Daneera stared.

She sat in silence, apart from the thunder pounding in her chest. She sat in stillness, apart from the shaking she could not control. But most of all, she sat staring, upward, at the Morvatan moon overhead. The full moon of Morvata had come to mean much to the huntress. While werewolf transformations on this plane did not rely on the full moon as on other planes, the full moon here still reminded her of Kerik. Of course, she didn't need reminders of Kerik. He was beside her often. They lived together, hunted together, slept together. They gave each space when they needed it - both had grown accustomed to solitude before they had met - but they were never far apart. But the moon reminded her of him, and made her happy.

But the full moon had another significance, one she never talked about, not even to her lover. She and the Morvatan Moon danced in perfect time, and when the moon was full, Daneera bled. It was natural, and Daneera had done it for as long as she had been herself, for as long as she had been a huntress in the forests of Dominia. And that is why she stared now. That is why she stared, unbelieving, at the Morvatan moon. The moon was waning. It was several nights past full.

And Daneera had not bled.

Daneera remembered very little of the things her mother had told her about being a woman, but she remembered this. She remembered what it meant to not bleed. She remembered what it meant when a woman stopped moving and the moon danced on. And the weight of that memory beat on her heart like a drum and shook her body with tremors.

She felt, suddenly, the large form of Kerik approach from behind her, wrapping his massive arms around her, huge clawed hands clutching just at her belly. He had transformed again, and had moved to her to comfort her, and be comforted. Daneera rested her hands atop his and breathed deeply through trembling lungs. She turned her head to look up and over at his face, his large, grey eyes staring at her with nearly human emotion. Daneera shuddered.

This is what I wanted, she reminded herself.

This is why I found him, she thought.

Then why, she asked herself, am I so scared?

The train to Fortune's Folly was shaking, and so was its only passenger. With her left hand, Scar gripped the back of the seat in front of her, trying to steady herself. With her right, she covered her chin and her mouth, her index finger lightly tracing a prominent scar just below her cheek. Tears threatened her blue eyes, but they never broke through. She wouldn't let them. She had no time for tears now, even with the long train ride. She needed that time to think.

She had not planned on returning to Red's Ranch so soon. She knew she would visit, of course, but she could not go running back every time some little problem came her way. But this was hardly a little problem, and Scar needed advice. Jackie had taught her so much, but she hadn't taught her this.

Oh, she had talked about it. She had talked about the men of the Waste and what they would want. She had talked about how to avoid it and how to use it to your advantage. She had talked about what was normal and what wasn't and how little the distinction actually mattered, and she had said that it was okay to want it, too. She had talked about consequences, and caution, and how to get out of a bad situation before it was too late.

Unfortunately, Scar noted, she had never talked to Scar about what to do when it already was too late.

Scar shook her head, more violently than she had intended. She had been stupid, that was all. She thought about him, then. He was a centaur, another young Ridder name of Straight, on account of his card playing. Growing up, Scar had rarely been allowed to leave her house, and had never thought much of the boys. And at the Ranch, all the other kids were younger than she was, and more like brothers and sisters to her. So, after leaving the Ranch, Scar had not considered romantic aspects of life.

Then she met Straight.

He was, simply put, dashing. His long, black hair flowed in the wind, his beard was short and trimmed against a hard, handsome face, and his physique was that of a chiseled warrior from an antique, forgotten time. More than anything, though, he was kind. Scar was only on her second rid, and Straight was on his third, when they first worked together, and they worked well. They decided to pair up, and ran through two more successful rids, the second one without any other backup. Straight was easy to work with, easy to talk to, and easy to get along with. Eventually, their pairing led beyond work, and Scar was happy.

Until, that is, she discovered she was pregnant.

