Rue and Magda met her at the top of the mountain track, excited to see her return. "Janette and her Knight married at his brother's chapel this morning!" Rue said, excited. "And he was so brave when he killed the dragon, and they have gone back to stay at the Monastery, but taken stone masons and carpenters to rebuild the cloister walls and expand the scriptorium and build a manor for the princess and her knight. The Lord Regent came to bless the wedding, and the Crown Prince chose to go hunting instead of attending - I think he'd rather nobody remember that he has an older sister." She looked troubled at the last.

"Should his sister have a son, the boy will become the heir until the Prince has a son of his own," Bronwyn explained wearily. "Where is your father?"

"He will return by supper, he's gone to mediate a dispute between a baron and his tenants," Magda replied. "I think he's also bringing you a present, but he's been very clever about hiding what it is."

“Is all well, otherwise?” The girls took her pack and helped her dismount, and the Mare faded into the trees.

“Life goes on. Nothing is stirring since the dragon was slain by Sir Poitr. Magda has delivered four babes this week, and the baker’s son broke his arm falling out of a tree.”

“Peace is good. Babies are good. The baker’s son probably told his father an outrageous story about how he broke his arm, but at least it wasn’t fighting this time.”

Bronwyn looked around the tower as they entered, seeing with fresh eyes the stray cobwebs and dust on the books and some of the shelves. The linens were clean, though, and the hearth was freshly scrubbed. That year’s salamander was tiny, barely a candle flame in the embers, but it watched her brightly as she moved about their home, settling into her rocking chair with a basket of darning at her elbow. The mirror stood covered on the opposite side of the hearth, and Rue and Magda settled into their afternoon tasks in the garden and at the distillery bench.

Magda cut cheese and bread and put out a bowl of fruit on the high table for their supper as the sunlight began to slant and then fade, and Rue poured cups of cider for them all and set the table. Bronwyn glanced at the candles and they flickered to life, the fire in the hearth brightening as she moved to add more wood.

At dusk, Robbie Longfellow got up and trotted out the door. The moon rose full and heavy in the new night. Bronwyn went to the mirror, hesitating a moment, and then slowly drew the cover off of its frame. She had never herself peered into the mirror to see something specific, to search out someone.

"Mirror, show me my heart's true love," she said, thinking of the enormous tenderness of her giant's heart.

The image was blurred a long moment, and then a resolved on a woodsman, axe over his shoulder and a full cart of wood drawn by a big draft horse at his side as they traveled in the new evening. A scar marked his forehead and the thick muscles of his left arm under the sleeve that was rolled up for work, as if vicious teeth had once slashed him near to ribbons. Silver threaded through his brown hair, and his hand on the horse’s neck was gentle. The room stilled behind her as the girls looked on. Even as the sweet memory of a single kiss filled her senses, she noted idly that he had replaced the knife he'd lost when he fought the wolf over her ensorcelled body. Knowledge filled her with a shock, and she dismissed the image as fantasy.

She cleared her throat. "Mirror, show me my giant, who I love dearly," she said, and it resolved on Grahme's familiar face. He was moonlit, but appeared confused, and as Bronwyn and her daughters watched the mirror's image widened, and a darker shadow slunk 'round to his flank. White teeth flashed, and his image cried out silently, batting ineffectually at the attacker. A single yellow eye flashed triumphant in the moonlight as the giant stumbled, and it raised it's muzzle to the sky in a howl. They heard the howl in the distance, and it was joined by another howl, the deep baying of an enormous dog, challenging the wolf, and the roar of an enraged bear. The moon rose above the trees, bathing the tableau in silverlight. The Wolf was harried by the God's Hound and the bear who visited the girls each winter. They bit at its legs and throat, slashing at its ears and remaining eye.

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The Mare coalesced out of the darkest shadows, rearing high and striking with her heavy hooves, nostrils and eyes shining a fiery red. She grew larger in the mirror, as the God's Hound did before their eyes, and together horse and hound pushed the Wolf back from the wounded giant.

As Bronwyn watched, her daughters appeared in the image, Magda carrying a rope and sack, Rue with a short bow and a shepherd's crook, determined to defend the giant who was father to them. The Wolf turned on the girls, throwing itself at Rue with slashing teeth and crushing jaws. Grahme bellowed in rage and caught the Wolf as it lunged, and they both fell to the ground. The Wolf squirmed free and fled into the darkness, pursued by the God's Hound and the Night Mare and the simple mortal bear who had come to love the daughters of a giant.

Rue and Magda worked to bind up the wounds in Grahme's legs and arms as Bronwyn came to herself and rushed out the door as best as she was able, cursing her lame leg as she stumped down the path to her family.

Magda had made a torch, and by its light and the moonlight, she wrapped broad linen strips around the wound in Grahme's hamstring, and Rue made quick work of cutting down saplings to make a travois for the stricken giant. The Mare returned when the litter was ready, wearing a heavy horse collar and dragging the hauling chains.

With great difficulty, they all got their giant onto the litter, and the Mare hitched to the contraption. It was hard work, but at length they arrived at the tower meadow. He was able to stand with an arm draped over the Mare's withers, and she half dragged him into the tower, maneuvering him to collapse onto the great bed that he shared with Bronwyn.

They staunched the bleeding, but he remained confused, the left side of his face slack with palsy and his left arm and leg near lifeless. Bronwyn stitched the deep slashing bites closed with finest silk made of cobwebs and spells, and they healed as the girls watched.

"He's had a brain storm. Magda, make a brew of motherwort and skullcap, and pigweed if we have it."

"And ginger?"

"Ah, yes, but sweeten it with spring honey to ease the burn." She gathered the rags and bloody bandages, the urgency of several threads dragging at her.. "Rue, come with me a moment." The girl followed, worried.

"Will Father be okay?" she asked, poorly veiled fear in her eyes, though she tried to be brave.

"I don't know, dearest, I simply don't know. He will be a long time healing." Bronwyn bowed her head a moment as she tossed the soiled bandages into the outdoor hearth, burning them. "But listen closely, child. In a few years young men shall begin to come to you, seeking your hand in marriage. There's one who will bring you three things, a briar rose, a climbing rose, and a rose from very far away - I believe he would be a good match, that you will be very happy with him, if you choose."

"Is this something you've seen, Mother?" her golden haired daughter asked seriously.

"Oh, no, child. It’s something he’s seen himself. He's been dreaming of you for a very long time. He has a good heart. Just consider it."

"Yes, Mother." Rue was silent a long moment as they watched the bandages burn, swarmed by salamanders. "Who was the man in the mirror? The woodsman?"

Bronwyn closed her eyes and her heart. "That was someone I knew a very long time ago. I believe he died to save me from the wolf that attacked your father tonight."

Rue's fingers were cold against Bronwyn's as she reached out to hold her mother’s hand. "I'm glad he saved you."