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Aspen ran through the light dusting of early winter snow. Boots slammed into frosted ground-cover, all feline grace exchanged for speed. His whiskers twitched, nostrils full of sharp air, dry and cold. His gray and black spotted tail flicked behind, the white tip a dancing blade to ward off the pursuit.

It wasn't always enough. Sometimes the other kids who tormented him would follow, even into the short stretch of woods on the path to the healer's hut. His Gran's hut. Only inside would he be safe, even if that safety came at the cost of doing Gran's bidding the rest of the day.

Nobody messed with Gran. Partly because nobody in the village wanted to get on the bad side of the only competent healer within a day's travel. Mostly because Gran was the toughest person around. Even the weird desert people, the Alayan, treated her with respect on the rare times they visited. And they were the scariest people around.

That's what other people said, anyway. Aspen didn't think any of those people had met any Alayans. Gran didn't talk about them much, except to remind him that "they're people, not so different from us" and that they had good and bad, just like the village. Aspen wished they'd come to take some bad children away, like they did in the stories. Maybe then he wouldn't have to run from so many beatings by the other boys. And so often Aspen couldn't understand what he'd done wrong to earn them.

The mistake had been clothes today. One of the older girls had appeared in a colorful skirt and jacket, and Aspen had merely observed that his own clothes were always dull, and brown, and gray. To which one of the other boys (he couldn't recall which) had observed that Aspen was always dull, and gray.

Aspen had taken off before the inevitable suggestion that he be stuffed into that dress, "since he liked it so much". More likely a canvas sack was his intended fate. It wouldn't have been the first time.

The path split, his Gran's hut a dozen strides away. He blew passed the fork that led to the best place in the forest, and sprinted for Gran's door. He would not, could not, risk leading anyone to the magic place that was his own.

He slowed when he reached the stone porch of his grandmother's home. Snow had blown under the eaves and trampled into a muddy mess. He stepped lightly, wary of ice, and pushed open the wooden door. He spun to shut it fast behind him as hot air blasted by, into the frigid outside.

"Who is it?" Gran's voice, hard and sharp as the air outside, snapped his attention away from listening for pursuit.

"Gran, it's--"

His reply died when he turned toward the room.

The interior of Gran's house was open. Only a few folding screens she could arrange as needed in order to give patients, and herself, privacy. She had a cooking hearth larger than most, to accommodate the array of pots that she used to boil clean water. The hearth was full of them, just starting to steam.

The fireplace got a brief glance. He looked away, into the eyes of a myth.

The Alayan was a long-limbed, angular shadow, back-lit by Gran's fire and the Daylight stone she used when examining patients. Long fingered hands and long-fingered feet twitched as Aspen stared at them in turn. He glanced back up at the Alayan's face. A crest of what looked a little like feathers rose between long, swept-back-triangle ears. The long tail snapped back and forth. An anxious motion on Aspen or his Gran, but Aspen didn't know what it meant for the desert people.

Delight at a snack, delivered straight to them?

He wracked his brain for what Gran had told him about Alayans. They were the original inhabitants of this land. They had returned to the deserts where they were most at home when humanity had come to their shores. They had rebuffed all attempts by humanity to take territory after that. After the last war, a century and more before, they were almost unknown in human-held lands. In stories they were the creatures who stole bad children from their beds, the monsters who stalked heroes.

They were here, for him.

"Aspen! I need bandages, towels, and my serious tools, now!" His Gran snapped him out of a shocked stare. The Alayan turned his (her?) body to let Aspen by to the roaring fire and beyond, into Gran's clinic. Aspen caught the scent of blood and bowels over the stink of Gran's most powerful ointments, the ones that killed the senses, as well as pain.

This was a bad one. The months of daily chores while hiding at Gran's kicked Aspen into motion. The Alayan glided aside, and Aspen rushed to the basin to wash his hands. He scrubbed automatically, the chant Gran taught him background noise in his mind. The bulk of his attention went to the mirror behind the basin, and the scene behind him, cast in hard blue-white light and shadow.

Red.

So much red.

Once, about a year ago, Aspen had been at Gran's when one of the hunters had been carried in, leg broken by a nasty fall. Aspen hadn't done much but stare between fetching things for Gran. The glare of white bone in the center of so much blood had fascinated. And terrified. Aspen had hoped never to see that much blood again.

