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I listened to my own words, having to fight the mad desire to laugh at how stupid it sounded. Detective Luton, in the study, with the Sword of Justice. To my own credit, I didn't say that out loud; to their credit, they didn't laugh at the stupid words I had said out loud. For a moment, I wondered why they didn't laugh. It was ridiculous. I killed me, but I'm still here to tell the tale. I'm some kind of split personality, with each half fighting for dominance. Yeah, I've seen that movie, too, several of them; it's a popular idea, beginning (for me) with Norman Bates. How far down that crazy-trail did I want to run?

After a few more seconds of wallowing in that idea, I realized that my companions even now hadn't laughed. Heartsinger and Stellamara still held my forepaws, still gazed steadily at me, warmly, openly. I came slowly to understand that they were waiting for me to say something, so naturally I couldn't think of anything at all to say.

I still felt somehow outside myself, remembering something from before, that feeling of being tethered, grounded, connected. I tried to find that feeling again, and I couldn't quite do it. I didn't think that I was going to fly away, so that part of the crazy wasn't hanging around. This was the more ordinary crazy, the kind that gets treated with lots of really good drugs, the ones that go along with making potholders and playing with molding clay in a room with a lot of other people who get the same sort of drugs.

"Can you say something?" I blurted out. My voice sounded unreal to me. Maybe I wasn't real after all.

"We're here, Max." The Borzhvolk's soft baritone was real, familiar, very calming. "I'm here. Do you remember me telling you about emotional overloads? And how I said that I'd lived them?"

"Yes."

"This is part of that." He leaned closer still, and I again had that feeling that he was going to kiss me, or that I wanted him to, or that I didn't. "You have to hate yourself a lot to try to kill yourself."

He'd said that a moment ago, and then I'd said... I'd said...

"We're here." Stellamara squeezed my forepaw, and I shifted my gaze to her. "That's a very big secret you've been keeping."

"I told you everything this morning."

"Except for this last part. I didn't know it last night."

"Know...?"

"That this was the secret that was hurting you so much." The doe nodded her head once. "Keeping back the rest was hurting you also, but this last piece, this last clue... this is what you have been fighting all this time. This is the murder that you've been trying to solve."

I felt my head shaking, denying. "That makes no sense..."

Again, even as I said the words, I knew that they were crazy but, this time, from the other direction. Denying it was the crazy part. Not looking at the evidence was crazy. Not paying attention to the clues, the very reason for so much of my life... yeah, that was crazy.

Heartsinger released my forepaw, putting his to my shoulder briefly. "Stay here with Stellamara for a moment. I'm going to find someone I think you need to talk with." He unfolded himself and rose in a single fluid motion, then padded off to the stairs.

The quiet stretched. I felt the doe's forepaw holding my own, inviting my trust, but it took several seconds for me to look into her face again. She was calm, radiating gentle confidence. I wished that I could know how she did that, how she appeared to be so at ease with herself. She was so withdrawn last night, hiding from me, until she saw my ghosts and named them, and then this morning, listening to my story with what could be called "poise" if not outright bravery. And now, so centered, so strong, how did she...

The rueful smile flashed across my muzzle. "I think I need to ask for some more help."

Her own smile was warm, genuinely understanding. "I'm glad you can ask, Max. How can I help?"

"I was just thinking how calm you look, how accepting you are. I'm not sure I can say this right. We both know it's not about me being 'dangerous' or something. It's more like being an unknown quantity. I don't even know what I am right now, but you seem to be handling it as if this isn't new."

Her right forepaw joined her left, holding mine in both of hers. "It's new to you; it's not new to me. I've seen this before."

"Heartsinger."

She shook her head. "Not the ghosts. Not even the idea of suicide." The doe's smile became even warmer than before. "It's not about death, Max. It's not even about the hate that Heartsinger experienced, hating yourself enough to want to kill yourself. That may have been what sparked this in him, even in you, but it's not where that discovery took him, nor where it will take you. Not hate and death, Max. Love and birth, rebirth, rediscovering."

My face must have made some interesting change, because she chuckled softly.

"That part really does make us sound like a cult, doesn't it? 'Be reborn with us, brother; you are born again in our spirit!' Or something like that. That's not what I mean, not even what Timewind means. Remember the Three Steps to Becoming? The first step isn't to belong to something outside of yourself, like a group, a religion, a country; it's to belong to yourself. Your commitment is to make yourself into the best You that you can. Then comes giving and accepting help with that commitment, and then comes giving your best self to all the world."

