John examined Tori as they continued marching northward. It was three days since she had delivered her ultimatum, and there was a bounce in her walk that he'd never seen before. "You're certainly actin' chipper this mornin'," he inquired. "What's wrong?"

Tori giggled like a pup. "Nothing. I just feel great, now that I know I won't miss my chance. We have two moons to get to Leedsdown, and then we will meet Shang in battle, and I can die feeling justified."

" 'Tis nothing to be excited about, Tori," Llawder said quietly from behind her. "Battles mean death an' dyin' of many creatures."

"Exactly what I was goin' t'say," John added seriously. "Though he put it better than I would've. I can't say I'm eager f'this. What you've given us is a dyin' day and a date t'remember fallen comrades on."

Tori looked slightly crestfallen at their reactions. "I know what you guys are telling me, but I can't help feeling lifted at the thought. What I'm trying to say is that I won't miss the chance to avenge all who died because of Shang Widowmaker's grudge. Do you see what I mean?"

Llawder nodded, but persisted in his sober mood on the subject. "Are you willing to die for that?" He was almost surprised by the ferocity of her "yes". She smiled a little again.

"Just humor me for a bit. I know what it means, but I know that it will happen, and that's reassuring in itself, y'know?"

John chuckled. "Somehow I don't share your exact enthusiasm, but okay." He turned his gaze frontwards again. "Hey look, there's trees. We're gettin' into a woodland."

Elsewhere in the expeditionary group, Sheryl nodded to herself, speaking aloud to no one in particular. "Yes, we should be coming near the Dartmouth River soon. Then I've just got to follow it to the coast to get to Mohaercrest. Ohh, I hope everything is all right there...."

Rivenna gave her a light punch, having only overheard the first part. "C'mon, mouse: you, goin' all that way alone? We'll spare a beast or two t'escort ye to y'home. Y'won't 'ave t'pass th'time talkin' to y'self crazy-like." She winked.

Taiga nodded, staring off into space. "Yeah, sorta reminds me of old Uncle Portnon. Always talkin' t'faeries, or so 'e sometimes claimed."

Tamga coughed, and said pseudo-seriously, "All right, no need to talk about people while they're in front of you. But I'm tellin' yeh, Queen Mab likes takin' meals with me sometimes!" There were sniggers around him. He looked about naively. "What?" The Gaels around him burst out laughing, and began jostling him good-naturedly in their native language.

Liam had no one to talk to. He'd listen to snatches of chattings around him, had tried conversing with Paul about the scenery, but it had gone nowhere. There wasn't all that much scenery anyway, so why would there be something to talk about? he reasoned, telling himself that the grapes were sour anyway. He set his footpaws to marching in a different beat than the other migrants, and hummed a song that he'd especially liked back in Manchester.

"I don't feel as if I know you, you take up all my time.
The days are long and the nights will blow you away 'cause
the sun don't shine.
Nobody even mentions the weather can make or break your day.
Nobody ever seems to remember, life is a game we play.

"We live in the shadows and we, had the chance and threw it away,
And it's never gonna be the same, 'cause the years are fallin' by like the rain.
It's never gonna be the same, 'till the life I knew
comes to my house and says Hello!

"There ain't no sense in feelin' lonely, they got no faith in you.
Well, I got a feelin' you still owe me, so wipe the dirt from your shoes.
Nobody ever mentions the weather can make or break your day.
Nobody ever seems to remember, life is a game we play.

"Hello, hello.....it's good to baaaaack, hello!" He was snapped out of his daydream by clapping, cheers, and whistles.

"Nice singin', town dog!" Rivenna remarked indiscreetly to Samhain, who burst out in barely controlled giggles. He'd been singing aloud! Liam felt his ears go fiery hot, and looked at his shuffling feet as the silence faded and gave way to conversation once more.

Rivenna turned her attentions to Llawder. "Hey sourpuss, how's life in th'front ranks? I'm hearin' such somber talk up ahead I think me 'n' Samhain are in a happy bubble back 'ere!"

