Lenora's POV
In the sixth year, Harlan came home.
He arrived at the confluence on a morning in early spring, carrying two packs and a roll of charcoal portraits and the settled manner of someone who has been elsewhere long enough to be glad to be back.
He embraced me. He shook Kellan's hand with the particular warmth of someone shaking hands with a person they helped into their full self. He sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and said: "What did I miss?"
"Four council sessions," I said. "Mira's appointment to the standing committee. Nell's reinstatement. The five-year review. Corvan moving to the Thornwall territory." I paused. "Bramwell learning to make bread."
Harlan looked at me. "He learned to—"
"Bessa taught him," I said. "She's apparently been baking since she was nine.
