The hillside was high, rising above the other slopes. Oceanus hung like a great, cloudy eye in the heavens before them. Far below, beyond the trees, Aeriel spotted the suzerain's villa, its white stone gleaming in the pale earthshine.

Something stirred near the mouth of the cave. Erin started and shrank back against Aeriel.

Rosh-ka's hand went to his sash, though he wore no weapon. But Aeriel recognized the snowy form. The long neck lifted, untucking the bill from beneath one wing. She flexed her wings.

"Heron," Aeriel cried.

"At last," the heron sighed, rising. "I expected you hours since. Here is your staff."

Aeriel spotted a dark length of wood beneath the white bird's feet. She snatched it up with an astonished cry - so swiftly the other danced, getting out of the way.

"Where... ?" Aeriel began.

The heron shrugged. "Your suzerain very carelessly left it unguarded. I thought you might have need of it."

Aeriel ran her fingers over the dark, knotted wood. "How did you know where to wait for us?"

The white bird fluffed her feathers, preened. "I am a messenger," she said, "and can follow any path that is. I can also find the beginning and end of any path. This is the nearest exit to the ways beneath the suzerain's villa. I knew you must emerge here, if ever you emerged."

Aeriel saw Erin's expression sour. "How delightful to know you were so sure of our welfare." The heron turned and looked at her. "Well, you might have come in search of us," cried Erin. "You might..."

"Underground?" the white bird exclaimed. "I am a heron, not a bat."

The dark girl began to say something more, but Roshka moved between them.

"Look."

Aeriel followed the line of his arm. There was a commotion on the grounds of the villa below.

Aeriel saw guardsmen, figures running, and in the stillness of the night air, caught faintly shouts and cries. The heron tested her wings.

"They seem to have discovered your escape," she said. "We had best be gone. He will be sending his huntsmen, I imagine, soon."

Aeriel heard a dull booming. It drowned out the last of the white bird's words. She heard Roshka catch in his breath.

"The gong," he whispered. "The gong of Pirs."

"What is that?"

The prince did not turn. His voice was tight. "In bygone times it was used to summon the people to arms, or the suzerain home from the hunt if some pressing message had arrived.

But my uncle has for it another use - it is all he uses it for now."

Aeriel glanced at him.

"To summon the darkangel."

The heron launched into the air. "Come," she said. "We must away. I can show you paths hidden from huntsmen, but not from icari, I fear."

Erin was tugging at Aeriel's arm. "Come," she bade her. "Aeriel, come."

Aeriel stood only a moment more, watching the soldiers swarming the grounds below.

They seemed so distant now, so small. She turned with the others then as they followed the heron down the opposite hillside.

They ran through starlight, through earthshine, through shadows of the trees. The white bird glided ahead of them, low over the hills. Sometimes, far in the distance, Aeriel thought she saw the lampwing fluttering.

The heron guided them through hollows between hills, behind rises and along riverbeds where no water flowed. But always behind, they heard followers - sometimes nearer, sometimes less near: horse hooves, the riders' shouts, horns calling one another through the trees.

Once they crouched in a dry ravine while a dozen riders thundered past. Once, far behind them, they saw two parties meet, one led by the suzerain upon his tall black steed. The heron was just leading them over a saddle between two hills.

"There is no other path here," she said. "Hist, quickly - do not stand against the sky."

Then turning, looking back, Aeriel heard one of the riders cry out, saw him point toward them. The suzerain gave a shout, spurring his mount. The horsemen surged forward.

Aeriel bolted with the others. She could hear the horses plunging through the thick undergrowth after them. Her breath grew very short.

But before long, they seemed to have lost their pursuers. Aeriel thought she heard wauling, strange yelping and belling in the distance behind, but that noise, too, faded hastily away. She and the others ran on then, in silence, for as long as they could. Then they slept.

Erin kept watch, then Roshka. When Aeriel awoke a few hours later and they pressed on, she realized groggily that they had let her sleep. They stumbled on. The night rolled by.

Sometimes the noise of huntsmen sounded again in the distance behind. They ran, and slept only when they could run no more.

They had no food or water now, but Roshka showed them certain stones in the dry riverbeds that were not stones at all, but plants with smooth, waxy rinds that could be breached with rocks. They lived on those and what fruit they found.

