Toril eyed Sheilah with a skeptical look and a raised eyebrow over the shared central fire that was between their two tents.


    “I’ve heard- heard, mind you- that armored grizzly is hardly edible.” He offered in a low voice. “Is it okay for her to eat it... like that?” He asked, worried.


    Sheilah nodded. “She got hurt during the fight. She needs to eat a lot to recover.” She replied simply.


    He nodded, relieved. “If you say it’s okay, I’ll trust you.” He agreed simply. “I don’t understand the gifts you have, but I trust you understand how to manage them. I’ll make sure she’s undisturbed.”


    Sheilah nodded. “An extra bucket of water to wash with would be nice.” She added.


    Toril let out a chuckle as one of the servants brought over a seasoned and roasted cut of Crystalhorn Deer meat, and expertly began carving generous slices for the two of them. “There’s a well at the farmhouse; water isn’t a problem.” He replied, and picked up his knife and fork. “I’ve never had Crystalhorn. I’m looking forward to this.”


    The two of them dug in, and Toril rolled his eyes approvingly. “I feel like I have lived my life just for this moment.” He sighed. “It’s so good.”


    Sheilah let out a chuckle, but nodded. The meat was unbelievably tender, and somehow the people that prepared it had made it taste so much better than the last time she’d eaten it.


    “Oh, I wish we could capture a herd of them and let them breed in the preserve.” He mused. “I would eat this, and this alone.”


    “They’re difficult to hunt, Toril.” Sheilah rebutted. “It just wouldn’t-”


    “Father.” Toril interrupted her. His voice was quiet, but there was a subtle sternness to it.


    Sheilah stiffened, and then carefully set down her utensils. She didn’t say anything, but simply observed the man across the table from her.


    “I am your father, Sheilah,” he continued in a low voice. “and Magdalene is your mother. Please acknowledge it.” There were subtle elements of hurt, frustration, disappointment, and other emotions in the tone of his voice. “It’s not a denial of your family in the Redstone to acknowledge the family you have here.”


    Sheilah took a breath, held it, and then let it out, and then nodded. “All right, father.” She replied.


    His hands trembled minutely; he set his own tableware down on the table and clasped his hands together. He let out a breath that was ragged with relief.


    “Thank you, daughter.” He whispered. She nodded a little, and then picked up her own utensils.


    “Is there a reason you waited so long?” He asked, hands still clasped. He didn’t look up, as if afraid to look at her. That upset her, somehow.


    “Hmm.” Sheilah mused thoughtfully as she chewed. “I think... I was looking for proof.” She decided, and then gestured at the wine bottle. He glanced at it, then her, and then passed the bottle and a wooden cup to her. She poured a generous splash into the cup and indifferently gulped it down, causing him to wince.


    “Proof?” He asked.


    “Something... something that resonated between us. Proof that I was your daughter; that you were my father.”


    His eyes widened, and then he gestured for the bottle. She passed it back to him.


    “Like this.” He instructed, and carefully poured himself some, and then set the bottle down. “Normally you would have someone nearby pour for you, but for now, it’s just you and I.” He explained in a low voice, but then gestured for her to continue.


    “When the Mist Prowler jumped out of the fog at us, you didn’t hesitate to pick up a spear.” Sheilah murmured. “I would have been able to kill it with my bow, but you got there faster.” A small smile grew on her face. “You know the significance, right?” She asked curiously.


    He thought about it for a moment.


    “To protect you?” He asked. She shook her head.


    “I am an adult, and quite capable of dealing with one head on.” She replied. “I was never in danger.”


    He smiled. “It’s because I did it, isn’t it?” He asked. “I picked up the spear and did it myself.”


    She nodded.


    He held up his cup. “To the hunter that lives in the both of us.”


    Sheilah raised her own cup after a moment and clicked it with his and shared the toast.


    “And your mother?” He asked. Her eyes narrowed at that.


    “We’ll see.” She replied. “It’s hard for me to feel that ... sense between us.”Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    He let out a sigh, nodded, and picked up his knife and fork. “Let’s eat.”


    *****


    The hunt was received in different perspectives: Toril was at turns delighted and terrified, but the end result was a bonding experience with his daughter, who acknowledged him as her father.


    Sheilah enjoyed it, but at the same time part of her was thinking about her mother and Andrea’s reaction. In addition to that, it wasn’t nearly as challenging, as exciting as her fight with the Tyrant Dragon. There was also a part of her mind that gnawed and worried at the problem of the Mother Tyrant that she’d realized.


    There were so many things that the various parts of her mind thought about independently of each other that took away from the experience.


    Fialla delighted in the hunt, though she worried about Sheilah and their potential futures.


