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That was more than two years ago now. Much has changed since then, and I thought that I should tell you what's happened.

Darkstar informs me that this is called "breaking the fourth wall." That's a construct of narrative, he says. Truthfully, my intent is for this to be more like a letter to you, a postscript to this... well, "novel" is probably the right word, except that it isn't actually fiction. This happened to me, to all of us, as nearly as we can bring the story to you. Darkstar helped me to tell it to him, and the rest of the tribe contributed their words and portions of the stories, and the wonder weaver of words, the lynx himself, put it all together. (I know that he will want to edit that description out; I don't think any of us is going to let him. If you're reading it, you'll know that we won that debate.)

This book came about through a lot of conversation, soul-searching, and general cooperation. My experience of discovering and becoming part of Timewind was unique, in many ways. I am the oldest member of this tribe, and I found them well into my "middle years," proving (if nothing else) that embracing your life is something that can be done at any age. My story became the best way to tell what happened to one of the founding members of the tribe, and how a relative outsider came to be Albion's champion. I discovered what it means to be tribal by learning about it and living it for a few days, then for another weekend, and then for more days, even when I wasn't at Starhold.

As you might have guessed, I read the entirety of _The Tribal Manifesto_shortly after that first weekend, and many more times since then. In its own way, it's a story, too, told through memories and experiences of our many members, from the earliest days to the 25th anniversary. My experience, we all realized, was a true narrative, one that Heartsinger had called my "transformational experience of the tribe." Through me, he said, others can walk in my pawsteps, to see the spirit of the tribe revealed in the same way that I discovered it. This provides a particularly intimate picture of the tribe, and of me. Perhaps you have realized how much I've changed since "Detective Max Luton" was sent to investigate the death of Thomas Glover. I could not be so open with my emotions back then, even to myself. Choosing to tell this story took some getting used to, and several of my tribe's members (Lightwing in particular) want me to use the word "courageous" in making this choice. I learned, as far back as that first weekend, that one does not challenge that Husky lightly!

On that note, if I may be permitted a brief aside before continuing... I didn't think of this journey as courageous; I stumbled into it, to start with, and I stumbled a lot more when making my choices. By doing all that, however, I finally have come to understand that choosing to love, to be vulnerable, to be open and actively caring, really is an act of courage. It's easy to be full of fear, to cower down and hide. To quote a song that's even a littler older than I am, "Easy to be hard; easy to be cold." Saying "no" to your emotions, your experiences, is easier than embracing them, understanding, opening up. That is another reason why I want to tell this story: I'm my own best example of discovering this, and that's why I want to share it.

With the idea of telling things (mostly) in order, let me start with my return to the precinct on that Monday morning. That was April 8th. Captain Crandall asked if I'd gotten my answers; I told him that I had, and I'd have my final report ready for him by the end of the day. I did, and nothing more was said about the case, my answers, or Albion. For the formalities, it was case-closed, done and dusted. For me, though, it was only the beginning.

My caseload was never "light," but a dog's gotta eat sometime. On Thursday of that week (that's April 11th), I met Chelsea Watson for lunch at the buffet. With Glover's case officially closed, she was able to be far less furtive than the last time that we'd had lunch. I told her about Airdancer, about Timewind, and she seemed both surprised and reassured. She promised to look up the tribal website (not from her office computer, naturally), to get more information, perhaps to read the Manifesto. I had two suggestions for her: To read Oaknail's opening comments first (to see the Three Steps to Becoming) and to check the site again in about six weeks. The tribe was planning to post a memorial page for Airdancer, and we wanted to be sure that we had the family's permission to use his given name. Either way, I told her, the remaining eight founders would be offering their fond memories of the tiger, Airdancer, the young idealist that they knew and loved.

