Coracles & Curses

Shadowstar breathed deep the warm summer air, appreciating the scent of pine and flowers and wet wood. Wind, beside him, fairly leapt onto the fallen tree that bridged the stream at that point.

"Race you to the lake!" challenged Wind, balancing on the narrow log. The one-person boat he carried in his arms, almost circular in shape like a half a nutshell, threw off his balance and made him teeter awkwardly.

"How about wrestling, instead!" growled Shadowstar, leaping onto the log himself. He nearly managed to shove Wind into the stream. They scuffled on the log for a bit. Wind called a momentary truce to toss the tiny boat onto shore, because it hindered his fighting - and then Shadowstar really got serious. In no time at all, Wind was flung into the stream.

"You win," cried a sopping Wind cheerfully as Shadowstar held out a hand to help him back up to the shore. "Now race?"

"Then you'll win," replied Shadowstar, heaving Wind up. The younger male had won both the footrace and the treewalking race at the recent Sun's Glory games. "Why do you want to go to the lake, anyway? You have to be at the waterfall shortly, we don't have time for side trips."

"We do if we race," grinned Wind, shaking himself out and throwing droplets of water in all directions. He picked up the little boat and perched it back up on his shoulders. "I need to thank she who made this coracle, and get her to come see me off."

"Oh, she's not coming?" teased Shadowstar, deadpan. "And I thought you two were becoming quite an item. I guess I had it all wrong."

"She doesn't know, that's all," said Wind, looking murderously at the other young male. "The Chieftess approved the coracle race after Mistflower left the Holt today."

"Then we must go tell her," cried Shadowstar, turning and breaking into a run. "Race you!" he called over his shoulder.

The elves of Farcorners Holt had been using coracles, steered by long poles, to navigate along streams and lakes for untold ages. After the tribe had settled in this region over four eights of turns ago, some of the more thrillseeking elves had discovered that it was fun to go down a certain section of whitewater not far from the Holt in a one-elf coracle without a pole. The occupant of the coracle whirled uncontrollably down a narrow canyon enclosing the raging stream, sped over almost-waterfalls, was spun about dizzily and splashed until he or she was thoroughly soaked; in short, had a great time! The wild ride ended where the canyon opened up and the stream broadened and slowed. The coracle would usually, but not always, be swept up onto a sandy bank (along with rotting logs and whatever other detritus the stream deposited) where it was three days' travel back to the Holt on foot. Most wolves, sensibly enough, refused to set foot in the unstable crafts.

It was competitive young Stillwing, of course, who had made the coracle trip into a race. Coracle races were now quite the rage each summer. The downstream leg of the race usually took a constant amount of time, as the racers had little control -- although a few times skilled racers had managed to get out of the whitewater somewhere within the canyon, thus shortening the trip back to the Holt and winning by a wide margin. And, one unlucky time, Waterpath had somehow managed to miss the sandy shore, and arrived back a day later than the rest of the racers.

But most times, the race was decided solely by the contestant's ground speed on the return trip. Wind, who took his name from his speed, won a good deal of his races. The trip featured enough obstacles and challenges, however, that most elves had a fighting chance.

Chieftess Whiteleaf did not view these races as frivolous. She saw that they tested many different skills, from speed, strength and endurance, to survival skills and woodlore, and she approved them frequently. The only limitation she imposed on the popular sport was the number of contestants. It wouldn't do to have half the Holt's warriors three days travel away if the Holt needed defending! Today, five would race.

The footrace to the lake was close, but Wind pulled ahead of Shadowstar when they reached the shore, and continued along the shoreline at top speed until he spied Mistflower. The lovely female was standing at the water's edge, flipping a stick in her hand with practiced ease as she reeled in her fishing line, wrapping it around the stick. Shadowstar arrived on the scene just a moment after Wind, and both were out of breath.

"You've got one!" burst Shadowstar in surprise at the wildly jerking line. He didn't entirely hold with Mistflower, there were many who said she fished in remote spots so she could nap instead of working. And it was true, quite often an unexpected visit would find her asleep. But she was so open and friendly, Shadowstar found it hard to hold it against her. Besides, wasn't she landing a big one now, and no one around to see her until he and Wind tumbled up.

"Look, I'm having a good day," replied Mistflower gaily, hooking a sandaled foot into the water and displaying a respectable catch of fish strung on a rope. "And this one is a real fighter, he's as big as any two of these."

Indeed, she was nearing the end of the line and now the elves could see the wildly fighting fish churning the shallow water near the bank. Wind whistled in admiration at its size. A few more coils of line around Mistflower's fishing-stick and the fish was clear of the water, scales glistening in the luminous dawnlight.

"Careful, he's only hooked by the lip," cautioned Shadowstar. Mistflower reached out for the rapidly jerking tail - the only part of this large fish she could have put her hand around - and then the fish's lip tore through, and it fell back into the water. In the blink of an eye, it had swum away.

Mistflower laughed. "Good-bye, fish," she said. "Today was not your day to die."

Both Wind and Shadowstar had jumped into the water after the fish, but immediately saw it was no use.

"Human piss!" cried Wind. "Doesn't that make you mad, Mistflower?"

"It's no matter," she shrugged. "Bad luck for me is good luck for the fish."

"That's what I love about her," Wind remarked to Shadowstar. "She never gets upset."

"Nor talks with a foul mouth, like some," Mistflower added teasingly, looking at Wind. "What brings you two out to the lake today?"

"A race!" cried Wind, lifting his coracle. "Sunrise today. Come to the waterfall and see me off, lovemate."

"Presumptuous, isn't he?" Mistflower inquired saucily of Shadowstar. "A couple of tumbles in the fur does not a lovemate make."

