Ciara—Coming Home

	It took them eight days to get to Cearnach City.  Ciara had packed bread, cheese and wine in a separate bag which she had draped over Embarr's shoulders, and they ate most meals on horseback.  They only stopped at night, to sleep in tall grass beside the road, or in one of the small groves of trees that were scattered around this part of the island.  During the trip, they didn’t see anything that suggested another war was coming.  The whole island seemed as peaceful and as boring as it had been for the last nine years.  Ciara knew better than to be lulled by the peace, but it was still difficult not to get her hopes up.
	Late in the afternoon of the eighth day, Embarr trotted up to the top of the hill in front of the city of Cearnach and stopped.  He whickered softly, and when Ciara looked up, her breath caught in her throat.  Despite the fire and the damage Blackpool had done during the seige, her city had barely changed.  The walls around it were a little taller, and maybe a little thicker, but they were still lined with garish red and white flags.  Inside the city, a second wall had been built around the castle and its hill.  All of it was painted white, just the way she remembered.  When she had been seven years old, her father had read a story to her, all about a band of heroes on their way to a white city far away.  She had thought it was silly at the time, and had told him so.  But Connor had been quite taken with the story, and had tried to turn his city into the one he'd seen in his head.
	After a minute, Niamh prodded her in the back.
	“Breathe in, before you pass out,” she said.
	Ciara shook herself a little and forced herself to let go of Embarr’s mane.
	“Nothing has changed.  Everything is just the way it was when I left.”
	“You haven't been gone that long,” said Niamh.
	“But they burned it.  I saw the smoke.  I thought--”
	“What?  That they would learn something?  You know better.”
	Ciara snorted in reply, and urged Embarr into a trot down the hill.
	At the front, the city was guarded by a tall stone arch and a pair of heavy wooden gates, banded with steel.  These stayed open most of the time, to encourage visitors and to let in the light.  From the rust on the hinges, they didn't look like they'd been shut in years, but as they passed by, Ciara could see oil pooled on the ground under them.
	Just inside the gate was a straight, broad road that led directly to the walls of the castle, but Ciara turned right onto a narrower, more crowded street instead.  This ran all the way around the city and had been set aside to accommodate the few merchants and unimportant visitors to the city.  It was full of cheap shops and mouldering warehouses, but there were a few nicer buildings as well, mostly taverns built by people who had remembered that merchants were often rich.  With the threat of war this outer street was even more crowded than usual, which made it difficult to move.  Feeling ashamed of herself, Ciara barked at Embarr, to get him to push through the worst of the crowd.  He took care not to knock anyone over, but people in Cearnach had learned to be wary of horses and they scrambled out of his way as quickly as if he had decided to charge them.
	“Foxes everywhere.  I think I know how you must have felt coming into Oseille the first time,” said Niamh.
	“They aren't going to hurt you.  They don't care about you.  Most of them,” said Ciara.
	“That isn't much help.  Besides you, who would look twice if something did happen to me?”
	“That's why you stay close to me, and don't look at anyone.  They won't bother you if you don't care about them,” said Ciara.
	Cheap lodging was scarce in Cearnach.  They wandered through the city for two hours before they found a place that looked run down enough to be affordable.  It was a crumbling red brick hotel, hidden in a corner of the city behind a pair of empty warehouses.  It had been a nice place when it had been built.  It was three stories tall with large windows, and the rotten remains of a walkway all around the top floor.  There was a stable shed attached to the left hand side but from the look, and smell, of things, it was empty.  They left Embarr standing in front of the stables, confident that he could take care of himself against thieves, and went inside.
	The front hall was cool and musty, and everything except the front desk was covered in dust.  A skinny grey fox sat behind the desk with a heavy book held up close to his face.  He turned his chair away from them when they came through the door and he folded his ears down to show that he wasn’t going to listen to them.  Ciara knocked politely on the top of his desk, but he just turned a page in his book.  She knocked a little harder, and he slammed the book down on the desk.
