Rebirth
Lifted from the Cradle, bathed and set out on the starstone slab, the shell seemed so small. A maiden’s body, a little shorter than Foxglove, leanly muscled. A face that bore a striking resemblance to her daughter Mink, but with higher cheekbones, a sharper chin, a wider brow. Dark brown hair, slick with birthing fluids, clung to the back of her neck.
Across the table from Foxglove, Littlefire gave a full-bodied twitch and a shake of the head. “It’s not right,” he protested.
“What isn’t?” Mink asked at Littlefire’s shoulder.
“The nose… the jawline… it’s not as we remember.”
“You must remember that this celluar matrix is only a best-guess recreation,” Melati pointed out. “A recopying of the common text from Mink and Grayling’s script. The face can easily be shaped later, if you do not like it.”
“I think it looks a lot like Mother,” Mink said gently. “Maybe a little sharper… a little more… I don’t know, fox-like.”
“Whenever you’re ready, we can begin,” Melati prompted.
“Will it hurt?” Littlefire asked, then shook his head. “Of course it will. Never mind.”
“You can still change your mind,” Foxglove said softly, without judgment.
“Oh, that trail’s gone cold long since.” He sighed. “All right. We’re ready.”
Melati moved behind the body on the slab. She put one hand on the damp forehead, and the other on Littlefire’s shoulder. A hum started up in the room, at first so faint Foxglove thought she imagined it, but soon growing so loud and piercing she wanted to clap her hands over her ears. The walls glowed with magical energy. Littlefire swayed slightly, his eyes closed, his jaw clenched.
The body on the slab bucked wildly, back arching, limbs lifting off the stone. The lungs drew an explosive first breath. The eyes snapped open and stared up blankly at the ceiling. Gray eyes.
Melati stepped back. Littlefire’s legs trembled and he gripped the edge of the slab to keep from falling. His heart-daughter helped bear him up. “Wesh?” she asked. “Wesh, are you with us?”
His voice was nothing like Foxglove had ever heard before: thin and quavering. “Yessss... I’m here,” he murmured. “But she’s not.” He pulled himself along the slab until he stood above Kit’s new face.
“Those aren’t her eyes,” he protested. “Those are Grayling’s eyes!”
“As I said,” Melati muttered, “fixing the details can wait.”
“Kit? Kit!” he shouted. The prone form made no response. She had a pulse; Foxglove could see it beating furiously at her throat. Her nostrils flared as she sucked in fast, shallow breaths. Yet her eyes stared blindly, and her face showed no hint of animation.
Littlefire bent his head over hers. Foxglove knew he was locksending, trying to reestablish a connection, to restore the psychic bond. She imagined him whispering Kit’s soulname – whatever it was – over and over, trying to coax her to awareness.
“What if it doesn’t work?” Foxglove had dared to ask Melati in private, as they were making arrangements to remove Kit’s new body from the Cradle. “What if she rejects the shell?”
“I would imagine she’ll go back to Littlefire’s.”
“But what if… what if she gets stuck in between his shell and hers? What if…” she couldn’t bear to finish the thought. What if she stays dead, really dead, this time? Kit was the heart of their tribe of Wolfrider exiles: more than just chieftess, she was bound by blood to every member of the tribe in some form or other. Foxglove herself could trace her descent with only one or two forgotten generations all the way back to Kit’s half-brother Strayshot. And in sharing Littlefire’s body, Kit had become all but a High One, a new Timmain for a new line of Wolfriders. Foxglove couldn’t imagine how the tribe would go on without her. She couldn’t imagine how Littlefire would go on without her.
And she couldn’t imagine how she herself could go on without them both. They had long been the only constants in her life, the lodestar she could always trust to guide her.
**Please wake up,** she added her own feeble sending to Littlefire’s.
The new Kit blinked, once. Then she sat up so swiftly she slammed her forehead into Littlefire’s. They both cried out together, he staggering into Mink, she falling back on the slab. She hyperventilated as she struggled to rise again. Her arms wouldn’t quite obey, and she flopped on the stone like a landed fish. Melati and Littlefire had to work together to steady her.
“Easy now,” the healer soothed. “You’re taking me back to the day Beast came back – he threw himself right off the slab trying to work his limbs. Just be calm. Breathe.” She touched Kit’s forehead again. “You’re well-anchored.”
Kit looked at Littlefire with a wild terror. “Not right,” she squeaked. “Not right!”
“You knew the new body would feel different. Just breathe. Pant if you have to, but calm yourself. There….”
Gradually Kit slowed her breathing. Her heart rate eased, and her gaze lost some of its glazed intensity. She looked at Littlefire as if noticing him for the first time.
“Wesh…” she murmured.
“How do you feel?”
“Strange. This shell… it feels too tight.”
Littlefire laughed. “Mine feels much too empty now.”
Kit looked around slowly. She acknowledged Mink with a soft smile, but when she saw Foxglove, the muscle under her left eyelid twitched, and she gave a little start, like Littlefire did whenever someone caught him unawares.
“You all look… different. But not.” She wrinkled up her nose at the inadequacy of her words. “That’s no good. It’s… seeing different. It’s… backwards and sideways, but I can still see.” Then she frowned.. “That doesn’t make sense either.”
Littlefire shrugged. “I think it does.”
Kit flashed him a grin. “But you and I speak the same language.”
Her left eyelid twitched again.
* * *
The tribe howled in celebration long into the night. They had their chieftess in flesh at last. And they had a name.
“New Blood!” they shouted to the skies. “New Blood!”
It had been their Waykeeper’s idea, though somewhat by accident. While still sharing a shell, Kit and Littlefire had used the phrase “the tribe needs new blood” so many times that Foxglove had made sure the rest of the tribe took to it.
Certainly the tribe had embraced new and different ways in the two Long Years since they had come to Homestead. Instead of trees they lived inside the giant mushrooms, either inside hollowed out trunks or in den-sized baskets shaped off the underside of the fungal caps. Instead of furs they wore the tough scaly leather of the native beasts, and the soft zwoot-wool spun by the Sun Folk in nearby Haven. From the first thirteen refugees, the tribe had grown steadily: first with Redfawn’s birth, then the addition of Grayling as hunt leader and Hansha as blacksmith. Now Cattail was pregnant following a Recognition with one of the elves from Haven, and Burl was clumsily courting one of the trollkin maids from Mink’s Zwootriders – frequent visitors to the holt. As Kit and Littlefire had promised, the alliances made with other tribes only strengthened their own.