"Then what does it take?" said Wind, intently, locking his eyes to hers.

"Oh, perhaps asking a maiden nicely, alone with her in a quiet, peaceful, setting, and," casting her eyes over his soiled leathers, "not looking like you've just rolled in the mud, wouldn't you say, Shadowstar?"

Shadowstar nodded gravely. "Perhaps, a gift of some flowers would improve your chances, too."

"Aw, what do you know about it?" snapped Wind. "We have to go now or we'll be late and I'll lose by forfeit. Come on, Mistflower, please, then when I get back I'll do whatever you want."

"Very well - oh!" She looked down. A second line stretching into the lake was jerking. She pulled its stick out of the bank and began reeling the line in. "Hold, this will be quick, I promise." She frowned. "Odd..."

"Uuuaaawwwagh!" burst out from near the lake shore, and a figure with black hair and clad in gold and red leather breeches shot out of the water, gulped air, then turned to tread water on his back, still holding Mistflower's line in one hand.

"Stormwatch!" cried Mistflower. She rolled her eyes and continued to reel him in.

"I just came to tell you, Mistflower, that Wind is racing at sunrise," gasped the chieftess's son, "but I see Wind beat me here. We must go now and hurry, Wind, or we'll both lose by forfeit!"

"Now that you three have scared all the fish out of the lake, I might as well join you," granted Mistflower. She picked up her belongings and the four elves made haste to the waterfall where the rapids began.

Most of the Holt had turned out to see the racers off. The race began near the base of the waterfall, where the coracles would be swept into the canyon's entrance at the opposite end of the pool. Many elves had tossed off their boots, rolled up their breeches, and stepped into the pool to mingle. They waded from craft to craft to bid each of the contestants farewell individually. The coracles would be launched one after another, with enough time elapsing in between that the boats would not interfere with one another. The racers were handicapped by the order they were launched; whoever won most recently was launched last. Amberleaf would be launched first today, for it was her first coracle race.

Shadowstar, Wind, Stormwatch and Mistflower burst onto the scene just in time. The chieftess saw them and declared loudly, "The race begins! Launch the first boat!" Amberleaf's friends cheered as they began to push the brown-haired female's boat. She sat stiffly in her coracle, uneasy under the gaze of so many eyes.

Someone called, "Over here, Stormwatch!" Stormwatch turned to see his lovemate Wintersky and his soul-brother Greatreach holding his coracle in position for him.

"In a moment!" Stormwatch yelled back. He clapped Wind on the shoulder. "Good luck out there, Wind. I'll be the first to hand you a goblet of wine when you return!"

"Only if your boat springs a leak and you never leave, you cur!" riposted Wind. He set his craft down in the pool, and Shadowstar and Mistflower held it in position as he climbed in.

Another cheer rippled through the crowd as Skyblaze was launched. "Farewell!" said Stormwatch as he left to ready himself for the race.

"Who's next?" asked Mistflower, looking around.

"Tagalong, then me, then Stormwatch," replied Wind. Stormwatch had caught hold of some low-lying branches at a point called Graywater Falls in his last race, and managed to come ashore within the canyon and climb out. He'd beat everyone back to the Holt by a day and a half. Wind had vowed to himself that he would perform a similar feat this time.

"Swift runnings, Wind," said Shadowstar, clasping his friend's hand.

"Easy paths, Wind!" chimed Mistflower, brushing the handsome cheek with her fingertips. The crowd cheered again, and Tagalong was off.

"All right, let's go!" said Wind. Mistflower and Stillwing guided the coracle out to near where the current was strong, and bent to push it out when Whiteleaf gave the word. The crowd gathered around them. Excitement danced through the elves like a sparking flame.

"Let me nuzzle you, for good luck," Wind asked Mistflower. She bent her head down and Wind caressed her cheek with his lips. He straightened his head to face her and lightly touched the tip of his nose to hers.

"Fourth racer! Go!" yelled Whiteleaf. A cheer rose up, and several pairs of hands -- but not Mistflower's - pushed the little craft away.

And Wind was off! Those who cheered him as the coracle was caught up by the current failed to notice a rather dumbstruck look on his face. No one but Starsight heard Mistflower mutter, "Well, rot my eyes," almost under her breath.

Starsight turned to study the fisher, wondering what was the matter. He had never heard her speak in such a manner before. No one else noticed, Shadowstar had gone to see Stormwatch off and the rest were scampering through the water and waving their farewells and good-lucks to Wind. The crowd noticed something strange, however. As the coracle bore him inexorably away, he called out and waved his arms, trying to stand.

"What's he yelling?" asked Half-moon. "I can't hear him over the roar of the whitewater."

"What a half-wit! Why doesn't he send?" yelped Wildfox. "He ought to know we can't hear him!"

"ROT MY EYES!" yelled Mistflower, suddenly bursting into motion. She splashed over and grabbed the rim of Stormwatch's coracle. "Get out!" she demanded.

"What!?" laughed Stormwatch.

"OUT, trolls take you! I have to go after him!"

"But it's my turn-"

Mistflower pushed Wintersky aside, pulled the coracle from Greatreach's hands, and tipped it. Stormwatch tumbled out into the water. With careful haste Mistflower climbed in and squatted in the little craft. "Now push!"

Wind's odd behavior was forgotten as the elves all stared at Mistflower, not knowing what to make of her uncharacteristic outburst.

"Mistflower, what-" began Wintersky.

"PUSH, you clay-footed dolts! Skyfire strike the lot of you!" Mistflower pulled off her hat and smacked Greatreach with it. "Hurry, thickskull, before he goes too far!"

