The Sentinels honey and sulfur

she called to the heaven and they answered with a lap of rain; lasher too stared heavenward. he had never voiced his words to the ghosts who beckoned with empty hands, for he was afraid. taltos was no witch; he was the tool of witches. a servant to them, a lover. a treasure. a weapon. and now, it seemed, he was a father to a pair of them, light and dark, the sun and the moon and the stars having climbed down from the very skies and taken them into collective embrace.

but taltos did not speak, though he was filled with words; he let deirdre be the link betwixt himself and the grey heavens, and stepped back from the lilting hard voice of her anger, childish and yet ageless beyond imagining.

"ní féidir liom teacht ar tachyon," he murmured lowly, ashamed of his failings before her. "cén fáth a bhfuil tú grá an fear?" lasher asked, having never understood the breadth and depth of deirdre's adoration.