See Prologue (A) for Disclaimers

Dar pulled away, turning his gaze onto the village.  But when he looked down, he could see huts instead, could picture his father outside their home with a wolf at his side.

"Father, will I be able to talk to the animals someday?" nine-year-old Dar asked.

Ril smiled down at his young son and chuckled.  "Someday.  But not for many years to come."

"But I wanna be like you.  I wanna hunt with the wolf, and the tiger, and see through the eyes of the eagle, and --"

Ril laughed and ruffled the boy's sun-bleached hair.  "Someday, Dar," he repeated.  "If you're lucky and if you're very good.  And if you stop pulling little Kyra and Ailen's braids every time you see them."

Dar rolled his eyes.  "But Father!  They're . . . girls!"

"And that means what?" Ril asked.  "You forget, son: Curupira is a girl, so is the goddess Pelagia.  So was your mother."

Dar frowned at him.  After a long moment, he asked, "Can I at least still wrestle them?  I can almost beat Ailen now."

Ril stared at him for a moment, and then started laughing again.  Dar frowned at him, completely at a loss to understand what exactly what was so funny.  Kyra and Ailen were  girls, so it was part of the game to pull their braids -- that didn't mean they couldn't wrestle one another, did it?  After all, them not being boys didn't mean they were weaker or not as smart, or any of a dozen other things.

Dar looked up at his father, who was still apparently amused, and shook his head.  Adults were so strange. . .

Dar looked away again, this time to his side, where there were only trees.  He hadn't thought of his father for so long.  And his cousin, Ailen, who had been the one to convince him at 17 to approach Kyra . . .  When was the last time he had spoken her name even in his mind, or pictured her face?  Dar shook his head, trying to push their faces -- and all the others -- out of his mind.

His mouth opened and he heard himself ask, "Why. . .?"  He stopped again.  He couldn't ask that question, couldn't bear to hear its answer.

Pelagia knew it anyway.  "Why did you survive instead of the others?" she asked for him.  "That, too, I cannot answer.  Perhaps it was fate, perhaps luck, perhaps the work of a guardian spirit who could accomplish nothing more.  I do not know.  Just as I do not know why Kyra was also spared, and why she is kept from you."  She watched him, watched the tense line of his shoulders.  Gently, she added, "What I do know is that your grief has had no release in all this time.  Why do you not weep for them, my daughter's BeastMaster?"

The shoulders tensed further.  "Weeping does no good."

"Ah."  Pelagia nodded, understanding what was behind the words.  "And perhaps if you weep, you release the force that drives you?  You give up that which gives you strength?"

Dar didn't answer.  His eyes remained fixed on the safe view of the Wood.  Pelagia sighed and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.  "Even the strongest vase can hold only so much weight, child.  Eventually, if that weight is not poured out again, the vase will shatter."

Dar looked at her now.  His eyes were hard with determination.  "I will not shatter."

Pelagia raised an eyebrow.  "Not until you've found Kyra," she suggested wryly.  She shook her head.  "You will not lose the strength you possess by allowing yourself the release of this grief. "

Dar looked away briefly, then forced himself to look back.  He forced himself meet her eyes, to face her challenge, and answer honestly to her and himself.  "I'm . . . afraid of what might happen . . . if I let go.  I'm afraid of what I might lose. . ."

Pelagia sighed, touching his face gently with her hand.  "Dar," she said softly.  "They were your tribe: your family, your friends, your whole world.  Weeping for their loss will not make you less of yourself, a warrior, BeastMaster or avenger.  It will cut short nothing but the burden you impose on yourself."

Dar looked down at his hands and whispered, "I . . . can't."

Pelagia studied him for a long moment.  He clung so desperately to the strength given by his purpose, he had let it become a shield.  It was not something he was ready to release yet.  But soon he would have no choice.  The goddess sighed and nodded, touching his hair.  "Not yet," she told him.  "But you will."

Pelagia had not been able to help the Sula when the Terrons attacked.  She had not been able to save Kyra from either Zad or the Sorceress.  But she would damn well find a way to release the girl from her brother's grasp.  Not just for her sake, which might have been reason enough anyway, but also for that of the young BeastMaster.  She leaned forward and kissed the top of his head softly, then vanished.