The next day, I took a half-day's vacation time (I can tell you how that's possible for a police detective in my city and precinct to do that, but it's boring and unimportant now); I was determined to enjoy my second weekend at Starhold without arriving so late in the day. The weather was sunny and fair, and I got to enjoy the sunset from the roof of the house, along with a full compliment of resident tribal members. Sunrider was back from his Las Vegas retreat, happy to be home and to meet me in the fur. The fennec was in some sort of meeting for his certification credits when I was on that conference call the week before, and it wasn't until that afternoon (our time) that he could retrieve Oaknail's voicemail to call home. I feel that I must include one bit of conversation with him, from that sunset on the roof, that I remember quite vividly. The bright-eyed vulpine put a forepaw to my arm, looking at me with deep sincerity.

"Thank you bringing him home, Max."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm thinking of the stories of a fallen warrior being carried home on his shield. You brought Airdancer's spirit home to rest by bringing Albion here." He squeezed my arm gently, saying, "Thank you for your bravery."

I didn't have the chance to tell him, in that moment, how moved I was. As I've grown with the tribe, I've been able to be more open. I thank him once more, here, for those powerful words.

Summerwind also joined us that evening, returning from her time advising on a project in Houston. She was delighted to be "back in a part of the country that actually has seasons." The lioness had been on the conference call but had remained quiet, listening. She told me that she had only known the legend of Airdancer, not the tiger himself, and she didn't know what to say. She echoed Sunrider's sentiment and asked about the status of Albion. I told her that no one had asked for it yet, and I'd been keeping a low profile, hoping to be able to return it to the tribe.

"I get the idea," she told me, "that you took a risk, bringing the sword back to Starhold."

"Cops often use loopholes, for better or worse. This one seemed like a good risk." I paused, breathed, took the chance to trust. "You probably know that I was looking for my own answers."

"Yes, but that's not why you brought it back, was it?"

"Let's just say, it wasn't the only reason."

The lioness nodded, smiling at me. "Albion wasn't the only one coming home."

I thank her, too, yet again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I have Lightwing's permission to phrase this next line in exactly this way: That was the weekend that I discovered what it was like to become her slave. As I'm sure you've guessed, I'm referring to her "whip-cracking" over me, Unicorn, Oaknail, Oray, and Starshine as we were dragged... erm, gently escorted to the county library in Green Town, to help get the annex one step closer to being ready. This MOOR may not have been the one from Venice (I have retained _some_of my education), but she definitely got us motivated. She also pitched in, so don't get the wrong idea. The Husky is driven, in all the best ways, and her enthusiasm is contagious. I also have her permission to tell you that she didn't tire me out too much that day. As for the night... ah, but I've said enough.

Mention must also be made of the kinkajou head librarian, Mrs. Sudbury, whose threat regarding a trivia contest that day was brought forth with a vengeance. She kindly waited until lunch, so that no one had to think of answers while toting shelving or working on the interior walls of the annex. Overall, however, I was just as glad that no one had bet lunch on the outcome of that contest; cumulatively, we scored a not-terribly-impressive 78%.

The following Tuesday (that would be April 16th, for those of you keeping track), I took my life in my forepaws, along with a copy of a certain volume already known by me, and traveled a way west and slightly south of the city. I found the squatters right where I had left them, and my welcome this time wasn't much more cordial than my first. Truth told, I wished that I'd had Oaknail and Unicorn with me, but I figured that I'd be better off if I didn't appear armed for battle. Pearl, the matronly coyote who seemed in charge of the bunch, kept the big bull in check again, and I told them all that the case regarding Glover's death was closed. I added that none of them was in my final report, beyond my interviewing "the defendants in the last case Glover was assigned to," so their group had no significant presence in the police computers that I was aware of.

Of course, the Manifesto was my real reason for visiting. It included one of Ezequiel's business cards, and I explained the connection between the book and Glover. The pregnant ewe and her mate were the ones who took it from me, she glancing through as the ram examined the card. I knew that there was another county library, further west on the state highway that I'd driven down. They would have internet connections to find the tribal website and get in touch with Timewind or with Ezequiel directly. The bull, Isaac, was suspicious; even Pearl wasn't clear about my motives. I said only that I had met the members of Timewind and that they had asked me to pass along their story of how they had come together to commingle their lives. The attorney had said that he would be glad to answer questions as best he could, but that he was not trying to get fees or solicit new clients. The general consensus by that group was that no lawyer could be trusted, although the ewe looked like she hoped that maybe just one might be trustworthy after all.

