u, mature enough to make your own decisions.
	"Now then, these are the four rules that we all live by, cub," she said seriously.
	"Four?  That's all?"
	"That's all," she said with a smile.
	"Why didn't Jesmind just tell them to me so this would never have happened?"
	"Just knowing them isn't enough, cub.  You have to be accepted into Fae-da'Nar.  That's what takes time.  They prefer to watch and observe over a long period of time, so they're sure of the hopeful's stability.  Especially when it comes to turned Were-kin.  For those born into it, it's generally an automatic thing, coming about on the official age of adulthood.  But special cases, like you, require careful observation before they consent.  But we're drifting off the point here, cub, so listen up.
	"The First Law is the most important.  Simply put, we never give the humans reason to fear us.  That means we don't go on rampages, we don't kill unless in self defense or defense of life, we don't terrorize villages and steal children, and we don't brutalize people.  It's a broad law, but it sums up the very essence of our objective.  And that objective is to co-exist with the humans peacefully.  They live in their cities, we live in what they call the Frontier, and everyone's happy.  But when we do come out, it's important that we leave a good impression, when they know what they're dealing with at all.  Since you're from Aldreth, you probably have an understanding of what that means."
	Tarrin nodded.  Sometimes, people would just walk out of the Frontier, and they would trade with the villagers for supplies.  They were always quiet, polite, and they bargained fairly.  They never made trouble.  Because of that, the village welcomed them despite the fact that they were so mysterious.  Villagers always whispered about them after they left, and there were a few wild stories that always circulated, but on the whole, those mysterious strangers were well received.  Tarrin had tried to follow them several times as they disappeared back into the Frontier, which was against village law, but he could never stay on their trails for more than a couple of longspans.
	Triana chuckled.  "Some of them remember you, cub," she winked.  "From what I understand, you used to try to follow them back into the forest after they left Aldreth.  They would watch you and see what you did."
	Tarrin was a bit startled that she would know that.  "Well, I guess I used to do that," he admitted.  "I was just curious.  I was only a kid."
	"They knew that.  I think that's what made them watch you."  She leaned forward a bit more.  "I heard that you used to wander around the Frontier by yourself too.  That's pretty brave for a kid.  They used to watch you then, too, and make sure you didn't wander into trouble.  I think that may be the only reason some of them aren't pushing me to kill you as much as others.  I think they're the ones that have been to Aldreth, and may remember you and the Kaels.  Since your farm was in Frontier land, they would watch you from time to time.  Parents would bring cubs there so they could observe humans in their natural surroundings."
	It sounded bizarre to hear her talk about humans like animals.  But then again, Fae-da'Nar probably did see humans as the inhabitants of that other wilderness.
	"Anyway, the Second Law is also simple and to the point.  We don't interfere in human society.  Some of us live in human lands, but they don't meddle.  They just live there.  We don't take positions of importance, we don't get involved in human politics, and we don't draw attention to ourselves.  Think of Haley.  He lives in Dayis.  Alot of people know him, but to them, he's just an innkeeper.  He keeps to himself, doesn't meddle with city politics, and he keeps what he is a secret.  Because of that, they accept him, even though they don't know what he is.
	"The Third Law deals with what we call the Shunned Races.  Those are Woodkin and magical races, what some call 'monsters', who prey on humankind.  Who don't follow the laws of Fae-da'Nar.  Simply put, we oppose them, but we don't actively hunt them down.  If they start preying on humans, we put a stop to it, because it damages our reputation.  But until they do that, we leave them alone."
	"Then why would they hunt me down?" he asked quietly.  "I'd be Shunned if I didn't accept Fae-da'Nar."
	"No.  If you were a Lamia or a Vampire, then you'd be Shunned.  But you're a Were-cat, and Were-cats are part of Fae-da'Nar.  If you are not part of Fae-da'Nar and you're one of the races that obey our laws, that makes you a Rogue.  There's a difference."
	"Oh."
	"Nice try anyway," she grinned.  "The Fourth Law states that we obey the Druids.  In our society, Druids are something like the nobility, though they never abuse their position.  Druids keep us in communication with one another, they are our healers, our protectors, and our pillars of support.  They are the ones we turn to when we need help, and they are the ones that all of Fae-da'Nar will trust explicitely.  An extension of that law is that a Druid's chosen ground is holy, and the law of peace is paramount.  That means that even though the Woodkin do occasionally fight amongst themselves, nobody fights on a Druid's chosen ground."
