Interlude

           The pale-furred woman sat opposite him, lying against a tree trunk a few feet away. She had hunched into a milky amber crescent. There was an imprint at his side, a flattened bit of cloak covered with white-gold hairs; he looked at it, then over to her.
           "We slept?" She flicked an ear.
           "You were hurt. I bandaged your head, but you lost a lot of blood; you were delirious, nearly incoherent."
           "Oh. I'm sorry."
           "I didn't mind." He waited quietly - she was silent.
           "You, ah, you look cold. Do you want my cloak?" She bobbed her head once.
           "If you would." He shrugged his cloak off and threw it to her; she caught it and wrapped herself inside it. "Thank you," she murmured. He rose, sat beside her.
           "So how long have you been watching me sleep?" She growled as she hugged the cloak about her.
           "Not long. We were together, but I woke a few minutes ago and moved here. Before then… I'd say that we've slept for a few hours. I think I might be able to walk now." He nodded and put an arm around her chest, gently helping her up.
           "Then we should go. I'm dizzy, but I can walk too, and this is not a safe place." When she was steady he went for his swords and the medicine bag, then returned to catch her before she fell. "We should stay off of the roads," he grunted as he propped her weight up, keeping her from falling back to the ground. "Gods, you're weak."
           "It'll wear off," the woman answered. "Vauhya, we shouldn't leave before we're ready."
           "How do you know my name?"
           "You told me. You also told me that you'd forget mine." He stopped and thought on that. He dug for recent memories, tried to find a name for that face. The woman just shook her head. "It's all right. I'm Atra. But, Vauhya, listen to me. If we go out there now and someone notices us, what are we going to do? Just give it a day. You'll be stronger, I'll be stronger, and they won't be looking for us here anymore." He stared at her dully.
           "Fine. Tomorrow, then?"
           "Tomorrow," she affirmed. He nodded and let them down. They slumped together at the base of the tree.
           "Gods, I'm hungry. Forgot to eat last night and this morning. I suppose I should try to trap something."
           "It'd be burning ashes, what with the way we stink. Just try not to think about it." She let her head back against the trunk. "Concentrate on something else - why don't you tell me about yourself, about how you came to rescue me." He considered that.
           "All right. I was born on the Yoichi family grounds, in the Palace. Actually, my mother was supposed to be in the vineyards of Oksa province with my father, but I was a complicating factor…"
          

---v---

           Somewhere, possibly hidden away in a dusty corner of some ancient temple basement, there was a rule that all decks had to be cold, wet, and smelly. Instinct told her this. Granted, ships were not generally her preferred environment - though in the far south they had huge floating castle-barges that were fairly comfortable - but she absolutely despised open decks. Sea spray stung the eyes. Salt stiffened clothing, made it itchy and rough. Wind mussed the pelt. Decks were horrible places to be.
           And yet there was something deeply gratifying about sitting on a crate of rotten fruit next to the Twice-Blessed Arrow's side railing, watching the last green-brown stripes of land slip into the horizon. Iluin watched for pursuers, fully expecting to have to earn her escape in blood, but there were none. The Arrow ran swift and fast over the waves, breaking through the water crests and sending salted mists into the air. It shouldered its way out of the bay, roughly pushing the water aside, but it was still a merchant vessel: almost any other boat had a good chance of overtaking them. Still, there were no pursuers. Iluin and her companion had eluded the Rrsai once more, and moreover were presently escaping unopposed. Likely there was hidden reasoning in the ease of their escape, but for the moment Iluin allowed herself to relax and enjoy their minor triumph.
           The Arrow smashed into a wave and a saline wall crashed through her fur, leaving it matted and her whiskers dripping. She snuffled, rose, and went belowdecks. Rain did not bother her, but salt did.
           The belly of the ship smelled of wood sealant, booze, bile, and tar. It was cool and moist, but also dark, dank, and cramped. A door on the deck led down a steep staircase to a single hall barely wide enough for two adult men; it ran the length of the ship, with doorways to four cabins and a room for provisions and cargo. Surprisingly enough, there were few leaks, just the odd rumble of water and waves under the hull, distorted by the wood and the caulk.
           Another wave hit and the ship groaned and tossed; Iluin almost stumbled when the ground sank and she suddenly became lighter. But then the ship came back up with all of the grace and agility of a bucking mah'sur, and the force of the ship pushing up ground her into the floor. It settled; she regained her footing and chided herself for being so unsteady.
           The hallway descended into gloom as at ran further from the doorway. It wasn't enough to blur the far wall, but the darkness necessitated that she use her night eyes - about halfway down the hall the color began to bleed from her vision. She stepped down the hallway carefully, slowly, and listened. There were shallow breaths being taken in the far-left cabin. Iluin padded after them and slipped through the cabin's half-closed door; Rahkl was there, sitting in a hammock that hung from the ceiling's corners. She was balled, her arms wrapped about her torso and her legs tucked up; at the sound of Iluin's entrance she unfurled, slid gangly legs across the soft cords of the hammock, and set the whole thing to swaying.
           "Hello?" Rahkl asked, swiveling her head back and forth to search the door and surrounding wall. Not once did she hold her gaze to Iluin or meet her eyes; it was as though she was blind in the dimness. "Who?" Rahkl demanded. "Who is?"
           "Who is it," Iluin corrected. "It's Iluin. Me, Rahkl."
           "Oh." Rahkl looked tired, maybe sick; her skin had an unusually pale pallor to it, and it was stubbled with sweat.
           "Are you all right?"
           "No."
           "The sea gets you too, does it?"
           "Sea?"
           "Ocean, Rahkl. The water."
           "Oh. Water. Yes. I'm bad, Iluin." Iluin frowned, wrinkled her nose in distaste.
           "You mean you feel bad. I do too. People weren't meant for the sea; fish were. Is that why you're here instead of up there?"
           "Up? Where light?" Rahkl shook her head. "Make worse. Lot hrasi, lot move."
           "I understand." She did, somewhat; seasickness was worse on the deck. Iluin suffered from seasickness to some small degree - seafaring antagonized her stomach, made her restless and queasy. She reached out a paw to pat Rahkl, but her friend flinched at the touch. She obviously hadn't been expecting it. When Iluin touched her a second time there was not so much as a tensed muscle or quickening of breath. "You can't see?"
           "Dark," Rahkl replied.
           "Do you have my lleiri?"
           "Leri? On the floor." Rahkl shifted on the hammock and hunched her head down. "Iluin?"
           "Yes?"
           "The hrasi want to kill us. I don't understand. What you do? What I do?" She faltered. "They want kill us. Kill you. Why?"
           She sat next to her mostly-bald friend, let her legs dangle above the floor, and thought about that. That was a hard question. She'd been hunted for so long that the state seemed perfectly natural to her. There was no reason that people tried to kill her, no more than there was a reason that the stars shone at night; they just did. It was the normal way of things.
           "Was it the small one?" Rahkl asked quietly.
           "Gods, no. Not you; plague if it's your fault. It's the church. The Rrsai. They want me dead because I helped someone they wanted to die. It's a little thing."
           "Little? They try kill!"
           "They tried to kill us, you mean." Rahkl seethed at the correction. "Quiet. Trust me, Rahkl. You're safe."
           "You?"
           "Don't worry about me." Iluin changed the subject. "You need to study those books. Need to learn how to read, how to speak."
           "What?"
           "Come," Iluin replied. "I want to show you the books." She slipped out of the hammock and crouched beneath it. As promised, her lleiri lay there in its scabbard, accompanied by the packs. She found the books and picked them out. "Come," she repeated, and Rahkl pushed herself out and got her feet on the floor of the hull. Iluin put her bookless arm around Rahkl's back and lead her out of the gloom.
           About a third of the way back towards the stairway Rahkl balked, put a hand up over her eyes, then dropped it after a moment and stumbled forward on her own. That was just a few steps before the light became bright enough for color to seep back into Iluin's vision. If that was the extent of Rahkl's eyesight, she probably didn't have night eyes. That was a rare, rare abnormality, usually crippling. Rahkl, it seemed, didn't much mind.
           She sat the two of them down at the bottom of the staircase, where the light was sufficient but the walls reached high enough above them to block the occasional surge of seawater. Rahkl was hesitant to be out and near the deck, but she went, and sat on the bottom step without further complaint. Iluin sat beside her, pausing a moment to brush her tail up and drape it safely around Rahkl's back. Steps were murder on a tail if you sat on them without being careful. She hoisted up the books and laid them in her lap, then took the poetry volume and held it between them. The wind shifted and for a moment its direction and force was enough to blow the book open, flipping yellowed pages of neatly lined stanzas. She stopped it halfway through with a single finger, drew the book open to those two pages, and showed Rahkl the strings of jagged Naman scrawl. Iluin pointed to the beginning of the first poem on the left page and began reading aloud.
          
           "White winter-water shards cling to thin wooden frames,
           Frozen claws of the wind held supine to the sky.
           The grass, hard in ice, is a field of green lances;
           Amidst it, on the ground, lays dirt seeded with false jewels.
           The land alights in gleams that illuminate the heavens.
           To men it bares clear teeth and revels in fierce glory."
          
           "I did not understand that," Rahkl said. Iluin nodded.
           "I know. You don't have the words. I'll show them to you." She started again, stopped at the end of the second line and tapped it with a claw. "Listen: 'frozen claws of the wind held supine to the sky'. The words all sound the same - it's a poetic device. Same sounds, hear? Frozen, claws, wind, supine, sky - they all have the same 'lhr' sound. Lhreani, lhre, lhre'yas, llehreal, lhra. And, see, the first two letters of each word are the same. This first letter here is 'lleyreh,' and it makes the 'lh' or the 'll' sound. This second one, the one with the double hook, is 'Res'. It makes the 're' sound." Rahkl pointed to a letter.
           "Yayray."
           "Lleyreh."
           "Llayrah."
           "No, lleyreh. Lley-reh. Less 'a' in the word; it's a closed-mouth sound."
           "Llay-reh."
           Iluin's ears drooped. This was going to be an involved process. Gods only grant that the problem was with Rahkl's ears and not with her muzzle; after all, they'd been built to make different sounds.
           "We'll come back to that one. Let's move on to the next letter."
           "Layreh?"
          