If she hoped that would spur Greatreach into action, she was mistaken - he stood like a tree rooted in the river, astounded at the never-before-seen temper from the usually easy-going maiden. Instead, Starsight stepped forward, his face alight with laughter. He took firm hold of the coracle and leaned against it, pushing it himself until it was out where the current would take it. Then he stopped and watched Mistflower being swept away.

"Why- what's going on, Starsight?" asked Stormwatch, shaking water from his sopping black mane.

"What else could cause such confusion? It can only be the ecstasy of Recognition," beamed the amber-eyed historian.

"Oh!" exclaimed Starsight's lifemate Aspen, unconsciously putting her arm around him. All the elves excitedly looked at one another, and again at the quickly disappearing figure in the little coracle.

"Good. Maybe this will straighten her out," remarked Whiteleaf pragmatically.

"Why couldn't she wait until he came back?" protested Stormwatch. This was greeted by whoops of laughter from many of the other elves.

"Try waiting three days when you Recognize, my son, and you'll know," chuckled Nighthunter, ruffling Stormwatch's wet hair.

"A baby! There's going to be a new baby!" exclaimed Ridge, pirouetting in a circle in the water. "Let's have a celebration!" Greenleaf took his hand and danced with him.

"I know!" chimed Wildfox. "We have three days before they return. We can prepare the biggest Recognition party ever! I'll gather enough dreamberries to fill a coracle!"

Dawnblade rolled her eyes at her daughter's enthusiasm. "Try four days, Wildfox, or do you actually think that racing back to the Holt will be very important to them when they land?"

"Four days, then. Who'll help me?"

"Oh, I'll help," volunteered Dawnblade with resignation. She sighed. "Trust Mistflower to make extra work for us."

It was Mistflower's first ride in any kind of rapid water. Her coracle spun rapidly. The surrounding scenery was a blur of bank, downstream, bank, upstream, endlessly repeating. Mistflower noticed only absently - she had already been spun around much worse, and the dizzying ride added little to the wild storm of emotions and sensations she was experiencing.

**Are you following?** came Wind's sending, strong and sure. The link of Recognition made his sending so clear and tangible, that even with the distance between them it was as if he had his forehead pressed to hers. At that thought Mistflower's heart pounded in her chest. Her skin felt flushed and tingly all over. She had to shut her eyes and take a deep breath to calm herself. Better not to think of their being close together-

skin against skin-

She gasped involuntarily, then hugged herself tightly. Don't think about that until you catch up to him, she told herself. Think about ... fishing.

**Zahala, are you near?** the sending came again.

**Following you, Teth,** she struggled to reply.

**Where are you?**

**I can't tell, the boat's spinning too fast.**

**Better try to get control. I'm coming up on Graywater Falls. If we can both get ashore there then we can-**

**Yes! I will try!** replied Mistflower. She straightened up and cautiously leaned an arm out of the coracle. She paused to roll up her sleeve, then dunked her hand in the river, holding it stiff so it would act as a rudder.

At first contact, water sprayed in a jet out from her palm and she laughed giddily. The coracle jerked and bobbed. The spinning seemed to slow. But then she felt the craft speed up and she realized she was heading for a narrowing of the stream, where the water flowed between two boulders. She opened her mouth to scream. Before she could even complete her intake of breath, she shot between the boulders, the coracle lifting into the air as the water dropped away below. It was a small drop, perhaps only knee-high, but exhilarating. When the craft splashed back into the water, her scream turned into shrieks of laughter.

**So this is what Berry is always raving about,** sent Mistflower in delight.

**Fun, isn't it?** replied Wind. **Oh, here's Graywater Falls.**

Wind carefully raised himself up onto his knees, poised to reach for the branches he knew had to be there. If Stormwatch could do it, so could he! And he'd get Mistflower out too, and then....

The coracle lurched out from under his knees and the youth caught just a glimpse of the famous low-lying branches, framed against the blue morning sky, before he went under.

**Fish slime and pond scum!** he sent furiously. **I can't even balance properly! What's wrong with me?**

**My father always said that Recognition is as befuddling as drinking a skin of wine, eating a handful of dreamberries, and smoking a magic mushroom, all at once,** replied Mistflower.

**He's right,** Wind sent, surfacing and trying to tread water as he looked for his coracle. He body-surfed through a rapid or two before he managed to catch hold of it again, then scrambled back into it. He was lucky he hadn't broken his neck, he supposed.

**I guess we'll meet at the sandy shore. It won't be too long now,** he sent once he was upright, and had scooped most of the water out of the bottom of his craft. He ran his hands through his short-cropped ash-blond hair, which was drying quickly in the summer sun.

The time passed fairly quickly. Mistflower enjoyed the ride better than she thought she would, given that she was anxious to get ashore and consummate the Recognition. The river itself seemed to feel her hurry, and obligingly rushed the little coracle past steep forested banks, rocky cliffs, and boulders.

Mistflower cast an eye up to see how high the sun had risen. Her stomach rumbled and she thought longingly of the string of fish she'd left behind.

**Hang on to your hat!** sent Wind. **Here comes the shoreline!** Obediently, Mistflower sat up straight and looked alertly around her.

**Curse it! I don't believe it!** Wind's frustration was palpable. **I think I'm going to miss the sandy shore!**

**You can't!** Mistflower was suddenly dry-mouthed. **Sunwolf's seventh tit! No one misses the sandy shore! Even I know that!**

**?!** was Wind's shocked reply. Having missed the scene at the waterfall, he was in no way prepared for Mistflower's fury. He detected through their link that she was more panicked than angry, but the tirade distracted him nonetheless. By the time he returned his attention to the boat's course, it was too late to do anything about it. He was going to breeze right past the shoreline.