When she told Straight, he was momentarily shocked, but then back to his usual, jovial self. They stayed together for another month before Scar woke up one morning to find Straight gone. She waited a day, and then two, and then three, but he never came back. Scar knew he wouldn't instantly, but she waited anyway, partially out of hope, but mostly to give herself time to think. She did not have enough money to support a child, and her only way of making money was to Rid, which would soon and for a long time be impossible. And she would not, could not, risk giving it a childhood like she had had, or like Jackie had.

And that left her with only one choice. She would have to go running back to Red, running back to the Ranch. She had left to find her own life, and her own life had brought her straight back.

At least, she thought, I can teach the kids something even Jackie couldn't.

As she thought about it, Scar finally began to cry.

He only had time for a short visit. There was much to be done, and he knew that she would understand, because she always understood. Her schedule was no less crowded, of course, and probably even more so. The demands on her time were extensive, he knew, and there was always the chance that she would be unable to make time for him. He smiled warmly. She was always able to make time for him, even if it was only a few short hours, or a matter of minutes. A coin has a particular value, two of the same coins are worth twice that, three are worth three, and so forth. But being together could not be thusly measured. It didn't matter how many days or hours or minutes there were. The value was just in being there.

As he always did when he visited, Nasperge appeared from out the aether into a spot directly in front of House Trevanei's gate. Above him fluttered their banners, the eye with the flame staring at him like an audience. Only a few moments passed before one of the guards noticed him and opened the gate. Although he did not know the guards personally, they had come to know him by his garb, and the High Sorceress had left standing orders that he should be admitted immediately no matter the time or day or circumstance. The guard led Nasperge to the door of the estate, where he was met by an attendant, who led him directly to Moira's room, where she was waiting for him.

The High Sorceress rose to greet him as he entered.

"Nas!" She closed the distance between them and leaned in to kiss him. Twice. Once on each cheek. "I did not expect you. I would have made myself more presentable."

The Magician grinned in spite of himself. Moira was, as always, radiant, and Nasperge could not conceive of a single thing that could have further added to her beauty.

"I cannot stay long," he warned softly. "I will be travelling for a while, and I thought I should stop in first, because I do not know how long I'll be gone."

Moira nodded her understanding. "That was very thoughtful of you, Nas. Where will you be travelling?" Her eyes were smiling, because she knew how he answered direct questions.

"A plane called Cartrevard. I believe I have found a door there."

For a moment, Moira was too stunned to speak. And Moira Trevenei was never too stunned to speak.

"Nas!" She said as she finally regained her composure. "Nas, in all the years I have known you, you have never answered a question straight, let alone volunteered additional information!"

"It's my greatest trick," the Magician said, smiling widely. "And it's the only one I've ever played that truly left you astounded."

"I don't know about that," Moira said, "but I'll admit to my surprise. Of all the things I know you are, and all the things I suspect you of being, I never once thought you would be apparent."

"Well," Nasperge said with a sigh. "Sometimes these things just happen."

And then he was gone.

Daneera: An interesting middle way, considered the other two. Staring at certain things in the face will cause a substantial weakness at the knee regardless of how much you've been expecting them.

Scar: Poor girl, luck is definitely not on her side. Dark things aside, are we really sure human/foxfolk couples are unable to procreate?

Nasperge: I needed a bit of time before understanding what was going on. Leave it to Nas to give a perfectly sincere answer and still avoid the real matter of the question.

This is my favorite of the three because, although all are non-canon, this is the one closest to what I intend to write someday, though probably not quite this way. I very much want to explore this theme that you hit on, when and if I eventually tell this story of Daneera's.


No, and I'm not suggesting that they can't, only that they haven't, insofar as we've seen. What I meant more than anything was that those at the Ranch have so far been learning from Red's experiences, and now Scar has an experience that Red hasn't had, at least that anyone knows about.


Yeah, it really just comes down to a pun here. I think it's more me playing a trick on the reader than Nasperge playing a trick, but it amuses me, nonetheless.

Sure, it's just that the piece made me curious about how a certain character would react to that revelation


Wait, what?

Wait a second...

...oh **** me sideways.