thoughtful enough to comfort him and lay down the life laws.
"I appreciated what you said to me that time in the tent,
when I came out of the stupor Clothahump was forced to put
me into. You see, Pog, Clothahump cared about me because
he knew I might be able to help him. Caz and Ror and
Bribbens cared about me because we were dependent on one
another.
"But the only ones who cared about me personally, really
cared, turned out to be Talea, and you. We've got a lot in
common, you and I. A hell of a lot in common. I never saw it
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. THE HOUR Or THE GATE
before because I couldn't. You were right about love, of
course. I thought I wanted Hor." Talea said nothing. "What I
,really wanted was someone to want me. That's all I've ever
jwanted. I know that's what you want, too."
( Now he began to sing out, loud and clear. Suddenly there
was a shimmering in the air around the bat. It was evening
now, and the wall was growing dark. Camp fires were
beginning to spring up on the plain where Plated Folk and
wannlander for the first time in thousands of years were
beginning to talk to one another.
"Hey, what's going on?" The bat dropped from his perch,
righted himself, and flapped nervous wings.
The bat shape was flowing, shifting in the evening air.
"That was my falcon song, Pog. I've got to get my
spellsinging specific, Clothahump says. So I'm giving you
the transformation you wanted from him."
Talea clung tight to Jon-Tom's arm, watching. "He's
changing, Jon-Tom."
"It's what he wants," he told her softly, also watching the
transformation. "He gave me understanding when I needed it
most. This is what I'm giving in return. The song I just sang
should turn him into the biggest, sleekest falcon that ever
split a cloud."
But the shape wasn't right. It was all wrong. It continued
to change and glow as Jon-Tom's expression widened in
disbelief.
"Oh God. I should've waited. I should've held off and
waited for Clothahump's advice. I'm sorry, Pog!" he yelled
at the indistinct, alien outline.
"Wait," said Talea gently. Her grip tightened on his arm
and she leaned into him. "True, it's no falcon he's becoming.
But look—it's incredible!"
The metamorphosis was complete, finished, irrevocable.
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Alan Dean Foster
"Never mind, never mind, never mind!" sang (fae trans-
formed thing that had been Pog the bat. The voice was all
quicksilver and light. "Never mind, friend Talea. Be true to
Clothahump, Jon-Tom. You'll get a wing on it, you will."
A flock of fighters, eagles perhaps, crossed the darkling
sky from east to west. A few falcons were scattered among
them. Perhaps one was Uleimee.
"Meanwhile you've made me very happy," Pog-that-once-
was assured the spellsinger.
Jon-Tom realized he'd been holding his breath. The trans-
formation had stunned him. Talea called to him softly and he
turned and found her waiting arms.
Above them the change which had been Pog searched with
keen eyes among the winged shapes soaring toward the
distant reaches of the warmlands. It saw a particular female
falcon emerging with others of her kind from a thick cloud,
saw with eyes far sharper than those of any bat, or owl, or
falcon.
Leaving the two humans to their own destinies, and rising
on suddenly massive wings, the golden phoenix raced for that
distant cloud, the sun setting on its back like a rare jewel.
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