"My father had a horse run by Lake Po.  We never got along.  I told you that.  He had the sensitivity of a brick wall, and not a nerve in his body."

"I know the kind."  Aleytys ran her fingers through her hair.  "Damn these burrs."

"Let me."  Loahn sat up and began picking the leaves and burrs out of her long, tangled hair.

"Go on."

"Mmrnm... no, we never got on.  I was a disappointment to him, a scrawny, screaming brat.  Far back as I can remember I resented the way he treated my mother.  Everything she did was wrong.  In the first place, she was fair-haired, daughter of a gypsy horse trader, not one of the black-haired local beauties.  He married her because she was graceful and gentle and loving and then once they were wed he resented all these things in her.  He'd cut her to pieces in front of anyone around to listen.  He did't care how she suffered.  I think he didn't even realize she suffered.  Sometimes he beat her.  I remember once I heard her crying late at night.  My father was out with a foaling mare.  I tried to comfort her.  She sent me away."  He stopped talking to ease a burr out of a complicated knot of hair.

"Careful.  That hurts."

"I'm trying not to pull."  With a grunt of satisfaction and a few tiny snapping sounds he worked the burr loose and tossed it to one side.

"I never knew my mother."  Aleytys spread her fingers out and watched the moonlight shine off the nails.

"She died?"

"No.  She went away.  I'm on my way to find her."

"Your mother is Lamarchan?"

"No.  This is... this is a waystop.  It's a long and complicated story.  Go on."

His hands moved absently over her hair.  "When I was five, my mother died.  She grew quieter and quieter.  Simply faded away.  She needed the open spaces and he... he kept her in strictest purdah.  He was a jealous man.  He kept closer ties on her than even the dictate, locked her behind the walls of the house until a glimps of the sky tormented her."  She felt his fingers moving with careful gentleness over her back, brushing away the debris that clung to her.
"During that time and a few years after I scuttled around full of hate and too stubborn to do anything my father told me without a tussle of wills.  I always lost, but we both ended up exhausted."  He pulled her back against him, cupping his hands over her breasts.  "You're getting cold."

"Never mind.  Finish your story."  She stretched and yawned, gently freeing herself.  "Are all the burrs out of my hair?"

"Think so.  But...."

"I'm not too cold.  Finish the tale."