It was near dawn when Gabria was brought upright by a pain that lanced through her abdomen.
"Nara!" she said aloud.
Gabria! The call came clear in her mind. Please come. It is time.
The woman paused only long enough to pul on her boots and grab her belt and dagger. She bolted from the tent and ran down to the pastures. Nara was waiting for her by the river. Gabria recognized immediately the signs of approaching delivery. The foal had dropped down toward the birthing canal, and Nara's sides were wet with sweat from her labor.
Without a word, the two walked out of camp and into the hills. They found shelter in a small glade at the bottom of a wooded valley.
Gabria rubbed the black horse's neck and spoke quietly to her as the labor progressed. "The baby is early," the woman said after a while.
Nara breathed deeply before replying, By a turn of the moon. I should not go running in the mountains before my time. She trembled while a long contraction rippled through her body. .
Gabria's fingers tightened on the black mane as the tremors of pain reached her. "Is it all right?"
she asked.
I think so.
They lapsed into silence again, waiting for the natural progression of life. Just before the sun lifted over the hills, Nara laid on the ground. Unlike her first pregnancy, there was no difficulty with the birth.
A small, black colt slid neatly out of, his mother and lay squirming in his wet sac. Gabria cleared the birthing sac away from his body, wiped out his nostrils, and cut and tied the umbilical cord. Nara climbed to her feet and began to lick him vigorously.
Gabria stood back, tears streaming down her face, and watched in sheer delight as the black foal began to struggle to his feet. The sun rose over the hil , and sunlight poured through the trees. Its warmth invigorated the baby Hunnuli. He tottered to his feet and nuzzled close to his mother for his first breakfast.
Gabria cleaned the glade and went away to bury the remains of the birth and to give Nara time alone with her baby. She smiled to herself as she worked. The baby was alive and Nara was well! The words sang in Gabria's mind. She had not realized how strong her worry had been until it was gone.
Happily she returned to the glade. She was so tired, she decided to lie down for just a moment. The woman was asleep in a heartbeat.
In the treld not far away, the horn bearers blew their welcome to the morning sun and the clanspeople began another day. Athlone, dressed in his finest shirt, over tunic, and pants strode down the path to the healer's tent. He jingled the smal bells that hung by the entrance.
"Come!" Piers shouted from within. The healer was struggling with a pan of fresh bread when the chieftain entered. Muttering, Piers fumbled the hot pan to the table and dumped a heavy, flat loaf onto a wooden plate. The bread tipped off and fell to the floor.
Laughing, Athlone picked the loaf off the carpet and dropped it back on the plate.
"Thank you,” Piers said. He poked at his handiwork. "Look at that. It would break teeth. I wil never learn the knack of baking."
Athlone sat on a stool, still chuckling, and said, "You need a woman of your own."
The healer grimaced. "I've had one. They're more trouble than baking my own bread."
The younger man nodded vaguely as his eyes searched the tent for Gabria. Piers took one look at Athlone's gaze and the finery he wore, and realized immediately that this was not a casual visit. He turned back to his hearth and tried to appear natural as he spooned some porridge into a bowl.
"Where is she?" the chief asked.
Piers cast a worried glance at the chief. He poured two cups of ale, brought his bowl to the table, and sat down before he answered. "I don't know. She left in the middle of the night."
Athlone slammed his fist on the table. "Someone is going to have to nail that girl's foot to the ground!"
Piers picked up a spoon and dipped it in his porridge. "Her gear is still here."
"Well, maybe she'll come back for that," Athlone replied, glaring at his ale.
Piers glanced up at him. "She always comes back."
"Hmmm. I just wish she'd tell me once in a while where she was going." He sat morosely and watched Piers eat his meal. He was always fascinated at the neat, almost ritualistic way the healer consumed his food. His eating habits and his social manners were the only two things that Piers had not left- behind when he had fled Pra Desh eleven years ago. Athlone had never been to the great city, and he had the feeling there was a lot to learn about the people and their customs before he arrived there.
Piers looked up and caught Athlone's eyes. Deliberately he put his spoon down and straightened his thin shoulders. "I have a favor to ask,” he said with some effort. "I would like to go with you."
The chief was astonished. "You have sworn more times than there are hairs on a horse's back that you would never return to the city,”
Piers nodded. "I know. However, I think yow gods would forgive me if I changed my mind. Gabria may need my help. Besides. . ,” He shrugged and looked away. "She has taught me a thing or two about facing memories. It is time I go back."
Athlone leaned forward, stunned. As far as he knew, Piers had never told anyone, except perhaps Savaric, why he had left Pra Desh. He had appeared at a clan gathering one summer and followed the Khulinin home. They had been happy to have the skil ed healer in their clan and had not pried into
