"Some such," said Rynna.

"Well, for that I am glad," replied Tip. "Would that I could find relatives, too, what with my own dam and sire now being gone, just as are yours, my dammia. Kith and kin and kind and friends: all are important, or so I have come to believe."

And on they went as the sun rose and morning light filled the sky.

As the Vanadurin made camp in the small grassy dell, and Beau went off with Farly, Rynna led Tipperton up the western slope of the hollow and to the edge of the woods, where a modest shelter woven of saplings stood hidden back among the trees.

Rynna, smiling a secretive smile, stepped inside, Tipper-ton following. As Tip set his bow against one wall and removed his quiver and lute and pack and set them to the earthen floor beside it, he looked about at the sparse furnishings-a straw-filled pallet, some cooking gear, a few supplies, and such. Quietly, Rynna set her own bow and quiver aside and then stepped silently across sunlight shining through the doorway and moved into the dimness beyond, where sat a large open oblong woven basket of withes. And she looked down and her face softened and she whispered. "Come, Tipperton, I want you to see."

"What is it?" asked Tip. Suddenly a fleeting memory flitted across his mind but vanished ere he could capture it, leaving behind the uncanny sensation that this had happened before, yet just where…

Rynna smiled and gestured at the basket. "Come and see."

Tip stepped to the damman, and there asleep in a rumple of blanket -it was a wee Warrow child, nought but a tot "This is Lark."

– who opened her eyes, her glorious green eyes "Lark?"

– and smiled, oh how she smiled "Your dammsel, Tipperton. Your daughter."

"My… my…"

"Your dammsel," repeated Rynna, taking her up, "or rather I should say ours."

"Ours?" breathed Tipperton, wide-eyed, and he tentatively reached out to touch the wee youngling, but drew back and looked at Rynna.

"Well, go on," said Rynna, laughing. "It isn't as if she'll break."

Tip stroked the back of a finger across the child's cheek, the tot looking askance at him in response. "She's so soft."

"Here," said Rynna, holding out the moppet.

"Oh my, but I don't-"

"Nonsense."

Tentatively, Tipperton took the child, and he grinned down at her. Lark looked up at him and frowned, as though to ask just who this stranger was, but then smiled as if finding him worthy of her aspect.

And Tip looked up at Rynna. "She's grinning."

"Oh, Tipperton, she is grinning because her da is here."

Upon hearing a familiar word-"Da. Da. Da-da. Da-da-da-da…" chirped Lark, the words finally running together into a trill.

Tipperton looked up at Rynna in wonderment, and Rynna said, "She's been saying that for a week now, almost as if she knew you were coming."

"She can talk?"

"She's beginning to say words, love."

"Lark, my Lark," breathed Tipperton. Then he looked at Rynna. "When?"

"She was born a year ago tomorrow, and I could not have asked for a finer birthday gift than her sire coming home."

"Home?" Tip looked about at the bower, then smiled back down at the wee child.

"Anywhere we three are, Tipperton," replied Rynna.

Lark squealed and reached up a tiny hand, striving to clutch Tip's nose, and then she struggled and fussed, and Tip shifted her to a more upright position against his chest.

Lark then seized a button on Tip's jacket, thoroughly fascinated by its roundness.

Tip grinned, but then frowned. "Say, love, she hasn't been here all alone, has she?"

"Of course not, Tip," said Rynna, glancing 'round, "though just where Prym or Melli have gotten to… Well, no doubt one or the other is-"

A shadow darkened the doorway, and an eld damman bearing an armful of clean white cloths hurried into the bower. Her face gladdened upon seeing Rynna returned, and she one-arm embraced the young damman, saying, "Rynna, Rynna, you are back and safe. And oh my, but these Big Men on horses, well, did they ever give me a start, coming into the glade as they did. But I saw the Fox Riders were with them and Nix, too, and so I ran down to greet him, this armful of nappies and all." She turned to Tipperton. "He's my bucco, you know. -Nix I mean."

Rynna grinned. "Aunt Melli, this is my buccaran, Tipperton."

"Lark's da? Him that went off to foreign lands? Oh, how wonderful." Melli stepped forward and would have embraced Tip, but for the tot in his arms, and so she settled for a kiss on his cheek.

"Now you two rest, for Nix told me of the Gargon and all-as if I didn't see that horrible thing's head bobbing about on a pike-and I'll make a bit of breakfast." She turned to Tip. "Will hot tea and a rasher or two along with some eggs do? -And a crust of bread, of course."

"Oh, Melli, the crust alone would do," said Tip, "but tea and eggs and a couple of rashers, I cannot think of aught better."

Lark held her arms out to be taken by Melli and gurgled her approval as well.

As darkness fell, Beau arose from his pallet in Farly's hut and stepped out into the woods to relieve himself. As he came back, he could see movement across the glade. His eyes flew wide, and he rubbed them in disbelief, for the far end of the canted field was now covered entirely with mounds, each some eight or ten feet high and twice as wide at the base, each hillock veiled with a strawlike yellowish grass, or what seemed to be grass… and they were moving, these mounds, moving westerly, small creatures and Fox Riders faring alongside, heading in the direction where stood the aggregate of Stones, and farther off the eaves of the forest and the open wold beyond.

With his heart thudding, Beau watched in wonder and recalled when last he'd seen mounds like these: it was when he and Tip and Loric and Phais had ridden north through the Blackwood nearly two years ago. I told Tip then I saw one of them move, and now here they march across Black-wood like an army off to battle. Beau wondered whether he should go waken Tip… or Rynna… or Nix or Farly, but in the end decided not. Long he watched as the Living Mounds crossed the distant sward, and when the last of the massive column passed in among the trees to disappear from view, Beau went back into the hut and lay down on his pallet.

Sleep was a long time coming.

In the middle of the night with moonlight glowing down through the doorway, as Tip and Rynna slept soundly, Lark, using the edge of her withy-woven bassinet, pulled up and stood and jiggled. Just outside, a tall creature- seeming nought but entangled twigs and tendrils and greenery-turned and stooped and entered the bower, and paused to look down on the two lovers dreaming in one another's arms, and then it took up the restless wee youngling and crooned it to sleep as well.

And Tynvyr passed by the bower woven of saplings and paused to listen to Prym's singing, the voice of the Vred Tre rustling like leaves in the wind.