Abruptly, the land over which they traveled began to grow barren. Roshka explained that they had left the suzerain's private estates. "This is what the rest of Pirs looks like," the crown prince muttered, "since my uncle came to power." After that, they heard no further noise of pursuit, and Aeriel prayed they had lost the huntsmen for good.

Nightshade was three-quarters past when she glimpsed behind them, low in the sky, some of the stars winking out. Little patches vanished, reappeared: a blot of darkness moving against the dark.

Aeriel's blood stopped in her veins. She remembered another time she had seen a darkangel. Standing upon the high steeps of Terrain, she had watched him, far in the distance over the white plain of Avaric, blotting the stars as he moved across them, coming to bear her away.

Aeriel turned to Roshka, the breath catching in her throat. She reached to take his arm, struggled to speak - but then Erin took hold of Aeriel's arm suddenly, murmured, "Look."

She said it so softly, with such absence of fear that Aeriel was startled, did not at first understand. Then she saw that the dark girl was gazing ahead, not behind. Before them, the heron was alighting.

They had just crested a hill. A broad, steep-sided valley opened before them, winding away into the distance ahead. Filling all the valley from side to side, flowing away from them, lay a river of moving stars.

A star floated past her, drifting down toward its fellows. They were lampwings, Aeriel realized, a few fluttering from the hills here and there to join the flood. There were thousands of them, a thousand thousand, more - all flying, all alight in a vast airborne stream.

Far in the distance, a great blaze was burning. Aeriel could not see it, only its glare against the sky. It was toward this that the river of winged things was streaming, following the valley's curves.

"The lightbearers," cried Roshka, halting. "They have returned. There have been none in Pirs since the seraph came."

His words jarred Aeriel. She too had halted. She started now, remembering.

"So many," Erin was murmuring. "So bright."

Aeriel cut her off. "The darkangel...," she started, but even as she spoke, its cry tore the air. Erin and Roshka wheeled. The heron took wing, sailing down into the stream of lampwings. She floated among them, white in their glow.

"Quickly," Aeriel cried. "We must do the same."

She shoved Erin ahead of her down the hillside, heard Roshka following. Lampwings surrounded them as they reached the valley floor. Aeriel looked back, but the winged stars obscured her view. She could not see where the darkangel was.

She heard it scream suddenly, nearly upon them. Erin cried out, flung herself flat to the ground. Aeriel felt the wind of the darkangel's wings. The lampwings wheeled and darted, then flowed on, unperturbed. She had seen it, swooping high overhead, its face turned, one arm shielding its eyes from the lampwings' light.

"It didn't...," Erin began, picking herself up. The fall had knocked the breath from her. "It went by."

Aeriel helped her. "It didn't see us," she said. "Darkangels have keen eyes for the dark, but they cannot bear the light." She stopped and pulled Roshka to his feet. "But come, hurry," she said. "We are safe only so long as we stay with the stream."

They hurried on.

"It did not see us," the prince murmured, "but somehow it must have known we are nearabouts."

"Does it hear us?" whispered Erin.

Aeriel shook her head. "Perhaps. Smell us, perhaps. Or senses us by some means we cannot know."

They plodded on, for hours - Aeriel could not keep track. They dared not sleep. The heron skimmed ghostlike ahead of them. The lightbear-ers floated and darted all around.

The darkangel's scream severed the stillness occasionally - before them, behind them, savage and shrill.

Aeriel passed her hand over her eyes. She had been half dozing as she trudged. "Look,"

she whispered, shaking Erin, "ahead of us. What is it?"

The others roused themselves. Far ahead, the hills parted. Upon a steep, jutting rise in the valley stood a great tower, its crown all ablaze with firelight. It was that blaze which threw the glow upon the sky toward which the lampwings headed.

"The Torch," whispered Roshka. "The Torch is lit."

As they drew near, Aeriel saw the tower was made of black stone. Its blaze would have rivaled Solstar. All the valley was awash with its light. They came to the outcropping and climbed the brief, steep slope to the tower's base.

All round the tower the lampwings swirled, circling one another in triplets and pairs. The heron alighted a little way off. Aeriel and her companions sank down, exhausted, at the tower's foot.

"But she said," Roshka was murmuring, "the peasant woman said it was not to be until the rightful heir..." He passed his hand over his eyes suddenly, as if realizing how weary he was.