**I guess it's the flat-tails' dam, then,** he sent sadly. **That's where Waterpath came ashore, that time.**

**All right.** Wind sensed anxiety and a great tiredness within his Recognized. This was quite a strain on both elves. He wished he could shut his eyes and rest, but he hadn't been down this stretch of river in a long time and wasn't sure what to expect.

Mistflower's coracle brushed up to the sandy shore, much as she tried to steer it clear. Grumbling, she climbed out of the boat and pushed it back into the current, picking up a stick of driftwood to use for a pole while she was at it. Finally she got it past the shore and into the wider, deeper river beyond the curve. Here, an elf might try to swim to shore -- a near impossibility until now, because of the sheer walls or steep banks on either side of the whitewater.

**Could we try to reach shore now?** she inquired.

**We could, or we could wait just a little for the flat-tails' dam. There's a pool there - Waterpath says it's pretty,** Wind replied invitingly.

**I'd rather not wait.**

**All right, as soon as I see a good place I'll-** Wind's sending stopped short.

**What's wrong?**

**Humans!** He shared a mental picture with her, the river curving to go around a small hill, and a campsite of nomadic humans at the flat land at the base of the hill. A few naked, tired-looking women washed rude clothing in the river, and some older children were chanting in the human tongue. Their skins bore the distinctive tattoos of the tribe the elves called the Redmark.

Wind's blood ran cold at the next thing he saw - a group of men standing in the river ahead of him, working a crude fishnet strung across the current. The elf leapt immediately into the water, kicking the coracle in the opposite direction. But the humans had already seen him - their shouts carried underwater and he felt them come after him. Wind swam furiously away from the net, but he had to come up for air. The humans spotted him and closed in. In a moment the elf was entangled in the net and five-fingered hands closed around his arms. One human raised Wind's coracle in both hands over his head and gave a victory cry.

Mistflower shivered as if the summer night were chill. She was crouched in the dense growth at the foot of the hill, as near as she dared to come to the human's camp. By the time she had reached the river bend, the hubbub made by Wind's captors on the shore had distracted the humans and she had floated by, unnoticed. Paralyzed with shock, she couldn't move until her craft bumped against the beaver's den itself and came to rest, not too far beyond the Tall Ones' campsite. Wind was still alive, but they had roughed him up and he had lost consciousness. Mistflower had crept out to the edge of the camp, but she didn't know what to do. She was no fighter, and she had no weapon other than her slim fish-gutting knife. Mistflower had never felt so alone.

She made her way stealthily around the perimeter of the camp. Surely she could tell where they were holding him... was it that big tent, there? Or the one with the smoke coming out? **Answer, Teth,** she urged. **Where are you?**

A little star of sending fluttered as Wind awoke. **Wait a moment, Zahala,** he replied tersely. Mistflower waited.

After what seemed like forever, Wind sent again. **I'm glad you woke me then, they were just discussing their plans for me.**

**You understand their tongue?** He was such a young one, Mistflower wasn't sure he had picked it up yet.

**Well enough. I couldn't catch it all, but it sounds like they had already planned some sort of celebration for three days hence. Now I will be their guest of honor. Their entertainment, I suppose.** Both elves knew that this particular tribe's idea of a good time was watching torture. Mistflower shuddered. **At least they want me whole for that night. Their chief warned them not to touch me again until then.**

**But where are you?**

**It's a small, round tent. Should be smoke coming out through the top.**

**I see it. You're in the center of their camp.**

**I'm tied pretty well to a post. Can't even move my fingers.**

**What should I do?**

**I don't know. There are two guards.**

**There's not enough time to go for help!**

**I know. Don't worry. We'll think of something.**

But they could not come up with anything that night, nor the next.

The third night of Wind's captivity, which would be the last night in any case, Wind was still trying to think of plans for escape when he saw his first ray of hope yet - one of his guards had drifted to sleep. It was past midnight and fairly quiet outside the tent, according to Mistflower - perhaps if the other fell asleep too, Mistflower could just come in and set him free. Wind eyed the remaining guard, who also seemed ready to succumb to the boredom of a late watch on a well-trussed prisoner whom he was not allowed to abuse.

Then the guard stood up and walked over to the sleeping one. He waved a hand in front of the man's face, then, satisfied that the other was fast asleep, he turned to study Wind with a calculating look in his eyes. The elf's eyes widened in alarm as the human pulled a sharp stone knife from his belt and approached the prisoner.

Oh, High Ones, perhaps I was better off with both awake, thought Wind. At least it keeps them obeying their chief. The human pressed the knife against Wind's belly. He stared into the elf's eyes. The man was ugly, even for a human. Wind noticed that his facial tattoos were slightly lopsided where they should have been symmetrical.

"<You are a powerful spirit,>" the man whispered. "<You set fire to Lughd's tent last night, you set free all our horses the night before, without even leaving this tent.>" Those were Mistflower's tactics, which had failed to divert the guards from their watch. Wind said nothing in reply, just kept his wary eyes locked with the human's.

"<But you cannot free yourself. All that power, and we hold you here.>" The man took a deep breath, steeling himself for an action which he could not undo. "<I can set you free, spirit.>"

Wind gasped, caught between fear and relief.

"<Give me> ng-tuu-teh, <spirit>," the man said. "<I will bargain your freedom for that alone!>"

"<You want what?>" asked Wind, nervously. He'd never heard that word before.

