Into the fire

"Some such," said Ry

"Well, for that I am glad," replied Tip. "Would that I could find relatives, too, what with my own dam and sire now being gone, just as are yours, my dammia. Kith and kin and kind and friends: all are important, or so I have come to believe."

And on they went as the sun rose and morning light filled the sky.

As the Vanadurin made camp in the small grassy dell, and Beau went off with Farly, Ry

Ry

"What is it?" asked Tip. Suddenly a fleeting memory flitted across his mind but vanished ere he could capture it, leaving behind the unca

Ry

Tip stepped to the damman, and there asleep in a rumple of blanket -it was a wee Warrow child, nought but a tot "This is Lark."

– who opened her eyes, her glorious green eyes "Lark?"

– and smiled, oh how she smiled "Your dammsel, Tipperton. Your daughter."

"My… my…"

"Your dammsel," repeated Ry

"Ours?" breathed Tipperton, wide-eyed, and he tentatively reached out to touch the wee youngling, but drew back and looked at Ry

"Well, go on," said Ry

Tip stroked the back of a finger across the child's cheek, the tot looking askance at him in response. "She's so soft."

"Here," said Ry

"Oh my, but I don't-"

"Nonsense."

Tentatively, Tipperton took the child, and he gri

And Tip looked up at Ry

"Oh, Tipperton, she is gri

Upon hearing a familiar word-"Da. Da. Da-da. Da-da-da-da…" chirped Lark, the words finally ru

Tipperton looked up at Ry

"She can talk?"

"She's begi

"Lark, my Lark," breathed Tipperton. Then he looked at Ry

"She was born a year ago tomorrow, and I could not have asked for a finer birthday gift than her sire coming home."

"Home?" Tip looked about at the bower, then smiled back down at the wee child.

"Anywhere we three are, Tipperton," replied Ry

Lark squealed and reached up a tiny hand, striving to clutch Tip's nose, and then she struggled and fussed, and Tip shifted her to a more upright position against his chest.

Lark then seized a button on Tip's jacket, thoroughly fascinated by its roundness.

Tip gri

"Of course not, Tip," said Ry

A shadow darkened the doorway, and an eld damman bearing an armful of clean white cloths hurried into the bower. Her face gladdened upon seeing Ry

Ry

"Lark's da? Him that went off to foreign lands? Oh, how wonderful." Melli stepped forward and would have embraced Tip, but for the tot in his arms, and so she settled for a kiss on his cheek.

"Now you two rest, for Nix told me of the Gargon and all-as if I didn't see that horrible thing's head bobbing about on a pike-and I'll make a bit of breakfast." She turned to Tip. "Will hot tea and a rasher or two along with some eggs do? -And a crust of bread, of course."

"Oh, Melli, the crust alone would do," said Tip, "but tea and eggs and a couple of rashers, I ca

Lark held her arms out to be taken by Melli and gurgled her approval as well.

As darkness fell, Beau arose from his pallet in Farly's hut and stepped out into the woods to relieve himself. As he came back, he could see movement across the glade. His eyes flew wide, and he rubbed them in disbelief, for the far end of the canted field was now covered entirely with mounds, each some eight or ten feet high and twice as wide at the base, each hillock veiled with a strawlike yellowish grass, or what seemed to be grass… and they were moving, these mounds, moving westerly, small creatures and Fox Riders faring alongside, heading in the direction where stood the aggregate of Stones, and farther off the eaves of the forest and the open wold beyond.

With his heart thudding, Beau watched in wonder and recalled when last he'd seen mounds like these: it was when he and Tip and Loric and Phais had ridden north through the Blackwood nearly two years ago. I told Tip then I saw one of them move, and now here they march across Black-wood like an army off to battle. Beau wondered whether he should go waken Tip… or Ry

Sleep was a long time coming.

In the middle of the night with moonlight glowing down through the doorway, as Tip and Ry

And Tynvyr passed by the bower woven of saplings and paused to listen to Prym's singing, the voice of the Vred Tre rustling like leaves in the wind.