"There's an Elv at our door! Come quick!"

Her grandmother looked up from the stove. "That's lovely, dear. Could you pass the potatoes?"

Kylire dutifully handed the bowl over and repeated, "There's an Elv waiting outside, really there is! I've never met one before, but I saw him shape-shift!"

Avara sighed as she added the tubers to the soup. "You're not a child anymore, daughter's daughter. You have to stop these foolish fancies, they'll do you no good. Now be a good girl and go peel those carrots."

"But it's true this time, Grandmother! You know I wouldn't say such a thing if it weren't." Kylire protested, not moving toward the carrots.

The old woman raised a spoonful of hot stew to her mouth and tasted. "A little too salty." She concluded, not responding to her grandchild.

"You know something about it, don't you." Kylire accused, planting both fists on her hips. "Why won't you tell me? Elves have never come this far south before, even the merchants. And I don't think this one's a merchant."

Avara wiped her hands on the faded apron she was wearing, and pinned the young woman with a firm gaze. "It's better that you don't know. That no one knows." She said quietly. "It's part of the past, Kylire. It would be well to let it rest. The Elv will understand."

"But—"

"Don't give me that look, girl. If I thought it would do no harm for you to know, I would tell you. Now go, bid the man farewell." The aging woman shook her spoon at the girl. Her expression was implacable.

Kylire swallowed her protests and left the kitchen obediently.

The person standing on their doorstep might have been just a tall, exceptionally handsome young man. Except that no man, not even a mage, could change from animal to human like the Elves could. Kylire tugged at one of her twin braids in an unconscious show of annoyance as she spoke. "My grandmother says to bid you farewell. She said you'd understand."

The Elv's too-beautiful face broke into a wry smile. "I should have expected." He murmured, and his voice was reminiscent of leaves rustling. "Did your grandmother tell you why she will not speak to me?"

Kylire shook her head and looked at her feet. "She said it was better for me not to know."

Silence.

Kylire's cheeks flushed as the seconds dragged by. Oh Goddess, I must have offended him somehow...now he must think me dreadfully rude, and I don't even know what I said wrong.

Much to her relief, the Elv finally broke the tension. "Perhaps it is." He said musingly, almost to himself. "Well, give my good wishes to your grandmother. Tholinályë menyéra-di!" He bowed courteously and turned to leave.

Kylire blinked. Those strange last words must have been in Laréthe, the language of the Elves. How odd—for a moment, she had almost thought they were in ordinary Solarvyan...

Wait a minute. I actually understood what he was saying.

"Wait!" Kylire burst out. "How did I know what you just said?"

The Elv looked over his shoulder. He seemed to hesitate for a heartbeat, and then—

"Because you are a child of the Elves, Kylire." He smiled gently. Before the young woman could demand to know what he meant, the Elv melted into his eagle shift-form and rose into the firmament with a keening cry. Kylire could only watch as the bird disappeared into the distance.

"So now you understand." Her grandmother's soft voice made the girl all but leap out of her skin. "I suppose you would have found out eventually."

Kylire sagged against the doorframe. "Why didn't you ever tell me? How could I be one of...them? Elves never marry humans!"

Avara stroked her hair gently. "You are the child of my heart, Kylire, but I am not your blood kin." She paused. "Your true family dwells in Voliernya." Voliernya was the kingdom of the Elves, encompassing the great northern forests. None but the Elves were allowed to pass its enchanted borders.

The old woman might have said more, but right then Kylire—who was far from delicate—sank to the ground in a dead faint.

Kylire studied her face in the mirror morosely. It was a beautiful face, there was no denying that. Rich chestnut hair framed solemn eyes of leaf-green hue, above high cheekbones and skin that showed not a trace of blemishes. Such a countenance should have had every boy her age swooning with love. But hers was clearly not the beauty of the race of Men. It was alien. It was eerie. It hadn't been so obvious when she was a child, and now she hated it. Of all things, beauty made her an outcast.

She was lonely, even with her grandmother. She was achingly lonely, and all everyone could see was her unnatural beauty.

Oh yes, she could hear what they whispered behind her back. Seductress, they called her, little harpy. They thought she had no trouble finding...certain kinds of company.

Her clenched fist met the tabletop with a loud thump. Kylire watched as her nails pressed harder into her palm, drawing blood. The crimson fluid welled up through her fingers, but she ignored the pain, watching the slow trickle with morbid fascination.

The young woman did not look up when her grandmother entered the room.

"Kylire, love, can you—good Goddess! What happened to your hand?" Avara hastened to her side. "Oh my dear, what are you doing to yourself?"

"It's nothing, Grandmother." Kylire shrugged, "Just a scratch."

"Just a scratch! Look at all this blood! You must let me bandage that for you."

She turned away and said nothing. You don't understand, Grandmother.

After a while, Avara sighed and left with soft footsteps.

I'm sorry, Grandmother. Against her will, tears blurred Kylire's vision. I didn't mean...

Didn't mean what?

And Kylire could not answer that thought.

The Elv came back when Kylire was twenty years old. Avara had passed away three years before.

She was working in the herb garden when the eagle landed in front of her, abruptly leaping into Elven form.

