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A child's laugh.

Reality shifted, the nameless elf hesitated, and an olive-skinned hand reached out and slapped his hands away.

And Ilira, for she remembered that Ilira was her name, screamed.

The elf woke, lying on her stomach, into silence.

There was nothing in the world but stillness and herself. It was a pregnant silence, so tangible a sharp knife could shave off a bit to keep locked in a box, and so inexplicably sad that it could only live in a lady's heart. One arm pillowed her chin, the other hung at her side. A whisper of breath tickled the small hairs across her exposed back. She did not know if the dream had ended, or if it endured.

Twilight felt a presence and she froze. Slowly, as though any tiny shift would lead to horror or pain, she looked at the plain-faced elf she somehow knew knelt there.

Any Tel'Quessir who looked upon him would see a face like a reflection, but an elflord's face all the same. A moon elf would see pale skin and midnight hair, a sun elf bronze flesh and a golden mane. The skin would seem copper to a wood elf, aquamarine to a sea elf, deep brown to a wild elf. He would be so unremarkable as to be extraordinary-neither handsome nor ugly, old nor young.

But Twilight saw something different. She saw herself, stripped of her lies and fabrications-naked, alone, and helpless-and she saw him.

Fingers traced the sunburst tattoo at the base of her spine in a way that sent chills through her body. Whether it was a sensitive spot or something else, she did not know. In the other hand, he dangled her amulet-the Shroud.

He smiled, and she felt something like courage.

"I…" Twilight pursed her lips. "Are you… are you who I think you are?"

No reply.

"You are."

The smile widened a little, as though its owner laughed at a jest she had made.

"I see." Twilight shifted. She realized that the touch on her back was much more soothing than she imagined it could be. "I… I'm sorry for all the… all the lies I've told… about you." She bit her lip. "About me."

Then his eyes danced with laughter and turned away. His face slipped so subtly the elf barely noticed. His fingers tapped a rhythm on her spine and he rose to leave.

"One… one question?"

He paused and the eyes went to hers. The irises shifted, like a rainbow-red and blue and green and gold.

"When I wake… will those lies be true?" she asked. "Are you you-, or just me?"

He grinned and held up two fingers, which he used to close her eyes. In that darkness, he kissed her on the throat, and the world turned only for her.

Breathless, Twilight opened her eyes, but he was gone. The star sapphire gleamed against the pale skin of her breastbone.

She let blessed darkness come, and wondered if she would find Reverie.

It occurred to Twilight that she might have asked if he loved her.

Foxdaughter lay unmoving on her back, eyes wide but empty. The black blanket contrasted sharply with skin paler than the whitest Gargan had ever seen on a living being. The amulet sparkling on her chest did not seem to rise and fall.

"/ wonder why it sits by her," Mehvenne said to the tent walls. "She is not dead, but neither does she live. She is lost."

"She dreams," Gargan said. He could not speak the tongue of the goliaths in that place, for a watcher might think he broke the laws.

Mehvenne inspected the back of her hand. "It fools itself," she said. "All my herbs and potions are for naught. The elf-child will die."

Gargan shook his head. There was nothing that would dissuade him.

"I did not agree with the tribe's decision,"'Mehvenne said to her pots as she stirred two at once. Her emerald stripes sparkled in the half light of the rothe- candles.

"Not their decision," Gargan whispered, inaudible outside the tent. "Mine."

That caught Mehvenne's attention, and she turned ruby eyes on him. Gargan felt something in the air strain, as though it would break.

Then she looked away and it returned. The distance between them that would always remain-would