One question: Where does Crane come from?

I admit that this might be the most worthless chapter from this entire story. It should have been included in the last one. However, after this, things kind of blow up as Evil Mage Man and Company come into play. I'm very depressed about this chapter; the only thing that made it worth doing was, of course, Rosethorn and Crane, and playing with perspectives.

Another thing. Thank you Rosethorn, for commenting on my baby Redemption. I wanted to thank you here because I've got a lot of thinking to do before I turn out another chapter of that story. But by the way, it is definitely NOT Sandry/Briar, however it looks now. That was one story I did not want to plague with my S/B notions, which I'm not sure I actually believe in. To reward you, here is more Rosethorn and Crane, though shoddily done.

Which brings me to Sandry/Briar, Tris/Briar, whoever it is debates. I don't think I've seen viable Daja/Briars.

Rosethorn and Crane, you KNOW it's possible for something to go on. Tris and Briar, ehh. I know it's just my personal opinion, but I always felt Tris would do better with someone older, who had more time to hone their much-needed patience before launching into a relationship with Weather Witch. I mainly write Sandry and Briar simply because it's interesting: there's always that Street Boy/Royal Highness issue to fall back on for complications, as well as the fact that Briar needs some stability in his life. Obviously, Sandry more than Tris can give that to him. Daja is simply engrossed in her craft, so while I think I did write something once where Daja has romance, it was completely unreasonable. I think the one story that did a decent job of it was Qui-xux's Shifting Circles. That was a cute one.

Just my two cents.



Sandry and Briar had an easier time planting gifts than Daja, who had to sneak back from the forge to do so. It was a Midsummer tradition to, unbeknownst to the receiver, secretly place your package on their bed. That is, if you lived in the same house as the person. Giving Frostpine his present had been simpler.

Daja silently swore as she climbed up the back of Discipline. Going down is a lot easier than up, she thought to herself silently. By the time she had swung herself into Tris's old room, she had worked up a light sweat and was ready to welcome winter.

She dropped a wrapped present onto Sandry's mattress. One down. Three to go.

Of course, the windows of Discipline were always open, so once she had escaped from the second floor Daja only had to fling each parcel onto the safety of the beds. Which was easy enough, she thought smugly, as she slipped past Rosethorn's workroom.

And almost ran directly into Dedicate Crane.

She smothered a screech with her own hands over her mouth as Crane propelled himself backward away from the sudden obstruction. "Quiet!" Daja immediately hissed, forgetting formalities with the head Dedicate of the Air Temple. "I'm not supposed to be here. I was just doing Midsummer deliveries."

"Covertly done," Crane managed dryly, as he picked himself off the ground. "I, on the other hand, prefer a more direct approach." He picked up a covered basket that had also fallen into the surrounding greenery. "I hope the contents have not been upset. Now, if you would excuse me."

Daja made the appropriate noises and Crane, satisfied, continued on to Discipline's front door. But while she pretended to walk toward the forge, she doubled back to creep by the unshuttered kitchen window. What business did Crane have, delivering Midsummer gifts? she asked Sandry and Briar, who, drawn by the knocking on the door, had left their work to gape at the dreary man.



Sandry was, of course, amused at Daja's outburst, but far more interested in Crane's appearance.

"Dedicate Crane!" Lark appeared enthusiastic to see the man, but Sandry suspected that her teacher was anxious to calm his obviously upset nerves. She had never seen Crane standing so stiffly, and Sandry thought she knew by now what it meant.

He hadn't been so uncomfortable inside of Discipline for months. Perhaps because of Rosethorn's sudden return, Crane was no longer feeling as welcome as he had been during the plant mages' time away. Sandry knew that he had occasionally joined Lark and her student Comas for meals, mostly due his foray into Rosethorn's garden, and had even been present for one of Sandry's infrequent visits back to Discipline. Both Lark and Sandry admitted, quite surprised themselves, that he hadn't been such bad company after all.

She told all this to Daja and Briar, who, stunned, had no ready reply. Of course he's feeling awkward. It was easier for him when Nemesis wasn't here. I hope he doesn't feel too excluded.

So, trying to be as Lark-like as possible, Sandry also smiled and immediately rummaged through the neatly piled doorway gifts and emerged with a neatly embroidered cushion. "Happy Midsummer, Dedicate Crane." She then secured it to the seat of one of the new chairs Discipline had been given a mere three weeks ago, after an unfortunate bench accident.