They still had no wolves to ride, and the hunters all swore they would never follow the example of the trollkin with their zwoots. But little Redfawn had received a jackrunner puppy as a gift from Beast and Naga, and was intent on learning to ride him. Though the bipedal canines still unnerved the elders, the younger elves found them far more familiar than the pughogs and daggercrabs that made up the bulk of their prey.
“You’ll need a new name too, chieftess,” Willow remarked, as Foxglove finished tying the chief’s lock in Kit’s dark hair. “To go with your new shell.”
Kit wrinkled her nose, much as Littlefire did whenever he was nervous. “Tie it all up,” she murmured to Foxglove. Obediently, Foxglove gathered all her hair into one tail, and tied up out of of the way.
“Aye, we can’t really call you Waykeeper anymore, can we?” Woodsmoke said.
“Trailblazer,” Reader suggested gamely. “Because you broke new ground for us all.”
“Why not ‘Wayforger’?” suggested Grayling from his seat by the fire. “She hammered a new Way out of the old.” He smiled at his lifemate to see if Hansha approved of the metaphor.
“Wayfinder?” Reader offered.
“Now you’re just reaching,” Cattail mocked.
“Reacher…” he continued, undaunted. “Something… reaching – reaching for a path…”
Kit hunched her shoulders, and drew her knees up towards her chest.
“Pathfinder!” Duskwind called out.
“That’s sounds like a lad’s name, don’t you think?” Highsun remarked.
“Why does she need a new name?” Littlefire growled irritably. “Haven’t we changed enough already? She’s Kit. She’s always been Kit. It was good enough for Thorny Mountain and it was good enough for the Evertree and it’ll be good enough for New Blood!”
Foxglove studied Kit’s face carefully. She looked startled by Littlefire’s outburst, but also grateful. She reached out a trembling hand for her lifemate, and Littlefire clasped it without even looking. He glared like a grumpy old owl. But as they sat facing the rest of the tribe, fingers intertwined, Kit gradually found the confidence to sit taller, while the anger slowly began to bleed out of Littlefire.
Even in two shells, they were still so tightly bound. Foxglove felt a pang of jealousy. She wondered what it would feel like, to be so connected to another soul.
“Then ‘Kit’ it will remain,” Duskwind said. “If that suits you, chieftess.”
Kit nodded a vigorous assent. She squeezed Littlefire’s hand tight.
Sensing she was out of place, Foxglove rose to move. She meant to take a seat by Rue and Redfawn. But she felt fingertips brush against her elbow. When she looked back, she saw Kit gazing up at her pleadingly. With a shy smile, Foxglove sat back down, and Kit threaded her arm through hers.
“You’re my roots, both of you,” she said. “You keep me grounded when I feel like I’ll fly away.”
* * *
While the story went that Winnowill had thrown herself back into life with a vigor that had terrified the Sun Folk, Kit was taking longer to acclimatize to her new body. It was two eights-of-days before she felt confident enough to leave Littlefire’s side and explore the greater territory surrounding their Holt. In consideration of her still-shaky legs, she rode with Mink on a zwoot. The Zwootriders were ranging further and further south from the Cliffs at Haven, and mother and daughter planned to discuss hunting ground boundaries on their day-long ride-out.
Littlefire remained at the Holt, but he did not participate in any of the daily activities. Nor was he in his den, working on recopying all the howlbooks destroyed when the Evertree cast them out. Foxglove searched for the better part of the afternoon before she found him, sitting eyes-high on a mushroom tree.
“There you are,” she remarked. “You’re a hard elf to find.”
“You could have sent.”
She pulled a face. “You know I’m not very good at that.” In truth, she was wary of sending to him or Kit. The last time she had opened her soul to them had been during the madness of the Evertree’s assault. She had thought she was dying, and had blurted out feelings best kept hidden.
“Can I join you?” she asked. He didn’t reply, and she took that for consent. She scrambled up the mushroom, digging hand- and toe-holds into the soft stalk and pulling herself up over the overhang of the cap. She didn’t even feel the extra wordpull anymore.
They sat together for a time, enjoying the view without a word between them. The mushroom forest stretched out to the north and south, and on the eastern horizon lay the silver line of the inland sea. “Our Sea” as Haken’s folk called it. To the Wolfriders it was simply salt water, as remote as the rings in the sky.
At length Foxglove spoke. “It must be strange for you… having her so far away.”
“She’s still within sending range.”
“Still… you two have barely been out of each other’s sight since she came back.”
He smiled and shook his head. “You don’t understand. Here, there. A few paces, a few leagues – there’s no difference. She could go back to Abode… the distance between us wouldn’t be more than it is now.”
“You mean… now that she has her own body.”
He nodded, and for the first time, Foxglove saw the profound grief in his eyes. Perhaps he had only now let his guard down enough. Or perhaps she simply hadn’t wanted to see it before.
“You… didn’t want to let her go, did you? I know it was a hard choice,” she continued in a rush. “For both of you. Truly, Waykeeper – I wasn’t blind to the pain you were both in. But… I thought you were agreed.”
“We were – we are.” He smiled sadly. “But it was the harder choice for me. ‘Me’ – huh. It’s still hard to think of ‘me.’ It’s been ‘we’ for so long. And we’d been content… always. I… I didn’t understand why that was no longer enough.”
“Was it the Tree? What it did to you – breaking your souls apart?”
He shrugged. “Could blame the Tree. I’d like to blame the Tree. It did the worst. But… that’s only the smaller truth. The larger truth is… my skin wasn’t big enough for us both anymore. I was content… Kit needed something more. It wasn’t until after the Tree – until we tried to become ‘we’ again and still felt that division between us….” He hung his head. “Some days I curse the Tree for showing me the larger truth.”
“Does she… know?”
“She knows everything. That’s what being ‘we’ means. Maybe… that’s why she couldn’t do it anymore.”
“But to cause you such pain, knowingly…”
“She couldn’t help it. She wanted one thing. I wanted another. We had always wanted the same thing before. But what could we do? I’ve been in a cage – I hated it! It’s been… I forget how many years. Before Kit died. Even before Mink was born. But sometimes I still have nightmares… a cage, humans… their voices – so loud! I couldn’t keep Kit in one. Not when I could feel her struggling to get out.”
“So you let her go.”