Her eyes held mine carefully. "That takes love, Max. It takes a commitment to your own life, your best life. That's what I've seen before. Dreamweaver found Timewind, as well as herself, about the same time that I did. I'm watching Frank go through this same process. I've heard the stories of others, like Darkstar, Rainmist, Unicorn, Stormsinger, Summerwind, Clearwater... all amazing stories, so filled with life and hope. They all began with something like what you're going through now."

I breathed evenly for a few moments, looking into her eyes, feeling my forepaw in hers. "I'm trying to reach out again," I said, "that connection I felt before. Is that okay?"

"Absolutely. Let me help."

This time, I didn't close my eyes, and the feeling was somehow mutual, less like her taking away that sensation of overload, more like something flowing between us, back and forth, commingling. I still didn't understand it, but that didn't stop it from helping, so I didn't question or analyze it. Wanting it, letting it happen, helping it happen... that's what was working.

"Better?" she asked softly.

"Yes." My voice sounded calm again. Judgment suspended, perhaps even reason. I just let it happen. "Can you tell me more about those stories?"

Stellamara nodded. "They have many things in common. The most important one is the change of direction. Embracing a better self, a better way of living. There is an interesting lesson that non-sapients can teach us: They never travel quickly when they aren't sure which way they should go. They move slowly, carefully, until they find something that feels right to them, perhaps something that they choose to move forward into, something that they choose move away from. When they find a path that works, they move quickly again, following that inner certainty.

"We sapient beings have forgotten that simple truth. We rationalize that, if a path feels wrong, it's because we're not trying hard enough, or that it doesn't matter because we think we have no choice. It's more difficult for us to find a right path, because we keep clinging to a wrong one. It's not the path that's at fault, we tell ourselves... or others tell us."

The feeling between us put the gentle emphasis on her words. "It's too easy for us to believe in our failure instead of our success."

For once in all this craziness, I didn't feel like crying. The feeling was more like the realization of a basic, powerful truth. The thought that came along with it seemed somehow obvious, after all this time. "Airdancer only saw failure."

Another nod from the doe. "I didn't know him; I know his legend, and what you described this morning. His story seems to be centered on running. He didn't realize how trapped he was, in his career paths, his life paths... what you told us, how he seemed to have everything, yet he had nothing that would sustain him." She paused, speaking softly to take away any sting from her words. "You said that you have nothing."

Considering a moment, I then said, "It feels like I have nothing. Nothing is what I keep seeing, like Airdancer did."

"That's why his shade haunts you."

"Yes." I kept breathing, looking into her eyes. "Maybe I have something, if I can figure out how to get myself to find it, accept it."

"Your pup."

"Michael. Yes. He's still in my life, and we've been trying to talk more."

"That's a good start, don't you think?"

"I certainly do."

We both turned to look toward the speaker. Lightwing smiled gently at me; Heartsinger, at her side, also seemed to beam at me. Under so much affectionate attention, my usual response would be to cower, hide, get away from it, probably with a self-deprecating comment, or even with anger. I saw myself doing it, images in my head of me doing those things, whether in past situations or as something I needed to do now. That's the thing: I saw it, as if looking at myself doing it, or watching someone who looked like me doing it, and I didn't understand why that person would do that. It was like feeling separate from myself again, or like maybe Detective Luton was doing those things...

A different instinct took over in me, and I stood up, gently releasing Stellamara's paw and padding over to the Husky to take her into my arms for a firm hug that she returned even more tightly. I felt something like relief, gratitude, affection, lightness, other words that I couldn't catch clearly. It was good and right that I held her close, my tail wagging, my nose catching whiffs of her scent from her neck fur. It was several seconds before I remembered that others were in the room with us, and my old patterns tried to kick in again. This time, though, that first inclination toward embarrassment lasted only for a moment. I pulled away from her enough to look into her lovely ice blue eyes, smiling at her as she did me.

"I hear you're looking for me," she said.

"Heartsinger wouldn't mislead you," I told her. Extending an arm toward the Borzhvolk, I was glad to feel him take my forepaw into his and return the squeeze I gave him. "Good intuition."

"If nothing else, she makes tea better than I do." His smile encompassed us both. "Lightwing, perhaps you'd like to show Max the North Turret? I think he'd like the view." He chuckled softly. "I promise that not a euphemism."