Seeing the questioning expression on his face, Lark deftly steered Crane toward the corner, showing him a small pile of similar seat cushions. Each sported an embroidered picture and ribboned corners, which would firmly attach the cloth to the wooden chair legs. "An entirely magicless project," she explained, "but a fun one. In fact, I think Sandry and I entirely enjoyed ourselves far too much while making these."

"They are...?" Crane asked, still confused. He was standing over his, inspecting the picture sewn onto the surface. It depicted a white and brown crane, ankle deep in water, surrounded by a plethora of water-dwelling plants.

"Seat cushions for the chairs," Sandry told him. "We found the chairs are not as comfortable as the benches were." She was increasingly aware of the growing crowd gathering in the kitchen. Briar, Rosethorn, and even Daja had crept out of hiding.

"I hadn't realize Discipline had recently acquired chairs," Crane mentioned. "I seem to recall wooden benches."

Lark never wasted a good opportunity. "You haven't come to dine with us in quite a while. Crane, you ought to come more often. We've gained some members of our household back, but there is still a sufficient amount of chairs."

"There's a special cup," Sandry offered. Opening a cupboard, she removed a teacup on which "Crane" had been painted in small letters. "You won't have to use one of the spares. This is," she said rather sternly, due to his reticence, "an invitation."

Crane's usually listless brown eyes were bewildered. "Thank you," he said, after a barely imperceptible pause. "I appreciate the offer, and I may –er- take you up on it, if the raiders allow me any time for leisurely repose."

"Speaking of business, how goes the project?" Rosethorn asked, arms crossed as she leaned on frame of her workroom's door.

Crane's composure was in place by the time he turned to his colleague. "It goes not at all, yet," he told her, rubbing his hand over a tired face in a familiar gesture. "I've just gotten done with jars of those enhanced seeds that worked so well on the shores five years ago."

Rosethorn looked startled. "Moonstream hadn't told me about that assignment. I could have been helping, instead of making these blasted rose geraniums all morning."

A crooked smile bloomed on Crane's face. "Geraniums, indeed. My first mission was to deliver this basket. I've also come to collect your unwilling person, and whatever supplies you require. Moonstream is due at the greenhouse in half an hour, to discuss ... schematics."

"Briar, you know what to do," Rosethorn said. Her student sighed mightily and agreed. "Finish whatever business you have here, Crane, and I'll be out in a minute." She disappeared into her workshop.

Not at all ruffled by Rosethorn's tone of voice, Crane turned back to Lark. "In the spirit of Midsummer, I thought there were a few things lying around that could be of service," he said mildly. Several small wrapped bottles lay inside the basket he handed her, each marked with a neat slip of paper.

"Thank you, Crane," Lark replied, as Rosethorn emerged from her lair, laden with a small sack. The older dedicate's eyes flicked up at her plant-mage friend, who merely sighed and, pushing aside other packages, located the green-ribboned one.

"Ready?" she said, rather grumpily, and Crane silently followed her to the door.



Daja slipped out after the two Dedicates, following at a distance she hoped was prudent. Sandry and Briar, still at Discipline, clamored in her mind until she opened her eyes to their magic.

Can you see well enough now? she asked testily, and her two friends agreed silently.

But to Daja's complete surprise, a new twist of magic had been added to her perception. Looking back, Daja could see that Lark had placed her hand on Sandry's forearm.

You think I don't want to see this, too? Lark asked, voice amused. Daja merely grinned and continued to trail the arguing dedicates.

"You might prefer nutgrass," Crane was telling Rosethorn acerbically. "But you must agree that yellowweed has the same properties as your chosen invasive as well as a nature that will be compliant with our magic."

"Nutgrass spreads faster," came Rosethorn's ready reply. "It also is less obvious in a field of green grass."

Bicker bicker bicker, Daja thought, until the two had stopped outside Crane's greenhouse.

They paused as Crane worked the counterspell that would unlock the main entrance to the expensive building. Daja could hear Lark's intake of breath as Rosethorn said something too quietly to hear, handing Crane a small package.

A glitter of silver ran over the package as Crane turned it over in his hands, and his jaw actually dropped. Crane, shocked dumb? Briar gasped. Can't be.



"Where did- how-"

Rosethorn managed a small smile at Crane's discomposure. "I managed to track a few of them down."