	"What is chosen ground?"
	"Where the Druid lives," she answered.  "His home.  Since all types of Woodkin will visit a Druid, even enemies, that law exists to prevent fighting on the Druid's front doorstep.  It's also the main reason you're going to learn the customs all of your cousins.  We use those customs when we encounter each other on Druid's ground."
	"Oh.  So they have to obey you?  You're a Druid."
	"They obey me, but it's not because I'm a Druid," she said with a wink.  "Non-human Druids don't count, because some of us have Druidic talent.  Out here, I'm not a Druid, I'm a Were-cat.  But on my home range, it's another story.  When I'm on my chosen ground, then the law of peace is still in effect.  Because I'm a Druid on chosen ground."
	"I guess that makes sense."
	"I'm so glad you understand it.  Anyway, that's it.  That's the law we live by.  It may sound simple, but once you get some exposure to our society, you'll understand that they were kept simple to deal with a very wide range of different races.  If they got complicated, they wouldn't work.  The rest of what I'll teach you is custom and practice," she said.  "How to know when you're in someone else's territory, the marks and symbols we use out in the forest, the customs and society of the other Woodkin races.  Things like that.  You can get by just by knowing the law, but you can't function if you know what's going on.  But that can wait for later," she said with a slight smile.  "Right now, you need some food.  Real food this time.  I think you're ready for something solid.  I had the innkeeper track down some veal.  It should be soft enough for you to manage, and easy enough on your system to keep you from getting sick."
	The idea of solid food did make his mouth water, but on the other hand, the broth she'd been giving him itself wasn't all that bad, and it had been filling him up.  He would enjoy some meat, but the broth hadn't been a disappointment.
	"Allia's relieving Faalken at the door, so I'll send in Dar to keep you company," she said.  "I have to talk to Rahnee."
	"Are you still going to punish the Wikuni?"
	"Going to?  I've already started," she said harshly, standing up.  "Shirazi and Singer got here while you were asleep.  I'll introduce you to them when they come back.  Shirazi is perfect for something like this.  The woman thinks of nothing other than the hunt.  She'll hunt down anyone even remotely connected to the attack on you, and then punish them for it."  She set the chair against the wall with quick and precise movements.  "Mist should be here soon too.  She's someone I definitely want you to meet."
	"Why?"
	She looked right at him, giving him that stare.  "Because she is what you might become," she said seriously.  "You're feral, cub.  All of us are a little feral, it's part of what makes us what we are, but you're very feral.  Mist...well, Mist is truly feral.  I want you to see what being truly feral means.  I want you to see it, and decide if that's how you want to live the rest of your life."
	The way she said it worried him.  He didn't respond, mainly because he couldn't think of anything to say to her.  She still intimidated him.  It made him wonder at this Mist.  He remembered Haley mention her, so she had to be rather notorious.  Or infamous.  In his own way, he did want to see her, to talk to her.  He wanted to see if she was really as bad as they hinted, or if she was simply misunderstood.
	"Now, you lay there and think about the laws.  If you can't recite them back to me when I bring your dinner, you'll have to sit there and stare at it for an hour before I give it to you.  I'll also have Dar come in and keep you company after you eat, so I can tend to business."  She leaned over him, lowered down and kissed him lightly on the forehead.  "I'll be back soon," she promised, giving him a warm smile.
	"I'll be here," he said lightly.  "Unless I decide to go dancing, that is."
	Triana chuckled.  "At least you're keeping your sense of humor," she noticed as she opened the door.

	He got his chance to meet Mist that afternoon.
	She even looked wild.  She was rather short for a Were-cat, but her body was powerfully developed.  Where the female Were-cats he'd seen were lithe and feminine in form, Mist had powerful muscle.  Her shoulders had a definite wideness to them, and her body was more stocky than slender.  But she had a feminine figure, with a rather busty chest and wide hips, though she was holding herself very stiffly.  Her fur was jet black, like his, but her hair was also black.  And for the first time, he saw a Were-cat with short hair.  Mist's hair was wild and unkempt, like other Were-cat females, but it didn't extend much past her shoulders.  It trailed down the back of every other Were-cat he'd seen, including himself.  Her clothes added to her wild demeanor, an old shirt that had more holes in it than continuous material, missing its left sleeve and the collar torn, leaving her left shoulder and a good deal of her left breast bare, and a pair of leather leggings that showed more skin than leather.  But it wasn't her shape, or form, or appearance that made her look so untamed.  It was her face.
