themselves off and stood grinning at each other in the fading
light. “I’m getting better, aren’t I?” Wren asked, signing with
her hands as she spoke the words.
Garth replied soundlessly, his fingers moving rapidly in the
language he had taught her. “Better, but not yet good enough,”
she translated. Her smile broadened as she reached out to clasp
his arm. “Never good enough for you, I suspect. Otherwise,
you would be out of a job!”
She picked up the quarterstaff and made a mock feint that
caused the other to jump back in alarm. They fenced for a mo-
ment, then broke it off and started back toward the lakeshore.
There was a small clearing just beyond the cove, not more than
half an hour away, that offered an ideal campsite for the night.
Wren had noticed it during the hunt and made for it now.
“I’m tired and I ache and I have never felt better,” the girl
said cheerfully as they walked, enjoying the last of the day’s
sunlight on her back, breathing in the smells of the forest, feel-
ing alive and at peace. She sang a bit, humming some songs of
the Rovers and the free life, of the ways that were and the ways
that would be. Garth trailed along, a silent shadow at her back.
They found the campsite, built a fire, prepared and ate their
dinner, and began trading drinks from a large leather aleskin.
The night was warm and comforting, and Wren Ohmsford’s
thoughts wandered contentedly. They had another five days al-
lotted to them before they were expected back. She enjoyed her
outings with Garth; they were exciting and challenging. The big
Rover was the best of teachers-one who let his students learn
from experience. No one knew more than he did about tracking,
concealment, snares, traps, and tricks of all sorts in the fine art
of staying alive. He had been her mentor from the first. She had
never questioned why he chose her; she had simply felt grateful
that he had.
She listened momentarily to the sounds of the forest, trying
to visualize out of habit what she heard moving in the dark. It
was a strenuous, demanding life she led, but she could no longer
imagine leading any other. She had been born a Rover girl and
lived with them for all but the very early years of her youth when
she had resided in the Southland hamlet of Shady Vale with her
cousins, the Ohmsfords. She had been back in the Westfand for
years now, traveling with Garth and the others, the ones who
had claimed her after her parents died, taught her their ways,
and showed her their life. All of the Westland belonged to the
Rovers, from the Kershalt to the Irrybis, from the Valley of
Rhenn to the Blue Divide. Once, it had belonged to the Elves
as well. But the Elves were all gone now, disappeared. They
had passed back into legend, the Rovers said. They had lost
interest in the world of mortal beings and gone back into faerie.
Some disputed it. Some said that the Elves were still there,
hidden. She didn’t know about the truth of that. She only knew
that what they had abandoned was a wilderness paradise.
Garth passed her the aleskin and she drank deeply, then
handed it back again. She was growing sleepy. Normally, she
drank little. But she was feeling especially proud of herself to-
night. It wasn’t often that she got the best of Garth.
She studied him momentarily, thinking of how much he had
come to mean to her. Her time in Shady Vale seemed long ago
and far away, although she remembered it well enough. And the
Ohmsfords, especially Par and Coil-she still thought about
them. They had been her only family once. But it felt as if all
that might have happened in another life. Garth was her family
now, her father, mother, and brother all rolled into one, the only
real family she knew anymore. She was tied to him in ways she
had never been tied to anyone else. She loved him fiercely.
Nevertheless, she admitted, she sometimes felt detached from