Disclaimer: The world of Terrier belongs to Tamora Pierce. The Ashmiller children sort of belong to me, I guess.

The Journal of Laci Ashmiller

Saturday

March 10, 251

Morning

Mama is coming home today. It's been five years since the last time I saw her. Will I recognize her? Will she recognize me? I've changed so much since the last time I saw her, in the courtroom where she was sentenced to five years of labor on a work farm for striking a Dog. I was 10 years of age then. Now I'm 15. I've grown quite a bit, and I've grown my hair long. She used to pull it sometimes when she was in a rage. Mayhap I should cut it short again.

No, that won't be needed. Everything will be all right now. It will be like it was when I was little, before Mama lost her job as an herbwoman's assistant and started drinking. Everything will be just fine. We'll all be together – Papa and Mama and Miria and Daneel and me. We haven't been together for five years! There's so much to tell Mama when she gets home! There's the fire opals and the year or so we lived in Port Legann in a real mansion with servants until the money ran out and we moved back to the Lower City of Corus. We still have one of the stones – the smallest one that Papa keeps as a memento of those terrible days in the cellar. It's also the only beautiful thing we own, but we have to keep it hidden in a locked wooden chest, just in case someone gets the idea of stealing it. I'm sure Mama will love to see it. Now Papa's training as a Dog. I wonder what Mama will say of that when she hears, seeing as how it was the Dogs that chased her down and sent her away.

Or a Dog. Beka Cooper is 21 now, fast becoming one of the most respected, toughest Dogs in the Lower City (although I'm sure it helps that she is going with the Rogue, Rosto the Piper). I don't like her any more now than I did five years ago.

But no matter. It's all over, and soon we will be a family again.

Evening

Mama arrived in the early afternoon. We went to Jane Street Kennel to meet her. Or rather, Miria, Daneel, and I walked over and met Papa as he came out of training. He looked exhausted as he walked towards us, wiping sweat from his forehead with one grimy sleeve. A bruise was forming on one cheek. Papa nodded to us. He said only, "The wagon should be here soon."

I couldn't tell from his tone or expression if he were glad or not that Mama was coming home. A month in training, and he's already learned to hide his feelings. I can't read him as I used to. There was certainly no need to try to read Miria – she was about ready to jump up and down from excitement. I could see it in the way she clasped her hands together and snapped her head eagerly left and right, scrutinizing every wagon that approached. Daneel, though, was more uncertain. He was only 4 when Mama was taken away. I don't think he remembers he remembers her much. As I craned my neck to squint at a distant wagon, he slipped his hand into mine and looked up at me appealingly with his large brown eyes. All three of us have Mama's eyes – a deep brown that borders on black. Growing up I always longed for Papa's light blue eyes, but over the past five years our brown eyes became something to remind me of Mama 0 the only tangible thing (besides the scars, but I'd rather not think on those) she left us.

I gave Daneel's hand a squeeze. "She'll be back soon," I assured him.

"I see her!" Miria shrieked suddenly, making me jump. "Look! There she is!" She bounced up and down in delight. "Mama's back! Mama's back!" she sang as she twirled around gleefully.

I could see the Dogs in the kennel giving us sidelong looks. Like as not they all know our story. Wonderful. "Miria," I warned. "People are staring at us." She ignored me, of course. Little sisters!

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Beka Cooper come to stand in the doorway of the kennel. The old bitterness swelled up in me again. How dare she witness Mama's homecoming when she was the one who tore our family apart in the first place! I might have made some sharp comment to her, but the wagon stopped in front of the kennel just then. The Dog driving it ordered the men and women in it off and then drove around to the back. The passengers stood uncertainly in a huddle in the street, glancing about them in a dazed, disoriented sort of way that made my heart ache.

Oh, Mama. It shouldn't have come to this.

I didn't know what to say as I stared at her profile. Mama. Unconsciously, I tightened my grasp on Daneel's hand until he yelped and yanked away. The little scuffle attracted Mama's attention. She turned and looked me in the eyes for the first time in five years. Large, deep brown eyes met mine with an expression of defeat and weariness.

Miria plunged forward with a happy cry. "Mama! Mama! You're home!" She threw her arms around Mama's waist and hugged like a boa constrictor. Mama gave her a confused look, as though she weren't quite sure how to respond. Carefully she petted the top of Miria's head. Papa strode forward at this point. He stopped in front of her and they just stared at each other over Miria's head for a long moment.

"Jack," Mama whispered.

Papa took a quick step forward and wrapped his arms around her (nearly squishing Miria, who squeaked and wriggled out of the way). Mama hesitated, swallowed, and leaned her head against his shoulder. She closed her eyes. "Oh, Jack," she breathed.

Papa stroked her hair and back as he does ours after a nightmare. "It's all right, Orva," he said in a soothing voice. "You're home."

I swallowed and looked down at Daneel. "Come on, Daneel. Time to see Mama."

We walked up to them quietly, not wanting to disturb their peaceful moment. "Orva," Papa said softly. "Look who else is here."

Mama opened her eyes again. She smiled when she saw us. "You've grown so much," she told us, and I wanted to cry at the pain and longing in her voice. Five years she's been away. How much time we lost!

"Let's go home," I suggested hastily to break the emotion of the moment.

Mama smiled at me. She actually smiled! "Yes, let's," she agreed. And the five of us walked back to our lodgings – all five of us together at last. I feel like the luckiest gixie in the world.