He nodded. “She’s not really gone, I know. A part of her is still here.” He tapped his forehead. “And a part of me is still in her. And when we sleep our souls find each other, and it’s almost like it used to be. Almost.”
“It just… seems so sad,” she said, hearing the inadequacy of her words. “First Sparkstone and Willow parted ways. And now you two… I thought the whole point of lifemating was that you would always have at least one elf who’d never desert you!”
He shrugged again. “Sometimes it takes greater love to let go than to hold on.” He burst into laughter – a nervous, high-pitched giggle. “Now I sound like my father. What will I be now? What will I become? Can’t go back to what I was… guess I’ll have to blaze a trail of my own.”
Foxglove’s doubt must have shown in her face. He patted her hand lightly – a brisk tap more than anything. “It’s all right. It’s better now. Kit’s happy… and my head’s a little quieter. I’m sad, but I won’t always be. And it is exciting, having this head all to myself again.”
* * *
Shouts and yelps of astonishment startled Foxglove out of her study of Wolfrider pictographs. If she meant to be an apprentice howlpainter, she had to prove she could read a simple howlbook unaided. Reader had made it sound so easy, yet with hundreds of different symbols to memorize – many with different meanings depending on the color of the ink – she doubted she’d ever manage to decipher a phrase let alone write one.
She set down the book of symbols and looked out of her den. A large crystal teardrop stood in the center of the Holt. One wall was already dissolving, and several silhouettes emerged – an elfin child, two adults, and one… other.
“Is she here?” a piping voice rang out from one of the dens.“Naga? Naga!!”
“Redfawn!” Little Naga pushed by her parents and scampered out onto the crystalmoss, scanning the mushrooms for her agemate. Redfawn appeared a moment later, her jackrunner pup close on her heels. The two cublings embraced, squealing with joy, while the jackrunner chased around them, yapping and whining to be included. It stood nearly as tall as the children.
“Puppy!” Naga cooed, turning to pet the creature.
“His name’s Beast,” Redfawn said, with a challenging raise of her chin. “I have a beast too now!”
Naga pulled a face. “Mine’s better! Mine’s bigger!” And with a toss of her honey-colored curls she ran back to her father, begging for a shoulder-ride. Beast obliged with a smile, though in truth the cub was getting a bit too big to perch comfortably against his shoulder spines.
A silver-haired elf, shorter than both Beast and Melati but taller than the Wolfriders, lingered in the doorway of the teardrop-shaped pod. Foxglove stared long at him, trying to put a name to the face.
“Door!” Littlefire floated down from his den to greet his cousin. “What brings you here?”
“Flying practice. And Melati led me to understand a certain Wolfrider chief is neglecting her appointments with her healer.”
“We have a healer here!” Kit’s voice called from somewhere in the mushroom grove, shrill and irritable.
“I’m not surprised,” Door remarked. “Kit was always stubborn. You did much to temper her, cousin, but Spar predicted she’d go back to her old ways as soon as she was free of you.”
“I heard that!” Kit snapped. “You want to talk scat about me, Door, do it more softly.”
At length the chieftess emerged, springing down from the top of a mushroom tree as if she still thought she could float. Instead she dropped like a stone, catching herself in a handspring on forest floor. She faced Melati surly as a stripling.
“I don’t need a healer,” Kit insisted. “I’m fine. And I have work to do.” Her hands fluttered erratically, indicating the whole Holt. “There’s too much to do – too much! Even with the longer days and nights I – I-I…” a flutter of movment caught her attention and she looked off to one side, losing her train of thought.
“Still scattered, I see,” Melati said to Littlefire.
He shrugged. “She’s tired. Pushing herself too hard.”
“We have to push hard,” Kit murmured. “The planet pushes down – we push back. It’s the Way – the New Way. We have a new name, you know… the tribe, not me. Wesh is right. I have to keep something of what I was.” She giggled as if at a joke.
Melati put her hands on Kit’s shoulders gently, and Kit squirmed out of her grasp, grimacing.
Littlefire stepped in, briskly taking Kit’s hand and leading her and Melati inside the mushroom trunk they shared with Foxglove. Foxglove flattened herself against the common wall and waited, listening with the keen hearing her wolfblood gave her.
“I am worried about her neural connections,” Melati was saying calmly.
“I’m not,” Littlefire replied.
The healer’s tone was gently chiding. “I have made an extensive study of the pathways binding mind to body. Hers are not properly attuned. It’s probably a symptom of her revival.”
“It’s a symptom of me. I’ll help her adjust. Just as she helped me.”
“Kit, what do you say? You still don’t feel ‘right’ in your skin, do you? Your senses are still too sharp, and your focus too easily shaken.”
“I’m a Wolfrider,” Kit said. “I must listen to the worldsong. It’s just different on this world… and these ears you gave me are trying to make sense of it.”
“Indeed. Now, I can attempt some… reweaving, let us call it. Bring your experience in this shell closer to –”
“What?” Kit sounded alarmed. “What I was when I was mortal? What I was when I was the Waykeeper?”
“Closer to the mean,” Melati said calmly.
“But what is that? What is an elf ‘supposed’ to feel? You? Door? Mink? I want to feel like me!”
“Do you?” Melati prompted.
Kit’s voice was plaintive. “I don’t know. How can I know? I don’t remember ‘me.’”
Foxglove could hear no more; whatever Littlefire said in response was too softly spoken to make out. After a few moments Foxglove heard movement, and she peeped out of the den-hole to see Littlefire escorting Melati back to the starstone pod. Door was waiting to draw Littlefire into conversation. Foxglove watched them disappear inside the pod together, and she wondered what they meant to discuss.
She found out at the evening meal, as the tribe gathered around the great kettle of mushroom stew simmering on the hearthfire. “He wants you to fly the Ark?” she repeated, disbelieving.
“Not the whole Ark, just a piece of it,” Littlefire explained patiently. “Door thinks the Ark should have travel pods, just like the Palace. Sounds like he’s spent the last Long Year trying to convince Haken.”
“And he wants you to become a… an Arkmaster?” Duskwind marvelled.
“He wants to train Wren as well. Probably wants to put an Ark-pod in the hands of all his kinsmen.”
“How are they related again?” Cattail muttered skeptically.
“First cousins,” Reader whispered back.
“He must have spent another Long Year fighting that fight,” Kit remarked. She twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “Can’t think why Haken would trust a Wolfrider with his own Palace.”