My laugh was soft and sincere, even as part of me tried to make me cower, ashamed at being so open and vulnerable. That was my exact thought -- I could see it clearly enough to speak it -- and I felt the confusion of being separate from that emotion, again as if I were somehow two beings. I asked, "What is the North Tower?"

"You may not have noticed that the house has two turrets on it, one to the north, one to the south." The Husky smiled at me. "They aren't just decorative. Here, I'll take you."

I clasped her offered forepaw gently in my own, then turned to Stellamara. "Thank you," I said quietly. "I will see you later, I hope?"

She nodded, her smile warm and reassuring. "I would like that."

"Me as well," Heartsinger assured me. "I have reason to believe that dinner will be quite good tonight."

"The food has been exceptional already."

He placed a forepaw to my shoulder. "I was thinking of the company."

_Just let it happen,_something inside me said. A much nicer voice than the ones I'd been hearing. "I look forward to it," I assured him.

Still holding my forepaw in hers, Lightwing led me down the length of the ground floor, past the conference room with its telecom system and its revelations of this morning, and to a staircase just beyond. Wide, though not as wide as the main staircase to the upper level, this flight of steps had an interesting feature that the Husky pointed out to me. "These windows run the height of the entire stairwell, on both sides," she explained as we climbed upward. "Sometimes, when it rains, we'll find Darkstar sitting on the second or third floor landing, just watching the drops fall. There's a very peaceful feeling in this stairwell, and I've never figured out why. And I've never been sorry that it's here."

"What makes a big house beautiful is the secret that you never see," I paraphrased. Lightwing glanced at me quizzically. "From The Little Prince."

She smiled at me. "When did you read that?"

"About a thousand years ago, it seems." I shook my head, wondering. "I'm surprised that I remembered it."

"Memories get triggered by all kinds of things. Scent is a big trigger, for most of us, and maybe canines in particular; other things trigger by association of words, ideas, physical sensations." The Husky paused in her ascent, turning back to look into my eyes. "Can you tell me what brought that idea up in your head?"

"I'm not sure." I stood with her on the landing between the second and third floors, looking away through the windows at what seemed an enormous, unbroken vista of forest and landscape. If my sense of direction wasn't failing me, this landing faced west. I could see the drive leading toward the Artisanry, and the sun lowering from its earlier zenith. The peacefulness of this land, this space, came through to me with a sense of comfort, of safety, just as the tribe had been providing to me. A flicker of that old pain tried to seep in, to tell me not to trust it, but it was really a ghost now, a phantom. "Something about this place."

"The staircase?"

"Everything. Starhold. The tribe. The sense of being safe." I turned back to look at her again. "I keep wanting to ask if it's real. How is it possible to keep dreaming? How do you keep a dream alive?"

"By working at it. Remembering to keep dreaming."

"Something about the price of liberty being eternal vigilance?" I asked. "That sounds paranoid."

"It is." The look on her face showed genuine pain. "I think that quote isn't correct anyway, but it's been used to justify acts that are supposed to preserve liberty by taking it away from just about everyone. You can't protect something by destroying it."

I took her into my arms and hugged her tightly. She put her arms around me and shuddered once through before regaining herself.

"Sorry," she mumbled against my chest.

"I'm sorry; I think I stepped on a corn."

"You couldn't know." A squeeze, and she pulled gently away from me. "One of my own ghosts, I suppose. Some people I knew, when I was first considering joining the tribe, they gave me a lot of grief over it. Timewind was a 'cult of dangerous subversives,' or words to that effect. It's why I understood your comments about pain and failure being the only real path, that the darkness always wins. It felt very dark when they pulled away from me. Shunned me." She offered me a wan smile. "You see? You aren't the only one who is having to face down the darkness."

"And this 'cult' of Timewind offered you light?"

"Support for finding my own light. Becoming me. We cherish our differences instead of trying to make us all into cookie-cutter 'good citizens.' It's why I say we remember to dream rather than that we fight for the dream. Even fighting for something feels violent, to me. Timewind isn't about violence."

I smiled softly at her. "Although I do seem to remember a certain Husky telling me that she was going to rip a demon out of me and kick its fucking ass."

"A momentary lapse."

We laughed softly together and, before anything in me could think of a good reason not to, I leaned forward to kiss her gently on her lips. I heard her quiet intake of breath, felt something shift gently inside me, as if to get more comfortable. When we separated from the kiss, the smile on her face was much warmer.