	She was very attractive, he decided.  A wide-cheeked face with a strong, slightly squared jaw, but a very tight expression marred her appearance somewhat.  More handsome than beautiful, but still attractive.  It was her eyes.  They were Were-cat eyes, green with vertically slitted pupils, but inside them was a frightening animalistic quality.  When she looked at someone, it was like she was looking at a mouse.  Her eyes were fierce, they were powerful, and they seemed to define her entire being.
	His first real understanding of her came when she entered the room with Triana.  Dar and Allia were with him, playing King's Crown, but that didn't last long.  She looked at the pair, and she growled at them.  Everything in her stance screamed her wariness, almost her fear, of the pair.  She absolutely would not tolerate them being in her presence.  Her eyes ignited from within with that greenish aura that marked an angry Were-cat, and it only took one look from Triana to have both of them quickly and quietly leave the room.  Tarrin didn't trust strangers.  Mist couldn't stand them.  Triana put a paw on Mist's shoulder, and the wild Were-cat shuddered at it visibly.  But when she looked back, that reflexive aversion to the touch abated, and she settled beneath Triana's palm.
	"Tarrin, I'd like you to meet Mist.  Mist, this is my new cub, Tarrin."
	Her entire attitude shifted, like water pouring from a glass.  Her stiff posture relaxed once Allia and Dar were out of the door, and the fierce look on her face softened considerably.  But that look in her eyes did not fade away.  Even Tarrin, one of her own kind, was still partially suspect.  He realized with some surprise that Mist didn't really trust anyone.  She tolerated him because he was her kind, the same way that he tolerated strangers.  "Tarrin," she said in a contralto voice, a voice that was harsh and controlled.  Tarrin looked over her shoulder, to Triana, and he saw that she was staring at him very deliberately.  She knew that he had seen the truth in Mist, and she was watching his reaction to it.
	His reaction was almost horrified.  She mistrusted almost everyone.  To her, being in the middle of the city was like being surrounded by potential enemies, and she could not bring herself to relax.  She was very much like an animal, a caged animal that had been beaten once too often, and now shied away from everyone who approached it.  Tarrin had felt alone from time to time before, but Mist was truly alone, because she could not bring herself to trust another.  His heart went out for her.  It must have been horrible to be so alone, even when surrounded by people who wanted to befriend her.
	But he managed to keep his reaction to her out of his eyes, out of his scent.  He gave her a steady, calm look, just a hint of a smile, as if she were no different than any other Were-cat.  "It's nice to meet you, Mist," he said with warmth in his voice.
	"I appreciate your help, Mist," Triana said behind her.  "I know how hard it is for you to come into civilization."
	"Thank Kimmie for that," she said brusquely to Triana.  "I didn't want to come."
	"All the same, I still appreciate it," she maintained.  She opened the door again. "Kimmie!" she barked into the hallway.
	After a few seconds, another Were-cat appeared, and this one was the most unusual of all.  She was wearing a dress.  A brown peasant dress of sturdy wool, with a white blouse under the bodice that extended linen sleeves down to hide everything but her paws.  Kimmie was about half a head shorter than Tarrin, about halfway between Tarrin and Mist in height.  She had brown hair and reddish fur with brown stripes in it.  Tabby fur.  She was rather pretty, in a youthful way, and she didn't look much more than seventeen.  But what made Kimmie different from all the others was the fact that she had blue eyes.  Those blue eyes looked at Tarrin, and she gave him a brilliant smile.  The fangs marred it, reminded him that she wasn't human.
	Was this why Rahnee thought she was an embarassment?  Because she liked to wear dresses?
	"Kimmie, this is Tarrin.  Tarrin, this is Kimmie."
	"Hi," she said sweetly from the doorway, in a Torian accent.  "It's good to see you're alright.  How do you feel?"
	"I'm alright," he replied.  "Triana says I'll be able to get out of bed soon."
	"That's good."  She looked at Mist.  "Mist, Shirazi wants to talk to you.  Probably about where to look next."
	"Alright," Mist said in her tightly controlled voice.  Then she walked out without another word.  Kimmie just gave him another smile, then rushed off after her.  Triana closed the door, then turned around and leaned against it, staring at him intently.