Llawder smiled, and replied to her in Gaelic. The Aiyarians gave him some impressed nods and looks at his swift comeback.

"What did you just say?" Michael inquired.

"Well, we have this old joke going. I'm naturally a fairly serious mouse, and she always used to joke that I was trapped in a sad bubble. So I told her to burst hers' and divvy up some of her jollility with the rest. Everybody knows you're s'posed to share."

"Tori seems to have caught it," Wynnstream came in. "I ain't never seen 'er this happy. Kinda strange. She seems pretty careless, like she don't care what 'appens next, as long as she gets to 'er destination in the end."

"So tell me what's wrong with that, chaps?" Nora popped up. Before she could be replied to, a frustrated bark arose from Gowran.

" 'Tis so dead silent an' oppressive 'ere with us'ns all gloom an' doom suddenly! Let's do somethin' t'pass th'time or we'll all suffocate!!"

"I'll drink t'that," Aelfwald agreed. "Name gamin', how 'bout that? Somebody start quickly or I'll bite yer tails off, alla yah!"

"Name gaming? What's that?" Paul asked.

"You try an' guess who someone is founded on a rhyme somebeast makes up based on their name. Then th'subject does one. We Gaels're forever talkin' etymology and bardin' an' all that."

Meanwhile, clever Ellis Underwood had come up with a starter. "Oh gimme a squirrel with a short stub tail, an' a long stretched-out nose holdin' sharp teeth and ale. She jokes and jests and sings our ole classics, but with berries fer friends she's always up to tricks!"

Eirann, one of the cooks, giggled and nudged Ellis. "That 'un's too easy, y'great fraud! 'Tis Samhain sure enough. Off with yeh, 'tis her turn now."

Samhain tilted her head, considering briefly, then she coyly contributed her riddle. "His breath is as bad as old fish from the sea. He knows all 'bout you, water, and swimmin' in thee. His parents in him saw oceans reflected blue, and his name, dear captor, is derived from you."

A Gael called Kelso acted indignant. "How dare you, nuthead! Me breath is as fair as yours any day!" He half-smiled, and admitted, "Yer too timid when it comes to th'challengin' ones. Me name is straight Gaelic fer 'ocean': lemme show ye how a real namer's done." He cleared his throat, and announced, "These brother two live above us and below: in character alone they could be bird and mole. Mama and Pop are faeries both, but we all know how they can sing an' boast."

There was silence as the group marched on. Tori tried offering a suggestion. "Liam and Noel. Is it Liam and Noel?"

"Nope," Kelso grinned gleefully. No one else tried for a little while.

"Jeez, Kelso, ye've given us a true poser!" Bocton said, stupefied. "Be a pal an' tell uz who it 'tis."

"Have ye no clue? I thought that was an easy 'un," Kelso complained comically. "Aw, yer all appearin' as though ye've nothin' between yer ears. Come now, 'tis under yer very noses! Especially you, Grensade. I'm ashamed of you!"

Grensade was an enormously tall wolf. He was also father to Rivenna and husband to Ossian, Aelfwald's sister. Thinking for a moment, he decided to take Kelso's advice literally, and he glanced down at the wolf in front of him. It dawned on him quickly. "Dyfed and Dysart, of course! Good gracious, Kelso, yer wicked!"

John leaned over to Tori. "I don't understand: translate fer a poor ignorant knave."

Tori explained. " 'Dyfed' means sky and 'dysart' is forest. Apparently they're twins, with very different personalities. I remember now; I walked with their parents a little a few days ago: Dryad and Neriad, lovely creatures both. It's okay, though, that was a stumper even to those who knew them."

"Ah," John replied, and asked of the twins, "Hey, how 'bout givin' us outsiders a bit of a break an' tellin' us 'bout someone we all know."

Dysart's (or Dyfed's: it was hard to tell with one who didn't know them) eyes twinkled. "Surely, friend. Alright, brother, who can we do?" The pair held a mumbled conversation, and Dyfed straightened up and issued his challenge.

"This poor beast is marked with misfortune, laid upon him since the day he left home. Paired with strangers whose heads were born a bit awry, his position to someone else he wishes to loan!"

