eyelashes.

The late autumn morning was chill; frost glistened on the red and golden leaves of the vallenwood and rimed

the wooden walkways, making them slippery and treacherous before the sun came out to dry them. Clouds hung

gray and lowering over the Sentinel Peaks. The smell of snow was in the air. There would be snow on the

mountaintop by the end of the week.

Raistlin thrust his clothes into a bag: two homespun shirts, underclothes, an extra pair of slops, woolen

stockings. Most of his clothes were new, made by his mother. He needed the new clothes. He had gained in

height that summer, keeping up with Caramon, though he lacked the bulk of his sturdy brother. The added height

only served to emphasize Raistlin's excessive thinness.

Rosamun came out of her bedroom. Pausing, she stared at him with her faded blue eyes. "Whatever are you

doing, child?"

Raistlin glanced up warily from his work. His mother's soft brown hair was brushed and combed and neatly

arranged beneath a cap. She was wearing a clean skirt and bodice over a new blouse, a blouse she had sewn

herself under the Widow Judith's tutelage.

Raistlin had tensed instinctively at the sound of her voice. Now, seeing her, he relaxed. His mother was having

another good day. She had not had a bad day during his stay at home that summer, and Raistlin supposed they

had the Widow Judith to thank for it.

He did not know what to make of the Widow Judith. He had been prepared to distrust her, prepared to

discover something nefarious about her, some hidden motive for her selflessness. Thus far his suspicions had

proven unfounded. She was what she appeared-a widow in her forties, with a pleasant face, smooth hands with

long, graceful fingers, a melodious voice, a way with words, and an engaging laugh that always brought a smile

to Rosamun's pale, thin face.

The Majere house was now clean and well organized, something it had never been before the Widow Judith's

arrival. Rosamun ate meals at regular hours. She slept through the night, went to market, went visiting-always

accompanied by the Widow Judith.

The Widow Judith was friendly to Raistlin, though she was not as free and easy with him as she was with

Caramon. She was more reserved around Raistlin, and, he realized, she always seemed to be watching him. He

could not do anything around the house without feeling her eyes on him.

"She knows you don't like her, Raist," Caramon said to him accusingly.

Raistlin shrugged. That was true, though he couldn't quite explain why. He did not like her and was quite

certain she didn't like him.

One of the reasons may have been that Rosamun, Gilon, Caramon, and the Widow Judith were a family, and

Raistlin was not part of it. This was not because he hadn't been invited, but because he willfully chose to remain

on the outside. During the evenings when Gilon was home, the four would sit outdoors, joking and telling stories.

Raistlin would remain indoors, poring over his school notes.

Gilon was a changed man now that his wife had been rescued from her storm-tossed mind, and was apparently

resting comfortably in safer waters. Theworry lines smoothed from his brow, he laughed more often. He and his

wife could actually carry on a relatively normal conversation.

Summer work was closer to home; Gilon was able to be with his family more often. Everyone was pleased

about this except Raistlin, who had grown accustomed to his father being gone, felt constrained when the big

man was around. He didn't particularly like the change in his mother, either. He rather missed her odd fancies

and flights, missed the times she had been his alone. He didn't like the new warmth between her and Gilon; their

closeness made him feel further isolated.

Caramon was obviously Gilon's favorite, and Caramon adored his father. Gilon tried to take an interest in the

other twin, but the big woodsman was very like the trees he cutslow growing, slow moving, slow thinking. Gilon

could not understand Raistlin's love of magic and though he had approved sending his son to the mage school,

Gilon had secretly hoped the child would find it tedious and leave. He continued to nurture the same hope and

always looked disappointed on the day when school recommenced and Raistlin began packing. But amidst the

disappointment, there was now a relief. Raistlin this summer had been like a stranger boarding with the family,

an irritable, unfriendly stranger. Gilon would never admit this, even to himself, but he was going to be glad to see