I do not own... well, just about everything here, except the story idea. I also own a few charcters, Raehlvar, Zalenar, and Phaidian being a few... This story is based on the Triliogy by Anne Bishop.

Since, unfortunately, we can't use astriks, ::this:: will take the place of them in, I don't know what you'd call it, mind-speaking? Through the threads, of course... okay, who wasn't confused by that? Anyway, "this" is normal speaking, italics is thought.

This story takes place seven years after Queen of the Darkness.

1/ Kaeleer

Della pushed back the windswept golden locks from her face, using craft to keep them pinned behind her ears. The fabric in her lap refused to stay stationary as well, impeding any progress her clumsy needle might make. Give me a knife, a bow, even the sticks, any day, but a needle and thread?! "Torture..." shu mumbled aloud, setting aside the shirt.

::How is the mending?:: asked a voice in her head, stretching across the short distance between her and the speaker on a Sapphire thread. Spear to distaff. Behind her, the eight-hundred pound Arcerian cat put his head between his paws, settling once again, at her back.

Della growled and pounced on KaeAskavi, gently grabbing a hunk of white fur. He swatted her lightly with a huge paw, sending her sprawling. She picked herself up with dignity, then growled again.

::Are you injured?::

"Only my pride," she grumbled. "I used to be able to know you over!"

::Then you have enough strength to pack for the Hall?:: KaeAskavi considered for a moment before adding, ::Only when I let you.::

His final words fell on deaf ears, as Della shrieked "Daemon!" and ran towards the den. He sighed and followed at an easy lope, overtaking her shortly before she reached her destination. The dark haired man turned as Della came tearing towards him. He had just enought time to raise his arms before she ran into him. They remained standing thanks to his craft.

He hugged her tightly before releasing her, "Della, I'm sorry that I'm-"

"Late?" she interrupted, "It's okay, Uncle Daemon, I know you've been worried about Auntie Jaenelle. How is she? How's the baby? What-?"

"One question at a time!" he laughed, "We'll talk while you pack."

- - -

Della smiled as she placed the last shirt in the dark oak dresser. She had insisted on seeing Jaenelle and the baby before unpacking. No wonder Daemon was late, she thought. Not only was the baby a boy, something of which Daemon was immensely proud, but the birht had been tough on Jaenelle. Della had sensed the happy weariness in her adopted aunt's psychic scent, but she was gaining strength.

She could have come by herself, there was a Sapphire wind near the den that she and KaeAskavi could both travel on, but she hadn't wanted to intrude at the Hall until Daemon was ready for her. Certain males were... prickly at stressful moments.

And it would be braking tradition.

Every season for the past seven years, since Della was ten- the year her parents had been killed and she had started living with KaeAskavi and the other Acerian cats- Daemon would come and check on her. At first, he took her on walks during his visits. On occasion, Kaelas, KaeAskavi's father, would insist he stay for a while. The visits became longer, and their walks turned into longer trips. They would ride the winds to the Hall to see Jaenelle, or the Ebon Rih to see Lucivar, or to Amdarh to go shopping. Now, she had her own rooms at the Hall and stayed there for a moon before going back to Arceria.

She'd heard Daemon comment one time that he was trying to 'ease Della back into society'.

Della laughed, remembering when Daemon had lured her into staying with Lady Karla in Glacia by telling her Karla would teach her craft and introduce her to the Hourglass. Della had stayed for two weeks before she recognized Daemon's attempt to make her stay with her 'own' people. The Arcerians were her people now, despite what her bloodlines would chance to argue. She had politely told Lady Karla that she would learn the ways of the black Widow from the Arcerian Black Widows.

Daemon had given up on making her live anywhere but Arceria, but had insisted she still visit the Realm and be comfortable around people.

Someone knocked softly on the door before it opened a crack and Surreal stepped in. She smiled warmly, "Time for weapons practice, and you better have practiced with the sticks since last time."

Della grumbled and turned to KaeAskavi who was lounging on her bed. "Do I have to go?"

Surreal stuck her head back through the door, "And don't make me have Falonar come drag you out to the field!"

Della winced and mumbled agreement. Having Falonar 'fetch' you wasn't a pleasant experience, but it wasn't as bad- or as wet- as when Lucivar dragged you to weapons practice. Thinking of the freezing shower she'd get from Lucivar, she quickened her pace and trotted obediantly behind Surreal.

2/ Kaeleer

"See," said Zalenar too cheerfully, putting his arm around Raelvar and helping him across the field, "It wasn't so bad having Hallevar for a fighting partner!"

Raehlvar winced. The sound of wood whacking wood had rung sharply over the field. He'd let his guard down for a moment and Hallevar had taken advantage of his weakness. Then came the lecture... the loud lecture that would tell everyone in Ebon Rih that he, Raehlvar, had messed up... again.

"RAEHLVAR!" Hallevar had bellowed, "HOW CAN YOU EVER EXPECT TO BECOME AN EYRIEN WARRIOR?!"

The lecture wasn't so different from the ones he'd been getting all week. Ever since he had started dreaming of his sister, he'd been unable to concentrate. In his dreams, he walked through a misty woods, searching for her while her cries for help echoed around him. He only hoped that Phaidian wasn't in the Twisted Kingdom, but his concious self couldn't remember what his dream self tried to tell him. He only knew that she was in trouble, and in Terrielle.

Raehlvar groaned and stretched his wings. "Then you can have the honor next time," he growled.

"Testy," commented his best friend, "Come, Oh mighty Warlord Prince, let's get something to eat so you'll be tolerable for lessons this afternoon."

The two made their way to the kitchen, cautiously avoiding Marian who was beating rugs with vigor. She was in a foul mood from having Lucivar fuss over her because she was pregnant. Daemonar was watching her, probably on his father's orders, looking much the innocent eleven year old.

::Wouldn't you love to have a marriage like that one?::

::Shut up Raehlvar, they're not always like that,:: Zalenar retorted, keeping the conversation on a private spear thread to spare Marian- and themselves.

Raehlvar shook his head, shaggy black hair flying around, "You romantic-types are all the same." He led the way, mentally making a list of all the reasons why he'd never marry. Zalenar, knowing what his friend was thinking sighed. You'll change your tune once you meet a girl that interests you. Smiling at Marian, he followed Raehlvar into the kitchen.