They watched the dancing of the lampwings. They had not heard the vampyre's scream since coming into the tower's light. Aeriel guessed it could not bear such brightness, and sighed, relieved they had lost it. Glancing at Erin and Roshka, she saw they had dozed against the stone.

Aeriel took off her traveling cloak and laid it over Erin, who shivered. She watched the dance, hardly aware how many hours passed. The lampwings began to drift apart. One by one, they ceased to spiral about the tower, fluttered aimlessly - and much more slowly, as though exhausted. The light in their wings began to dim.

Aeriel cried out then, for the lampwings were falling, floating slowly to the ground. A few settled on her shoulders, many others at her feet. The heron watched her from its perch upon the rocks. Aeriel knelt, peering closer at the lampwings.

They crept about the ground now, like worms, for they had no legs. Their wings bobbed uselessly. Those that had landed on Aeriel's shoulders cast themselves off again, fluttering to earth.

Each dug a depression in the dirt, and there it lay, struggling slowly until it had laid a pearl the size of a chickseed on the ground. And then each gradually ceased to move. The light in their wings went out.

Aeriel felt upon her shoulder a stirring, saw a lampwing there, moving feebly. She made to brush it off so that it might flutter to the ground as the others had done, but it clung to her, without legs, by some means she could not fathom.

She took it gently into her hands. Its body was yielding, like the supplest glove. Its wings were velvety and slightly warm, rubbing off a silver dust upon her fingers. The lampwing undulated, turning over and over in her upturned hands. She saw a pearl upon her palm.

"Are you my dustshrimp?" she asked it softly.

The tiny creature was hardly moving. Its wings darkened, began to cool. Aeriel cupped her hands, breathing upon it, tried to warm it, but its body stiffened and at last grew still.

One brittle wing broke off in her hand. Aeriel's vision blurred. She had to blink.

She set the little thing upon the ground- The pearl upon her palm glistened, while all around her the lightbearers drifted to earth. She put the pearl away in her breast. Her head was singing. Her limbs trembled from lack of sleep.

Roshka and Erin were awake. She saw that presently, turning back to the tower. They blinked and stared, as if puzzled they had slept. Erin threw off Aeriel's traveling cloak, stood, stretching like a cat. Roshka yawned. Aeriel turned away from the tower, and started violently.

"I have a shadow," she whispered, staring. It lay like a black swatch upon the ground. "I have a shadow in this light." She turned back to Erin and to Roshka. The prince was stretching now. "I have a shadow," she cried.

Erin looked up, began to speak. Then she gasped suddenly. She cried out, gazing past Aeriel, down the slope. Her one hand clutched at Roshka's arm; the other pointed.

"Aeriel, Aeriel," she cried.

Aeriel turned, looked, and felt her heart constrict to a pinprick within her breast. A stone obstructed her throat. Blood cold as wellwater trickled through her. She gazed, not even breathing. A figure stood in the darkness of her shadow at the bottom of the slope.

She heard Roshka behind her cry out and scramble to his feet. She threw out a hand to keep him back. He and Erin were both behind her, higher on the slope. Their shadows did not fall as far. The tower, looming above them, cast no shadow on the rise. The lampwings all had fallen now.

Aeriel's shadow stretched before her like a road. The figure at the end of it stepped forward, slowly, keeping to her shade. It wore rags of what had once been finery. Its skin was grey as dead-wood, colorless. It held one arm across its eyes, hiding them from the light.

With the other hand, it groped ahead of it, seeming to sense Aeriel's shadow by feel.

Whenever its fingers neared the light, they drew back. The black wings draping its shoulders stirred. It took another step.

Roshka threw himself flat to the ground, pulling Erin with him. She saw their shadows shrink. "Aeriel," he cried, "get back; get down - it follows your shade."

"I know that, Roshka." The steadiness of her own voice surprised her.

"It's the seraph," Erin screamed. "We must fly!"

"Where to?" asked Aeriel. She did not turn; she could not take her eyes from the creature groping toward her. "A quarter of the night remains. It is three dozen hours till Solstarrise. We stand in the brightest light there is, and still it comes."

She felt very cold, and strangely immobile -  too exhausted to flee another step. Her limbs felt as though they were turning to dust.

"It has found me by my shadow, and there is nowhere left to run."

"No," whispered Roshka. "Come away."

"You two must flee," said Aeriel. "It has not come for you."

