Deepwood Weald don't tell me how we've grown

His tone is not welcome, but she shrugs it off with an impish smile, much younger than her years. Is that any way to greet family? she says with scorn, though laughter bubbles underneath each word. Much less an elder? I should be demanding things of you, nephew, not the other way around.

Did no one remember her? Midar, Moath, now Marruz. . . Megara knows that her wandering lifestyle is much to blame for this, but still, it is troubling. It means she did not leave the mark upon the Melonii that she wanted. That must be fixed, especially as she nears the grave.

I am Megara, she continues. Your aunt. I knew you briefly, when you were young.