As he opened the barn door, the familiar scent of cows and horses filled his nose and sent a brief pang to his heart. Tinde had always loved the barn, and even after all these years it felt wrong for her not to be beside him.

Kirrin glanced briefly toward the north where a tiny smudge of gray marred the otherwise gleaming sky, sniffed for rain, and then ducked into the dark barn. A soft nicker from Flight greeted him, and he reached out in the dimness to pat her. His hand did not even pause as he heard a slight rustle behind him. If it was a mouse, one of the cats would soon get it, and he had chores to do. If it was a cat, all was well, and he still had chores to do.

The farmer did pause, however, as a small gasp caught his ear a few minutes later. Pitchfork in hand, he turned toward the doorway. Silhouetted by blazing daylight was a trembling figure.

“What, may I ask, are ye doin in my barn?” Kirrin asked sternly. “I hope ye aren’t plannin on theft.” He raised the pitchfork a little. Thieves were rare this close to the northern border but not unheard of.

“I asked ye a question,” he growled, moving closer and squinting to see the figure more clearly.

“Why…ye’re only a child!” he exclaimed as he discerned the outline of a slim girl.

Finally, the stranger began to speak.

“Please forgive me, sir! I’ve stolen nothing but a night’s shelter from the cold! I know it was wrong, but I was so weary…”

The girl’s odd accent and manner convinced Kirrin that she was no runaway from the village escaping her parents for the night. She was foreign in a way that he couldn’t place despite his travels as a boy. He took another step toward her, and at his movement she seemed to shake herself out of her thought.

“I’ve no coin, sir, but I can work to repay you. Just tell me what you need done. I’m no thief, sir.” She paused uncertainly at his continued silence, and as he took yet another step toward her, lowering his weapon, she flinched backward into the blazing sunlight. Kirrin gasped.

Of all the things he had expected this morning, he’d never expected this. She wasn’t as young as she’d first appeared. Her face was too fine-boned to be a child’s and her figure too mature. Hair the color of flame itself fell halfway to her waist, a mass of unfettered gold, copper, and bronze.

Kirrin raised his pitchfork menacingly.

“What do ye want, Fey?” he spat.

The girl’s eyes widened.

“Nuh…nothing sir! I swear it! I’m passing through, and I was too tired to run any farther! The warmth of your barn was too tempting, sir, and I had nowhere else to turn for shelter!”

“I thought Talasia took care o’ her own,” Kirrin commented, a mocking eyebrow arched.

It was a mistake. The girl’s shoulders straightened, her chin lifted, and she met his gaze with eyes hard as slate.

“She does. That is why I am here, being threatened with a pitchfork, instead of part of that cloud of smoke.” She twitched her head northward toward what Kirrin now realized was not a cloud at all.

“No one lives i’ th’ Northern Forest.”

“No human, no,” she retorted, eyes flashing, “but after the war, it became our last refuge.”

Kirrin reluctantly lowered his weapon slightly.

“Yer kind bring nothin but trouble,” he said, “but my mat always said th’ only thing more dangerous than a live fey was a dead one. Get off my property, Elf-kin, and I’ll not threaten ye more.” He stilled and held the pitchfork steady, face hard as granite, waiting.

She stared at him for a moment, and then her face softened. Her eyes lowered to rest unfocused on the tines of the pitchfork, and Kirrin thought he saw them begin to glisten with unshed tears as she turned and started walking.

He watched her, noting even more than the inhuman grace of her movement the rents and stains on her thin dress and the cuts on her pale, bare feet. Then she reached up and ran the fingers of her left hand through her hair, and Kirrin was reminded of Tinde so clearly that he couldn’t let her take another step.

“Wait!”

She turned uncertainly, and he realized with a jolt that his first impression was not, after all, far from the truth. She was quite young, probably barely more than a child. He wracked his brain for something to say.

“There’s still th’ matter o’ yer debt…”

Afraid, she didn’t move, and Kirrin’s heart softened further. He lowered the pitchfork to the ground.