	"Is Kimmie Mist's daughter?"
	"She used to be," she replied.  "Kimmie was turned, but nobody knows who did it to her.  Mist accepted her as a bond-child.  That was about a hundred years ago or so."  That startled him.  Kimmie barely looked like an adult, let alone be over a hundred years old.  "Kimmie is the only one that Mist comes close to trusting, and that's not saying very much.  She doesn't even completely trust her own bond-child."
	"It's awful.  What did that to her?"
	"Humans," she replied.  "She was attacked by a Were hunter in what's now the Free Duchy of Shara.  He wounded her very badly, and the human villagers there tortured her after he left her for dead, because they thought she was a witch.  She literally pulled herself out of a bonfire when they tried to burn her at the stake.  It took her months to recover.  We weren't sure if she was going to make it or not, and after she healed, she didn't speak to anyone.  She didn't speak for over fifty years.  To anyone.  What little ground she's regained since then is due in large part to Kimmie."
	Tarrin was shocked.  How could people be so cruel?  The ordeal had scarred the diminutive Were-cat, scarred her deeply.  It was no wonder she was feral!  But her plight made him recall his own trials, his own ordeals.  He hadn't suffered something quite that severe, but looking back over what he had went through over the last months, he too couldn't be all that surprised that he too had turned hard.  Had become feral.
	And that was how he could be.  Distrustful of absolutely everyone, even his own family.  Living out his entire life in fear of others, to live isolated from the world by his own distrust.  It was a horrifying thought.
	Triana came over and sat down on the edge of the bed, taking his paw.  "That's what could happen to you, my cub," she said in a gentle voice.  "I know you've been through a great deal, but you can't let it consume you like it has Mist.  You have to find a balance within yourself and cling to it.  I don't expect you to just lose your feral nature.  That would be silly of me.  You've suffered too much to ever be able to let it go.  I just don't want you to slip any further.  As you just saw, you can sink deeper."
	He looked at the door, his heart filled with compassion for the forlorn Were-cat.  He had to do something to help her.  It was horrible for her to live such a lonely life, and he couldn't stand the idea of leaving her be without at least trying.
	"I'll go find Allia and Dar," she said.  "I have to go make sure our kin are doing things the way I want them done.  Just rest, my cub.  And don't worry at it too much.  I'll see you in a while."
	She left him, and he stared at the door for a long moment, stared at it in the silence of his room.  He had alot to think about.
 
Chapter 10

	Triana had been right about one thing.  The customs were alot more complicated than the laws.
	Tarrin sat in his bed and listened to Triana prattle on about the customs of the Were-boars, his mind drifting a bit.  He had been sitting there listening to her for six days, listening and reciting as his body mended itself.  The pain had reduced greatly, to the point where he no longer needed the pain-reducing medicines to go to sleep.  But it was still there.  It had went from a sharp chronic pain that could not be ignored to a dull ache that had taken up residence in his chest.  It no longer jabbed him with pain when he moved his arms, and he even had a little motion in his shoulders.  He could sit up on his own, for he had regained a good portion of his strength.   But Triana did not allow him out of bed for anything other than to relieve himself.  He still got tired very fast.  But the hole in his chest had gotten to the point where it no longer seeped blood, and it didn't take Dolanna to change the bandages anymore.
	Just as Triana predicted, Tarrin was healing very quickly.
	His days were full of lessons.   Triana was a very abrupt teacher.  She expected his undivided attention at all times, so she only said something once.  And if he couldn't recite it back to her accurately, she gave him one of those withering looks and punished him for his lack of attentiveness.  Her preferred method of punishment was an hour with nothing to do but stare at the room.  Before the pain had lessened to where he could sleep on his own, that had been a very effective punishment, relying on the fact that he started getting stir crazy after only a few minutes of boredom.  But since the pain had lessened, he could now simply go to sleep for the hour, and wake up when it was time to resume.  Tarrin had the sneaking suspicion that she used his "punishment" as a convenient way to put a break in the lesson so he could rest.  When he started getting tired, he found it very hard to concentrate on her lessons, and he wouldn't tell her that he needed to stop.  He had to learn it all as quickly as he could.