---v---

           "And they let you go?"
           "Well, I don't think that they consciously decided to allow me to escape," he said. "But I did."
           "You outran mounted sher'amn? After having a piece of flesh hacked off of your leg a season earlier?" she asked. He shrugged.
           "If I'd been born a female I'd be a sher'amn. And the leg muscle was not 'hacked off,' only separated." He patted her shoulder. "After wandering down the highway for a few days I collapsed. A pair of traders found me and brought me to Norsghar, where I found you."
           "I see. And that's it?"
           "Well, all the important bits. I didn't tell you about shooting General Sossoru Yoichi in the foot when I turned ten and she tried to teach me archery, nor about sending near half the palace to bed with the red fever after returning from the marsh estates in the south, nor about my life's eight thousand other inconsequential episodes. I didn't think you want to hear them." Atra's ears perked forward.
           "Those are stories I'd like to hear someday. My anecdotes are all so mundane."
           "Mine are no better. Worse, probably. Wealth and power don't make for a more interesting life, just a more complicated one." He paused. "I sometimes wish that I'd been born a merchant or a farmer." She waved a dismissive paw at him.
           "Oh, the game is always better on the other side of the mountain. I'd have paid dearly for your lot in life, for a childhood spent growing up in that palace, sucking greedily on the teat of the province with the rest of the nobles. Surely every farmer's child would."
           "I'm not complaining. I'm only saying that life in a palace can be just as empty as life outside of one. All those riches and sycophants are good nourishment for the ego, but they do nothing for the spirit. It's easy to forget the world when you're in those halls, surrounded by ageless stone friezes and towering basalt figures of your ancestors, hundreds of them, lining the walls and the intersections, testament to some domineering greatness that you're told you're a part of.
           "The problem with the palace is that it's big enough to be the world. Stay there long enough, without a connection to the outside, and you start to think in terms of the palace. Start to rule in terms of the palace. My matron showed me that. She said she thought it was why we Yoichi have grown so myopic - the people have become our servants, and our neighbors are now simply additions we'd like to make to our holdings." He shook his head, let his mane fall back into place. "It's a stupid, half-blind way to govern, and I wouldn't have continued it. Old Yoichi lived out among his people as well as in his stronghold, and he went out to work the fields during the harvest. I wanted to be like that."
           "Past tense?" she asked.
           "It'd take a small miracle to put me back in power. I'm going to Wikedu because some of my kinsmen are gathering there to plan a coup against my brother that might make me a lord, but it'll be hard to convince them to support me. They'll want a peacemaker, someone to stabilize the province and return it to prosperity. They won't be interested in real change."
           Vauhya pulled a little at her shoulder and she moved closer to him obligingly, until they were thigh to thigh. Atra looked at him and flicked an ear.
           "And so do you think I'm your slave?" Not 'am I?' but 'do you think I am?'. He slashed a 'no' in the air.
           "Of course not." He paused. "Would you have accepted a 'yes' had I offered one?"
           "I would not have been at your side when you awoke tomorrow morning."
           "You promised me back there-"
           "I lied." She shrugged. "I don't expect you to understand; you haven't lived a slave's life. But I'd rather you killed me than made me some exotic… trinket." She spat the final word.
           "I wouldn't do that."
           "Maybe not."
           "Are going to tell me your story then, Atra?" Her ears tensed and her eyes hardened.
           "I'll tell you.
           "I was born to Whyn Sauhiss, the chief of an Alman'queda tribe; my father was a servant bought from Ulsa province, in the far polar North, across the Rhe'jah. I had a brother, Cihsin, and between us we shared a pair of servants, Bis and Saika. We lived well; our mother enjoyed us and thought our wit enough for running the tribe after her demise.
           "My tribe once wandered the Rhe'jah, but by the time I'd been born we'd confined ourselves to its southernmost third. I grew up walking along the edges of those mountains, wearing them smooth as I tracked back and forth across the inner continent. We traded with mountain cities and border provinces, always pulling in some small profit, never truly making enough to become rich. We ran into trouble on a few occasions. Generally we knew how to handle ourselves.
           "It happened on one of our return trips to the desert. My mother had gone out with father and Bis to collect medicines while Saika, Cihsin and I stayed at camp to make augur for our molds. We heard the shouts, quiet echoes from down below: a bandit ambush. Cihsin, Saika, and I left the camp with a pair of our tribe's best brawlers and went searching for our family - the rest we left to protect our merchandise and children. They were far, far down the mountainside. My mother passed us, bleeding from one arm, as we descended. She told us that there were near ten bandits farther below, and that Bis and father had asked her to run while they held the murderers back. Neither Cihsin or I was willing to turn back while Bis was in danger, so we forced Saika to return with our mother. It was probably terrifying to her, that she had to leave her bonded to protect her mistress. Maybe someday I'll ask her.
           "When we found Bis he was cornered and father was dead. They'd managed to slit a good three or four bandit throats, though, and there were four of us, so we simply charged them. It is the single most foolish thing I have ever done. The bandits had expected us; when we moved towards the pawful we saw attacking Bis an entire ring of them appeared, encircling us. We tried to fight; they killed my brother and took off one of Bis's ears before we were all subdued. Then they had us bundled up and stuffed in wagons like so many fur carpets, all before my tribe could send another group of warriors.
           "Thus began the last two years of my life. I lost Bis and my other two tribesmen at the first city, Illad; they went quick as muscle labor to the auctions there. Me they held onto until they reached Fehdrel, where they could get a fair price for my ears. I was meat after that, bought and discarded seven times. Three slavers, two merchants, a mercenary band, and a noble: in each case they tired of me quickly and sold me for some small profit or loss. Likely I would've been sold again had you not freed me."
           "You don't look so bad for such a past - not at all, really." He moved his paw to brush down Atra's cheek fur; he expected her to recoil, but she accepted the touch. Atra snorted.
           "They didn't ruin my face. Waste of an expensive investment." He retracted the hand, sensing it unwelcome.
           "Well, what are your plans, then?" he asked quietly. "I suppose I don't have the force or the right to dictate mine to you."
           "I'll stay with you," she said simply. When he flicked an ear forward at that she elaborated: "You did save me - I owe you for that. And I promised to lead you to Wikedu, which I can and which I will."
           "And after that?"
           "I don't know. I think it's enough for me now just to be free. Later I'd like to find my tribe, to assure them of my safety." She set her ears back and scowled. "I'd also like to find every mangy bastard who laid hands on me and cut his throat out." He was silent. "Not you, Vauhya. Not you, I think." She leaned on him, a cloak-clothed warmth. "The shadows are getting longer. We won't need to talk much longer."
           "Are you going to be here tomorrow morning?"
           Her reply was silent; a light, tremoring rumble against his side.
          

---v---

           Axioms express themselves in the damndest ways. Back at U of M the mathematicians and their professors boasted that they were students of the 'universal language'. It's a tired aphorism, yes, but I was amused to find proof of it in a seafaring ship on an alien sea.
           Iluin tried to teach me the rudiments of her written language - rudiments I failed completely to grasp. I'm not even sure whether the language is pictorial, phonetic, or something in between. She tried hard to be patient, I'm sure, but gave up after an hour or so of attempting to beat neat blocks of text into my head. Her ears kept going back, farther and farther, until finally she simply stood and stalked wordlessly out to the deck. Somehow I don't think she's been trained as an educator.
           Once she was gone I spent a few more minutes studying her text, but soon I put it down in favor of the other two. One was a written work without the blocked text structure of the first, which leads me to believe that Iluin had been trying to teach me ballads or poetry. It was no more elucidating than the first. The last, however, had not only the other books' language but another, different set of symbols, and was full of diagrams and figures. There were pages of text separated by indented, spaced lines of the new symbols. Often the lines came in series of fives and tens, each a slight alteration of the one above it.
           If I hadn't been so nervous of the crew I would've jumped and cried out in jubilation - it was math. Beautifully immutable mathematics, with the same theorems, operations, and proofs I'd learned back in Ann Arbor. You can't imagine what that's like, seeing a glimpse of a home that's a month gone. Staring at the Pythagorean theorem and a pair of graphical proofs done in chicken-scratch on heavy rag parchment was like spotting a long-lost friend. It hurt, in a way, to be reminded of home, but I've known since I walked into that city that I won't be going back any time soon. The infrastructure needed to get into space can't be found on this planet; anyone who owned such technology would've long since overtaken and renovated the rest of the world. But for the moment I don't care; I have my Rosetta Stone and I'm content to puzzle out its contents. Convenient that the universal language turns out to be one of the two I'm fluent in, isn't it?
          
           Dr. Rachel Mitchell, diary excerpt from 11/5/2182
          
           It was at the point where the light was too dim to read, so she dropped the book to her side and stretched. A hrasi appeared from with the inky dim of the corridor - not her Iluin, but one of the other passengers, a dark, brown-robed cat. It ignored her, brushed past her to glide up to the deck of the ship. They were all breezily arrogant types, these hrasi - since they'd launched from the pier Iluin alone had deigned to exchange words with her. Maybe they thought she was an animal; Iluin might've told them that. But then, if they had any wit at all they'd notice that Rachel the animal had been reading up on analytical geometry for the past six hours. Fairly incongruous behavior for a pet or a pack beast.
           Rachel collected her three books and followed the hrasi up top to the deck. The going was slow: the rocking of that pre-industrial nightmare of a ship was ten times what a modern vessel would exhibit. When she emerged from the stairway and the walls disappeared her difficulties doubled. The crew and passengers eyed her with ears at half height and brows furrowed in what was either distress or amusement as she tottered out from below, wavering and clutching at her stomach, trying desperately not to be sick.
          