“Cook breakfast while I finish th’ mornin chores, and eat w’ me. After ye’ve filled yer belly, I’ll give ye somethin t’ carry with ye on th’ way t’ where’er ye’re goin.”

She nodded slowly and turned toward the house, her hair blazing as it swung over her back.

Kirrin shook his head at his own foolhardiness as he turned back to the barn.

“Ye’ll regret this, ye idiot,” he berated himself while Flight looked on tolerantly. “She in’t anythin like yer Tinde. She in’t e’en human! Ye’ve invited a cursed fey into yer home, and nothin is sure as disaster’ll follow.”

The girl paused in the doorway to the house, head cocked and eyes closed.

“I swear in Talasia’s name no harm will come to you or yours.”

Despite himself, Kirrin found his mouth watering at the savory smells wafting from the kitchen as he washed at the pump. As he straightened slowly and swept his graying brown hair out of his eyes, he blinked to find he had company once more.

“Breakfast is ready,” she nearly whispered, not quite meeting his eyes, and she handed him a towel.

“Thank ye,” Kirrin responded absently and stared after her a moment as she turned and walked away before he, too, made his way inside.

In the kitchen, the table was set in an unfamiliar style, the glass of fresh water to the left of the plate with a napkin draped over it, and the silverware laid horizontally above it. It was subtly unsettling to see those everyday objects in an alien pattern, but Kirrin did his best to shrug the feeling off.

Steam rose from the food on the plates: omelets, fresh sausages, and a bowl of some dark jelly-like substance. There was a basket of fresh muffins, too, although Kirrin could not tell what kind.

The girl stood motionless as he sat down and placed his napkin on his lap. He looked up at her where she stood on the opposite side of the table and raised his eyebrows.

“Aren’t ye goin t’ join me?”

Without a word she sat down and busily began cutting her omelette into tiny pieces.

“Are you alone here?” she asked, trying to fill the sharp silence.

“Ye spent the night in my barn,” Kirrin retorted. “What do ye think?”

“I saw an empty stall…the space for a wagon…”

“So ye were spyin after all,” he pounced. “I knew ye were up t’ no good.”

“Of course. I came here just to count the livestock on the nearest farm. It matters not that I have no one left to whom I can report such knowledge.”

She attacked her omelette again, hoping to eat at least a little before he asked more questions.

The motion of her hands stalled as she realized he was staring, rapt.

“Interestin ring.”

His eyes clung like spider web to the bright silver and mother-of-pearl ring she wore on her right hand.

Her slim fingers clenched.

“Mother o’ pearl’s also called Talasia’s Stone, in’t it?” His deep brown eyes rose to search her bright blue ones. “I thought th’ Fey din’t wear it…out o’ respect.”

She laid down her fork and cast one regretful look at her food before settling back in her chair. It was plain she would not be able to sate her hunger until the farmer’s curiosity was sated.

“Most do not,” she admitted.

“But ye do.”

“Yes,” she sighed, trying to find the best way to ease him toward the answer he sought. He wouldn’t be happy when he knew who she really was, but hopefully she could soften the way for him. “Eat while the food is still warm. I may as well tell you my tale from the beginning.”

Kirrin glanced down at his plate. He’d forgotten about the food. His stomach chastised him, growling rudely as he began to eat. He chewed the unusually pungent-tasting omelet and swallowed.

“Go on.”

“After the war, the few Fey left were scattered among the most isolate and inhospitable corners of the continent. There was great debate over where we would go. We would surely disappear one by one scattered as we were, yet there was no inhabitable place left where we would not be hunted out.

“There were rumors, however, whispered at night from one hastily-built shelter to the next. Perhaps they came from the south, where our great library once stood. Perhaps from the west, where the port of Dahles was once the busiest trade center on the continent. In any case, the word was the same: The Faerie had retired to the Border Woods, what you refer to as the Great Northern Forest.”

“Th’ elves are dead,” Kirrin stated flatly.

The girl smiled a little and glanced at his almost empty plate.

“As the Fey are dead?” One thin eyebrow arched delicately.

