Winds Of Fury

Darkwind flushed, but Elspeth only chuckled and made a mock bow to the forestgyre in the branches. 'Thank you, Vree, for your unvarnished and candid opinion.'

Darkwind rose and offered her his hand to help her up. 'I expect I'd better, before he offers any more unvarnished opinions. A good chase followed by a full crop should keep him quiet - so he doesn't lecture me as often as Gwena lectures you!'

Nyara separated her hair with clawed fingertips and began braiding it as she watched Skif from a corner of their shared ekele. She had considerably less to pack than anyone else, other than, perhaps, the gryphons. Just herself, two changes of clothing, a set of armor made by the hertasi, and a very large and vocal sword....

:I'll thank you not to think of me as baggage, young lady,: Need said dryly, but softened it with a chuckle :Baggage can only hinder, after all:

:Oh, you can hinder, too, my teacher - when you choose to,: Nyara replied saucily, as she bound off the little braid she wore at the side of her head with a thin strip of twine.

'Is Need putting her point in again?' Skif asked, looking up from his own packing. Nyara watched him with a great deal of admiration; she could not for a moment imagine how he was getting so many things into those small packs.

'Why, yes!' she said in surprise. 'How can you tell?'

He chuckled and put one gentle finger right between her eyebrows. 'Because you get a little crease here when you Mindspeak with her, and you only get it then.' He raised a bushy eyebrow at the sword, and addressed Need directly. 'Well, dear lady, do you think you are prepared for Valdemar?'

:Is Valdemar prepared for me, might be the real question, insolent brat,: Need countered :l'm not at all certain that anyone there is.:

'Well, I'm entirely certain that they're not,' Skif replied, with a laugh. He ran one hand through his curly dark hair and waggled his eyebrows at both the sword and her bearer. 'You're not the same sword that left. I think Kero is going to be quite happy to have you at someone else's side, all things considered. I don't even want to contemplate the clash of personalities that would ensue if you went back to her.'

:I'd win,: Need stated arrogantly.

But Skif shook his head. 'With all due respect, my lady, I know you both and I think it would be a draw,' Skif told her. 'Kero is just as stubborn as you are. What's more, that would just be if the confrontation was one-on-one. With Sayvil on her side, you wouldn't stand a chance.'

:Hmm.:The sword thought that over for a moment, then turned to a more impartial judge, one who was cropping grass beneath the ekele Skif and Nyara shared :Cymry? What do you think?:

Skif's Companion shook her head noisily, and glanced up at the open windows of the ekele. Skif had yet to figure out how the sword could talk to both Cymry and Gwena, when Companions were only supposed to be able to Mindspeak their own Heralds.

But then, Need was a law unto herself. How else to characterize a kind of ghost bespelled into a magical blade, an artifact of such age that the places she had known as a woman didn't even exist on maps anymore?

:I think even you would be no match for Kero and Sayvil together,: Cymry said decisively :And your magic would give you no edge - pun intended - if Sayvil were to bend her will against yours.:

If a sword could be said to sigh, Need did so :No respect,: she complained :Now silly white horses are punning at me. Ah, well. At least my bearer appreciates me, even if she does think of me as baggage.:

Nyara giggled, and Skif smiled at her. The sound that she made rather surprised her; she had not done much laughing in her short lifetime, and it seemed as if all of it had been occurring in the last year.

Since Skif. The conclusion was as inescapable as her feelings for him. And his feelings for her. When the plans for their departure from the Vale had been discussed, Nyara had entertained no doubts; she would go with Skif, even into a place that had never seen anything like her kind before, and endure whatever came.

Whatever came - it could be some formidable opposition from his own people. She did not look very - human. Her father, Mornelithe Falconsbane, had used her as a kind of experimental model of himself, working the changes he wished to make on his own flesh upon hers first. She had no illusions about herself; she knew there was no disguising her strange, catlike features. What would people who had never seen anything that was not completely human think of her?

What would they think when they learned that Skif, one of their precious Heralds, was her lover?

:Don't lose that smile, Kitten,: Need said, as she tensed unconsciously