Littlefire winced. “Well… I d-don’t think I count as a Wolfrider in Haken’s mind anymore.”
“Why?” Foxglove asked. But Kit only smiled sardonically.
“Because I’m out of his head,” she explained, tugging on her hair. “Haken dotes on Aurek. And he’ll just ignore that Littlefire is Vaya’s son as well.”
“Will you do it?” Duskwind asked. Littlefire only shrugged.
“I think you should,” Kit said. “You want to learn.”
“Don’t see how that would help the tribe.”
Kit smiled encouragingly. “You’ve done enough for the tribe. You should do something just for you.”
Littlefire considered it, chewing on his lip fretfully. At length he nodded. “If I can prove myself, maybe Haken will let us keep a pod here. We could use it to scout the landscape – follow those herds of pughogs faster than we can on foot. Don’t look at me like that, Woodsmoke! Until we find something to ride, we can’t mount large hunts. Why not the Ark?” He brightened visibly. “And I can use it to call the College. I could talk to Papa and Cheipar whenever I wanted – without having to call Sunstream for help. Yes. I’ll do it. Why not?”
He sounded happier than Foxglove had heard in a long time, and in his bright smile she thought she saw a hint of the old Waykeeper. Yet she couldn’t help but worry at his desire to turn away from the tribe.
* * *
“See… if you’re drawing a fox you need the tail to sweep up, like this.”
Foxglove tried to focus as Kit’s hand guided her brushstrokes. She was trying to practice writing the names of tribemates in water on a piece of pughog leather. Trying and failing miserably, in no small part due to Kit’s proximity. She sat right behind Foxglove, leaning on her shoulder, or guiding her arm, always with the most feather-light touches. Her warm breath tickled Foxglove’s ear as she murmured instructions.
Foxglove found it a particularly cruel torment. She’d be lying if she claimed she hadn’t warmed herself on cold nights with fantasies of sharing the bloodsong with Waykeeper. But “Waykeeper” had always meant the lanky Glider with his long-fingered hands and soft voice – and his well-known aversion to physical touch.
Now Waykeeper lived in a female body as well, and it was wound about her like a lovemate, teasing her with unintended caresses and soft whispers. Foxglove summoned all her will to concentrate on the canvas in front of her, and not the flutters deep in her belly.
“See?” Kit prompted, a little pointedly.
“I… I don’t. I’m sorry, chieftess. They both look the same to me.”
Kit tsked and dipped the paintbrush back in the water pot. “Try again. We’ll do ‘wolf’ first, then ‘fox.’ No, no, you’re holding it too tightly, here…” she positioned Foxglove’s fingers around the brush. “It’s not a dagger. Gently… like… like a leaf on a branch. You have to let it bend and dip… ahhhh… there…” she breathed in satisfaction as she showed Foxglove how to sweep the brush across the canvas.
Foxglove felt her face flame at Kit’s hot breath, and all the images her lovesick pup’s mind couldn’t help but conjure. I am a thrice-cursed pigspawn, she thought miserably. She could already tell she’d be in for a sleepless night, wretchedly unsatisfied with her own imagination.
“Sweetgrass?” Kit asked, and her voice seemed to come from leagues away. Why did they always call her by her cub name? And why did hearing it on their lips always make her blood sing?
“Mmm?” she shifted her head to look over her shoulder, and found herself entranced by the way the light played off Kit’s eyes. Pale gray, with a ring of darker gray around the outer rim… the same eyes as her uncle, but Grayling did nothing to heighten her pulse the way Kit did. In her eyes Foxglove saw the compelling depths of the Waykeeper’s gaze.
Kit wasn’t meeting her eyes directly. That in itself didn’t surprise her; Waykeeper never held another’s stare until they were facing down a challenge. But as Foxglove licked her lips nervously and saw Kit’s pupils dilate a fracture, she realized Kit was staring at her mouth.
A little sound escaped her, part surprise, part longing.
“Oh for Freefoot’s sake!” Littlefire exploded, startling both of them. Foxglove’s eyes flew to the corner of the den, where she had completely forgotten Littlefire was sitting.
“Either join already or go sit downwind, will you?” He pulled a face. “You both stink like wolves in heat!”
Face burning with shame, Foxglove glanced back at Kit and saw her lips curve in a bashful smile.
“Both…?” Foxglove managed to murmur.
Kit’s only reply was an idle shrug and a wicked arch of one eyebrow.
“Not on my sleep-furs!” Littlefire added sharply, as Kit drew Foxglove in for a kiss.
* * *
Littlefire began training with Door in the height of the dry season. His body didn’t need to leave the Holt; he simply sat inside his den, eyes closed, breathing imperceptable, his mind far away in Haven.
“It’s not that far,” Foxglove insisted to Burl, who found the whole concept terrifying. “You know Waykeeper went ‘out’ all the time to meet with the rest of the Circle. And I don’t know where they met exactly, but I know it was farther than a day’s walk.”
“Well, aren’t you the elder now,” Burl drawled.
He wasn’t the only one who was looking at her differently. The others had whispered about her from the beginning of their time on Homestead, of course; her obvious devotion to the Waykeeper had been a source of mild amusement to the elders. Foxglove would always bristle to think of their knowing smiles, and wonder how many other elves in the history of the tribe had made fools of themselves by falling in love with their High One.
But now that she denned with the pair, and now that they all knew her for Kit’s lovemate – for she could never have kept that a secret in so small tribe – Foxglove suddenly found herself with high-wolf status. With it came a certain amount of resentment to be borne from her former Huntmates.
“Burl doesn’t like to see you climbing above him,” Rue remarked one day as she was fitting Foxglove for a new zwoot-wool kilt. “Neither does Woodsmoke. Though I doubt either of them would have been eager to try for your place back when the Waykeeper only had the male body.” She shrugged. “I say well done, if that’s the tree you want to keep climbing.”
Foxglove narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”
“What I said. Your mother would have been proud.”
“You think I’m joining with her for the status? Kahvi’s blood, Rue! I don’t have my eyes on being chief’s mate. He’s chief’s mate! I’m just…” she trailed off as she realized she didn’t know quite what she was. “I’d never think of taking his place,” she amended. “They’ve shared a skin for a mountain’s age.”
“But they don’t anymore,” Rue pointed out.
“So that she could be our chief. So that she could walk her own path without forcing him to walk it too.”