“Well, no ghost cooks a farmer’s breakfast,” Kirrin conceded, “e’en if it does taste unnaturally good.” One corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he speared another piece of sausage with his fork.

“The sausage would taste even better, sir, if you dipped it in the plum sauce,” she interrupted, lips curled in a small smile.

Knowing at last what the stuff in the bowl was, Kirrin did as directed and found to his immense surprise that the two flavors complemented each other admirably.

“Downright unnatural.” He shook his head then stared the girl straight in the eye and brandished his fork at her.

“Almost as unnatural as bein called ‘sir’ at my own table. That’s got t’ stop right now. My name is Kirrin.”

Her smile broadened and reached her eyes.

“Please call me Lara.”

“Well then, Lara, why don’t ye eat some o’ yer own breakfast while ye go on w’ yer story.

“So th’ Fey and Faerie reunited?”

Lara chewed a bit of omelette covered in plum sauce and swallowed. Her smile had fled.

“No.”

She took a dainty sip of water.

“It may be as you said, and the elves are all dead now, though I do not believe it. I doubt Talasia would still hear our prayers if we carried blood in our veins of those who destroyed the Faerie forever. All I know for certain is that when the Fey, having no place else to go, gathered in the Border Woods finally, it seemed to be empty. By Talasia’s grace we were able to carve out villages in the wilderness where she would protect us from the dangerous beasts of the wood.”

“Not from everythin, though,” Kirrin sympathized.

A sad smile tugged at Lara’s mouth even as her eyes glazed with tears.

“Talasia commands the hearts of animals, and speaks to the hearts of elves and fey, but she has no dominion over Humankind.”

“Humans attacked ye?” Kirrin choked on his sausage. “In the Northern Forest?”

Lara looked at him and nodded once.

“They were human,” she confirmed, “although I can tell you nothing more about them than that…and that they swept down from beyond the northern border.”

Kirrin’s brow creased.

“And what lies beyond th’ northern border?” he asked.

Lara gave a tiny, self-mocking laugh.

“Not even the Fey know that. We have never gone there, nor did we ever think there was anything there but ice and the sea.”

She stared unseeing out through the window as she broke a muffin apart in her hands. Kirrin was fairly certain she didn’t taste the little bits she put in her mouth now and then. Her words troubled him. The north had been peaceful and practically unchanging since the Great War, and in most ways even before that. Now there was an unknown agent at work. Unknowns worried Kirrin. When Lara spoke again, it cut through the tense silence growing in his mind.

“They swept down from the north in a great fury.”

Kirrin started. The fey girl was still staring out the window, her eyes obviously focused inward, on another place and time. Her voice was low but steady-the voice of one who narrates another’s story, not her own.

“Their mounts were white as starlight, but they wore hooded cloaks black as the void between the stars. They bore torches, and yelled in a foreign tongue when they reached the village edge.

“It was night, and nearly everyone was at home in their beds. The riders had little difficulty blockading the cottage doors and riding down the few who ran.

“My mother and sister were out in the garden by the side of our cottage. My sister was only fourteen. The men caught them, beat them, and…and worse. Then they locked them inside the house.

“By that point half the village was already aflame. As soon as the northerners had a family contained, they lit the thatch and laughed as my people burned to death. My mother and sister were some of the last to go, and they could hear the others screaming….”

His appetite gone, Kirrin watched as a single tear coursed its way down her marble cheek.

After a moment or two Lara’s gaze dropped to her hands. She twisted her napkin between her fingers compulsively and her jaw clenched. Then she noticed what she was doing. Her fragile hands clutched in fists about the fabric, and her eyes shut so tightly her brow furrowed. Ever so slowly her hands relaxed their stranglehold, her jaw loosened, and her brow cleared. When she opened her eyes again, they were calm. Their blue depths reminded Kirrin of a deep blue lake within which some great beast had stirred and nearly surfaced, but was quiescent again for the moment, the lake surface a sheet of mirrored glass. Lara’s eyes were likewise unreadable, and no less cold and foreboding as they again met his.

