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an unambiguous statement from a Goddess? Rustle contemplated the possible meanings of that statement. Did it mean she would get pregnant next month—which started tonight at midnight? Or her own personal month, of which her moon flow had just ceased? Was she storing the rapist's sperm? That wine was rumored to maintain them. Would she get pregnant by one of them as soon as she ovulated?
    Tears stung the corners of her eyes, anger, even fear, now that it was all over. She choked back a sob. I don't want a baby. I really don't want one of those hideous . . . stupid, ordinary, criminal . . . persons' baby.
    "Damn. " She forced herself to put the emotions aside.  Think. Don't sit here and cry like some City Girl without options or any control over your life.
    Were there any options?
    She wiped away a tear that had somehow escaped. Yes. She could see two. Magically ending a pregnancy was rare. Corrupting, somehow. She squirmed. Because it's not the baby's fault. But will nine months of the results of that rape dragging at my body be better or worse than a little corruption?
    There was really only one workable option, when you got right down to it, and it had to be done now.
    Rusty Junk had been brought back from the city a fter a longer stay at the palace, and had arrived just yesterday.
    "How about it?" Rustle asked her. "Shall I catch another horse?" But Junk reached out and grabbed the bit, practically bridling herself. They took it easy, arriving in Ash late in the afternoon.
    She tied the mare at Lady Giselle's gate, and loosened the girth.
    "Worried, are you?" Lady Gisele opened the door for her.
    "Yes. Your wine conserves life. Has it conserved . . . " she broke off, the old crone was nodding. "I had hoped, that when I had my Moon flow it would have washed it all out. Well. What if I have sex again, is there a chance that man would father my child, not one of those rapists?"
    Another nod. "You have a good logical mind, for such a young girl. Too young to be having a baby, but that is going to happen anyway. You can only influence who the father is." She sighed. "Among all the other things that wine does, it also selects for magical abilities. Of all those thousands of sperm that are near, whichever has the most magical genes will be the one to fertilize your egg, and your egg will contain the best of your own magical genes as well."
    The old woman sighed. "This is so wrong, and has come up so fast. There is one problem I think you should be aware of. You were raped and you fought. You were badly hurt. You killed. You may panic, the next time you have sex. It will stir up memories. You could easily kill the man."
    Rustle drew a breath in horror.
    "You must be very careful, if you wish to avoid a life long guilt," the old woman sighed. "I shouldn't meddle, little one, but . . . You couldn't kill the Auld Wulf."
    "Oh, yes," Rustle exhaled in relief. "I won't hurt him? You're sure? He . . . "
    "He's starting to stir, he's healed, he's strong."
    Rustle tightened the cinch, then decided against riding and walked up the alley. She led the mare off the usual path to the hot springs, angling southward to the other springs.
    She tied Junk to the big oak tree at the end of the ravine, and stripped the saddle off. The mare might as well be comfortable while waiting.
    The ravine was warm, the hot water from the springs running its length undiluted. The ravine widened into a little valley. Rows of vines, ancient wine grapes, ran up the northern slope to catch the sunlight, dormant in this season, but unfrozen. The little winery was built of warm reddish wooden planks and smelled fruity and delicious, leaving one with the feeling that perhaps one wasn't quite walking on the ground any more. Even her feet didn't seem t o be quite sure. She walked into his bedroom.
    "Good evening, Little Rustle. What brings you here on a winter's eve?" the Auld Wulf blinked sleepily.
    "I'm hunting for courage," she admitted. "But not that rare liquid