could be tuned and sublimated, and in so doing-No.
I couldn't do it. I just lost Dawnfire, I can't lose another lover. I'm not made of such stern stuff.
He finally reached the path to his ekele without incident-without encountering anything more hazardous than a flight of moths. That in itself was a pleasant change. The sharp bite to the air and the faint aroma of leaves in their turning reminded him that there were other changes on the wind that were not so pleasant. Autumn was at hand; winter would follow, and although the Vale would remain green and lush, outside it, the leaves would fall, and snow and ice-storms would come. Winter would bring a new set of dangers from outside; predators would grow hungry, and the fear that kept them away from the Vale in the summer might not be enough to overcome their hunger's insistence. Winter would make it difficult for infatuated young Skif to track the Changechild. And it would be much harder for the remains of k'sheyna to trek across the country in search of the rest of the Clan, if that was ultimately what they had to do to reunite.
Despite the fact that k'sheyna territory was now much safer than it had been before the confrontation with Mornelithe Falconsbane, Darkwind had reverted to his old habits the moment he passed the barrier at the mouth of the Vale. It only took one slip at the wrong time to make someone a casualty. Tayledras had been killed even in tamed territories, simply by thinking they were secure. He kept to the deepest shadows, walked silently, and kept all senses alert for anything out of the norm.
The moon was down beneath the level of the trees by the time he reached his ekele; he kindled a tiny mage-light in the palm of his hand and-with some misgiving-loosed the ladder from its support above and lowered it by means of another exercise of magic. With a tiny spell, he tripped the catch that held the rope-ladder in place.
If this had been in daylight, he'd never have used magic, he'd have had Vree drop the trigger-line to him. He still felt uneasy about using anything except mage-shields outside of the Vale. True, Falconsbane was no longer out there, watching for the telltale stirrings of magic-use and waiting to set his creatures attacking anything outside the protection of the Vale. But caution was a hard habit to break, especially when he wasn't certain he truly wanted to break it.
Still, the presence of the mage-light made climbing the ladder a lot easier, and the use of the spell eliminated the need to scale the trunk in the dark to release the ladder. It was worth the risk, at least tonight.
Perhaps, now, there were many things that were worth the risk of attempting them...
Skif could hardly believe what he'd just heard. He rubbed his tired eyes, and stared across the tiny firepit at his new friend. The conversation had begun with knives in general, proceeded to other things, such as forging, tempering, balance and point structure, throwing styles-but it had just taken a most unexpected turn. 'Forgive me, but I'm notahas good in speaking Tayledras as Elspeth. Did you say what I think you said?' Wintermoon chuckled, and passed him a cup of a spicy-but, he'd been assured, nonalcoholic-drink, poured from a bottle he'd asked one of the hertasi to bring. 'I will speak in more plain words,' the scout told him, slowly, reaching for one of the sausages warming on the grill above the coals of their fire. 'I wish to help you to find the Changechild Nyara. If you tell me 'aye,' I shall come with you. You say you have no true learning in woods-tracking; I am not a poor scout. I think I would be of real help.'
'He's one of the best scouts and trackers in k'sheyna, Chosen,' Cymry told him. Her ears were perked up, showing her excitement and interest.
'He's being very modest. The dyheli told me he's one of the few that can even hunt and track by night, maybe even the best.' He wanted Wintermoon's help-wanted it badly. He needed it. Without it, all he'd do would be to crisscross k'sheyna territory virtually randomly, hoping to come across some sign of Nyara. With Wintermoon's skillful help, he would be able to mount a systematic search.
But was this a test of his oaths and his loyalties? 'i-uh-I don't know what to say,' he stammered, watching the tall Tayledras with his strange hair and pale eyes. 'Wintermoon, I want your help more than I can say, but you're a scout, a hunter, a good one.
What about the Clan? Don't they need you? I mean, I'm a Wingbrother, but doesn't that mean I need to think of the good of the Clan first?' Wintermoon blinked slowly, and turned away toward the trees. He held up a gauntleted wrist. That was the only warning Skif had that something was happening; a heartbeat later, a huge white shape hurtled by his ear, soundlessly. As he winced away, the shape hit Wintermoon's wrist and folded its wings. It resolved itself into a great white owl, which swiveled its head and stared unblinkingly at him before turning back to Wintermoon, reaching down with its fierce hook of a beak and nibbling the fingers of his free hand gently.
'This is K'Tathi,' Wintermoon said, stroking the owl's head gently.
'Corwith is in the tree above. There are not many Tayledras who bond to the greater owls.'
'You didn't answer my question,' Skif said pointedly.
'Ah, but I did.' Wintermoon transferred the owl from his wrist to his shoulder, where it proceeded to preen his hair. He sighed, and gave Skif a look full of long-suffering patience.
'There are not many Tayledras who bond to the greater owls. While my bondbirds can hunt by day, they prefer not to. They are also a different species from the hawks and falcons, and there is instinctive dislike between them and the birds of other scouts. It can be overcome, but it requires great patience.' He shrugged, as the fire flared up for a moment from the cooking. The flare flushed the owl with ruddy light.
'More patience than I care to give. Thus, I hunt by night, and mostly alone. That makes me something that can be done without when times are not so chancy.'
'In other words, your absence won't cause any problems?' Skif persisted, clutching the cup.
The owl found Wintermoon's ear, and began nibbling it. Wintermoon sighed, and gave it his finger instead. 'The new plan is for mages to help the scouts,' he explained. 'There will be more watchers. Your friend, Els-peth- she is clever, and will make up for my absence. So, I am free to aid you.'
'There is a hole in this, somewhere,' Cymry said.
Skif agreed; he could sense it. 'What is it that you aren't telling me?' he demanded. 'Is it something about Nyara?' The owl let go of Wintermoon's finger, roused its feathers, and settled, staring at Cymry as if it found her fascinating. Wintermoon nodded.' I thought perhaps you might think that, and yes, it concerns the Changechild. But you must pledge not to take offense.'
'Offense?' he asked Cymry. 'why would I-oh. Of course. they still don't trust Nyara, they want her under control, and they probably feel the same way about that damn sword.'