"Is he talkin' about uz?" Owen asked his partner in a stage whisper, provoking wry smiles as the rest of the company tried to puzzle their rhyme.

"Nay, he's talkin' of yon otter," Adia smiled. "Mister Wynnstream Pikepaw, I do believe. The stage is yours."

The otter scratched his head. "Er, I en't ne'er done this b'fore, maybe some other beast who's more skilled at it should try---"

He was greeted with enthusiastic cheers of "Aw, go on, 'ave a go!", and "Yes, y'never know 'till y'try!"

He shuffled his feet slightly, looking at them as he consented, "All right, well, here goes nothin', don't you be laffin' at me now." He cleared his throat nervously, and began, smiling every now and then. "There once was a wolf named Tori, who had a friend who was quite boring. He has a scruffy coat, and a long thin angular nose, and he'll probably get me for this recognition!"

Amidst the smothered guffaws, Tori elbowed John and winked. "I think somebody saw us past the mission."

John grinned, and nodded. "Yup, I think we've got us a spy on our paws." He stuck his nose into the air and walked a few steps with an overdone snobbery swagger, snorting. "Imagine, th'cruel beast, not lettin' us to our privacy, huh!"

* * *

At the campfire that night, Tori, Michael, and Sheryl were deep in conversation as the others larked about and sang bawdy compositions.

"We know that you have to go to your abbey, Sheryl," Michael was saying, more for himself than anything, "but why? All that verse told us was 'Healer who teetered on the Cliffs, go back, now, before they fall. Home may soon be hollow if you stay within these walls.' That was you, obviously, and you've left Redwall, but from it sounds like, Mohaercrest will plunge into the sea if you don't return soon."

"I've no idea, Michael, but if anything were to happen to my home, well..." Sheryl trailed off. Tori nodded in agreement.

"It hurts. Yes, I know." Aelfwald lumbered towards them, tired from the rambunctious carousing of the younger Gaels. Noel Gallagher had just discovered lager, and both he and his brother were fast becoming roaring drunk on the beverage, much to the others' amusement. He smiled and chuckled a little at youth.

"They're certainly enjoyin' themselves loudly enough," he grunted, looking over his shoulder at Liam, who was dancing atop one of the logs. "I thought I might coom over and spend some passin' moments with sane, unpossessed creatures. Now what-all is a-goin' on here?"

"We received a message that I was to return home to my abbey immediately," the healer's apprentice explained. "We don't know why. That's why I'm here with you. Sometime soon I'll have to split up with you, as Leedsdown is in the complete opposite direction."

Aelfwald was taken aback. "Surely yer not conceedin' of goin' there alone? Ye'll need some company!" Before the mousemaid could protest, he said firmly, "I'll pick yer companions by paw m'self! No friend of mine is travellin' through this country without some protection, at th'very least!"

Sheryl smiled bashfully, honored that the majestic wolf considered her a personal friend. Tori leaned forward, propping an elbow on her crossed legs.

"So when d'you think you'll diverge from us?"

The mouse looked at her paws, reasoning to herself aloud. "We're at the southern part of Dale, so the Dartmouth can't be very far. I think within the next day or so."

Aelfwald was looking through the small drove of wolves in the firelight. "Owen and Caerleon, there's a pair of stout beasts," he was muttering to himself in his own language. "Craig, Bocton, Kelso, Dyfed'n'Dysart, they'll do. Do them good t'get away from their parents for once, too. Be a shame t'miss Bocton, though, he's always got a laugh handy. And what a player too! Those pipes of his are pure magic.

"And Samhain, maybe? Nay, for without Rivenna she'll go nowhere. Lessee, Grensade? He's quite old for that sort of thing. Hmm..." He stood up and wandered off, talking to himself. Tori smiled, watching him go. Her head snapped at a hesitant voice saying her name.

"Lady Rubyhaer, permission to speak something?"

A wolf was standing behind her, bowing, and averting his eyes. His accent was nothing Gaelic in the least: his markings were also of a citydwelling continent inhabitant. She arose, her eyes questioning.