	“I’ve told you already, this place is not for sale.  This city doesn’t need another barracks anyway, you’ve got twelve already,” he said.
	“We're not with the city, and we don't want to buy anything.  We just a place to stay,” said Ciara.
	He leaned forward and squinted at her for a minute, and then he straightened up and brushed self-consciously at the streaks of dust on his shirt.  Seen clearly, he was barely a year or two older than she was, and he would have been handsome if he had made an effort.  His clothing was rumpled, as if he’d been sleeping in it, and he smelled of dust.
	“You don’t want to stay here.  I can give you directions to a better place to stay, if you’d like.  That’s all anyone ever comes in here for, anyway.,” he said.  
	He picked up his book and flopped down into his chair, which caused a thick puff of dust to fly up.
	Ciara brushed a pawful of dust off the top of the old desk.  It was made of old, dark red cherry wood, and the polished top was cool and as slick as ice.  A pair of delicate wood and glass doors at the far end of the room led into a larger area that looked like a ballroom.  The floor was covered in a thick, maroon carpet, and the walls were panelled with oak.
	“Here is fine,” she said.
	He glared up at them over the top of his book, but some of the hostility had drained out of his expression.
	“Why?” he said.
	“Because this was someplace, once.  It looks like it was a beautiful place,” said Niamh.
	“It would have been.  But it got shut down before it even got a name,” he said.
	“Why?” said Niamh.
	“Because of the war.  It ruined everything,” said Ciara “We’ll stay here, if you’ll let us.”
	She took three large silver coins out of her pocket, and put them on the desk in front of him.  They were old coins, and their edges had been worn smooth.  The image of a crescent moon was stamped on one side, and the year they had been minted was stamped on the other.  They were probably worth three times as much now as what they’d been worth when they were new.  
	“You don't expect to pay with those, do you?” he said.
	“Why not?  There's nothing wrong with them,” said Ciara.
	“You've been gone a long time, I think.  We don't take Blackpool silver anymore.”
	“Silver is silver.  Take it to the right merchant, and you know she wouldn't turn it away.”
	“If she didn't report me for trying to pass off illegal currency.  You'd better get rid of any more you might have, and for the love of God, don't let anyone see you with it.”
	He swept them off the counter and into his pockets without examining them, and pushed an ancient register book across the counter.  Ciara signed it while he watched, and had to bite the side of her tongue to keep from yelping when he grabbed her wrist halfway through.
	“Lohan.  I see,” he said, “You can take whichever room you want.  All the keys are in the door.  If you have horses, you can put them in the stables yourselves.”
	Niamh prised his fingers from around Ciara's wrist and pulled her safely away from the desk.  The grey fox opened a flap on the side of the desk and took a step towards them, until Niamh snarled at him.  It wasn't particularly effective, and sounded more like a cough than a threat.  But it stopped him.
	“That's gratitude.  How many other people do you think would even let you through the door?” he said.
	“I don't know.  Maybe we should go and look,” said Ciara.
	“That really would be stupid.  You won't find anywhere else that'll let you in for the old rates.  Not with that rabbit,” he said.
	“Why not?  I haven't done anything wrong,” said Niamh.
	“You're not a fox.  That's enough,” he said.
	“Like I said, nothing has changed.  It's still the same old city, filled with the same stupid people,” said Ciara.
	The grey fox took another step towards them, and Niamh grabbed her by the tail and pulled her back out the door.  Ciara pulled back, in spite of the pain, until the grey fox was out of sight.  Once the door closed behind them, she let Niamh steer her back to where Embarr was waiting, but held herself stiff so her friend wouldn't see her trembling.
	“Let's not get ourselves kicked out, until we at least have somewhere else to stay, okay?” said Niamh.
	“Then maybe we should go and look.  I'm sorry, I'd forgotten just how bad people could be,” she said.
	“I don't care.  Leave them be, and let's focus on why we're here,” said Niamh.
