I posted this chapter on The King's Own a few weeks ago, and a couple of the reviews made me think there might still be people reading it here, so I'm going to continue updating it here as well if people are keen for it. : ) If you're after updates of my other fic too, most of that is only going on The King's Own, I'm greenie over there.

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"Clary?" Tom heard a splash and looked up the river.

"I'm up here," her voice called back.

He could just make out a figure upstream, mostly hidden by the trees. "What are you doing?" He shoved his way through the bushes, narrowly avoiding having his eye poked out by a branch.

"Swimming," she replied, her voice implying that that much should be obvious. "It's too hot to do anything else." He could see a pile of her clothes, and realised that she was only wearing her white shift and loincloth. "And I'm playing with the sprites," she continued. "It's fun."

Tom couldn't help but peer into the water, even though he knew he couldn't see them. "They are female sprites, right?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

He looked away from her. "White goes see through when it's wet." He wasn't entirely sure how big the sprites were, but it was obvious that her body was beginning the change from a gixie to a mot, and he didn't want any of them getting any ideas.

She snorted. "Don't look then, if you're that worried about it."

"I'm not looking. That doesn't mean that other people wouldn't."

She floated on her back, letting her long hair stream out behind her. "It's too hot to care. Anyway, the sprites wouldn't let them." She sighed and splashed her way over to the bank. "I should get out now anyway. I need to dry off, and Mother would be annoyed if I was away from home for too long." After pulling herself out of the stream, she shook open her bundle of clothes and pulled out an old towel. She spread it out on the ground and flopped down. "The sun's so warm I'll be dry in no time," she told him. Tom grinned and settled himself down beside her.

"Why aren't you helping your father?"

"Some days are busy, and others we don't have much to do at all. Just depends on who's ordered what," he explained. "Da said I might as well go and enjoy myself, and that he'd just finish up with a few small bits and pieces." Clary nodded; it was often the same with her father.

"Tom," she began again after a few minutes' silence, "do you ever go out dancing?"

"Sometimes. Why do you ask?"

She shrugged as best as she could while lying down. "Just wondering." She was silent again for a little while before asking "Is it fun?"

"I think it is," he answered. "It's not the sort of thing that everyone likes though."

"I think it sounds fun," she said, and sighed. "Rosalind's just turned 16, and Mother's letting her go out dancing. And she's getting her some new dresses."

Tom chuckled. "Your turn will come too."

"In four years!" came the exasperated reply.

"They'll go by quickly enough."

She scowled at him. "That's sarden easy for you to say! You already get to go out dancing."

"How about I promise to take you out dancing as soon as you can, on your 16th birthday?"

She blinked, and then gave him one of her small, crooked smiles. "Really?"

"If you haven't already got scores of other boys wanting to take you out themselves."

She snorted. "Unlikely. Boys are bugnobs."

"Hey," he protested. "I'm a boy."

"No," she said. "You don't count."

He thought about that for a couple of minutes and decided it must be a compliment, in some sort of roundabout way. "You'll have boys surrounding you, all clamouring for a smile or a kiss from pretty Clary," he teased.

She frowned. "That just sounds annoying. Besides, Mother says no-one'll want to come near me because of my waspish nature."

Tom gave a laugh. "If they don't know about that, they'll still come. You should be able to scare them off quickly enough, though."

The corner of her mouth turned up in a satisfied smile. "Good."

They lay in companionable silence for another ten minutes or so before Clary reluctantly sat up. "I'd best get home. Mother's got a whole list of chores and errands she wants done by the end of the day." She stood up and began pulling out her spare shift and loincloth to change into before she got dressed. The sharp contrast of colour drew Tom's eye to the back of her shift.

"Um, Clary," he began. "There's blood on the back of your shift."

She twisted around and looked at the backs of her legs. "I think I might have scraped myself on a stick in the water."

"No, it's higher up. I think you must have your monthlies."

"My monthlies?" Her eyes widened. "Pox."

"Well, is it due about now? Even if it's not, my sisters' ones sometimes did strange things and came too early or too late when they were younger."

"Um…" she managed, and chewed on her nail.

Tom looked at her worried face and realised. "Is this your first one?"

She nodded, eyes wide.

"And you know what they are?"

Clary nodded again. "Mama told me."

"Alright," he said, and turned his back. "I'm not looking. You have a look at your loincloth and make sure that it is your monthlies." He looked around the small reserve, making sure that nobody else was there and that she had her privacy.

"Pox," he heard her mutter softly from behind him.

"It's alright," he told her. "Just change into your spare underthings and put your handkerchief in your loincloth. You can have mine too, if you want it."

"No," she said, sounding embarrassed. "I've got two anyway, both old ones."

"You sort that out then, and then we'll get you home."

"I'm finished," she told him a few minutes later. He turned to see her looking awkward and worried, but fully dressed and holding her tightly bundled towel. "Um," she managed. "I'm ready to go."

They started walking, and Tom smiled down at her. "You don't need to look so worried, it's nothing to worry about. It's normal."

She glared, looking very much like her usual self. "You're not the one that's sarden bleeding down there, are you?" she snapped.

"Poor Clary," he said, and slung an arm around her shoulder. "You'll get used to it soon enough."

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They arrived back at Clary's house just a couple of minutes later, and went straight to the front door.

"I'll stop by tomorrow and see how you're doing," Tom told her as she pushed open the door.

"Is that you, Clary?" asked her mother, coming to the door. "Hello, Tomlan," she added upon seeing him.

"Hello, Mistress Wright. I'm not staying, but Clary's got something to tell you. Bye, Clary." He was off whistling down the path before Clary could get so much as a goodbye from her mouth.

Her mother closed the door and turned to her. "What did you have to tell me? You'd best hurry up, I've got things to do, and you must have wet things in there to sort out." She nodded towards Clary's bundled up towel.

Clary felt her mouth tremble. "Ma, my monthlies started."

"Your monthlies?" She saw the look on Clary's face. "Oh, my poor girl." She wrapped her arms around her daughter and held her tightly.

Clary found a couple of tears leaking from her eyes and hastily wiped them away on her sleeve as her mother released her.

"It's nothing to be upset about."

Clary scowled. "I don't like it, and I want it to go away."

Her mother laughed. "At least you're handling it better than your sister did, and she was nearly a full year older than you." She pressed a hand to Clary's stomach. "Are you sore at all? I can make you a cup of tea to help ease it."

Clary shook her head. "I think it's going everywhere though, Ma. And I got blood on my other loincloth and shift too. There was lots of it." She pointed to her bundle, and felt her chin trembling again.

"Nothing that can't be dealt with, I'm sure." She gave Clary a small push to get her going up the stairs. "Accidents happen. Come on, let's get you sorted out."