"This looks like an aggregate of Groaning Stones," said Tip.

Rynna nodded and peered into the vale, tears springing into her eyes. "Oh, Tip, so many Eio Wa Suk slain. What ever could have happened here?"

"I don't know," replied Tip, "but whatever it was, it was horribly ruinous."

Rynna sighed and tugged on the reins of her pony, the steed's head coming up from cropping grass. "Let us go away from this place, Tip. I will have one of the Fox Riders come and discover what happened here and when."

"Do only Fox Riders know how to speak with the Stones?"

"Aye, Tip. Except for other Eio Wa Suk, the Stones will listen to none but a Pysk."

And on toward the Blackwood rode the two, leaving the dell behind, their mission to the Baeron successful.

And so it was that Fox Riders and Warrows, Dylvana and Baeron, all sat watch on the eaves of the woods and escorted the few who would fare through the region safely past the Spawn.

On the ridge Beau glanced up at the waxing, gibbous moon and said, "Our relief should come soon."

Linnet nodded, but did not take her gaze from the wold below. "You were saying about stones and ponds…"

"Oh well, it's just this: events are like stones cast into water, some large, some small, some tiny. And the consequences of the events ripple outward, like waves on the water to mingle and mix with other waves, at times adding, at other times cancelling, and sometimes having no effect at all. But all the waves from all the events-from enormous to tiny-sooner or later cross one another, hence all things are connected."

Linnet glanced across at Beau, then returned her gaze to the wold below. "It's rather like my mum says."

"Your mum?"

"Aye, she speaks of the great web of life, and how if you pluck a strand here, it causes movement there, some strands more important than others, for if you pluck one of those, it causes the whole web to shake violently… and if you break a strand, a part of the web will collapse, and the more important the strand, the greater the ruin it causes. And so, like your stones and ripples, perhaps events are like plucking the strands, causing the web to shudder."

"Huah!" exclaimed Beau. "Stones in water or shaking the web-they aren't all that much different."

They sat without speaking for a while, and then Beau added, "Y' know, Linnet, I think Modru hopes to sit in the center of the web like some great bloated spider and control all."

"Modru on Mithgar," said Linnet, "but Gyphon over all."

The moon fell near to setting, and a cluster of shadow came scrambling up the slope.

"Our relief is here," said Beau, and moments later a Pysk and fox came unto their side.

Speaking the few words of Fey they had been taught by Rynna-[Ogru go. Many Spawn no move.]-Beau and Linnet left the Fox Rider and fox on ward, and made their way down the slant to where the ponies were tethered.

A month passed and then another, and during this time Rynna taught the Fey language to the Warrows. When all became well enough versed in the tongue of Pysks, the Fox Riders themselves began to add words to the Warrows' store.

Summer came and went, and as autumn drew nigh, Tip and Rynna and Melli with Lark, along with Beau and Linnet, rode north to Bircehyll to be with the Dylvana on Autumnday, for Tip and Beau would step out the Elven rite again.

They found Bircehyll sparsely inhabited, for most of the Dylvana were off to war-up in the Crestan Pass and within the peaks of the Grimwall nigh. Even among those yet in Darda Erynian-now with the harvest in-many had rejoined the others patrolling the woodland eaves. Hence there were but twenty or so Dylvana at the Elvenholt proper, along with two Lian: a golden-haired Dara named Riatha, and her golden-haired brother Talar, both with eyes so pale grey as to seem a shade of silver-Talar the Elf who had survived the destruction of Atala; yet none spoke of that calamity but celebrated Autumnday instead.

All throughout the day and eve Dylvana came to hold wee Lark, she hardly bigger than a Pysk, yet no Pysk was this but a Warrowchild dammsel instead, and totally beguiling.

After the feasting, singing in procession, Elves and War-rows wound through the woods to come to a bowl-shaped vale the Dylvana called Sur Kolare-Whisper Hollow-a grassy slope facing a high stone concave wall. It was a natural amphitheater, and all sat on the sward facing toward the wall, where the performers stood on a stagelike mound cupped by the stone. There was music and singing and sagas told and odes spoken, and Tip and Rynna marvelled at the wall and noted the shape of its curve, for even the slightest whisper could be heard… especially when the performer faced completely away and spoke to the stone itself. Here Tip played his silver-stringed lute and Rynna her pennywhistle, and turn by turn they sang, to the delight of all.

Finally that eve and again singing in procession, all wound through the woods and to the crest of the hill above the Elven dwellings, where the clusters of silver birch trees thereon were sparse and widely spaced. And the Dylvana asked the two Lian-Riatha and Talar, jaian and jarin, sister and brother-to take the place of honor and lead the Elven rite of Autumnday.

And there 'neath the swelling half-moon, singing, chanting, and pacing slowly pacing, they began a ritual timeless by mortal gauge. And enveloped by moonlight and melody and harmony and descant and counterpoint, with feet soft on the sward, the Elves trod solemnly, gravely… yet their hearts were full of joy.

Step… pause… shift… pause… turn… pause… step.

Slowly, slowly, move and pause. Voices rising. Voices falling. Gliding notes from the dawn of the world itself. Harmony. Euphony. Step… pause… step. Riatha turning. Talar turning, Dylvana turning in unison. Darai passing. Alori pausing. Counterpoint. Descant. Step… pause… step…

And down among the shifting Dylvana and treading at Talar's side, Tip and Beau were lost in the ritual, Tip singing, Beau pacing-step… pause… step-just as Rynna and Linnet and Melli paced alongside golden Riatha, she of the argent eyes.

And out on the fringes and among the silver birch stood a tall figure of leaves and twigs and vines, Lark asleep in its arms, Prym singing along with the rite, a rustle of leaves in the wind.

In early October two Pysks-Nia and Kell-came riding their foxes through the autumnal forest, leaves golden and red and russet and brown. The cool summer past, frost had come early, and chill was in the air. Into the vale they rode, into the ward camp, where they sought out and spoke with Tynvyr for a time. Finally, Tynvyr came to Rynna and Tip-perton and said, [The Stone you found in Darda Stor among the shattered Eio Wa Suk in the broken dell, it is ancient beyond counting, and sorely does it grieve from an ancient hurt as well.]

[What happened?] asked Tip, speaking Fey.

Tynvyr shook her head. [Though yet alive it is damaged and no longer knows what befell the aggregate, and only the sorrow remains.]

[Damaged?]

[Aye. As you have seen, it had nearly been uprooted.]

Rynna looked at Tipperton. [It was tilted.] She turned to Tynvyr. [Would that do it? Tilting I mean? Damage but not slay?]

Tynvyr's eyes filled with tears. [This I do know: when one falls or is moved a distance from its source, it no longer speaks.]

Rynna turned to Tip again. [When this war is done, Tipperton, we will ask the Baeron and others to set it upright again. Mayhap that will restore it to its source and repair the damage done.]

Tipperton sighed and nodded and gazed out on the autumn woods. [Can it speak with other Stones?]

[Nia and Kell say not. It was all they could do to reach past its grief and find the Stone within. Its voice is given to soft mourning, and not to speaking afar. Mayhap, afflicted as it is, it can no longer do such.]