"Yes, friend?"

He timidly raised his head a little, venturing a look into her face, against all his instincts. "You are the Lady Rubyhaer, aren't you. Any Leedsdowner would recognize your royal face."

"Please, Tori," she insisted.

"Tori," he repeated uncomfortably, after a moment's pause. He stopped, and wrung his paws. Tori noticed one wrapped in Redwall bandages: he held the obviously injured limb gingerly. He glanced up at her, as if asking if he could say something. She realized that this wolf was another survivor, though accustomed to the feeling of some of the more destitute areas' treatment of richer beasts or royalty as higher beings.

"Um, my name is Osric. I was a grocer's assistant in a shop on the north side."

"Oh, you're from Lorgrove?" she inquired.

"Yes," he replied, surprised that she should know the name of their city's poorest borough. "I was taken prisoner by those foxes," he continued, gaining a bit of confidence. "They captured a few, to keep and torture. I was one: they would keep us in pens, and force us to wear collars and leashes.

"There were a few otters, and about three other wolves. One of them was obviously not a commoner. She wore fine clothing and jewelry, although they were tattered and stained. She still wore the strap from a quiver when we were kept together. She was thin and weak, but now that I look at you, I can see her in your face. Shang called her Silverweed, but when she regained her voice, about a moon after the-the...Well, she told us she was Leah Sealskinfur. A day or two after, they took me out with a coyote, called Hexlor or Hestor or something. I never saw her again: after dragging me through the countryside, Hexlor pinned me to a tree by this," Osric held up his bandaged paw, "and left me for dead. Good thing the Gaels came and found me or he would have succeeded."

Tori had been stiffening at each word Osric had told her. Her shocked rigidity was interpreted by the grocer's assistant as offense. He shrank back from her, apologizing profusely, but the Rubyhaer merely sank to her knees and began weeping half joyfully and half with the memory of her harsh grief. She took Osric's paw, and begged of him tearfully, "Please, tell me, was it truly my sister you saw alive?"

He nodded earnestly. "I'm almost sure of it, from the pictures I saw of her and seeing and comparing you now."

"Great seasons and heavens above," she whimpered, and curled into a ball. She smiled gratefully at the wolf. "Thank you. Beyond words, thank you, Osric."

* * *

Corbann was hopelessly lost. In his attempt to escape the Widowmaker's horde as quickly as possible, they had plunged into the wilderness, their sense of direction completely fuddled by the thick hardwood forest. Now one of his followers, Snakear, seemed about ready to revolt with the fourteen others. He stood before Corbann accusingly, addressing him with contempt.

"So whut've we gawt tuh show fer yawr grand ahdeahs, Corb'n? We'll go an' start ah own army, wunce we git back daywn saouth. We'll be lahk this ol' fable o' yours, Ferahgo or whatnot, terror of th'southlan's. Naow we's headin' furthuh nawth, an' all we got's t'show fer all that is a rivuh! A golldang, stankin' rivuh!"

Corbann sneered, his claws wrapped around the handle of his dagger, just in case. "Y'all are too impatient, tha's yawr problem! Wunce we git outta this an' find sum good open land, we're home free!"

"Thou'rt right, strangers. Home free ye definitely are not."

The coyotes whirled around at the strange, heavily accented voice. A stern-looking wolf stood behind Corbann silently, his arms crossed. He bowed with restrained curtness.

"I'll be askin' thee t'leave our land presently. M'wife and I are quite attached to our solitude. If you're wantin' open land, th'cliffs aren't too far from here, I'd be happy to guide thee there..."

It all happened quite quickly. Corbann was about to reply to the wolf when one of his cronies whipped out a cutlass and challenged the "uppity hermit." The wolf charged, wielding a large sword they hadn't seen concealed in the shadow. Rushing toward them, he bellowed a battle cry that rang throughout the wet night.

"Gooooosaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!"

