The problem with humans, Haeo decided, was that they saw the world only as how it could be made to suit them. At least, that was how Derani seemed to live.

In the months since they had come to live at the farmstead, Haeo had rarely seen the young woman anywhere but hard at work, combing the acres of landscape and clearing away brush and grass until bare brown dirt gaped at the sun. The two of them had dug furrows in the earth and lined the fields with deep ditches to catch rainwater. They dropped grains in neat little rows and set nets clinking with clay chimes to keep birds from eating them, as they would if the seed were scattered naturally across a scrub-grass plain. Haeo himself had spent six days hauling large stone markers out to the edge of the fields, so that other humans would know this land belonged to them and not to others, not even entirely to nature herself anymore.

It was all very strange to him. His people did not farm. They lived in small groups and gathered what they needed from the land, never taking more and certainly never coercing her to give more than she would. But it was how Derani lived, and he was happy she chose to share it with him. At times, Haeo even managed to convince himself that she was happy he was there as well. He'd hoped she would become more companionable now that they were farmers instead of slaves, but she still spoke rarely and smiled even less, and often regarded him with as much bemusement as he did her.

'They are only ruined stone, Haeo,'� she said, from where she sat against a fallen pillar. Her red hair flamed wonderfully in the firelight, for all that her narrow face matched the stones around them. Her two curved swords, which she was never without, were propped next to her. 'Old stone, made for something once, but broken and useless now. I do not see why you like them so much.'�

'It's what they were once that I like,'� Haeo replied, lazily prodding the fire with a stick. His tail flicked against dark chestnut flanks, bathed in orange and yellow from the fire and setting sun. He was brown on brown, dark skin and hair over a darker coat, criss-crossed with old scars. He leaned back on his elbows, the rest of him spread out comfortably along the length of the fallen column. Smaller than a horse but much larger than a human, his bulk was tucked neatly against the broken stones that littered their fireside.

It was his favourite place on the farm, a hill that overlooked their half-finished farmhouse and rose high enough to count each of the markers he'd placed around the fields. The stones of old human structures lay ruined and shattered about the peak as if by some great hand of the gods. Haeo cared little for the many things humans built for their fancy, but he found the quiet age of this place intriguing. He liked to wander among the remains and imagine what they might have been built for, and what strange humans had once thought to spend so much time hammering so much stone. Some of the buildings even had pictures carved into them, detailed despite wear from wind and rain.

Derra snorted, as if she held such fancies in contempt. 'Some old houses, or a temple of some forgotten time. There's nothing here now.'�

Haeo sighed and didn't try to explain further. Derra's world held only her swords and her fields. It was not a bad way to live, for a human anyway, but she would never think a hilltop of fallen stones was anything but a good place to graze goats.

Haeo did believe there were some humans who could appreciate the mystery of broken stones; Derani was just not one of them. She didn't seem to appreciate anything besides work. When he'd suggested to her the day they finally finished planting that perhaps they should celebrate, she'd only given him a long, level stare under arched brows and said, slowly, if that was what he wanted.

So he went about the next few days preparing it, hauling wood and supplies up the hill and clearing out a space for the fire among the debris. That morning he'd killed a fat deer and dressed the meat himself, knowing Derra would prefer it cooked. Despite her disinterest, the prickly swordswoman herself had taken the half-day trip to the village market for fresh bread and cheese. She'd even purchased the fragrant tea leaves the eastern merchants carried, though they could ill afford a luxury like that.

His considerable belly stuffed, Haeo sipped the sharp, pleasant drink and thought idly that perhaps there was as much mystery to Derani's nature as there was to the hilltop ruins. She sat straight and still, holding her steaming clay cup with long fingers that were calloused and permanently dirt-stained. Tendrils of flame-coloured hair, the legacy of her foreign mother, cut curling shadows across her sun-dark face as she looked out to the edge of the fields where the stone markers faded into the growing dark. Haeo sometimes thought she could smell trespassers in the darkness, even if she couldn't see them. It was the only thing she ever seemed to worry about.

He swirled the tea in his cup, watching the leaves spin. 'I like this place,'� he said suddenly, 'because I think it has a story to tell.'�

Derani looked up at him, her brows in their solemn arcs. 'Stories and stars and prophecies,'� she said, shaking her head slowly. 'Are they truly so important to your kind?'�

'They shape us,'� he replied simply, not bothering to add that most of his 'kind' had about as much appreciation for nonsense as she did. 'They shape our world and our beliefs. Even humans tell stories about themselves and the gods.'� He gave her a wry smile, his eyes dancing. 'I'd bet even you could tell a story, if you really tried.'�

Derra pursed her lips and glared at him. 'Once,'� she said tersely, with just a hint of amusement, 'there was a man who never got his fields tilled, because he stayed up all night talking foolishness with centaurs.'�

Haeo snorted a laugh that was half a sigh and took another sip of tea, bitter with swirling leaves. 'The fields are already tilled and planted, Derani.'�

'Then by all means,'� she said, leaning back against the pillar, 'talk as much as you like.'�

He flicked his tail again and looked at the fire. 'I'll tell you a story my mother told me,'� he said. 'It even has a god in it.'�

She watched him with her long, level stare, her face blank and brows arched. 'If you wish,'� she said.