She saw Erin's shadow on the ground lengthen suddenly, heard the dark girl scrambling up.

"I will not let it take you," she panted. "Let it have me instead of you."

Her shadow darted, caught something from the ground. Aeriel heard a stone whisde past - she saw it gash the darkangel's arm. The creature did not flinch, did not react in any way. Its grey-white flesh refused to bleed.

"Erin, no!" Aeriel heard Roshka cry.

She could not take her eyes from the grey thing before her. The shade of Roshka's hand caught Erin's wrist. Their shadows struggled. The dark girl seemed to be trying to rush forward.

The darkangel came on. Oddly familiar: it was so like that other darkangel she had known, who had carried her away from the steeps of Terrain. That icarus had been beautiful - strangely vibrant, otherworldly fair. Erin was screaming now, Roshka shouting above her screams, "Don't look at its eyes - Aeriel! They say it can kill you with its eyes...."

One arm was still flung across its face. Aeriel saw it grimacing, as though even the little light that reached it in her shade was painful to it. The other arm groped for her, its black wings poised.

She remembered vividly that other darkangel, spreading his wings to her upon the steeps of Terrain to reveal a face so beautiful she had lost all nerve, all will, and would have fallen before him, begging only to serve him or die.

The seraph of Pirs stood within reach of her now, still in shadow. She clutched her walking stick, her heart sick with pounding, and wondered if the seraph's stare would kill her before she could land a blow.

The creature took its arm from its eyes. For a moment, the lids remained closed, and Aeriel saw with a start that its face was grey, more skull than flesh, the muscle all fallen away under transparent skin.

Slowly, the icarus opened its eyes: colorless, strangely flattened, like a fish's, or buttons of glass Only the pupils were black, deep, seemed to go down forever into darkness. For an instant, she almost felt she could grow lost in them, floating in their emptiness until she, too, became nothing.

But the moment passed. After, Aeriel found herself strangely unmoved. No tug of power now, no surge of weakness in her limbs. Not even fear moved in her anymore, only revulsion. For unlike that young, unfinished icarus that she had saved in Avaric, this was a true darkangel - an empty thing standing before her now. It had no soul.

The creature fixed its gaze on her. Aeriel jerked her staff up, holding it heel first like a throwing stick. The creature's expression changed suddenly, from snarl to frown, then blank surprise. It grimaced then, staring at her. Its lips parted. It opened its mouth - and then it screamed.

The darkangel threw its arms up in front of its face, ducking, as though the sight of her eyes was too hideous to bear. It shrieked and wheeled away from her, choking, as if the air about her were somehow poison to it.

Aeriel stood frozen, her walking stick half raised, motionless in surprise. The witch's son stumbled away from her, down her shadow's path, its black wings beating erratically.

When it reached the end of her shade, it leapt from the slope, pinions thrashing.

They caught their rhythm now at last, carrying it aloft. It sped away above the hills, its screams filling the night. At last they faded. The air settled again, dark, fluid and cool.

The valley grew once more still.

When Aeriel found that she could move again, she put down her arm. It seemed to dangle from her shoulder. Her walking stick hung loosely in her hand. The prince came up behind her.

"You said you were no sorceress."

She shook her head, still gazing after the icarus, though he was long gone now. "I am not."

"You banished the seraph," cried Roshka. "What did you do?"

Again she shook her head. "Nothing. I looked at it."

She turned away and went past him, past Erin. The dark girl gazed after her. Aeriel sank down beside the tower, pulled on her traveling cloak, for she was cold, very cold.

"I have no shadow," she whispered suddenly. She searched the ground for it, but could find it nowhere. Her head throbbed dully. She could not understand. "I have no shadow anymore."

Erin had gotten to her feet. "What is this place?" she demanded. "This tower?"

She spoke to Aeriel, but it was Roshka who answered. "We call it the Torch, and it marks the road into Terrain. Once it blazed, they say, with a light like Solstar. But it grew dim over the years, because people no longer traveled the roads on pilgrimage." He broke off a moment, gazed upward. "Now it is lit again."

A thought stirred in Aeriel. "When I came across the Sea-of-Dust," she said, "I landed at a tower like this. Its keeper told me there were many such, all connected somehow, so that what fed one flame fed all." She remembered the apri-cok seed he had cast into the light, making it blaze.

