Fires of Aggar by Chris Anne Wolfe

challenged, elbows on knees as she leant forward.
    “I slipped stepping out of the baths.”
    Gwyn found them both laughing.
    “I’m a rickety old bucket of bones! What else is there to say?” And then the humor died to be replaced with a deep warmth. “It’s good to see you again, Gwyn’l.”
    Their hands grasped together tightly, and Gwyn nodded. “It’s been a long winter without you, N’Sormee.”
    “Aye,” Jes brushed the tousled red hair from her daughter’s eyes, “it has been so very long. How is Bryana? And your sister, Kima?”
    “M’Sormee sends her love. And Kimarie too, I imagine, although I didn’t have time to see her before I left.” Awkwardly, Gwyn looked down as her hand withdrew from her mother’s.
    “You hesitate?” Jes’ murmur was one of quiet encouragement.
    Gwyn forced a smile, blinking aside an unexpected tear. “You’ve been missed.”
    Jes nodded solemnly. “You all were sorely missed as well. I’m too old to be wintering away. You do know it was not my intention?”
    Gwyn nodded. “It was necessary. We knew that. But the Changlings’ Wars are over at last!”
    “For now.”
    “That’s what truly matters.”
    “No,” Jes corrected quietly. “What matters is that you are all still there to come home to.”
    “We are.”
    “Are you hungry?” Jes asked suddenly. She waved towards the table and for the first time Gwyn noticed the steaming platters of food. “They brought word when you arrived. I figured you’d be hungry — and cold! The mead’s been warmed. Which reminds me, two souls seem to be suspiciously absent?”
    Gwyn grinned, helping herself to cup and plate. “Ty’s stomach couldn’t wait. They’re off in the kitchens somewhere.”
    “I thought she’d outgrow that monstrous appetite of hers?”
    Gwyn laughed, “If anything, she’s eating twice what she did as an adolescent.”
    “Has she filled out any since I saw her last?”
    “Not a bit. She’s as lean and leathery as ever. But she seems blessed with a boundless energy, so she’s still fending for herself mostly, even on our longer trips.”
    “And Ril? Is she still her sedate, observant self?”
    “The very same. You’d think she was a matronly twenty-four seasons instead of four.”
    “Whereas Ty you’d swear was a pup?”
    “You’d certainly never think of them as sibs. Although,” Gwyn’s smile softened with a fondness, “to be fair, Ril has a wonderful sense of humor and Ty is actually very responsible when needed. They truly both believe the three of us can handle anything that comes along. To Ril that means she can settle back and relax, be content to watch things unfolding. Ty takes it as permission to play while she has the chance.”
    Jes thoughtfully eyed the round berry in her hand. “Where does that leave you?”
    “In the middle?” With a pause, Gwyn considered the question more closely. She shrugged suddenly and sat back in her chair. “Ril’s calm is — well, there are times I’d swear she was a Blue Sight projecting that infectious quietness. She helps to center me when I grow too gloomy or anxious. Then there’s Ty playing the clown, keeping me laughing even in a drenched campsite. Both help to keep my head clear enough to keep the three of us out of trouble.”
    “So you don’t regret the seasons of growing and training? The responsibilities I imposed by imprinting them to you?”
    Gwyn shook her head adamantly. “They’re family. We make a good pack. I’d not trade them for a dozen eitteh, Jes.”
    “Well, Khirlan probably has more experience with sandwolves than winged-cats anyway. It was once quite a traders’ city, being on that old route up from the Southern Continent.”
    “Hah!” A strange voice intruded with a mocking shout. “Do you seriously think that matters? I tell you! No one on this wooded continent has experience with sandwolves save those fortunate enough to be part of a pack!”
    They both looked around to find a spry, skinny