Windhaven

She could hardly bear to think of flying itself, of that great joy and freedom she had lost forever. The memories came of themselves, though: the world spread out beneath her, the joy of being winged, the thrill of running before a storm, the myriad colors of the sky, the magnificent solitude of the heights. All the things she could never see or feel again, except in memory. Once she had found a riser that took her halfway to infinity, up to the realms where the star sailors had moved, where the sea itself vanished below and nothing flew but the strange, ethereal wind wraiths. She would always remember that day, always.

The world grew dark around her, and the stars began to appear. The sound of the sea was everywhere.

She was numb, chilled to the bone, emptied of tears, as she faced the emptiness of her life. Finally she began the long walk back to the cabin, turning her back on the sea and the sky.

The house was warm and filled with the rich aroma of stew. The sight of Evan standing by the fire made her heart beat faster. His blue eyes were infinitely tender when he spoke her name. She ran to him and flung her arms around him, holding tight, holding on for dear life. She closed her eyes against the dizziness.

"Maris," he said again. "Maris." He sounded pleased and surprised. His arms came up and held her even more closely, protectively. At last he led her to the table and set her dinner before her.

He spoke as they ate, telling her the events of his day. An adventure chasing the goat. Finding a bush of ripe silverberries. A special dessert he'd made for her.

She nodded, scarcely taking in the sense of what he said, but comforted by the sound of his voice, wanting it to continue. His words, his presence, told her the world had not utterly ended.

At last she interrupted him. "Evan, I have to know. This… injury I have. Is there any chance that it will ever heal? That I will be able… that I will recover?"

He set down his spoon, the animation gone out of his face at once. "Maris, I don't know. I don't think anyone could tell you if your condition is a passing thing, or permanent. I can't be sure."

"Your guess, then. Your best guess."

There was pain in his face. "No," he said quietly. "I don't think you'll recover fully. I don't think you can regain what you have lost."

She nodded, externally calm. "I understand." She pushed her food aside. "Thank you. I had to ask.

Somewhere, I was still hoping." She stood up.

"Maris…"

She motioned him back. "I'm tired. It's been a hard day for me and I have to think, Evan. There are decisions I must make now, and I need to be alone. I'm sorry." She forced a smile. "The stew was fine.

I'm sorry to miss the dessert you made, but I'm not hungry."

The room was black and cold when Maris woke. The fire she had started had gone out. She sat up in bed and stared into the darkness. No more tears, she thought. That's over.

When she threw back the covers and stood up, the floor shifted under her feet and she lurched dizzily for an instant. She steadied herself, slipped into a short robe, and then walked to the kitchen where she lit a candle from the embers still smoldering in the hearth. The wooden floor was cold beneath her bare feet as she walked down the hall, past the workroom where Evan prepared his brews and ointments, past the empty bedrooms he kept for those who came to him.

When she opened his door Evan stirred, rolled over, and blinked at her.

"Maris?" he said, his voice thick with sleep. "What's wrong?"

"I don't want to be dead," she said.

Maris walked across the room and set the candle on the bedside table. Evan sat up and caught her hand.

"I've done all I can for you as a healer," he said. "If you want my love… if you want me…"

She stopped his words with a kiss. "Yes," she said.

"My dear," he said, looking at her in the candlelight. The shadows made his face strange, and for a moment she felt awkward and frightened.

But the moment passed. He threw back his blankets, and she shrugged off her robe and climbed into bed with him. His arms went around her, and his hands were gentle, loving, and familiar, and his body was warm and full of life.

"Teach me to heal," Maris said the next morning. "I'd like to work with you."

Evan smiled. "Thank you very much," he said. "It's not that easy, you know. Why this sudden interest in the healing arts?"

She frowned. "I must do something, Evan. I have only one skill, flying, and that's lost to me now. I've never done anything else. I could take a ship back to Amberly, and live out the rest of my days in the house I inherited from my stepfather, doing nothing. I'd be provided for— even if I had nothing, the people of Amberly don't let their retired flyers end as paupers." She moved away from the breakfast table and began to pace.