	The stables were half-rotten and gloomy, and some of the stalls had fallen apart.  A narrow staircase led up through the roof, and all of the windows were cracked and dirty.  Embarr sulked and dragged his feet when she let him inside, but he followed her into the first stall that looked strong enough to hold him.  He stuck his head over the gate when she locked it, and bumped his nose against her shoulder.  She pressed her face into the side of his neck for a moment, so Niamh wouldn't see the tears welling up.  She had never been to this part of the city before.  In fact, she had hardly left the castle except to go to the market with her mother, and once or twice to church.  But all of it felt so familiar, and smelled just like she had always remembered, that it was painful.
	After a minute, she dried her face with Embarr's mane, and set to looking through the jumbled mess of the tack room for a bit of decent fodder for him.  In spite of the run-down appearance of the stables, the fresh straw on the floor of some of the stalls suggested that people still sometimes came to stay.  After ten minutes work, she uncovered half a bale of hay that still looked edible, and lugged it over to the bin on Embarr's door.
	“Give me a day or two, and I'll have some more brought in, if you're going to be here that long,” said the grey fox.
	He was standing in the stable door, with a page torn from his ledger book half crumpled up in one hand.  It was hard to see in the dusty light, but Ciara recognized her own signature on the bottom of the page.  All of the others had been faded to near illegibility, but hers was still black and fresh.
	“I've always heard that Deirdre had a daughter.  I think that must be the only really true thing people know about her, now,” he said.
	“She never liked for people to talk about her.  She didn't want to be famous, just appreciated,” she said.
	“Is that why she abandoned us?”
	Anger rose hot in her chest, and she felt the fur rise on the back of her neck.  It was only Niamh, slipping fingers into her hand, that kept her still.
	“My mother almost killed herself for this city.  She never had time for herself, or for me.  So you don't have anything to say.”
	The grey fox walked over and held the pages out for her to take.  Her first reaction was to want to draw back.  But he held the paper out at arm's length, and crouched a little, almost a gesture of submission.  She had to hold the pages over her head to catch the light, and even most of the names were impossible to read.  But near the top of the page, three lines up from her own, was her mother's name, in the same sloppy scrawl that she remembered.
	“She stayed here once, for three days, eighteen years ago.  That was before anyone really knew who she was.  I always wondered if she would ever come back, but she never did,” he said.
	“Fine.  What do you want from me?  I gave you all the money I had, so if she still owes you some, you're out of luck.” she said.
	“I just wondered if... No, look.  I came down to apologize.  I can't help how I feel, but that isn't your fault.”
	“Good.  You hate my family, but it's nothing personal.  That makes it so much better.”
	“I don't.  I loved her, everyone did.  Cearnach would have given her anything she wanted.  Instead, she left us without saying a word.”
	“It's what she does best,” said Ciara.

	They took a room on the second floor, at the back of the building so they could have quiet.  This hallway was clean and brightly lit, and looked well lived in.  The walls were panelled with the same dark cherry wood that the front desk was made of, and the carpet was newer and thicker than the one downstairs.  The windows were smaller on this floor, but they were clean, and none of them were broken.  Their host led them to a pair of polished doors in the middle of the hall, and shoved them open with a clumsy flourish.  The room was smaller than Ciara expected, but it was even more ornate than the rest of the tavern.  The walls were painted with important scenes from Cearnach’s history, and the floor was white marble, covered with wide blue rugs.  The bed was broad and squat, and it took up most of one wall.  The sheets that were folded at the foot of the bed looked like real silk.  On the other side of the room, close to the fireplace, there was a large metal bath that looked like it was big enough to hold two or three people at once.  Long copper pipes with white marble handles fixed to them came up through the floor and curved over the lip of the bath.
	“This room was Mom’s idea.  It even has running water.  We thought this place was going to be important, before the siege,” he said.