---v---

           "Is that some sort of animal?" The merchanter asked. Iluin followed his gaze to Rahkl, who'd finally come up for a view of the ocean. She swiped the air with a paw.
           "Not animal. Ally."
           "Is that the reason why those church men chased you here?"
           "No. They're chasing me because I threaten them. She's just in my company." The merchanter frowned.
           "She, is it? Doesn't look like a hrasi." Iluin was silent. "So, not hrasi. You use her for what? Carrying burdens? Looks too small to help much in a fight; much too small to ride."
           "Companionship," Iluin said, and flicked an ear toward her furless bond-partner. "Rahkl lets me travel where I choose, eats less than a hrasi woman, and wouldn't doublecross me to save her life. Better than any hrasi partner when you're traveling." Rahkl was moving unsteadily; the ship hit a wave crest and bucked, sending the woman to the deck. Ignoring the laughs of the men and women, she moved to the stack of crates and collapsed there, leaning against them heavily. The merchantman noticed this.
           "Seems a bit frail to take out on the ocean, much less across the continents."
           "She's surprising," Iluin said, and left it at that.
           "You know," he began, voice suddenly tinted with that ubiquitous conniving merchant's cant, "I've never seen such a thing. I did not know that there were animals that could think, yet yours reads books and by your own admission is called ally. I'd be very interested to know where you found this creature." Iluin frowned.
           "Where do you think?" She'd considered being asked such a question, and decided to put her response to the test. After all, if it wasn't convincing she could always kill the man; such could not be assured later. "I found her in the tropics, of course. Where else would you find a furless species?"
           "There are nika in all but the most godlessly frozen regions," the merchant countered guardedly, but it was obvious that he was simply trying to save face. "Go on."
           "She is a social creature evolved on an archipelago far south of the western continent, at the southern edge of the tropics. The archipelago is little known because it is so far from the continents; I only found it because I was attempting to flee from hrasi civilization altogether. Others have discovered it as well - they must have, because I found wrecks in the bay and skeletons on the shores - but to my knowledge I am the first to survive the discovery and return home. It is simply a very dangerous place, because Rahkl's people inhabit it. They are savages, animals with only the most primitive graspings of thought. They do not even have a government, only families and sometimes killing mobs. Had I not been sher'amn, doubtless I would not have survived long enough to furnish my ship with the provisions for a return voyage.
           "But I was, and I did, and in my last three days there I found a young female on the beach, wilted, bleeding, and utterly unresponsive to the pair of adult savages that were beating her. I took pity on her, decided to kill them and take the girl into my care. She called herself Rahkl, and when she was healed and I ready to leave she clung to me, would not let me go without her. I took her: kept her. She is the most loyal companion I have ever had, if not the most intelligent."
           "But she is intelligent," the merchanter said. "I saw her reading." Iluin snorted.
           "'Intelligent' goes too far - 'clever' is probably more appropriate. She has a mind made for food-finding, not language, and it has taken me years to put as many words into her as she has now."
           She sincerely hoped that Rahkl hadn't followed any of that.
           The merchanter mused for a minute, then conceded. "Sounds like you're grabbing at threads, but you can have me bald if that thing isn't real, and yours is the only story I've heard of it. It's too crazy to be lie, anyway. Quite a novelty, she is." He paused for effect; Iluin ignored that. "Perhaps I could persuade you to sell her. I've got more than money, though there's plenty if you want it. There are other, more practical novelties that could be yours in exchange, and I have a boy I think you'd find an even better companion." He leaned close. "Surely you wouldn't want to waste such a rare and valuable person with the rigors of travel when there are thousands of slaves and free persons who'd do just as well? I could find your ally a more agreeable life. One in the royal courts, perhaps; nobles cherish the unique." Iluin set her ears back.
           "I'm not interested. Rahkl is mine, I am hers, and we are content with the arrangement." The merchant moved to protest, then stopped in realization of whom he was confronting. Instead he threw his hands out in a shrug.
           "Your decision, White One. But if you choose otherwise, I'll trade you riches you've never imagined might exist."
           Well, that clinched it. Among merchants, that which could not be imagined was invariably not worth imagining.
           Iluin strode across the open deck and took her place between Rahkl and the railing. The woman in question seemed at once relieved and cautious at her appearance. "You talk me," she said quietly, and Iluin nodded.
           "Yes. I did."
           "She friend?" Rahkl asked, nodding toward the merchant in something like a hrasi ear-flick.
           "He," Iluin corrected. "He's not an enemy. I don't think he's an enemy." Rahkl frowned.
           "We're with friends, we're with danger? What?"
           "We're with other people. I paid them to take us. Paid money - You know money?"
           "I know money," Rahkl said grimly. "These not friends?"
           "Quiet. We paid them. We'll be fine." Rahkl grumbled in her own language, then rose and staggered back to the stairs. Iluin didn't blame her; she herself wasn't sure about the crew. She glanced up to the prow and saw the merchant watching them both. No, she didn't blame Rahkl at all.
           She stood, shook her cloak back into place, and turned towards the back of the ship. Low in the sky, the sun hazed amongst the clouds and bled yellow-orange across the water - the waves turned to azure gold in the light. Wood groaned behind her.
           "Quite a view," The captain purred. "You like it?"
           "No," she said.
           "No?"
           "No." There was a pause.
           "Huh. You seemed more talkative with mister Osan."
           "Did I?"
           "You did," the captain said. He moved abreast of her. "I'm not as important as he is, then, White One?" She slanted her ears towards the merchant up at the prow.
           "I talk to whom I please," she said, but quietly inflected the response to indicate that she thought the merchant a fool. The captain nodded.
           "I respect that. This ship is a very small place, White One. I'd ask you keep your subversive court intrigue off of my ship."
           "Would you?"
           "I would." He snorted. "And White One or no, I'll throw you overboard if you ignore me. You may be a legend, but I'm a captain on my own ship, and damned if you intimidate me." She felt like she ought to take offense at that, but in the end she laughed.
           "No? That's the second in one day, then. I must be losing my mystique." She paused. "You know, I wasn't carrying my lleiri either time. I knew that thing was useful." The captain's ears went back.
           "What are you, crazy?"
           "Probably." She cocked her head to the side and feigned curiosity. "If I was, would you be intimidated then?" That got a chuff out him.
           "You're feeding it to me, aren't you? You put on a good show. I still won't let you cause me trouble." He clapped her on the back and she stiffened, then growled. "Don't like that?"
           "Men don't touch me and live." He grunted, unimpressed.
           "You must kill a lot of uninformed innocents."
           "I make allowances," she said curtly. "I'm no butcher."
           "Some of the Yoichi clan would disagree."
           "They're a pack of mangy anemic bastards." She shifted to look at him front to front. "You've made your point. I won't -"
           "No," he said, "actually, I haven't. I mean to tell you that dinner is on in an hour and ask you whether that thing you keep will attend." Iluin stood there, surprised, and blinked dumbly. Straightforward - that was unusual.
           "Of course she is."
           "Good."
           The captain smiled, clapped her on the back once more, then turned and disappeared belowdecks before she could so much as work up a proper bristle.
          