I waited until the end of that week before chancing my arm and calling the Glover mansion. Young Allison, the housemaid, answered; with her help, I arranged a visit with her and the cook, Bessie, just to tell them the conclusion of the story as well. We had a nice tea in the breakfast nook in the kitchen (and yes, it made me pine just a bit for Lightwing). The mistress of the house had told them, finally, of her condition. She had also told her kits, when they came home for Glover's funeral. There was still a sense of mourning in the household, yet also a sense of hopefulness. The chemotherapy would begin sometime in October, giving her and her kits a summer to build up their memories and trips together. Both the panther and the white mouse rallied for their mistress, understanding more of what she was going through. As of this writing, two years since, Helena Glover has beaten the odds, medically. She has largely withdrawn from public life, but you will still hear of the tigress helping other cancer survivors rally, as well as getting support not for charity galas but for cancer research. I applaud her efforts.

Dodging back to that May... Ezequiel contacted her about the use of Glover's name on the memorial page of the tribal website. She requested that he not be named, and neither did she have any wish for Albion, once its provenance had been explained to her. However, she did not slam the door in our collective faces; she was very calm toward Unicorn, he told us, and she wished us well. In fact, in the summer after her chemotherapy -- this past summer -- she called Ezequiel to ask if she could visit Starhold for an afternoon. The tigress arrived with a driver as well as her kits, who seemed amazed by the shop and the grounds in general. Helena (as she asked us to call her) still tired easily, so a trip up the stairs for the view wasn't in the cards. Tea on the back porch very definitely was, however, and she enjoyed meeting the other founders who live here. It was that day that the tigress gave permission to use Glover's name on the website's memorial to him, making the observation that her mate must have been a very different cat in his youth. We also have her permission also to quote her: "He was better at his job than at his heart."

Helena has grown still stronger over the last year, and we have every expectation of her spending a weekend with us later this summer. Her kits will be joining her; they want to learn how to ride.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

For the sake of completeness, the encounter with "William Keaton" was presented accurately, but to protect his anonymity, the name and species was changed for this book. As Unicorn would be the first to remind us, a touch of decorum prevents a metric ton of nuisance suits.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

My days as a police detective were numbered as early as that first weekend at Starhold, although I took time to think carefully about it. Unicorn and I did have our conversation -- several, in fact -- and plans slowly evolved. The city isn't as large as those that the television cop shows are set in; there are only 33 designated precincts, and as for the small villages and towns edging up next to the city proper, each has its own constabulary force. I worked out of the 8th Precinct, on the east side of the city. I was one of twelve homicide detectives, with other departmental detectives, patrol units, officers, and the brass making up the rest. All this isn't really relevant, except that it might help to explain why my work load was comparatively light and how, by the time I had formally retired in May of last year -- thirteen months after I'd first visited Starhold -- there were a few very fine additions to my precinct.

Officer Bernard Shelby Padilla transferred in from the Two-Six when a position opened up for a detective sergeant (which, for our force, meant someone working toward his detective's shield). It was no coincidence; my boss, Capt. Crandall, knew that I was considering retiring even sooner than I knew it myself. It was July 1 of that year that the Shep started to shadow me. He caught on plenty quick, and he's put in time on the job and on the books to make sure all the tests are passed. I usually called him by his last name, although I did call him "B.S." a few times. It was as much "hazing" as I was capable of. I didn't hide my interest in and experience with the tribe; he teased me that I should take a tribal name of "Nosey Parker." That gave him leave to call me "N.P." sometimes. We got along well.

A young Doberman named Nathanial Lindsay Cole sat for his exams, getting very respectable scores. He became an academy cadet in May of that year, graduating in early September. He had to wait a while for an opening to show up in the force, but his scores from academy, combined with his experience in private security (time spent dealing with the public really does count), put him at the top of the list. I attended his swearing-in on Saturday, November 4th. We stay in touch, and he's doing well as a "beat cop." His "perhaps" turned into "yes."