Now, the mirror showed his Gran's back, bent over her patient. Gran's tail was a rigid post, betraying her focus and concern. Her hands flashed in and out of view, the spotted fur coated in a red filter of blood. Aspen couldn't see the wound, only the legs and upper body of the Alayan who lay motionless on the examination table, their pale cream chest splattered with red. Red dripped down their upper thighs. A third Alayan, smaller and slighter than the others, with white and silver fur, sat by the table and cradled their injured companion's head, and stroked the red and gold feathery crest to comfort the injured.

Aspen shuddered and grabbed Gran's towel. Gran snarled something behind him, a noise born of pure frustration rather than the common language. Cloth ripped.

Aspen snatched Gran's tool tray and dashed back to the fire. He used the still damp towel to pluck steel tools from the boiling water. Several long, thin knives. A pair of delicate tongs with a hooked end. A silvery needle, fine and eyeless, thin as a strand of spider silk.

Gran was planning to use magic. A lot of it. The needle was her tool of last resort. With it, she could stitch inside or out, without ever touching the needle. The threads it created never pulled on a wound. Wouldn't come loose. Wouldn't fade away until the patient had healed.

Aspen had never seen her use it.

He made sure the tools were in the correct pattern as he returned. He stepped around the privacy screen at the same time the first Alayan did. He got his first good look at the wound. The sight stole his breath, and his stomach heaved.

Gran had torn the Alayan's clothes apart from knee to belly. The blood-soaked strips littered the floor. A canyon of ripped flesh ran up the Alayan's left side, starting on the inside of their hip and tearing a horrible, stinking trail up to their ribcage. Aspen could see the smallest rib sticking out, end jagged and broken.

Aspen focused very hard on the stool next to Gran. The tools in the tray clattered with the trembling of his body. He set the tools down, and tried to look anywhere else.

He looked at the white and silver Alayan. She stroked the clay-red fur on her wounded companion's head, an unthinking act. She whistled soft into one of the large ears, a constant stream that reminded Aspen of birdsong, just a little. His eyes burned, and he looked away.

Into the soft gold eyes of the Alayan from the doorway. There was no stopping the tears after that.

"What happened," Aspen asked. His voice was so quiet, he thought only a wolf-kin might hear.

Gran hissed. The same instant, a sharp whistle-snarl-growl combination came from the seated Alayan.

The Alayan with golden eyes turned from Aspen. "He is Katarina's assistant. And young."

The seated Alayan replied. Aspen assumed that's what happened, at least. He could only make out more whistle snarls, and the pounding of his own heart.

The golden eyes narrowed. Lips drew away from jaws lined with sharp teeth. Aspen watched a black, forked tongue flick in knife sharp angles with the Alayan's retort. The Daylight Stone's harsh light cast the Alayan's fur in the colors of iron and steel, a match for the hard-edged stare.

The other Alayan looked away and made no further reply. When a few breaths passed, the jaws shut and the attention of the golden eyes returned to Aspen.

"Forgive him, please. He is--" He stopped. Two golden eyes blinked. Softened. Nostrils flared, then settled. "We are very upset. We were near the border, and were attacked by a monstrous beast. It did that." He waved at the wound, not looking at it.

Aspen couldn't bring himself to look at the wound, so he watched the silvery-furred Alayan instead. He had his large ears laid flat, and Aspen noticed the dusky red crest between the ears was flat, too. The Alayan's long, flowing clothes were blood stained around the arms and chest, but bright colors winked out of gaps in the gore.

Aspen turned back to the golden-eyed Alayan. "I'm Aspen." Anything to avoid thinking about the blood, and Gran insisted on politeness.

"Yes," the Alayan replied. He flicked his ears, a universal sign of amusement.

Aspen blushed. Of course, he already knew that from Gran.

Then he blushed harder, ears turning pink through his fur.

The seated Alayan was a boy. He'd just... assumed, based on the clothes and size, and--

"I am Sitki. It was my job to see the..." Sitki paused, searched for a word. Glanced at the wounded Alayan and back. A short, sharp sigh whistled. "There's no word in common I know. To see these new life mates safely home, then."