“Mmm-hmm. He has his own path now, doesn’t he? And it’s taking him away from us. Away from her.”
“Don’t say that!” Foxglove snapped. “What, do you think that’s why I started denning with them? To sweep in when he leaves our chieftess? Is that what everyone thinks?”
Rue shrugged. “I imagine everyone thinks you’re just glad to take whatever you can get… from either of them.”
That barb hit too close to home. Foxglove huffed loudly and tried to sound flippant. “I don’t suppose anyone thought I might just be enjoying myself,” she sneered. “Some elves actually like joining, and not for any rewards it may bring!”
Rue dropped her gaze, letting her curls hide her face. “If you say so,” she said tersely. “I wouldn’t know.”
Foxglove flinched. She thought of the many dances the Hunt had shared: celebrating births, deaths, and countless successful hunts. Rue had always gamely joined with any elf who expressed interest.
“But you were always…”
“Willing? Of course I was,” she replied evenly. “It would have been rude to refuse. A bottom wolf can’t afford to be rude.”
“But you and Quickhatch–”
Rue shrugged. “He protected me. He liked me. He made me safe, and I made him happy.”
Foxglove’s stomach curdled with sudden shame. She had spent her life in the comfortable middle rank of the Hunt’s hierarchy, watching Rue’s trials from an aloof distance – those she had even deigned to notice. Only since getting to know her better did Foxglove realize how willfully blind she’d been.
“Well – well – it’s not like that anymore,” she said. “We’re not in the Hunt anymore. You don’t need to join with anyone just because of… packright. You can choose a lovemate for yourself.”
That made Rue smile. “Yes, I can.”
“And?” Foxglove asked, eager to turn the talk to happier matters. “Has anyone caught your eye? You go Haven offer enough, taking Redfawn to visit Naga. Have you chosen one of those pretty brownskins?”
“I choose no one,” Rue said, savoring the words.
* * *
Kit’s face was drawn when Foxglove finally confessed what had rattled her. “Rue has endured much,” the chieftess said at length. “But she found the strength in the end to say ‘enough.’ I have often wondered… how many elves lived and died who never found that release.” She shook her head. “Perhaps it’s for the best that we’ve lost our wolves. They had much to teach us, but there were always those elves who learned the wrong lessons.”
She sounded more like the Waykeeper of old, Foxglove thought. Three months in her new skin had taught her to master it. But she had a grimness in her voice now, a scorn of the old life Foxglove had never heard before. Perhaps Littlefire’s gentler soul had kept it in check. Or perhaps Foxglove had never truly listened, back at the Evertree.
“We let it go on too long,” Kit admitted one night, when they spoke of the fall of the old tribe. “We knew it couldn’t last, but we were so tired of waging the same battle. You know, my father used to say I saved my softness for the wrong things, and wasted my strength on the wrong fights. He usually meant Littlefire, of course. Or my howling hides. Or anything that displeased him.”
“He didn’t like Littlefire?” Foxglove exclaimed, sending Kit into a flurry of giggles.
“Oh, you have no idea how much he didn’t like him! But then… there wasn’t much he liked, my father. He was a profoundly unhappy soul, truth be told. Always snarling about living by the Way – but always running from the Now.”
“To where?”
“To the past. To the what-was, or the what-might-have-been. Mother used to say he was always looking for the peace he had known before the Great Quests, before Swift led them out of forest and forced them to confront the rest of the world. But he had precious little peace in the old days either. He was so… so unbending! And I tried so hard to be different from him – to be like Littlefire, and see the… the different rightnesses hiding in every choice. Even the wrong ones. Did I ever tell you how Littlefire came to our tribe?”
Foxglove shrugged. She found it hard to imagine a tribe without Littlefire. “He came to visit, didn’t he? You lived next to the other Holt back then, like us and Haven?”
Kit laughed. “Not quite so close. Although with the Palace and three Masters to fly it, I suppose it might have seemed so. And Littlefire… let’s say he came to study. He wanted to learn how all the tribes worked. He never fit in at the Great Holt, you see. If the College had been around then… but it wasn’t. He’d tried many different tribes – many different Ways. And somehow… mine was the one that seemed to suit him best.
“He never liked the hunt. But he liked the simplicity of our lives. The wisdom to be found in the worldsong. It… rooted him down, when the starsong in his head tried to pull him away. And he taught me to see in ways I never had before. To separate your head from your heart, and see more clearly, without judgment. He didn’t even mind that my parents never really warmed to him. As long as they treated him honestly, he could bear their scorn… and try to understand it. Try to see through their eyes.”
She curled her finger around a lock of hair, gently twisting it back and forth. “I always wanted to be like him: to set my heart aside, and see without judgment. And when I joined him in his skin… and after that… when Kiv’s Stags joined us… when I saw our tribe changing… always – always – I tried to see the rightness in every choice. To accept that what is right for one may not be for another. To treat others with honesty, but never judgment.”
Foxglove nodded approvingly. But Kit’s expression turned mournful. “I couldn’t do it. I saw the worst of the wolfsong pull the hunters astray again and again. I saw the Holtbound lose their will and their heart, and become as helpless as children. And I wanted to fight to see some sort of balance return. Sometimes we did. It usually didn’t work. And always, Littlefire would be telling me to be patient, to let them learn their lessons in their own time. But we aren’t just wolves – we have two songs inside us! – and we can never seem to find a balance.”
“Like you and Littlefire? Is that why you –?”
Kit smiled sadly. “No… it wasn’t that. It…” her gaze grew distant. “It was only that… well, Willow said it best. Before anything else, we must be true to ourselves. We were in harmony for a forest’s age, but finally ‒ I’m not Littlefire, and he’s not me. The time had come when we would be better in two skins than as one. We had to admit that. Without judgment.”
Again Foxglove felt a powerful foreboding. “He misses you!” she blurted out. “Very much!”
Kit touched her cheek gently. “I know, sweetling. But don’t you worry about us. Everything is as it should be.”
Foxglove wanted to believe that. But as the days passed, Rue’s words ate away at her heart. Littlefire did have his own path now. He spent so much time in his studies that he seldom emerged from his den except to bathe and eat. Even in sleep she suspected his mind was elsewhere. And now that Kit was finding her equilibrium, she was always out with her tribemates. The lifemates who had once shared a skin now might pass the whole day without seeing each other.
