hlen said nothing as they returned to Farseeker's room. Danaan did not protest as his older brother helped him into bed, too weary to protest the solicitousness. Walking back down the stairs had taken all of his strength, and he was content to be little more than a limp body that Whlen manipulated.

"Flicker's left the Isle, hasn't he?"

Farseeker's eyes snapped open as he started at the question, even though he'd more than half-suspected that Whlen would say something. His brother was sitting on the edge of the bed. Farseeker answered warily, "What makes you think that?"

"He has, hasn't he?" Whlen's midnight gaze met his unwavering, refusing to be misled. Farseeker looked away. "How many days ago?"

"Three," Farseeker admitted reluctantly.

"And when did you know?"

"Before he left."

"And you didn't try to stop him, or tell someone who could stop him."

"No." Silence between them lingered, until Farseeker back up. "Whlen, I couldn't stop him. I'm the one that should be bearing all the blame for this summer, not sharing it with a boy who had just won shore-freedom. Therin's close to destroying the boy. Flicker was desperate to get away, and I didn't just not stop him. I helped him."

Whlen's eyes widened fractionally, then hardened. "Danaan, I know you feel sorry for the boy, but he's a coward." He leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. "You didn't see him when Therin dragged him out of his room where he'd hidden. You didn't watch him crying in front of the survivors trying to deny that he'd panicked. You know how dangerous it is, to be outside in the winter, even with a group. A boy all by himself -- the first danger he faces, he'll panic again, he'll do the wrong thing, and get himself killed."

Farseeker refused to look away. "And have you spoke with him since then, when he's by himself, and not under Therin's eye?" Whlen frowned. "Did you watch his face eight days ago, when he asked for a second chance, when he tried to stand up to Therin. Did you protest when Therin broke his arrows, broke his bow, and told him the only way he'd get to the shore was if the Lake dried up? Did you refuse to join the others, when they turned their backs and left Flicker standing there, alone?"

A muscle bunched in Whlen's jaw. "If he hadn't panicked, our mother and sister might still be alive."

"If he'd frozen in panic and died, they'd still be just as dead."

Whlen blinked. "I don't--"

Pushing himself up, Farseeker leaned forward, sending. **Whlen, please, set aside the grief and think about Flicker's actions. What did he do, in his panic, that was worse than what Vaerrain did the first time she saw humans, all those years ago? Was she named coward? A youngster, staggered by his mother's and sister's deaths, threatened by death with no warning, why are we calling it cowardice, and Vaerrain's reaction not? Because his panic had more immediate, more serious consequences? Are we to drive every youngster who makes a fatal mistake to desperation, turning our backs on them because they're not born perfect?**

**Of course not. But— **

**Did you ever send to Flicker and as for his version of what happened when Therin found him, after the attack?**

**No, again. Why--?**

Farseeker locked his gaze to Whlen's and sent what Flicker had reluctantly shared with him, the day after that last humiliation. The older elf jumped to his feet, going white, as the memories of pain and terror Flicker had felt as Therin clawed through his mind was shared with him. **Haliil's Heart—!—no wonder he so hysterical. But why didn't he go to the Elders. Tinar's his grand-sire--sure he wouldn't have been so angry at the boy as to not listen!**

Farseeker sighed, letting himself slide back down in the bed. **Who was thinking straight back then?** he asked sadly, closing his eyes. **And how easy to persuade a youngster that he's at fault for something -- if everyone you look up to and trust tells you one thing, how likely are you to keep asking someone else if people might be wrong?**

In the silence, Whlen returned to his seated position. **Is he all right?**

Farseeker replied reluctantly. **I—felt something happen today. He's hurt ... I made him promise to send to me if he was hurt beyond his ability to tend. I made sure he went out with a full pack of supplies, and he assured me in sending that Dlen had been satisfied with his skills in heal-crafting.**

**But he hasn't sent.**

**No.**

**Was he planning to go far?**

**No, he agreed to stay close.**

Silence in thoughts between them fell as Whlen closed his mind. Farseeker eased further under the covers, drowsiness clinging to him. After a while, Whlen stood up. Fingers caressed his cheek. Farseeker kept his eyes closed. "You won't tell?" he asked.

