"This isn't what I expected," he whispered.

What had he expected?

"We'll find Nein'a," she whispered back.

"I know. Go to sleep."

Magiere heard his breathing grow steady and deep. Once certain he'd drifted off, she reached over him for her falchion left leaning against the stump. She tucked it under the blanket next to herself with her hand on its hilt.

She lay awake for a long time, not tired enough to sleep, strange as that was. She listened but couldn't hear the elves above the forest's soft sounds.

Magiere finally closed her eyes and tried to drift off…

She suddenly found herself walking the forest in darkness, alone, wondering how she had gotten so far from the camp.

Pieces of the night moved around her between the trees.

Here and there, half-seen shapes shadowed her. Their colorless and glittering eyes watched her, as if waiting for her to do something.

These were not majay-hi. They walked on two legs. And in her belly she felt their hunger. She smelled it, like blood on the damp breeze, and her own hunger rose up in answer.

The forest began to wither around her, until the stench of rot made her choke.

Magiere snapped her eyes open with every muscle ridged from the nightmare. It felt disturbingly familiar, as if she'd seen such a vision before. Lifting her head, she found the fire was now little more than glowing embers.

She didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

By midmorning, Wynn's fear of becoming lost succumbed to awe as she walked the elven forest. Patchy lime-colored moss cushioned her footfalls as she followed the others. With all her ink and journals gone, it was heartbreaking to witness such diverse flora without a way to take notes.

Fresh food and a night's rest had revived her, and the pain in her shoulder had dwindled to an intermittent twinge, but her improved mood still wavered. This was a desperate search for Leesil's mother, and their guides were now the Anmaglahk. These elven assassins were manifested dark shadows of the Leesil that Wynn had come to know in the Warlands.

Yet, she found them fascinating. Their ways were so different from the elves on her continent. She tried to mentally note everything about them for later records. Once she returned to her guild in Bela, she would write extensive work comparing the two elven cultures of the world as she knew them. And how stark the contrasts were or might yet be, for she had not met any elves here besides Sgaile's caste.

A temperate breeze rustled the foliage, and she pushed Chane's cloak back over her shoulders.

What would he think of this place? His interests lay in distant times back to the Forgotten History, and how societies evolved from unknown beginnings in the aftermath of thegreat war. He was always more interested in studying the past than the present.

Wynn pushed aside thoughts of Chane. He was part ofher own past.

Sgaile led the way with his comrades following behind their guests. The pace was too slow for him, as he often paused after stepping too far ahead, but he made no complaint.

Wynn avoided looking back at En’nish walking at the procession's rear. The woman was no less angry than in their first meeting. Silent and stoic Urhkar walked in front of his bitter comrade, and Osha came directly behind Wynn.

All four elves left their cowls and face wraps down. There was some significance in this, as secrecy seemed paramount to their ways. Perhaps they simply felt at ease in their homeland.

Leesil and Magiere walked ahead, behind Sgaile, and Chap trotted beside Wynn with his head turning at every new sight. His nose worked all the time, and Wynn often heard him sniffing as his muzzle bobbed in the air. She looked about at the lush flora, and more than once her boot toe caught on a root, stone, or depression when she was not paying attention to the trail.

Of all their escorts, Osha betrayed the most curiosity about the interlopers. He was so tall that when he stepped close, Wynn had to tilt her head back to see up to his chin. She felt awkward and rather too short. His hair was white-blond like Leesil's and hung loose to the center of his back. His somewhat horselike face was not nearlyso handsome as Sgaile's, but it was pleasant. Although quiet, he was certainly the most polite of their guides.

They passed a large weeping willow with vivid orange fungus growing up its trunk's northern side. The color was so eye-catching that Wynn wandered absently toward the tree. Chap rumbled at her, following partway, but she ignored him in her rapt fascination.

"Osha, what is this?" she asked in Elvish, and pointed to the shelves of fungus. "The edges look like seashells."

Osha hesitated, looking to Sgaile as if awaiting instructions. He finally joined her.

"It is called woodridge," he answered in Elvish, and he put his hand against the fungus, closed his eyes for an instant, and then broke off a small piece to offer her. "It is safe to eat, though pungent until properly cooked."

His strange conjugations and declinations took time to comprehend. It reminded her of the oldest texts she had been permitted to browse at the elven branch of the guild on her own continent. It made some sense, for these elves had lived in isolation for centuries, while their counterparts of her world interacted with other races more freely.

Wynn put the orange lump near her lips and breathed in its scent. It smelled of wet earth. She snipped it with her teeth. A sweet sensation flowed over her tongue.

"Very good."

The taste thickened suddenly, bitter and pastelike.She swallowed, trying not to grimace, and smiled. Osha nodded in approval with perhaps a little surprise.

"Wynn, what are you doing?" Magiere called. "Did you just eat that?"

"Osha said it is safe."

Chap stood stiff and silent, watching the tall young elf, and then cast a glare Wynn's way.

She knew that look on his furry face. She did not care for his parental disapproval.

Wynn stuffed the hunk ofwoodridge in her pocket and hurried to catch up, as both Magiere and Leesil looked uncomfortable. She stepped back into the traveling line with the others.

Since Osha was the most amiable among his group, she continued questioning him in Elvish. His answers were short, but at least he answered-with occasional glances toward Sgaile, as if expecting admonishment. Sgaile remained silent, not once looking back.

Wynn kept her questions to the world around them, though she wanted to ask of the people here. Intuition told her not to do so. A few times Osha paused after an answer, about to say something in turn. Perhaps he had questions of his own. He seemed intensely puzzled or startled by the way she acted and spoke, but he never asked. They passed an oak so large that its trunk was far wider than Osha’s height.

Wynn stared at it a bit too long. "How old is this one?"

"As old as the forest perhaps," Osha answered. "The trees are the bones and blood of its body."

At this, Sgaile looked back sternly. Osha fell silent, dropping his eyes as he stepped out ahead of Wynn.

She was uncertain whether to be disappointed or worried. Clearly Sgaile thought the conversation had gone on long enough. Hopefully she had not gotten Osha into trouble.

Leesilslowed, his irritation far plainer than Sgaile's.

"What is wrong?" she asked.

"How could anything be wrong?" he muttered. "I haven't understood a word all morning."

"Leesil… you brought me because I speak Elvish-and you do not."

He sighed, grudgingly. "I know, I know… but I didn't think it would be like this-not understanding anything that anybody said."

Wynn was not sure which would be worse-a Leesil completely inept with the language or one able to proficiently express his ire in Elvish. He remained silent a moment, then looked up thoughtfully at Osha in a way that made Wynn nervous.