---v---

           The young crewman flew up the scale, sliding up four consecutive octaves and landing on a triumphant root note before gulping a breath of air and forcing out the same tone as low as he could manage, rich and full of thick vibrato. Tired as she was, Rachel couldn't help but applaud when the little metal flute came from his thin black lips. She stopped quickly enough: the hrasi were staring at her, ears flat. Of course hrasi didn't clap their hands. Why should they? Iluin scowled at her and she subsided.
           "Do [ ]," one of the crew said, but the instrumentalist waved his shipmate off. It was just as well; he'd already done three tunes, and good as they were, they were also several minutes long.
           Like a pride of sated lions lounging in the shade of savanna acacias, the crew and passengers of the ship had set themselves in a loose ellipse about the deck. The sails were half full with a lazy but cooperative wind, and the two on-duty crewman guided the craft gently, settling her ornery spirit to an agreeable placidity. The deck was so calm that they'd unlashed the crates, barrels, and netting, moving them strategically to provide plenty of furniture and backrests. The crew certainly knew how to treat its guests - the meal had been as good as anything she'd had on land, the conversation had been simplified to aid her stumbling vocabulary, and afterwards the passengers had been taken above to be cajoled and entertained by an adept, humorous, and sometimes enrapturing crew.
           There were six passengers, nine crewmembers, and one captain. With the cloaks and robes that the hrasi had donned, they had become completely androgynous; the crew became uniform in their coarse brown clothing. Iluin was stretched out on a pile of rope and netting laid in the center of the deck, draped in her grey cloak, with Rachel sitting next to her, rubbing idly at her companion's shoulder. A richly dressed passenger lay at the railing, swathed in a long gold fur robe. It had a younger, lithe, collared hrasi curled at its feet. The other two passengers were young, dark-furred, and dressed in simple dirty orange robes. They sat side by side between the rich pair and she and Iluin. The captain was opposite his guests, nestled between crates with the largest of the off-duty crew resting next to him, back against the crates.
           The instrumentalist slinked out from atop the barrel upon which all of the entertainers had perched. He took his place next to one of his crewmates, who put a paw on his shoulder and tugged him close. The captain growled something unintelligible and the performer nodded. Then the captain nodded towards the man's partner. "[ ], you want to get the [ ]?" he asked. Rachel fairly glowed with pride; she'd translated a sentence not intended for her to be able to understand. Hrasi was hard, but not impossible. The musician's partner nodded.
           "Fa," it said, then rose and strode across the deck to move down into the ship's bowels.
           The rich hrasi swatted its younger counterpart, motioned towards the barrel, and said something. The younger one - an apprentice, perhaps - moved. It stood, moved to the circle's center, reached into the back pockets of its breeches, and withdrew a half dozen leathery bags, each maybe half the size of Rachel's balled fist. It smiled, ears forward, and growled something. The others chuffed - all but Iluin, who simply watched. The apprentice dropped three of the bags and tossed one into the air, then tossed a second as it caught the first. It began to juggle, slowly at first, then increasingly quickly. It spoke a bit more, got a few more chuffs out of its audience, then bent back and toed a fourth bag from the deck up into the air. Before the bag fell back to the floor the juggler plucked it out of the air and added it to the three he had aloft. The crowd laughed and hiss-coughed in what seemed like a hrasi whistle. It added another bag in the same manner, then grunted and suddenly reversed the direction of its juggling. As it hooked the final bag between the two biggest claws of its foot and poised itself to add it in, the audience fell silent.
           The apprentice was lost in concentration. It flicked its ears back, tensed its muscles, and kicked out the foot, arcing the final leather bag up into its grasp. But the juggler had overjudged itself; it yelped as it found itself teetering on one leg, torso bent almost to horizontal, trying desperately to keep the bags in the air. Rachel squirmed, knowing full well that it was hopelessly off-balance, and she flinched as its leg finally gave way and it crashed onto its rump, juggling bags landing around it. The hrasi all howled with laughter - all except Iluin, who simply snorted, and the juggler, who was rubbing its tail, ears-down in humiliation. The rich hrasi said something and the others shook, chuffing madly. The juggler collected its bags and retreated back to its master to sulk.
           "[ ]!" The crewmember who'd gone down belowdecks shouted. It appeared from the stairs carrying a pitcher and a set of bowls in one hand and a pair of cloth sacks in the other. "Here," the sailor said, and set the goods at the captain's feet before returning to the flute player.
           "What is that?" Rachel whispered down to her friend. Iluin glanced up at her.
           "That? A drink with [ ] [ ]."
           "A what?"
           "It's for friends. When you're with friends. You [ ] it and it [ ] you [ ]." Rachel frowned and Iluin twitched an ear. "Watch."
           The captain set the bowls out - four of them - and then took up the pitcher. He grinned at his guests and poured into each of them something thin as water but colored thin amber. Then he reached into the first bag and scooped out a handful of glittering brown sawdust; that was unrefined sugar, she'd learned, which on this planet had hints of rye. He split the sugar equally between the four bowls, shaking a quarter into each. Then he dug into the remaining sack and withdrew a handful of what looked like dried spinach: leaves and a few stems, all crushed into a green compost. He halved that handful between a pair of the bowls, then retrieved a second handful for the other two. The captain looked up at his guests and crew, then made an expansive gesture. He pulled one of the bowls away and passed it to the nearest sailor before pointing a hand to remaining three. "[ ] want one?"
           "Fa," said one of the orange-robed passengers, who then moved for one of the bowls.
           "Fa," said the rich hrasi, who kicked the juggler until it moved too.
           Iluin looked up to her, then nodded towards the bowl. "[ ] [ ] one with you, Rahkl. You want one?" Rachel didn't say anything; she had no opinions concerning alien liquors. Iluin took her pause as an assent. "Hai, Rahkl. Go, get one." Rachel rose and walked to the captain, who looked up at her and flinched. He recovered quickly, though, and handed her the final bowl with a wavering smile. She returned to Iluin, who sat up at the sight of her and took the bowl at Rachel's offering.
           "This is food?" she asked. Iluin shook her head.
           "Watch." She held the bowl one-handed and hooked her claws into the green pulp, then swished it around, soaking it and dissolving the tiny whirlwind of brown granules at the bottom. As Rachel looked on Iluin massaged the clump of plant-stuff, squeezing and working at it until the liquid itself went green with loosed chlorophyll. "There. Now we [ ] drink it," said. She took about half of the plant mass and put it into her mouth, shut her eyes tight and chewed, then spat the mouthful back into the bowl and lapped at it twice. Then she passed it Rachel. Rachel stared, flabbergasted. She moved the bowl to her lips, but Iluin put a hand on her arm to stop her. "No. Like this." She mimed sponging up some of the liquid with the plant and then chewing on it. Rachel looked at the other hrasi on the deck: they were doing just that.
           "Are you sure?" she asked. Iluin just stared. "Right." She dipped her fingers into the bowl and took out the unused half of the plant matter. It slid in her palm like a lump of algae or fibery, congealed phlegm. She stared at it, then braced herself and stuffed it in her mouth.
           The liquid had alcohol in it, doubtless. It had the raw-gut hollowness of hard liquor, blunted only by the sickening-sweet taste of too much sugar. The plant tasted nutty and sharp, like almonds and pecans. Not bad, actually. She sucked the liquid out of it, chewing all the while, then spat the plant back into the bowl and supped half a mouthful from it. Curious - the liquor from the bowl tasted different. It was richer, fuller.
           She and Iluin continued to trade the bowl, contaminating it further each time. Oddly enough, it seemed to taste better each time, though maybe that was the alcohol. Iluin let her ears up and relaxed, eyes half-lidded in bliss. The other hrasi too seemed quieted, content, and fulfilled. They rubbed heads affectionately and leaned against one another. Rachel herself felt a bit unwound; she slumped against Iluin, inert, gaze wandering listlessly across the deck as she chewed at some of the pulp. Eventually the liquor ran out; rather than pour more she and Iluin split the pulp, trading every few minutes. Dimly Rachel thought it disgusting and dangerously unsanitary, but for some reason she didn't care. It was good, and if it blurred her senses it didn't dull the taste.
           In her addle-brained state she thought she saw connections between the hrasi. There was an even number of them, and they sat in pairs. She thought each paid more attention to his or her partner than to the others. The rich passenger and the juggler, the musician and the errand-cat, the captain and crewmember beside him - there were pairs. Only Iluin was alone. Rachel glanced at her companion, then. Was she the other half of Iluin's pair? That was a confusing thought.
           She felt dizzy, and had just enough sense left to reach for the empty bowl and spit her mouthful of plant out; it left her mouth dry and her skin tingling. Iluin looked at her, then took the bowl and followed suit. There was nothing guarded in her presentation, just a lazy, well-appeased smile. Rachel hadn't seen that in her before. It was unnerving, really - there was no edge to Iluin when Iluin was supposed to be all edge and no calm.
           "Hai," the captain said, voice slurred, "[ ] [ ], you want your [ ] to [ ] [ ] a [ ]?" Iluin reacted to that; she looked at Rachel, then to the captain, then back to Rachel. After a moment she dipped her head and nudged Rachel on the shoulder with a paw.
           "You want to [ ] a [ ]?" she asked.
           "What?" Rachel said, then realized she'd just spoken in English. She shook her head and tried again. "Rreshe?"
           "What he did," Iluin said, ears canting towards the juggler. Then she nodded towards the musician. "Also what he did. You want to [ ]? For me?"
           "I can't do…" she moved her hands as though she was juggling. "Can't do that." All of the hrasi snorted or chuffed; Iluin cut a diagonal line through the air with her paw.
           "No, no, not that. Do [ ] to [ ] them. [ ] me." Rachel had heard that last word used three times now. She tried it.
           "Aylshea? What is that?" More chuffs. Iluin pointed at the laughing captain.
           "Make him do that." Entertain them? It was her turn? Rachel eyed the Iluin dubiously. What, was she supposed to stand up and sing a couple of tunes? Tap dance? Do a little political satire, maybe? Iluin cocked her head to one side. "Please?"
           "I don't know what to do," she admitted. Iluin made an open-book gesture.
           "You know a [ ], maybe? With people, doing things? With fights, friends, danger, [ ]? You know one, don't you?" Rachel nodded. She knew plenty of stories. "[Tell?] us one. I'll help with words."
           Again, Rachel nodded. The others had stopped laughing; perhaps they sensed that she was a bit more than a particularly clever and well-trained parrot. They leaned toward her, all ears perked forward, ready to listen. She tried desperately to think of something they'd appreciate that was within her ability to explain and was general enough to make some sense. Frankenstein, maybe? No, too abstract. Hercules? But she didn't know his stories well enough. Maybe Antigone? But she had no idea if they'd be able to relate. The hrasi waited, poised and attentive. She looked at their arrangement once more and an answer came careening out of the well-drugged recesses of her mind. She took a moment to consider her vocabulary, then began.
           "Before you, before me, there was a city. It had a city-authority - a bad one, that wasn't… ah… that didn't have control. The city also had two family-authorities. They wanted to kill them… I mean, one wanted to kill one…"
           "They wanted to kill each other," provided Iluin. Rachel paused in confusion: Iluin shouldn't have been able to guess what words she'd been looking for, yet even though it was the first time Rachel had heard them she knew that they were correct. How, she didn't know, but she was certain. Her surprised break was long enough to earn her a nudge from her friend.
           "Sorry - so they wanted to kill each other. Had wanted for days. For seasons. For years. The families were very big - all the city was…
           "Part of," said Iluin. Again, she had no idea why she knew that Iluin's choice was correct.
           "Part of - thank you - part of one family or the family's friends. Here two small people-"
           "-children, you mean-"
           "Children, then. Two children were born: one in each family. This in the city of Verona."
           She spent the rest of the twilight recounting the epic of the Capulets and the Montagues, slipping up every other sentence and nearly always being saved by her friend after at most a small discussion. The story was in her, mostly: she remembered the scenes and their orders, remembered all of the characters and most of the really important lines, a few of which Iluin's assistance allowed her to fully render. It was one of her favorites, a small artistic concession to an otherwise passionately scientific soul. Rachel's furry audience, alien though it was, quickly succumbed to Shakespeare's tale, and by the time the play's opening brawl had concluded they were all captivated.
           They laughed at the feast of the Capulets, shifted uneasily when the young Montague's eyes strayed from Rosalind, tensed when Tybalt, Benvolio, and Mercutio quarreled. When the prince delivered his sentence of exile fur ruffled and hackles raised; when the friar told young lady Capulet of his plan to reunite the couple they sighed in relief. Paris they scorned. When the news of the daughter Capulet's alleged death was the first to reach Mantua the hrasi all but tore their pelts out, and she had them wire-tight for the rest of the tale, so anxious that they seemed unmoved by her account of Paris's slaying. When young Montague drank his poison and laid next to his bride, however, there were hisses, not of anger but of anguish or frustration. She followed through with the catharsis and denouement, reciting the final stabbing and the discourse of the family lords with the prince as best as she could remember it. They seemed somewhat appeased to know that the girl died rather than continue on without her lord, but there was a distressed expression on every hrasi's face when she had finished. Iluin was the first to speak.
           "Each wanted only to die without the other," she said quietly. "That is the [ ] of [ ]."
           "So sad," the musician said. "They died [ ], and [ ] I do not think they could have changed their path." There was a moment of silence. The rich hrasi broke it, though it did so with only a whisper.
           "Did you make that story?"
           "No. Another did, before me. Did you like it?" it slanted its muzzle downward in a 'yes'.
           "Some of it was good. Some… needs [ ]." Rachel almost laughed; who on Earth would presume to correct Shakespeare? It noticed her mirth and continued, undeterred. "You said this was in a city?"
           "Yes," she said.
           "Of [ ] like you?"
           "Yes." The rich hrasi pursed its lips and looked at Iluin. Muddled as the woman was, she narrowed her eyes right back at it. Rachel had absolutely no idea what was going on. The captain looked between the two hrasi and growled, standing unsteadily.
           "[ ]! It is [ ] night. [ ] to sleep! All of you!" and he staggered towards the stairs. One of the two on-duty crewmembers, neither of whom had taken the wine and leaves, snatched the pitcher and bowl from beneath his captain's feet. Iluin wrapped an arm around her and nuzzled her ear.
           "We should sleep," Iluin gusted. Her voice was slurred.
           Rachel nodded and tried to get up with Iluin; they got to a squat before collapsing against each other. Iluin laughed and they tried again, this time each on her own. Rachel managed her way down the stairs without falling, a small miracle, but she stopped there; the cloud-diffused moonlight hid the corridor beyond. Her companion brushed past, then took her hand and led her on. Iluin took her back to their cabin and drew the heavy canvas door shut with a rustle.
           That furry grip left her then, and for a moment Rachel stood in the dark, listening to the rumble of the water on the ship and the breathing of two tired women. Without Iluin she would have been terrified; there was not enough light for her to see the walls or the door, much less the sword and the firearm that she knew were lying somewhere on the floor. But Iluin's hand returned quickly enough, and led her to the edge of their hammock. Rachel touched those rough woven cords and swallowed. They were thick and tightly-packed enough for thick hrasi pelts, probably, but they'd ruin her bare skin. She winced at the thought.
           "Not lot soft," she mumbled. In response Iluin laid hands on her cloak and lifted it off. She heard the gentle plop of the cloak on the hammock, then another. "Good enough," she said in English, and shrugged her vest off, then started working at her alien shirt's half dozen buttons. Iluin was a quiet rustle beside her, a few thumps of cloth and leather on the floor. Rachel pulled herself halfway into the hammock, kicked her boots off, and rolled the rest of the way in. The hammock groaned and sunk as she pressed into it, then more so as one side dipped and Iluin's furry warmth slid in beside her. Her friend's sheer weight, even when more beside than atop her, was suffocating; Rachel yelped and moved away from the center. They shuffled until they were as side by side as two people could be in a hammock. Somehow she sensed Iluin's chagrin at almost suffocating her, though how she did not know - the room was too dark to make out anything, and their only sounds were strained breaths and grunts.
           Iluin ended up at her back, and stretched an arm across Rachel's torso to drape a hand at her stomach. Rachel felt the paw's razor fingertips flexing in and out as they tapped patterns and designs on her abdomen. They never touched tip-first, and always brushed against her skin with their marble-smooth backs instead of their inner cutting edges. Perhaps it would have been soothing to a fellow super-predator; it wasn't to her. "Claws," she mumbled, not particularly interested in an overnight disembowelment. They disappeared.
           "Apologies," said Iluin.
           "Funny," Rachel yawned in English, "I didn't think I knew that word."
           "You didn't." It took Rachel a moment to register that.
           "What?"
           "The drug," Iluin responded.
           "God, now I'm hallucinating. I know I don't know what 'drug' is in your language."
           "Han du' I nogh Engrish?" Iluin asked. The tones were broken and guttural, but unmistakably human.
           "No, you don't..." Little mental fireworks displays were going off in her head, indicating that dammit, something important was going on, but she was so tired that it was even beginning to dampen her curiosity. "The drug… the wine?" Iluin laughed.
           "The plant. It's drug, for friends. Makes us more together. Makes us happy. I told you." There was a snort. "We're more together; I can hear you better."
           "Hear?"
           "Bad word. I can think you better? No, still wrong…"
           "Telepathy? Sounds like a lot of sci-fi psychic bullshit," Rachel grumbled. Then she groaned. Iluin had wanted the right word and she'd instinctively supplied it.
           "You're catching the scent?"
           "I'm getting the drift, yeah," she answered. Half of her was screaming 'discovery'; the other was drifting fast. "I'm gonna write about this later, you know," she yawned. "I'm gonna figure out how… how I'm suddenly tele-… what was I saying?"
           "I don't know," Iluin purred, and rubbed her soft leathery dog-nose against Rachel's throbbing temple. "Didn't understand a word…"
          