I should mention that Parsons, the young Labrador I'd met on-scene when all this started, is still on the job. My description of him in this book isn't complimentary; I wasn't sure just how to tell that bit of story, if only because I was so harsh with him. The name is changed here, but even he told me that I didn't lie or exaggerate. He was all too new to the force, at that point. His own story of facing change deserves to be told, and perhaps he will tell it someday. Slowly, "Parsons" found ways to let the job be what it is without actually succumbing to it. He may find something else to do outside of the force but, for now, he's doing all right for himself. He's got more discipline, more "grit" (as they used to call it), than I had given him credit for, and I appreciate his allowing me to tell the story as it happened. He helped me back then, by showing me that I was getting tired of the job. For that, I thank him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Changes continued through May and June of that year. Perhaps most significantly, Frank had made the commitment to himself to work on his ASE certifications, which would make his knowledge of car repair official. The first test is A1 - Engine Repair, the second is A2 - Automatic Transmission/Transaxle. I joke with him that I have the A0 certification: I can usually figure out how to put a car in gear. For manual transmission, all bets are off.

He began with finding a mentor in a seasoned mechanic in Green Town, and Frank's knowledge and enthusiasm was enough for him to become a sort of journeyman apprentice. Getting that job was made easier because his police record was expunged, just as it should have been a long time ago. With Unicorn's helpful knowledge and persistence, combined with my access to the files, the bureaucratic administration finally gave in to pressure and did the deed. I freely admit that I was within an ace of figuring out some way to hack into the system, but I didn't have the technical skills, and Capt. Crandall balked at the idea of using his own clearance levels to try erasing files. (Neither of us was sure that he could.) In any case, the system finally worked, after enough pressure was applied. From then on, the mountain lion joked, he was only on the tribe's "most wanted" list, because we all wanted him.

Choosing a tribal name was difficult for Frank only in that he -- indeed, all of us -- wanted to be sure that his name reflected his best self. That sounds corny, but it's true, as I discovered. At first, we teased him about being "Mechanic" or "Wrenchtwister," but that didn't last more than a brief bout of wordplay. He contributed "Torque-inator," to the tribe's delight.

We all began to ask more about what he truly loved in his life, for that would more likely lead to his tribal name. The first, most obvious joke was to choose "Dreamweaver Dreamlover," which the cat came up with himself, and which netted him a fine kiss from his panther lover. No decisions were made during that first conversation, naturally enough, but it was during this time that I learned more about Frank. His strong arms and solid upper body, his long-legged running speed, his cross-dominance (right-pawed and left-eyed) had made him a high school hero on the baseball diamond. He got a partial scholarship to college, yet he felt unmoved to continue. He's very bright, in so many ways; he didn't seem to do well with "book-larnin'," as he joked. That wasn't quite true, as he enjoyed reading, and the entertaining lectures from a company called The Great Courses were also sources of his fascination. I suspected that it was classroom learning and testing that gave him issues.

Over the course of several weeks, he talked with us all, singly and in groups. I felt honored when he asked me to take a walk with him on one of the trails through the woods of Starhold, to talk about himself so openly, inviting my help in his search. Ultimately, it was Dreamweaver who helped him find his name. That only made sense, since she knew him more intimately (not just in _that_sense) than the rest of us. What she saw in him was the essence of his best self: His desire, always, to look for new things to learn, to discover interests, to pursue the things that made him better and better with every new day. Thus was born the tribal member known as Seeker.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I spent that summer, fall, and winter considering my future. I wasn't nearly as impulsive as I'd been in my remote-seeming youth, and I got many helpful cautions from my pup, Michael, as well as members of the tribe. Unicorn and I kept up our conversations, and Lightwing and I talked of every aspect of our relationship. I took some vacation leave around Christmastime that year, to stay at Starhold and meet a great many other members of Timewind who descended on the place for a visit during the hols. I got to meet the other founders in the fur -- Stormsinger, Riverrunner, Quicksilver, and perhaps especially Phoenix. I single him out because of the story that I'd heard about him on that first weekend, and because I consider him to be a hugger of Grand Master skill levels (the rest of the tribe agrees). I will admit to joining in with the Christmas Eve furpile in the pit before the fireplace. Three things to mention: Lightwing called dibs on me, so that I wouldn't be smothered by everyone present, at least not all at once; Unicorn was right about Phoenix being a particularly wonderful pillow to cuddle near; and yes, Oaknail does snore like a jet engine. We managed to get some sleep anyway.

