One had to travel far afield to find a place untouched by the scent of humanity. Yarne's mother —his mother from his own time— had fled to what seemed like the ends of the world to escape it. This version of her shared that disposition, but only as a spark compared to the wildfire it would become. The smell of humans didn't elicit the rabid, bone-deep terror he had witnessed growing up, only a slight wrinkling of her nose and a shudder along her back fur. It was a minor annoyance to put up with, soothed by time away.

They sat side by side on the grassy bank of a bubbling stream, soaking tired footpaws in the cool water. Yarne would occasionally scoop up a handful and splash it onto the bloody gash in his side. This place shouldn't have been far enough to be free of the tinge of mankind —there was a monastery a little over a mile to the south— but the aroma of the Mila Tree overpowered the scent of anything so relatively insignificant as human civilization.

Panne was in the middle of the time-consuming process of re-braiding her hair and ears when she turned to him, face impassive as always, but body tense. "I… didn't hurt you, did I?"

Yarne tried not to let his embarrassment at the question show. Gathering his nerve, his answer was slow and deliberate. Even with recent practice, almost a decade of disuse had rusted his native tongue. "You.. erm, you don't have to treat me like a newborn cub. You, ahh, I mean, she taught me much about our ways. This wasn't my first real argument."

Panne straightened up, eyes widening. The ear she wasn't working on grew rigid and twitched in his direction. "You can speak Taasta?"

Forgetting himself, Yarne grinned at his mother's surprise, but quickly smothered the expression. He instead let the fur on his shoulders shiver with satisfaction. "We are both Taguel, it's only right that we speak properly."

"I have grown to appreciate the speech of humans." The Ylissian dropped away and she continued in Taasta. "It has… advantages of its own. But I did not think your mother would have taught you this."

"Why wouldn't she? It's our—" he struggled for a moment to remember the proper pronunciation. "—heritage, isn't it?"

Panne returned to fixing her hair, but her body was alive as she spoke. The Taguel languages worked in tandem with the language of skin and fur, able to convey in a single sentence that which humans needed an ocean of words to explain. It was a language of hunting and motion that his mother could make sing. Yarne couldn't suppress a stab of envy. The speech always felt so clumsy on his tongue.

"Heritage? Yes, it is our heritage, but not the heritage I would have chosen to teach my cub."

Yarne stared at her in disbelief. "I… what? How can you say that?"

She returned his gaze. "We are a species of two. I am the memory of my people. That is what I would have taught you."

"You did teach me of our history! I know of our achievements and our failures. I know of how our people lived and hunted and sang and fought. And I know of our tribes. You can't have a tribe without a language. It is as much a part of the Taguel as our history is."

"And there are no tribes left."

"We are a tribe!" Yarne cringed at his own words. It was something his mother had always said, always tinged with the scent of desperation. Was he really defending the memory of someone against their past self?

Panne's voice stayed level, even in the face of his increasing agitation. "Tell me, do you think in Taasta?"

Yarne hunched his shoulder and looked away, shame dowsing him. "I… no."

He was raised to love a people for whom he only half belonged. No matter how hard he tried, his father's side —his human side— always felt like a stone around his neck. He couldn't truly speak Taasta, not like his mother. Ylissian had anchored itself in his mind, but that too didn't feel right. He couldn't make human language fit the way Noire and the other could, and he couldn't feel the Taguel language like he knew he should.

To his surprise, his mother kicked his footpaw under the water, getting him to face her again. There was no disappointment in her movements, no shame, only a glimmer of sadness. "After my parents were embraced by the moon, I was alone —not just in body, but mind. I would seek out caves and shout into them. It was the only way I could hear my people speak, even if it was just my own voice bouncing back.

"There is a madness in being the last, something I know you understand. If you ask The Man Who Smells of Honey and Laughter, he will tell you humans and Taguel are not so different. 'All just people' he says. And he is not wrong. You are proof of that. But he cannot understand being something other than what he is. He cannot understand me.

"He… and the other Shepherds have given me a place to belong,—" Panne's footpaw began bouncing wistfully in the water, splashing them both "—but a place to belong among humans. I am still alone with my language. I am still alone in my mind. It is something I would never wish to pass on to my cubs."

"Even if it means the end of that language, forever?" Yarne whispered.

"Our language will end with us no matter what we do. Perhaps your own children will learn some, but it will go no further. I will not let the memory of our people die, but that memory will have to be told by humans in Ylissian and Plegian and Feroxi if it is to continue."

"But what is our history without our voice?"

