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The geese have returned to the Hidden Place, and I am glad. Some must have come in the night, for though I am an early riser --the Prebendary is customarily up with the sun --there are already groups and families feeding along the ebb-tide mudflats. Raucous voices over the Wester Greeting cloister make me pause and look up as I hurry to the Creche. I shade my eyes against the low sun and see a loose V cross the square of sky. It says with certainty that the winter is finally over. I truly thought it would never end. But its last breath is gone. Now comes the short, fierce High South summer. I must make the most of these few weeks of heat and life and growth, before winter closes its hand again. The summer I have never seen; the winter is a dire thing to a woman of kindly Tunshabhel. "Show me these geese, please," the Prebendary asks as I help her into her clothes. And, as I bring her her favorite _thelbh_, with the ermine at hood and cuffs, she skips back, saying "I won't be needing that, today." The Ambassador of the Clade |
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