"Ng-tuu-teh! <Baby-making magic! All the warriors know no one touches my woman but me, yet she remains barren. They talk, they laugh. I must get a son.>"

How ironic! Fertility swirled inside Wind now, driving him insane with dreams of his Mistflower. There was a giddy sort of justice to the request. "<I right now full up to neck with baby-making magic, truthfully,>" Wind cracked, in broken Human.

"<Ah, then if I cut you here, the magic will escape to me?>" questioned the human eagerly, pressing his stone knife against Wind's neck.

"<No! No,>" cried Wind, attempting to keep a calm demeanor. If only he could think quickly and talk a good story, he might walk out of this alive. This human was obviously ready to believe whatever Wind told him, as long as Wind promised to supply "baby-making magic."

Think, Wind, think as quick as your feet. "<Um, to give you baby-making magic, I must make special ceremony. I need you and your woman together. Atop hill by river. Quick, before little moon sets.>" Mistflower's scouting had revealed that while the top of the hill which the river curved around was bare grass and stone, there was enough shrubbery encircling the top that he should be able to melt away into the woods when the "ceremony" was completed to the human's satisfaction. She also said the humans rarely went up the hill. He wouldn't want any other humans to stumble across this impromptu rite.

"<Good, spirit>," replied the man. "<I will go get my woman and together we will take you to the hilltop.>"

"<Wait!>" Wind whispered, remembering the other guard. "<What if that one awakes?>"

"<No need to worry. I drugged him well.>" the man replied, leaving the tent.

By the time the human and his mate had carried Wind, still securely bound, in secrecy to the grassy top of the hill, the elf's confederate had had some time to prepare, and both humans gasped. The greater moon, full, shone down on stones arranged in a perfect circle, about as wide as the man was tall. At the center of the circle, a wooden wand was thrust into the ground, its top having been hastily carved by Mistflower into the crude figure of an infant. Lavender ribbons torn from her sleeves adorned the wand, and fluttered slightly in the breeze. A raw beaver pelt lay at the foot of the wand, and a piece of fruit, sliced in half to reveal its seeds, rested on the fur. It looked hokey to Wind, but the humans seemed impressed.

"<You see, the spirits ready.>" Wind tried to make his voice sound deep and mysterious. "<Go in circle, and do not speak.>" The humans obeyed, setting the elf down gently -- even a little reverently. The woman was trembling visibly. She was a scrawny, ill-favored little thing, and her scent had the distinctive tang of one harboring bellyworms. It was no wonder she could not get with child, Wind thought.

"<Untie me,>" the elf commanded sternly, and the man cut through the thongs that bound the elf's hands and feet. Wind tried to maintain a properly solemn expression as he pulled the thong out of the raw flesh. He succeeded without wincing, but then nearly fell as he stood up. Between hunger, weariness, tension, and the feel of Mistflower's eyes on him from the nearby shrubbery, he felt dizzy and lightheaded.

Wind picked up the two pieces of fruit and held them up to the moon. He began singing an elfin song of longing for a baby. The humans wouldn't be able to understand the words, but the song had a good yearning feel to it. He started softly, then let his voice grow louder.

**Surely that's enough - you're free, let's be done with it,** sent Mistflower, after the first verse.

**All right,** Wind replied. He lowered his arms and offered a piece of fruit to each human. "<Now eat.>"

The woman bit eagerly into the fruit. Wind studied her, almost feeling pity. To be a mate to this hard-handed, hard-luck man, surely the low wolf of this grotesque human pack, and to be infested with parasites as well - it was no kind of life for any creature. How ignorant could these humans be? Even the wolves knew to eat bitter whitestalk to rid of bellyworms.

"<Now magic is complete. Baby will come, two turns of the seasons,>" said Wind.

"<So long!>" exclaimed the man suspiciously around a mouthful of fruit.

**Wind, you milk-breathed ignoramus! Humans whelp in less than one turn!**

"Uh, <maybe less time,>" Wind hastily amended.

"<Good, spirit,>" said the man. "<I must return now - I will pretend you vanished while Tshak and I slept.>" He turned and trotted down the hill without a word to the woman.

Wind was poised to leave as well but caught the woman looking at him with almost-worship in her eyes. Guilt struck him. He had to try to help, somehow - he couldn't just leave her with nothing more than a sham.

"<You know the white stalk plant ... it taste bitter ... it grow near water...>"

The woman's eyes showed only puzzlement.

"<In spring it flower have seven pink....> uh, <pink flower-leafs...>"

"<Petals,>" supplied the woman. "<I know the plant, o river spirit, seven pink petals and a yellow center, and leaves shaped like spearheads.>" She spoke so softly and rapidly, her head bent down obsequiously, that Wind could hardly understand her, but he caught enough to confirm she knew the plant.

"<You take stalk and eat it. Not eat roots, not eat leaves, eat one stalk every day. You understand? Good for your belly. Help make baby.>"

"<Yes, spirit,>" said the woman.

**Wind, get out of there! Hurry! You're scaring me!**

Impelled by the frantic sending, Wind leapt away and raced for the brush where he somehow knew his Recognized was. Once within the cover, almost before he saw her, she had her arms around him.

**Oh Teth! I have been so frightened!**

**I, too,** he replied, embracing her tightly. He could hardly believe he was free. He buried his face in her glossy black hair and breathed deeply of her scent, sloppily licking her ear. It was so good to be out here with her, he nearly let loose a wild howl.

Then they both turned their heads at the sound of a grasseater's whinny from the direction of the human's camp. "They're after us," whispered Mistflower.

"We'll go through the woods. We can outrun a grasseater there."

"They have near-wolves, as well," she cried, pulling away from their embrace at last. Grasping Wind's hand in hers, she started down the opposite side of the hill. **They will track us. We must use whatever tricks we can to lose them.** The baying of several hounds joined the sounds of the grasseaters' hooves.

