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Gabrielle’s story—how she was lost as a baby, and how she refound her mother’s people—and it is a tale not to be missed. Unless you know it already?”
    “No, I’d like to hear,” Derkh said. “I accept your offer, with thanks.”
    The story was told by an auburn-haired woman of commanding presence—”Gabrielle’s great-aunt,” Danaïs whispered—whose clear voice held the entire gathering spellbound. She told of a healer named Wyndra, who set off adventuring with her Human husband and new baby girl and was never heard from again. But Wyndra’s child survived to have adventures of her own, and they had led her, through perilous andunlikely paths, back to her beginnings. When Gabrielle was finally called forward, laughing and crying at once, to be embraced by her great-aunt, the Elves burst into song. “It is the naming song we sing for infants,” Danaïs told him afterward, his own eyes shiny with tears. “We sing it for her again, for this day she is adopted back among us. Come up now and wish her well.”
    And Derkh did, grateful for the chance to shake off his usual constraint and hug her tight. He had never known a goodbye so painful, unspoken though it was. But Gabrielle had been rejoined with her people. It was time—past time—for Derkh to rejoin his.
    “A T LAST A day that is ours to spend as we please. I am at your service.” Féolan executed a perfect court bow and spoke now in Elvish: “Is there some wish in your heart you would follow?”
    Gabrielle realized there was. She was shy to mention it—it seemed a foolish whim, set against the drama of war and death and love and healing they had been living—but it had whispered to her since the day she had first seen the relationship of Elves to animals.
    “I don’t know if...” She stopped, daunted by her own doubt: perhaps she would not be capable. Human and Elvish traits mixed in unpredictable ways, Orianne had said. She had been blessed with the gift of healing. There was no reason to expect there would be more.
    “Tell me.”
    “Oh, Féolan, do you think you could teach me to talk to Cloud? Talk
with
her, I mean, like you do?”
    He was laughing at her. “A day with her lover, and she wishes for the company of a horse!”
    “You’re right,” she apologized, flustered. “I don’t know what I—”
    “Nay, my love,” he waved away her embarrassment. “I am only teasing. I’m sure you can do it, and I would love to help you.”
    Soon Gabrielle found herself in the stables, standing in front of Cloud and feeling foolish.
    “What do I say? Should it be in Elvish?”
    “The words are not important,” said Féolan, “though she will learn to recognize many words, in time. It is her mind, or maybe more truly her heart, you must speak to with your own. You need to send her the image, or feeling, of what you are saying.”
    Gabrielle stroked Cloud’s nose, gathering her thoughts. What did she want to tell her horse? Cloud nuzzled at her, as if to say, Well, aren’t you going to groom me or feed me or ride me? Gabrielle stepped close to Cloud’s ear and whispered, “Cloud, thank you for our years together.” Cloud’s ear twitched at the tickly sensation, and that was all. Gabrielle gave a humiliated little laugh. “Féolan, I haven’t the slightest idea how to do this.”
    “I think you do!” he insisted. “Gabrielle, forget the words. Maybe they get in your way. When you use your gift of healing, your mind touches your patient’s body in some way, does it not?”
    “Yes,” said Gabrielle. Suddenly it was obvious. “Yes,” she said, excited now.
    “This must be similar. But instead of the body, you are touching another responsive, aware mind. That night we found each other after the raid, could you sense the comfort I tried to give you?”
    “Yes.”
    “Not just from knowing how I felt about you, but directly from my heart to yours?”
    “Yes, I felt it. From Danaïs once too.” She noted Féolan’s quizzical