“I brought some bug lotion.” Merri Lee looked at Simon and made a face. “It probably smells really stinky to you, but we don’t know yet how Meg will react to a bug bite, so I brought some with me.”

Charlie began singing. The prickle faded.

“I’m fine,” Meg whispered.

She held Simon’s hand and listened to music, marveling as Henry played some terra indigene music on his flute—music she’d heard on CDs he listened to when he worked on his sculptures and totems. She and Merri Lee cringed when Charlie sang “Teakettle Woman and Broomstick Girl.” And cringed even more when the Crows cawed, the Wolves howled, the Sanguinati clapped, and Karl and Michael laughed and whooped their approval.

Theral played a song on her fiddle. Then Shady went up and joined the musicians in a folk song originally from Brittania, singing the words in a fine tenor voice.

Everyone applauded. Meg rubbed her skin above the ankle and gently nudged Sam away from her legs. The pup obeyed, whining a soft protest as he moved to a spot right in front of her chair.

“Meg?” Simon said. Concern, warning, and demand all wrapped in one quiet word.

“Not pins and needles,” she whispered. “Just a little too warm.” She gave Sam an apologetic smile.

Just a little too warm. Merri Lee had described sunburn as a prickling heat that caused skin to peel. Which sounded disgusting—and possibly dangerous for a cassandra sangue, even though the skin wasn’t actually cut. Could she have been in the sun too long today? Did that little bit of skin really feel hotter than the rest of her leg, or was it warm because of Sam, or even from her own rubbing?

“We need a drummer,” Charlie said. “Anyone willing to try?”

No one moved. Then Captain Burke rose and made his way to the drum. “Let’s see if I remember anything from my misspent youth.”

He spent a minute tapping the drum and learning the different sounds it made. Then he nodded to Charlie.

“Give us a rhythm,” Henry said. “We’ll find something to fit it.” Then the Grizzly nodded to Simon, who looked at the Wolves.

Catching his uncle’s look, Sam sat up in anticipation.

A simple rhythm that filled the square. Henry and Charlie joined in, their instruments reminding Meg of the sound of leaves stirring in the wind. Then Theral joined in, and her fiddle became the sound of a shallow stream. And then the Wolves sang—and the Courtyard, with its human shops and human instruments, embraced the sound of the wild country.

When Simon tipped his head back and howled, Meg joined him, and Merri Lee and Ruth joined her. Then Karl and Michael added their voices while the Crows cawed and the Owls hooted. Only the Hawks and Sanguinati were silent.