"Just showing my age," I told her. Her eyebrows drew together, and I answered, "I'm old enough to remember the slogan, 'Make love, not war'."

"A saying that should never grow old," she chuckled. Offering me another quick kiss to my lips, she turned us toward the last set of steps. "Let me show you part of how we keep the dream alive."

At the head of the stairs, I found a stretch of hallway perhaps a quarter the length of the house. Near the stairs was another water closet, which told me that the tribe did indeed plan both for contingencies and comforts; no sense dashing down the stairs in a case of need. Lightwing stood near a door bearing a wood-carved plaque reading Areopagus in a lovely script. "I have no idea what that means," I admitted.

"I had to get Darkstar to give me the background of it all, but it really was the founders' idea, part of the original concepts for the tribe. The name comes from the Greek Hill of Ares, located in Athens, where the Athenian tribunal met for council."

My turn to frown. "I thought that a tribunal was a court of justice or of decision-makers. Timewind is more democratic than that, isn't it?"

"Absolutely!" the Husky assured me. "This is the conference room for what became known as the Prime Council, mostly because the other usage of the initials 'PC' is its own travesty." She grinned. "I don't suppose you're a fan of the Arthurian legends?"

"Does it count that Michael and I have watched Excalibur about a dozen times?"

She giggled sweetly. "Addicts, like the rest of us. Allow me to show you Timewind's own version of the Table Round."

I padded through the open door into a room with about the same dimensions as Darkstar's room, dominated by a large round table, surrounded by particularly comfortable-looking office chairs. The table was inlaid with seven wedges of color: a rich antique gold, royal blue, forest green, a gently understated purple, a warm if not passionate red, a soft white, and a clean yet subtle sun-like yellow. Each of these held what appeared to be gold leaf inscriptions: Chieftain, Household Advisor, Financial Advisor, Projects Advisor, Legal Advisor, "MOOR," and Keeper of Time. Below the MOOR inscription, the words Siege Perilous appeared in a sweeping script.

"You're going to have to explain this to me," I told her softly.

"This is the boardroom of the corporation-thingummy that is Timewind." She grinned at me. "Just because it's legal doesn't mean it has to be dull."

"When did paradise have to be so regimented?"

She nodded, still smiling. "This is why I say that I dislike saying that we 'fight' for the dream. We work for it, build it, maintain in. Part of this is to fulfill the legal requirements that protect us as a group; the rest is our combined effort to keep us going." Her smile faltered for a moment. "Airdancer set it all up, originally; Unicorn has tweaked and maintained it since. I don't understand all of it, even though I'm part of it... Here, let me explain what I know."

Moving to the table, she waved me toward the chairs, inviting me to take one. I sat at the Siege Perilous, wondering what a "MOOR" was, as well as what it had to do with Sir Percival.

"As I understand it," the Husky began, "the legal setup needs only a President, Secretary, and Treasurer. As a practical matter, the tribe developed the idea of divvying up the business of running this dream into specific areas. Each member of the Council has the power to act autonomously, generally speaking, like departmental managers of a business. We all come together here, compare notes, make sure we're on track." She nodded, again smiling. "Sounds ridiculously complicated, but we're used to it by now. The tribe in general has been working this out since they started."

"Practice makes, as they say. Is it? Perfect, I mean?"

"Hardly! But it works." She again gestured to the table. "Oaknail is the corporate President, although he thought 'Chieftain' was a better title for the liege lord of the land and tribe." Lightwing chuckled. "It's very tongue-in-cheek. He never takes it any more seriously than his duties actually require of him. You'll notice that his chair is one of the largest; he insists that it's because of his physical size and not because he wanted a throne. We still tease him about it.

"The Household Advisor position covers all aspects of running the household and grounds, including purchases of food, overseeing the overall groundskeeping, arranging seeing to the needs of our non-sapient animals, and so forth. A rough job, since it includes all the buildings on the property, including the Artisanry. Moonsong is our overseer, and I sometimes think she handles it with one paw.

"Sunrider is our Financial Advisor, the accountant and Treasurer for Timewind. He handles all the taxes, financial income and outgo, and overall budgeting. Anything that requires money in any way has to be worked through with him, and that includes household, projects, and everything else. It might interest you to know that there are currently eleven separate bank accounts for Timewind, simply to keep all of the accounting separate."

"My head is already swimming," I smiled at her.