Sometimes Foxglove thought about how Littlefire had all but pushed her and Kit together… and wondered if what that meant for his future plans.
“You don’t… mind, do you?” she had managed to ask, the day after their first lovemating. She squirmed like a little cub caught in the act with her best friend’s mate. “I mean… that the chieftess and I…”
Littlefire had given her the most curious look. “You make her happy. Why would I mind?”
“But I want you to be happy too,” she had insisted.
He smiled, hesitated a moment, then crushed her against him in a hug that left her ribs bruised.
“You make me very happy,” he insisted. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
But then he set her back and turned back to his howlbooks. She stared at him in bewilderment, until he looked back up and asked, “What’s wrong?”
She hadn’t the words. Not for the first time, she thought of sending, but she couldn’t find the will for that. She knew if she opened her mind to him everything would tumble out, and she couldn’t bear to burden him with all her warring hopes and fears.
* * *
Littlefire started accompanying Door on test flights of the starstone pod. No one could predict when the pod might appear outside the Holt, ready to take their howlkeeper off on another excursion. Some of the Wolfriders were already dreaming of the day when they could move to more distant hunting grounds, yet still trade with Haven and the Cliffs.
“I don’t know why you think the hunting will be so much better anywhere else,” Foxglove said irritably to Woodsmoke. “There isn’t some magical valley somewhere just filled with pughogs waiting to be slaughtered, you know.”
“All I know is I did my duty and tried eating all these mushrooms and fish and crabs. I’m ready for real red meat at every meal.”
“And empty bellies for days in between?”
“It is a concern,” Grayling agreed. “We know beasts are spread thinner on the ground here than on Abode. We’ve done well these last three turns, growing alongside Haven and Two-Edge’s kingdom. But if we want to live as Wolfriders, the day will come when we’ll have to range farther out.”
“Do you want to live as a Wolfrider?” Foxglove asked. “You lived so long with the Sun Folk.”
“I did. But there’s something sweet about having to work for your keep. To know you’re useful. Hansha and I… truth is, Oasis could have gotten on fine without us. Haven certainly can. But we’re needed here. And that’s worth a little hard work.”
Oasis was on their hunt-chief’s mind of late. One long humid afternoon the pod had reappeared after another excursion, but Door and Littlefire were not the only ones to step outside. They had brought two visitors from Abode.
“Mother?” Duskwind stammered in disbelief. “Father!”
The older elves who remembered when Wing and Behtia had once been Wolfriders came rushing up to greet them. Foxglove and the others studied them from a distance, noting Wing’s resemblance to their healer, marvelling that a dainty silk-clad creature like Behtia had ever worn leather and lived in a tree. She wobbled like a drunkard under the stronger wordpull, and Duskwind rushed to help her sit.
“What are you doing here?” Grayling asked. “Don’t tell me you’ve decided to give up Oasis?”
“When I have a good shot of pushing Fennec out as lead hunter?” Wing teased. “Never.”
If he was anything like his son, Foxglove doubted Wing could kill a fly. From Grayling’s hearty laughter, she imagined that was the point of the joke.
“No, we just came to see how our boy is settling in,” Behtia ruffled Duskwind’s auburn hair. “And bring our kin in Haven good tidings.”
“Tell them the truth, Behtia,” Wing said. “We’re actually on a quest. A secret one.”
Behtia giggled. “Vurdah wants us to spy on Coppersky,” she confirmed with a wicked smile. “And we have her permission to drag him back home with us if he’s not taking proper care of himself.”
Everyone who knew the elves she mentioned laughed uproariously. Foxglove was lost. But even knowing what little she did of Coppersky, she imagined he wouldn’t see the humor either. She doubted he saw the humor in anything.
“So if we can’t tempt you to join us on Homestead, then all is going well in Oasis?” Grayling asked. “Things are finally settling down? The last time I met with Fennec he was talking about ‘botched elections’…”
Behtia dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “Oh, that’s ancient history. No, everything’s quite settled. The council has been decided – our Daughter of Memory is leading it, of course. There is one representative each from the hunters, farmers, crafters, Gliders and Sun Folk – just as the Fellowship wanted.”
Wing rolled his eyes. “Arshel still hasn’t given up on that name, by the way. If anyone asks him, we’re the ‘Fellowship of Oasis.’”
“So who finally made it on the council?” Hansha asked. “Fennec, of course.”
“Of course,” Wing nodded. “And Jarrah as our farmer, Arshel as our crafter. Sun-Toucher is our Sun Folk elder, and… well, you remember all that fuss over the Glider’s spot?”
“Ugh,” Grayling grunted. “I’d wager Eyrie and Leetah still aren’t talking to each other. So did Longfeather finally take it?”
“No, that’s the strangest thing,” Behtia said. “He was fed to the teeth with all the squabbling. Said he wanted nothing to do with it. So Bonebat stepped up.”
“Bonebat?” Grayling repeated, amazed. “I never thought he’d come down to earth long enough for that. Well, good for him. You must be happy, Door! Kept some of your blood on the council after all.”
Door shrugged. “I’d be happier if all my kin had shown the good sense of Klipspringer and the twins and followed Lord Haken here. But…” a weary sigh, “I have made my peace with it.”
“I suppose that settles it for Ekuar and Jarrah,” Hansha remarked. “Strange… I would have wagered my best gold they would have chosen Homestead in the end.”
“I was astonished myself,” Door said. “With Maize still so young…”
Foxglove wrinkled her nose. Was she thinking of the right elf? Redfawn piped up with a disbelieving laugh. “Maize isn’t young! She’s big – she’s as big as you! She talks me and Naga on walks sometimes,” she added proudly. “And she said she could braid my hair like hers, but Mama won’t let me because the beads make too much noise and a Wolfrider has to be quiet.”
“I’m sure they’ll still come and visit often,” Behtia offered. “Especially now that we’ve figured out the best way to get over the world-shock.”
Door drew himself up a little taller. “And now that I have mastered the art of navigation. I can foresee a regular transit between Oasis and Haven.”
“Maybe we’ll ever get Arshel and Leetah up here one day,” Behtia giggled.
“If only to show them what they’re missing,” Door said loftily.
“Maybe on a day when Haken is out,” Grayling suggested.
“And speaking of our lord… I am sure he’s expecting my return,” Door said.
“Will you stay the night?” Duskwind asked his parents. “You could go on to Haven tomorrow.”
