On errands this day, she had seen three clad in forest-gray escorting two humans and a half-blood. Their presence in Ghoivne Ajhajhe had spread talk through the city faster than she could scurry about, but Avranvard had no interest in humans. She hoped only for another glimpse of the Anmaglahk.

The youngest of the three had been only a handful of years older than her, but he looked dull, clumsy, and overall unimpressive. The second was an extreme of another kind-a Greimasg'ah!

Brot'an'duive was a towering man who filled Avranvard with so much awe she almost stared too long and missed the third entirely. Then she recognized the last of that gray-clad trio.

Sgailsheilleache… Sgailsheilleache a Oshagairea gan'Coilehkrotall-Willow Shade, born of Sudden-Breeze's Laugh, from the clan of the Lichen Woods.

When Avranvard closed her eyes, she still saw his narrow, smooth face, and his gray-green cloak hanging perfectly across his shoulders. She had met and even briefly spoken with him once. Her own clan's ship had taken him to the shores of Bela, one of the humans' reeking cities. Unlike the ship's crew, Sgailsheilleache had disembarked to explore strange lands and to study other races. Watching the skiff carry him to shore in the dark, Avranvard knew she would do whatever was necessary to become Anmaglahk.

Tired of serving aboard ships, either her own clan's or training upon those of another, she wanted to walk foreign lands and see them with her own eyes. Only the Anmaglahk were so privileged.

She knew she was too old to request admittance. Most started training shortly after their name-taking before the ancestors. Although the calling came late for her, it was no less potent and overwhelming-as was despair at Most Aged Father's denial. But three of the caste had now appeared from nowhere, staying at an inn in Ghoivne Ajhajhe. Two had even been spotted upon the docks the same evening her ship made harbor.

It was a sign-her fate had to change. If only she could muster the courage to approach the Greimasg'ah, he would see the passion in her eyes and understand. She could not bear any more service aboard ship, and the boredom of inland existence was worse. But if the great Brot'an'duive spoke for her before Most Aged Father, the patriarch of the caste could not refuse her again.

The streets were nearly empty. Avranvard saw no green-gray cloaks. She trudged the avenues back toward the bayside road, passing a tannery and a smokehouse. The savory scent of fish reminded her that she had not eaten supper yet. She passed a darkened cobbler's shop with a sense of longing. Her own boots were too large. Like her shirt and breeches and tunic, and even her hemmed cloak, they were hand-me-downs from an elder brother. But she had nothing worthy of trade for new ones.

When she was finally accepted as Anmaglahk, this would change. They wore flat, soft boots for speed and silence, sewn just for them. And they traded for nothing. All their needs were fulfilled just for the asking.

She saw the lanterns hanging over her ship's deck out in the harbor beyond the beach. She wandered down the road and onto the docks, down to her small skiff tied off at the pier's end. She rifled one last time through her packages, checking for everything the hkomas had requested, and then crouched to untie her skiff.

"Please wait," someone called.

Avranvard jumped in fright and whirled about.

A cloaked figure stood on the shore road to the docks, as if appearing from nowhere. The figure stepped toward the dock and passed beneath a hung lantern, and she saw a man in a gray-green cloak.

"You are Avranvard?" he asked, and strode down the dock, pointing out into the bay. "The steward from that cargo vessel?"

Avranvard was struck mute. She had never seen him before, but he was Anmaglahk. He knew her by name. How? Why? And her thoughts raced to her dearest hope. Had Most Aged Father reconsidered her request?

"Yes… I am," she finally stammered.

He was quite small-boned, his young and plain face glistening with sweat. Loose, white-blond hair stuck to his temples and cheeks. Leaves and wild grass clung to his cloak. He glanced around, as if making sure they were alone, and then took a long, tired breath.

"I come with a request from Most Aged Father." He stepped close enough that she could smell his earthy scent. "It is not a difficult task but requires discretion. Are you willing to hear me?"

She nodded, and the motion sent a shudder running up her spine and neck.

"You are aware that two humans and a half-blood will board your ship for the next voyage?"

"What… no," she stuttered. "That is not-"

"Yes, as soon as your ship is loaded for departure."

How could a human be allowed on an an'Croan ship? Would any anmaglahk join them, or were her crewmates expected to control these savages?

"Some of our caste will follow from a safe distance on another vessel," the weary messenger continued. "A Greimasg'ah and several others chosen by him. He must be kept informed of your stops, changes in course, or anything unusual regarding the humans."

He took a small box from his cloak and held it out.

"This contains a word-wood from the ship that will follow. With it, you will report to the Greimasg'ah. Do you understand?"

Avranvard hesitated for an instant. Word-wood from ships was only for hkomas-or hkoeda, the Shapers who served and cared for a ship's existence. How had such an item come to the hands of an anmaglahk?

It did not matter. She had been called to do a service for the Anmaglahk.

"Yes," she breathed. "Does this mean I am accepted as an initiate?"

The young-faced anmaglahk shook his head.

"I am instructed to tell you that if you accept this task… this purpose… then Most Aged Father may reconsider you."

Avranvard snatched the box from him. "When do I begin making reports?"

With pursed lips, he stepped back and turned down the dock.

"At dusk the first day at sea. The Greimasg'ah will expect contact each dawn and dusk, when and if you are able to slip away to privacy. No one must know what you do, not even your hkomas. Simply place the word-wood against your ship and speak. The Greimasg'ah will hear and answer into your thoughts."

The anmaglahk stopped briefly as he reached the shore road, his soft voice carrying clearly to her.

"Do not fail," he called, and then he was gone.

Avranvard stood shaking, sweat spreading beneath her tight grip upon the box. By now, her hkomas would surely reprimand her for tardiness, but she did not care. She had a mission-a purpose, as it was called among the caste.

Once completed, and upon her return, she would be Anmaglahk.

Nine days had passed since their ship harbored, and to the best of Wynn's knowledge, no human had ever boarded an an'Croan vessel. Today they would finally set sail, and it left her emotions tangled as she climbed from the small skiff and up the rope ladder.

Magiere had grown more desperate by the day, and so Wynn did feel glad for her companion's relief at embarking. But for herself, time in the elven city had been far too short and had left her disheartened, as she might never see this place again. Domin Tilswith would be disappointed with her scant journal entries concerning Ghoivne Ajhajhe.

Wynn reached the ladder's top, stepped through the rail-wall's open gate, and planted her feet firmly on the smooth deck.

Leesil grunted behind her, and she turned.

He climbed with one hand, the other arm wrapped behind to support Chap on his back. Wynn grabbed Leesil's arm and helped him gain the deck. Before he made it all the way, Chap scrambled over his head. The dog nearly knocked Wynn over and flattened Leesil on the deck's edge.