New Year's Eve was a Saturday, so I was able to drive up to ring in the year properly. During the drive back, on Sunday, I thought about everything once more. More than that, I felt over it, as Heartsinger quite rightly describes it. I called Lightwing that evening, for one more brief discussion, and I had a chat with Capt. Crandall on Monday morning, January 2 of last year. The bulldog managed a twisting of his lip that I had grown to recognize as a smile and asked, "What took you so long?"

For reasons of pension, season, and overall preparations, I delayed making the resignation formal until nearer the spring. Conversations with Crandall helped to pave the way for my PI license. There's nothing in the law that says a cop can't also have a PI license, but it's often policy in various law enforcement agencies to prohibit it. The Police Commissioner for my city is a reasonably fair-minded bullmastiff whose all-but-trademarked thick mustache is often given a ribbing, but never seriously (if only because he's not a guy you want to piss off). He and Crandall had a quiet chat about it, and a dispensation was reached. I had given Crandall 60 days notice, to help him and the other precincts provide coverage; the PC said that I could apply for my license when I had 30 days left before my retirement date. That worked out well, since I had racked up a lot of vacation time that I still hadn't consumed by the time I retired; I was officially on the books but out of the office for nearly all of those 30 days. No one had any complaints.

That brings us up to May of last year, when many things happened seemingly at once. My slow transition from city-dweller to Starhold residency included numerous steps that may or may not be relevant to you. I shed some possessions, stored more in a portion of the office next to Unicorn's law office in Green Town and, as you might have guessed, moved some more things into Lightwing's suite in the main house. Just so you know, my pup Michael visited Starhold several times over the year before I made the move. I teased him that it was because he wanted to make sure I wasn't getting involved with "a bad element." He returned the tease by saying that he wanted to make sure Lightwing was good enough for me. That was when he discovered that my sweet Husky can fetch a slap to the arm that's not soon forgotten.

You may have noticed that I mentioned an office next to Unicorn's. Max Luton, Private Investigator, hung out a modest shingle in a small, two-room office that was (like Phoenix) juuuuuust right. I admit that I would love to have had the classic gumshoe office door, a marbled glass pane with my name and title etched in fake gold leaf, but I really didn't need the ambience or the expense. I didn't even keep regular office hours; like the good stallion himself, I met by appointment, whenever I needed to meet a client. Most of my work has been for Ezequiel, as we had discussed. Not as glamorous as Sam Spade, but you should visit the office sometime. Heartsinger made a gift of his rendition of the Maltese Falcon, based on photos of the original, and it looks quite handsome atop the filing cabinet.

Despite the cliché aspects of the month, it was indeed June of last year that Seeker and Dreamweaver got married. Everyone pitched in to get everything ready, including space for the cars that brought tribal members, guests, and relatives from all over. The Saturday was as perfect as could be hoped for, for many reasons. The Artisanry was closed for the day, and a sign at the end of the drive said as much. One couple had driven up and quietly parked in front of the shop, as if not believing that it could possibly be closed. The pumas were found all but peering into the windows and looking quite dejected. Oray had been helping to guide visitors to the parking area nearer the house when he found the couple, asking if they might be related to Frank. He found instead that the couple were on an extended vacation-by-car and passed through to see what the shop was all about. Our firefox made them an offer: If they had time to attend the ceremony itself and perhaps enjoy a bit of the reception, he would come back to open the shop for them to browse. Never let it be said that Timewind are poor hosts.