~*~*~*~

Miren had never seen so much friendly activity in her life.  The Terrons celebrated victory over their nominal enemies, but it was nothing like this.  Terron festivities were rough, concentrating on drink and seeing how much damage could be inflicted on new and old slaves alike.  This . . . this was life.  This was joy, and friendly laughter, and sharing all things good.  Miren winced as the babe in her womb did what seemed like a drum-roll against her kidneys, then chuckled.  Tao, standing beside her, gave her an inquiring look.  Miren smiled.  "The child is getting into the mood," she told him dryly.

Tao laughed softly and sat beside her on the bench in front of Rhianna and Ordan's house.  He placed a gentle hand on the curve of her belly, smiling softly at it.  "It won't be long now," he judged.

Miren smiled.  She tried to ignore the twinge that accompanied his words, then forced herself to face it, both in her mind and aloud.   We have to talk about it sometime, she told herself.  She took a breath and spoke.  "Tao . . .  When the babe comes . . ."  Tao looked up at her, those marvelous green-gold eyes bright in the late afternoon light.  Miren almost lost her courage.  "When it is born . . . Dar will be leaving.  To keep looking for Kyra. . ."

Tao's eyes met hers for a moment, then he looked away.  "Yes," he said.  He knew what was coming, and he didn't relish it any more than she did.

Miren forced herself to continue.  "And you will go with him."

Tao looked at her, his expression so filled with conflict and anguish that it threatened to break her heart.  "I --"  He started, then stopped again, words and ideas failing him.

Miren sighed.  "He is your friend, and he needs you."  Tao started to protest that, but Miren shook her head.  "Do not make the presumptions with me that you make with him.  He needs you.  You have saved the pair of you as many times as he has.  Dar knows that -- he told me himself."

Tao stared at her, clearly surprised.  "He -- he did?"

Miren smiled softly.  "Yes, sweet one, he did.  And Dar does not lie about such things."  Tao looked away and didn't answer.  After a moment, Miren repeated, "So. . . you will go with him."

Tao sighed.  He stood, agitated, and shook his head.  "I -- I can't just leave you here alone."

Miren raised an eyebrow.  "Do you doubt my safety?"

Tao frowned.  "No, of course not!  If we did, we wouldn't leave you here at all!"

Miren smiled.  "We," she repeated.  "Not I.  Which is most clear in your mind?"

Tao frowned at her.  "What do you mean?"

Miren stilled the thunderous pounding of her heart and asked gently, "What do you feel for me, Tao?"

Tao started.  "I care about you, Miren.  Deeply.  I --"  He sat down again, looking at her as if he were trying to read her heart as well as his own.  "I love you."

A warm tingle rushed over her body.  Fiercely, she suppressed it.  "Are you  in love with me?"

Tao's mouth opened and closed several times before he answered.  Thoughts rushed through his mind, insisting on giving them both an honest answer.  He  did care about her, love her . . . but was he  in love with her?  He thought about the way he felt around her, when she smiled or laughed, when she confided in him or lay asleep in his arms.  His heart ached at the thought of leaving her, but was it the ache of losing a friend, a lover, or the woman he loved?

He remembered how he had felt for Tima, the woman of his tribe who had broken his heart, so much so that he had felt his only escape was to leave his tribe and wander alone for a time.  He had been unable at that time -- and for a long time afterwards -- to imagine spending even one day without her.  Moreover, he did not  want to spend even a day without her.  Granted, he had been barely more than a boy then, but . . . that intensity of emotion was not present with Miren.  He admitted that to himself, although it was not easy.  The comfort they had shared had been wonderful, that sense of no longer being quite as alone.  But, though he cared deeply for her -- might even fall in love with her eventually as he had with Tima -- it was the idea of being in love that drew him to want to stay with her now.

Finally, he looked at her and said softly, honestly, "No."  Miren nodded, her eyes both sad and somehow relieved.  Tao smiled and asked quietly, "And you're not in love with me.  Are you?"

Miren looked at him for a moment, a sad smile on her lips, and raised her hand to touch his cheek softly.  "Tao . . . you're the first person I've ever known  any kind of love for.  I do not know what it is to be in love, except for what Dar has said of his feelings for Kyra.  He told me that he dreamt of her in some way every night, woke every morning thinking she would be at his side, and felt the pain of her loss every day."  She shook her head.  "I care for you more than I would have thought possible a few months ago, but that kind of extreme . . .  I have thought this through so many times in the past weeks.  I will miss you terribly when you leave, more than I will miss Dar, but . . ."

Tao smiled softly.  "You can survive without me."

Miren looked at him and chuckled.  "I can survive anything.  I know that, as do you.  But the difference . . . is that when you are in love with someone . . ."