Newlyweds, on the way home from their honeymoon (he still wasn't sure what that was, but everyone made it sound lovely). Now, one lay dying, the other covered in the blood of their loved one. Aspen felt the tears streaming, but couldn't look away from Sitki.

"You are a gentle soul, like your grandmother, little snow cat," Sitki said.

Gran cut in. "There's damage near their reproductive organs. I think I have the worst of it under control, but I can't guarantee either set will be functional after this." Her voice was strained, the toll of so much focus and energy spent.

Sitki glanced at Gran and shook her head, ears and tail drooped. "He was never going to bear or sire eggs. His life will be miracle enough if you save it."

Aspen's mind whirled. The married couple were both boys. Unusual, sure, but not unheard of. But, the wounded one was also a girl? Aspen had never heard of anyone who was both. How could they be both? But Sitki called him... well, him. Did he choose that? Had his parents? Why choose boy, if he could have been girl? Why not?

All these questions and more spun in Aspen's head until he was dizzy and sick. Gran's law of politeness warred with the burning, desperate, need to ask. To get at least one question out of his head before it exploded.

Unfortunately, the one that finally forced its way out was "Can I be a boy and a girl, too?"

The air in the room went tight. Aspen felt every tiny twitch of the occupants against his whiskers. Gran's hesitation, just an instant, before resuming her work made the fur on his spine crawl up, as if stroked the wrong direction. Sitki took a step towards Aspen, half-turning, and stood, tail rippling slowly, eyes on the silver Alayan.

The last terrified Aspen in his stillness. No growl of warning, no snarl of hate. No sound even of breathing. Just stillness, and eyes that tore into him. Muscles drawn tight, on the edge of trembling, preparing the killing strike.

Gran's foot brushed Aspen's tail. His knees turned to water, and Sitki scooped him up in a smooth turn and strode passed the folding screen. One handed, she snatched a heavy cloak from beside the door, threw it around herself, then dropped another, smaller one over Aspen. She yanked on the door, stepped out into the chill, biting air, and slammed the door behind her.

Aspen wanted to hide. To bury himself away where no one would find him. He'd done something awful. His legs tingled below the knee, feeling lost to Gran's spell.

Sitki shifted her grip to cradle him in both arms, like a child. Tears welled again. He fought them, afraid they might freeze. They were tears for himself, and he didn't deserve them.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Sitki surveyed the path that lead back to the village. Silent, she turned and started up the unmarked path. "Why did you ask that?" Her voice was a whisper the wind bustled away.

Aspen's flattened ears lifted. She didn't sound angry. He risked a glance up.

Sitki's head was tilted at an odd angle, an eye on both Aspen and the trail. There was no violence in that eye, and he relaxed, just a little.

But Gran had still wanted him gone. He'd been banished. She'd never let him help with an actual patient again. Might not even teach him, anymore.

"Your friend hates me," he said. "I didn't want to make him angry." His ears drooped again.

Sitki said nothing for a long minute. She followed the trail as it turned up a slope.

Aspen could picture the bare trees, an evergreen scattered here and there between them. His eyes never left the cloak draped over him. Did she know about his place?

"He does not hate you, but anger?" Sitki paused at the spot where the trail to the place of music became indistinct. She shook her head, and gazed around. "He was already angry. You only gave him a target for that anger. If we had not been in Katarina's home, with death so near--"

"He would have killed me." He glanced up when she didn't move.

The large patch, bare of bark, on the trunk of an ancient tree was the sign only he knew. His last cut off to ensure the privacy of the place he loved most in winter. He could just say nothing. Let them stand in the cold until Sitki took them back to Gran's.

But then he might have to answer her question.

He pulled a hand out from under the cloak and pointed with a clawed finger. "Go that way. Towards the tree with the moon scar."

Sitki walked up to the tree. She stared at the scarred bark.

"I don't know if he would have. I think Katarina did not wish to take the chance." She huffed. "I wonder if she was surprised? She had half her fur on you the moment you came in."

"Half her fur?" Aspen scrunched his nose. "Do you mean 'half her mind'?"