The ceremony itself contained both common and uncommon elements. Heartsinger performed the ceremony as an ordained minister, with quotes from poets and philosophers extoling the joys of the union. Expensive and ostentatious garb for the wedding party had been eschewed in favor of the finest clothing and sashes that our tribal weavers ever made. Unicorn had woven a wreath of flowers for Dreamweaver to wear atop her head, although we all agreed that she needed no great adornment to compliment her natural beauty. The ceremony was brief and heartfelt, the vows that the two had written were exchanged beautifully, the cheering of their kiss might well have been heard in town, and our visiting puma couple expressed themselves thoroughly charmed. They did indeed stay for a bit of the reception, met as many of us as they could, and we all enjoyed their company as much as they did ours. Oray and Moonsong gave them a guided tour of the Artisanry, along with a few other guests who were pleased by the treat. The afternoon became a jewel in the pumas' travels, and we got postcards from their many stops over the summer.

It was also about this time that I was brought further into the mentoring sessions that our tribe holds from time to time. I had, of course, visited Lightwing on many weekends over the prior year, and that included some Saturdays when the guests were gathered for their banquet. I listened to readings of poetry and stories, to music and songs, watched the occasional dance, and marveled at a few surprising and wonderful celebrity speakers who dropped in for a time. (No name-dropping; all of our visitors are treated with proper discretion. I've been allowed to hint that Rainmist happens to be friends with a former President... well, he portrayed one, at least.)

My original comment here was to say that "I opened my big maw and shoved my hindpaw in it." I was outvoted unanimously for that one. What I did was to comment how much I wished I could feel more part of the proceedings, and I was met with a veritable chorus of, "Great idea!" After my emigration from the Outworld, the discussions began in earnest, and I found myself being poked and prodded... okay, warmly encouraged (and yes, it really was) to join in the planning and participation of a session that took place during the first full week of June last year. I thought that perhaps I would be able to provide a little "riding herd" on our guests, and a certain puma joked, "We don't need a police cordon!" I can confirm that my ability to provide raspberries has improved since I started my happy verbal sparring with Seeker.

What the discussions eventually unearthed was my love of movies, particularly those of the prior century. I'm permitted to jest here that my age is actually a benefit, since I grew up with an entire collection of stars who are (sadly) mostly gone by now; even more, some of their earliest roles were in films with stars who reached back even further. (This includes that un-dropped name a few paragraphs back. Yes, I was quite star-struck that weekend, and he was great about it.) So I arranged a few wholly-optional movie nights during that week, introducing yowens to great films from the past. Not all of our guests were born in this century, but I was certainly the oldest in the bunch and, with Darkstar and Heartsinger's help (film mavens that they are), I got to provide to our guests a glimpse into cinema that they had not considered before. It seemed to go over well.

During that same week, I got into a discussion with a trio of yowens who were lounging on the back porch one afternoon. They got me talking about how I came to be part of Timewind, and when, and what did I do, and was I always a PI, and then it got interesting. All three bristled when they discovered that I used to be a cop. They were polite enough, but they didn't want to stick around. Interestingly, it was Seeker who happened by, to defend me gently, and then to start the conversation: What's wrong with cops?

To the yowens' surprise, I was the first to outline quite a laundry list of problems with the police in general, from militarization of police forces to a lack of accountability. Seeker told his story, and a young weasel guest spoke of getting harassed at his local shopping mall, stereotyping for species and age. For the next half hour, I told about my own experiences, answering questions, giving the three a chance to find out that it wasn't their mistrust that was the problem, that bad apples among "the cops" were fueling a sad but reasonable tendency to make "cops" untrustworthy... but that it wasn't every cop, maybe not even most cops, and that it was they -- the "civvies" -- who could work to make it better. I hadn't intended to give a lesson in civil disobedience and affecting change in government and authority, but the conversation seemed to go over well.