---v---

           The White One awoke with sunlight in her eyes and knew instinctually that she wasn't really awake. She found this unnerving; as a rule she did not dream, or at least did not remember her dreams. That she might be awake, however, was an impossibility: real sunlight was not so yellow. Nor was there a body at her side. She knew from life-long experience that when one slept alone one awoke cold, short of breath, and terrified; this was most definitely a dream.
           Iluin found herself lying in a bed, with her head beneath a window in the wall. The sun shone through, but it was not the sun: where the real sun was a pale honey-water yellow, this orb was golden. It hung in the sky, signifying midday. Iluin looked at her room, then. Something dull and opaque that was neither wood nor metal made up the walls, stretching just a little too high to end inartistically in a flat, paneled ceiling. Two long glass tubes were affixed to the ceiling; they might have been decorations had they not been so spartan. There was a door not six paces away, in the corner, with a wood-paneled closet beside it. In the other corner was a mirror, an ivory sink, and a dresser covered with books and papers, with it's bottom drawer jutting out, too full of stacks of shirts to close. The dresser was covered with books and paper. There was a desk at the far wall, its chair overturned on the floor, but there were neither quills nor inkbeds on it. Instead it was choked with metal and glass boxes, with endless stacks of shiny-covered tomes, and with empty plates and dried, crusty utensils. She looked down at her bed, down to where the white fur of her stomach disappeared under a thin fuzzy blue-grey blanket and two layers of uncommonly smooth white sheets. The bed was little more than a large bench with a mattress: it was not even permanently attached to the floor.
           Iluin took all this in silently, considered it, and decided that her dream had not done its research properly. It allowed a hundred books and as many novelties of what looked to be pure steel into a hovel that did not merit a servant to clean the dirt and take away the dishes? It had walls and a ceiling built from a material that did not exist? It put sheets so fine they would scarcely be found outside of the Yoichi palace on a makeshift bed that to all appearances had been added as an afterthought? Perhaps her dream-maker was out of practice.
           After waiting for a development in the dream's plot and receiving none, she moved out of the bed and stepped onto the cold tile of the floor. Well, at least the dream had been thoughtful enough to provide her with breeches. The floor tingled; it felt too uniform. She looked down at it and frowned. It looked like lacquered wood, but it had a fakeness to it, as thought it was only a thin bit of stone. Unsettled, she strode to the door and pushed it ajar.
           One look was enough: Iluin snapped her head back in and forced the door shut. Her heart raced in spite of herself and her hand moved unconsciously to the hilt of a lleiri that was not there. Beyond that door was a hallway, carpeted, too tall and not nearly wide enough, which had a miniature sun every five paces. Not a torch, not a little Rahkl-trick light, a sun! They were too bright to look at!
           She took a step away from the door, shaking her head in disbelief, and in doing so noticed a picture pinned to the closet door. It looked completely real, though that was impossible. It depicted a horizon of dust grey craters and mountains, a sky of perfect black, and a blue-green ball rising where a sun ought to have been. Iluin tapped the picture with a claw, tracing the continents. It was not Haras. It was… she closed her eyes, trying to remember. It was Earth. Home. The insight intrigued her, made her study the picture again. It was real; she knew it. And damned if she was in the right dream.
          

---v---

           "Gods!" Iluin swore softly, once more in a ship's belowdecks hammock, cradling her sleeping bond-partner. That was not supposed to happen - she had an excruciating headache. Mesjh did not do that. It attuned you to he or she with whom you shared it, facilitated a temporary bond, but it didn't do… whatever it was that it had done. The alcohol couldn't have helped, but what she was feeling was no simple hangover. Her skull pounded with a terrible pressure, pained from memories and thoughts it had not been meant to contain. Iluin untangled herself from her partner and leapt out of the hammock, doing her best not to wake Rahkl. The furless woman grumbled at the motion and rolled to the center, but didn't rouse. Iluin brushed her partner's cheek, but her mind retched at the touch; it was suddenly too familiar for comfort.
           Reeling, she stumbled out of the cabin and into the corridor. The ship rocked and she lost her footing, collapsing against the wall. She slumped there for a moment, hands on her temples, wincing. It took her several minutes to gather her wits and regain her balance; when she had she headed for the stairs.
           Chill night air greeted her as she emerged onto the deck. The smells of wood sealant and sea salt together knotted her throat and she had just enough time to dash to the railing before voiding her stomach into the sea. She choked on her bile, coughed, spat, and ended up hanging on the wooden rails, shaking, claws dug into the beams. What a spectacular legend she was, indeed.
           "White One?" someone asked from aft of the vessel. Iluin turned her head to glare at a middle-aged crewwoman who stood behind the staircase, watching her carefully. "Do you need a drink?"
           "Water?" she rasped.
           "Of course. I wouldn't go near that liquor Captain fed you." The woman pulled a wineskin from her belt and moved to Iluin's side to hand it to her. "Here. It's clean." Then her ears set back. "You look half dead."
           "I feel worse."
           "The ocean is getting to you?"
           "No - it's the Mesjh. Stronger than I remember it being."
           "Ours comes from fields on the southern continent: strongest stuff anywhere. 'S what you get for splitting an entire bowl with just one person."
           "Could've warned me," Iluin muttered.
           "Captain doesn't like us correcting our passengers." Iluin took a greedy gulp of water and forced herself to swallow, then passed the skin back and made an effort to stand properly. "Didn't think I'd ever see you bent over the side of the ship, leaking your supper out through your mouth and your nose," the woman said. "I thought you were mostly concerned with looking fearsome."
           "Mostly," she agreed in distaste, then changed the subject. "Where's your partner? He doesn't have you sailing the night alone, does he?"
           "Of course not." The crewwoman nodded her head towards the stairs. "She went down to find some food a few minutes ago. You can't trust an entire ship to one person, especially not this close to shore. You have to keep each other awake and watch your course, else you'll run aground on the shoals."
           "I didn't see her when I came up."
           "No?" The woman sighed. "That's Rhan. She's a good woman and I love her, but she just can't take the cold." Her ears flicked back. "Don't tell the captain, would you? Let her stay down there, just for a few minutes. I don't mind working the deck alone." Iluin grimaced and turned away.
           "Fine with me. I'm going back below."
           "Dream well, White One."
           "I'd rather not at all," she muttered, but threw up a hand in thanks and moved down the steps and back into the hallway. The two robed young men were there, moving in the opposite direction. One brushed past; the other stopped in front of her and stared, hands clasped at his stomach. "Sick?" she guessed. He nodded weakly. The door to their left rustled aside and the merchant put his head out of his cabin; he glared at the young men.
           "Why are you waiting?"
           Iluin would've asked him what he'd meant if the blow that struck her square in the back hadn't knocked the breath out of her lungs. As it was she simply grunted and stumbled, then stopped thinking entirely as her head met the floor.
          