"No." Sitki slowed. Her head swung as the breeze shifted. "No, she had her whole mind on her patient, as she was taught." Sitki turned her back to the tree and walked on. "No, she had her... Instinct, on you."

They reached a ribbon of ice, and Sitki turned to walk upstream without prompting. "Why did you ask that question, little cat?"

Aspen winced. She hadn't forgotten.

"Is it bad, to be what they are?" Had he pointed out something the Alayans were ashamed of?

"No, little cat. They are a reminder of what we have lost." Sitki shook her head and looked into the piercing blue sky. "They are a treasure." She looked down at Aspen and smiled with a dip of her ears. "And to answer the question you do not ask, he was angry because he thought you were making light of his mate."

"No, never!" Aspen whipped his head back and forth. "I don't even know why I asked!" He squirmed around to stare up into Sitki's face, hands clasped, begging her to believe him.

Sitki chirped. "I know, little cat. Kaisi will realize that, too." She chirped again. "At least, after Katarina Sure-Hands reminds him she is also steel souled."

Aspen blinked. "Sure-Hands?"

Sitki blinked one eye in return. "It is the name your grandmother earned among us."

Wind gusted, and chimes rang. Sitki halted, eyes wide.

Aspen couldn't stop a proud smile. "This is my place."

A stream fell, partly frozen, from the top of a short cliff about twice Aspen's height. Evergreen boughs whispered against each other in the breeze, a background drone to ringing chimes. Under them, and back into the cliff face, a shallow cave provided shelter from the chill breeze.

It was pretty, sure, but Aspen knew it was his additions that Sitki stopped to admire.

Fine threads spun around the grotto, a madcap web built by a sleep-deprived spider. They hung between living boughs and trunks, and posts of fallen sticks. The threads dipped low with the weight of ice, shaped into cones and tubes that clinked merrily with each brush of air and threw off bright flashes in the instants when the sun deigned to show itself between clouds.

"A beautiful sound to welcome the long nights and days of cold," Sitki said. Her voice trailed into silence.

A gust bit into Aspen's nose. "We can fit in there," he said, and pointed to the depression behind the stream. "The mist won't blow in there."

Sitki said nothing, but stole across to the depression, silent as the wind played its music. She settled Aspen, then swung her own cloak around as she sat, laying it across her lap.

They stared in silence for a while.

Aspen snuck glances at Sitki, but whatever thoughts she had, she didn't show them in a way he could read. Aspen settled back and let the sound flow through his head, sorting through his own thoughts. Two questions wove around his insides, twin snakes twisting themselves into ever tightening knots.

What would he have to do to get Gran to give him another chance? She had rules, and expected them to be followed, for the safety of her patients. He had broken a pretty big rule when he'd asked his question.

And why, oh why, had he asked that question?

"You trusted me enough to bring me here. To give me the gift of your music."

Aspen looked up, startled.

Sitki looked back at him, ears swiveled toward the music. "Would you trust me a little more?"

"Trust you?" Aspen blinked. Had he trusted her? He'd mostly wanted to buy a little time. Avoid the storm of thoughts.

But he hadn't needed to show her this place to do that, had he? Maybe...

Aspen turned away and hugged his knees to his chest under the cloak. He stared at his feet.

"I don't understand," he said. The wind and music would shield their words. He thought about the questions that had overwhelmed him. "When Gran said--" He cut off. Couldn't bring himself to repeat the words.

Sitki wrapped her tail around him. "Questions and confusion. What you thought a simple thing proves many-shaped."

"Boys and girls are supposed to be simple," Aspen said. He watched a spot of light dance as ice shifted in the breeze. "Maybe it's only your people that are, um, many-shaped?"

"Is that the answer you wish?"

Aspen's chest tightened. It would be easier, wouldn't it? But then, that would make the bullies right. There would be something wrong with him. They would be doing good, teaching him to be a man.

He bared his fangs. "No. It isn't true."

"True is often difficult, and many-shaped." Sitki's voice dropped. "For proof, I might say you asked that question because you wished to know merely what was possible. It would be true, but it would not be the whole shape of truth."

He tried to deny it, but Aspen's voice choked in his throat.

"You asked that particular question, from so many potential questions. Why not ask if I were both boy and girl? Or Kaisi?"

Aspen shook his head.