A long pause, then - a chuckle? "You and I never seemed to give any indication that we knew rather intimate details about each other's lives."

"No." Trust Rosethorn to shoot down a perfectly courteous statement.

From where she stood, Daja saw Crane's head flinch, as if from a slap, before his eyes suddenly shot toward Rosethorn. What he saw evidently surprised him as much as it did Daja.

She wasn't crying, obviously, because that would practically be against the Laws of Rosethorn. But she was wringing her robes in her hands like she was even younger than the Circle themselves.

Daja could barely hear, but Briar ingeniously called upon the surrounding plants to translate. Which was confusing, since all four of the enthralled spies were now seeing through Daja's power but hearing through Briar's magic.

She mumbled toward the ground, which ironically made it even easier for Briar to understand. "I wanted to tell you that I was sorry. Before we all die in whatever is coming. That certainly gave me good motivation."

Crane reached inside his robe, pulling out a medium sized wooden box. Rosethorn was still carefully inspecting the dirt beneath her feet, and the sudden touch of his hands startled her as he folded her fingers around the carved case.

Now what is that? Sandry asked, almost wildly. She thought she knew; a trip her parents had taken when she was seven had led to the rocky province from where Crane had originated. Is that- that-

Lark, however, was clearly astonished. I don't believe it. I just can't believe it.

What is it? Briar cried. What? What?!

Daja was already prying with her magic. You won't believe what is inside, she told them, before turning her attention back to the two dedicates.

Rosethorn's jaw had dropped. "I can't believe you kept this." She ran her thumb gently over the carved roses on the lid, tracing the pattern.

"I found it," Crane said dryly, after clearing his throat in a suspicious manner, "after you had left. I didn't think you'd be pleased to see it again. I also happened to desire a reconciliation between us, in light of the impending doom we seem to be facing."

She was turning the box over and over in her hands. "I'll pick at you about this," she told him, a slightly acerbic tone in her voice again, "after we finish our work." Crane looked almost hurt, until Rosethorn twitched her head at the clump of merry daisies that had grown around the glasshouse.

Briar quickly withdrew his magic, but he knew it was too late. Rosethorn and even Crane, he believed, had already seen him.

"Your student," Crane reminded her.

Rosethorn gave him a look of pure amusement. "As if Osprey has better manners." A hunched figure only partially hidden within the greenhouse jerked hastily out of sight, and Crane groaned. Finishing the disarming spell on the glasshouse lock, he told her, "After our work is done, I look forward to an interesting conversation with you."

"It most certainly will be interesting."

Then, to Daja's immense gratification, he turned to Rosethorn and offered her his arm. And she took it.



Daja, though fully intrigued, nevertheless excused herself to return to the forge. Frostpine, Kirel, and Trevin were most likely wondering why she was taking so long.

So, it was Sandry, Briar, and Lark who sat around the kitchen table, stunned.

"Is that why they hate each other?" Sandry asked in a small voice.

Lark, equally quiet, let out a little gasping sigh. "I actually don't know much about Rosie and Crane. But I am quite familiar with the practices of- of-"But she couldn't go on; her retrained voice quickly decayed into wild laughter.

Briar just stared at Sandry and Lark, who was now pounding the table merrily with one fist. "What was that thing, anyway?" he demanded, feeling left out.

Sandry, resting her face on her hands, looked rather thoughtful. "It's like a- a tradition," she tried to explain. "The carved wooden box holds jewelry, usually a ring. But Crane certainly spent a great deal on other pieces, too, judging by the size of the box."

Seeing the confused expression on Briar's face, Lark fought to stop her laughter. "It's an engagement tradition," she told him, gasping for breath. "Rosethorn and Crane were going to- " Her self-control broke, and more giggling bubbled up. "Don't tell Rosie I laughed," she warned.

"Won't," Briar mumbled, stunned. "But it don't make sense."

"Oh, but doesn't it?" Lark replied instantly, and Sandry grinned. "It would certainly explain the vague 'falling out' that made them enemies."

Lark smoothed a robe under her hands, preparing to send a thread of copper into the weave. "She's going to kill us when we get home, you know. Either that, or be intolerably cheerful. I won't make any guarantees about Rosie after today, though. She's managed to shock me far beyond anything I've expected."

He sighed. "I guess it will take getting used to."

"No kidding," Sandry and Lark said in unison.