"For the moment," Whlen replied, after a pause. "I need to think."

licker woke up with a start as a pungent odor stung his nose. Burning! He started to sit up, then gasped and fell back as his left side screamed in protest. Panting, he stared straight ahead at the hearth with its brightly-burning wood and the blackened strips of meat smoking just above it. Dismayed, he realized that he'd fainted or fallen asleep. Easing up onto his elbow, the youth looked down the length of his body. At the sight of the uncovered, oozing wounds, he remembered what he had been planning, and realized afresh just how difficult—if not impossible—the job was going to be. Despair flickered again, but this time, he drove it off.

Closing his eyes, Flicker thought about what he had already accomplished, and what he needed yet to do. He'd have to leave sewing up his leg until morning, he decided. He was too tired to figure out how to do it now--it was only luck again that the burning meat had roused him. He needed to finish working on his injuries without trying to use the needles, eat some more, then bank the fire to make sure it wouldn't go out until late the next day, if it took him that long to wake up.

And, of course, move the burned meat off the fire so it would stop smoking.

The list of things to do firmly in his mind, the rockshaper pushed himself back to a seated position. Narrowing his eyes, he moved the meat off the fire by the simple method of lifting the rod from its holders with his magic, then shaping one end of the rod into the stones surrounding the fire. With as much care as he could, he bandaged his leg, struggling with right hand and left fore-arm to keep the bandages tight enough the stop the bleeding, yet not so tight that they would harm his leg. The stump of his left wrist looked worse than he remembered, and he quailed at the thought of what Dlen had said needed to be done for that injury. But, again, it was something that would have to be let go until later.

Finding that he had a bit more strength than earlier, Flicker unloaded his backpack, hanging the meat from hooks provided in the alcove, and storing the skins on the highest shelf next to his bloody parka and ruined leggings. Slicing more of the meat into a bowl, he chewed on the raw flesh as he checked on the stew, added some water to it and eased it back from the fire a trifle. The tea was strong enough to gag on, but he swallowed it anyway.

He finally allowed himself to burrow into the bed he'd made, still munching on the last of the additional half-cake he'd allowed himself from the travel supplies. Curled up on his right side, he rubbed his face, feeling the exhaustion ooze up around him despite the insistent throbbing of his arm and thigh. Part of him wanted to fret about the next day, but he was simply too tired. Eying the fire and hoping he'd built it well enough to last, Flicker sighed and closed his eyes. What was it Cliffclimber had said that first summer? Don't worry about the past and past mistakes when you're on the hunt; don't think about tomorrow. Just be eyes and ears and nose and a body ready to react. Just concentrate on the moment. On now ...

He slept.

The shaking was just barely gentle. Farseeker tried to move away, then groaned as his ribs protested. **Sorry, brother,** sent Whlen, **but the hunt just got back, and Therin's in a temper, looking for Flicker. I think everyone's about to realize that Flicker's left, so you'd better wake up and be prepared.**

Farseeker pushed himself up. **When is it?**

"Mid-morning." Farseeker snapped his head up as he realized he'd overslept. Whlen gave him a one-sided, amused grin.

"The hunt was close-enough to group-send and let Tinar know they were on their way back in," he said. "So I assume Tinar decided to let you sleep."

With a small grunt of displeasure, Farseeker flicked the covers back with a mental touch, then reconsidered and pulled himself to his feet physically. Whlen chuckled as he helped steady his brother. "Remembering what little sister told you?" He handed Farseeker his clothes.

"For all the good it does me. It's not like I have to worry about facing bears or humans."

"Except when you do." Farseeker grimaced at the reminder. "More seriously though, brother..." He looked up. "... I'd get to Tinar before Therin does, and tell him what you know." Farseeker frowned, starting to shake his head, but Whlen continued quickly.

"I spent the night thinking about what you told me, Danaan," he continued, dark eyes troubled. "I don't know what to think about young Flicker, but Therin's first attack was wrong. Tinar knows what it's like to be hurt that way—and the lad is his grandson, come to that. But you need to get there before Therin gets him to agree to something rash—like hunting the boy down and dragging him back to the Isle."