"You don't  want to survive without them," Tao completed.

Miren nodded.  "You healed me, Tao," she said after a moment.  "You gave me back something I had not truly known was missing.  And for that, for all the laughter and the smiles, for the comfort of your arms, I will always love you."

Tao smiled and raised his hand, cradling her face gently against his fingers.  "We healed each other," he told her.  "Everything I gave was returned equally.  I told you once before that you were not nothing, that you were far more than you had ever believed.  You proved it a hundred times over."  He chuckled.  "Not even Dar could put up with me for so long, so often."

Miren laughed, but she felt tears fill her eyes.  "Will you come back?" she asked, suddenly sounding as young as she was.  "To visit, see the baby -- child . . ."

Tao smiled and kissed her softly.  "As many times as you allow."

Miren kissed him back, lingeringly.  "That will be a great many times indeed," she whispered.

~*~*~*~

It took time and ingenuity to get the supplies he had determined he would need, but by nightfall of the next day, Shallan had them all.  Rope, a blanket, a little pouch of food he managed to swipe while his Gram wasn't looking, some flint for starting a fire, and a travel-bottle of water.  He stuck one of Gram's sharp eating knives in his belt like a dagger and smiled to himself, striking a pose for a moment as he tested the feel of his hero's gear.  Satisfied, the boy crept downstairs from his bedroom and darted outside to gather his hidden supplies as one of the tavern's patrons opened the door.  For once, Gram didn't spot him.

Shallan barely remembered his mother, and he had never known his father: Gram had had the raising of him from infancy.  Shallan's father had been a traveler who had enchanted Eleni's youngest daughter, Mirisa, with words that Gram said had nothing to do with magick and all to do with the ideals of youth.  When he departed it was with the promise that he would return soon -- eighteen-year-old Mirisa had believed him and waited faithfully, month after long month, as it grew clear she was with child.  Eventually, she consoled herself with the thought that her beloved had met with some terrible fate that kept him from returning, and named her child after him as proof of her lingering love.

Eleni, who had seen the traveler's eye wandering even during the single week he had been in the town, knew better.  Just as she knew that her daughter's dramatic sighs and imaginings were more the product of her fanciful mind than true love.  Eleni was first and foremost a perceptive woman, which made her an excellent tavern-keep and a resigned mother.  Her eldest child, Tomlan, had left their village "to seek his fortune" when he was 17 and Mirisa only ten.  The second eldest of her three children, Katriin, was the only child to inherit her mother's down-to-earth nature -- to such an exaggerated degree that she had married "because it was time" and not for love.  Eleni's grandchildren were all a mix of such temperaments, but she loved them all and took great joy from raising Shallan while his flighty young mother turned her attentions elsewhere.

And then, seven years ago, Mirisa had heard from another traveler that her lover (whom she had managed to replace rather quickly for all her protestations of undying love) had been seen on the distant coast.  Following her ideal of the adventurous and still-faithful lover, she had decided to leave the village in search of her true love who might still be alive and in desperate need of her.  Eleni had only sighed while her husband ranted; she had known that her daughter's wild streak had only been suppressed and would return at a moment's notice.  So she had once again taken little Shallan into her arms, this time bidding him wave goodbye to the woman he had rarely had opportunity to recognize as his mother.

Occasionally, they would receive word from the wandering Mirisa, sometimes by mouth, sometimes a note carried by an acquaintance on his way in their direction.  Occasionally, she would remember to ask about her young son, or send him a little toy or candy as a gift.  Shallan regarded these missives with curiosity, associating the word "Mum" with an idea like "aunt" or "cousin".  Gram was the only mother he knew.  But that didn't stop him from inheriting his mother's imagination or sense of the dramatic; Eleni observed this with a chuckle and a sigh, and endeavored to keep him within view at all times lest he truly prove himself his mother's child.

Unfortunately, not even Eleni could see everywhere, especially when the tavern was so busy.  By the time she noticed Shallan missing, it was many hours past sunset and the tavern's business had picked up even further.  She worried and started to make her way upstairs to check his room, but then Duma and Loras started their old familiar argument, using their eating knifes to emphasize their points on the surface of their table, chairs and the walls nearby.  Several patrons were carefully moving their own chairs away from the enthusiastic contretemps.  Eleni sighed and set herself to the task of separating the two men, thoughts of her beloved but oft-times troublesome young grandson vanishing from her mind for another few hours.

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