a name to frighten their pups as mine is: Wolf will eat you. Faerie wilT steal you. Thee's nigh hunted out, Dorelei.

Wolf flowed up off her haunches and stalked to Dorelei, sniffing at her knees and between her legs.

"Take care, woman. Do have my knife."

Be hard as tallfolk knives? They are ten times greed- ier than I. In their ten-times heal they forge harder knives.

Blackbar magic was bad luck even to mention, but Dorelei crossed her fingers against it. "My knife be made from bronze in good stone mold."

Flint broke flesh. Bronze broke flint. Iron will break bronze.

Dorelei felt an urge to cuff her. "Mother will not let us be broken."

Broken and forgot.

"No."

Wolf leered at her. What place has thy name on it?

Cannot live on the wind and leave a trail.

"Rainbow does."

Where dost point thee, Dorelei?

Wolf tasted morning in the air. Time to return to her own pups, who were whelped with more sense than this silly woman would ever have. She flirted her tail at Dorelei and loped away down the hillside.

Rainbow must point somewhere; unthinkable that the fmost beautiful of earth signs should have no significance.

There was a meaning, Dorelei was sure. When she looked at Rainbow, a memory stirred deep in her, rising a little in I response to her effort to recall before it sank again.

Where dost point thee?

Dorelei rose and stood among the dark stones of the ^rcle. "Mother, speak to me."

Not the proper address or respect. She should stand in the right place and scatter the white stones, but this i'once in her need, woman to woman. Mother might for- give her.

"Mother, speak to me. Be Wolf right? Would iel us be forgot?"

But the reassuring strength that always filled her with Mother's voice did not come. What mother? Dorelei shiv- ered at the treacherous thought. It was not Mother's eye it all but only a light in the sky with no more love for her

16 than the eye of a Fish might hold. Doretei reached to cup the mooneye and wash her hand in its light. It vanished in dull cloud, eluding her.

"Do not turn from us."

No hint of Mother anywhere on the moor, only the east wind and the first drops of rain. Never before had Dorelei felt so utterly alone, so abandoned, the stomach- sick moment before falling. The rain pelted her upturned face; she backed a step, whimpering. The night was no longer soft, the stones not old friends but strange giants glaring at her with no more pity than Hawk gave the iamb. In a moment they would begin to rock back and forth, tearing themselves out of the ground to bump heav- ily in at her, leaning over her, crushing her under their weight into the earth that was never friend but only cold dirt-

Cru!

Mother turned from her, the world was cold and dead. Dorelei fled from the circle and down the hill to the only safety left. The rain was falling harder when she dove under the fleece robes, writhing against Cru for comfort.

Sleepily he brushed her away. "Wet."

"Oh, Cru . . ."

She wanted to tell him about Wolf and the drab taste of her thoughts, the emptiness where there was always comfort before. She wanted to know Wolf was foolish, that Mother did hear them. But how strong would Cru feel in turn if Gern-y-fhain herself was lost to magic? She felt bleak with the truth of it. She dare not tell Cru or any of them even when the fear was crushing her spirit. Dorelei squeezed against Cru and set her teeth to his shoulder. He woke foggiTy. There was still sleep in him and the robes were warm against the rain. He didn't see her tears or the rain that washed them away in secret. In a little while Dorelei slept herself as a mercy, but she dreamed of Wolf.

When Dorelei raised her head out of the robes the early sun slanted on the stone circle. Far to the west the rain still lowered over the hills, but the east was clear and blue.

And there was a rainbow.

17.

Wolf lied. Mother had not turned from them. The ^rainbow trail arced across the morning sky, and Dorelei J; wanted to cry again for relief at its clear beauty. She ^thought of the old song, the few words of it she remembered.

Be not where but only when-

y None of them, not even Gawse's old mother, could 'remember the rest.

;: Cru yawned and stretched. "Must go back to rath."

Dorelei bent to kiss him. His mouth smiled under ^hers.

"Did make child-wealth last night?"

"Perhaps. Cru . . . ?"

He sat up, pushing the long silky hair back from his ^face. To the northwest, around the side of the hill, a few ll-of their sheep straggled away from the flock, nibbling at H the wet grass.

"Cru, dost remember Rainbow song?"

[' Cru's mind was on food, but he allowed part of it to ^.her question, remembering no more than Dorelei- There pnce was such a song in the old fhains.

1 " 'Be not where . . .' "

r " 'But only when.' Be more words than that."

"Not in my head." Cru cupped the breasts of the ^rainbow-rapt Dorelei from behind and nipped at her neck.

"Dost nae remember the tale?"

"Of what?"

"Rainbow, fool."

"Nae."

"Was a sign," Dorelei said.

"Of what?"

"Do nae know."

Neither of them could remember the story. It was pong ago. They had no concept of time like house-dwelling 1-Venicones or Britons, but counted from seasons and fire- ji&stivals, and it seemed tens of seasons past, when they fWere little more than infants, that Cru might have heard something of it. He was barely walking then and Dorelei ^ still slung from Gawse's shoulder.