“Path was both my son and my companion. A packmate and a pactmate. He shared every part of my life, and I miss him more than I can express.”
“Let me,” said Moon. “I will speak for all here.”
“Please, friend,” begged Glint.
“And then I will sing,” murmured Lapis, who stood to one side, cradling Rifflet close.
“You’re a dear,” pronounced Radiance, who was smiling even though her cheeks were wet with tears.
From within the circle of Glint’s arms, Lilya watched Moon step to one side and transform into a large white wolf. He nuzzled Snow, licked her forehead, then settled back on his haunches, lifted his muzzle to the sky, and howled.
Ginkgo was trying not to gawk at his surroundings while Hannick Alpenglow looked between him and Salali. The horse clansman’s manner was patient and ponderous. As if he hadn’t decided how to react to the sudden arrival of guests.
“Salali,” he sighed. “What have you done?”
The squirrel beamed unhelpfully.
In an effort to break the ice, Ginkgo gave his ears a little wiggle, but Hannick’s mellow gaze didn’t stray. Which was kind of impressive.
He flicked them again, just to be coy.
“Burr in your ear?” Hannick inquired mildly. “I can gather a light and forceps.”
“Bid for attention,” Ginkgo admitted.
“You have mine.”
He let his ears droop and adopted a more respectful posture. “I usually impress people.”
“I usually do not.” Hannick faced Salali and immediately looked fondly beleaguered. “Salali, why is this gentleman here?”
“My new apprentice would be more comfortable with a neutral party looking after his interests. Be his advocate.”
“But why bring him here?”
Ginkgo stole another glance at their surroundings. His gardener’s heart was going pitty-pat. He wanted to explore everything from the flower borders to the herb beds. Not to mention several varieties of trees that had to be both ancient and affectionate.
“He has the ear of Argent Mettlebright,” Salali was saying.
Ginkgo fluttered his anew. “Both ears, actually. Family resemblance.”
Salali went on. “And his enclave will be receiving a Scattering in the months ahead.”
“And …?” demanded the stallion.
Ginkgo’s ears pricked. They were getting down to it, now. Real reasons.
With a stubborn posture, Salali said, “Linlu’s lyrics mention a person between.”
Unimpressed, the stallion pointed out, “Every reaver is a Betweener.”
“A reaver stands between two cultures. A crosser brings them together.”
Hannick gazed off into the sky, then nodded. “I can appreciate that kind of balance. And … he is the stuff of songs.”
“And you’re too polite to enjoy such novelties?” Salali gave Ginkgo a little push forward.
Ginkgo braced himself for the usual formalities, but the stallion kept it simple. “I’m Hannick. A healer.”
Finally, finally, his gaze drifted to the top of Ginkgo’s head.
This was familiar territory. “Am I your first crosser?”
“Strictly speaking.” Fingers twitched, and Hannick gave in to the inevitable. “May I make a brief examination?”
Ginkgo grinned. “I was hoping you’d ask.”
The stallion’s expression lapsed into gentle wonderment as he carefully tugged and scratched Ginkgo’s ear. He eased closer and angled his head, making a display of his trust while they chatted about the mares at Stately House, some of whom were Alpenglows.
“Since I am sure it was Salali’s true purpose, allow me to introduce you to some friends.”
Ginkgo suspected his own delight was showing as Hannick took him around what amounted to a small village populated by tree-kin. Salali lagged behind while his apprentice was kissed and petted by tree twins. Ginkgo welcomed their curiosity and unloaded plenty of his own, quizzing their human counterparts on the contents of their gardens. Enough healers were hanging about to give the whole place the ambiance of a hush-hush hospice, with a secondary business being the preservation and packaging of medicinal herbs, teas, and pollen.
By the time he’d chatted with everyone, Ginkgo’s pockets were bulging with seed packets.
“You would do well here,” remarked Hannick.
Ginkgo shrugged that off. “I like people. Especially kids.”
Salali casually interjected, “We could probably push for ours to go to him.”
“Is that so?” Hannick led the way to a small building with colored glass set into its windows. Rapping on a door left open to catch the flower-scented breezes, he said, “I apologize for interrupting your lesson, Mare Anella, but I bring a visiting professor. He is a leading expert on crossers.”
Eighteen children stared at Ginkgo with widening eyes. Half of them were human. The others looked to be Alpenglow colts and fillies.
Hannick said, “Ginkgo is our guest because his enclave will receive a Scattering.”
“How many?” asked a teenage girl with a toddler propped on one hip.
Salali said, “If he takes a liking to you, he’ll have no choice but to take the lot of you.”
“We can stay together?” asked a surly boy of nine or ten who’d been clinging to a shyer friend’s hand ever since Ginkgo stepped inside. “All of us?”
“What about us?” whispered a filly cradling a sleeping baby.
Nothing like being put on the spot. Ginkgo thought he’d sized up the situation, but he wanted to be clear. “Are you all tree-kin?”
The human children looked to Hannick and the mares first, but slowly, they each brought out necklaces. Some displayed slim capsules. Others looked more like lockets. Dad had told him about this. Kids born with a golden seed in their hand. Just like in the stories.
“And … since this garden’s jam-packed, you have to go someplace else to plant your seeds and start a new grove.” Ginkgo’s heart went out to them. “Is going all together an option?”
Hannick said, “If an existing grove needs a specific variety, one or two might be sent. But your enclave is starting anew.”
“So it’s not crazy to hope?”
The teenage girl, the one who looked to be oldest, asked, “Is there room?”
“Plenty.” Ginkgo wanted to help them. “Why don’t you write up some letters of introduction for my Dad. Tell him why you want to stay together.”
The filly on baby-cuddling duty dared to repeat, “What about us?”
“Guess that’s up to your Stallion. We have a small herd—including a few distant relatives—at Stately House. Could be like boarding school. Could be apprenticing. Maybe?”
“Perhaps,” said Hannick.
Looking to Mare Anella, Ginkgo suggested, “Address the letters to Lord Argent Mettlebright of Stately House.”
That stirred more than a few whispers.
“And maybe get started on language lessons. Any chance someone around here can teach Japanese?”
This time the response was clearer. Over and over, they repeated one name—Sora. Sora. Lady Sora.
Salali jostled him with an elbow and rolled his eyes. “Mikoto’s mother came to us from Japan. Seems to me, you and yours might be interested.”