Windhaven

"Let me go, please." Maris drew a shaky hand across her face and looked around. The room was calm and still, the floor as flat as it had ever been. Her legs held up firmly. She took a deep breath and began to walk again.

The floor suddenly slipped out from under her feet, and would have hit her in the face had not Evan caught her again.

"S'Rella — hand me the basin," he said.

"I'm fine — I can walk — let me do it—" But then she couldn't speak, because she had to throw up, and blessedly S'Rella was holding a basin before her face.

Afterward, shaky but feeling better, Maris walked back to the bed with Evan's guidance.

"What's wrong?" Maris asked him.

He shook his head, but he looked uneasy. "Maybe just too much exertion too soon," he said. He turned away. "I have to go now and tend a colicky baby. I'll be back in an hour or so — don't try to get up until I return."

She was elated when Evan removed the cast from her arm; overjoyed that the arm proved whole and strong, with no permanent damage. She knew she would have to work hard at building up the muscles before she could fly again, but the idea of long, hard hours of exercise excited rather than dismayed her after so much time spent doing nothing.

Too soon, S'Rella announced that she had to leave. A runner had come from the Landsman of Thayos.

"He has an urgent message for North Arren," she told Maris and Evan, making a disgusted face, "and his own flyers are off on other missions. But it is time I left anyway. I must get back to Veleth."

They were gathered around the rough wooden table in Evan's kitchen, drinking tea and eating bread and butter as a farewell breakfast. Maris reached across the table and took S'Rella by the hand. "I'll miss you," she said, "but I'm glad you came."

"I'll return as soon as I can," S'Rella said, "though I expect they'll keep me busy. Anyway, I'll spread the word about your recovery. Your friends will be relieved to hear."

"Maris hasn't entirely recovered," Evan said quietly.

"Oh, that's only a matter of time," Maris said cheerfully. "By the time everyone hears from S'Rella, I'll probably be flying again." She didn't understand Evan's gloom; she had expected his spirits to lighten with her own when her arm came out of the cast. "I may meet you in the sky before you get back here!"

Evan looked at S'Rella. "I'll walk you to the road," he volunteered.

"You needn't bother," she said. "I know my way."

"I'd like to see you off."

Maris stiffened at something undefined in his tone. "Say it here," she said quietly. "Whatever it is, you may as well tell me."

"I've never lied to you, Maris," Evan said. He sighed, and his shoulders slumped, and Maris suddenly saw him as an old man.

Evan leaned back in his chair, but looked steadily into Maris' eyes. "Haven't you wondered about the dizziness you feel when you stand or sit or turn too suddenly?"

"I'm still weak. I have to be careful. That's all," Maris said, already defensive. "My limbs are sound."

"Yes, yes, we need have no worries about your legs, or your arm. But there is something else wrong with you, something that can't be reset, splinted and allowed to heal. I think something happened when you hit your head on the rock. There was some damage inside, to your brain. It affected your sense of balance, your depth perception, perhaps your vision. I'm not sure what exactly. I know so little — no one knows much…"

"There's nothing wrong with me," Maris said in a reasonable tone of voice. "I was dizzy and weak at first, but I'm getting better. I can walk now — you have to admit that — and I'll be able to fly again."

"You are learning to adjust, to compensate, that's all," Evan said. "But your sense of balance was affected. You will probably learn to adjust to life on the ground. But in the air — an ability you need in the air may be gone now. I don't think you can learn to fly without it. So much depends on your sense of balance—"

"What do you know about flying? How can you tell me what I need to fly?" Her voice was as hard and cold as ice.

"Maris," whispered S'Rella. She tried to catch Maris' hand, but the injured woman pulled away.

"I don't believe you," Maris said. "There's nothing wrong with me that won't heal. I will fly again. I am just a little sick, that's all. Why should you assume the worst? Why should I?"

Evan sat still, thinking. Then he rose and went to the corner by the back door, where the firewood was kept. Separate from the logs and kindling were some long, flat boards, leftover lumber that Evan cut up to use as splints. He selected one about six feet long, seven inches wide, and two inches thick, and laid it down on the bare boards of the kitchen floor.

He straightened up and looked at Maris. "Can you walk along this?"

Maris raised her eyebrows in mocking surprise. Absurdly, her stomach was tight with nerves. Of course she could do it; she couldn't imagine failing such a test.