"Another shape of truth might be: you asked because you knew in your fur such things are not simple. Many-shaped, instead of one-or-other-shaped."

Sitki pulled him closer. He felt her warmth, but looked away and said nothing.

"Often, we hide shapes of truth we do not wish to see. Perhaps--"

The wind whistled, a gust that set all the bells and chimes of ice ringing and clattering, but the attempt to protect him was fruitless. Over all the once beautiful racket Sitki's words cut Aspen open.

"--you know, at the tip of your tail, you are neither one-or-the-other-shaped."

The trembling started in his hands. Aspen was sure, by the time he managed a breath, that his voice shook, too. "Do you--" He coughed, throat dry.

From the cold, from the cold, his mind chanted.

A different idea occurred to him. "Gran wasn't surprised your friend was both." He frowned. "She already knew?"

"We taught her the healer's skills when she lived among us, little cat. The many-shaped truth is woven into our lives every day. Do you not think she would have learned this from us, as well?"

Aspen sagged. He clutched the back of his head with his hands. "But Gran threw me out," he cried. "If she makes me stay away, I won't be able to learn anything from her."

Sitki poked him in the foot with a blunt claw. It didn't hurt, but his foot flinched away. She sniffed, and turned away.

"Katarina's magic has finished," Sitki said. She sighed, a hint of whistle around its edges, and rose from their shelter. "We should return."

Aspen dragged himself up. He trudged after Sitki. His tail was made of bricks; dead weight furrowing the snow behind him. The burning force of his questions only barely countered the desire to avoid his Gran, and the angry Alayan. And the blood. His feet refused to keep up with Sitki's long strides, and he lost sight of her before they reached Gran's door.

Until Gran had spelled him and Sitki took him away, Aspen had thought that Gran's chores were just the price he had to pay for sanctuary from his tormentors. Now, he wanted to tell Gran he'd do anything so she would teach him more. More about healing. More about the Alayans.

The side path joined again to the path to Gran's. Aspen stared at the snow as he walked. Gran would be finished now, one way or another. If he really wanted to take up the healer's path, he would have to learn the injured Alayan's fate. Have to face Gran's anger and disappointment. Would have to face a grief maddened Alayan, if Gran had failed.

Would have to face the new truths that were sliding around inside him, calling into question his very self.

A flick of movement caught his eye. He looked up to find Sitki waiting on Gran's step, watching him. Her tail flicked, a duster of cream-colored feathers at the end brushing patterns in the snow. Except for that little motion she stood, quiet and still, an ear turned toward Gran's door.

Aspen forced his fingers to unclench. Pulled his tail out of the snow. The best way was forward, according to Gran. He walked up the path.

He reached the door. Sitki put a hand out to block him when he reached for the handle. She pointed towards the door, then her ear. Shook her head.

Aspen leaned in, and listened. The forest behind him was quiet, the wind gone and the sun going. He heard nothing through the closed door. His whiskers dropped in a frown, and he reached for the door again. Sitki dropped her hand. Aspen pushed the door open, senses straining.

He got a snout-full of strong disinfectant. His elbow flashed up to cover a sneeze, but it didn't stop the bitter taste of the stuff in the air.

"It's done." Gran spoke from her favorite chair, fire low in front of her in the hearth. She held a mug, but the light was dim from the coals, even compared to the dying light outside, and Aspen couldn't see the expression on her face. Her voice struggled to carry the distance to the door.

Aspen stifled a response. Instead, he took off his boots and placed them by the door in their usual spot. Then, he picked up two floor pillows, and awkwardly carried them to the hearth rug. He set one down next to Gran, and the second next to that.

He'd intended to sit on the second, but Sitki settled herself on it the instant he set it down. His claws itched as he sat next to Gran. He glanced up at her.

Gran stared into the coals. "It's done," she said, again. "Both are resting, and likely won't wake until morning, but I wouldn't bet anyone's life on it."

"Both?" Sitki asked, voice low.

Aspen held his breath.

Gran shifted her mug. "I borrowed some of Kaisi's magic. Probably would've been okay without, but that one was going to hurt himself, wound as tight as he was."

Aspen felt Sitki shift beside him.