    The guards and servants that Toril had brought along were mostly indifferent about the hunt, but were terrified with the sudden arrival of the Mist Prowler in the middle of their camp.


    At the end of the expedition, everyone was in agreement that it was time to head home for a well-deserved rest.


    *****


    When Fialla and Sheilah arrived back at their apartments, they looked at each other and nodded. Andrea and Magdalene both were inside, waiting for them.


    “Why do I feel like we’re going to be scolded?” Fialla asked.


    Sheilah smiled a little. “I hope not.” So saying, she pushed open the door and strode in, carrying her bundles.


    “Do you know where you’ve been?!” Magdalene began hotly as they closed the oversized door behind them.


    “Of course I do.” Sheilah replied. “Please excuse me, I have to find a place for these.” She pushed past Magdalene, who grimaced. “Who said that it was okay to go... wherever it was that you went?!” she asked hotly.


    “My father.” Sheilah called over her shoulder. “Andrea, tea for three.”


    In Sheilah’s room, Sheilah and Fialla placed their bows and quivers back where they had hung before, changed out of their dragonskin leather and into a pair of casual dresses.


    “She’s really winding up for a good one.” Fialla confided.


    “My mother- Ladria, that is- was very good at that. Mayrin would just stare at me.” Sheilah replied. “Her glare was cold enough to freeze you cold in the hottest summer.”


    Fialla shivered. “My mother-” She shook her head. “I come from a big family. There simply was not enough to admonish us individually.”


    Sheilah gave her a surprised look, but ruffled Fialla’s hair. “Shall I admonish you in her stead?” Sheilah asked.


    “Certainly not. You are neither my lover nor my mother.” Fialla replied hotly. “I am responsible for myself.”


    Sheilah nodded. “Fair.” She gestured in the direction of Magdalene, who was in the study. “Let’s go.”


    Magdalene stood in the study, arms folded. There were no teacups, or even a teapot. Andrea stood off to the side, hands folded at her waist.


    “Why did you go with Toril?” Magdalene asked. There was a strange sense of anger in her voice.


    “He asked me to.” Sheilah replied coolly. She thought of adding more, but decided to hold her tongue.


    “Did you not consider what this little... adventure... you had would do to your lessons? Your schedule?”


    Sheilah’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. Her strange partitioned mind churned away, considering different responses, different actions, and subjects that were completely unrelated. One was even dreaming, a simple dream of sitting on some high ledge in the Dragon Terrace, watching the sun die in the evening, shrouding the valley in golds and reds and purples.


    “You are not to-” Magdalene began, but Sheilah held up her hand, cutting the older woman off.


    She could dream while awake?


    Sheilah lowered her hand, and faced Magdalene as her heart started to pound and her head started to buzz.


    “You-” She began, then frowned, and nodded to herself. “I see. That makes sense.”


    She nodded to herself again, and looked to Magdalene again. “You’re upset that I went on an outing.” She pointed out. “I will point out why you are wrong.”


    Magdalene went livid, but Sheilah continued on. “The outing was my father’s decision. Your anger at me is wrong. If there is someone that is wrong- and I don’t think there is- you would do wise to speak with him.” Sheilah stated coolly.


    “You don''t seem to understand the trouble you’re in, missy.” Magdalene snarled, and then launched into a tirade about responsibility and accountability.


    Sheilah idly looked around the room as her increasingly strange mind worked through the situation, providing and discarding responses. Magdalene’s upbraiding washed over her and while she heard it, it was only a part of her mind that dealt with it, while the rest of her mind churned away on other things.


    Her growing indifference with the hunting seemed endemic of a larger problem: If there were no hunts that could challenge her quite like a dragon hunt, wasn’t the obvious solution simply to hunt more dragons?


    Another part of her mind argued against it. It was forbidden, and she would absolutely lose her humanity, much in the same fashion that the First Blood had. The conclusion had already been reached.


    Andrea had disobeyed her by not bringing tea.


    If Andrea was hers to order around, then her disobedience meant that it was appropriate to mete out discipline, right?


    The way Andrea watched Magdalene, Fialla, and Sheilah, it was obvious that Andrea’s allegiances were to her mother, not to her.


    If that were true, then what was the point of her existence?


    If she was a princess, wasn’t disobedience a capital offense?


    Wasn’t treason punishable by death?


    Tyranny only lasts as long as the one with the fist. The moment you lose your fist, I will be there.


    Where did that come from?


    Part of her consciousness alerted her; she was supposed to respond to something someone said.


    Oh, right.


    She refocused her attentions.


    “Right. First, let’s have her head.” She pointed at Andrea and drew her knife.