“And now we return to your original question. The reason I wear this ring is the same as the reason I was not in the village proper that night. I was tending our altar to Talasia, in a grove some few hundred yards distant.”

“Ye’re not just Fey then, but a witch as well.” Try as he might, Kirrin could not keep the disgust out of his voice. Those of the Fey called to serve Talasia directly were despised above all others. Their magic was blamed for all the worst atrocities in the Great War.

“Aren’t ye a little young t’ be spellin people?”

He could tell he had hit her hard, because she stilled even further if that were possible.

“I may be young,” she replied with glacial chill, “but perhaps it is time for you to have a history lesson.”

“Teach then, witch, by all means.”

They glared at each other over the remains of breakfast for one endless second. Then Lara smiled sadly. Nonplused, Kirrin sat back in his chair.

“I begin to see why our peoples have been silent toward each other for so long,” she said softly. “Not half an hour ago we were almost friends, and here we are back to calling names.”

Chagrined, Kirrin felt the color rise in his cheeks as he lowered his eyes.

“You gave me your name a while ago,” she continued, drawing his attention back to her, “and I thank you for it. Let us discuss this in peace, Kirrin, and with luck I shall be able to leave your farm as happy as I found it.”

“Was I foolish t’ be givin ye my name?" Kirrin's brow furrowed. "‘Tis said that spells are woven on names. My grandpat told a tale about when his grandpat was little. He said a priest o’ Talasia drove half th’ town mad just by callin out their names.”

Lara shook her head sadly. “Even had I the power, I would not do such a thing. You gave me your name as a gift.”

“If ye had th’ power?” Kirrin echoed. “Ye’re a priestess o’ Talasia, aren’t ye?”

“Yes, but…as you know, we fey are the offspring of an ancient union between elves and humans. Magic descends to us through the Faerie blood we inherited millennia ago, but that blood has weakened over the centuries. Magic such as you speak of would have been rare even during the Great War. Priests of that power, even then, were born perhaps once in a century. Since then, the Fey have lost the last of their magic. The tie to Faerie is simply too long ago.”

“So ye…?”

“Could not do so much as light a flame by magic, or make you see yellow where red is.”

“Then how did ye end up priestess?”

Lara shrugged her narrow shoulders.

“The elders said I could hear Talasia’s voice more clearly than any other in the village. While it is true I have some talent with growing things, I never knew what they were talking about. I never heard any voice speaking to me…until last night.”

“Ye heard yer goddess speakin t’ ye? Out loud?” Kirrin asked, amazed.

“Yes. I heard a single word clear as if she’d spoken from right beside me.”

“What did she say?”

“Run.”

Kirrin mulled over the fey girl’s words as he cleaned up the kitchen. Without even thinking about it he slipped into the old rhythm he’d had with his wife, splitting the work evenly without having to speak a word. His thoughts turned inward, he blindly washed plates, bowls, and glasses. He rinsed a glass and held it out without turning his head, and dropped it into Tinde’s hand…

Lara only just managed to catch it before it shattered on the flagstones. With lightning reflexes she dove to the floor and crashed into Kirrin’s legs, the glass cradled in her arms.

“What?!” Kirrin barely managed to keep from falling himself. “What are ye tryin t’…”

He looked down at the heap of girl on the floor and began to laugh.

“I’m sorry, Lara. For a second I thought ye were Tinde…” His mirth fell away into an empty silence.

Lara clambered to her feet, still holding the glass.

“Kirrin…I….” She looked into his eyes earnestly. “You love her very much.”

She touched his arm with the gentleness of birds’ wings.

Kirrin looked at her steadily and considered this alien creature who already seemed to know so much about him…and seemed to care.

“Where will ye go?” he asked softly.

She looked off into the distance again.

“South, I suppose….”

“And then?”

“I’ll either find something to hold me or the sea. I’ve always wanted to see the sea.”

The silence grew between them, and Kirrin heard himself say something into it, although he hadn’t intended to.

“I did love her.”

Lara turned startled eyes to him.

“My wife, Tinde…” He shrugged. “She would ne’er ha’ let me send ye off like ye are. That dress won’t keep ye warm, and the roads will cut yer feet t’ shreds.”

