. Kendath allowed himself to relax. To enjoy himself, even.

Vryngard came as no surprise. He knew the Renegade capital well, if mostly by the shadows of night. He had hidden behind the lavish tapestries, had picked the ornate locks, had listened for guards on the polished marble floors. The place had disgusted him. What had it been for Merrin, plucked fresh from this little town of Riversmeet and dropped - little more than a girl - into that labyrinth of strutting knights and sniffling nobles? When Merrin reached the part about the Meiltha, Kendath almost laughed aloud. Foolhardy Merrin. Foolish Meiltha. He abruptly sobered, however, when she mentioned the Star Crystal. He felt his hand tightening around hers.

The rest of the story flew by in a blur of murky images and half-formed memories. Gods - the crystals, the siege. They were little more than hazy forms in a fog compared to the cold reality of the Shadowers' Citadel. Kendath braced himself for what would come next, like a dousing of ice, the retelling of these last few days - had it only been days? Merrin's hand trembled beneath his. He offered it a squeeze.

And then... and then... she stopped. The smooth cadence of her story trailed to a grinding halt. The twins jumped up. The room brightened with noise. Kendath released his breath.

Still, he didn't climb to his feet until the twins were gone and Mistress Tanner along with them, clucking at their heels like a goose after her goslings. "Your pillow," he said, and handed the lump of fabric back to its creator. He shook his head. "You're incredible."

_________________

Merrin laughed, a sound that caught in her throat, down at the embroidered dragon. So much was missing from the tale. There was no white flame, leaping from her fingertips to roar with the power of the gods. There was no purpose, none of the inner spark of determination that had driven her for so long...

She raised her head, and her da, minus Rhie on his knee - she'd trotted off for bed with the twins - was looking at her, leaning back in the worn chair and absently tugging his beard. She didn't remember the strands of white there. T'mor still sprawled beside her; Garthag and Adeila were still opposite, further from the hearth. They all knew.

"Da," she began, breaking the silence and its underlay of the flames' crackle in the hearth. "Da -"

"I think I know, lass." He leaned forward, and to Merrin's relief the low rumble of words was accompanied by a smile. "Rumors travel. I think there is only one Merrin Dragonrider."

Silence crept in one more while Merrin looked up at him, mute. There was solace in her da's staid, unruffled presence, even now.

He held out a hand. From some silent communion, Merrin knew what it was he wanted. She gave him hers, and fire sparkled at her fingertips and glowed in the cup of their shared hands.

"The twins -" she began, apologetic, but Daevydd Tanner shook his head.

"You were right not to tell them. This is no game of heroes and villains. Soon enough, lass." He rose with a groan, stretching, and flashed a grin faintly reminiscent of T'mor's rakish one. "Not as young as I used to be! Well, then. 'Tis late - If you fellows don't mind bedding down at the hearth, Jayen can do without a bed and the ladies can commandeer his. All in agreement?"

No objection was raised. Merrin stood, and received a bristly kiss on the cheek goodnight, as well as another enveloping hug. "What about Mama?" she murmured into his broad chest.

"Your mama can hear the news from me."

Feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, Merrin let herself smile and sink back down in front of the dying fire. It was late - in the telling of the long tale, the sun had long disappeared, and she could feel weariness that foretold of sleep.

"I do rather mind bedding down on the hearth," said T'mor suddenly, sounding aggrieved. "A fellow comes home and this is what he gets?"

Merrin had only to glance wryly sidelong at him to note the incorrigible hint of teasing in his expression. "You'll get over it," she said.

Now it was just the five of them. She looked from Garthag to Adeila to Kendath, lingering on Kendath, and spread her hands with a tentative grin. "Well. Welcome to Riversmeet."

_________________

"Thank you," Kendath said, with a glance at the hearth. "I want the pillow back."

The rug didn't look too bad, he concluded a few moments later, when Merrin and Adeila had at last disappeared into the other room. This left Kendath, Garthag, and T'mor to battle out the spot nearest the fire. "Battling it out" concluded as a brief verbal spar, some glares thrown in each other's directions, and finally a few crushed toes as they attempted to split the hearth evenly among themselves. Kendath ended up at the very edge of the rug, next to T'mor, whose shoulders rudely intercepted the warm firelight. Kendath scowled but to nil effect - T'mor was snoring before his head ever hit the rug.

Resigned, Kendath tugged Mistress Tanner's quilt over his chest, then flipped onto his back and stared at the ceiling above, shrouded in shadow. But it was warm shadow, not cold, held at bay by the rosy glow from the flickering flames. The embroidered pillow rested, a soft weight, on his stomach. He entangled his fingers in its fringe. Merrin hadn't told them, but Master Tanner had already known. Rumors travel, he'd said. There was only one Merrin Dragonrider. That one Merrin Dragonrider was here, inside this house, asleep, off-guard, unguarded. With a sinking sensation, Kendath recalled that he'd abandoned his weapons belt on the wagon. He sat up.

Bandages flashed pale in the firelight, and Kendath remembered. What was the use? His falchion was gone. His bandaged hand could hardly flex, much less properly grip the tiny hilt of a throwing knife. He collapsed back onto the rug. Sleep, his limbs told him. Sleep. Riversmeet was safe. It had to be. If gods existed...

If gods existed...

That last thought was the one thought he clung onto as his consciousness slipped out of mind.

_________________

Moonlight was pouring, silvery, through the unshuttered window of the little bedroom. It illuminated worn patchwork quilts, made over two sturdy bedsteads. Merrin rested her forearms on the sill and gazed over Riversmeet. It looked like something from a dream, diminutive houses with thatch roofs sheltering in a moonlit valley. A good dream.

Turning around, she sat down on one of the beds and kicked off her boots, running fingers through the mess that was her hair. The pale moonlight silhouetted her movements. Merrin let her hand fall, and lit the candle on the little table between the two beds.

"Listen to them fighting for nearest the fire," she said to Adeila, laughing at the murmur of voices in the other room.

Only when the other woman had sat down opposite did Merrin, listening to the voices grow quiet, pose a halting question. "Adeila," she said slowly, "have you ever been - I mean - have you ever been...in love?"

_________________

Adeila slowly unbraided her hair and smoothed it out before settling down on the bed. She still wasn't entirely accustomed to playing guest rather than hostess, but the thought of a real bed was undeniably welcome after a week of sleeping on hard ground. She would find a way of making it up to them in the morning.

Lifting the covers so that Svit could burrow down to the end, she considered Merrin's question. Oh yes, she had been in love. Was still in love, for that matter. Love was not dependent upon the presence or absence of its object.

Slowly, Adeila nodded. ''Yes,'' she said quietly. ''I got married when I was just younger than you.''