Thalaea rested on her back beside the Lorekeeper, who looked on with as much shock as she felt. They reeked of it.

The Tree was gone. A smoking crater rested at the top of the hill now, the star that had fallen smouldering within it.

Part of her brain told her it couldn’t be a star — not an actual, literal star — it was more likely a meteorite. She couldn’t listen to logic at the moment.

The True Woods were gone.

She’d felt them. The essence of the True Woods, contained in that one Tree. It had sung to her as true as wolfsong, and she’d known that if she touched the bark, she’d be Home. She’d found the True Woods back, perhaps left here by the previous Lady of the True Woods of this world. It still made no sense to her whatsoever.

Perhaps sense would have been made had she been able to touch the Tree.

But it was gone. Not even a splinter left. The star had incinerated every inch of the Tree, as if it had just blinked out of existence. Her Home was gone. Her only chance to regain her godhood was gone.

A lump choked her throat and she couldn’t breathe. Tears stung her eyes. She hadn’t realized, until this moment, how much she wanted to be her old self again. Or a new version of her old self — no longer Silva, Lady of the True Woods of Tau Ceti, but Thalaea, Queen of the Deep Furs of Osecou. She could be this planet’s wolf-goddess; she could watch over them here, and occasionally travel to Tau Ceti to check on her other cubs. Certainly the wolves here needed more help at the moment.

It had suddenly seemed so real, so possible, and just as quickly that possibility had been ripped away from her. Dangling in front of her like elk meat and then thrown away into the depths of the earth.

Water dropped onto her leg. A tear. She was crying; runnels of salty water ran down her face. She looked at the Lorekeeper and could have sworn she saw the same wetness on his eyes.

It’s gone, he whispered, as if dreaming. We’ve guarded it for centuries, waiting for Her Return, and it’s just…gone. He sounded old, and broken and tired, and Thalaea wrapped her arms around the wolf, hugging him as gently and as fiercely as she could.

She did not say what she was thinking, which was that the wolves had done a fine job guarding the Tree for her return. She’d just been too slow in touching the bark.

She didn’t know how long they’d sat there hugging when a new sound pierced their awareness. A groan from human lips; human swear words ripping the air.

It was coming from the crater.

Thalaea drew back from the Lorekeeper and sat staring at the crater, frozen in fear or shock. Crawling from the wreckage of the True Woods was someone she’d recognize anywhere; that ever-changing face emblazoned on her mind.

It was the Morrigan.

The sovereignty goddess clawed at the earth, scrabbling, trying to get a hold. Her red hair was mussed and frizzed, and her normally severe black robes were singed, showing pale skin beneath. She’d not taken Minae form as Thalaea had when she had fallen — somehow, the Morrigan had retained her normal Irish looks.

Her eyes were closed in pain as she tried to get out of the hole she’d created with the impact. Her teeth clenched, and Thalaea thought she saw some blood trickle from the goddess’ lower lip. Nails broke on the rough dirt, and the Morrigan grunted, swearing with the facility of a sailor. Her eyes shot open, and orbs of ever-changing colours locked on Thalaea’s face.

“Want to give me a hand, Wolf?”

Before Thalaea knew what she was doing she was at the edge of the crater, assisting her fellow fallen deity. She did not question or even wonder how the Morrigan had known her to be a wolf when she was still in Minae form; the goddess had always known how to get to the quick of a matter. Illusions had never worked on her. She saw through smoke and lies and used her knife to cut away what didn’t belong.

With a great tug, Thalaea pulled the deity out of the crater, and they landed on the grass roughly. The Morrigan groaned again and clutched at her chest.

“Oi! What the hell is this?”

Thalaea rolled on her side, looking the Morrigan in the eyes. “You’re mortal now. Like me.”

She’d never seen the Morrigan look surprised. Now those brows arched, that vicious mouth formed an O, and more swear words tumbled from the ex-goddess’ lips. Thalaea reached out a hand and put it to the Morrigan’s mouth.

“Stop. Those words have no place here. If you want to swear, do it in the languages of this world.”

She half expected the Morrigan to break her arm, but the other deity simply shrugged and grunted, an equivalent of, “You’re right, I guess.” They said no more as they got to their feet. Standing, they regarded each other frankly.