A small fracas ensued: the wolf managed to fell three of his coyotes when Morpeth, a former officer, shoved dead Snakear's rusty dagger through his shoulders. The wolf stiffened, shuddered, and, gasping harshly, died. A relived hush quickly settled on them. Quaking with the severity of the sudden attack, Corbann croaked, "Let's git outta heyuh! If Ah knows wolves, they's always hungry fer revenge!" The reduced band stole ever eastward, toward the promise of the open land and cliffs that the slain wolf had peacefully offered them. As they fled through the woodland, an accusatory, grief-stricken howl ripped behind them. Gosa Felf's wife had found him.

* * *

Nora was listening to some of the wolves talk of love and lust, trying to decipher the speedy Gaelic for herself. Winks, nods, and sniggers were abundant, and the hare was quite peeved that she didn't have the slightest clue what they were about.

"Listen, chaps, have pity on a poor iggerant harebelle! Wot's all the fuss about?" she demanded, paws akimbo.

Still, the "cruel" Gaels remained silent, only breathing between their raucous laughter. Through merry tears, Ellis punched her lightly in the side, the particular place where he was aching, and explained haltingly,

"Heeheehee! We were jus' sayin', haha! that if you an' Tamga were t-to-to-to--I can't do this, lads, 'tis too comical! If you an' our resident short-eared lug Tamga were t'marry, the kids would turn out fair normal. Ye'd surely balance each other out!"

Nora was thoroughly incensed.

"Me an' a bloomin wolf-chappie?" she exploded, stomping her large feet furiously. "Porpoiseterous! The very thought of it! Oooo!"

Ronin and Wynnstream could not help but to push the temperamental hare a bit more. "Took ye long enough to catch on to her, Ellis, old pal," the squirrel grinned maliciously. "I've been watchin' Nora: stares at Tamga all th'derry long day she does!"

Wynn elbowed Ronin and winked. "Y'say that's strange, but I know you, y'old faker. You stay 'way from my Eirann: she's marryin' me!"

"Well, Wynn, at least ye'd never go hungry!" Gowran poked. This, of course, set the wolves up in torrents of laughter.

Chester watched them calmly. He crossed his lanky legs and leaned sideways to Taiga. "I say, that would be quite an interestin' fam'ly portrait. I can't quite picture it without shuddering."

Tamga's twin chuckled. "A strange and impossible adultery it would have to be. He's promised to Samhain, poor dear. Samhain, I mean!"

Meanwhile, Liam and Rivenna were fiercely arguing. The Mancunian was of the firm opinion that he knew better songs than she did, as they'd been written by his brother. He was drunk, of course, but his showbeast nature was increased by this and his ability to be a substantial braggart. Rivenna, fed up with his immaturity, told him, to be precise, that his music was repetitious and badly-sung. To wolves, as Michael, Sheryl, Wynnstream, and the hares soon discovered, that was quite possibly one of the worst insults one could hurl at another. A vicious verbal fight ensued, interspaced with songs so bitterly competitive, they were nearly perfect with a terrible kind of beauty. The Gael rolled off a few of her own compositions, like "Witness," "Black," and a cover of one of Tori's own songs, "Precious Things." Liam fired back with gregarious and arrogant performances of "Rock 'N' Roll Star," "Fade In-Out," and a Beatle favorite of his, "I Am The Walrus."

"MENAAAAA! That's it!"

The hideous shriek silenced the entire camp. What had started as a playful jest between the two had escalated and touched Rivenna's Gaelic blood. Quick to spark, she became so angry that she began hurling curses and insults at Liam in language a searat would have blushed at. Liam just stood there, stunned at the sudden assailment over such a trivial game.

Grensade and his wife Ossian instantaneously crashed through the watchers to their daughter and pulled her back to a distant corner of the camp. Instantly, John and Paul jumped in and tried cheering others up with performance of their comical composition "Maxwell's Silver Hammer", hoping the incident could be quickly bypassed in their comrade's memories.

Once they were out of the hearing range of their peers, Grensade turned to Rivenna, his eyes burning furiously. He berated ferociously their in their native tongue.

"What was that? I'm shocked at you, losing control like that over such a nothing!"