Haeo watched the fire lick at the charred wood, sending sparks flickering into the air, while he gathered his memory. 'Once,'� he began slowly, 'when the world was still new and wild and even humans lived by its ways, our people wandered the lands alongside them '�


'There were far more of us then, and we covered the forests and grasslands in great herds. We lived by the land, growing and birthing in its shelter, giving our bodies back to it when our lives were done. We wanted for little.

'In one of these herds there was a young female, pretty and carefree. She was the colour of water and sunlight, and she flowed with thought and spirit. She loved exploring every new land her family wandered, and her favourite places were always by the rivers, especially those shaded with old trees and thick grass. She would sit for hours in the cool shadows, very still and quiet, and watch the waters rush by.

'On one of those days, her family had happened to wander near to another group of centaurs, and one of the young warriors of that herd went hunting by the river. The girl was sitting in the shadows when he walked by her, never noticing, for she sat very still as she always did, silently watching him go by. He was young and handsome, with sharp hooves and a strong back, and the rushing waters seemed to part for him as he waded their depths, hunting spear in hand. She kept her eyes on him until he had followed the river out of sight.

'From then on she could think of little else. She went back to the river every day, hoping to see him, but he did not reappear. Either the hunting was poor or his herd had moved on. Still, she continued to search, lovesick, until her family decided it was time to continue their own wandering. It's what we do, mostly: we wish to see as much of the world as we can before our time is done. Normally she would have been as excited as any other for a new place to explore, but this time she felt only a twisting in her heart. She knew that if she left this land with her herd, she would lose all hope of finding the handsome warrior again. So that night, in the cover of darkness, she slipped away from where her parents and siblings slept and ran back to the river.

'It was her fervent hope that somehow he would be there at this one last moment, but of course, he wasn't. Bitterly disappointed, she wandered all on her own down the river the way she'd seen him go. She walked, lost in the ache of determination, while the sun rose and set and rose again, but she saw no sign of him. She slept under a shady old tree on the bank and continued her walk, until the river widened and grew and poured out into the sea.

'What a sight that great body of water was to her! She was so taken aback she almost forgot about her errant quest, her explorer's heart enraptured by the expanse of soft, wet sand and golden sun on breaking waves. She walked in the warm spray, leaving deep prints to be washed away. She nearly did not see the woman sleeping in the sand until she was right before her.

'A single look told her this was no human woman, for all that she appeared to be. She was beautiful beyond words, beyond possibility. She lay peacefully sleeping, her arms beneath her head of golden curls, against the lip of an enormous seashell. The young centaur realized that this must be the goddess Aphrodite, the lady of love and the heart. No better goddess could she have come across in her wandering, and she was immediately taken with hope.

'Stepping quietly, for she knew not to disturb the sleeping lady, she approached the seashell. Her curiosity stirred, she peered inside it. Inside were thousands of pearls of all sizes and colours, some no bigger than pebbles and as pale as her own creamy coat, others larger than her fist and dark as thunderclouds. They were the baubles of the goddess, each imbued with her aspect, and it suddenly occurred to the lovesick girl that perhaps one of these would give her what she needed.

'She reached out and took one the size of a sparrow's egg and silver blue like the cresting waves. No sooner had her fingers closed over it the warm sunlight turned dark and the sea thrashed, wet wind ripping her pale hair across her face. The goddess loomed over her, no longer peaceful and lovely but angry as a storm in the open sea.

' 'Wretched creature!' she thundered into the wind. 'You dare steal from the gods!'

'The poor girl threw herself to the sand, still clutching the pearl in her fist, and tearfully begged forgiveness. 'Forgive me, Goddess!' she wailed. Desperately she explained, through her tears, of her wandering search for the young hunter and the ache that would not let her rest until she found him.

'At this the goddess softened. 'Ah, you poor thing,' she said, her anger calming back into sunlight and gentle sea. 'You would been better to wake me, or even to pass me by in your search, than to try and touch what is mine! For no mortal creature may lay hands to the things of the gods.'

' 'What must I do?' the girl asked mournfully, holding out the stolen pearl in beseeching hands. 'I wished only to ease the pain I feel.'

'Aphrodite took the bauble back and gently wiped the child's tears away. 'If you had but shown yourself to your young stallion that day by the river instead of hiding in the shadows, you would never have needed my help to win him. But for your honesty and humility, you will have what your heart longs for. Return to your place by the river, and go not to the shadows this time! Your love will find you there.'