Farseeker winced and dressed more rapidly, dragging the comb through his hair barely enough times to remove the night's accumulation of snarls before gliding towards the entrance of his room. He moved quickly, much faster than his usual, leaving the slower Whlen behind him. As it was, he saw Therin striding through the draperies of the Eldests' quarters. With a last little bit of speed, Farseeker landed in front of the entrance moments later and walked in, not bothering with touching the chimes. The eyes of the Council focused on him. Therin chopped off in mid-syllable, spinning to face him. The Hunt Leader looked surprised for a moment, then smiled thinly.

"Good-morning, grandson," he said. "I was hoping you would be up here with the Elders."

Farseeker raised an eyebrow but said nothing, studying his maternal grandfather. His mother's description of her father never had matched his own experiences, but all of the elder folk said that Therin's temper had soured since the death of his lifemate Maka. There had been fervent hope that Sharpgrass' Recognition with him would mellow the Hunt Leader, but that hope was gone. He was a superb hunter and organizer, and no one save Whlen could outfight him. But he had no patience for mistakes, and he was never asked to mentor the youngsters in their first years ashore.

When Farseeker failed to answer, Therin shrugged, turning his attention back to the three elders. "I'm looking for Flicker," he stated. "I told him before I left that I expected him to be available to run errands for us when we returned. "I've sent for him and he doesn't answer. If he's going to be worth his food and clothing, he needs to stop sulking and start working."

The four glanced at each other. "I've not seen him," Diirla said slowly, "except the day after you left: he was talking to Morningstar about something. His hand was bandaged..."

"Because Therin burned it," Farseeker put in quietly.

Three of the four froze, staring at him, then switched their gazes to the hunter. His weather-burned face darkened. "I was only proving to him that he was a coward—a little touch of flame and he screamed like a baby."

"I'd probably scream, too, if someone thrust my hand into fire without warning," said Farseeker, folding his arms across his chest.

The elders' expressions turned disapproving. Therin shifted his stance. "Maybe I went too far," he conceded, "but the boy was whining for a 'another chance', as he called it, and he wouldn't take no for an answer. I'm not taking cowards out on hunts with me, so they can get someone else killed."

"But it wouldn't bother you if a coward got just himself killed."

Therin spun, crouching slightly as if expecting attack. "And what in Haliil's Heart is that supposed to mean?" he demanded. "I don't want any elf to die!"

"That's not what you told Flicker," Farseeker returned icily. "You told him that if you had your way, you'd kick his worthless tail out of the Isle, to live or die for all you cared."

Therin's face turned purple. "I—I was angry!" he snapped finally. "I didn't mean it!"

"That he was useless, or that you wanted to kick him out of the Isle?" asked Aerva.

"That I wanted to throw him out," Therin replied quickly. "One assumes he'll find a way to make himself useful, once he stops sniveling and feeling sorry for himself." He shrugged his shoulders, straightening. "He's closed his mind to me, but I assume you, at least, can find him."

Farseeker took a deep breath. "Flicker is not in the Isle."

licker stared at the embers, wondering dully when it was. He hadn't slept well, snapping out of sleep again and again as every twitch in his body triggered a spasm of agony up his leg or his arm. Twice, he'd gotten up brew some pain-ease, but he'd been scared to put too much in. So it hadn't seemed to help much.

But he had slept, and the fire was low enough it needed tending. Slowly, he leveraged himself up to a seated position, gritting his teeth against every white-hot streak of pain. Fully upright, he paused for a few seconds, panting, then pulled his legs out of the warm cocoon of blankets and furs. Wiping the sweat off his face, Flicker leaned over to examine the bandages on his wounded leg.

His heart sank. The material was soaked through, damp to the touch. The bleeding hadn't stopped. If he couldn't stop the bleeding, he'd die. Shutting his eyes, Flicker fought to face that awareness squarely. He didn't want to die. Not when he hadn't really begun to live yet. As much as it hurt knowing his mother was dead, that his little sister was dead; as painful as it was having almost every elf in the Isle look down on him as a coward and a failure, he didn't want to become just spirit. But if he wasn't going to die, he was going to have to somehow stab himself with needles, somehow close the long wounds using only one hand ...

ow long it took, he never knew. It might have been days, or less than an an eighth-part, before he collapsed in his furs, shaking and crying in exhausted pain, only one of the four gashes sewn up, and that so badly that he knew it wouldn't help. He had failed, again.