Panne shifted back and forth, as if trying to steady herself on uncertain ground. "I… do not know. Before Exalt Emmeryn came to me, I thought that humans knew nothing of what they had done to us; that they had chosen to forget. But she found me on her own, and wished to hear my stories. She is with her goddess now, but many of the Shepherds share her desire to listen. They are not like us, but they are… Taguel enough to help carry not only our memories, but how we remember them."

Yarne couldn't help but give a human smile. His mother's foot kept tapping against the water as she returned to braiding her hair. "The princess, erm, Lucina is like that." He had reverted to Ylissian. "Alway ready to listen. And Laurent already knew so much about our people, probably from his mother. And Owain…"

His hand moved from the slash his mother had given him to an old scar up by his shoulder blades. Unlike human arguments that only sometimes came to blows, Taguel argument always got violent. A simple disagreement on their scouting path today had led to a fight that Panne had quickly won. It was something that most humans simply couldn't understand. But Owain did.

Back when Lucina's Shepherds had first recruited him —half feral and starving— he'd gotten into argument with the swordsman. Instead of harsh words or vague threats, Owain had grabbed him and thrown him into a rack of weapons, giving him the scar and his first real taste of friendship.

"And what of Tharja's cub, Noire?" Panne asked, ears tilted with curiosity.

"She is… a Huntress." Without realizing it, his footpaw began bouncing in time with his mother's. "I've never met another human who can move like we do. If Exalt Chrom and Sir Robin agree to our plan to climb the Mila Tree, you'll see. She's as at home in the woods as I am. She even smells of rain and grass."

Panne's nose twitched in amusement. "You must admire her very much, the way your eyes follow her wherever she goes. Quite a brave choice for your heart to make. Tharja would tear you apart if any ill befell her daughter. I've always liked that about her."

"Mother!" Yarne stammered. "We've fought and traveled together for years. I respect her as much as I do the other Shepherds. You know about the friendships that form between people who have spent so long in each other's company. It's nothing more than that!"

Panne drew herself up, causing him to cower down in an act of submission, not meeting her eyes. "You lie as someone who forgets he is no longer traveling with only dull-nosed humans." She leaned close and sniffed him. "The smell of rain and grass, you say? Yes, as well as the herbs Tharja used to pick in her homeland, and the feathers of crows.

"It is a scent that is still strong on you, much more than that of a friend and companion. For it to be so overwhelming, the two of you must have been quite enthusiastic in your—"

Yarne leapt up, plugging his ears with both hands and blushing uncontrollably. He had forgotten. One of Lucina's biggest fears was contaminating the relationships between the past Shepherds, and his mother had been an unavoidable obstacle. As soon as they revealed themselves on Carrion Isle, Panne would have sensed each and every one of their parentages from scent alone. Of course she would also know about him and Noire.

"Haven't you lived among other people long enough to learn about discretion?" He spoke loudly, hoping to drown out what he knew she was saying. "Yes, you're right, I'm sorry I lied. But you must have forgotten too! Honey and Laughter you called him? I can barely tell your two scents apart!"

A shiver ran through his mother's fur and her nose started twitching again. Yarne gaped at the realization that she was laughing at him.

"Oh, so She Who Had My Scent But Is Not Me was not as thorough in all aspects of her teaching." She patted the bank next to her, waiting for him to sit down again before continuing. "Tell me, could the Taguel have been as… sensitive as humans are about the privacy of such relationships? Of course not. And why are your teeth bared at the smell of Gaius on me? He is your father."

Yarne slumped his shoulders and sighed. "Guess it's just the human side of me that cares about it. It's indecent to go around talking about something like that to your children."

"Another silly human rule. If it isn't spoken of, how would the cubs learn to behave property when it is their turn?"

Yarne cringed back, preparing himself for another comment from his mother, but she mercifully turned back to give her hair a last few twists before tying off the braid. Only occasionally did her fur ripple with a chuckle.

Once he'd managed to get his embarrassment under control, Yarne hesitantly asked, "When did you and… um, dad first start—"

"Mating?"

"No! Caring for one another! When did you first start caring for one another?"

Panne gave him a quizzical tilt of the head. "Did she not speak of this to you?"

"Never." He submerged his feet back into the swift current, sending several slim fish darting away. "While I was growing up, I only knew about him from his scent. But it was so faded. I had the chance to speak to someone who knew you both back then… or, knew you both now, I guess. And she, erm, they said that you didn't join the Shepherds with any love of humans. So, how did you go from that to, well… having me?"

"Slowly," she sighed. Her foot started bouncing again. "I fought with the Shepherds to protect Exalt Emmeryn, then again when she was taken. I hadn't planned to remain any longer than that."

"And my father convinced you to stay?"