Rivenna, exhausted by her frenzy, began crying helplessly and lifted a limp paw for an accusatory gesture. "I couldn't help it, Father, he insulted our fam'ly pride."

"Liam? I agree with you, he's a skinny little brat. I do not blame your momentary anger, but such an outburst was uncalled for."

"I hate him, Father!" she blurted. "But it's only him!"

"That's a sad excuse," Grensade replied cynically. "Would you have done that to Noel? You were seething like the devil, so I don't doubt you would've."

Rivenna cried, "Noel?! He's th'decent one! Liam? He's a fair lazy an' arrogant knave! A prop'r self-centered scoundrel and babby! I can't stand to be around him one second more!"

"Rivenna," her mother said softly, her voice crackling, "thou art actin' th'babby."

The purple-black wolf stared uncomprehendingly at them. Why couldn't they understand her frustration?

Her mother saw this rage. Tersely, Ossian, a stately red-obsidian Alsatian Gael from whom her daughter had gained her unique coloring, drew herself up coldly and declared to Rivenna, "You have shamed us, child. You will no longer travel with us until you have redeemed our name. Tonight I will speak with Rampek Aelfwald: I am sure he won't hesitate to put you in the guard for the mouse Sheryl. I won't have you hanging about like a vagabond here. Samhain will stay with us: we need good fighters for this battle at Leedsdown." Without another word, she stiffly left, followed by her husband. Rivenna stood at the edge of the camp, looking after them pitifully, quivering and weeping painfully. Her parents, their backs still turned against her, disappeared into the thick shadows cast by the hollow firelight among the trees.

* * *

John turned to Paul after they finished watching the ten Gaels leave with Sheryl after a hard goodbye. Rivenna, a sudden addition, was causing knowing whispers and nods among the throng of Aiyar wolves. Grensade and Ossian stood tall and silent, refusing to look her in the eye. Blackbirdberry, for the first time in her life, drooped. She looked so weak from tears and frantic apologies that she seemed about to shatter. If it weren't for Samhain, who had unhesitatingly chosen to accompany her, she surely would had physically fallen over. Liam, luckily, was nowhere to be seen.

Ten Gaels in all were going with Sheryl: Bocton, Kelso, Owen, Caerleon, Osric, Rivenna, Samhain, Dysart, Dyfed, and Craig. Each of the travelers was given a heartfelt message from Aelfwald and Adia, along with their blessings. To Rivenna, the Gnodfe had simply said, "You will reciprocate yourself for this. Learn what you can. Show me that shame cannot last."

They had just vanished through the trees, without few backwards glances.

This was when John murmured to Paul beside him, "Listen, mate, I've got t'take a short breather. Call of nature, don't y'know."

Paul nodded, not taking his watch off the vacancy left by the eleven others. "Right. See yeh in a few." With wily expertise, John slipped away.

The thick spearhead pricking menacingly in between his shoulder blades soon after was an unwelcome surprise. John jumped in shock, and kept deathly still as he listened to the cold voice behind him.

"All right, lowlife. Tell us what you were doing with the mouse and her wolves. Why'd you let them go? And why are trespassin' on our land?"

"Can I turn around?" he asked, his eyes darting as he held his paws up peacefully.

Another voice from behind him said bluntly, "Why not. I think this is not one who can do us any wrong. No fox is he." John could tell the strange, soft accent and the voice was not used to speaking so gruffly. Slowly, ever mindful of the weapon pointed at him, he turned around submissively so that he could argue looking into their eyes.

His aggressors were an unlikely-looking pair indeed: a small, smokey-gray wolf was brandishing the spear and glaring at him; over her shoulder, a willowy, delicate foreigner ---a dog, the likes of which weren't often seen on this continent--- examined him cautiously with deep, perpetually worried brown eyes.

The short wolf cocked her head backward to the dog, never taking her watch off John. "Seluki, go get Tomé. There's something he needs to see."

John watched the gossamer dog slip through the vegetation toward some destination unknown to him. "By th'fur, she's one fer hidin' in this mess!" he tried joking so as to distract the spearpoint that was edging closer and closer to his throat. "She's so fragile-lookin' she barely exists!"