Gran nodded. "I can't say for sure. I cleaned up and repaired as best I could. It's up to them, but we won't know for a while yet." Gran stared into her mug. "I don't know about this, Sitki. In the old days, maybe, but now..."

Sitki sighed. There was no whistle to it, this time, Aspen noticed.

"We work with the power we have," Sitki said.

Aspen turned to find her staring at the floor, drooped.

"You may have another thing that would have been easier in the old days, Katarina," Sitki said. Her voice was soft, but it turned Aspen to stone.

It was Gran's turn to sigh. "All problems were easier to deal with before these dying days," she replied.

Confusion demanded Aspen turn to stare at his Gran.

Her drooping eyes and ears and whiskers all testified to the bone-deep tiredness Gran felt after expending magic, but her smile was all amused compassion.

"Expected questions, sure," Gran said. The amusement faded. "Not quite the one we got, though."

Aspen's mouth dropped open. Gran had expected questions?

"None of this has been the way any expected," Sitki said. "Perhaps, as we should have expected?"

Gran gave her an amused flick of the ears.

Aspen found his voice at last. "You... Expected?" He tried to keep his question quiet, but his voice was thick. It took force to get the words out.

Gran nodded. "Aspen, child, I was trained by Alayans, and lived with them for many years. I knew at some point you'd be here when they were. You've been here every day after chores since last spring, at least." She shook her head. "And you usually came here with stories about how bad the other kids, especially the other boys, were treating you, and you couldn't figure out why."

Aspen sat, numb and waiting. Sitki's tail slid around him, like it had in the hollow.

"Your Gran and I have known each other for some years. She told me about your troubles, and how she thought I might help."

Aspen felt Sitki slide closer.

"It was my intention to visit, after seeing those two safe to their home," Sitki said.

Aspen bristled. "To do what?" His voice held the edge of a hiss.

"Little cat--" Sitki began.

"Stop it!" Now Aspen hissed. "I won't be a kid much longer!"

"No," Gran agreed. "You won't be." She looked to Sitki, then back to him. "What started things this time, Aspen? What set off the boys, and brought you to my door so early today?"

Aspen's face scrunched. What did that have to do with anything?

"Celeste had this pretty new jacket, bright blue, like the sky today, and I said I liked it." Or, it had been something like that. He couldn't remember now what exactly he'd said.

Gran nodded. She looked to Sitki. "Last week, Aspen stole a squirrel that seemed injured from two older boys who were practicing 'hunting' it."

Aspen flinched. That had been a bad few days, after.

"Brought the poor thing to me and demanded we try to help it. Turned out it wasn't hurt, just shocked, and tried to make a mess of things until Aspen turned it loose near his secret place."

Aspen's ears flicked up. Was that... pride, in Gran's voice?

Sitki shifted again, and Aspen turned to find her soft golden eyes boring into his. "I have seen this secret place. Heard it's music." She smiled, ears and eyes both. "Your music, Melody in Winter."

Aspen's heart skipped. Had he just been given a name? Not even the other adults could boast having an Alayan Name!

He glanced back to Gran. Her face was lit by happiness and pride. "A name well earned, and well gifted." She said them as a sort of chant, but her voice nearly cracked.

Sitki tapped Aspen gently with her tail to bring his attention back to her. "Is this name, well earned, well gifted, well accepted?"

Aspen just nodded, mute at the ceremony of the moment.

Sitki waited.

"I--," Aspen's voice choked off in a squeak. He swallowed a lump and tried again. "It is accepted?" He winced at the question in his voice.

"Aspen Melody-in-Winter," Sitki said, "Katarina Sure-Hands says you have the heart of a healer. I have seen it to be true. This was the first reason I intended to visit. The second, if I and she agreed, was to extend an offer to train with my people in the skills of healing, as your Gran has done."

To leave and live with the Alayans, like Gran had? The room swirled around Aspen, and he flushed. Thumped his back against Gran's chair. A dream, offered seemingly from nowhere!

Gran patted him between the ears. "I was going to agree," she said.

Aspen caught sadness in her voice before her next words struck him senseless.

"But then you asked that question."

Aspen blinked. It must've been a very slow blink, because Gran appeared on his cushion, his head cradled against her. His face was hot and damp.

