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satisfied when she found it free of knots. “Yes, child, eventually you’ll leave. You’ll have to for your own safety but, hopefully, that’s some time away, and we can enjoy the time in between.” She brushed the stray hairs from the table then passed Rankil the rush sweeper. “Clean it up for me. I’d be picking hair for days if you weren’t here.”
    “You’d have no hair to sweep if I weren’t here.” Rankil tossed the brittle, matted braid out the door.
    “I swear I never heard a full sentence out of you before today. You’re the sweet little smart mouth when you wish to be.” Terry went to the trunk and once again pulled out the piece of rich green fabric. “So, Rankil, you’re long overdue for some finery. Today, after we finish working in the garden, we’ll begin making you knee skirts and leggings. They’re the wear of Taelach youth and what you should have as well, but first things first. Come to the table. It’s time for the midday sup.” She brought out sweet jam and cheese to accompany the bread already on the table.
    “Taelach preserves are the sweetest I’ve ever tasted. Too sweet for me, but I wager you’ll like them.”
    She placed Rankil at the head of the small dining table, making her the recipient of a precious gift—a belly-filling meal served with a healthy side of attention. Terry cooed over Rankil for the remainder of the day, acknowledging her thoughts, cherishing her presence. They worked outside until the heat became unbearable then retreated to the shade of the porch, deep in conversation as they began assembling Rankil’s first new set of clothing. It felt strange to be wanted, like shedding a long-rotted skin. Rankil needn’t run anymore and slept safe in her own private loft among the fresh straw, tucked in a soft pallet made just for her. Tisph’s hands couldn’t reach her. Her father’s belt and fist were far away. Rankil was loved, safe, warm and looking forward to someday meeting her own. She’d finally reached a place above the fear and prejudice, a place for learning and exploration of her own identity. Rankil was home.

Chapter Three
     
    Opportunity is chance come knocking. Open the door.
    —Granny Terry
     
    “Damn!” Kaelan’s arrow had barely grazed her quarry’s front flank. The deer stumbled then darted away, leaving a droplet trail of blood to show its flight path. Muttering more curses, Kaelan snatched her reins and mounted her skittish nassie. Her adopted daughter Myrla jumped onto her own mount, kicking and whistling until the gentle beast began moving.
    “Don’t worry.” Myrla said as they tracked. “It can’t run far bleeding like that. You wait, it’ll be on the spit before we know it.”
    “I’m not concerned.” Kaelan shouldered her bow and clicked her tongue for their mounts to quicken their pace. “But you have a lot to learn about hunting, daughter. An animal runs all the farther when wounded. It’s running for its life—and toward the foothills. We’ll follow from a distance until it gets tired then I want you to take it down.”
    “Me?” Myrla’s plaits bounced as she rode up beside Kaelan. “You’re letting me?”
    “You’ll be fourteen this fall. That’s old enough to hunt. Besides, you’ve become a fair shot with a bow. Time you were put to the test.”
    Myrla pulled a little taller on her nassie. How proud she felt, all but fourteen and on her first hunt. Under Kaelan’s guidance she took the lead, tracking the deer to a nearby thicket. “Must have hurt it worse than we thought,” she whispered as they crept toward the thicket. Arrow in place, bow drawn, she pushed deeper, Kaelan holding back so she could act alone. The clan’s evening meal was up to her.
    Whisssph—thud. Her arrow landed true, straight in the heart. The deer fell where it had stood, quivering before growing still. Myrla cheered and danced in a circle. Kaelan joined the celebration for a moment then held up a hand for her to