"You shut up!" the wolf hissed vehemently, doing exactly the opposite with the spear as he'd hoped. John gulped painfully, still holding up his paws. His gaze began flitting again: he wondered how far he was from camp. His rolled his eyes upward to look at the morning sun: higher now than when he'd left. They'd probably be wondering where he was by about now.

"Tori...." he said cautiously. His voice rose. "Tori..."

"Are you trying to insult me?!" his captor growled.

"Why d'you say that?" John inquired, glancing sideways, wishing he could be hearing Paul's giant, clumsy footsteps through the choking foliage.

The wolf's expression fell vulnerably for an instant. Then she hardened once more. "Never mind. You wouldn't understand. You've never had a home to lose, I'm sure."

"Now now now, listen, let's be reasonable, mum," he tried, backing away slightly. He dug for another conversation topic. "Say, where in Leedsdown were y'from? 'Cause yer accent might place you kinda near where I was---"

"Do you want to know what color your innards are!?!!"

John heard several different creatures coming from all surrounding directions. Hopefully, he continued. "I lived in Allerton Kirkwood. Hey, didn't I go t'primary school with you? No, maybe not. Me dad was th'local cobbler. Mike O'Lennain, pr'aps you knew 'im, he got business from all 'round, mebbe I saw you there...."

Three different things happened at once. Actually, more like five. The she-wolf, who had been stolidly listening to John, could not contain the sudden droplets of water that welled up in her diamond-hard eyes. His poignant chattering of the life they'd both lost caused all feeling to leave her paws, and she dropped the spear to the loam-covered ground with a dulled thud. She stood there, paws to her side, quivering.

Tori burst through the underbrush.

Seluki returned, along with another wolf, horribly scarred by something: it looked like fire.

The wolf who had been guarding John gasped, and threw herself to Tori's feet. "Your Majesty," she sobbed, "I-I did not--we all thought--"

Shocked at what she had begun as a simple search for John, Tori tried to summon all the calming methods she'd seen her mother perform on awestruck pilgrims. They came out a stutter. "Y-y-y-you too are, a, a, a Leedsdown--survivor?"

The smokey wolf lifted her head from the ground, tears in her eyes. "Yes, I am," she said softly.

Tori offered a paw, to help her up. The wolf accepted it, somewhat timidly. Her companions stared.

"Branwen, what are you doing?" the scarred wolf exclaimed in shock.

Tori tried laughing easily. "Oh, it's alright, she can touch me if she wants, I'm not holy." She turned to her compatriot. "Branwen? Beautiful name. I was just about to ask what it was."

Branwen made a small curtsy, accompanied by a nervous smile. "Many thanks, Lady Rubyhaer. Yes, Branwen MacIntyre, of the Arborium MacIntyres."

Tori stared at her enviously. "You lived in Arborium? You lucky! I can't think of a more beautiful section of the city!"

The slightly bemused Branwen agreed a bit proudly. "Yes, me neither. B-but what of Tyne Palace? Didn't you like it? Umm--Lady," she appended hastily.

John held in a giggle. "Lady?" he asked. "No wonder she didn't like it. I can't imagine a whole slew o'beasts callin' yeh that day in an' day out! Y'd go mad, I should think. I would."

"Don't you know who this is?" the crane-like dog asked him wondrously. John shrugged.

"Oh, yeah, we've been travellin' in each other's company for a while now. 'Tis th'heiress of Tundralake 'erself, on 'er way back north t'fight Widowmaker for what she did." Silence trickled between them. John was confused. "Did I say somethin' amiss?"

"Tomé," Seluki whispered to the scarred one, staggered, "it's just like you said it would be!" More silence prevailed. Tori looked among them.

"Would you like to join us?" the red wolf asked.

The answer was immediate. "I've been waiting for this day longer than there have been days in between then and now!" Branwen swore, glowing. "Let us collect our camp: you go ahead, we will follow you." She stopped, pausing a minute to look sincerely into Tori's green eyes. She liked what met her. She added, "In everything."