---v---

           She woke in blackness. Groaned, half because her head hurt, half because she was stuck in a unlit labyrinth and she really needed to pee. Rachel twisted upright and felt around the hammock for Iluin, her eyes, but she was not there. Strange. For a moment she considered waiting - after all, somewhere on the floor there was a gun and a sword - but her bladder convinced her otherwise. She swung her legs over the edge, then pushed herself out, landing not on wood but on cloth. That and the air that teased goosebumps out of her bare flesh convinced her to crouch down and start pawing the floor for her clothes - it was going to be cold out on that deck. Somewhere in the back of her mind was a small, quiet realization of her situation's absurdity. She was supposed to be out kissing frogs and slaying dragons, not squatting in her underwear while trying to figure out where the hell her pants were.
           She found them, realized that it was actually a shirt, then found a boot and a belt. Dammit… A minute later she found them; they'd shifted to the other end of the hammock. Trying to dress oneself in a dark, rocking ship is nearly impossible: She managed the pants, shirt, and her cloak from the hammock, but didn't bother to try for the rest. Then she pointed herself in one direction and started walking - carefully, because the ship was rocking and the polished wood was smooth. She hit a wall and started to follow along it, then found the thick, heavy cloth of the door. Brushing it aside, she stepped into the corridor. There was just the faintest lightening of the black at the hall's end. She stepped down it, quiet and careful not wake anyone. Got about a third of the way down before she planted one foot forward and landed on furry flesh.
           Rachel froze. She put her foot back and crouched down to the floor, reached out a hand. Wet fur; it was a shoulder. She followed the shoulder up to the neck; it was wetter there. The fur ended, gave way to a small trench of spongy moist warmth and a mess of syrup. Throat slit: no breath, no pulse. Rachel was suddenly aware of the loudness of her breath; she quieted it. Quieted everything about herself, and focused hard on keeping her heart from racing.
           The stairway suddenly streamed with flickering red-yellow light and Rachel jerked her gaze up. Nothing moved; no one appeared. But there was a fire somewhere up above, and the light streamed down into the hallway. It was just enough for her to make out the color of the pelt. Brown. Not white. She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or terrified. Did Iluin do that? Surely not. She stood and stepped back, ready to run blindly for her gun. Not that she'd make it in close quarters against predators with claws and night vision. She thought she heard voices and quickly padded forward to crouch at the base of the steps.
           Perhaps it would've been safer to scream and run to the end of the hall, where the crew slept in the cargo room. Unless, of course, she'd found a passenger and the crew were the murderers. But she didn't scream. She was too worried about Iluin.
           "-[ ] [ ], you [ ]! [ ] her. No, not there: behind the [ ]." It was the rich hrasi. With the distance and the quietness of his voice, she barely understood a word of it.
           "[ ]?" someone else asked. One of the two robed hrasi, she thought. "[ ] don't you do the [ ], if you know so [ ] [ ] about it?" Definitely one of the two robed hrasi.
           "[ ]," the rich hrasi answered. "I [ ] the [ ]. If you want me to [ ], I will. But I won't be back. Do you think you can [ ] her [ ]?"
           "We could," the other snorted. "But we'll [ ] you [ ]. [ ] on us." There was a pause. "What are we [ ] to do with the [ ]?"
           "The [ ] [ ] no fur? I want it. I'll [ ] you to [ ] it." Rachel stifled a curse and tensed, hugging the stairs. They were talking about her…
           "We think [ ] might be [ ] to the [ ]. [ ] [ ] want it. How [ ] [ ] you [ ] for it?"
           Wood creaked behind her and the voices stopped. Rachel felt more than heard a presence behind her; there was that subtle shift in pressure and sound. No rifle, no sword, no knife. She gritted her teeth and quietly shifted her weight towards the wall. The person behind her moved, just one step. She imagined someone bending over her, one claw extended to hook around her throat and open up a neat red crescent. She was trapped, cornered, pinned. Oh god, oh god, oh god oh god oh god oh god -
           "Eeaaghh!" she screamed, and sprung forward, scrambling up the stairs because she knew there was a giant furry wall to stop her if she tried to run the other way. She landed on the deck on all fours and threw herself to the side, rolling as fast as she could. There was a crash as muscle and fur slammed into the patch of deck she'd occupied a moment before. Then she was up and stumbling backwards. The rich hrasi was glaring at her from the prow, torch in hand. Both robed men were standing over Iluin, who lay inert and unresponsive on the deck, bound with rope and wire at her hands, neck, feet, and knees. A bloody, ruined crewmember's carcass was laid out next to her; the juggler, cursing and clutching at his nose, was rising from the ground, glaring at her. Rachel looked around the ship desperately for something to throw or wield. There was nothing. "Stay away from me," she warned, even as she threw herself back towards the aft. "Don't touch me - don't touch her! I'll kill you!"
           "[ ] that," The rich one said, and nodded towards her. "[ ] it if you [ ] to." The two robed ones left Iluin and moved toward her, hunkering down a bit as they approached, stalking her.
           "Iluin?" she asked, voice wavering. She felt the railing hit her back leg and moved forward, actually closing the distance between her and her three hunters. They were certainly not her 'opponents' - she didn't rate that much, and worse, she knew it. They fanned out, a robed man on either side with the juggler in between.
           "Don't' [ ]," the robed man on the left said. "You'll only [ ] [ ]." She grinned wildly.
           "Hey, how 'bout this, kitty? Come near me and I'll rip your pretty little tails off - Iluin! Iluin!"
           "What is it [ ]?" The one on the right asked. The juggler sniffed.
           "I don't [ ] it [ ]. I want it [ ]." They started to advance.
           "Iluin? Iluin! Goddammit, get up!"
           "Quiet," The juggler snarled.
           "Fuck you!" she snarled right back. The three began moving in more quickly. "Il-Iluin!"
           There was a throaty growl from the deck behind her attackers and they stopped. The juggler turned around, swiveling at the hip.
           The chance was the best she was going to get; she took it.
           Rachel burst forward and threw her bulk into the twisted, off-balance juggler, sending him sprawling to the floor. She didn't stop. Claws grabbed at her cloak; she let them have it. She ran forward, zigzagging, trying desperately to stay on her feet.
           Iluin was sitting up, working at her knees; her wrists were bloody, but her hands' former bonds were laid out on the deck. The rich hrasi growled from across the deck and kicked Iluin in the face, knocking her onto her side, but she in turn hissed and swung her legs out to trip him. The torch dropped to the deck and rolled away.
           One of the men managed to tackle Rachel from behind and take her to the ground; she yelped as she landed on one elbow, shooting pain through her arm. A hand pulled her head back by the hair and slammed her face down into the deck. Her nose crunched and she came away with a mouth pooling blood and hot syrup coming down in two columns from her nose; she coughed as she tried to move her hands under her head and cushion any further blows. There was a suffocating weight on her back; she strained against it and earned herself another knock against the deck. There would be no throwing her opponent off; she could barely struggle.
           With a roar from the side the pressure on her lifted and a body hit the deck beside her. A hand grabbed at her shirt, hauled her to her feet, then pushed her away. Iluin: white smudged with dark crimson. In the light of the flame she looked primal, predatory: not so much person as wildcat. The man who'd just been cast off of her rolled to his feet and stepped back: the other two kept their distance, ears wrapped around their skulls, growling. Iluin put a hand to Rachel's chest, keeping her back and behind. Rachel turned to look in the other direction. The merchantman was laid out among his gaudy opulence, throat ribboned open, neck twisted to an unnatural angle. The railing near the fore beside him was flaming, and the red-orange tongues were spreading down the edges of the deck planks.
           A single crewmember appeared from the bowels of the ship with a short sword in hand. His eyes went from the dead to she and Iluin, then to their three assailants. He turned and looked back down the staircase.
           "Fire! Fire and [ ]! We need [ ]!" he yelled. Iluin snapped her head to the side to look at him and the three hrasi launched themselves at her. She reacted immediately, and moved too; the four crashed together halfway with a chorus of snarls as two, then four of the crew came running up the stairs and onto the deck. Iluin's bulk was enough to send two of her three attackers flying back to deck, but she and the third went spinning down together in a hissing white-brown coil. Iluin landed on top, pinned the man's legs with her own, and snarled as she grabbed his neck with both hands and sunk in her claws. One of the remaining two crouched and then leapt at Iluin, but Rachel was ready for that. She stepped forward, kicked out her leg, and brought it down on him as he prepared to land atop Iluin, her bare heel driving down into the crook of his neck. All three of them twisted and yelled, bodies going awry: out of the corner of her eye Rachel saw the last of the aggressors, the juggler, get to his feet, but he was quickly overpowered by a pair of crew. Predictably, Iluin was the first to recover: she lashed out with her feet at the man, who'd overshot and landed next to the railing. He yowled as his lower half went overboard and twisted onto his back, grabbing for the wooden rails. Iluin snarled and kicked his arms away from their hold. He dropped away, splashing and screaming curses a few moments later.
           "[ ] - don't move from where you are!" A low voice boomed. Rachel turned back to see the Captain and two of the crew standing at the center of the deck, each with crossbows leveled at them. Another two were restraining the juggler - the others were frantically drawing water up from the sea by rope and tossing it onto the blazing prow. Iluin was heaving - she didn't feel much better.
           "They [ ] to kill us," Iluin growled.
           "They [ ] to kill us!" the juggler howled in protest. "That white [ ] and her damned [ ]!"
           "[ ]!" The captain bellowed. "Both of you. I want to know who [ ] the fire and killed my [ ]. You [ ] me and I'll kill you too." Iluin spoke immediately, desperate to cut the juggler off.
           "They did it. With that [ ]," she added, nodding to the ashen remains of the torch. "They [ ] to [ ] us for the [ ]. If Rahkl hadn't [ ] they would have [ ]."
           "Not [ ], not [ ]!" The juggler sputtered. "It was them! They used the [ ] to show the [ ] where we are. Kill them!" The captain gave him a single flat-eared stare, then nodded to the two crew who held him. The leftmost drew a dagger and put it through the man's neck. He gurgled, grasping at his neck, then flinched as the dagger was withdrawn. The juggler didn't seem to notice as they dragged him to the side - he just held his neck and made gaping fish faces. The two crew shoved him over the side and watched as he disappeared beneath the waves. The captain, meanwhile, had lowered his sidearm. He looked at the two bloodied women laid out on the deck.
           "Get up." They did; Rachel had to lean a bit on Iluin, as an ankle she did not remember twisting was throbbing like it'd been bored through with a drill press. The captain waved the rest of his crew to go work on the fire, which was already more smoke than light. "I know you're no friend of the [ ]," he said. Then he nodded to the fire. "They'll have [ ] us if they were [ ] out on the [ ]." Iluin nodded.
           "We can [ ] them. I'll [ ]."
           "Maybe you would. We won't. [ ] of us have died [ ]. We're [ ] to get the fire out and [ ] [ ]." Iluin dipped her head.
           "I know where we can go. I'll [ ] you." Then she turned her head to look down at Rachel wearily. "You're hurt." It was not a question; she didn't answer it. "Let's go [ ]. There are some [ ] there that we can use on you." She pawed Rachel and nudged her towards the stairs. Rachel blushed.
           "Ah, I have to… ah…" She shifted, made a gesture. Iluin wilted. She hissed, canted an ear to the side of the boat.
           "Go."
          

---v---

           The fog rolled in ephemeral waves over the pier. She and Rahkl, newly bandaged, stood together at its end. The Twice-Blessed Arrow bobbed gently, tethered to poles of the pier; the mast and prow were laced with the black-white of burnt wood and ash. The air, frigid and wet, blew through their cloaks and made Rahkl hug to her for warmth. The captain, beside them, stared at the ship with a curled lip. Iluin couldn't really empathize, having no ship to be marred or home to be destroyed, but she felt a little sympathy for him. He growled.
           "It hasn't gotten any better these last few days - we're not just going to have to replace the mast and the deck, but probably some of the heart structure too. Those inner beams aren't as well sealed; they're probably waterlogged near the fore."
           "How long will it take?"
           "Oh, we won't do all of that here - we're sailors, not shipwrights. We'll replace the mast and scrub the burnt wood off of the planks where we can. It'll only be a day or two."
           "That'll be plenty of time. You'll wait for me?" the captain nodded.
           "We'll wait." He looked at the sea - it disappeared in grey mist a few feet past the pier. "I didn't know that people lived out here. These islands are all tiny patches of rock and scrub."
           "The archipelago reaches days from the coast," Iluin answered. "It's a maze of currents and shoals."
           "I know. I can't believe you lead us here." She shrugged.
           "I've memorized the path. A friend lives here - it's something of a sanctuary to me." She looked to the island and pointed up the gently sloping hill that sloped up from the shore. "This is one of the largest islands. We're at the mouth of a valley. It goes up a long way, plateaus to cliffs on either side. If you need me, just go along the shore until you hit the river, then follow it up the valley." She bent down and picked up Rahkl's pack and gun. "I'll be back."
           "You're not taking your sword, White One?" She smiled.
           "I won't need it."
          