He looked her up and down critically.

“Come w’ me. My Tinde was small, like ye. Some o’ her things should fit ye.”

Following Kirrin up a set of narrow stairs, Lara tried to protest.

“I cannot take your wife’s things! I’ve no right!”

Kirrin turned at the top of the stairs.

“They’re doin no good molderin away up here. No one else’ll wear them, certainly not me nor my son.”

Convinced of his sincerity, Lara nodded acceptance.

“This, then, is the second gift you’ve given me,” she said, holding out her hand, “your trust and your memories.”

Kirrin ignored her hand and walked to the far wall of the attic bedroom.

“Nice thing about memories,” he said, “is that ye can’t really give them away. Ye can just share.”

He threw open the lid to a large trunk.

“And anyway,” he continued, “I’ve got an idea.”

“Yes?”

Lara took a dark blue dress from his hands and held it up to herself. It was just a little too broad in the shoulders, but that could be easily fixed.

“I couldn’t help but notice ye’ve no idea how to live like a human.”

Lara’s reply was muffled under wool as he threw a heavy cloak at her.

“E’en if ye looked human, all I’d have t’ do was look at th’ way ye set a table. Ye won’t get far if people can tell ye’re different.”

Finally emerging from beneath the cloak, Lara glared at him through her disarranged hair.

“I hardly think anyone will need to look at the tableware, Kirrin. Even a child would know what I am from three hundred paces away. Red hair isn’t exactly a subtle hint.”

“Ye could dye it,” Kirrin said from deep within the trunk.

Lara had the urge to dump the clothes unceremoniously on the floor, but fought it off. She laid them on the foot of the bed instead.

“No. I can’t.” She pushed her hair out of her eyes. “It doesn’t work. Dye washes right out of fey hair.”

“Well then I suppose ye’ll have to avoid getting yer hair wet, won’t ye?”

Kirrin emerged from the trunk holding stockings and shoes and laughed at the expression on Lara’s face.

“I wasn’t tryin to insult ye,” he smiled. “I was just worried about ye. There’re some who won’t wait t’ ask questions o’ ye.” The merry gleam in his eye dimmed.

“Ye’re no safer than yer great-grandpats after the Great War. If ye want t’ move south, ye’ll have t’ do it as a human. And that means yer habits need t’ change as well as yer clothes and hair.”

“What are you suggesting?” Lara asked tiredly, sinking down on the edge of the bed.

“Ye can leave today, if ye like, w’ as much food and clothing as ye can manage…”

“Or?”

“Or ye can stay here ‘til my son comes home. I’ll teach ye how t’ act human and ye can help me w’ th’ chores. Then ye can leave here w’ all the clothes and food ye can carry and a chance o’ makin it t’ th’ sea alive. And I can sleep knowin I did my best by ye and Tinde’d be proud.”

Lara stared pensively at the floor.

“Perhaps Talasia guided me here after all…” she murmured, not noticing the color drain from Kirrin’s face at her words. “I accept.”

She raised her head with a hopeful smile that faltered when she saw his color.

“Are you all right?” she asked, concerned, and got up to help him.

“I’m fine,” Kirrin lied. “Why don’t ye try that on while I go bring in some dye from th’ barn?”

He fled down the stairs.

Lara stared after him a moment and then slipped her own torn dress off and the blue one on. She laced it up and decided that she wouldn’t have to take in the shoulders after all. The fit was close enough. The skirt was a bit longer than she thought it should be, and a lot longer than she was used to. She’d have to hem it up an inch or two just to get it off the floor. How could anyone wear anything so confining? Running in this dress would be nearly impossible. The heavy fabric bound her ribs tight.

“Not too bad,” Kirrin said from the stairwell. “’Tis a pretty color on ye.”

When he stepped into the room, Lara saw he held an old towel, a bottle of thick, black liquid, and a brush.

“I hate t’ do this t’ ye,” he apologized and turned her to face away from him.

“There are worse things,” Lara said softly, and stood still as he brushed the thick dye through her hair.

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