“We’ve love to hear more about Oasis,” Hansha added.
“Would you mind?” Wing asked Door.
“Not at all. I can return at midday.” Door looked at Littlefire. “Perhaps I’ll let you handle the flight to Haven.”
Littlefire twitched in alarm, provoking a booming laugh from Door. “Don’t worry, little cousin. I won’t throw you out of the nest until you’re ready to fly.”
* * *
“I didn’t like how he talked to you,” Foxglove admitted to Littlefire later that night, as the tribe was slowly going to sleep. Kit was out paying a late-night call on Wing and Behtia, and Littlefire was sitting up watching the candle flame shiver in its little bowl of tallow. Foxglove had no doubt he would continue his meditations long after his lifemate crawled into their sleep-furs… or postponed sleep in favor of a visit to Foxglove’s chamber. Half the time Kit would ended up sleeping up there instead. Perhaps she was being kind, fearing Foxglove would feel like nothing but a toy otherwise, played with then tossed aside. But sometimes now Kit sought out Foxglove’s bed simply to sleep. Foxglove was troubled by it, but reasoned that perhaps Littlefire’s aversion to being touched extended to sharing a bed as well. After all, he was used to sleeping alone.
It was just one of the many questions she couldn’t bear to ask either of them.
Now Littlefire looked up from his meditation. He frowned, as if trying to remember just what Door had said. At length he shrugged. “That’s just Door. We’re all used to it.”
“I bet you could fly the Ark-pod tomorrow,” Foxglove added, before she remembered she didn’t want him learning to fly away.
He smiled. “Maybe I’ll try, then. Door can always catch me if I fall.”
“Not that you need to fly it,” she said. “Not to please Door or… or anyone. You – you have to be true to yourself, right?” she added lamely, when she noticed he was looking at her curiously. “And if you decide you’d rather just keep working on the howlbooks, no one would say anything.”
“We have let your lessons go a little, haven’t we? I’m sorry. I’ll tell Door I need to spend more time with you.”
“You don’t have to–”
“And once the rains start, I’m sure Kit will have more time as well–”
“It’s not about that! It’s… once you do start flying the Ark-pod… you… you won’t be flying it back to Abode all the time, will you? I mean… you are staying here, right?”
He seemed genuinely confused by the question. “Where else would I go?”
She shrugged and looked down at her food. **Sweetgrass?** he sent, gently probing. But she swatted the air with her hand and his sending star pulled back.
“I’m sorry. I should have asked first.”
“It’s not that–”
“I know it’s been hard for you since the Tree. And I know my sendings are too loud now.”
“It’s not…”
“Will you talk with me? You know you can tell us anything.”
She wanted to laugh. She caught it barely in time, and instead let out a strangled cough. “But you aren’t ‘us’ anymore. You’re you and she’s her, and – and…”
A veil seemed to fall over his eyes. “Ah. I understand.”
“You do?”
“It’s all right. She makes more sense to you. You like her more. That’s all right.”
“No!” she cried. “No! I don’t… I mean – I can’t like one of you more. I told you – back when you were both still Waykeeper, I told you I loved you equally! I said I couldn’t tell you apart.”
“But now you can.”
“I wish I couldn’t! Because I see you going one way and her another and I… I can’t bear it!”
He blinked, owl-like. “I… I don’t understand.”
“I thought you were just choosing to… I don’t know – stand side-by-side. I didn’t think you’d be walking away from each other.”
“Is that what you think has happened?”
“You were so sad at first… a-and she couldn’t even leave your side. And then you started ‘going-out’ with Door… and she and I… and you don’t…”
“Oh, cubling. Is that it? I’m happy for both of you. You know I don’t care for joining skins. I’ve never had much taste for it. If you and Kit can find pleasure together, then that’s good!”
“But… what about you and Kit?”
“There are many kinds of love. Many kinds of joining, for that matter.” He tapped the side of his head. “Don’t worry about that.”
Foxglove shook her head stubbornly. “But you’re not like you were. You’re getting further apart every day.”
A rustle outside the den door. Foxglove looked up in alarm as Kit climbed inside.
“We’ve already gone as far apart as is possible,” Kit said smoothly, as if she had been there all along, following their conversation. “The distance doesn’t matter.”
Foxglove winced. “How much did you hear?”
“All of it.”
“But…” Foxglove tried to imagine Kit sitting outside the den, eavesdropping on the conversation. It didn’t seem like something she would do.
“What binds us together is stronger than Recognition,” Kit explained, as she sat down next to Littlefire. “Part of our souls are blended as one. My new body doesn’t change that. Like one candle lit from another – it’s the same flame. It always was, and it always will be. Whatever he knows, and feels, and does… I know, and feel, and do.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know. Words aren’t enough.”
Foxglove felt the sending star probing her mind. She couldn’t tell if it came from Kit or Littlefire. She only knew it battered against her paltry mental defenses, demanding access.
**But if you will let us show you…**
Foxglove winced, to hear both their voices in her head at once. She struggled for equilibrium. “I’m afraid–” she began to say.
**We know,** they reassured her. **You decide how close is too close. You set the boundaries; we will honor them. Come… see what we see. Feel what we feel. Don’t be afraid to fly. We will catch you if you fall.**
Foxglove felt herself teetering on the edge of precipice. It would be so easy to close off her mind and save herself. But she looked into the faces of the Waykeeper, saw their open, inviting stares. She felt the sincerity of their thoughts, reaching out to cradle her.
She wanted to understand.
She surrendered to the pull of their sending stars, and it seemed like she was tumbling outside her own body, into a great dark glittering expanse.
She saw Littlefire and Kit riding together, each astride their own wolf. She saw Littlefire’s wolf turn into a giant hawk and bear him up into the stars. But Kit’s wolf could run on air, and beast and rider rose together up into the night.
She saw the riders become wreathed in glowing light, their features all but lost under the brightness. She watched as they seemed to swim together in the stars. Kit’s shape became a silver wolf, and Littlefire’s a golden bird. The bird flew around the wolf’s head. The wolf raised its paws and batted playfully at the hawk. The two beast-shapes frolicked against the background of stars. At times their glowing auras touched, and Foxglove was almost blinded by the flashes of light.
The wolf shape began to tire. She watched as its play grew less energetic, as its head began to droop more and more. At last it sat down… then lay down… then let its head rest on its paws as the glow around it began to fade.