**I know - which way is that big patch of strangleweed you were telling me about?**

**This way - come!**

Treewalking over the length of the strangleweed patch gave the two elves a headstart into the dense woods where the grasseaters could not use their full speed. The sounds of the humans and their beasts grew dim. The lovers ran through the woods a long time. Wind dragged Mistflower by the hand when she started to lag, until finally they felt they were safe from any pursuit. The maiden slumped against a tree trunk to catch her breath, never letting go of Wind's hand.

"Finally, we're together," she gasped at last. "Whitewater rapids, human capture, galloping grasseaters and near-wolves - what else could possibly happen?"

"A giant snake!" cried Wind, his eyes widening.

"I was only - aaaah!" cried Mistflower when she followed Wind's gaze up to where the hungry carnivore hung on a thick branch. It was huge, its gleaming scales each bigger than an elf's fingernail, its flicking tongue as long as Mistflower's hand. There was only the softest of rustles as the snake poured itself down the tree towards Mistflower's neck.

"ENOUGH!" roared Mistflower. With a fluid movement she drew her knife and lunged up to meet its approach. A slash of the sharp blade cut the reptile across the cheek. It stopped, withdrawing its head slightly, almost as if in puzzlement. Wind had never seen Mistflower move so fast.

"Spit on you! Eat brightmetal, belly-crawler! I'll wear your skin as a sling to carry my babe, I swear it!" In a fury she slashed again, wildly. Wind charged up the tree as well, ready to wrestle the beast to the ground. But with a few more slashes and a few nasty phrases Wind tried to forget he ever heard, the snake slumped lifeless, its head dangling from its neck by merely a cord.

Wind leapt down and embraced Mistflower. She was trembling and tensed hard as stone, but she softened and melted into his arms. "Oh, Teth," she breathed, dropping the knife.

"We're both hungry and exhausted," the young male said. "Let me cut you some meat--"

"No," Mistflower whispered. She pulled him tightly to her, then with one hand resting at the small of his back, her other hand opened the clasp of her halter top. "No more delay."

"Whatever you want, Zahala," murmured Wind.

Meanwhile, back at the Holt, preparations were in full swing for a Recognition party to end all parties. Wildfox had taken her original inspiration and expanded on it -- she was organizing all the decorations according to the theme of boats. Every coracle, canoe or raft in the Holt which was not actually in use had been dragged to the gathering place, adorned with ribbons, and laden with food and skins of wine. Flowers and meat would be added right before sunset tomorrow, when the party was expected to begin. In between coordinating the other arrangements, Wildfox was making good on her boast to fill a coracle with dreamberries - if you didn't count that she had padded it generously with pine needles, and mixed in other types of berries at the bottom layer. "By the time we get that far down, nobody'll be in a state to notice, anyway," she confided with a wink to her lifemate, Khemet.

Skyblaze had come within sending range of the Holt at sunset, the second day after the launch. He was nearly knocked off his feet by all the excited voices sending to him. Shortly after, he was greeted by a band of elves, some wearing their festival finery in anticipation. They seemed more anxious to steal the coracle off his back than to congratulate him for winning the race. As they rushed him back to the Holt they described how they planned to line two coracles with soft furs to seat the party's guests of honor. Tagalong, arriving immediately after, got the same treatment.

All night the center of the Holt was abuzz with pre-party excitement. The more time they were given to prepare, the more things the elves thought of to do, and the preparations became more and more elaborate. Those who were not in the party spirit were shooed out to hunt some fresh game for the feasting.

When dawn was almost ready to break, Amberleaf returned. She laughed joyously to hear the news, and, despite her exhaustion from the race, pitched in through the entire day's last-minute preparations for the big night.

Wind and Mistflower enjoyed a feast of snake meat, cuddling together under the old tree. When they were both full, they just held each other and relaxed.

Mistflower finally broke the silence. "Whoever would have thought I would Recognize a young buck who doesn't even remember the wandering time," she mused lazily. She quite seemed her old self again.

"Whoever would have thought that I could lifemate with you," replied Wind with true awe in his voice.

"'Presumptuous, isn't he?'" Mistflower laughed giddily, mocking her own words from what seemed a lifetime ago. "'A little Recognition does not a lifemate make.'"

"Be my lifemate, please, Mistflower," pleaded Wind. The seriousness in his eyes dampened Mistflower's hilarity.

"Of course I will," she said softly. "How could you doubt it?" She clasped his hands in hers and brought them to her lips. Their mutual joy left them without words for a long, quiet, while.

"Ah, there you are," said Stormwatch, placing a hand on Shadowstar's broad shoulder. "I've been looking all over for you." It was almost sunset and in a moment the party would start in earnest. Stormwatch adjusted his black headband and pulled Shadowstar away from the edge of the crowded clearing. A flower garland hanging from a tree grazed Shadowstar's face as he walked under it, and the moody hunter swatted it away with a growl.

"Well, here I am," he replied curtly. He'd just come back from a fruitless hunt, and he hated to return to the Holt empty-handed. But it was return, or miss Wind's party, neither of which alternatives pleased him.

"Do you still have your sire's old goblet?" The edges of Stormwatch's lips curled up in amusement, and his blue eyes twinkled, a sure sign that some mischief was afoot. Shadowstar narrowed his own onyx eyes suspiciously.

"What do you want it for?" The heavy brows moved towards each other in a frown beneath Shadowstar's thick wavy bangs.

Stormwatch's smile broadened. "Don't get that look! I just want to properly keep my promise. I told Wind I'd be the first to give him wine when he returns. Your sire's goblet is the prettiest."