'The centaur's tears turned to smiles of joy and she began to thank the goddess in earnest, but the lady held up one finger in warning. 'Be still yet! You have taken from one of the gods, and that must have its price.' She held the blue pearl in cupped hands and looked at it sadly. 'Each of these is a part of myself,' she explained, 'for I am love, and there are a thousand, thousand different kinds of it. The one you took is the love of a mother for her daughters.'

'She placed the pearl back among its fellows. 'Go to the love you seek, and you will have a long and happy life and many, many sons. But because of the pearl you touched, neither you nor your children nor your children's children will ever bear any daughters.'

'The young girl's heart sank, but plead as she might, there was nothing the goddess could do but kiss her on the cheeks and promise all would be well, she would see. So finally she dried her tears and thanked the lady, swearing to be ever devoted for this favour, and took her leave of the great ocean shore.

'She travelled back up the river for a day and a night and longer besides, for it was more difficult to go against the water than with it. Eventually she came to the quiet, shady spot where she'd sat so many times, but this time she stayed standing in the bright sunlight. And true as the goddess had promised, the young warrior found her there. Her family, you see, had woken to find her missing and had searched frantically in the days that followed. In their hunt they'd come across the other herd, who had graciously sent some of their own hunters to aid in the search.

'The handsome centaur was taken by her beauty and spirit, so when he brought the girl back to her family he asked if they'd allow her to be his mate. Their families exchanged gifts and swore to be allies and friends ever after, and the two of them lived long and had many children.

'But Aphrodite's words had been true: all of their children and their children's children were male. It is doubtful even the goddess herself knew the true extent of the curse, for none of their descendants ever after birthed any daughters. Each generation there are fewer and fewer females among us, until someday there will simply be no more to be found.


'And that,'� Haeo finished, 'is why there are so few of my kind around anymore.'� He looked to Derani, who had remained silent and still throughout the tale.

She stirred, the spell of the story broken, and wrinkled her nose at the cold remains of her tea. 'That is foolishness,'� she said, dumping the dregs into the embers of the fire. 'There must still be female centaurs, or you would have died out ages ago.'�

'There are,'� Haeo admitted, setting his own cup down. 'It is only a story. But it's true that women of my kind are very, very rare. There are many herds that are only male, and the ones that have females fight fiercely over them. It's earned us our reputation,'� he added, with a wry smile.

Derra snorted as she stretched her legs and stood. 'Your kind are so few,'� she retorted, slipping her swords back into her sash, 'because humans have driven them off the good land and will not share.'� Her eyes glittered in the cool darkness. 'Or they take them and make them slaves. Dowse the fire, you silly horse, and let's go back.'�

Haeo bit back the retort on his tongue. Instead he groped for the bucket of sand to pour over the embers and tried to bury the sting of her words. As he climbed to his hooves, Derra reached out and caught his arm in her calloused hand.

'I'm sorry, Haeo,'� she said, more gently. 'It was a good story. Thank you for telling it to me.'�

He only nodded, taken aback by her uncharacteristic apology. Her calloused hand slid from his arm and she held his gaze solemnly.

'My mother's people have a legend,'� she began softly, tendrils of her hair lifting in the wind. 'She told it to me when I was little. They believe that when a horse and rider die in battle as one, their souls are reborn as one.'� A rare, tiny smile curved her thin lips. 'Perhaps, if that is true,'� she added, 'your kind will never die out completely.'�

Haeo smiled back, touched with a sudden warmth for his prickly companion. Their moment of understanding lasted only a breath, before Derra turned and shouldered the bag of leftover food. 'Take care of the fire, silly horse,'� she called over her shoulder, 'and come back before it's too dark to see.'�

Still smiling to himself, Haeo watched her walk briskly down the hill before turning to dowse the embers. He had not actually finished the story. He hadn't told her, as his mother had him, of how the nature gods had revealed to the centaurs the secret of their survival.

Stepping softly among the familiar stones, Haeo found his favourite carvings in the deep shadows of a fallen building. They decorated what had once been the wall of someone's home, where the children played while the elderly told tales by the fire. It showed humans, men and women and children, working and dancing and living as it suited them. And among them, working and living alongside them, were graceful creatures with the bodies of men and the muscled flanks of horses.

He loved the ruins for the stories they might once have had, stories they told in the stone pictures. He traced each of the carved figures in the darkness, knowing them by feel, and imagined one having red hair and a pair of curved swords.

Haeo wasn't ready to tell the rest of the story just yet. The past was still too fresh for both of them, this life too new and uncertain. And Derra was not ready to hear it. But someday, they both would be.

Shouldering the bag of kettle and teacups and the unburned firewood, he turned from the shadows and walked down the hill to where Derani waited.

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