He rose, moved softly to the next man. A few mouthfuls from each of the six who slept, and Jander would be sated while his victims suffered no lasting harm. Kneeling quietly, he again manipulated the man's head so that the neck was easily accessible.

But this one had drunk less than his fellow and awoke, disturbed even by the butterfly-soft touch of the elven vampire. He screamed, and the night's peace shattered.

Instantly the other men woke, alert and dangerous. Startled, Jander hesitated only an instant, but it was time enough for them to see the golden, tunic-clad shape, time enough to glimpse his face. He turned and fled, the cries of fear and anger from the six marauders echoing behind him.

He would have to slake his thirst elsewhere tonight, and the thought gave him no pleasure.

The third night after this misadventure, Jander gazed up at the moon. It was nearly full, its soft light caressing the trees and silvering the grass. Though he loved beautiful things, the moon's splendor did not cheer him. He knew that for the rest of bis unnatural existence, he would see only the moon, never the sun; drink only blood, never wine.

A tear, bloody and crimson, escaped his eyes. "It was not my choice," he said softly, though there was no one to hear him as he stood alone in the moon-gilded meadow near Mistledale. "Is there no forgiveness, no mercy, anywhere?"

Only the soft sounds of a summer night greeted him, and they gave him no peace. He wanted quietness. He did not wish to have his heightened senses; they only reminded him of what he was.

His mouth ached, and he scented blood. Hare, deer, it didn't matter. They would all go to quench his abominable thirst. He wiped at his golden, angular face, erasing the mark of pain that had sat upon his cheek.

He walked as an elf. Not for Jander Sunstar the speed of the wolf or bat, not when it could be helped. So soft was his tread that his booted feet did not even disturb the dew on the grass as he followed the scent. He was not particularly hungry, so there was no hurry. The forest was dense, riddled with caves in which to sleep when the sun rose its beautiful, deadly, golden head.

Then, abruptly, the forest thinned. There came to the vampire's unnaturally sharp ears the sound of running water. Other than the normal threat posed to an undead creature by running water, there was no danger Jander could scent. Drawn by the water's laughter, a reminder of happier times, he stepped cautiously out of the wood's protection.

Ahead was a ring of huge, ancient oaks. There was no evidence of pruning or tilling, so the elf assumed the trees had naturally grown in such a circle. Though such things were rare, they were not unheard of. The clean smell of water reached his nostrils. The elf moved forward, thinking only to pause a moment by the stream that flowed through this peaceful place, to rest briefly before moving on. But then he heard the singing, and he froze where he was.

Elf? he thought to himself with a sudden deep ache. No, this voice was sweeter, purer even than any that issued from the throats of the Fair Folk. A nymph or naiad? He dismissed that thought as well, for such a creature would have sensed him as surely as he sensed her. She would have fled, he thought miserably, fled from the monstrously unnatural thing he had become.

The sweet, feminine voice continued singing, as pure as if the water itself had been given tongue. The loveliness of the song that graced his pointed ears drew Jander like a bee to a flower. He entered the circle formed by the mighty oaks, and saw her.

The spring bubbled up in the center of the circle, and the woman sitting on a boulder in the midst of the water was lovely beyond words. She was the singer, and as Jander watched, enraptured, she lifted her head, dark as the oaks themselves, and fixed him with a luminous gaze.

"Come forward, Jander Sunstar," she invited. "The sacred grove knows of your pain and your trials, and makes you welcome. The water waits to cleanse and revive you."

The vampire found words, he did not know how. "If the grove welcomes one such as myself, Lady, then the world has gone mad."

She smiled, and it made his heart ache. "Nay, vampire, the rules are being bent, that is all. A great heart may sometimes triumph over a great hurt."

She rose, and he saw she was clad in flowing green garb. It was almost like leaves, almost like water… "Come. Bathe, and accept the quietude of Eldath."

Eldath, the Quiet One, Goddess of Singing Waters! Jan-der's thoughts tumbled through his head. Running water over his dead flesh would kill him. Jander knew it. Yet what sweeter way to finally die, to know peace, than to bathe in the pool of Eldath! Surely the only way a holy place would permit him to enter would be in order to grant him his death. It was a death worth embracing, and Jander choked back a sob as he broke into a run, slowing as he approached the Quiet One.

"This," and she spread her arms, "is an oak grove sacred to Silvanus. The spring is sacred to me. The trees listen well and remember what they have heard. All across the Dalelands, they speak well of you, of he who fights his curse, who helps the hurt, who will not kill. The forest itself has guided you here."

Her large, soft eyes grew sorrowful as she continued. "I cannot take away your curse. I cannot bring you the sun again, for that is not within my domain. Yet within the confines of this grove, I can temper your grief and sorrow-quiet the call that haunts you. Will you accept my gift?"

Jander felt tears trickling down his cheek. He made no move to wipe away the telltale streaks of red; she knew who-what-he was. Knew, and forgave.

"Aye, Lady, with deep gratitude."

"Kneel first, and lave your face," she said. He obeyed. The water was cool and refreshing. He splashed some on his eyes and cheeks, washing the blood away but unable to stop the tears. Jander wiped at his face-and stared, stunned, at his gold palm that glistened with only water.

"They are salty still, but no longer of blood," Eldath murmured, suddenly sitting beside him. "Will you enter the spring?"

Not daring to believe, he did so, careless of what the water did to his boots and clothes and tools. Jander waited for the pain of death as the running water enveloped him. None came. What did come, softly and sweetly like a gentle dream, was a sense of deep peace. With soft fingers, Eldath, luminous in the moonlight, reached and touched his ears, nose, mouth, and shoulders.

"These ears are sharp, but they shall no longer hear with the ears of the bat. This nose is keen, but it shall no longer scent with the nose of the wolf. This mouth is hungry, but it shall no longer crave the taste of life. These shoulders are broad, but they shall no longer move with the strength of the nosferatu."

Suddenly, unexpectedly, she reached out both hands and pushed him under. Fear replaced joy as the waters closed over his wheat-gold head, and Jander struggled. If he had doubted her divinity before, he did so no longer, for her strength and her will were far beyond his power to resist.

With equal unexpectedness, the pressure keeping him under was gone. Jander shot to the surface. Eldath had vanished, leaving Jander desperately gasping for air. It took a few seconds before he realized the import of that simple fact.

He needed air. Dear gods, for the first time in nearly a hundred years, he needed air!

He laughed as he gasped, and struggled to the bank. He clambered out, wet and cold-cold!-and shivering. Jan-der continued to laugh between coughs, remembering the goddess's words. When he had caught his breath, he inhaled deeply through his nose. The fresh scent of a forest at night came to his ears; that was all. No scent of deer or squirrel; no smell or sound of living blood pumping through veins and arteries.