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rejection. He had never had a child, and they had had this discussion before.

“I am not speaking of your child,” he said. “A mother’s instinct is beyond training ... so it must be. But the years you have lost, that you call yours: no one owns time, no one can claim even an instant.”

Her heart steadied again. She could feel the heat in her face; it would have betrayed her. That shame made her blush again.

“Venerable Master . . . what I feel... is confusion.”

It was safest to say what one felt, not what one thought. More than one tradition had gone into the concept of Discipline, and the Venerable Master had a Socratic ability to pursue a lame thought to its lair and finish it off She dared to look at him; he was watching her with those bright black eyes in which no amusement twinkled. Not now.