Why had he been so stupid as to face that cat, he wondered, despairing. He could have so easily just jumped into the air and escaped. Why had he thought he had to test his courage by facing a dangerous predator when he didn't need to?

Flicker opened his eyes, staring at the fire. It had been stupid to face the cat. So why had he stood his ground with his spear—with the one weapon he had little experience with? When he had heard the low growl, and spun around to see the cat crouching, less than two elf-lengths away, he had felt a flood of fear, of terror. The next moment, he had felt shame, to feel that fear. But, why? Was it wrong to feel fear? What was courage?

He twisted his head around to study his injured leg. He had thought leaving the Isle in mid-winter, in proving that he could survive on his own, would prove that he was brave. But would it have, really? Or had he just been foolish, ignoring how easy it was for one person to die? Elves died while hunting, even though they were part of groups. Even if he hadn't been injured, even if he had succeeded in surviving the winter, would Therin and the others really change their minds about him? Would it change his own mind?

Not that it made any difference now. Flicker watched a bead of blood gather around one of the spots of the sewn gash where the flesh didn't quite match. It grew a little larger, then began to slide down his leg, leaving a glistening trail. He only had two choices left. He could wrap up his leg again, hoping that the bleeding would quit, hoping that wrist would heal, and probably die of blood-loss, or, if he was unlucky, of wound-fever. Or, he could call Farseeker, and ask for someone to come out and tend his injuries, then carry him back to the Isle.

And then what? Did he want—would he be able—to live with the consequences? Of having elves sneer at him as a coward? Of watching others younger than himself gain the pleasures and dangers of shore-freedom, while he remained bound to the Isle? Of being at the beck and call of those who considered themselves his betters?

Flicker scrubbed the tears from his face with the palm of his hand. If he didn't care to simply give up and die, then there was no choice left. It was going to be horrid going back. But, if he was alive, then maybe, someday, he could find a way to earn another chance. He could always hope.

On that faint comfort, he closed his eyes and began to send.

arseeker waited patiently for the initial indignation to die down, ignoring the half-spluttered questions and exclamations. Tinar finally took the conversational lead, settling himself in his chair, his dark eyes smoldering.

"So Flicker is outside the Isle, without permission," he stated. "When did you know, and why haven't you told us before?"

Farseeker sighed and shifted his weight. "Flicker left four days ago. I found him in the Heal-crafter room, packing supplies. After talking with him, I agreed he should go and I helped him pick out what he should take." He paused, watching their astonished expressions, then added gently, "Flicker has been repeatedly humiliated for a quarter-turn of seasons, been the focus of more hatred and scorn than any young elf should have to withstand. He hasn't discovered his inner strength yet, and he was desperate. I didn't like his plan, but I feared what he might do if I stopped him."

"What he might do?" echoed Aerva, her brow furrowed.

Farseeker centered his attention on her lifemate. "He's your grand-son, Tinar. You know what it must have felt like, having Therin attack his mind. You know the pain of broken dreams."

Tinar didn't quite turn as pale as his hair. No one spoke for a little while, then Vaerrain stirred.

"We don't want anything to happen to Flicker, but surely there's a better alternative than letting him risk his life living alone outside in the middle of winter. If he panics again, it could be his life this time."

"At least it'll only be his," remarked Therin acidly. The four Elders glared at him, but the Hunt Leader only shrugged, a slight sneer on his face. Farseeker frowned at him, then stiffened as something touched him. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on 'listening'.

"Flicker ..." he breathed. He gathered his strength to return the sending, anxiously aware of how weak his own mental strength still was. Flicker felt so far away...

