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her father dropped the lantern. Maris felt his grip on her hands. “You couldn't even if you wanted to. And you wouldn't do that to Coll. But give me the wings.”
    “I wouldn't . . .”
    “I don't know what you wouldn't do. I thought you'd gone out to kill yourself this morning, to die flying in the storm. I know the feelings, Maris. That's why I was so frightened, and so angry. You mustn't blame Coll.”
    “I don't. And I would not keep him from flying—but I want to fly so badly myself—Father, please.” Tears ran down her face in the dark, and she moved closer, reaching for comfort.
    “Yes, Maris,” he said. He could not put his arm about her; the wings got in the way. “There is nothing I can do. This is the way of things. You must learn to live without wings, as I have. At least you've had them for a time—you know what it is like to fly.”
    “It's not enough!” she said, tearful, stubborn. “I used to think it would be, when I was a little girl, not even yours yet, just a stranger, and you were Amberly's greatest flyer. I watched you and the others from the cliff and I used to think—if I could have wings, even for a moment, that would be life enough. But it isn't, it isn't . I can't give them up.”
    The hard lines were all gone now in her father's face. He touched her face gently, brushing away tears. “Perhaps you're right,” he said, in a slow heavy voice. “Perhaps it was not a good thing. I thought if I could let you fly for a while, a little bit—that would be better than nothing, it would be a fine bright gift indeed. But it wasn't, was it? Now you can never be happy. You can never be a land-bound, really, for you've flown, and you'll always know how you are imprisoned.” His words stopped abruptly and Maris realized that he was talking of himself as much as her.
    He helped her unstrap and fold the wings and they walked back home together.
    Their house was a simple wood frame, surrounded by trees and land. A creek ran through the back. Flyers could live well. Russ said goodnight just inside the door and took the wings upstairs with him. Has he really lost all trust? Maris thought. What have I done? And she felt like crying again.
    Instead she wandered into the kitchen, found cheese and cold meat and tea, and took them back into the dining room. A bowl-shaped sand candle sat in the center of the table. She lit it, ate, and watched the flame dance.
    Coll entered just as she finished, and stood awkwardly in the doorway. “'Lo, Maris,” he said uncertainly. “I'm glad you're back. I was waiting.” He was tall for a thirteen-year-old, with a soft, slender body, long red-blond hair, and the wispy beginnings of a mustache.
    “'Lo, Coll,” Maris said. “Don't just stand there. I'm sorry I took the wings.”
    He sat down. “I don't mind, you know that. You fly a lot better than me, and—well—you know. Was Father mad?”
    Maris nodded.
    Coll looked grim and frightened. “It's only one week away now, Maris. What are we going to do?” He was looking straight down at the candle, not at her.
    Maris sighed, and put a gentle hand on his arm. “We'll do what we must, Coll. We have no choice.” They had talked before, she and Coll, and she knew his agony as much as her own. She was his sister, almost his mother, and the boy had shared with her his shame and his secret. That was the ultimate irony.
    He looked up at her now, looking to her again as the child to the mother; although he knew now that she was as helpless as he, still he hoped. “Why don't we have a choice? I don't understand.”
    Maris sighed. “It's law, Coll. We don't go against tradition here, you know that. We all have duties put upon us. If we had a choice I would keep the wings, I would be a flyer. And you could be a singer. We'd both be proud, and know we were good at what we did. Life will be hard as a land-bound. I want the wings so much. I've had them, and it doesn't seem right that they should be taken from me, but