Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

that he had a tendency to be reckless, thought that it was something they shared. In her dreams (and she was convinced that the memories of Wolf’s experiences were true dreams, however they’d been sent), she’d seen that he’d expected death when he’d destroyed the tower. He’d hoped for death. Apparently, he still did.
    She took in a deep breath of his familiar scent and held it to her heart. She would not lose him.
    “Tomorrow, I think we might visit the priestess of the death goddess,” she said. He had been asleep, because her voice jerked him awake. “If there’s a ghost or a Dreamer out there, the death goddess ought to know—don’t you think?”
    “Could be,” Wolf muttered groggily. “Go to sleep, Aralorn.”

EIGHT

    “I hadn’t expected this to become an expedition,” muttered Aralorn softly to Sheen as she rocked back and forth with his exuberant stride. He was feeling frisky after his rest, and his steps were animated and quick. Wolf, gliding soundlessly beside the gray warhorse, gave her a sardonic look before turning his attention to the snowy path.
    She shook her head, and said in a tone meant to carry to her escort, “It’s not as if Lambshold is riddled with outlaws. Even if it were, I am fully capable of taking care of myself.”
    “See, Correy,” boomed Falhart from behind her and somewhat to the left, “I told you she’d like to have some company.”
    “She’s been gone a long time. She’s probably forgotten where the temple is,” said Correy solemnly, behind her and to the right. “Dead howlaas aside, an itty-bitty runt like her needs her big brothers to protect her.”
    Aralorn spun Sheen around on his hocks with enough speed to leave the stallion snorting and looking for the enemy. If she’d known what an overprotective streak the howlaa was going to stir up, she would never have let Correy know it was there. Let his stupid sheep get eaten by wolves. Protection she might have to put up with while she was here, but . . .
    She pointed accusingly at Correy. “You promised no more jokes about my size.”
    “Or lack thereof,” added Falhart smugly.
    “No,” said Correy. “Falhart is the one who promised. Besides, I just commented on our size, right, Gerem? Just because your thirteen-year-old brother is a hand and a half taller than you doesn’t mean you’re small. We just happen to be taller than most people.”
    “Especially itty-bitty runts like you,” added Falhart helpfully.
    She shook her head at the three of them. Hart had come because he wanted to get out and ride. Correy, she thought, had come out of an honest desire to protect her. Gerem, she strongly suspected, had come to save her hulking brothers from their nasty, shapeshifting sister, itty-bitty runt or not.
    “Men,” she snorted with mock disgust.
    She pivoted Sheen until he faced their original direction and sent him off racing across the sun-sparkled snow, smiling when her brothers called out in protest at her head start as they picked up the race.

    Ridane’s temple was a large structure nestled in an isolated valley. Aralorn remembered the “new” temple as a ruin heavily overgrown with ivy, but even under the snow, she could see that was no longer the case. Someone had been doing quite a lot of work, and the result was elegant and impressive. The snug little house built unobtrusively on one side was a new addition to the site as well.
    Correy pointed to it. “When Father heard there was a priestess at the temple, he rode here by himself to talk with her. When he got back, he sent me out with a score of workmen to build her a house to live in.”
    Falhart grinned at Aralorn. “Correy’s been really helpful around here. He took several days to clear the ivy and a week to scrub the lichen off the stone. He even got the old well working again.”
    Before Correy could reply, a cheery “Who comes?” rang out from the cottage, and the door opened to reveal a woman bundled in a wool cloak dyed cherry red. She shut the door behind her and came out to greet them.
    “My lords! And isn’t it a cold day to be out visiting, I’m thinking.” The priestess, for she could be no other, was close enough for Aralorn to see that her face matched the promise of her voice. A warm smile lit eyes the color of dark-stained oak, and it was aimed particularly at Correy.
    Correy jumped lightly off his horse and took one of her hands in his, bringing it to his lips. “Any day with you in it, Lady, is as