Morrigan’s gaze told Thalaea she knew exactly who Thalaea had been and how she’d come to be here. So Thalaea asked the questions.

“How did you fall?”

“That’s the rub, isn’t it?” The Morrigan growled and paced, flakes of her burned clothing falling to the ground below. Soon she’d be as naked as the wolf-woman. “I got your message, Wolf.” Her finger pointed at Thalaea, though there was no blame in it. “Said to the Twins I was going to Ceti to watch your cubs. The others you called couldn’t leave their followers but mine are fine on their own for a while anyway. Besides, Brighid will look after ’em; she usually does.”

The air around the Morrigan sparkled and crackled as she spoke the name of the other goddess, and the red-haired head alerted in surprise, noting the change.

“The power of names is strong here,” Thalaea said, hoping that would be enough.

“That’s going to make this harder.” The Morrigan let out a gusty sigh, as if to go on, before she stopped abruptly. “Is he alright?”

Thalaea’s head snapped to her left. She’d forgotten about the Lorekeeper. He now lay on his side, breathing heavily and looking at the two naked women with shock. She was by him in an instant, checking his hearts with the speed and intuition of a witch.

“Cardiac arrest,” she mumbled, whether to herself or the other deity she didn’t know. “Center heart.”

She had no idea if chest compressions would work on a wolf but there weren’t many options. “Can you Change?” she asked the Lorekeeper. The only answer was a whine, eyes rolling up into his head.

That was a no. She positioned him as best she could for chest compressions and started pumping at the heart, willing it to start up again.

She counted silently, one, two, three, one, two three, one, two, three, forgetting time and space. The world consisted of the Lorekeeper and her. She was the witch who would save his life.

She reached out with her mind, trying to feel his hearts; then drew back in fear. This was advanced magic; Enendoa had taught her how to fix minor injuries with mindwalking, but this…this was the heart. Complex and big, full of blood and iron. Could she do it?

I’m not a surgeon; I’m just a witch who skipped out on half of her training. And I’m no longer a goddess and have no chance of ever being that again. She felt fresh tears run down her face; her entire body caught up in the motion of coaxing the Lorekeeper’s heart back to life.

She didn’t even know his name.

“One, two, three,” she said, urging him back to life with the sound of her voice. It cracked, but she kept saying it: “One, two, three; one, two, three. Live, dammit!”

Still nothing. The other two hearts were keeping him going, but not for long. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. If she didn’t get his center heart started soon, he would die.

Desperately, she reached down into his chest with her mind and found the center heart. She was sure of what she’d found, for it was still. She floundered, completely at a loss for the next step, her arms and hands still doing compressions while her mind wandered his body.

Then she saw it: fire where the other two hearts lay.

That wasn’t medical; that was magic. That was psychic, mystic, whatever word she wanted to put to it — not the kind of thing that would be seen in a chest lying open on an operating table. There existed more than the merely physical, of course, as every witch knew. Each organ, each part of one’s body had a counterpoint on…the astral plane, she guessed. There were no words for this; yet it was a reality she knew to her bones.

Did the fire in the center heart simply need to be restarted? Drop the physical. It didn’t even matter. As above, so below — whatever she did to the wolf’s astral body would be mirrored in the corporeal.

She sent a spark to his center heart and imagined blowing it into life. Embers, first; then flames licked up; soon a quivering fire stood at the central heart — weak, but there.

The Lorekeeper took a mighty breath, and blood started moving through his body again. She withdrew her mind and stopped the chest compressions, feeling suddenly dizzy and sick.

Too much, she managed to think before falling over and throwing up. She’d done too much advanced magic without training.

Woods, she missed Enendoa! She’d give anything for the older witch to be here right now.

When she looked up, she saw the Morrigan beside the old wolf, her hand on his head. When had that happened? A decidedly gentle expression bloomed on the face of the Irish goddess, a look Thalaea had never seen there before. Small cooing noises came from the Morrigan’s bloodstained mouth. She was soothing the Lorekeeper.

Thalaea said nothing about this strange development. Were she to mention it, the Morrigan might go back to her usual swearing, rough-edged self. Instead, she joined the Morrigan in stroking the Lorekeeper’s fur.

