Sorrow's Child by Jaime Hathaway
    The little girl then stood up, taking her doll by the hand. "Time to pick flowers for Mommy, Beebee." She began to skip through the meadow grasses, stopping every so often to pick a pretty wildflower, or an unusual blade of grass, all the while being careful not to go out of sight of the small house.
    Suddenly, she heard her mother scream shrilly from inside the cottage. She stopped skipping and stood still for a heartbeat. Her mother screamed again, and the little girl dropped her bouquet of wildflowers and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her to the house. As she rounded the corner to the front of the cottage, she saw two strange white horses standing there, untethered. She had never known anyone to come visit them before.
    Frightened, she pushed open the door to the one-room cottage and stopped, terrified at the sight that greeted her. The inside of the small cottage looked like a storm had blown through it, leaving nothing unturned. Her father was tied up in a chair, and her mother-
    The little girl screamed and rushed over to the bedstead where two strange, rough-looking, dirty men were raping her mother. She beat them with her little fists, one of which still tightly clenched her doll.
    "Mommy, mommy," she cried desperately.
    "Aeran-run!" her mother gasped, her eyes wide with fear for her child.
    "Little brat!" spat one of the men. He slapped her hard with the back of his hand, sending her crashing into a corner where she dropped her doll.
    "Aeran."
    Aeran looked over to her father as he called her name. She rushed over to him and tried to untie the heavy knots, but it was no use.
    "Daddy," she wept. She tried to wipe the blood off his face with the corner of her dress, but he stopped her.
    "No, Aeran. Don't stay here. Go. Run to the forest as fast as you can, just like I taught you, just like we practiced. It will keep you safe." His voice dropped to a whisper as he struggled for breath. "Run into the forest, and don't look back. I love y-" His head dropped and the little girl cried out.
    "Daddy? Daddy!" She pushed his arm, but he didn't respond. A final, sharp scream from her mother drew her attention back to the bedstead. Her mother's throat was covered in blood that still dripped and glistened from the knife in her attacker's hand.
    Without another thought, Aeran turned and ran out the door and towards Sorrows, never once looking back.

Potter Fahr's Wife by L.A. Malcor
    The cottage itself bespoke wealth without being ostentatious. Far larger than the rest of the buildings in the town, Fahr's home seemed to serve as a combination of dwelling, inn and meeting place. A workshop, with a smoke hole for a kiln, abutted the cottage, accounting for some of the building's extra bulk.
    A woman too old to be thought of as beautiful smiled as she stepped into the doorway to greet them.
    Danya assessed the woman the way Kaylan had taught her. Clothes beyond her station, jewelry that she probably valued more than it was worth…Here was someone who thought she belonged somewhere other than a backwater border village. The black dye in her hair probably covered more gray than she was willing to admit to, and her too-thick makeup accentuated rather than hid the wrinkles that the harsh northern weather had carved in her skin. Her features, like Danya's own, had something more Karsite than Valdemaran about them, and her black eyes devoured her guests-particularly Kaylan-in a manner that the younger Herald distinctly did not like. Danya did not need her Empathy to read the desperation in the woman. She made a mental note to mention it to Kaylan as soon as they were alone.
    "May I introduce my wife, Zuleika?" Fahr said smoothly.
    The Heralds nodded in unison.
    Danya stopped herself from protesting at the way the woman slid up to Kaylan and escorted him into the cottage. Kaylan was devastatingly handsome, but he was also shay'a'chern, something that most women seemed to sense within a few moments of meeting him. Danya saw her partner flinch at the unwelcome contact, then force himself to relax so as not to offend their hosts. The younger Herald decided that she didn't need to warn Kaylan about the woman after all; he'd already figured out that something was wrong. He could take care of himself, and Danya needed to concentrate on the here and now, not on future problems that might never materialize.