Roshka was speaking. "But the seeing woman said - said all Pirs was in darkness, because of my uncle and his seraph. The light would never return, she said, till the right heir returned - I thought she meant returned to power. I am the right heir, for my sister is dead...."

He looked at Aeriel all at once, very hard, his green eyes wide and searching. She gazed at him, and he snatched his gaze back suddenly. She knew what had come into his mind just then, as surely as if she had thought it herself.

The silence around them was cool and still. Then the night wind rose, stirring the air, sweeping the dead lampwings away. They lifted and swirled like transparent leaves. Only the pearls remained.

Weariness crept over Aeriel. She leaned against the tower. "I must sleep."

She closed her eyes, lay down, rested her forehead against one arm. She heard the prince exclaiming suddenly. "Pearls! Erin, look - " as though he had only just then noticed them.

Erin came, kneeling by Aeriel. The dark girl touched her and said something, but Aeriel was already drifting into sleep.

When she awoke, it was to see Roshka gathering pearls. He had taken the turban from his head and tied the corners up. His hair was short and fair. Erin was helping him.

"Why are you doing that?" Aeriel asked, sitting up.

"These are seed pearls," Roshka said.

"They are lampwings' eggs."

The prince shook his head. "The lightbearers spring from the Sea-of-Dust. There are no young within these pearls, only mineral salt___"

"Corundum," Aeriel said.

"We must gather them," said Roshka, "and take them to the high families. Where these pearls are sown, the land will grow fertile again."

Erin left off gathering and brought Aeriel something to eat. Aeriel sat munching the dry, bitter lichen without interest, when abruptly she stopped, shielding her eyes. Grey figures had appeared upon the valleyside - not human: they were four-footed.

"My gargoyles," she cried.

Greyling and Catwing bounded toward her down the slope, their strangely jointed limbs flexing and buckling, their skeletal bodies moving with an eerie grace. The other figure held off, mincing skittishly, a nest of horns upon its head.

"Mooncalf," Aeriel called to it. "Mooncalf."

Then Greyling and Catwing were upon her, panting and rolling and nipping each other.

Aeriel knelt, ran her hands along their bony hides. They yipped and whined. Dry blood was on the grey-ling's lip, on one of the catwing's paws. Aeriel halted suddenly.

"What have you done?" she whispered, taking the greyling's head into her hands, and then the catwing's paw. "What have you done?"

The blood was old and not their own.

"They have brought us a mount," cried Roshka. He whistled.

Aeriel looked up and saw the mooncalf descending the slope, herding before it a tall black horse, saddled and bridled, but riderless. It whinnied at the prince's cry.

"Nightwalker!" The mooncalf skittered away, but the suzerain's mount came on, nuzzled the prince. He stroked the long crest of its neck. "Nightwalker. My father's steed."

"Mooncalf," said Aeriel again, softly.

Erin stroked the other two, picked the blood from their fur. The mooncalf came nearer, approaching at last. It touched its grey nose to Aeriel. Roshka took the bit and bridle from the horse's mouth, the saddle from its back.

"Nightwalker will carry us when we go," he said. "The high families lie north of us now, and a little east."

Aeriel did not reply. She let the hours of the fortnight pass in silence. She tuned her bandolyn, thinking of the maidens' rime, and wondered how far it was to Orm. The heron disappeared into her staff, saying she was weary and would rest.

Roshka gathered his pearls to fill Nightwalker's saddlebags. Erin foraged for stonelike waterworts. Aeriel collected seeds and lichens for their food, while the black horse and the mooncalf grazed the barren valleyside. Disappearing from time to time, the other gargoyles seemed to do their own hunting.

The fortnight passed. At last dawn broke in a white glare down the valley's length. The light of the tower grew dimmer in comparison. Roshka saddled and bridled Nightwalker.

"Why do you stare at me?" Aeriel asked him at last. She sat, turned a little away from him, sipping from a stonewort. "You have been gazing at me ever since we came to this place."

The prince quickly cast down his eyes. He tightened Nightwalker's girth. "I did not mean to stare."

"You think I am she, don't you?" said Aeriel. "Because the Torch is lit. Because I have green eyes." She looked at him. "The suzerain thought I resembled your mother."

The young man gave up his pretense of adjusting the girth. "Your hair," he said softly,

"and your skin are very like mine, though greatly more pale. Your voice is like mine, your build." He came around the black horse then. "Even your name - "

"My name is Aeriel."

