She stored the information away carefully for a time when
she could make use of it.
Garth moved down to help the Elven Hunters, who were
beginning to lash together the logs for the raft. Gavilan was
speaking in low tones with Ellenroh, and there was a restless
anger reflected in his eyes. Wren watched him carefully for a
moment, measuring what she saw now against what she had seen
before, the hard-edged tension and the careless disregard, two
images in sharp contrast. She found Gavilan intriguing, a com
plex mix of possibilities and enticements. She liked him; she
wanted him close. But there was something hidden in him that
bothered her, something she had yet to define.
“Just a few more minutes,” the Owl advised, passing by her
like a shadow and fading back into the mist.
She started to climb to her feet, and something small and
quick darted from the undergrowth and threw itself on her. She
tumbled back, flailing desperately, then realized in shock that
the thing clinging to her was Faun. She laughed in spite of her-
self and hugged the Tree Squeak close.
“Faun,” she cooed, nuzzling the odd little creature. “I thought
something terrible had happened to you. But you’re all right,
aren’t you? Yes, little one, you’re just fine.”
She was aware of Ellenroh and Gavilan looking over, puz-
zlement registered on their faces, and she quickly climbed to
her feet again, waving to them reassuringly, smiling in spite of
herself.
“Hrrwwwll. Have you forgotten your promise?”
She turned abruptly to find Stresa staring up at her from the
edge of the gloom, quills all on end.
She knelt hurriedly. “So you are all right as well, Mr. Splin-
terscat. I was worried for you both. I couldn’t come out to see
if you were safe, but I hoped you were. Did you find each other
after I left?”
“Yes, Wren of the Elves,” the Splinterscat replied, his words
cool and measured. “Pffttt. The Squeak came scampering back
at dawn, fur all wild and ragged, chittering about you. It found
me down by the river where I was waiting. So, now-your
promise. You remember your promise, don’t you?”
Wren nodded solemnly. “I remember, Stresa. When I left
the city, I was to take you with me to the Westland. I will keep
that promise. Did you worry I would not?”
“Hssst, pfftt!” The Splinterscat flattened its quills. “I hoped
you were someone whose word meant something. Not like-”
He cut himself short.
“Grandmother,” Wren called out to the queen, and Ellenroh
moved over to join her, curly hair blowing across her face like
a veil. “Grandmother, these are my friends, Stresa and Faun.
They helped Garth and me find our way to the city.”
“Then they are friends of mine as well,” Ellenroh declared.
“Lady,” Stresa replied stiffly, not altogether charmed, it
seemed.
“What’s this?” Gavilan came up next to them, amusement
dancing in his eyes. “A Scat? I thought they were all gone.”
“There are a few of us sssttt no thanks to you,” Stresa
announced coldly.
“Bold fellow, aren’t you?” Gavilan couldn’t quite conceal his
disapproval.
“Grandmother,” Wren said quickly, putting an end to the
exchange, “I promised Stresa I would take him with us when we
left the island. I must keep that promise. And Faun must come
as well.” She hugged the furry Tree Squeak, who hadn’t even
looked up yet from her shoulder, still burrowed down against
her, clinging like a second skin.
Ellenroh looked doubtful, as if taking the creatures along
presented some difficulty that Wren did not understand. “I don’t
know,” she answered quietly. The wind whistled past her, gath-
ering force in the gloom. She gazed off at the Elven Hunters, at
work now on loading backpacks and supplies onto the raft, then
said, “But if you gave your promise . .
“Aunt ElI!” Gavilan snapped angrily.
The queen’s gaze was icy as it fixed on him. “Keep silent,
Gavilan.”
“But you know the rules . .
“Keep silent!”
The anger in Gavilan’s face was palpable. He avoided look-
ing at either her or Wren, shifting his gaze instead to Stresa.
“This is a mistake. You should know best, Scat. Remember who