The old wolf had still not said anything; his breathing was shallow again but not so light as before. She thought his eyes were closed. Was he asleep? Well, he’d earned it.

“I have to get him back to his pack.” Her eyes rose, meeting the Morrigan’s now decidedly-green ones. “You should stay here, maybe.” One eyebrow arched in query. “You don’t smell of wolf and you look alien to both Minae and Thaenites. You don’t speak the language. And, if you’re in the same situation I was when I landed, you can’t change form, either.”

The Morrigan sat back on her heels and frowned. The next second, a giant black wolf sat before Thalaea.

Better? the alpha bitch asked.

Words fled from the witch’s tongue like bats from the light. She could only gape. At last, she managed a breathy “How…?”

The Morrigan-wolf shrugged and scratched her ear with her back leg. I obviously still have some of my powers. Don’t know how that happened. I’m certainly mortal. This body is so heavy, and these hearts…. She grimaced.

“You do have three, then,” Thalaea said, grasping at a less slippery topic.

So it seems. Let’s get him back to his pack.

A familiar sight greeted the Steelmint pack members of Thalaea’s team as they returned to the pack — a tall Minae woman carrying an injured Lorekeeper over her shoulders.

Who the big black alpha was that padded behind her was anyone’s guess.

Thalaea was surrounded by wolves before she took two steps into the den, mostly from the pack who resided there, a million questions asked in the movement of tails and ears and eyes, some of those questions clamoring for answers in growls and barks.

What happened? Who’s she? the pack leader finally said, cutting through the chatter, directing his best glare at the Morrigan’s wolf form. She still didn’t smell like wolf, which was an insoluble problem.

Thalaea knelt and looked directly into the Pack Leader’s big amber eyes. “The Lorekeeper’s center heart gave out but I managed to restart it. He needs to rest in a warm place.” The rest could wait until she no longer had a heavy old wolf on her shoulders.

The pack leader, whose name was B’ai, growled grudgingly, leading Thalaea to the den’s main cave. She carefully set the Lorekeeper down as B’ai tasked several other wolves with curling up next to the old wolf, keeping him warm.

You mind explaining, stranger? he asked Thalaea when they’d moved away from the den and the other wolves.

Thalaea exchanged a glance with the Morrigan and then changed into her own wolf form. Communication would be easier.

Did you see the star fall from the heavens?

B’ai gave a wolf nod brusquely. I don’t see what that has to do with it.

It landed on the Tree, destroying it. That was too much for the Lorekeeper; his center heart failed. I changed into Minae form to do chest compressions.

B’ai’s face played out a tapestry of emotions, finally settling on slack-jawed shock. The Tree is gone? Thalaea nodded sadly, letting him process the information she’d just dumped on him. It wasn’t the full truth, but with any luck the Lorekeeper would keep silent about what had really happened, once he awoke. If he didn’t, she hoped her story would make his sound like fever dreams from his illness.

B’ai shook his head as if trying to shake spider-webs from his fur. His eyes focused on the Morrigan. Who’s she, then? Why doesn’t she smell like wolf?

Here came the tricky part, the almost completely made-up part of the story. Thalaea took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice from wavering, tried to make her story sound casual. She’s a friend of mine, from where I came from. She’s always smelled weird.

The Morrigan growled a bit at Thalaea, and the witch shoved the other wolf with her shoulder in what she hoped looked like a playful fashion.

B’ai continued to frown at the two bitches. And she just appeared when you were at the Tree? Was this before or after the star fell on it?

Thalaea stretched, trying to look relaxed. After. She’s been looking for me for a long time, ever since I disappeared. She followed my scent here.

B’ai kept frowning but he asked them no more questions; instead he padded off, saying he had to check on the Lorekeeper. No doubt he went to see if the Lorekeeper had waked and would question him accordingly. Thalaea hoped the old wolf wouldn’t wake up until the morning, when she and the others had left.

She breathed a discreet sigh of relief. Glad that’s over, she sent to the Morrigan. Now for the tricky part.

There’s a harder part? the Morrigan sent back, incredulous.

Thalaea gave the other ex-deity a wolf’s grin. I thought you liked difficult things.

The Morrigan only glared.

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