The dream he hadn't realized he'd had, taken away without his knowing.

"Gran, no! Please! I'm sorry." Aspen's words were choked, painful things.

Gran kissed the top of his head. "No, Aspen, I'm sorry. I didn't realize how big this might be. How much it might mean for you." She pulled away, placed her hands on either side of his face, and made him look at her. "I need you to understand, Aspen. As much as this hurts right now, it's nothing compared to how bad it will be if you go to the Alayans and then return."

Aspen didn't want to understand, but Gran's shimmering eyes pleaded her fears. "Why?"

Gran looked away.

"I agree with Katarina." Sitki's voice came from a world away.

Aspen glanced at Sitki, but she looked into the fire, a cloudy film over her eyes. Vacant, or nearly.

A new voice growled. "I do not."

Aspen looked up, passed Gran's chair. The silver Alayan, Kaisi, leaned heavily on locked arms against Gran's chair. The crest between his ears rose like a blade, straight between flattened ears. His lips were twisted in a snarl, but it wasn't aimed at Aspen.

"You see this one's soul, name them, and then hide the truth from them?" The heat of Kaisi's anger infused his words.

Gran didn't flinch, but she said nothing.

Aspen looked up at him. Kaisi swayed a little, then dropped into Gran's chair with more haste than grace. He waved a hand toward Aspen. "I would make amends for earlier," he said.

Aspen nodded. He couldn't really blame Kaisi for the silent threat earlier. "Sitki told me. I wasn't trying to make fun of anyone, honest."

Kaisi returned the nod. "I understand. I would ask you forgive my behavior."

"Of course," Aspen instantly replied.

Kaisi nodded again. A slow, careful motion, as if it hurt him. "Then I would give you a gift on this, your first naming day."

"First?"

"Kaisi," Sitki warned.

Kaisi's tail gave a lazy flick, a clear dismissal. He never looked away from Aspen. "We give one name, those of us closest to the named, to one on the edge of adulthood. The second name, the one who becomes an adult, through choosing or trial, that new adult chooses for their own."

"Choosing or trial?" Aspen wasn't sure he liked the sound of that.

Kaisi ignored the question. "I will give you the truth. What the three of us see is your trial, one you cannot--" he gave a hard look at Gran, then Sitki "--avoid." He took a deep breath.

Aspen waited, hands flexed, claws out. He heard no other sounds but Kaisi's breath.

"To your people, our culture is one of chaos. Males, females, and the few who are both mix, and none are assumed to be of any one kind. By deed and names, we show others and ourselves who we are and wish to be. Here, a female is expected to care for young, regardless of who she is. With us, a female may carry an egg, and have nothing to do with it after, and none would speak against her, because we have those who are caretakers to do such tasks. And, that, Aspen Melody-in-Winter, is the danger they see for you. You do not fit easily here, do you agree?"

"Yes?" Aspen wasn't sure where the danger was, still, but Kaisi was making him want to visit the Alayans even more, so much so he ached for it. Aspen leaned closer.

"You would find your fit, in our care. The danger, upon returning to your own people is that, instead of not fitting easily, you will not fit at all."

Aspen opened his mouth to say something, but Kaisi held up a hand. "Your Gran and Sitki would spare you that pain, but they forget the other danger."

Aspen cocked his head, but Kaisi looked at him without sign of continuing. What other danger? The only danger Aspen had ever known was the bullying of the others for not fitting in.

Aspen blinked. "I don't fit already."

Kaisi nodded. "You don't fit, because you are proof of the reality your people have forgotten. Some will hate your reminder. Find it painful, like an old wound torn open. You might hide it, for a while, but living an untruth will hurt you just as certainly as finding your truth, and being rejected."

"It hurts even more, and more widely," Aspen said.

"Like a wound that festers," Kaisi agreed.

Aspen didn't miss Kaisi's glance toward the screens and the darkened room beyond.

Aspen looked at his Gran, then at Sitki.

Gran sniffled, and put a hand on his. "He's right, damn him. In the end, the path is yours, and you have to choose it yourself."

Aspen's head was full of fog, but he felt something, some answer, just out of sight. "If a wound festers, you have to open it, and clean it out again before it can heal, right?" He said it to no one in particular. "Even though it hurts."

