A/N: Thank you for all the reviews! Incidentally, anyone who wants to CC this, feel free. ;)

QP: I am Sandry and Sandry is me. She jumps on people a lot. ;)

"In dreams and in love there are no impossibilities."

-- Janos Arany (1817-82), Hungarian poet

Sunshine. The warmth of it trickled beneath her skin and spread through the length of her body, dispersing the cold oblivion of dreamlessness. She shifted slightly, letting the almost tangible light of morning reach to her face. It teased open her eyelids, making her blink like some startled doe in the brilliance that shone even from this dim glow after the night. She lay on grass, fresh and green; her clothes had soaked up the dew and chilled her during the night. Getting up slowly, with catlike grace, she knelt back and regarded her surroundings. Cythera squinted towards the sun, still tinted with red from its rising, and wondered idly why she was not in her bed. This didn't look like Tortall- oh, she was thinking like one of her silly characters. Trying to focus, she brought one of her legs up and stood shakily. Looking away from the light, which was becoming painful, she realized there was another figure in the middle distance; tall, muscular, with one arm extended. For all he was made into a silhouette by the backlighting, she knew instantly who he was. Hitching up her skirts- oh dear, this was clichéd- she started running towards him, smiling. For all he had seemed far away, in moments she was in his arms, feeling the warmth of the strong circle that enclosed her. Shorter then him, the top of her head fitted neatly under his chin, and he rested it there for a moment. Looking up into Raoul's eyes, Cythera smiled- slowly, gently, with a subtle shifting of features that seemed to set her face alight.

He bent down and kissed the top of her head, with lightest feather-contact, and tightened his hold on her. From within his arms, she laughed.

She had answered her own question. She knew what love was. She had known all along.

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Alanna swung. She could feel the power of the sword between her bare hands, the leather wrappings imprinting their designs onto fingers unused to such work. The blade whipped through the air, whistling like some misplaced nightingale in the silent stone courtyard. She planted one foot carefully before the other, still moving the rippling steel around her, now in a circle, now in a figure-of-eight. She was moving more smoothly then she ever had before, her eyes perfectly aligned with her sword, her body perfectly coordinated. She had spent her whole life dreaming of these rhythms, these movements; trod them so many times in her waking dreams...

Thrust. Block. Footwork. Turn. Swing. Stab. Turn. Swing. Thrust. Block. Turn.

Yes.

Turn- and the blade stopped, halted by some force invisible. Alanna's hand shook on the blade. She looked into the face of the man who had been her friend, her mentor, her colleague, her peer, her betrothed...

There, in that moment, Gary smiled, and the world lit up.

Her love?

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Sandry sat on the richly carpeted floor of some lounge, leaning against an armchair, sewing carefully. Each stitch was planned for a millennium in the split-second it took her; here across-stitch, her padded satin to lend depth- and as she worked she filled her mind with memories. Coming to Winding Circle, meeting the others, the moment their magic had come together; waking up for the first time in Tortall to the sight of violet eyes; laughter and flying pillows.

Then, springing all unbidden to the forefront of her mind, another memory. Sapphire eyes, this time, cutting right through to her heart and laying it open with a singly glance. Piercing her soul like a needle. Black hair -entrancing, capturing her. Her needle was moving without the consent of a stunned mind, forming pictures faster then she could take them in. She glanced up- and there he was, sitting across the room, watching her with a smile playing on his lips. Seeing her eyes fall on him, he stood and walked over to her. Taking the hand he offered, she stood, drawing herself up. She realised she had not let go of him; his thumb was rubbing the back of her hand. Meeting his eyes...Sapphire eyes... she smiled.

This was love.