"This is highly unusual master Matchmaker." said the elderly Stahruut woman.

"I know ma'am, but what was I to do, leave her to her Fate?" Devon replied.

"That's exactly what you should have done!"

Devon recoiled at her vehemence and looked down at the small child standing next to him. For her part, Mother Circe looked nothing more than a scolded child. She stared down at her hat in her hands as she rolled and twisted it. Devon brought his head up and looked the woman in the eye, letting out a long, low croak before finally speaking.

"I have done your family many favors." He said, "Yes, many years of business where you and your family asked me for things thought unreasonable. But by Leafraker's Bounty I supplied."

She chittered three short syllables he knew to be a call to prayer in the Stahruut language and he continued over her.

"I know the name of every pup and kit and have sat with young and old, bereft of status or not, and we have made offerings meager and grand!"

She raised a finger at that and stalked closer. "You make many offerings master Matchmaker. And not all parties favor me and mine!"

"I'm not Novir! Nor do I supply arms. I always have food and supplies for anyone. I'm a neutral merchant, you know that."

She deflated at that and stepped back, considering the child. After a long moment she said, "witch, you are not welcome here. You will bathe and eat and leave. There will be no offerings made."

"I understand, Harvest Maiden" Mother Circe said in perfect Stahruut. The elderly Stahruut woman stared at the little girl like she had slapped her and turned to Devon.

"I rest my case master Matchmaker." she stormed, "to the stables both of you!" She looked up at the sky overhead. "I pray you leave before the rain!" She then shut the door on them.

"I'm sorry," Devon said.

"It's okay, master Rain Speaker." she said in perfect Rain Speaker. It didn't unnerve him nearly as much anymore. He turned from the door with her and finally asked, "What is that about, anyway? I've never seen anyone able to speak my language, or the Stahruut language, except for those of our respective species.

"You're not using magic are you?" He sounded weary.

"Every witch has an ability unique to her and mine is that I can speak every language... it can't be controlled," she said.

"So when you speak to someone..."

"I speak to them in their native language, as if I always spoke that language. My intent translates perfectly; pitch, intonation, vocabulary, everything."

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

He shook his head. "It's taboo for outsiders to speak Stahruut. They do all their business in the common tongue and don't even care that the word for them means "striped rat." I think they take pride in it even."

She croaked in the same way that the Rain Speakers do when laughing and the laughter made him laugh too.

"That would explain some things," she said.

Two young Stahruut were dropping a large wooden washbasin into the middle of the stable when they arrived. A third was currying Golly in one of the stalls. They had to wait for the two farmhands to bring hot water back and forth from the house, so Devon helped Mother Circe pick out a set of clothes and some shoes from the back of his wagon outside. They settled on a simple dress of pale blue, woolen underthings, and a pair of wooden sandals.

Devon set up a dress curtain to offer Mother Circe some privacy while she bathed. He meanwhile modified the clothes with scissors, needle, and thread, and a quick bit of magic he knew. By the time the food was brought to them he had the clothes finished. She dressed and they ate together while sitting on the back of his wagon.

The food was two large bowls of stew: squash, lentils, chopped nuts, and salted elk. It was good, and after several silent spoonfuls Devon asked, "When you got into my wagon this afternoon, who were you talking about?"

She stopped mid-bite and gave him a level look, then a resigned expression passed over her face.

"Your thread is tangled up with mine now, so I guess it doesn't matter anymore," she said.

"What are you talking about?" He said, but she stared at him with eyes like a raised spear and the pressure on his skin intensified again. The sounds around them faded away, as if heard at a distance.

"The Lord has seen that you will guide me on my journey. My Lady has recognized this and she has weaved our foreseeable futures together."

"You mean..." Devon said faintly, unable to tear his eyes from hers.

"Yes, the Father himself -" she began, but Devon nearly fell from the wagon in fright.

"Must you jump at every little unexpected thing and stare at me like I [caught fish with younglings]?!" She croaked and put out a hand as if to steady him.

"I, I beg your pardon, Mother. I'm a simple man. I pay my respects and keep my head down. I never wanted to gain the attention of the Divinity." His voice had a tone of weeping to it. A moment passed while he visibly steadied himself, though his hands still trembled as he gripped his bowl. 'It's worse than dead to be a legend.' he silently feared.

Mother Circe watched him. She had set the half eaten bowl of food beside her and sat with one knee over the other, kicking one leg idly. Her elbow was on her leg and she had her head in her hand. She was smiling sidelong at him, and her drying hair was starting to stick up in every direction. She looked wild and crazy in that moment, with the light of dusk darkening her features and expression.

"I can't get over how [human] all of our descendants are. Your kind are not even a derivative of [humanity], and yet I swear I have met a [man] that could have been your brother." She said, then stretched out her free hand and stared at her own small, slightly pudgy fingers. "By the time I got my first body back after the collapse, your people already had centuries of combined history with the Rain Bringers. This land was a vast desert with a river and marshland slicing the edge. The Stahruut were simple desert rats during my lifetime then."

"It's really incredible what can happen in a few millennia." She said, awed.

Devon sat silently, terrified. The weight and implications of her words were worse than any story or warning he had ever heard. The elderly Stahruut woman was right. He should have urged Golly right past the little girl the moment he laid eyes on the conical hat that hung from a hook above her head.