56 pages, comb bound, white cardstock cover
Poetry by Zhelhala Kharhal; Marian Crane. Art by Marian Crane; Anne Staszalek; Lorna Millen; Kiri Namtvedt; Denise Jones. Cover by Marian Crane.

CHANGING SEASONS by Anne Staszalek
   She waited for her father to join her, pouring him some wine.
   "As I've said for the last three years, there's no way a Shin'a'in will be at our back country beast-fair. I think I'll hope for another Ashkevron hunter-Kestrel is too old for the field. But hawks and horses are the least important thing on my mind.
   "It's been more than two years since I brought this up. Something has been bothering me lately, and I think a large part of it is that I'm getting older yet still caught in limbo. For all that I act like your son, we both know I'm not. At the final hunt last season, more than five of the other lords were very pleased to tell me this. I never thought I'd say this, but maybe they're right…I can't be a boy, won't be a cloistered Lady, and I feel like there's something out there waiting for me.
   "I really think that it's time to either take another for heir, or to take another to wife…"
   The smile left his face, replaced with stony anger. Rhiannon stopped, knowing that talking was impossible, hoping instead to sow seeds. He looked away, out the window that overlooked the herb garden. When he did speak, more than half a candlemark later, his voice was cold, impassive.
   "This is a dead topic, Rhin. I will never marry again, and there is no need for another to be named heir. You live, and are strong. In truth, I think you stronger than many who will be lords of their holdings. This is not the first lordship to be passed to the daughter, nor the last."

FIRST BAR by Julia Linthicum
   The rains of spring eventually gave way to the mild summer along the borders of Valdemar. During the Midsummer months, Camden holds an annual festival, bringing together the sister towns of Camden and Cameron and welcoming visitors from all over the kingdom. The town squares become filled with colorful merchants, vigorous dancing, and lively music.
   Mirya was scheduled to give her first public performance this year. She felt so nervous. Her hands shook at the thought of those prominent Guild and town leaders watching her on stage. Now she understood why her sister didn't want to act in that Midwinter play last year. What if she performed badly?
   To make matters worse, her entire family planned to attend the festival. Tevan and Lyrisa, of course, were almost required to attend since the Weavers' Guild always set up several booths. Besides, her parents met at a similar Camden festival many years before, so the event brought back fond memories for their family. On the other hand, Mirya's younger brother and sister didn't want to attend until they learned their older sister would perform as a soloist. They want to see me fail, Mirya thought without amusement. I won't give them that chance. Keep your mind on the music and your heart in the performance. Hopefully, that will be enough.

HERALD'S BLUES by Royce Day
   Gracia finally reached the door to her room. She had her hand on the door handle before she noticed the note that had been stuck between the door and the doorjamb. She plucked it out and examined the outside. On it was her name and a scribbled line saying, Please read this before opening your door.
   With her eyebrows raised in curiosity, she unfolded the note. A message was written in neat and anonymous print. It said, Dear Gracia, Please stand away from your door when you open it. Otherwise you might find it necessary to do your wash today, instead of tomorrow. Additionally, it would be helpful if you screamed. It was unsigned.
   She stood there in the hallway for several moments, nonplused. It was certainly the strangest letter she had ever received. Deciding there was no point in delay, she stepped to the right of the doorframe, grasped the handle firmly and pushed the door open.
   Above, where her head would have been, she heard the sound of tearing paper. She stepped back as a shower of coal dust fell from the ceiling on to the spot where she would have been standing had she walked straight in. If she had, her gray trainee uniform would have been ruined. She found the envelope that had contained the dust tacked above the door, with a string leading to the inside door handle. Whoever had done it had left just enough slack in the string to slip through the door again.
   She felt her temper begin to boil. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to make her day just a bit more miserable, and she had a good idea who.
   Down the hall, trainees who were in their quarters either relaxing or studying winced as they heard a female voice scream, "I HATE THE BLUES!"

BROTHER LOVE by Tracy Patton
   Sometime later, one of the bodies on the ground twitched and moaned. It was a young man about seventeen years old. He rolled his head to one side, ignoring the hair which fell in front of his eyes, obscuring his vision.
   "Kell?" he whispered. "Kell?" He then caught sight of the crimson snow which surrounded his brother's body.
   "Keller!" With an agonized cry he bolted up, then almost collapsed as a fog of blackness threatened to claim him. No, I can't pass out. I won't pass out. He clung to consciousness and crawled the remaining distance to his brother's side, ignoring the melting snow on his breeches.
   "Keller?" he said again as he touched his brother's face with a trembling hand. Eyes as black as his own flew open at the touch. They looked at him blankly for a moment, brightened with recognition, then lost their brilliance in a haze of pain.
   "Kieth..." Keller's voice was raspy. He coughed, his features twisting with pain. When his coughing had eased there was blood at the corners of his mouth. "Goin' to...havens..."
   "NO! Don't say that!" Kieth interrupted. "You'll be fine. I'll take care of you. You can't die. You'll be fine."

FAMILY by Royce Day and Tracy Patton
   As the daylight faded from the sky, a lone rider sat upon his steed, slowly making his way along Valdemar's southern trade road. He and his steed were barely visible, their image masked by the wet snow-flakes falling around them. The rider wore gray, his cloak wrapped tight against the chill. His mount was of pure white, as white as the snow that fell around them.
   To an observer, the pair could easily have been phantoms, doomed to serve eternally as warnings to unwary travelers. The reality was more mundane.
   :How much farther are we going to slog through this mess? My coat is soaked!: the rider heard a voice in his head speak
   The rider, Dugal by name, smiled slightly at his Companion's complaint. :Not too much farther, Nita. It's still a day's ride to my father's holding, but I know where we can stop and be given shelter for the night.:
   :Goddess give blessing, we'll be warm!:
   Dugal heartily agreed. His newly healed bones ached from the cold and damp, and he was anxious to get them back to a reasonable temperature.
   After nearly half a candlemark's further travel, they turned down a dirt track, off the cobblestones of the main road. On both sides of them were fields, empty save for the stubble of corn poking up from the snow. Ahead of them lay a cabin, with a small stable attached to one side. The only evidence of it being inhabited was the steady puff of smoke that came from the chimney.