Ma surprises us when she parades into our camp like a queen, with a snot-nosed boy carrying her basket. The first thing she does is nag at Baine for not taking the wounded, and that would be Winter Mist, into shelter. So somebody's seen us but we got no greeting till now. A fine welcome for the new chief of Magh Croimor! And she knows about the Telltown wedding but that's old news by now. If she heard about the wedding then she must know all of it, for who would tell the tale without the twist? Still, quick, I cover my wife's sweet face, not wanting to give Ma a fit right off. Even if she did hear of Winter Mist, the beauty of my bride might be too much for her to take in all at once.

In a chieftainly manner, I leave the packs and the horses for Baine and Lasair to tend. Proudly, with my two bows slung behind me, I carry my sleeping wife to Becuma's hut. A light burden, a heavy heart. This is not the homecoming I wanted. Does she even know she's home? Ma is striding ahead of us without looking back. Her merry little basket-carrier skips along and babbles a steady stream of silly questions. He doesn't seem to care if I ignore him. He's likely used to being ignored, if Ma is the same as she always was. I push back the edge of the pelts and steal a peek at Winter Mist. When I brush her pale lips lightly with mine, she sighs and stirs a little, to nestle into my arms. I tuck the soft furs back into place and press her snugly against me. Soon she'll be herself again, and then...

The little hut grew since we left Magh Croimor. Before, it was not much more than a clutter of dead-fall, only a little neater than Da's house of ash boughs. Now it looks like somebody shaped a wall of woven reeds to go along the curve of the hillside outside the cave that lurked behind the thornbushes where I was born. The new wall is so cunningly built that the hut wouldn't be seen unless you knew where to look. Hag's teeth! It's even dabbled with mud to keep the warm in and the beasties out, and a kind of thatching thrown up over top, as good as any hut in Temhair or Inver Colpa.

Inside there's a hearth with a pot set to steaming. Ma's servant boy clears some clutter off the bed to make way for Winter Mist. I can hardly believe my eyes when I see my own Ma smile and run her fingers through the brat-boy's tangled curls. The best I ever got from those fingers was a pinch on the back of the neck. And now it's Ma's turn to babble questions at me. Still holding my wife in my arms, I stand there trying not to shrink back to being a brat-boy again myself.

Then I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my belly when it dawns on me that not only do I have to get Ma ready to meet Winter Mist. I must also tell her Da is dead. They were a rough match, just as much fighting as lovemaking, but they stayed together off and on for all of the twenty or so summers of my life. Everybody saw them as life-mates. While Ma chatters more questions, I try to decide what to tell her first.

"Ma, it was - er - eh," my voice squeaks like a mouse. She mocks me and starts gabbling about making babies and how we need more children around here. I turn and bend to put Winter Mist down on the bed and hide my red face. As she settles down, in her dreaming she reaches for me. Her dark elvin hand slips out of the covers.

Nothing ever could escape Ma's eagle eyes, especially something I didn't want her to see. She gawks, pushes me aside and hunches over the bed for a closer look. "What's this? The gods gave you the dirtiest lass they could find? Is she covered in ashes?" Her voice rises dangerously with each question. She spits on one finger and rubs it on Winter Mist's limp hand. Of course nothing changes.

I stammer like a fool. "N-no, Ma, she's not dirty at all, not ashy either, she's very clean, really, very clean -"

Becuma's arm snakes out slowly, dreadfully, towards my sleeping wife.

"NO!" I roar and throw myself between Ma and Winter Mist. I grab Ma by the shoulders and yell into her face. "Don't you dare! Don't touch her!"

Ma snarls right back at me. "I want to see what it is you've brought into my house! Into our family! You've got a child on her, I just know it! You never did have half your wits, now show me what creature you've wed!"

She flails her claws at me, cusses, spits and wrestles but I hold her fast and blast her with these words. "She is not a creature! If you try to harm her, I'll kill you, I promise!"

I don't know who is more awestruck, me or Ma. Bloody eye to bloody eye, a black chasm opens between us. We both go stone cold, locked in a hateful embrace. Neither of us takes a breath for what feels like forever. Then Ma draws back, slaps me as hard as she can across one cheek, and screeches, "Threaten me with death! Who do you think you are?"

The slap stings so bad that it brings tears to my eyes. I look at Ma through a red fog.

Very softly and very slowly, I answer. "Who do I think I am, you ask? I'll tell you who I am, if you don't know. I am the chief of Magh Croimor, son of Nion the Crookback, who died at the battle of Bog Ailinn. And I am husband to the woman who's called Winter Mist. She is of the Sidhe."