"You may have to endure it," Tarrin mused.

"What? Why?"

"Because Allia really likes you," he replied. "I've caught her almost calling you deshaida a few times. And if you want to visit her clan someday and be accepted, that means you have to be sister to the Selani in all but blood. That means you accept the brands."

Those amber eyes became lucid and calculating for a moment, then faded back into the vapidness of the Brat Princess. "Well, I hope it doesn't hurt," she said.

"It does, trust me," he said with a shudder. "The pain is part of the ceremony."

"You're not making me look forward to this," Keritanima said with cool disdain. "Besides," she said in Selani, "it's not something the one without honor would do." There really wasn't a Selani word for brat, because such individuals didn't exist in their society. They were killed long before a word could be created to describe them.

"Who knows?" he said.

"Humans are such weird creatures," Keritanima said seriously.

"I'd have to agree," Tarrin said with a smile. "I used to be one of them, you know."

"I'd never have guessed," she teased.

They finished their lunches in relative silence, watching the Knights give Binter a bit of exercise. Tarrin felt a curious closeness to the Wikuni sitting beside him. She was much like him, a lost soul, someone very out of place with her situation, and he remembered what the Goddess had to say about her. He'd always liked her before, at least after he met the real Keritanima, but he realized that his feelings for her had deepened. It wasn't a romantic attraction, it was much what he felt for Allia. She was becoming close to him, like another sister. Their circumstances had brought them together, but that togetherness had formed what he hoped was a mutual bond of trust and friendship, and love.

He put his paw on her shoulder, and she looked up at him. She was about to say something, but when she looked into his eyes, her own softened considerably. Just for a moment, the Brat Princess dissolved away, and Keritanima looked up at him and smiled, then brushed her bushy tail up against his back. "It would honor me greatly if I could call you my deshaida, Keritanima," he said formally in Selani.

"The honor would be mine, Tarrin," she replied in Selani. "And it would honor me if I could call you my deshida."

"I would find great honor in it," he replied sincerely, squeezing her shoulder.

"Yes, well," Keritanima said, her voice just a bit flustered, "I'm glad you think so." He could see her soft eyes hardening again, as she regained her composure and returned to her assumed personality. Keritanima had to stretch it to talk with him civilly as the Brat, but there was no way she could maintain her facade when such honest emotion passed between them.

"Are you ready for our little gathering?" she asked idly, getting herself under control.

"I'm always ready," he told her.

"Good. It's about time for us to get back. What are you doing?"

"Being as inactive as possible," he said with a wicked smile. "I think I may go find my staff and go challenge your Vendari bodyguard."

"It's your teeth," she said with an evil smile.

"They grow back," Tarrin shrugged.

"Well have fun with those weird warrior things," she said with a teasing look in her eye. "I'm going to go learn about real power."

"Enjoy," he told her as she stood up. "I'll see you tonight?"

"Oh, I guess so," she drawled. "You've proven that you're worthy enough to spend time in my august presence."

"I'll just bask in your aura, Kerri," Tarrin said dryly, standing up.

"I'll have to go get my aura polished, then," she winked. "You need a tan."

"You're so kind to me."

She laughed, then put her hands on her shoulders, rose up on her toes, and gave him a short lick to the cheek.

"Isn't this a bit out of character?" Tarrin asked quietly.

"Of course not," she said flippantly. "The Brat really likes you. It's why she tolerates your impertinence. Besides, she's amused by your wicked ways. You're always entertaining."

"Witch," Tarrin grinned.

"Count on it," she said with bright eyes, then she stepped away. "I'll see you tonight, Tarrin," she said. "Have fun. Oh, and thanks for the present. We'll talk about it tonight."

"I'll try, and you're welcome," he told her, then he watched her saunter away.

He chuckled again. Keritanima was quite a woman.

I told you so, the Goddess' voice echoed in the depths of his mind, her tone amused and teasing, and then it was gone just as quickly as it came to him.

"You stay out of this," he said aloud, in a playful banter. But there was no response.

Tarrin glanced at Binter again. Oh, yes, he'd like a match against that monster of a Vendari. He had the feeling that he may need some experience fighting larger opponents. The Gods only knew what would jump out of the wall to attack him next.

Tracking down his staff wasn't easy. They'd taken it from the battleground, and he had to ask around for almost an hour until he found out who had taken it. It ended up in the laboratory of a katzh-dashi, a small, plump little man with a balding pate and a rotund face. He smelled heavily of spices and garlic, and the lingering traces of the smells of many, many types of plants were trapped in his brown robe. His laboratory was in the Northeast Tower, a small area that was dominated by a row of huge glass windows that ran along the right wall. Lining that entire side of the room were rows and rows of plants, flowers, and vegetables, all growing in long wooden troughs filled with sod. The entire room smelled of earth and plants and life, and it twinged the animal within him in the most curious way.

"Ah, I wondered when you would show up," the little man said in a gentle voice from where he was pruning an amazingly little tree in a brazed brass pot. "You want your staff back?"

"Please," Tarrin replied directly. "Why did they bring it here?"

"I wanted to study the wood," he replied. "I specialize in plants and botany. Ironwood is exceedingly rare. It only grows in the northeast corner of Sulasia. Do you know that it's so bouyant that a staff like that one can support the weight of a grown man?" he asked, pointing to Tarrin's staff. It was laying on a long table near the door, an open book with scribbled notes sitting beside it. "And it doesn't die. The wood in that staff is still alive, even after being cut away from its parent tree. If you planted that staff in the ground and left it, it would grow into another tree."

"I didn't know it was still alive," Tarrin said in surprise, going over and picking up the staff. He inspected it, and realized that it had been cut, right at the very end. He grounded it, and saw that the man had shaved about a quarter of a finger off its length. "You cut it."

The man gave him a surprised look. "Well, yes, I took a sliver off the end. I'm surprised you noticed."

"It pays to know a weapon that may save your life some day," he said sagely.

The man chuckled. "Oh, yes, that's right. They said you're half Ungardt. I'll fix that right now. I'll put the length back."

"How can you do that?"

"Inititate, Sorcery can very easily affect plants," he said with a smile. "I'll just urge it to grow back out to its old length. Give me the staff. I have to be touching it to do this."

Tarrin watched curiously as the little man touched the Weave. He could almost see the intricate and complex spell the man wove, from all six Spheres. The flows gathered inside the staff, going through the Sorcerer rather than gathering from strands, tangling themselves in a seemingly chaotic mass of confusion, but Tarrin could tell that the rotund Sorcerer knew what he was doing. Then the chaotic mess snapped, and it turned into a very orderly and sensible weave. Once he was done, he released it into the staff, and Tarrin saw it grow that lost bit of length back, and even fill in some of the nicks and scratches that had been inflicted upon it.