You can guess, I'm sure. That same week, I had more talks with more of our guests, and I was surprised by the thank-you's and an appreciative bit of applause at that Saturday night gathering. There was never a formal class created over the last year, nor was there a mentoring for yowens wanting to enter the force. The word got around, partly from the tribal blog posts about that weekend, and I made myself available for those discussions with others who came to spend time with us. The Congressional Representative who had visited once before visited again, late last summer, and he joined me with nearly all of our guests to have an amazing discussion. It will take a lot more than mere legislation; what surprises me is that there is a slowly-growing number of fursons in public office who are really taking a look at what's needed and doing something about it. Lightwing, in her post as MOOR, has been helping our Representative and some of his fellow legislators look for more and better answers. It comes down to the simple reality that we need to talk, to listen, and for us all to work together. Tribal thought continues to spread, benevolently and (we hope) beneficially.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I could probably go on for another entire book, because I truly love who I am becoming, and I love my tribe of dreamers. I have an enormous quantity of anecdotes and stories already, and it's only been two years; just imagine how many more I'm going to experience. That may become another book someday but, for now, there are only a few things left that you really want to know.

Lightwing and I are considering marriage, as a formal ceremony and a legal bond; our only reason for delaying stems from how we already feel about each other and how we treat each other. We joke and banter, we kiss and cuddle, we talk and support one another, and neither of us has enough property, money, or governmental benefits to make the legal trappings valuable to us. We've joked with our resident minister that we could have the shortest exchange of vows possible.

HEARTSINGER (to Lightwing): You wanna?

LIGHTWING: Yeah!

HEARTSINGER (to me): You wanna?

ME:Hells yeah!

HEARTSINGER (clapping his forepaws): Done!

As for the whole celebration, the declaration, the anniversary... tempting, for both of us. We already have an anniversary: April 6th (as the astute of you might have guessed). We celebrate our love every day, and neither Lightwing nor Moonsong need any excuses to make cakes or other great desserts. To set to rest the minds of those of you worried about us "living in sin" (are there any? A show of forepaws...?), we're considering exchanging special words in a formal declaration, and we think that Christmastime would be perfect. Much of the tribe will be here, and the Christmas Eve furpile will be a genuinely beautiful way to deflect any "wedding night happenings" notions. Besides, it will invite a whole bunch of jokes and jests about opening presents, mistletoe, and coming down chimneys. I feel confident that the quick-witted Quicksilver would be making his list of one-liners, checking it twice... yes, the whole metaphor bears consideration. We, as a tribe, will have to let you know what happens. Watch the website.

I, and we, also invite you to the website to read the insights of those who contact us, who talk with us, who learn from us and from whom we learn (thank you, Darkstar, for the proper grammatical structure), and who has joined with us, whether as new members or in gentle spirit. Those include our puma couple (still in touch) and a few members of the city police force. These ideas get around, and we're happy to help it happen.

My general contributions to Starhold have resulted from of a lot of learning. How to wield a pitchfork without destroying my back. When pitching hay from the loft in the barn, how to make sure that Oray and Starshine don't get jabbed inappropriately. (They gave us permission to keep that one in here, amid their laughter and blushing.) How to groom non-sapient horses. How to recognize weeds from seedlings and how to pluck them (also without ruining my back). Assisting with the Artisanry, including how to work the Magic Coffee Machine. I am in no way a "kept dog," and my lovely Husky has an arm-slap ready for anyone who makes the accusation.

One last thing that you want to know. It happened about the time of Seeker and Dreamweaver's wedding (I did mention that there was a lot going on that month, didn't I?), and it happened with a lot of conversation, laughter, and love. You're free to guess who offered names like "Gadget" (as in "Inspector"), "Clouseau" (same reason), "Deckard," "Lestrade," "Kemp," "Parker" (including "Nosy Parker")... As with "Torque-inator," it was a source of great fun. Eventually, we all began looking for a genuinely fitting name, and I am proud of and grateful to my tribe for their help.

Becoming is a lifelong endeavor; it never ends. I believe in a spirit, soul, lifeforce, that will keep becoming even after this dog's physical body decides to rest. What this means is that what I am now is made up of all that I have been, and what I will become is shaped from day to day. I was my sire's pup, and I am my pup's sire. I have touched many lives, in many ways; I have made mistakes, and I've done some good, like any and all of us. I was known as Detective Max Luton, and I am known now as Max Luton, Private Investigator. I am proud to be a member of Timewind.

I am Albion's defender. I am called Heartwielder.