Ryha's Choosing by Laura Felton
    In a tree perched just outside of Trevale, on the side of the East Trade Road, Ryhannon Gaia Degent watched them pass. Sitting cross-legged on a thick branch, she leaned against the big oak's trunk. She touched the history book at her right hand to make sure it hadn't slid off the branch she'd draped it across to hold her page. The farmer must have done poor business at the market that day to have so many vegetables left to take home, Ryha thought distractedly. As the cloud of dust passed with the cart, Ryha let her eyelids drop and allowed her thoughts to resume their meandering, which had been interrupted by the farmer's approach. A birdsong from farther up in the tree made her think of a tune she had been fiddling with on her guitar. It was a sad, sweet tune about a girl who was at odds with her love for her family and her future. That brought her mind back to the reason she had fled to the tree's relative solitude with her reading.
    Had she been sitting around the house when her father got home he would only have launched straight into "The Argument."
    "Why aren't you married and starting your own family?" her father would demand to know. "There are plenty of hands around the house to take care of all the chores-just look!" (Ryha pictured him making the appropriate gestures towards Gwydion, whose face looked somehow old without his usual mischievous smile; Pwyll, who sat quietly at the table looking more solemn than usual, Brigit, trying very hard to stay out of the argument by burying her nose in her embroidery, and little Branwyn looking ready to cry at the sight of her beloved family arguing again.) "You have time to sit around and read!" her father would continue. "What about Merchant Dinear's son? He's close to your age. Isn't he handsome enough? I don't understand what you're waiting for!" No, he sure didn't. Though her mother did, as she caught Ryha's eye and nodded for her to stay quiet while her father's frustration passed. Which it usually did, about five minutes after the outburst. Then he would hug Ryha and apologize for his manner and tell her he was sure that she would find the right man by winter.

Outcast by Catherine Wood and Kendra Renaud
    The Shin'a'in guide who finally came to take Dawnweaver to Pretera'sedrin's summer pastures surprised Heartsblood with his age, or more accurately, his lack thereof. The hunter-scout called Tanden looked to be approximately Heartsblood's age, but he was far less mature. It seemed strange that someone so young be sent, after the Elder who had come originally to interview Dawnweaver, following her inquiry into apprenticeship with the Pretera'sedrin rug weaver, Had'nira. The elderly artist herself had not made that first journey, as she had already judged Dawnweaver to be a worthy pupil based on her work. The Elder had come accompanied by two very intimidating Kal'enedral, to judge whether Dawnweaver was worthy of being adopted into the Grasscat Clan, if only temporarily.
    Dawnweaver had easily passed their inspection, so why did this youngling, who had only been sent as a guide, feel compelled to interview her again?
    Tanden folded his arms across his chest, increasing his look of self-importance. "There will be no hertasi there to dress you and minister to your needs."
    After half a mark of this insulting questioning, even sweet-natured Dawnweaver was becoming cross. "Do you see any hertasi here?"
    She made a sweeping gesture with her arm to take in the ekele around them. "Not all Tayledras warrant the personal service of the hertasi, and most of those who do are perfectly capable of dressing and caring for themselves."
    She mirrored his authoritative stance, crossing her arms, her eyes flashing defiantly. Off to the side, Heartsblood smiled and leaned back in her chair, in order to give Grasshadow more room on her lap. This young man was going to have to learn quickly that this was no way to treat a guest of your Clan, much less a woman. Dawnweaver needed no help from her older sister to settle this matter, but the amusing exchange was keeping Heartsblood's mind off her own approaching departure from the Raven Vale.

Meetings by Devin Harris
    Erich didn't acknowledge me when I first fell into step beside him, and we walked in silence for a moment before I ventured, "Heyla."
    There was a pause; I had the distinct impression he was startled, not ignoring me. "Hello."
    "Some friends and I are having a picnic. Care to join us?"
    He stopped, and looked at me with a frown. "What?"
    I smiled; I couldn't help it, his puzzled expression was really cute. "I asked if you'd like to join us."
    The frown deepened; his confusion would have been funny, if I hadn't started feeling bad for him. "Why?" he asked finally, an edge of suspicion in his voice.
    "Why not?" I asked in return.
    Another long, puzzled, measuring look, then, "I'm...sorry. I don't...I'm not good around...people."
    "That's okay," I said lightly. "They aren't people, they're baby Heralds. And if you don't like us, you can leave. Honest."