	There had been other events during those six days.  He had met Shirazi and Singer.  Shirazi was a very tall Were-cat with auburn hair and grayish striped fur, but she hadn't really impressed him that much.  All she could talk about was hunting.  It consumed her, it dominated her every thought, and it was all she wanted to talk about.  Even when not talking about hunting, she couched all her words in hunting metaphors and phrases.  Aside from that, she seemed to be a pleasant enough Were-cat, kind and considerate.  He just found her one-track mind a bit annoying.  Singer was Shirazi's daughter.  She was a very young Were-cat, only thirty, and she looked just like a very young version of Shirazi.  She looked like a teenage girl, albeit it a very tall one.  She had her mother's grayish striped fur, but her hair was brown.  Her facial features were much like Shirazi's just as sharp and angular.  Both of them looked like they were Nyrian, a dark-skinned, slant-eyed race of humans from a kingdom on the other side of Yar Arak, except their skin was too light.
	He didn't see them that often, because they had been out killing people.  Literally.  Dolanna had told him all about it.  The five of them had been slinking around both cities, wiping out pockets of Wikuni and human enemies.  They were very thorough, and they were completely merciless about it.  The only one that didn't participate was Kimmie, who stayed behind to defend Tarrin from any kind of attack while the rest of them sallied forth to destroy his enemies.  It only took them three days to completely drive every Wikuni out of the two cities.  They had all gotten onto their ships and sailed away.  They were still rooting out all the pockets of human thieves and cutthroats, though.  Triana didn't know which ones were working for Tarrin's enemies, so she was simply being thorough in destroying all of them.
	And the fact that nobody knew who was doing it was testament to his elders' abilities.  Nobody had so much as seen one of the mysterous assassins that had killed a complete company of Wikuni Marines, then started randomly targeting Wikuni of any kind until the entire complement of them fled.  And after the Wikuni were taken care of, the killings had begun among the two cities' populations of thieves and scoundrels.  The thieves seemed to realize that it was the hiring the men with silver swords had done that had started it, but they were helpless to do anything but run, because those men were among the first to be singled out and killed.  That had started the mass exodus of thieves, beggars, murderers, footpads, and other low-lifes in both cities, fleeing for greener pastures.
	That left him alone with Kimmie a bit more than the others.  Kimmie seemed to like him, she was bright and thoughtful, and she seemed to strike up an immediate friendship with Dar.  Allia was still feeling her out, though.  Tarrin rather liked her.  He could relate to her, because she had once been human as well, and she could sympathize when he told her about his experiences.  She too had had to adjust to the inctincts, and had had to face her own personal demons.  But unlike him, Kimmie had been found by Mist not long after her turning, and Mist had managed to help her adjust without too much trauma.  The act seemed out of character for Mist, who didn't even fully trust Triana.  Kimmie wouldn't really talk about it, though.
	"Alright, cub, what do you do when you find yourself on a Were-boar's range?"
	"Stay where I am and wait for three days," he replied mechanically.  "If he doesn't come in three days, I can pass through his territory after I leave a mark that can identify me to it."
	"Why don't you just leave?"
	"Because a Were-boar will track you down if you run away," he answered.  "Were-boars don't like unannounced tresspassers."
	"Correct.  How do you greet a pack of Were-wolves?"
	"We don't.  Were-wolves will attack Were-cats in their territory.  We flee from their territory when we realize we're on Were-wolf ground."
	"Good.  What do you say when a Were-bear asks you to fight?"
	"I accept.  Were-bears like to fight, but not in anger.  It's a form of play for them, and they won't hurt me on purpose."
	"What do you do when you enter a Were-fox's den?"
	"Surrender any weapons I'm carrying, even things like eating knives."
	"Very good, cub.  You retain knowledge very well.  Alot better than any of my other children ever did."
	"Thank you, but when are you going to teach me about Were-cat customs?"
	"I won't," she replied bluntly.  "We don't have what you'd call an organized existence, cub.  We all live day by day.  Other Were-kin teach their cubs to be wary around us, but we don't have any little customs that the others have to know about.  Other Were-kin can be classified by their type.  Some are a little different here or there, but they all still react in the same basic way to some things.  We don't.  Every Were-cat is individual, but the one thing we all share in common is a feral disposition that shows itself most often in our short tempers.  As a race, we're generally quick to anger and are very unsociable to others.  What angers one Were-cat won't bother another one at all.  Since we don't have 'racial quirks' other than our tempers, it's hard for the others to deal with us."
	"Oh.  So, just take each Were-cat as he or she comes."
