We greet the day in a blissful quenching of our ravenous thirsts for each other, body and soul, my fey lover and me. We plunge into our passions, eager to drown all the loneliness and longing of the love-starved months we were apart. When the first raw rush of wantings is spent, we rest in each other's arms and bask blissfully in the sunshine until the next tide of desire rises to rouse us again. The warm morn moves to midday and on into dusk unnoticed.

The riotous arrival of our kindred breaks the spell. We rise, shining, from our rumpled bed of ferns and grasses. When I see that the day is dimming, a shout of laughter leaps out of me. "What took you so long, you laggards?" I bark at them all as they mill around us in customary chaos, some splashing right into the water, horses and all, some circling us with crude comments.

As evening falls, we gather around a cautious fire. We're not far from the ranger's cave but prefer to stay under the stars for now. It's a clear, bright night lit by a half moon that hangs like a silver bowl above us. One-eyed Faolan and Oran the Ghost wade into the river and come back with a feast of fishes. We sup and pass the aleskins round. My cousin Aidan has done some scouting along the way and has some interesting news about Clan Niafer.

The rumors of the Rian's death are true. A baby was born as she passed into the summerlands, and he is being nursed by a woman called Greer at An Caiseal. His sire is unknown, but half the gossips think it was the druid who was with the Dun Ailinn band, half think it was the war chief Fenian, who went raving into the forest after the Rian died and has never showed himself again. An old man, Enna, is now the Niafer cath milidh. They are patrolling the roads lately, on guard and expecting attack.

"From us?" It brings another great laugh from me.

"Well then, we'll have to give them what they want!" Doran growls. His whetstone is whining again, does he never tire of sharpening his blade?

I rub my freshly shaven chin, missing for a moment the scraggles of the bygone beard. So I smooth the thin line of whiskers that has started drooping down the sides of my mouth instead. "A royal baby, eh? Still kept at the rath. We know the name of his nurse. And old man for war chief?" I look around at my packmates, all of us grinning like the wolves we are.

As I look around at the faces lit by the campfire, I search out Baine and her strange but loyal companion Lasair. Shrugs and grunts are the only answers when I ask after them.

"An easy steal, for a queen's ransom," Faolan rubs his hands together, winks, and adds, "Don't think old men are too weak to fight, though, beware!"

We talk and drink into the night, until the strong ale and weariness knocks us down, one by one. A light rain falls but no one cares.

I take Winter Mist's hand and kiss her fingers. "It's time we found our way to our wedding bed, sweet wife," I smile sleepily.

The sun is just rising again through the mists of summer rain when we step lightly into the cave. Winter Mist halts and tenses, her sensitive ears sharp at the tips. I hear it too. A rustling at the back of the cave. It could be an animal. Or something else. We pause and listen but there's nothing more.

Hand in hand, we go into the cool darkness, treading softly as we can, dagger and sword at the ready. My foot stumbles over something grisly, a gnawed bone. "A wolf?" I breathe.

Before I can draw another breath, I'm knocked to the floor and flattened under a heavy bulk, foul breath and a blade against my ear. Winter Mist squeals. At first I think she's in pain. Then I hear her holler:

"Nion, you crusty old bog-booger, is that really you?"

"Da!" I yell. "Get off me, its yer only son!"