Panne's nose twitched. "Hardly. I believed he was trying to drive me away at first; so many pestering questions and insults. It wasn't until I'd met the little Daughter of Naga that I began to see things differently. She is so very human in her ways, but she understood, not my anger, but my… lack of a crossing. She was a ford for me, introducing humanity in a way that I could understand. I am glad to see that you have become friends with her as well."

Yarne fought to keep his body still, but couldn't stop his ears from drooping. "Yes, we all have."

Thankfully, his mother was too lost in her own memories to notice his momentary sadness. "It is thanks to her that I now see the difference between humanity as a whole and the humanity of the individual. Neither can or should be held responsible for the actions of the other. Though I find that the best humans are those who see the flaws of both as needing to be answered for.

"And it is with her help that I discovered the urge to speak with the others. To learn. And, eventually, to understand that all those questions from your father were from his own drive to understand. And his insults were not meant as such. They were simply the human form of play fighting; when two of our kind are interested in—" She glanced sideways at him. "—Well, you understand. I wouldn't want to be… indiscreet."

The sheer joy radiating from his mother pushed away the darker memories, and Yarne gave her a human smile. They sat in a companionable silence for some time, Panne staring off wistfully as he tried to digest everything he had heard.

He was so lost in thought, that it took him a moment to notice when his mother's own ears drooped, and she shrank down into herself.

"He dies, doesn't he?" she whispered.

"You all die, mother," Yarne responded as gently as he could.

"You know what I mean. He dies before the end."

"…Yes."

"How?"

Yarne's heart broke. When they had traveled back, it was with the conviction that they would change things. A world without Grima. A world with their parents. A world where their younger selves could grow up happy in the sunlight.

For the others, stopping the Fell Dragon would achieve it all. For him…

"I… don't know," he admitted. The weight of it settled over him like a cloud. "She never spoke of him. I only learned his name when Lucina found me. She had heard stories of the two of you, but only from your time as Shepherds. I've spoken to others who should have known, but they only say that something happened to dad, and you vanished with me. No details.

"I'm sorry. That's all I know. I don't know how to save either of you."

Tears stung the corners of his eyes as he hunched down like his mother. All of Lucina's ideals of a brighter future were as grand as they were unlikely, but at least she had a plan. They had all gone back unsure of if they'd succeed, but knowing how to begin. All except him. He'd stepped through the Gateway already having failed.

He gave a start in surprise as his mother reached out and —in an extremely human gesture— put her hand on his shoulder. The movement looked incredibly awkward from her, and her entire body had an uncomfortable tenseness to it. Yarne couldn't help but burst into laughter.

She withdrew her hand quickly, but was sitting straight again, clearly pleased with herself. "You cubs," she growled fondly. "Have made it a habit to take responsibility for us."

Yarne wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "We are hardly cubs anymore, mother."

"A Taguel is someone's cub until the day they die. It would seem that many human parents feel the same." She stood up and stretched, shaking off the water from her footpaws. "Is this something I can speak of with the others?"

Yarne climbed to his feet as well. A flight of wyverns, draped in red and gold, soared far overhead, winging their way to the Mila Tree's upper foliage. The way the lizard's tails and wings drooped signaling that this wasn't a patrol, but a group that had flown a great distance. Neither of the Taguel made a move to hide. Human eyes —even aided by spyglasses— were too weak to pick them out from the forest at such a distance.

"I suppose you can," he responded. "The others chose not to talk to their parents about how they died. In the end, it wouldn't do them much good, and humans get upset when faced with their own deaths. But we didn't think it would harm the future. Are you going to tell father?"

Panne reached into one of the pouches at her waist and produce her Beaststone, the amber gem sparkling in the late afternoon sun. "I plan on telling all of the Shepherds. Now, come. We must explore that monastery before returning. Exalt Chrom will want to know of it before any plans to attack are made."

Yarne didn't move to follow her. He too busy trying to comprehend what she had just said. "Tell all of the Shepherds? Mother, what? Why?"

She looked back at him. "You do not know how to proceed. I do not know how to proceed. I will not lose those I love again. I will not let you experience that again. I have no choice but to ask for help."

"That… isn't very Taguel."

"No, it is not." And with that, his mother leapt forward. The Beaststone flashed in her grip, a golden light enveloping her. Her back hunched and widened, as limbs became bulky and powerful. The fingers on her hands conjoined and became paws to match her feet; nails growing into claws. Her face and ears elongated, her teeth jutted into fangs.

His mother pranced back and forth, staring at him expectantly. Without a second thought, he tore free his own stone. He channeled into it, letting the warm light suffuse him. Then he leapt forth, nipping his mother's side with his own fangs as he dashed past. The two Taguel left the stream far behind them as they raced off through the woods together.