	"Just about.  There aren't many of us, so you'll learn how to deal with the others as you meet them.  But I'm not going to sit here and describe each one to you.  Those are lessons you'll have to learn on your own."
	"You said a feral disposition.  We're all feral?"
	"To varying degrees," she affirmed.  "It's the one thing that marks us as different from the other Were-kin, other than this," she said, holding up her arms.  "Some, like you and Mist, are way further up on that pole than others.  Kimmie's probably the least feral of us all.  But all of us are a touch feral."
	"Then we do have a common trait," he challenged.
	"Technically, but since each Were-cat is different, then they still can't use that to try to approach us."
	"What makes it different?"
	"Well, the biggest reason is how we've learned to deal with rage," she said, sitting down.  "All of us have rages, cub.  It's part of being Were-cat, and it's one reason we're all considered feral by other Were-kin.  None of us are ever in total control.  Some, like you, have found that being feral helps deal with the guilt.  After all, when you're feral, you don't care.  It's a simple solution, and probably one that saved your sanity.  Others have found other ways to deal with it without having to take that step.  The only problem with the feral solution is that it opens you up to more rages," she said, looking directly at him.  "If you don't care, then you're much more likely to snap, because you don't fear the consequences.  I've felt you go into a rage twice.  That's pretty frequent for the amount of time I've had your bond, but then again, you've been hunted that entire time.  I can forgive you for it, because I know what touched it off.  Mist can fly into a rage at any time, and she's completely indifferent to the havoc she can cause.  That's why we don't let her come into human civilization unless absolutely necessary.  I'm taking a big risk letting her stay here, but I need her.   She's probably the best tracker in the Heartwood.  Her nose is so sensitive that she can tell you how many deer were in a herd a month after they went by.  Mist's nose makes sure that nobody can hide from us."
	The door opened, and the slender Rahnee stepped in.  She gave Tarrin a grin as Triana turned to look.  "Shirazi and Mist are back," she said.  "They found another hideout.  You want me to get Singer?"
	"How many are hiding there?"
	"Twenty or so.  Nothing major," she shrugged.  "You're looking rosy, cub.  I think Triana'll let you out of that bed soon."
	"We'll see," Triana said.
	"When's he going to be healed?"
	"For what you want out of him, at least a month," Triana said sharply.  "You're not going to aggravate his wound, Rahnee."
	"I wouldn't do that," she protested.  "I know how to be gentle."
	"You bit a huge chunk out of Jared's ear."
	"He shouldn't have put it in my face," she retorted.
	"What are you talking about?" Tarrin asked suspiciously.
	"What do you think we're talking about?" Rahnee asked bluntly, giving him a very direct look.
	Tarrin blushed slightly.
	"Face it, cub.  You're the only male around, and I'm starting to feel a little frisky.  You're old enough for what I want to do with you.  And you'll like it," she said with a throaty purr.
	"Out," Triana ordered.  "Go find Singer."  Triana closed the door behind her, then leaned against it and gave Tarrin a calm stare.  "Get used to that, cub," she said.  "There's only one male for every seven females.  That means that we share."
	"I know that, Triana," he said with a bit of courage in his voice.  "Jesmind explained that to me."
	"She didn't prepare you for the reality," Triana said.  "You're going to be very popular, cub.  You're cute, you're tall, and you're strong.  Unlike human women, we always have the urge to find strong sires to give us strong children.  If there were more males, we'd probably force them to prove their worth, but I'm afraid that we don't have that luxury.  We have to take what we can get."
	"I'm tall," he mused, giving her a slight smile. "I barely come up to your chin."
	"I'm about nine hundred years older than you," she answered with a grin.  "We tend to grow as we age, cub.  Not much, but as you can see, when you get to be my age, it starts to show.  You're a full head taller than my son, Laren, and he's three hundred years older than you.  Then again, that boy of mine is short.  He's not much taller than Mist.  Anyway, you're just a bit taller than the average Were-cat male, mainly because the oldest male is only three hundred years old.  The average female is about four hundred, so the females tend to be a bit taller than the males."
	"Why are the males so much younger?"
	"Bad luck," she shrugged.  "There weren't all that many elder males to begin with, so the occasional accident or fight has taken a greater toll on our males than our females.  We may be ageless and regenerate, but we do still occasionally die."
	"I didn't know that."
	"Now you do," she said.  "I have to go take care of this.  You just rest a while.  I'll see you later."
	After she left, Tarrin leaned back in t