The sign by the roadside read:

WANTED FOR FOUL SORCERY AND WAR CRIMES AGAINST IRSHAND

It went on to give a detailed description of Kite and Saryth, their clothes and their crimes, and to offer a reward for their capture, although given the descriptions, it would be a wonder if anyone dared approach them, never mind try and restrain them. Kite eyed the sign unfavourably, and scowled. It had been a long day, and seeing this - some distance from Irshand's border - was just the final straw. "This is all getting rather tedious," she groused.

Saryth came over to read the sign. "Does this mean we can't stay at the inn?"

"Inn?" Kite glanced over the valley below, and spotted a small, promising building on the edge of the settlement with smoke coming from its chimney. "Oh. I don't think it would be a good idea."

"Hot baths and soft beds sound good to me."

"And what will you do with your hair?" she challenged, feeling her resistance weakening.

"Wear my hood up?"

"You'll get thrown out for being suspicious again."

"I can use an illusion."

"Yes, because that worked so well last time."

"Only because I didn't see those people coming in. This inn looks much quieter."

"We're too far away to know that," Kite argued, but inwardly, the temptation to give in was overwhelming. It had been too long since they last stayed somewhere warm and dry. Longer since they had been clean.

"Please? We've slept on tree roots for a week. And," Saryth added, unconsciously echoing her thoughts, "if I don't wash soon, I'll get used to smelling foul." He widened his eyes pathetically at her in a pleading expression.

"Oh, all right then," Kite caved in. "It has been a while. Here, you take the staff." She handed him her staff, then undid the bags she carried across her body and slung them round her waist instead, tightening the catch. She also pulled her hair out of the too-identifiable buns, and let it hang loose round her face and tumble down her back, tugging out snarls from the plaits with her fingers.

"Ready," she smiled, and Saryth, hefting the staff, stepped up next to her. She eyed his hair, which was still white. "Keep an eye on the door this time," she cautioned, and they walked down to the inn as the evening cooled and the sun lowered towards the horizon.

Inside, the innkeeper was all smiles, pleased to see them. Yes, he had a room free, and would see to it that it was made ready immediately. Would they please make themselves comfortable in the tap room?

The tap room was small and low-ceilinged, warmed by a fire burning in the hearth. Brass tankards sat on the broad dark beams that supported the uneven ceiling, and woven corn wreaths were hung on the whitewashed walls. Across the room, a tableful of what looked like local labourers were having a drink together at the end of the day. By the fire was a bench, and Kite headed straight for it, pulled off her boots and enjoyed the warmth, wiggling rapidly drying toes in bliss. A serving maid came by and gave them both what smelled like cider, and told them food would be along shortly, and she relaxed in a haze of comfort.

Beside her, Saryth was doing much the same. She opened one eye to check his hair, and found to her dismay that he'd coloured it the exact same shade as her own.

"I'm not sure I like you blond," she muttered, and he just smirked.

"Sorry."

"Hey, travellers!" came a voice from the group on the other table, and she opened her eyes.

"What news do you bring us?" called the young man on the end, raising his tankard in a semi-toast.

"Where have you been?" asked an older, bearded man.

"Irshand," Kite responded, choosing to risk identification for the sake of truth. "They're still at war."

"Were you there when the sorcerer attacked?" Oops. She hadn't expected it to be the hot topic of the day.

"We got caught in his thunderstorm." Still true.

"What happened to him? Did you see him?" Beside her, Saryth stiffened in irritation.

"He was sentenced to death by beheading," Kite said, and in a quiet, amused aside to her companion, "you wanted to come here. Stop sulking." Thankfully, the group seemed content with that brief and incomplete summary, and moved on to other requests.

"Then, please, share a story with us," said a man who hadn't spoken before. "One from far away. Landlord, more drinks for the travellers!"

"I'd be honoured to," Kite said. Indeed, more than honoured. The telling of stories was a particular custom of her people, and never more so than when this specific story was told to a room full of strangers. In a way, it was a custom almost sacred.

"My story, then," she began, using the same words, the same intonations she had herself listened to so many times, in unconscious mimicry, "is of a place far away, and it happened many years ago." The men on the table opposite settled down, eyes intent, ready to enjoy a new tale. Saryth, who had heard the story before, relaxed back against the wall, happy to be in the shadows, out of the spotlight.

"Then, there was a wide sea, and many big islands upon which men lived, separated by sea and mist. Each island was big enough for its inhabitants, and there was no need to travel. There was an island so bountiful that its people didn't even need to work. Fruit fell readily from the trees, and animals walked willingly into snares." I don't believe that, really. Nowhere is that good. But still... She felt her heart ache, in inherited longing.

"However, one young man," she continued, "was restless, and he sailed his small canoe into the mist in order to explore." Cursed be your name, forever forgotten.

"He found many more islands, and all were interesting. None, however, were as beautiful as his own island. He made sure to keep his bearings, so that when he turned for home, he would be able to find it in the mist." The men listened, caught in the story. Even Saryth, who'd heard it before in the exact same words, listened quietly, intently.

"He told his people about what he had found, and many of the young men and women followed him to explore. They set out for the islands he promised them." Twice-cursed be your name, deceiver and deceived. She took a breath.

"Many and fair were the ones they found. There were places where the men were as big as giants, places where men were merged with horses, places where no men lived but unicorns blessed the ground." Every culture has their fables. She had never seen a unicorn. "There were places where men crafted wood to fly without magic, and places where men flew on the backs of huge birds. But when at last, having seen all these wonders, they turned for home, they could not find it. Search as they might, it was not there." Thrice-cursed be your name, ancestor of mine, father of exiles. "And to this day, their descendants seek their homeland, for the heart cannot truly rest anywhere but its home."

Her last words fell into a silence which lengthened and extended, none willing to break the spell. She felt her heart beating, her muscles tense, and forced herself to relax even as she covertly eyed her audience. As she had expected, there was no hint of recognition, no whisper that indicated a familiar story, a corresponding legend. She sighed and broke the silence; her audience applauded and called for more. She willingly obliged, stopping only to eat when their food came, and the stories she told were only that, meant to stir the heart and emotions, to amuse and to confound, bearing no hidden message, no obscured plea.

Later, in the room they had been given to share, Saryth asked, "Kite?"

"Mm?" She pulled her tunic over her head, and turned to face him over the line they'd strung up between them. The line was draped with their cloaks, affording a little privacy if they both stood just so and turned their backs to be sure. "Ready, by the way."

Saryth collected the cloaks and hung them up, disengaging the line from the lamp hook on the wall. He turned the dial on the side of the oil lamp, lowering the wicks until the flame snuffed out. "You always tell the same story when people ask. Why?" He turned to face her, standing on the bed.

Kite sat down and pulled her covers up. "Because I'm always hopeful," she said, picking her words carefully, "that someday, it will be recognised." She extinguished the lamp on her side of the bed, and darkness fell, bringing out the stars in what sky was visible through the small window.

"Good night."