Hands grasped his upper arms. **Sit down,** sent Vaerrain, moving him bodily, **and lock minds with me. I'll lend you my strength.**

The weight coming off his legs was a relief. Fingers spread across his temples, and then he was flooded with warmth. Feeling stronger than he had in moons, Farseeker reached quickly and surely towards the faint sending star. **Flicker!**

**Farseeker! Thank the High Ones!**

**What is it, lad? Is something wrong?**

**I—**, the sending wavered a moment, then strengthened. **I have to come back in. It was wrong to come out here, and ... I-I did a very stupid thing, thinking I was being brave. I'm hurt, and I can't stop the bleeding in my leg. I'm going to need help to get back in.**

**How badly are you hurt?**

**My left thigh, and—my left hand. It's—gone.**

Farseeker flinched in horror, then forced himself to go on. **Where are you?**

**In Little Bear cave, the one we agreed on. I-I probably should have sent to you last night, but I thought I'd be able to tend myself. I tried, but— one-handed, I just can't. If I stay out here alone, I'll probably bleed to death or get wound-fever ... and and I'm not ready to die. Even if it means going back and having everybody sneer at me for a coward.**

The woebegone sending sparked the burn of tears. **It takes courage to admit failure, lad,** sent Farseeker gently, **sometimes more than it takes to face dying. Keep yourself warm, don't move around more than you have to. I'll get someone out there.**

licker opened his eyes. The ceiling above was swirled into intricate curlicues, glinting here and there with reflected light. It was definitely not the ceiling of the cave. It also wasn't the ceiling of his room. He frowned at it, puzzled. A regular creaking sound came to a halt.

"You're in the Healer's room, lad," said a soft voice from his right. "You've been back for about a day."

The young elf turned his head slowly. Sitting in a shaped-wood rocker, the slender, fire-haired far-walker smiled at him. "Morningstar thought you should be awakening by now. She also said you would be thirsty?"

Flicker ran his tongue over chapped lips. "I—yes." A bit of motion caused him to turn his head further, in time to see a spindle and a puff of plant fiber descending gracefully to a nearby table. "I—didn't know you spun."

Farseeker chuckled as he walked out of Flicker's view. "I have to have more to do during the summers than keep my mind open for the folk running around the Valley. I also weave—though just with a hand-loom. I fear I lack the patience to work with the large looms."

Blinking, Flicker turned his head to stare up at the ceiling. Moving his right hand, he felt under the covers for his left arm. It was bound across his chest, and it ended too soon. "My ... hand..." he whispered.

"Is gone, Flicker." Farseeker slid a hand behind the lad's head and helped him drink. Setting the cup on a narrow shelf, he settled himself on the edge of the bed. "Morningstar thinks your leg will mend."

"How did I—get back here? I don't—remember ... I fell asleep, after sending to you—I tried to stay awake..."

"You were asleep when Morningstar and the others arrived at the cave. She gave you a drink to keep you asleep. She and Zarill worked on your injuries there, then brought you back the next day."

Flicker closed his eyes, touching the bandages covering the end of his left arm. He remembered the moment when the humans had come out of the trees, and that moment when he had turned to face the long-tooth. Two moments of fear and terror. One had led to loss of respect by the entire Isle. The other had led to the loss of his physical wholeness. He had finally made a right decision, to return to the Isle and admit his failures, but what would come of him now? He was no crafter, no creator of beauty: he admired what others did, but there was no spark of that creativity in his own soul. What he wanted were the forests and meadows; the keen wind in his face, the excitement of the chase; the feel of his body pushed to find its physical limits. What he wanted was what he had had for less than three short summers. Lost because of one moment of cowardice, and another of foolishness. Oh, it made sense to live, sense to hope. But for what? For what could he hope? Where would he look for joy, for friendship and love, when he was naught but a coward and a fool?

The bed shifted as Farseeker stood up. Flicker's eyes stung and tears flowed, thinking that even the far-walker would have no more to do with him than necessary. Averted faces, abandoned friendships—deserved, yes, for what he had done. But it hurt. Oh, how it hurt!

A weight fell on his chest with a clink of metal. Snapping his eyes open, Flicker looked and saw a heap of gold, red-streaked dark-green, and yellowish-gray-white. Pulling his remaining hand out from beneath the covers, Flicker picked up the object, and caught his breath in shock. It was a necklace of claws, interspersed with intricate beads of bloodstone and gold. The claws were huge, and could have come only from one beast. But how? And why?