	He fussed restlessly around the room, polishing random things with the tail of his shirt.  Ciara went in carefully, uncomfortable with the unnatural coldness of the marble floor.  She twisted a handle on one of the copper tubes over the bath, and it spat out a clot of rust, and a thin trickle of dirty water.  He gave her an apologetic grin, and his ears tilted with embarrassment.
	“The water’s off.  I keep it off in every room but my own.  Normally, no one is ever up here but me,” he said.
	He tried to scoop up the rust and hide it behind his back.  It dribbled between his fingers and spotted the floor around his feet.
	“Do you really think my mother was some kind of a hero?” said Ciara.
	“Yes, why not?  She was the closest we've ever had to one,” he said.
	“No.  Deirdre was only a vixen.  She wasn't a hero, she was just too stubborn to know when to give up.”
	He looked away from her and toed the spots of rust, rubbing them into the weave of the carpet.  Ciara watched him, and wondered if she should feel sorry for him.  But she couldn't see the point of that.
	“Give me a couple of minutes, and I'll get the water back on.  Make yourself comfortable, and I'll be at the desk if you need me,” he said.
	He backed out of the room, leaving smears of rust on the white doorframe, and ran downstairs.  Ciara sat down on the bed, and cradled her head in her hands.
	“She didn’t do anything but kill people.  What kind of hero is that?” she said.
	“The kind that people want,” said Niamh.
	After their host had restarted the pumps, Ciara filled the bath with hot water to let Niamh soak and ease the pain in her leg.  Meanwhile she put supper together.  She laid bread and cheese on a silver tray she'd found on the mantle above the fireplace, and she dug a bottle of good wine out of her pack.  Balancing everything carefully on one hand, she stepped into the water beside Niamh. Jer own legs were bruised and sore from the long ride, and the heat made them feel better at once.  Niamh snuggled up close against her and they shared the bottle of wine sip for sip.  That helped to dull some of the pain in her heart.
	When more than half the bottle was gone, Niamh laid her head back on Ciara’s shoulder and shut her eyes.
	“I wish you had asked for another room.  Everywhere I look the walls are covered with soldiers killing each other,” she said.
	“Our glorious past,” said Ciara, and she would have spat if her mouth hadn't suddenly gone dry.
	The painting in front of them showed a tall, handsome red fox in rags and bloodied armor, standing in the middle of a battlefield.  There were bodies piled at his feet, and he held a sword up over his head that would have been to large for him to actually use.  He was surrounded by a halo of pale white light, but the sky of the battlefield was cloudy and streaked with lightning.  This, she guessed, was her great- times something grandfather, who founded the city.
	“I come from a family of murderers.  My grandfathers murdered thousands of people between them.  My parents have spent all of their lives killing other people.  For what?  A shabby city I wouldn't give you two cents for.” she said.
	“You aren't them.  What they did doesn't have anything to do with you,” said Niamh.
	“I wish I could belive that.  Nobody else will,” she said.

	Eventually, lulled by wine and the heat of the bath, Niamh drifted off to sleep.  Ciara put her into bed, and checked the door of their room to make sure it really locked.  Then she got dressed and slipped back downstairs.
	By now, it was almost dark, and in Oseille most people would be going to bed soon.  But in Cearnach, she remembered, people were up at all hours, and the mere shade of the sky didn't make a difference to any of them.  Without Embarr to push through the crowds, she had to rely on her size instead.  She was small, even for a swift fox, and slight, and she could squeeze through gaps that were too narrow for anyone else.  Nobody looked at her, even when she brushed up against them, and that felt strange.  She had grown used to being an oddity, fox among rabbits, that she didn't think she liked being invisible again.  By the time she reached the front gate, she was panting for breath.  The ancient stone walls held heat, and sent it back out in waves across the city.  She leaned against the side of the guard shack to catch her breath, and watch people pass by.  In spite of what Alana had said, it didn't look like a city that was on the verge of war.
