Manadhlaer, trembling slightly, slipped on the falconer's glove before the bird had fairly settled on its perch. "Step up," she told the bird.

The falcon proudly stepped onto the glove and presented its leg so that the nis could detach a cage of cunningly wrought wire. Inside this tubular cage was a slip of paper, and upon that paper much depended.

It was the message Manadhlaer had been waiting for, from Istuileth, away in the frozen wastes. "Lirullin is safe," it said.

purling water

in a strange way

like going to sleep

letting go of

your life and your art.

How can it be

and how can it be

that the thing I cared for the most

betrays me?

All I wanted…

and then it interrupts me

with a shake of the head

I never understood

It smiles at me

like a friend