**I may have been wrong.**

The heavy necklace slipped from his numb fingers as Flicker looked up and suffered fresh shock. Therin stood beside the bed, arms folded across his chest, face expressionless. **I am still of the opinion that cowardice caused you to panic and flee. And it was an act of senseless bravado to face long-tooth alone, with only a thrusting spear and a knife.** Therin's eyes hardened for a moment. Flicker swallowed and tried not to flinch. **But the Eldests and Farseeker have all argued that I have treated you too harshly, letting my own grief and pain have too much control over my deeds. They have wisdom I lack: I must consider their words. There is also this ... I would not have thought any elf could go up against a long-tooth with only a broken spear and a knife, and somehow win, with no more injuries than you suffered. That suggests abilities I would not care to waste ...**

Flicker dared barely breath. "Does that mean ... you'll give me another chance to earn shore-freedom?"

Bitterness and anger flickered across Therin's face, but only for a moment. His eyes shifted to where Flicker's left arm lay hidden. **You will have to heal, and then you will have to learn how to compensate for only one hand. I am—unwilling—to trust someone who panics, yet you must have some bit of courage, to admit your failures and ask for help, as Farseeker says you have done. When and if you find two mentors acceptable to the Council ... I will not stand in your way.**

He left. Flicker watched him go, then picked up the necklace with a trembling hand, feeling dazed. He had the chance he wanted, after he had thought the possibility gone. And this necklace—as magnificent as any he'd seen, but how and why?

"Therin made that necklace by way of apology," commented Farseeker, returning back into view. "He's not good at apologies, you know."

"It's—beautiful," Flicker whispered. "But where did the claws—"

"Whlen hunted down the carcass while the others rested," Farseeker replied, sitting down at the edge of the bed again. "He also brought back the fangs, and of course, the fur. Those are yours." He smiled faintly. "Better be warned, lad. There'll be competition for your bed, just for the chance to get those as presents."

"Me? Elves will want me for a fur-mate?" Flicker gaped at Farseeker, disbelieving. Farseeker's eyes twinkled, but his expression sobered.

"Many people think courage has only to do with physical threats," he replied. "Most of the Isle was quite willing to believe your panic proved you were a coward—if only to have another person to blame for the disaster. They're not sure what to think, after you faced a long-tooth and slew it. They're apt to see that as brave, rather than possibly panicking from a different form of fear —the fear of appearing to be a coward. Now, you're a puzzle—and what better entertainment during the cold season, than to pursue that puzzle?"

Flicker stared at the far-walker, a bit puzzled by some of what he had said, though sensing deeper truths in those words that would be important to him. "Farseeker ... what do you think of me?"

"I?" Farseeker sank down on the edge of the bed, his midmight-blue eyes watching him. "I think you have more courage than anyone now guesses," he said after a long pause. "I don't think you should be despised for panicking—even our fearless Vaerrain panicked the first time she encountered humans. You've made mistakes: you have suffered for them, and will continue to suffer." His expression softened, and he leaned forward slightly. "But I believe there is great heart in you, can you but learn to grow into it. You need not be stopped from your goals by your failures, or by loss of one hand. And ... I would be pleased to call you friend."

Flicker lowered his hand back to his chest, freshly astonished. That the far-walker would help him leave the Isle had been astonishing enough, but that he would desire friendship with a lad like himself? The elf who fearlessly walked in the spirit world, who could look into the eyes of a child and predict their magic, wanting the friendship of an elf with no higher ambitions than to be a hunter?

He wanted to deny what the other was implying. But as he stared back at the shadowed, midnight eyes, set in the pale face that revealed the strain of the last quarter turn, he realized that Farseeker was—lonely. He remembered that Farseeker had also lost sister and mother. That Farseeker had been, even more than himself, the focus of the Isle's rage and grief. There was common ground between them. Common grief ... common understanding? Farseeker had risked further anger by helping him; helping him even though he had disagreed with him.

No one ever talked about Farseeker's courage. As if it took no courage to separate body and spirit? Or no courage to face the ill will of the Council?

Flicker extended his hand with a sense of wonder. With a look of surprise and pleasure, Farseeker touched fingers. A vision flashed, from his mind or the far-walker's, Flicker didn't know. The snow would turn red at his feet again; his life would know suffering and grief, and an ending and beginning while fighting for those he loved. But his life would also know joy and love, the caring of true compassion and the quite pride of true courage.

It would be enough.