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"Why should I despise my sister?" asked Thanar. He turned to the tree's great trunk. "We may be from different branches, but we are linked nevertheless. All living things are. From the deepest root to the highest bough, we are all one tree."

"I like that," Kellin answered, lowering her head. "I wish everyone thought that way. Some sages follow your line of wisdom. They think all life originated in one place and continues in what some call the Endless March-changing, adapting, and improving-in much the same way that farmers improve their livestock through breeding."

"I've heard of such thinking," Thanar said. "Do you believe it?"

Kellin shrugged. "It's not my area. It makes sense to me, though. And it cuts to the heart of what you said: that all of life may have a common origin and therefore be linked."

"I need no sage to tell me that. I feel it." He asked, "What god do you revere?"

"Principally," she said, "I worship Oghma. Why?"

"The Binder of What Is Known," he said, repeating one of the titles of the Lord of Knowledge. Kellin was faintly surprised Thanar knew of it, that he even knew of Oghma. She supposed it made sense for him to know of a god so opposite to his world view. "Tell me, why should the world be bound? Is not everything dead once it's bound? Once it is written in books or scrolls, it no longer lives in nature."

"I'd rather think that it will live forever if it's written," Kellin answered.

"And our tribe?" Thanar probed. "If we are destroyed, will we live forever in your father's books, or those you will write in the future?"

"You will be remembered," said Kellin, "by anyone who cares to remember you."

Thanar caught a fallen leaf. It was dry and withered, and he crushed it in his fingers.

"Perhaps that's better than nothing," he said.

"You're not like the others," Kellin pressed. "I understand you lived apart from the Thunderbeasts for many years. Do you consider yourself a member of the tribe?"

"Still the sage." Thanar smiled mysteriously. "Do you mean to put my answer in a book?"

"I can't promise I won't," said Kellin, smiling back. She felt much more comfortable with him.

"I spent many years away from it, truly," said Thanar. "But I was born a Thunderbeast and a Thunderbeast I remain. Even if the rest of the tribe withered and died, and I spent a lifetime in the Spine of the World, never seeing another human or speaking another word aloud, a Thunderbeast I would stay."

"Yet in the past you sought to distance yourself from your tribe."

"Others have done worse. Thluna's closest friend left the tribe to join the Black Lions, a matter which weighs heavily on him. The Black Lions' way holds much appeal for the young Uthgardt, it seems. I wonder, in Garstak's soul, does he still think of himself as a Thunderbeast? As for myself, after all this is over-and assuming I still live-I may choose to leave them behind for good. I hold that my tribe is something I carry around inside my heart."

"I'm worried about Vell," Kellin admitted. "He doesn't feel much connection to his tribe. Not now."

"Not ever," corrected Thanar. "He was one of the silent. You have seen them-Hengin, Grallah, Ilskar, and Draf-our warrior companions who follow their chief's orders absolutely and who seldom speak. I would wager that in their depths, they do not identify with their tribe as they feel they should, and that this is a matter of private shame. Many generations have pressed on in such anguish."

"What worries me," said Kellin," is that Vell doesn't have anything else solid to hold on to."

"He'll have his own choices to make," said Thanar. "We must have faith that he'll make them properly."

Kellin looked up at the vast Canvas of Grandfather Tree's leaves and was lost again in its beauty and majesty. "Do you think it would be all right to stay here a bit longer?" she asked.

Thanar smiled. "I don't think it will do any harm," he said, and together they lingered and marveled at the tree's everlasting dignity, undiminished by the nagging hollowness they felt in their hearts.

* * * * *

Vell flinched