	She was almost rested enough to start up the road to the castle when there was a stir in the people around the gate.  The crowd splintered and drew back quickly from the road.  Trumpets shrilled on the other side of the wall, hurting her ears, and she could hear the sound of galloping horses over the blare.  The trumpets were joined by more from inside the city, and a group of five riders flew through the gate and up the road.  The middle horse was copper colored, and slightly larger than the rest.  She carried a large red fox who sat slumped in the saddle, with his head down.  His tail and ears drooped with exhaustion, and he had led the reins drop across his horse’s neck.  They went by too fast for Ciara to get a look at his face, but she knew he was her father.  His smell was as familiar as her own.
	When the horses were gone, and people were starting to mill around again, she went up the road herself.  She wanted to run, to catch up to them, but she wasn’t sure if Connor would recognize her.  If he did, he certainly wouldn't let it show in public.  Besides, she knew where he was going, and he would be easy enough to find once she got there.  This road was also where all of the richest merchants came to display their stock and brag to each other.  These were the people who sold the best weapons, as well as silk and rare spices.  The crowds here were not quite as dense as they were in the rest of the city.  Only the elite could afford to buy anything here, and the high prices kept everyone else away.  But jostling anyone here was dangerous, so it was safer to go slow.  
	When she got to the castle wall the guard at the gate barely looked at her.  She was a fox, and she wasn’t visibly armed, and she knew where she was going.  He leaned against the wall and cleaned his claws with his dagger while she walked past him into Cearnach Castle’s main hall.
	The main hall was known to be a mirror of Connor’s state of mind.  When he returned frome a trip in a pleasant mood, the place would be packed with courtiers and retainters, as well as anyone looking to ask for favors.  When his trip hadn’t gone well, he locked himself away in his room to sulk.  This evening the whole castle was silent, and the hall was nearly empty.  The only other person in the hall was a vixen in a dress that matched the color  of her fur. She turned as Ciara came through the door, visibly composing herself as she smoothed down the front of her dress.
	“I think you're a little bit early, but never mind.  I'm sure Connor will be happy to see you, when he's ready,” said the vixen.
	“Oh, no,” said Ciara “I know all his old codes, and I didn't come all this way just to be brushed off like this.”
	The vixen smiled a little, showing her teeth.
	“I tried to tell him it wouldn't work.  Diplomats have to pretend to believe him, but daughters are allowed to know better,” she said.
	It had been long enough since Ciara had used her own language that it took her a moment to properly translate what the vixen had said.  But by then the vixen had crossed the room and taken hold of her arm, giving her no time to be surprised.
	“I'm Fithir,” said the vixen  “Would you like something to drink?  I imagine you're exhausted, after coming all this way.”
	“I'm not thirsty.  I want to see my father, please,” said Ciara.
	Fithir's smile melted into sympathy, and she steered Ciara into a small anteroom where there was a table that held a pitcher of milk and a tray of sweet buns.
	“Give him some time.  I know you’ve come a long way to see him, and it isn’t fair to ask you to wait, but he's had a hard trip,” she said.
	Fithir was a little older than Deirdre was, but she was more attractive and better at hiding her age.  If she was a traditional queen of the city, she would have been married to Connor by her family in exchange for power, instead of love.  But if she was unhappy, she was good at hiding that, too.
	“I met your mother, once, just after Connor promoted her to General.  She was a pretty fox, even after she got herself cut up.  She was strong, which is what I think attracted Connor to her, and I've always heard she was smart.  They would have made a good match,” said Fithir.
	“I don't think so.  They fought all the time, and he almost never came to see us, after I got older,” said Ciara.
	“That would have been because of me, I think.  I mean, I didn't ask him to.  I wanted him to see Deirdre as much as he could, because she made him happy.  But sometimes you have to give in to the inevitable, or be destroyed, and none of us were that brave.”
	“I’m sorry.  I didn’t come back to stir up bad memories..  I just came to talk to my father.”
