The flock splits

	Castinuve sighed.  “I suppose it is so.”

	Xuriis cleared his throat.  “Uh... grandfather...”

	The others all turned to look at him, including Viri.  “Uh... I'm sorry, but... why did I start inheriting the mantle of the Dance Lord... before you chose to abdicate?”

	Gillint hid a scowl.  “Well, my boy, this decision was not spur of the moment nor was it off the cuff. I grow weary and old, I wish to retire and run around the woods in the buff.”  He affected a weary, joking pose, and half the flock laughed.  That was more or less what he did anyway.  “But, dear lad, I have trained you all along to replace me,” he added.  “So now you do, if beloved Flock Mother should agree.”

	Flock Mother nodded slowly.  “I do.”

	Gillint slapped his grandson's back.  “Then there you go, strapping young buck, and may you leave your flock awestruck.”

	Xuriis flushed.  The title of Dance Lord came with many, many privileges with the women of the flock.  He had seen Gillint fall asleep on a pile of a full dozen satisfied fauns and satyresses back in the Grove, when the flock was at its full number.  That was tempting nearly beyond words to the young satyr.

	He took a deep breath.  “May I... take a moment to ask you something before you go, Dance Lord?”

	Gillint nodded, and guided his grandson out of earshot of the rest of the flock.  After finding a spot near the edge of the pit where they could not be overheard, he turned to face the younger satyr.  “Lad, what has occurred, that you do not want overheard?”

	Xuriis stilled his roiling stomach and forced out the words.  “Gillint... grandfather...”  He took another deep breath.  “Did you... use your power to influence the... other satyrs into leaving?  I was standing nearby,” he said quickly, “behind a tree, I heard you speak, I felt... something.  I felt some kind of magic...”

	Gillint's mind whirred.  Had his mind been burdened by the migraine he had had for so long, it would have been impossible to think on his hooves, but his newfound certainty brought clarity.  “Why yes, my boy, I did indeed use my power, like a bee in garden, dancing on a flower.  Did you think that all the time I speak in lyric because it's stereotypically satyric?” he improvised smoothly.  “Our pipes and drums are not our only vectors of charm, but words as well, and it brings no lasting harm.”

	Xuriis recoiled in shock.  “It... you can use your charm in your words?  All this time?”

	Gillint grinned.  “My innocent boy, you're my granson, and it seems your lessons are not done.  Before you leave to the Feywild's land, perhaps I could give your skills a hand?  To speak in rhyme and to cast the charmed tune is to learn to drop skirts and make females swoon.”  He threw an arm around his grandson's shoulder.  “Let me help you learn lyric magic anew; women will line up forever to please you.”

	“...Tempting,” Xuriis said.  “Do you actually wish to avoid being Dance Lord?  You've done so well by us.”

	“I do thank you, Xuriis my lad, but I'm done with the role I had.”  Gillint smiled wanly.  “What do you say?”

	Xuriis looked over at the great flock of fauns.  Several satyrs were giving friends goodbye hugs, and he saw a few tears shed.  Emotional attachments among the wild fey weren't long-lasting, but that didn't mean they didn't miss their companions.  “I... grandfather, is this different from what you told me before?  Long ago, you told me about the way we can control people but we don't, because of our pacts with the flocks,” he reminded Gillint.  “Is this what you're doing?”

	It was, but Gillint feigned hurt.  “Oh, Xuriis, boy, do not insult me so.  I've not broken the rule from long ago.  If you don't wish my aid, just tell me that.  I did not raise you to be a brat.”

	The other satyr just stepped back.  “Farewell, grandfather.”  He turned and walked away, back to the flock, while Gillint glowered at his back.

	Flock Mother nuzzled him as he walked up beside her.  “Are you going to be all right, Dance Lord?” she asked.

	Xuriis sighed.  “I don't know,” he said glumly.  “Thanks for your concern.”

	Flock Mother took his hands and pulled him into a hug.  “Calm your frayed heart, Dance Lord.  When I go home, I shall become Whimlosidra once more, and you shall serve a new Flock Mother.  This horrid affair shall become a new start for us all.”

	“You intend to abdicate?”

	“I do.  I could not bear to be apart from my dear son any more than I already have been,” Flock Mother sighed.  “I do not know who shall replace me, but you shall serve alongside the new Flock Mother in the court of the Countess.”

	That was true.  Technically, the Dance Lord was not an officer of the flock, but an officer of the County.  “I suppose... then, I have no choice,” Xuriis sighed.

	Knight Commander Tumnal emerged from the pit with a scroll in hand and glancing it over.  The Eladrin noted the pair and walked over.  “Ah, your flock is here,” he said.  He quirked an eyebrow as he saw Gillint walking off with the other satyrs.  “Is something wrong?”

	“Well... perhaps, perhaps not, Knight Commander,” Flock Mother said.  “Our Dance Lord has resigned, to retire here in the Prime.”

	“Ah.  Well, that's probably fine, so long as he keeps to himself,” Tumnal said.  “But where are those others going?”

	“The other satyrs of the flock do not want to return to the Feywild, either, aside from our new Dance Lord here, and these four,” Flock Mother said.  Greenwater and three other satyrs, all younger females, nodded to the Knight Commander.  “This is our new Dance Lord, Xuriis, and these are Greenwater, Limbre, Lumira, and Quicksnow,” she said, indicating the other satyrs.

	“Hello.”  Tumnal nodded to them and turned to Capricorn.  “So.  Countess, my men will have built the platform on the other side within three days,” he informed her.  “Is everybody who plans to depart present?”

	Capricorn looked around.  “I believe so, though more may wish to stay,” she said.

	Tumnal looked over the flock.  There were over one hundred thirty fauns present.  “I see.  Very well, I shall send the message off to the Duke.  What do you wish to do until then?”

	Capricorn nodded as an idea floated into her ravaged mind from whatever Gillint had left within her.  He would like it if she could convince more people to stay here in the Prime.  “I wish to visit this Prime village, Conyberry, before I go.”

	Xuriis looked over at her in surprise.  “Really?  My lady, you were vehement in wanting to avoid it just days before.”

	“Yes... but they are friendly to us now,” Capricorn said.  “I wish to see those who have been my neighbors.”

	Tumnal looked off in the direction of the village.  “Would you like me to send an escort?”

	“I suppose that would be wise,” Capricorn said.  “And Xuriis, I would appreciate it if you came too.”

	Xuriis raised his eyebrows.  “Oh?  Er, I can do that if you wish,” he said.

	Greenwater chuckled.  “I should like to tag along, I would say.  I'd like to see what Primes think a party looks like.”  The females laughed too.

	“This does sound like a good time, but please be aware of the timing,” Tumnal said politely.  “Knight Stibium, please detach one platoon to accompany the Countess' party,” he said.  The other man saluted.