Kylire looked at him and dropped the weeds she had been yanking up. "So you're back." She hissed, through clenched teeth. "Come to bring another unwelcome surprise?" Most people were in utter awe of Elves, even fearing them, because of their legendary magical Power. At this point Kylire didn't really care whether the one standing in her garden could turn her into a frog.

The Elv smiled faintly. "I didn't tell you my name before, did I? It's Tarelan. Tarelan of the House Lenís."

"Pleased to meet you." Kylire muttered sarcastically.

"And you, " Tarelan continued, completely nonplussed as he pointed a slender finger at her, "Are Kylire of the House Thoránu."

Kylire rolled her eyes. "Look, Tarry Lamb or whatever your name is—" Tarelan winced, but she ignored it. "—I don't give a tinker's toot what your house is called, or what mine supposedly is. Why in the Goddess's name are you here bothering me?"

The Elv retained his infuriatingly pleasant expression. "You're twenty years old now, Kylire. It's time you came home to Voliernya. You're the last of your bloodline, you know. You have duties in the kingdom."

"My home," Kylire told him firmly, "is where I am right now. Duty can go to the Deeplord for all I care. You've managed fine without me so far. You can keep doing so." And she went back to weeding.

Tarelan's laugh made her even more annoyed. "Voliernya can surely use that sharp-edged tongue, if nothing else." His tone sobered. "However, we only 'managed fine without you' because there were others of the House Thoránu until now."

Kylire slammed her shovel into the ground. "If they care so much about duty, why didn't THEY raise me, instead of ignoring me for twenty years?" Her eyes flashed with anger.

Tarelan shook his head and held up a placating hand. "They would have, believe me. But certain...hidebound factions of the court," and here his expression hardened for a moment, "argued against bringing you back. They believed no Elv raised by the race of Men could be a true Elv."

Kylire crossed her arms over her chest. "Oh, and now they've suddenly changed their minds, have they?"

Tarelan nodded, with admirable aplomb.

Kylire flung up her hands. "I don't believe this! You expect me to believe this?" She made a strangled sound of frustration, grinding her teeth.

Tarelan merely smiled. "I will return in a week. Make your decision by then."

"Um, Amitath...where are we?" J'rin leaned over his dragon's shoulder and peered suspiciously at the highly unfamiliar landscape. "I mean, we've been all over the place but..."

I don't know what this world is called, all I know is that there are many Candidates here. I can sense them.

"Oh, well that's just great." The bluerider sighed. "You don't even know if these prospective Candidates are capable of being dragonriders! They could be, I don't know, giant bugs or something!"

Amitath snorted. I'm not a hatchling, you know, I thought of that before I came. They're humans. Or at least very similar to humans.

A pause.

All the potential seems to be concentrated to the north, but I think...yes, I'm sure there's one around here.  The dragon began spiraling downward.

J'rin, meanwhile, continued his berating. "What if they don't have dragons on this planet? They might, what, shoot us or something! We can't just knock on someone's door and say, "Hi, I'm from another planet, and my dragon here thinks we should take you back.'! What if--"

Stop being a wherry and get off.  Amitath interrupted pleasantly. He nodded his great head. It's that cottage over there.

Muttering under his breath, J'rin unstrapped himself and slid down, cautiously approaching the dwelling. It looked normal enough, but...

Sometimes he really, really hated his job.

Go on.  Amitath urged him, sounding amused. The big blue glanced around curiously. I wonder where all the people are.

We probably scared them away, you ninny.

J'rin knocked hesitantly on the door of the house. He was understandably startled when it was flung open and an irate young woman asked, "What do you want now, you blasted Elv?"

"Er..." the Searchrider ventured uncertainly.

The girl blinked, and the anger vanished from her face. "Apologies, I thought you were someone else. May I help you?" Her accent was admittedly strange, but he could understand her. Which was...well...rather odd. But good.

"Yes, well, um." J'rin cleared his throat nervously. Such a swift change of temper was unnerving. "I'm J'rin and, uh, that's...er...that's my dragon, Amitath." He said, lamely.

The young woman just stared at him. And she was very pretty too, he noticed. It was kind of disturbing, really. "You can call me Kylire. Do I know you?"

"Well, no." J'rin coughed. "I'm, uh, not really from this...world."

Kylire rolled her eyes. "Are men always this unbelievable or do I just have bad luck?"

"No no, it's true!" The dragonrider protested. He pointed at Amitath. "Does HE look like he's from around here?"

"How in the Goddess's name should I know? Dragons are a reclusive folk."

At least she knew about dragons. That was a good start, right? J'rin tapped his fingers absently on the doorframe. "In any case," he said briskly, "Amitath here says you could potentially bond a dragon. At Ryslen Weyr, which is where we came from."

The girl pressed her lips together suspiciously, eyeing him. Finally she asked, "Does it involve getting out of here indefinitely?"

"Um...yes. But you can always come back later."

Kylire grinned. "Come back? Not on your life. I don't know what you mean by bonding a dragon, but if it involves leaving this place, then by the Goddess I'm coming with you."

Amitath smirked. I like this girl.

And that was that.