"You've got one already," grunted Shadowstar, pointing at the goblet tucked into Stormwatch's belt.

"What do you expect me to drink from? I've a very dry throat this night," said Stormwatch earnestly. "Besides, your sire's goblet holds more wine than mine."

"Very well," sighed Shadowstar. He turned, then the brown and gray clad elf led the black and red clad one to his treehome to get the old jeweled goblet. When they returned to the gathering place, the wine was already flowing, and the music had begun. Stormwatch had Shadowstar pour, and, with a full goblet in each hand, went to seek his lovemate Wintersky, and wait for Wind and Mistflower to arrive.

Meanwhile, the party's intended honorees bathed together in a stream far from the Holt. Leisurely, lovingly, Mistflower cleaned all of Wind's wounds, which were only minor. When they emerged from the water she re-bound them with strips torn from her own long, flowing sleeves. Finally, she lay down with her head cradled in her new lifemate's lap.

**We should start back to the Holt now,** Wind sent, caressing her hair. **We've got a long way to go.**

"Mmmmmm...." replied Mistflower, not opening her eyes.

**They're going to worry about us,** Wind continued. Still not getting any response, he started to get up. **Come on, let's start.**

Mistflower let him get up, then held out both arms to him. **Let's love again before we go.**

Wind smiled. He could not resist this woman! **Well, seeing as our leathers aren't dry yet anyway...**

Slightly groggy and hung-over from the night before, the elves of Farcorners Holt moved a little slowly as they prepared a second party. Dried meats and leftovers were the staples this time, as no one was in any shape to hunt. Wilted flowers were replaced with fresh ones, fine garments were cleaned and made ready again. Everyone teased Wildfox, for her coracle was half-empty, and, of its contents, only half were dreamberries. There was no way she could refill it for tonight. She'd already stripped every dreamberry bush in the area!

There were at least as many wineskins as there had been the night before, though, and Stormwatch again took a goblet in each hand, letting Wintersky pour them full. The two lovemates walked over to where Quicksoft and the Wolf sat together, cracking nuts.

"Think they'll be here soon?" Stormwatch asked, not really concerned.

"I don't know," smiled Quicksoft, throwing the Wolf a glance. "Out alone in the woods with just each other.... I can see how they might take their goodly time returning."

"Wind already knew he'd lose the race," said the Wolf. "So why hurry?"

"He may have lost the race, but he won the prize," Wintersky said with a smile, feeding a nutmeat to Stormwatch.

About midnight, Wind and Mistflower followed a little game trail over a ridge and started through a fern-lined stretch of woods. **Listen,** sent Wind suddenly, stopping.

**What is it?** asked Mistflower, pressing herself to Wind's side.

Wind grinned. **Can you hear the water? We're next to the river now.**

**Oh, Wind!** Mistflower hugged him. **Do you recognize this place?**

**Yes. We've met up with the way the racers take back to the Holt. We can just follow this ridge along the water's path and we'll be home in three day's time.**

**This is a beautiful place.** Mistflower took hold of Wind's arm, preventing him from starting down the path again. **And these ferns look very soft, don't they?** She let go and slid to her knees, smiling up at him.

**Shall we find out?** he replied, returning her smile and kneeling to join her on the thick bed of lush green.

It was well past dawn and most of the elves had turned to their furs. Wildfox was staggering around, having misplaced her mate somewhere, when she was flagged down by someone even more intoxicated by herself. She meandered over and stopped next to Ridge and Jayfeather. The two males lay spread out on the ground, between the dreamberry coracle and a table which had been improvised from a raft - almost under the table, in fact.

"Hey, Wildfox, this dreamberry tashtes like a blueberry," slurred Ridge. His long golden hair was tangled and his tan leathers were stained with bits of purple berries.

"Yeah, and mine tastes like pine needles," added Jayfeather, who was actually just sucking berry juice from a handful of the needles that had lined the dreamberry coracle.

Wildfox was fed up with this. "Oh really?" she purred with a too-bright smile. "You must be mistaken - taste more closely!" She upended the coracle over the pair. Dark sticky juice dribbled down over the two, staining any of their garments which weren't already ruined from the night's revelry.

"Yuck!" cried Jayfeather, wiping syrupy pine needles out of his eyes. A tassel of pine needles was sticking out of the knot in his kerchief, along with the two feathers that normally adorned it. Wildfox bent double laughing. **Whiteleaf!** Jayfeather sent in distress.

"Oh, no!" cried Ridge, his mouth a perfect circle of alarm. He pushed himself uncertainly to his feet and fled the scene as hastily as his unsteady legs could carry him.

"Now you've done it," chided Wildfox.

"What is it?" demanded Whiteleaf, appearing with her lifemate Nighthunter at her side. Both were half undressed and rather flushed-looking.

Wildfox stood her ground as well as a drunken elf can stand, smirking. Jayfeather incoherently tried to explain the injustice the tanner had perpetrated.

"You called me out of the bedfurs for this?" hissed the chieftess, cutting off the drunken tale. She raised her head and surveyed the disarray wrought by two nights of intense celebration. "Where are Wind and Mistflower?"

"They, ummmm, they haven't shown up yet," grinned Wildfox, swaying a little.

"This is MADNESS!" exploded Whiteleaf, slamming her fist on the table. The raft rocked unsteadily and a goblet fell from it, spilling its contents on Jayfeather's head. "The party ends now! You, Jayfeather - you're on cleaning detail immediately. Don't laugh, Wildfox - you are, too. There will be no more celebrating until Wind and Mistflower have reported to me, personally!" She turned and stormed back to her treehome, gesturing for Nighthunter to follow.

