"So it's true." Despite the fact she'd just seen a bird the size of a small plane swoop down on us, she looked skeptical.

"You saw for yourself how true it is," I replied, realizing she hadn't believed the stories, not before today. "You saw the son I battled, saw him shift."

She shook her head. "I saw the wolverine, then I saw the man. That doesn't mean they were the same. But the bird. . obviously what it did wasn't normal. It wasn't normal." She looked at my leg again. This time she knelt down. When her hands touched me they were cool and covered in whatever oil she'd been stirring, then spilled on the ground. As she rubbed the oil over my wound, the smell intensified, but I didn't work with oil either for magic or cooking. I couldn't identify the scent.

"Trust me. He shifted," I said.

"I'd heard the stories, but. . " She held up a hand. "Give me your shirt."

I pulled it over my head. She folded it around her hand and wiped oil and blood from my skin.

I continued, "What did you think the bird was, if not a son?"

She refolded the cloth and wiped some more. "A bird. An agent of someone, his moves orchestrated."

"Orchestrated? By who?"

"The sons obviously, eh."

"But you believe it now? Believe they can shift?" I hadn't seen a son shift before today either. I had to admit it was hard to believe they could. Amazons couldn't shift. Why could their sons?

She tilted her head side to side in grudging agreement. "I believe I underestimated them. I believe next encounter I'll be ready."

On that we both agreed.

She returned to my wound, tying the cloth around my leg. When she stood, her expression was tame, almost soft. "The damage isn't bad, puncture wounds only. I expected much worse."

"Because it was a wolverine?"

Her eyes unreadable, she replied, "Because it stopped you from doing your job." Then she strolled from the clearing.