"Yes," Gran said. "But it has to be done before the infection spreads too far."

If the idea of only boys or only girls was the infection, it had spread to the whole human world, hadn't it? What could he do about that?

He looked around at this odd collection of people who cared for him. Who were curing him of that infection. Passing on the reality to counter the sickness.

Truth they had received from others, who knew that truth.

A contagious truth.

Aspen clenched his jaw. He bowed his head to Kaisi. "Thank you," he said, then turned to Sitki. "Thank you, for my name, and considering me to train with your people."

Sitki nodded, a wary slant to her eyes.

He ignored the look, and turned at last to Gran. "I want to stay here, and learn healing from you, Gran."

Gran nodded, her shoulders relaxing from their bunched state.

He almost didn't continue, her relief was so obvious.

But Gran had told him before, sometimes healing hurt.

He turned again to Kaisi. "I will stay here. But I won't live untruth, either. I want to heal the people here of this wound, as much as I can."

Gran sucked in a breath. Sitki whistle-snarled something.

Aspen kept his eyes locked with Kaisi's.

"You take the hardest path of all," Kaisi said.

Aspen rubbed the sudden dampness on his palms onto his trousers. "A healer doesn't ignore wounds," he said. His voice carried none of the tremor in his throat. "I'll find my truth." He swallowed, hard. "I probably won't be able to heal everyone here, but maybe I can heal a few. And they each can heal a few more?"

Gran crushed Aspen with a hug. "That's my kitten," she said over his squeak, voice husky. "I'll teach you everything I know."

"As will we," Sitki said, behind him. He felt her long hand on his shoulder.

Aspen glanced up at Kaisi.

The Alayan slumped in Gran's chair, eyes closed. A satisfied smile played over his face.

***

The snow leopard lady stood tall against a dim, pre-dawn glow as the carriage pulled into the tiny village. Her long, robin's egg blue jacket was buttoned against crisp air the summer sun had yet to warm as it peeked over the eastern mountains. A small trunk lay at her feet. The large, workman-like leather bag slung over her shoulder bobbed as she settled weight on one foot, then the other. She spoke with another of her kind as the driver watched, one bent by long years but steady on her feet.

They stopped talking as the driver pulled up his charges. The sturdy mountain horses complained a moment, and settled.

"Ladies," he said, and tipped his hat. His bench-mate, a large wolf-kin who acted as guard this time around, hopped down and went to the trunk.

The old cat hugged her... grand-daughter, he decided. There was definitely some family resemblance between the two.

He stepped down and held out a hand to the younger cat-kin. "Doctor Winter? I apologize for the early hour."

"Not at all," she replied, her voice a little deeper than he'd expected from the slim woman. It had an easy ring of frank honesty to it he expected served her well, in her profession. She took his hand gently, well practiced at keeping her claws away from his unprotected skin.

"And, I haven't earned the 'Doctor' quite yet," she said. A half smile played on her muzzle.

The trunk hit the shelf of the carriage with a thump.

"Take your bag for you then, miss?" he asked. He was glad she didn't have much luggage. He could get them on the south road before the sun got too high.

She shook her head. "No, I'll keep it." She turned, and gave the old cat a crushing hug that was returned with equal force.

"Take care, girl," said the old cat.

"I will Gran. I promise." She hitched her bag higher onto her shoulder. "I'll write every chance I get. Sitki, and Kaisi too, if you'll pass on the letters for me."

Her Gran nodded and sniffled. "Of course, of course," she said.

Miss Winter turned to the carriage, and blew out a breath that steamed. She squared her shoulders, and flowed into the carriage when he opened her door.

A moment later, with trunk secure, and driver and guard on the front bench, the horses turned, and the long trek down began.

He leaned down and shouted over the noise of wheels and shod hooves on the little bit of cobbled street the village had.

"It's a good half day until we reach town, Miss Winter! You can catch other transport from there to the city, if you like!"

She nodded. "Just call me Mel, or Melody," she called back. She opened her bag, and pulled out a leather covered volume with an odd, almost-feather the color of rust tucked in it. "Time to spread the cure," she said, to no one in particular, he thought.

The horizon turned pink as the village vanished behind them.