Wynn had remembered Chap and Lily in the forest, as if running with them, but that blurred imperfect memory wasn't her own. And it couldn't have been passed to her, a human, from a majay-hì. Nor could one so young have known Chap.

What had just happened?

In shallow breaths, Wynn lurched forward onto her knees. The female didn't shy away and stepped two paces closer. Wynn reached out slowly, touching the soft fur between the dog's ears. The female raised her head, forcing Wynn's hand to slip down along her neck.

As Wynn's fingers combed through thick fur, separating the hairs, she saw an almost cream undercoat beneath the outer dark charcoal. She lowered her gaze, meeting the animal's own.

Wynn stared into crystalline blue irises… with the faintest flecks of yellow.

Another image of Lily surfaced in Wynn's thoughts, as if from nowhere.

This time the recollection was clearly Wynn's own. It came from when she'd first been allowed to stroke Lily's head. The sudden unsought flash felt familiar. Like when Chap intentionally called up one of Wynn's own memories. And more images flooded her mind…

Four pups nestled around a creamy white mother with yellow-flecked eyes, each with its own varied shade of coat. Two males of silver-gray, and one more steely in tone, but the last little female was charcoal gray.

Moments and flashes came and went…

Four cubs wrestled and tumbled over a downed tree coated in moss and lichen…

Little furred bodies, grown stronger, ran with their white mother in the forest…

In hunts for wild hares, or strangely colored wrens, or the chocolate-toned squirrels, their legs had grown faster than their bodies. One of them took a horrible spill down a steep incline as it tripped over its own paws…

Each moment that came to Wynn stepped across moons of time. The little ones grew from adolescents into young adults, until finally Wynn saw the charcoal female touch heads with her white mother. The two lay alone beneath a wide fir tree, speaking in memories of their own. In that dim space, hidden from sunlight, the young female's coat appeared inky black, and the white mother was like the shadow of a ghost.

A hazy image of Chap suddenly overlaid that moment, as if the memory of him wasn't quite perfect and didn't belong to the female.

And then Wynn saw an image of herself.

She wore elven clothing, as she had during her time in that land—then suddenly her garb changed to the gray robe of her guild.

Both these last images of Chap and herself were not as clear and crisp as the ones of the pups' lives. Perhaps these were secondhand, passed from mother to child. Wynn ached inside at the memory of Chap, and how much he'd hurt upon leaving Lily behind.

She couldn't help the tears.

Wynn pulled her hand from the charcoal female's neck and looked down in astonishment into those lightly yellow-flecked eyes.

The eyes of Chap and Lily's daughter, sent from half a world away.

Wynn knew Chap feared for her safety since the night his kin, the Fay, had caught her listening in while he communed with them. They'd turned on her, tried to kill her, and might have succeeded if not for him and the pack. And Wynn understood.

Lily had been pregnant when Chap left the Elven Territories. He must've arranged all this through her.

In leaving to guide Magiere and Leesil onward, Chap hadn't wanted Wynn left unattended for so long. But how had his daughter managed to find her?

Wynn wasn't certain she liked the idea. This animal was so young.

The majay-hì whined, sounding almost frustrated. Wynn wasn't adept at memory-speak, let alone that it was impossible for a human. Although…

Chap could speak his thoughts directly to her—another aberration of the taint left in her by dabbling with a mantic ritual. Perhaps as his daughter, this young one shared some manifestation of her father's singular qualities. He was Fay, who'd chosen to be born into one of the Fay-descended majay-hì.

Too many complications and guesses, yet it was the only explanation Wynn could think of. Chap, and now his daughter, were unique in this world, each in their own way, it seemed. And Wynn recalled the evening when she'd heard something outside the bailey wall, like claws on cobblestone.

A memory of the hunt for the undead sorcerer, Vordana, had suddenly entered her head. She'd run into a crowded street, searching for Chap, and something had brushed her leg. Another memory had come, as if she were looking through his eyes. But the first unsought recollection hadn't come from any contact.

Confused, Wynn backed away. The female huffed, her brief growl turning into a whine, and she took a step to follow. But Wynn held her hand up out of reach.

She had to try something that might gain her more answers. Could Chap's daughter communicate with her from afar, without touch, as her father did?

The recollection of hunting Vordana stuck in her mind. In the river town plagued by that sorcerous undead, Wynn had encountered another dog, not nearly so lovely as a majay-hì. She willfully focused on the memory of an old wire-haired wolfhound named Shade.

The young majay-hì stared at her without moving. And with a sigh, Wynn gave up.

Obviously she couldn't transmit a memory to this one any more than she could speak back to Chap through thought. That left only one other thing to try, and she scooted forward on her knees. She moved oh so slowly as she placed her hands upon the sides of the female's face. Using touch, she tried again.

She recalled the memory of the wolfhound standing beside Chap in the courtyard of the manor house outside of the river town.

The female's ears pricked up—and the memory echoed back to Wynn. She quickly tried one more.

She hadn't been there when Shade had roused Chap from a phantasm cast by Vordana. But Wynn did her best to imagine it—to envision it—from Chap's later description.

The female remained silent and still, poised in waiting.

Wynn frowned. Constructed thoughts weren't enough. It seemed only those experiences seated into her memory would work. But the way that memory of the wolfhound and Chap had repeated gave Wynn another notion.

She recalled the female's own recollection of playing in the forest with her siblings.

The female sniffed wildly at her. A maelstrom of like images, sounds, and scents whirled up in Wynn's mind. And Wynn's mild hunger knotted into nausea.

"Wait—not so much!" she squeaked, and jerked her hands from the dog's face.

She clamped a hand over her mouth and buckled as her head finally emptied of memories.

Wynn took several hard breaths until her stomach settled. The female cocked her head in silent puzzlement, and Wynn scowled at her. They could communicate, to a point, but only with memories shared by touch, or by Wynn's own called up by the female.

A knock came at the door, sounding too loud in Wynn's quiet little room.

The female snarled, turning toward the door.

Wynn clambered to her feet in dread. However she'd gotten back in her room, no doubt others knew she'd broken curfew. Either Sykion or High-Tower now came for her, or a messenger sent to summon her before the council. She was in deep trouble, enough to ruin any chance of seeing the translations. And how could she ever explain a «wolf» in her room?

"You are finally awake," someone called from outside.

The familiar voice was far less than patient. Wynn knew it was Domin il'Sänke even before she squeezed the latch.

The instant the door cracked open, il'Sänke pushed it wide, not waiting to be invited. Shooing Wynn back with a flick of his hand, he stepped in and closed the door. He was carrying the staff with its crystal now sheathed.

Wynn shrank a little inside.

Entranced by the majay-hì, she'd forgotten even to check for the staff. And if il'Sänke had it…