"You heard the chief," laughed Wildfox wickedly, extending a hand. "Get cleaning!" Jayfeather struggled up and, supporting each other, the two staggered around the gathering area to boot the last remaining elves out.

Two days later, Wind and Mistflower were well into familiar territory. Climbing up a steep slope, Wind reached a hand back and smiled to encourage Mistflower. He could tell she hated travelling through the rough terrain, where there wasn't a trail in sight, and he only wished he could make it easier for her. He was proud of her for not complaining, and he stopped for rest breaks as often as she wanted. After all, she was carrying their child now too!

Mistflower smiled in return as she took his hand and let him pull her up onto a large rock. Suddenly, her foot slipped. It caught in a crevice of the rock and her ankle twisted badly.

"Oh!" she cried out.

Wind, horrified, rushed to support her. She sat down hard and raised the injured foot. Wind touched her ankle gently. Together they determined that it was unbroken, but badly sprained. Wind carefully removed her sandal. The ankle was swelling already. Quickly he bound it with the shreds she'd used to bind his now-healed wrists. Between himself, Shadowstar, and the rest of the crowd he hung around with, Wind had had a lot of experience wrapping sprains.

**Your touch eases the pain,** Mistflower sent. **But my poor Wind! How will we ever get home now?**

**Easy!** remarked Wind jauntily. **I'll carry you the rest of the way!** He picked her up in his arms and, somewhat more slowly, the couple continued on their way towards Farcorners Holt.

Whiteleaf knelt inside her treehome, loading supplies into a small backpack, when she heard someone scratch at her doorway. Long, supple fingers appeared at the border of the hide curtain, and brushed it gracefully aside. The tribe's healer - Mistflower's father - stood shyly at the entrance to the tree, his concern for his daughter showing in his soft hazel eyes.

"It's been an eightday since they left," said Gentlehand without preamble. His voice began as soft and even as ever, but worry crept into it. "Surely they should be back by now, however much my Mistflower dawdles. Perhaps they are lost, or in need of assistance."

"You're right," replied Whiteleaf. She had thought about the problem herself and had decided, independently, that today was the day to send out a search party if the two lost elves still hadn't shown up. She was privately gratified to find the elder's judgement agreed with her own, even if he wasn't one she would normally have consulted on such a tactical matter as this. "I arranged a team to leave at noon today, if we've heard no word by then. You're continuing to send for her?"

"Yes, she is not within my range, nor Esverain's. Aspen claims to have touched them... but they didn't respond." The healer turned to leave Whiteleaf's tree, then paused. "May I ... may I join the group?"

Whiteleaf pressed her lips together tightly to hide her amusement. In the three-eights and then some turns since she had struck the butt of her spear against the ground and declared that the tribe would wander no more, she could count on the fingers of one hand the times Gentlehand had left the grove of treehomes. Each of those times had been to attend to tribemates who were injured in the forest and couldn't be moved. The image of the willowy pureblood scouting through unknown territory was irresistibly ridiculous. Still, his healing powers might be needed.

"Your talent may prove to be an asset," replied the chieftess, nodding her approval. "You understand, however," she continued, still struggling to suppress her smile, "that, in order to follow their path, the search party will go down the whitewater in coracles, exactly as Wind and Mistflower did?"

The delicate healer nodded his head sorrowfully, not looking forward to the experience. But he was determined to do whatever he could to help find his daughter.

At sunset the next day, Wind carried Mistflower past the Holt's perimeter. The news of their coming was spread by the elf on watch, and a cluster of worried elves sped out to meet them. Stormwatch hastily poured a goblet of wine before he left.

"Oh, no!" cried Berry when she saw Mistflower's bandage. "Gentlehand is not here! He left yesterday with the search party looking for you!"

"We know," said Mistflower ruefully. "I caught his sending as he went downstream past us. At least he knows we are safe."

"Your ankle! Is that why you took so long?" asked Wintersky.

"That is a small part of it," replied Mistflower. She accepted the goblet from Stormwatch on Wind's behalf, since his hands were full carrying her.

"We've got quite a story to tell," said Wind.

"Let's have a celebration tonight!" exclaimed Wildfox.

"I thought you said Whiteleaf forbade us from celebrating any more until Wind and Mistflower report to her personally, sister," protested Shadowstar.

"What's wrong with that?" asked Wind.

"Whiteleaf's leading the search party!" laughed Wildfox. "So what? What nobody tells her, she doesn't need to know."

"Do you want to cross the chief?" Shadowstar said pointedly to Wind.

In reply, Wind just smiled slyly and let Mistflower give him a sip from the goblet.

Greatreach stepped up to Mistflower. "Well?" he said expectantly, pointing at his forehead.

"Well what, Greatreach?" replied Mistflower, taking a drink from the goblet herself.

"I'm expecting an apology from you, fair maid."

"An apology? I don't understand."

"For hitting me, of course, before you took off in the coracle."

"Why, Greatreach, I don't know what you're talking about. I never hit you."

"What!" Greatreach eyed her with disbelief. "You did, Mistflower, don't you remember? You were all a-panic, cursing and throwing Stormwatch about, and you hit me with your hat!"

Mistflower laughed. "Greatreach my friend, you must have gotten confused in the excitement. You know I never swear."

"Just as I told you, Greatreach!" crowed Berry, giving him a playful swat herself. "My sweet sister would never do such a thing."

Despite repeated protests from the witnesses, Mistflower maintained to the end of her days that she had faced Recognition with perfect decorum, and Berry steadfastly took her side. But even Greatreach agreed that, from that day forward, Mistflower never cursed again.