"Hang on; four more positions to go!" Another game show hostess wave as she indicated the purple wedge. "The Projects Advisor is Summerwind; she's doing some consulting work in Houston and should be back next weekend. For us, she oversees the big projects, like the construction of the Artisanry. Her 'skill set,' as they say, includes everything from subcontracting negotiations and project management to something called Critical Path Method, which I don't pretend to understand. My tease for her is, if they want to build it, she will come."

"Good movie," I acknowledged.

She pointed to the purple wedge next to the place where I sat. "Legal Advisor -- Unicorn, of course." Another brief pause before she observed, "I wonder what Airdancer would have made of this."

I kept my muzzle shut, letting the emotions of the moment be whatever they needed to be. It occurred to me only briefly that Glover's shade didn't seem to be there at all. Perhaps there was too much of the dream here for it to tolerate.

"This space is next," I said, indicating the soft white wedge where I sat. What exactly is 'MOOR' when it's at home?"

"Another tongue-in-cheek title: Minister Of Outworld Relations."

"What does 'Outworld' mean?"

"Remember our discussion during tea this morning, about how Starhold is a sanctuary, and Timewind is a safe group, good folk to be together with?" The Husky's ice blue eyes shone warmly. "We use 'Outworld' in the ironic sense. You see, Timewind and its concepts are still largely thought of an experiment in being a commune, or a throwback to the sixties, or maybe even a bunch of weirdoes who are trying to subvert Our Great and Sacred Way Of Life. The MOOR keeps tabs on all aspects of Timewind as it relates to the public, both as a source of information for the curious as well as the monitor of our own safety, especially in these modern times of suspicion of anything that's too... well, 'generous' is the word I'd use. We dad-gum commie hippie pre-verts are gonna ruin This Great Nation."

I waved a gently dismissive forepaw. "I don't think I mentioned it... Part of how I found you was a phone call I received from the FBI."

She nodded softly. "Yeah, we're still on their watchlists. That's one part of what I have to deal with."

"You?"

"Yep." She grinned at me. "You're sitting in my chair."

"It was the 'Siege Perilous' that caught my eye. I can see why this place at the table would be labeled with that. How can you find the Holy Grail? What is the Grail, for Timewind?"

Lightwing sat next to me, sighing softly. "The sacred chalice is a symbol. Some think it's one of sacrifice, of the pain of the crucifixion. I think it in terms of love. Remember in the film, how Arthur sips from it and exclaims how filled he was, how his spirit was renewed? That's what love does." Her eyes again regarded me with their special warmth. "The Grail is always worth pursuing, and we sip from it whenever we can. We share it whenever we can."

"What does that look like?"

"Each of us gives of ourselves to the world, in various ways. The tribe, as a group, also gives of itself. That's the other part of my job. I oversee donations of time, goods, services, or even money to our nearby communities, in times of need. With Sunrider, I oversee the tribal scholarship funds; some of that is for the yowens of our own members, but there are also a few that are available to others who show both an interest in higher education and in our own precepts. Oray is one of those, in fact."

"You mean he doesn't spend all of his time in the hayloft with Starshine?" I grinned.

"Not all of it, no," she chuckled. "He studies things other than Procyon anatomy."

"Perhaps not with as much ardor." I glanced at the soft yellow wedge where she sat. "I think the Keeper of Time is the last position here."

She nodded. "Currently Darkstar's domain. The position has several functions in terms of time. First, he is the secretary of record for the corporation-thingummy, as well as being the secretary for the meetings, keeping minutes and records of the Council. As you already know, he is also the chronicler of the history of Timewind, in all its aspects. He keeps the calendars, including the plantings and harvests, the animals' reproductive cycles as they bear their young, and anything else to do with time and schedules.

"There is one thing that is, to me, more important than all of that. He is the keeper of the future as well. Darkstar has a need for the dream of Timewind that is greater than any of us, I think; it is his passion that always renews us when we feel slowed down in our progress. He draws the future for us, predicting activities that we might have decades from now."

"He seems so quiet," I said, hearing a touch of wonder in my voice, "at least in my conversations with him. You're describing a level of passion that I feel more from Heartsinger than Darkstar."

"Heartsinger wears it openly. He'll tell you that he can't help it, but it's more like he finally feels safe enough to set those feelings free. Darkstar is..." Her pause was reflective, her face showing many emotions, settling on a powerful affection. "Remember me saying that I'll find him watching the rain from one of these landings? That's who he is, Max. He's the one who sees through the veil of time. He is bringing our future home to us."