	“There’s no need for you to be sorry.  There’s no need for anyone to be.  All of that was a long time ago,” said Fithir.  She glanced back at the door to the throne room, and her ears droop a little, making her look a little older, and very tired.
	“I think we might be in for a long night.  If you’d like, I can tell him you were here and I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you tomorrow.  For now, maybe you should go and get some rest,” she said.
	But before she could reach past Ciara to open the door, the door behind her swung open and Connor staggered a step or two out into the hall.
	“Let her in, Fithir.  It’s a poor father who can’t spare a few minutes for his only daughter,” he said.
	“Of course.  If you think you feel up to it,” said Fithir.  Doubt rode on every word, and Ciara could see the look of disaproval in her eyes.  But Connor looked right through her to where Ciara was standing.
	“Just the sight of my girl is better than any medicine you could give me.  God, how did I live all these years you were gone?” he said.
	He looked very different from the last time she’d seen him.  His clothes were rumpled, and he looked thinner and more frightened than she remembered.  There were thin streaks of grey in the fur around his eyes, and his claws were chewed ragged.  There were several new scars on his arms, and a long, jagged scar tran the length of his muzzle.  He smiled when she walked over to him, and he cupped her chin in one hand to look her in the eyes.
	“Nine years, and suddenly you aren't a child anymore.  You look just like your mother did, when I first met her,” he said.
	“Nine years can be a lifetime,” said Ciara.
	“I know.  Nothing I can say will make up for it, so I won't try.  But if I had known that your mother hadn't come to get you--”
	“It wouldn't have made any difference.  You decided your city was what was important to you, and that was it.”
	He smiled a little and moved his hand to her arm, turning as he did to take her into what passed for his throne room.
 	“Your mother thinks so, too.  Come in, sit down.  There's no sense in standing out in the hall like this,” he said.
	It was smaller than she remembered, and all of the tapestries, and the lanterns that had hung on the walls between them had been taken down.  All that lit the room now were a number of torches which had scorched the bare brick behind them.  The only decoration left was another painted ancestor.  This one sat on a rather crudely drawn throne with a sword across his knees.  Whatever expression he was meant to have was lost behind years of dirt and wear.  But Ciara got the uncomfortable feeling that he was looking right at her.
	The old silver throne was still in the middle of the room on its low marble dias, but the velvet padding was bald, and the ruby that had been set into the top of the seat had been pried out.  Connor gave her a weak smile, and sat down so that his back would hide the worst of the damage.
	“War is expensive, you know that.  I had to find the money to rebuild the city from somewhere,” he said.
	“And now you're doing it all again,” she said.
	He gave her a pained look and hooked one leg over the arm of the throne, sliding down in his seat until Ciara thought he was going to slide to the floor.
	“Everyone tells me how they would have done it better.  If only those of us who really have to make the decisions had the benefit of such wisdom,” he said.
	“Maybe you do.  Maybe you can make up for your mistakes last time, by what you do now,” she said.
	“You've come all the way back home to ask me for the impossible.  And like everyone else, you're not going to understand when I say no,” he said.
	“Why is it impossible?  Because you've made up your mind that it is?”
	“Because Sabia has.  She's the one who started this.  I'm just trying to hold on to what we have now.”
	“What does that mean?  Are you really going to try to take Oseille, like everyone is saying?”
	He chewed on a claw, biting at it until it broke.  He winced and frowned vaguely at the stump, which was bleeding slightly because he’d bitten it down to the quick.  But after a moment, he stuck another claw in his mouth.  All of the claws on his left hand had already been bitten ragged, and three of the claws on his right hand were gone.  When he bit off this second claw she grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away before he could start on the last one.
	“Stop it.  What on earth are you doing?  You shouldn’t hurt yourself like this,” she said.  
	He tugged his arm back, to make her let go.  But she held on to him, afraid that he might do something worse to himself if she didn't watch.  He pulled again, harder, and she clenched her fingers until they ached.  He was still stronger than she was, and the muscles in his arms felt like they were made of rock.