"Some slaver's name for you," Roshka exclaimed. "Your own name is Erryl, my sister's name."

"Bomba gave me my name," Aeriel answered, more forcefully than she had meant. "My old nurse in the syndic's house. I loved her well." She fell silent a moment. "Your sister is dead."

The prince knelt down across from her. "Eryka's maid said she saw my sister carried away___"

"By a white bird?" cried Aeriel. "I come from Terrain. I was born there - I must have been. I have no memory of any kith. I have no kith, and my name is Aeriel."

Roshka turned away. "When we go before the high families," he said, "we will let their seeing women decide."

Aeriel fingered her staff moodily. "When first I started upon this trek, many daymonths past," she told him, "I came following a rime:

"But first there must assemble

those the icari would claim, A bride in the temple

must enter the flame,

Steeds found for the secondborn beyond

the dust deepsea, And new arrows reckoned, a wand

given wings -  .

So that when a princess royal

shall have tasted of the tree,

Then far from Estemesse 's

city, these things:

A gathering of gargoyles,

a feasting on the stone, The witch of Westemesse's

hag overthrown. "

Aeriel sighed. "I had almost forgotten it." She glanced at Roshka. "Does it mean anything to you?"

He shook his head. Her eyes went to Erin. The dark girl had drawn close, listening. She, too, shook her head. Aeriel looked down, resigning herself.

"Then I must ask the sibyl in Orm what it means." She looked up, finding their eyes again. "Go to the high families and wait for me."

Erin started across from her. "No," she whispered. "I'll not be parted from you."

"Sister," cried Roshka. "Pirs needs its suzerain."

"You are its suzerain," said Aeriel. Then softer, "I am not your sister."

Erin took hold of her sleeve. "Do not leave me," she said.

Aeriel turned. "And you, Erin," she said. "Do you think me the princess of Pirs, as well?"

"I do not care," the dark girl cried. "You are Aeriel. Take me with you. I want to go with you wherever you go."

Aeriel touched her cheek. "Terrain is a country of slavers," she said. "I will not be safe there, nor would you. And the White Witch is hunting me. I know that now. Go with Roshka."

The dark girl drew back from her, let go her sleeve, but her eyes were fierce and her voice very still. "I will not go with him," she said. "I will follow you."

"You must not," Aeriel exclaimed. "How will I find you again if you are not with Roshka?"

"You promised to take me," said Erin, "across the Sea, to those isles where the dark people dwell."

"I shall, I shall," said Aeriel. "I will return for you."

"Don't leave me," Erin cried. Her cheeks were wet.

Aeriel bent and kissed her eyes. "I will return for you." The dark girl clung to her and would not let go. "Roshka," she gasped, struggling to pull Erin's arms from her, "don't let her follow me."

The prince's arms closed around the dark girl, holding her. Erin fought him. He gazed at Aeriel.

"You are my sister," Roshka said. "I know you are. I cannot hold you, too, but you must promise you will come back."

"I will not be long," said Aeriel, and hoped that were the truth.

"No, don't leave me," Erin gasped. "Aeriel, don't go."

The dark girl strained in the prince's arms. Aeriel drew back from her. She felt a tight band winding about her throat. Her vision blurred and ran.

"I cannot take you with me," she whispered. "I dare not."

She turned then, wrenching herself away. She whistled her gargoyles and they sprang up, came loping to her. Aeriel shouldered her pack and picked up her staff. She raised her hood against the white sun's glare.

Behind her, she heard Erin and Roshka both cry out suddenly. Turning, she saw them standing startled, amazed. They stared after her, into the sun, but they were gazing past her, through her, in such astonishment Aeriel was puzzled.

It was as if they could not see her, as if she had vanished suddenly from their sight. Erin gave a low moan, slipped through Roshka's arms to the ground. She covered her face with her hands.

"I will return to you," Aeriel cried, walking backward, away from them, and Erin screamed, weeping into her hands. Roshka knelt, trembling violently, held her against him. With his other hand, he caught Nightwalker's bridle. The horse was sidling; its eyes rolled.

Aeriel turned blindly and followed the gargoyles. Catwing and Greyling walked beside her on either hand, the mooncalf ranging on ahead. Aeriel fared shadowless between Solstar's and the tower's light, down the road toward Terrain.

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