The hawk landed gently on the wolf’s back. Again a bolt of skyfire left Foxglove momentarily stunned. Then the wolf was gone, and all that remained was a gray shadow rapidly dispersing against the stars. But the hawk was bigger, brighter, burning with a pure white light. Its head changed shape, its wings grew shorter, its claws turned into paws, and it became a feathered wolf, running and flying at once.
The hawk-wolf dipped and rose through the stars. It circled Foxglove, the wind from its passing brushed across her skin, and she felt a thrill of delight. It began to change again, drawing its wings in and ducking its head, glowing white and wreathed in gold and silver sparks. In a final flash it split itself into twin forms, smaller but brighter still. The hawk-wolves flew about Foxglove in turn, circling ever closer, their spirit-wings buffeting her. Foxglove looked down at her spirit hands and saw tiny sparks leaping off her skin.
She felt no fear, even as one bird-wolf perched on her shoulder and the other settled on her feet. She felt nothing but an all-encompassing sense of peace and security. And love; such simple, undemanding love.
The light from the hawk-wolves spread out across her spirit body, until she was glowing all over. And then it was if Kit and Littlefire were both with her – in thought and body – as if their souls had somehow crawled under her skin. She looked down at her bright spirit hands and watched as they began to lose their shape, as she began to transform into something else.
Visions assailed her: scents and sounds and sights she could never remember experiencing. She felt herself tumbling inward, her light merging with theirs, the three of them becoming like a burning sun.
It was too much. Foxglove winced at the overload of sensations, and immediately the Waykeeper’s shared presence withdrew. Foxglove snapped back to the awareness of her own body. Her heart was racing as if she had being running for her life, and her skin tingled as if every nerve ending was on fire. It felt like the worst nightmare and the most exquisite joining all all once. She didn’t know whether she longed to run from the memory, or dive back into the spirit pool and experience it all again.
Littlefire and Kit sat serenely across from her, waiting for her regain the power of speech.
“Too loud?” Kit asked.
“Whew…” Foxglove shook her head. “And I thought…”
“…That two bodies could never share one soul? That in choosing to become more in ourselves, we were choosing to become less in each other?”
“It was hard: the tearing away,” Littlefire admitted. “Harder than the coming together. But all growth hurts, one way or another.”
“Even the gentlest sprouting is a painful transformation,” Kit confirmed. “But together we are strong enough to endure it.”
“My wild Wolfrider self has gone back into the world outside,” Littlefire began.
“And my Glider self remains in the sky,” Kit finished.
**But we can never truly be parted,** they sent together. **There is nowhere he can go that she cannot follow… nothing she can do that he cannot feel.**
Foxglove felt the truth of their sending, and the distinctive choral voice. She felt tears begin to well in her eyes. **Then… nothing has been lost?** she sent back, almost unconciously, and she meant more than just their bond.
“No loss,” Littlefire insisted.
“Some growing pains,” Kit admitted, “but no regrets.”
“I was afraid…” she couldn’t finish the thought, couldn’t put her selfish fear into words.
“We know,” Kit said.
“But not anymore, we hope?” Littlefire asked.
Foxglove shook her head. She still couldn’t quite believe it, but she was coming to accept it. They weren’t going to leave each other… nor were they going to leave her. She’d never have to ‘take what she could get’ as Rue had so coldly put it. She could have it all. They both loved her equally, just as she loved them.
She felt herself blush as she remembered that feeling of complete peace she had felt in their spirit embrace. “You… you give so much of yourselves…” she marvelled.
“Only to those dearest to us,” Littlefire said.
“Yes, you,” Kit read Foxglove’s astounded expression. “Is it still so hard, even now, to see what you mean to us?”
“Yes,” Foxglove admitted. “But… I’m trying. I want to do better.”
Littlefire tsked, even as Kit twitched in irritation. “Don’t think of ‘better’ or ‘worse.’” Kit said. “Just be you. That’s all we can ask of anyone.”
“And when you’re ready to share more,” Littlefire said, “you need only ask.”
“You’d share more?” Foxglove blurted out. Kit giggled, while Littlefire simply turned the most fascinating shade of scarlet.
“A lot more,” he said sheepishly. “I told you – there are many kinds of joining…”
Foxglove’s eyes grew even wider as she contemplated the possibilities, a joining of soul far more intimate and intoxicating than the mere joining of bodies. She swallowed tightly. Even as the sharp pang of desire deep in her belly urged her on, she knew she wasn’t ready for such closeness.
“When you’re ready,” Littlefire repeated.
“Only if you wish it,” Kit added.
She nodded. “I’ll remember that.” Then a thought struck her: a juvenile thought, admittedly; but the more she got to know the Waykeeper, the more she became aware of her own youth.
“Wait. If you…” she glanced at Littlefire, “always know… and feel…” she looked at Kit. “Does that mean… whenever we join…?”
Now Kit made no attempt to hold back her laughter, while Littlefire looked as abashed as a child.
“Well…” he murmured. “It’s not like I’m inside her skin feeling everything… but, um…” He twisted his forelock absently. “I know she enjoys it. A lot. And… um, I-I enjoy… her… enjoyment?” he finished, his voice rising to an uncomfortable pitch. From his anxious expression, it was clear he feared Foxglove would think him the sort of lust-mad stripling who spied on others for his own amusement. He had never looked more utterly adorable.
“I can… shut it out if you’d rather you were alone together” he added quickly.
“No!” Foxglove said quickly. “I don’t want – I mean, I’m glad you’re there.”
Littlefire relaxed visibly. “Oh. Good.”
“I… I still don’t understand why you don’t like it,” Foxglove added, trying for levity. “Joining skins, I mean. It feel so good, I thought everyone would like it.”
Littlefire reached towards her, eyes intent. She thought he meant to caress her chin, but instead he grasped a lock of her hair and pulled. Foxglove let out a little yelp of discomfort.
“I still don’t understand why you don’t like that!” Littlefire shot back wryly.
Foxglove looked at Kit. Kit shrugged. “It does feel sort of nice,” she agreed, giving her own forelock a reflexive tug.
Elfquest copyright 2016 Warp Graphics, Inc. Elfquest, its logos, characters, situations, all related indicia, and their distinctive likenesses are trademarks of Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Some dialogue taken from Elfquest comics. All such dialogue copyright 2016 Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Alternaverse characters and insanity copyright 2016 Jane Senese and Erin Roberts.