	“It doesn't matter.  They grow back, good as new.  Who's 'everyone'?” he said.
	“Well it looks painful.  And I mean all the rabbits back home, who think that your inevitable little war is going to start in the middle of their town,” she said.
	“When did you get so fussy?  Deirdre used to say the same thing.  Why would I want Oseille?  They've got some fine horses, for farmers, and they used to be kind of famous for their dyes.  But we've got all that, and better, right here.”
	“They're also in the middle of the island.  And they're rich.”
	“And I thought you knew better than that.  We've been friends with the bunnies for two hundred years.  Do you really think I want to be the one to spoil it?”
	“I just want you to think about what you're doing,” she said.
	She let him have his arm back, and she watched as it drifted right back to his mouth.  His one unbitten claw slid between his teeth, and she held her breath until she heard it crack.
	“You're frightened of her,” she said.
	“I have thought about it, but there isn’t any other choice.  We have to protect ourselves.  I could protect Oseille, too, if they’d let me,” he said.
	“You can.  I've already told you what you have to do, but you're not listening,” she said.
	“I'm not frightened of Sabia.  What gave you that idea?”
	“The way you tensed up, when I said her name.  The way you keep letting her provoke you, when you know better.”
	  He got up and walked around the room, the tip of his tail twitching in a gesture that was new to her.  She sat down in his chair, just to try it once, and watched him pace.  He stopped once in front of the painted ancestor, and stared up at it for a moment, before he moved on.  The he stopped at it again, on his fifth time around the room and stood facing it, with his arms folded behind his back.
	“It's too late now, anyway,” he said.
	“The hell it is.”
	So many years apart, and all she could do was bark at him.  She wanted to rein in the anger that was spilling out of her mouth, but she could not.  It pushed her forward, and she felt that if she tried to keep it down, it would explode in her.  He spun around and flashed his teeth at her.  But his tail curled between his legs, and he retreated until his back was against the wall, between the feet of her long-dead grandfather.  She pushed the silver throne off of its pedestal, and went to him.
	“I never asked you for anything in my life.  I wanted you to be my father, and when you wouldn't be, that was okay.  I knew you still loved me.  I wanted to stay here, where I grew up, and you wouldn't let me.  That was okay, because I knew you were trying to protect me.  But now you have to give me what I want. ”
	“I know how much I owe you.  If you’d come here and asked me for anything else in the world.  But I can't give you want you want,” he said.
	“Oseille is my home,” she said “Please, don't take it away.”
	His tail uncurled and he reached out, hesitantly, to pull her to him.  She resisted for a moment, still too angry to want to forgive him yet.
	“You have a home here, too,” he said.
	“No.  Not anymore.”
	“Are you really willing to live out the rest of your life in a city ruled by rabbits?  If you had to, would you really fight against me to defend your rabbits?”
	“Yes,” she said “I think I would.”
	He smiled then, which startled her.  While her guard was down, he pulled at her again, and she stumbled into his embrace.  Her nose pressed painfully into his collarbone, until she felt half smothered, but, for the moment, she didn't care.  Her father hadn't hugged her since she'd been nine.
	“I'll try, one more time,” he said.
	“Please.  You know I wouldn't have come, if it were just for me,” she said.
	“But you're everyone's hero, just like your mother.  I think your old apartments are--”
	“No.  I have a place to stay, for now.  My girl... Niamh is waiting for me.”
	He kissed her on the cheek, and took her back out to where Fithir was waiting.  The older vixen opened the door for them, but kept her eyes fixed on Connor.  Ciara couldn't see anything in Fithir's bland expression, but she felt her father grow tense, and heard the catch in his breathing.
	“It's good to have you back home,” he said.
Outside, a cool rain drifted over the city.  She could smell the late blooming flowers in the castle gardens, mixed with the smell of spices and chocolate from the merchants' carts along the street.  The rain felt good as it soaked through her fur, and she stood still at the bottom of the steps for a minute, to enjoy it.