---v---

           Long ago the gods made the world from itself, shaping mountains and scooping valleys, smoothing the edges of mesas and sculpting the arcs of river deltas. What the world had been before no one knew, but of one thing all could be certain; the previous one must have been bigger. The ancient Naman name for the coastal archipelago of the northeast translated literally as 'leftovers'. The islands were the scraps and bits of the old world that the Gods had not needed and had tossed aside just far enough from shore to be conveniently out of sight.
           Scrap that it was, the archipelago had not been given the same care of determined craftsmanship that had been allotted the rest of the world. It been given no care at all, in fact, and was accordingly raw; the island entire was naught but a gigantic wedge of black stone that'd been cleft to boulders in some places, or chipped to stones and pebbles, or worn to clay and dirt. Tall, dark whisen trees forced themselves from between the broken rocks, growing in terraced lines up a steep grade, covering the valley in a mat of verdant quills. They exuded arrogance and rugged confidence, as pretentious as any part of nature could be - they knew full well that nothing their size was supposed to be able to grow in such acidic soil and bitter, wet cold. Below them sprang beautiful grasses, thick-leafed, vibrantly green, waxy and soft. Mountain tears - tiny white blooms, each no bigger than a water drop - dotted the ground in clumps, surrounded by yellow-brown weeds and thick, dark green mosses. The larger faces were sometimes spattered with lichens, but more often they were covered by sheets of green slime, which, though striking, made moving among the rocks a treacherous business. Little streams and pools of water crisscrossed the island, each clear as a finished jewel, each cold and sweet and teeming with life. Water was everywhere here. Drizzle, fog, rain, streams, ocean - water hung to a person, matted her down and became a part of her. The land was quiet, empty, still.
           Together they trudged up the incline, fitting feet between patches of rock, sometimes nearly climbing as the grade went three-quarters to vertical. Theirs was not really a path as such, but a slurry of loose rocks cut out of the island's inner eastern mountainside, a geological artifact of some ancient glacial wanderlust. The sky, overcast, blanketed the land and the sea, a uniform dome of thick grey. If one were to hold one's gaze level at such an altitude, the horizon would nearly bisect the view. Above, grey sky: below, water more silver-white than blue or green, shimmering with waves and currents, often blurred or hidden by a blanket of low-lying fog, dotted with a scattering of black isles and jagged rocks jutting from the surface.
           Iluin stopped them halfway up after near an hour's climb. She found a boulder to sit on and perched there, staring out at the ocean; Rahkl lied beside her and drew her cloak up to wrap around her cheeks. They sat for a while in silence, listening to the soft shsssha rustling of the wind through the valley. Memories of suns held captive in clear gourds flashed through Iluin's head. Memories that'd come to her secondhand. She knew of the process, but didn't believe the implication.
           Of course anyone could bond to anyone else to some small extent - such informal bonds were the foundations of every clan, province, and nation-state in history. Hrasi came in pairs; that was the exclusionary bond, the one that held you to another, inspired trust and loyalty, ensured focus and fitful sleep at night. Between brother and sister, or man and man, or woman and woman, it was weaker - the bond provided a heightened perception of one's partner's disposition and health, but little else. Among men and women of compatible age the bond was stronger, more visceral.
           The depth of the bond determined the exchange in such cases. In those ill suited to one another, the bond offered perhaps only an increased ability to affect a partner's mood and demeanor. Other, stronger bonds provided partners intuitions of varying accuracy concerning their companions' reactions, choice of words, even sequences of thought. Bonds stronger still, rare thought they were, transferred simple sensations from partner to partner given sufficient contact - sensations like pain, heat, and pressure. In an extremely small portion of the species bonds became so close that partners could share images and intentions in the same way that less compatible couples shared those simple sensations. Or so such people claimed; she had had her doubts, never having bonded to such a degree. She had them no longer.
           So she and Rahkl had shared memories under the heady haze of mesjh. Mesjh strengthened bonds for a time, or created them where they did not exist - that was its danger. But it did not strengthen bonds to that degree. An exchange of memories was the product of love and blood's alchemy. And when Iluin looked at Rahkl huddled in her new-made cloak, looking miserably cold and out of place, she knew that she didn't love her. Liked her, maybe, and maybe cared for, but not loved; she was the wrong temperament, wrong gender, even the wrong species. Yet she had Rahkl's memories. Was Iluin misinterpreting Rahkl's actions? Perhaps Rahkl was deeply in love with her; she did not think so.
           Iluin looked to her partner, then nudged her side. "Hai, Rahkl. Things are getting dangerous. I need to go out there, where it's much more dangerous. Much worse than now." Rahkl stared, then nodded.
           "I understand. I'll go with you. Friend." As simple as that.
           "You might die," Iluin warned. "Die. Dead. No move." That gave Rahkl pause.
           "I know the word," she said finally. "If you want me, I will go. I'm friend."
           "That's all?" Iluin asked quietly. "That's all you are?"
           "I don't understand."
           "I saw your home."
           "Home?" That with a hint of trepidation.
           "Where you were… before. I saw it. Saw your room, your bed, your sun. Your sun's color is wrong - too yellow."
           "I don't understand. You saw a… ah, an art?"
           "No. Not a painting. I saw what you saw. Before, on the boat, I was in your eyes, in your ears, in your nose." She tapped her temple with a claw. "Here. In you."
           "No you weren't. That's not… that does not work." Rahkl was frowning at her, hands still holding together the edges of her cloak. "If I had the words, I could show you. But, Iluin, no."
           "I did. I saw your world. I saw the glass-bound suns, the papers on the walls, the wall-chair-bed, the sun with too much color. Your floor looks like wood, but it's thin and feels like stone. I've seen it in you."
           "No. You're wrong. You can't be right! I can show you why you're wrong with more words." Rahkl was distressed now, but she seemed more annoyed, as though Iluin was behaving childishly. There was no love there; Iluin was sure of it. She patted her companion on the arm, then stood.
           "We should go." Rahkl stood as well and looked at her eagerly, bright-eyed, ready to follow. If it'd been anyone else she would've thought her a fool, but in Rahkl that was just naivete. Well, so maybe there was some affection there. Wordlessly they turned and continued up the rough-worn path.
           They'd known. Perhaps they'd not known that she and Rahkl had intended to escape on the Twice-Blessed Arrow, but that merchant and his lackeys had known well enough that the church wanted them. She'd been a fool not to suspect them all. That they were desperate enough to attack her outright demonstrated how much interest the church now had in her, and if they were that interested in her, gods only knew what they'd sent after Vauhya.
           A plangent cry pierced the low whir of the wind. "What that?" Rahkl asked. Iluin looked behind her to see the woman crouched down, pressed to the ground. Down in the valley a small black wedge swooped out of the mist and climbed upwards. It angled off, circled to the center of the island's inner cleft, and dove back down into the fog.
           "That, Rahkl, is a kiirin. Big, nasty, scaled beast. It eats people. Not that one, though; that's a pygmy. The black coloration doesn't show in the big, dangerous ones." Rahkl gave her a blank expression. "Not dangerous, hear? Let's keep on."
           Which was the other half of the quandary. Vauhya was only marginally helpless - she'd trained him with her lleiri and showed him how to practice with it safely. Rahkl couldn't even speak properly. She thought of Vauhya and twitched with an angry urge to protect, thought of Rahkl and bristled with those same emotions. But she couldn't protect both; they were bound for different ends, ends that did not, could not coexist. For Rahkl it was the search for safety, for understanding, and perhaps for a home. For Vauhya… she'd strayed him from his path, taken him off the road and told him to forget his fate, but the warning wouldn't last. Eventually either the church and his clan would find him or he'd grow impatient and leave old man Garret's care. Eventually he'd find himself on the path of war.
           And damn all if she owed him anything. She'd paid her debts to Yoichi clan, if she'd had any; after all, it'd been they who'd betrayed her. More, she'd given him two of her most prized possessions, blades she'd spent years to find. She'd even let him at her side. No, she didn't owe him anything. So why did she feel drawn to him? His demeanor, maybe - he was more honest than any leader had a right to be. Or maybe it was that familiar Yoichi scent, the earthen musk that evoked long-gone memories of the palace, of friends and sisters, of belonging. She snorted, sucked in the crisp sweet mist of the island to clear her nose of imagined scents. Thinking with one's nose was no way to live. There was nothing to gain in arguing with herself; she'd made her decision. One look at Rahkl validated it; she wasn't ready for war, wasn't ready to live as a fugitive. As loathe to stray from Rahkl's side as she was, she was more loath to take her back into reach of the Rrsai and Yoichi.
           They climbed for a ways longer. Several times Iluin heard rocks slide and leaves rustle from far off, but not once were they confronted. She doubted that they would be. As they climbed the ground became smoother, reduced to light airy loam and large slabs of basalt, with fewer great trees and more scrub in their place. The left side of the path grew, from mound to hill to wall, until it was a towering cliff at their side, with a steep drop-off to the right. Fortunately the trail widened so that they did not need to press themselves against the rock and move carefully, because the ground was choked with thorns and vines. "Come," she called to Rahkl when the woman balked and yelped from abreast of her. Rahkl pulled one leg up to show her a line of loose threads in her new pants' leg. When she set it back down Iluin noticed a weed stalk next to her foot with thorns tipped in red. "Are you all right?"
           "Fine," Rahkl muttered, and started off again, limping.
           Much later they reached the top of the island mesa. Iluin heard Rahkl breathe in sharply as the slope finally leveled and the wall of the cliff gave way to an uninterrupted view. It was impossible to see the edge of the far side of the island. Where they stood was a field of basalt humps and troughs of clear green water; farther, toward the sun, rock gave way to grasses and star-white flowers; farther still was the northern forest. Iluin pointed that way. Together, they walked. From far off came the susurrus of faded voices. Iluin spotted a patch of brown among the blues and greens of the meadow's far side; she turned to face that way and the voices stopped.
           "Don't cower," she called out. "It's just me, the White One. I'm your lord's closest friend; I won't hurt you." There was a little flash of movement; two children stood awkwardly. Brother and sister, most likely. "Go with me to him, will you?" They shied back, far away though they were.
           "What's that?" the girl asked.
           "A friend. She won't hurt you," Iluin added. They looked at each other.
           "Yes, miss White One."
           So there were a few things left that made her laugh.
          

