Wynn blinked and looked more carefully.

Leanalham's irises were not amber-they were topaz, with a touch of green.

Two thin braids down the sides of her triangular face held back the rest of her hair. On second look, her narrow ears were ever so blunted at the tips, though not as much as Leesil's.

Wynn's gaze slipped once to Leesil, the only half-blood she had ever seen or heard of. But she knew this girl was not a full elf.

Sgaile took Leanalham in his arms, pulling her into his chest as he whispered in her ear. Wynn would never have imagined such affection from the reserved leader of their escort.

"It is all right, Leanalham," Gleann said, keeping to Belaskian, which suggested the girl spoke it as well. "Your cousin brought unexpected guests for dinner."

Wynn took a cautious step toward the girl. "I am Wynn… and pleased to meet you."

Only one of Leanalham's strange eyes peered around Sgaile's shoulder. It shifted quickly from Wynn to Magiere, paused briefly upon Chap, and then held on Leesil. He returned her gaze, pivoting to face her.

"Leesil," he said, and then nodded toward Magiere, saying her name.

Leanalham remained apprehensive, though she pulled back from Sgaile enough to study all the strange visitors. Sgaile released her and headed for the doorway.

"I will return. Please see to their needs." He paused and dropped back into Elvish. "Make a bath for them and find spare clothing while theirs are washed. The smell grows worse each day."

Smell? Wynn's jaw dropped. At least neither Magiere nor Leesil understood. None of them had bathed or washed their clothes in weeks. Sgaile left, and an uncomfortable silence followed.

"Food first," Gleann said in Belaskian. "Then baths. Leanalham, go to the communal oven and see what is left. Try to bring meat or fish for the majay-hi. I will find our guests some clean attire."

Chap barked once at the mention of food.

"What's this about baths?" Leesil asked.

Sgaile restrained himself from running. Once out of the village and into the forest, he broke into a jog. He fought to quiet his thoughts, to regain stillness and clarity, but his mind churned against his will.

Finding a young pine, he dropped to his knees. He waited for his breathing to ease and took an elongated oval of pale word-wood from inside his cloak. He reached for the pine’strunk, the word-wood couched in his palm, but then paused and lowered his hand.

He needed a moment more.

Regret was not an emotion he tolerated. There was no room for it in the life of service he had sworn to his people. But no one had ever been asked to escort humans through their land.

Of those few who ever made it through the mountains, skirted the northern peninsula by sea, or came up the eastern coast from the south, even fewer lived to tell of it to their own kind. But Sgaile needed to know how his peo-ple would react before he brought Leshil to Crijheaiche-to Aoishenis-Ahare, Most Aged Father.

Word would travel swiftly, and he had thought this best rather than to appear suddenly in Crijheaiche with two humans and a half-blood. And selfishly, he had wanted Leanalham to see Leshil, to know she was not the only one of mixed heritage in this world.Just one moment in which she did not feel alone among her own kind.

He thought his own clan would respect his mission and stand behind him, even in this unprecedented task. He was Anmaglahk. His caste was unquestioned. And his own clan honored by his service.

Pride… Like some youthful supplicant first accepted to the caste, he had let pride-and sentiment-cloudhis judgment. He should have bypassed his home and never brought Leshil among his own clan.

He should not have jeopardized his mission for personal reasons. Yet every time he dwelled on Leshil, everything became unclear, not unlike that moment in the human city ofBela, when he held an unaware Leshil in the sight of his bow. How could any one person be so stained in contradictions as Leshil?

Murderer, son of a traitor, with no connection to his heritage… who willingly slept beside a human woman.

Leshil, grandson of Eillean, who took great risk in returning her last remains to her people.

And just how had he breached the Broken Range and walked into this land?

Sgaile had refrained from asking, no matter how the question nagged him. It would be viewed as interrogation. Gaining trust from Leshil was far more important-and Leshil had shown trust in relinquishing his weapons.

The last thing Sgaile had wanted was to force the issue in a fight between Leshil and his own Anmaglahk. It would have ended in bloodshed, perhaps on both sides, and this was not what Most Aged Father requested. So he allowed Leshil time to travel with him and hopefully trust in his word. He had waited until the last possible moment to ask for those weapons.

No blood was spilled, though entering among his people had been far more dangerous than Sgaile had imagined. He had thought only the humans would rouse anger and fear among his people.

En’nish had nearly cost him everything. And when Urhkarasiferin dismissed her from his tutelage, she fled in shame.

The revelation of Eillean's remains-or rather the way it had occurred-nearly ruined all Sgailes silent efforts. What little trust he had gained from Leshil had been shaken.

Then there was the majay-hi. The one the humans forced a name upon-perhaps the one who had found a way through the mountains.

One of the old ones… the first ones… imbued by the Fay.

Sgaile knew the first time he looked upon the dog from a distant rooftop in Bela. It was why he had stayed his arrow from killing Leshil.

Awareness of the Spirit side of existence was not shared by many of his people. Those born with it, as he had been, most often became Shapers or Makers. Humans would call them "thaumaturges," a grotesque term for humans who worked magics of the physical side of existence. In Sgailes youth, his grandfather encouraged him to follow the way of Shapers, whose careful ministrations guided trees and other living things into domiciles, or encouraged the healing of the sick and injured. He had not the patience for it, and no interest in the Makers arts of imbuing and fashioning inert materials, such as stone and metal and harvested wood. His heart turned toward a greater calling.

Anmaglahk.

His own Spirit awareness did not fade as it did in many who went untrained. It stayed with him through the years. He could feel the power of Spirit within the trees and flowers of the forest, if he stopped long enough to focus. What he sensed within the creature that ran beside the half-blood was so strong he knew it without effort.

No majay-hi had ever been seen outside elven lands. And none born in generations had left Sgaile so stricken upon first sight.

And such a one had joined Leshil.

Sgaile could not fathom why, but it was not to be ignored. It had meaning, even if he could not immediately understand.

He grew calm, more focused.

Among his people there were twenty-seven clans. People were born into one, and sometimes bonded-married-into another. Then there was the Anmaglahk. Not a clan, but a caste of protectors among the people, they followed a founder from the ancient days. No one was born an anmaglahk, and not all who sought admittance were accepted.

Sgaile had never doubted where he belonged. Never doubted he would walk in a life of service.

His breaths deepened, grew even. He lifted the word-wood to place it against the pine's bark and closed his eyes.

"Father?" he whispered, and then waited.

Most Aged Father's voice entered his thoughts. Sgailsheilleache.

"I am here, Father, at the prime enclave of my clan. We are on our way to Crijheaiche."

And Leshil comes willingly?

"Yes…" He did not wish Most Aged Father to know that he was troubled. "And two human companions. He would not come without them."