head, unable or unwilling to comprehend it. Wintermoon continued.
'When we first came here and established this Vale, the land hereabouts was as fearful as anything you saw before the Lady appeared. We have tamed it somewhat, and it is a fortunate thing that few of the magic twisted creatures breed true. That also is due in part to Tayledras magery.
But some do?' Skif asked.
Wintermoon nodded. 'Those, we call'Changebeasts.' They plainly have parentage of normal creatures, but they have new attributes, generally dangerous. Changelions, for instance-oft they have huge canine teeth, extending far beyond their jaws, and have a way of being able to work a kind of primitive magic that can keep them invisible even when one looks directly at them, so long as the Changelion does not move.
That is... a common Change. Some are unpredictable or unrecognizable.' He hesitated, gathering his thoughts. 'When the parentage was human, we call the result a'Changechild.' And-in general-true humans do not- mate with them.' He glanced sideways at Skif, gauging the effect of his words. Skif didn't take offense, but he wasn't going to accept that particular judgment without a fight, either. 'Why not?' he asked, bringing his chin up. aggressively. 'I mean, what's the difference? Who would care?' Wintermoon sighed. 'Because it is said that to mate with a Changechild is the same as mating with a beast, because the Changechildren are one with the beasts.' He held up a hand to stop the angry words Skif started to speak. 'I only say what is commonly thought. not what I think. But you must know that it is the common thought, and there is no escaping it.' Skif frowned. 'So most Tayledras would think-if Nyara and I made a pair of it-that I was some kind of deviant?' The Hawkbrother sighed. 'Perhaps fewer in this Clan than in others, but some would. And outside the Clans altogether, among Outlanders who live in Tayledras lands and hold loyalty to us, or among those who trade with us-there would be no escaping it. They would all feel that way to some degree.' So I'll deal with it when-if-it happens. He nodded his understanding, but not his agreement.
Wintermoon continued. 'There is another problem as well; there are either no offspring of such a mating, or as often as not, they truly are monsters that are less able to reason than beasts. This, I know, for I have seen it. The few children of such a union that are relatively whole are like unto the Changechild parent. And that is only one in four.' Not good odds...
Wintermoon flexed his hands. 'The likeliest to happen is that there are no children of the union. I would say that is just as well.' So Nyara is a Changechild,' Skif said, thinking out loud.' Just what makes her that, and not some-oh-victim of an experiment by her father on a real human child?'
'That there are things the human form cannot be made to mimic,' Wintermoon replied too promptly. 'Her eyes, slitted like a cat. Furtufts on her ears.' 'oh?' This time Skif expressed real skepticism. 'That's not what Darkwind told me. He said that it was possible that she'd been modified from a full human. He said that it would take a lot of magic to do it, but that if Falconsbane was using her as a kind of model for what he wanted to do to himself, he might be willing to burn the magic.'
'He did?' Skif's assertion caught Wintermoon by surprise. 'Thatwould make things easier.' The Hawkbrother chewed his lip for a moment.' That would make her entirely a victim, among other things.
That would bring her sympathy.'
'I've got another question.' Cymry returned from the stream and came to stand beside him; he patted her neck absently. 'What if she wasn't a Changechild-but she wasn't a human either?' Wintermoon shook his head in perplexity. 'How could she not be either?'
'If she was someone from a real race of her own-' He chewed his lip, and tried to come up with an example. 'Look, you don't call the tervardi Changechildren, or the hertasi. What makes them different from Nyara?'
'There are many of them,' Wintermoon replied promptly. 'They breed true; they have colonies of their own kind, settlements.'
'So how do you know that there aren't settlements of Nyara's kind somewhere?' he interrupted. 'You didn't know there were gryphons before Treyvan and Hydona arrived!' He smiled triumphantly.
'Gryphons were upon a list handed down from the time of the Mage Wars,' Wintermoon said immediately, dashing his hopes. 'As were the others. Every Tayledras memorizes it, lest he not recognize a friend-or foe. There is nothing on that list that matches Nyara.' Well, so much for that idea. At least she isn't on the 'foe' list; I suppose I'd better consider us fortunate.
Nevertheless, he couldn't help wondering if there could be creatures that were like the hertasi that simply hadn't made the all-important list.
Or if there were creatures that had developed since the Mage Wars that couldn't have made the list because they hadn't been in existence then ...Oh, this is ridiculous. It doesn't matter what she is. What matters is what she does. Every Herald he'd met had told him that as he grew up in the Collegium. They had been right then; that should hold true now.
'It will be dark, soon,' Wintermoon said, glancing at the sky. While
they had been talking, the quality of the light had changed, to the thick gold of the moments before actual sunset. Filtered through the goldenbrown leaves, the effect was even more pronounced, as if the very air had turned golden and sweet as honey.
'Are we going to camp here, or go on?' Skif asked. The question was pertinent; if this had been an expedition with two Heralds, they would camp now, while there was still light. But it wasn't; Wintermoon had abilities and a resource in his bondbirds that no Herald had.
'We go on,' Wintermoon replied promptly. 'Although we will feign to make camp. If there is anyone watching us, they will be deceived.
Then once true night falls, we shall move on.' It didn't take them long to unload the packs and Cymry's saddle and make a sketchy sort of camp; Wintermoon unstrung and tied out a hammock, and padded it with a bedroll, then produced a second one and guided Skif in setting it up. That done, they cleared a patch of forest floor and built a tiny fire.
As they sat beside the fire, one of the owls lumbered into their clearing, laden with a young rabbit. It dropped its burden at Wintermoon's feet, and before it had taken its perch on his shoulder, the second followed with a squirrel in its talons.
'Well,' Wintermoon chuckled, as the second owl dropped its burden beside the first and flew to a perch in the tree above Wintermoon's head,
'It seems that my friends have determined that we shall have a meal, at least.'