---v---

           "Thank you," she bade them as they stopped at the manor gates. Worn, holed, and broken, the chest-high stone fence along the manor's inner grounds was more for show than for protection, but it worked: the youngsters stopped at it and would not pass through. Rahkl looked down at the offset staircases leading down into the pit of concentric rings, from whose center the tower jutted, and clearly hesitated. Iluin shrugged and descended down the first staircase, dropping a man-length below Rahkl and ending on soft earth with cobbled black walls on either side. She had seen the design far too many times for it to intimidate her any longer.
           The pit and tower design was old Naman; indeed, the manor grounds had once been a small Naman citadel. Back, long before Yoichi, Clan Nama had spanned the continent, and had garrisoned every remotely strategic island on the coast to prevent attack from the east or west; scattered across the rest of the islands were fire pits, watchpost ruins, and the occasional cobbled stone building, all artifacts of the old Naman inhabitants. Even with the walls crumbling and the history forgotten, the outpost was still beautiful. Probably more so, now that the stark black of the towers had been braced and wrapped in bright green vines. Iluin felt at peace, almost, splashing her way through puddles and bounding down staircases with Rahkl echoing behind her. The stone rings of walls still stood, but the citadel's ground was veined with short leafy green weeds poking through the cracks of the rocks laid out long before to smooth the path. They crunched under her feet as she reached the bottom; once there she stepped up to the dais of the tower's lone entrance and rapped a rusted iron knocker on the heavy bronze-shod doors. From above an incoherence replied, shouted something in a light tenor. Rahkl moved to her side and stared, curious. Iluin nodded towards the dull metal-stone portal. "A friend," she said.
           With that low grating rumble that only stone-against-stone can produce the door arced out and away, revealing the small tan philosopher in ersatz garb who strained behind it. He relented; the door stopped. The man turned to look at her, then stumbled back and raked a paw through his mane.
           "Iluin? That's you, isn't it? Gods, if I'd known you were coming I would've washed - welcome!" He fairly threw himself into her chest, wrapping his arms around her back and digging his forehead into her neck. She squirmed and shifted, rather distraught at that, and noticing, he let her go. "I'm sorry-"
           "Don't be. You don't bother me so much." He nodded, still looking very apologetic, then turned and nearly jumped at the sight of Rahkl.
           "What's that?"
           "The beginning of a very long story." He stared at her bald friend. "No, not hrasi. I'll explain as I can." She flicked an ear toward the entrance. "May we, Agarin?" He twitched, as if remembering that he was the lord and they the guests. Flustered, he slid to one side and swept an arm toward the door.
           "I'm sorry. Of course, Iluin." She nodded to Rahkl and moved through the door, then up the twisted staircase. From behind she heard Agarin pull the door back on the three of them.
           The tower was dry, warm, and musty; Iluin caught its scents and relaxed. Not simply physically - as she reached the top of the first flight of stairs she sighed and felt more at ease than she had in years. Agarin's first-level room was a mess of scarred wooden tables, benches, and counters. It smelled like the sawdust that'd seeped into the cracks of the floor. No few glinted with metal; beside them lay piles scrap and tools, with more in the corners where the few uncut beams rested.
           Iluin walked to a worktable near the center and picked up a small wooden bird skeleton. It was a decent facsimile, so intricate that it even had metal hinges on the wing joints. "You're working with metal now?" she asked. Agarin moved to her side and carefully took the bird out of her hands.
           "Ah, yes. We just set up a forge in the old western camp across the forest. We weren't using it for anything, and there were plenty of old weapons to scrap, so we just added in a furnace and a bellows. Granted, none of us knew much about smithing, but we've learned quite a lot. This," he said, holding up the bird and puffing with pride, " ought to make up for any metal we lose. It's my best model of a northern sapsucker yet. I'm going to add hide winds and use it to study flight. No one has done a satisfactory treatment of flight yet - it'll be enough for another grant from Jes'suit'ah. And if I can fly something large enough to carry a person, well, that would be the discovery of our lives!" Iluin smiled at the friendly eccentric.
           "Fa, it would be. And I'm sure that if it can be done, you'll find a way to do it." He set the wooden skeleton down.
           "I appreciate your confidence. One of my colleagues told me it couldn't be done the last time I went to shore. I told him that kiirin flew, and that they were heavier than hrasi, but he wasn't convinced. Ah, shall we retreat up to study? I can get some ale from the basement."
           "Some wine, maybe?" He gave her a dubious look.
           "Out here? We only have what we can make or afford to buy. I haven't had wine in years - far too expensive for what we live on. If you'd like, there's a pot of stew boiling up there, though. It's just grease, grass, and nika, but it's got enough pepper in it that you don't notice." She took the offer gratefully and followed him up to his study. It was not unlike the room of Rahkl's dreams: walls of shelves filled with books, two tables strewn with charcoal sticks, quills, papers, maps, inks, more books, and a hundred other inconsequential bits of wood and metal. Agarin's floor was well carpeted, and near the door was a small fireplace with a red ceramic cauldron resting in its hearth. There was no window, but there were a few shuttered lanterns that cast the room in red and orange. Agarin bent over the fireplace, inhaled, and grinned. "That's about as good as it gets out here. Come, sit. Talk. I know you didn't come this far and risk a shipwreck just for nostalgia's sake."
           So she picked up some pillows, cast them in the center of the room, and arranged them as Rahkl pulled off her water-heavy cloak and draped it across a bench. They sat; Agarin came to them with bowls of stew and saucers of warm bark tea. She began to talk, then. Talked about Vauhya, talk about the trial. She talked about leaving Vauhya, finding Rahkl, being attacked, running. Talking about Vauhya was easier. She was honest with Agarin about that, because he was trustworthy. Rahkl was something else. She and her situation required a lengthy explanation, and her interjections on the matter weren't very useful. At the last Iluin switched languages and talk to Agarin alone in a thick Alman'queda accent. Rahkl realized what she was doing and scowled, but she didn't bother to protest.
           "I want to look for him; I need to look for him. But I don't want her in danger." Agarin lapped at his stew, eyes slanted up to watch her ears. He raised his head and dabbed at his grease-matted beard with a cloth.
           "Why him? You've only met him once."
           "I was there when he was born - I knew him then, didn't I?"
           "Iluin, be serious. You're going to risk your life." She dropped her hands into her lap and stared at her empty bowl on the floor.
           "I don't know. He's simple. Blunt. Honest. You don't see that in his ilk - they're never that straightforward. I think he'd make a good statesman, and I think his clan needs one."
           "Since when do you care about Yoichi hegemony?"
           "Since I met Vauhya. His brother is taking Yoichi down the path of old Nama - too big, too militant, and too corrupt. Does it matter? I'm going to look for him. I just don't want Rahkl to be in danger. That's why I came; I'd like you to keep her as a guest while I'm gone." She shifted her weight, suddenly uncomfortable. "And to take care of her if I die. She's special too, and I trust you alone enough to leave her in your care."
           "You don't have to flatter me," he said quietly. "I'm just concerned about you. Of course your friend can stay here; I wouldn't send you away." Iluin brightened.
           "Good. Good. Agarin… please don't let her be harmed. I have quite a bond with her."
           "Of course." There was a moment of silence.
           "So. Are you still alone?"
           "Still," Agarin agreed. "You were right - it never hurts less, but you do get used to the feeling."
           "Why don't you take one of the farmers? I didn't find this place and those people for you so you could shiver and howl miserably in your sleep."
           "They don't have any who are unattached. And anyway, they're friends, but I wouldn't want to live with one of them." He sighed. "I want someone I can talk to, someone who can understand what I say, who can surprise me." Iluin cocked an ear toward her partner.
           "You'll like her, then. She's all surprises. Smart, too, though I haven't finished teaching her to speak. Barely started, actually. But I shared one of her dreams a few days ago, and what I saw reminded me of you."
           "Shared a dream?" He stopped. "That's not-"
           "I know. But I swear it happened. We were using mesjh together, and afterwards it was an effort just to walk in a straight line. That's another reason I want you to host her: she has me confused. Her scents, I mean. We were built differently, so it makes sense that our blood wouldn't work in quite the same way, but that doesn't help me figure out whether my judgement is unbalanced."
           "From what you've said, Iluin, I'd say judgement is not so much unbalanced as it is gone completely." She glared at him and he went ahead anyway. "You're talking about having a deeply spiritual lover's bond with another woman who isn't even hrasi, who you've known for about a month, and who you aren't hesitating to leave with me. And where do you want to go? To Yoichi province, to find the son of a man you've always told me you'd rather kill than serve again. Does that sound rational, Iluin?" She was silent. "But I can't stop you, though that's all I want to do. You're going to leave me with puzzle of a person and go to die, aren't you?" She shook her head that vigorously.
           "Not to die. To find him, to watch him and judge his worth. Maybe I'm wrong about him. Maybe you're right and I shouldn't go near Yoichi. But I need to do something, and this makes the most sense to me." Then she collapsed against her pillows. "I'm sorry. I'll have to go soon; the ship's crew is waiting for me."
           "You can't even stay the night?"
           "I'm sorry. I'm sure you have a lot to tell me."
           "Fa. My boring theories." She perked her ears forward and grinned.
           "Don't worry. History will have an entire chapter devoted to you, while the rest of us are scrapping for a few lines. And I don't mind listening to your ideas. They're abstract, conceptual - they're a good break from the rest of my life."
           "What say?" Rahkl interrupted, suspicious and impatient. Iluin leaned forward and cupped her friend's jaw with one hand, felt the bone under that cloth-thin layer of fat and skin. Rahkl jerked her head away - if Iluin had had her claws out, she'd have left gashes in the woman's chin. All of a sudden Rahkl wasn't half as trusting.
           "This is a friend," Iluin said slowly. "My friend. Your friend. His name is Agarin." Agarin nodded to her.
           "What is this?" That with a fluttering gesture all around them.
           "My home," Agarin said softly. "You're safe here."
           "Safe?"
           "Fa," Iluin replied, "Safe. No one lives here but Agarin and his people. No one comes out here; the waters are dangerous if you don't know them." She paused. "I want you to stay here, Rahkl." Rahkl shrugged.
           "We stay? Fine. I-"
           "No, Rahkl." Her ears wilted. "I want you to stay. I have to move further on."
           "I'll go with you!"
           "No, you won't. It's too dangerous. You can't fight, can't run - Rahkl, you can't even speak very well." Rahkl stiffened. She leaned forward, puffing up with adolescent indignance, but at the last moment the air went out of her.
           "I want to go with you, Iluin. I don't know this." This place or this person? Iluin wondered.
           "I do. It's safe. You'll like life here. It's quiet." And in her head a small bit of her asked if she always abandoned her friends like this. Rahkl, Vauhya, and much farther in the past, Agarin himself. "If you go with me you'll die. Agarin I trust. He can help you; you'll like him. Just trust me, Rahkl." Rahkl slumped back, eyes downcast.
           "I don't know him."
           "I told you, I do. Don't you trust me?" No answer. "I do. Do you really want to die? You won't survive where I'm going."
           "Iluin is an old friend," Agarin murmured. "If you're one of hers, you're one of mine." Rahkl didn't respond to that either, and in the ensuing silence Iluin rose to her feet. "You can't stay, not even a few hours?" Iluin shook her head.
           "They'll want my help, and labor is all I have to pay them now. I promise I'll be back, and the next time I come I'll stay as long as you wish."
           Rahkl nearly leapt to her feet. "You're going now? Iluin!" Iluin unsheathed a claw and set it at the bridge of her friend's nose.
           "I have to go. You have to stay. You'll be safe with Agarin and you'll see me again." She replace the claw, stood awkwardly for a moment, then winced when Rahkl hugged her. She returned the embrace, ran a hand through Rahkl's honey-gold mane, and purred to sooth them both.
           "I still want to stay with you."
           "I have to go," she said quietly, then pushed her one-time partner back and fled down the stairs, into the darkness. Outside, a light drizzle had begun to pour; Iluin looked up at it, her whiskers already beginning to droop under the weight of the water falling on them, then pulled her cloak's hood over her head and started back down the valley.