"Cannot, thee knows it. Be home now."

"No. Would not have died at home," Neniane denied, hoarse with crying. "Gawse be strong. A's strong magic."

I "And sister has not? Be nothing for us north. Would be shamed."

^ "Want my baby!" Neniane wailed. "Want to go home.

SNMother turns from us. Be nothing here but death." She jilted on the ground, beating her fists against the turf.

wrelei cradled her close as if Neniane were the sick child, riping the tears from the small face, crooning to her.

26 Parks God-win

"Will take the bairn to the circle afore barrowing. Will to speak to Mother about this."

"Will need more than speaking," Neniane whimpered.

"Nae, strong words. Do need better fortune for fhain."

"A wilt noth-hear, sister-"

"Hush, hush. Did see thy husbands' sorrow? Would make it heavier?"

"What of mine?"

"Will go in the circle."

"Will go home."

"No, no." Doretei rocked her back and forth. "Sister will care for you. Thee has good husbands. On Bel-teins after tomorrow, our flocks will cross Gawse's trail, and thee will have child-wealth anew to show her. Will ride with one child on the saddle and another running behind as we did, and Gawse will know her seed was strong enough to grow where tallfolk could not."

"Was mine." Neniane whimpered against Dorelei's breast. "Was out of me, a piece of me. So little. Artcois thought 'twas his but Bredei made it . . '

that, sister."

oh, must nae tell

"Nae."

"Was a good mother, never left her alone."

"Be still . . . hush."

Their words blurred to mere soft sounds, the cry for comfort, the comfort given, blended with the keening from the rath in a single bleak voice that cried the loss of future in the midst of now, for the flesh of tomorrow cut from them. The chill sound like a bleeding lifted on the night air and sang to the wind that carried it from the hill to the valley beyond. The feast-drunken Venicones, tying with their own women, heard the loss of life in the act of getting it, and were goaded to fiercer need without know- ing why. The hill was far, the wind an unreliable messen- ger. It spread the mourning wail thin on its wings, not quite like wolves nor yet quite human as it reached their ears and those of their fathers for hundreds of genera- tions, so that it even had a name now. The bravest of them would not go outside his iron-bolted door while the bean sidhe cried from the ancient stones on the hill.

27.

They could not give up now. At least Cru realized it, but Cru was older and steadier than the rest. Durelei epended on his strength more than she ever admitted. A em-y-fhain with a weak husband was a woman with only ne arm, and Dorelei's mind struggled with a problem lal touched them all. if Mother andLugh had forgotten iem, where could she take fhain? Dorelei wondered if Ipawse ever felt so confused and alone, having to be strength 'Itself when she felt lost and frightened as Neniane.

*i. Men were no more helpful in death than in birth. A ; rd to Cru and he kept them enormously concentrated

-^tti the stone molds, making new arrowheads and gather- ing white moonstones for the coming night. Neniane tculdn't bear to look at her dead daughter, and Guenloie yfas watching the flocks. Dorelei alone prepared the child i^r harrowing. It should be interred right away. but she'd Come to a decision. When the fhain had voiced their proper grief, Dorelei told them what she planned.

"Will take the bairn and show it to Mother in the

-^rcle of stones. And the grass and oats."

^ Neniane assented listlessly. Dorelei felt her helpless iBary and that of the others. That day the wheeling birds teamed quickly to fly wide of Cru's angry bow. Tod- ?0wery, the fox, narrowly escaped with his hide when Bredei sank an arrow inches from his swift-running paws.

f Drust made a paste of clay and reddish macha for