The fire flickered gently on the book-lined, stonewalls of the small circular room. A woman of indefinable age glided in through the intricately carved door, also made of stone and sat with a sigh on one of the many lavishly cushioned chairs clustered around the warm chamber. The beam from a nearby window shed wintry light on her face, which was lined with the wrinkles of great age, and as she reached her hands to a book near her, the calluses and veins were clearly visible. When she looked at the cloth-bound book, her eyes lit up with recognition, and as she turned the pages, her knobby fingers glided over the pictures and letters, as if by feeling the written words, she would once more relive the story. The years fell away as she read, and when a small knock broke the silence, she looked up, blinking her eyes owlishly. A very small child peeked shyly around the stout stone door, which the woman had left ajar. Her smile lit her face at the sight of the little boy, and she held out her arms to him. He beamed, and came trotting over to her, shaggy hair the same vibrant red as her own had once been. As he was situating himself on her lap, other people filed in, ranging in age from mid forties to the very young. A few clustered together, sitting in small groups on the soft chairs, and all the children sat at the feet of the matriarch. She looked around the small room, smiling and nodding benignly at the familiar faces around her. Many bore her red hair and a few had one other distinctive trait: their eyes were two different colors. The left was a gray-blue, the color of a storm tossed ocean, and the right a green-flecked hazel so pale to be almost gold.

The little boy now laid his head on her shoulder and reached for the book resting in her lap. "Will you finish the story now?" he asked plaintively, two-color eyes looking adoringly at her weathered face. His grandmother smiled and flipped back the thick pages to where the red marker rested. As she looked around at the crowd, they gradually ceased their happy mumblings and waited expectantly for the Lady to begin. In fact, the Lady opened her mouth to commence, but one child, a small girl, tugged at her skirt. "Please, Maeoume" she began, "but it's my turn to sit with you. Sefhirr sat last night and now it's my turn, because."

The ancient Lady put her hand on the girl's shining hair, and immediately she hushed. The Maeoume looked into her grandniece's eyes, and smiled. So like me, long ago. She patted her ample lap; "there is enough room for both of you tonight. And tomorrow you may have me to yourself." She waited as the girl scrambled up on her lap. The little boy obligingly shifted over, making space. When they were both settled, she looked to the motley group surrounding her, expectant smiles and tolerant expressions on their faces. "Before I begin, the prophecy shall be recited." The Maeoume's voice took on a deeper quality as she intoned the ancient words.

Four will fight the cold

Four will break the throne One, hair of summer fire,

The world set free

One, eyes of autumn wind

Breaks the prophecy

One a shadow, full of sorrow

Quench the river wild

The last a wandering warrior Heart of laughter, abandoned child Discover your weapons in the forgotten place, Harvest the fruits of the Klaern tree Save the children through sacrifice All play a part Their trials complete To defeat the frost

And change their fate

The ancient Lady paused in the silence, her clear voice ringing in the thick air. The only sound was the crackling fire, and even that seemed muted. In the innocence all children possess, the same blonde haired girl cleared her throat, impatiently. The woman glanced down at her and smiled. " Last evening I told of the meeting of Lucarn of spring, Liana of Autumn and Jakai of Winter, three of the four we believe were mentioned in the foretelling. Tonight I shall tell you of the fourth, and their trials as revealed in the prophecy. But first as always, a short telling of our history as we know it." The Lady's voice was soft as she recounted the tale.

This tale begins as all tales do. Long ago, four great houses, Lha, Rhi, Noc and Kes ruled our world. The land was divided under the Royals, for there were bitter grudges held between the four leading lords, passed on through generations of mistrust. Each country was constantly at war, the houses exerting their powers on one another until the land was ravaged by famine and plague. No crops would grow in the barren wastes, and even today, evidence of the dead years still linger, as do the old borders. Then came a time when the Lands were at peace, and the Leading Lords wished to continue the fragile harmony. Each of the Royals had born one heir, and then was struck with a strange barrenness. The four heirs were betrothed when they were very young, as is the way of rulers.

Lahne had the power of the raging sun, and as such was hot tempered and unpredictable. Those who knew her called her Lahne Fraen, fire anger. She was betrothed to Nahl, of the cooler house of Noc. Nahl, held the power of the chill moon, and was cold and aloof to those he did not know. Just as the moon has another side, so Nahl had beautiful warmth that few found, for they never sought it. When he and Lahne married, their world rejoiced, for they soon grew to love one another, as it should always be.

The heir to the bright land of Rhi was Rhilla, whose name meant joy flower. She was loved by nearly all that met her, and wherever she stepped flowers were said to bow to their mistress. As I said before, the heirs were betrothed when they were very young, and Rhilla's father forever regretted it. Rhilla was to marry the cold Lord's son, Kilare. Kilare's power was the bitter, relentless frost, and like the other Royals, his powers seemed to be part of him. He was determined to finish anything he instigated, be it good or evil and was known as The Iceheart.

Winter does not always breed malice, and Kilare had some little shred of good, though cold and uncaring people surround him. All of the four houses had their evil ones, but for a while, the world prospered under the Royal's peaceful reign. Some noticed a change in Iceheart and rightly credited it to Rhilla's influence. Rhilla became haughty and proud, knowing it was she who had changed her husband; and so she fell into the trap many have tripped before. So loved was she, and so praised, that she became blinded in her foolish pride, and did not realize that her husband was not really changed at all. His heart became hardened, because of his wife's appeal, and soon abandoned all sense. His one purpose was to rid himself of her and on his youngest son's Coming of Years; he murdered his wife in their bed. As Rhilla lay dying, the sight of her blood brought back the last shred of humanity and love Kilare held for his wife, in his angry grief, he took up the bloodied blade and tried to end his own life. He failed, for Rhilla's last words were a pleading protest and the Iceheart ran from the room, crying his anger and grief. He was never seen alive again, though long after tales and legends were repeated of an insane King secluded in the vast woodlands of Rhi.

Here the woman paused in her narration, and lifted the worn book, which had rested in her lap for the time. There were the general rustlings of large crowd settling itself, and then all was silent again as her high, clear voice fell on the ears of the waiting listeners. They sat transfixed, and the Lady took them back to a time few in the room had known.

The years flowed on as they always do, and the four great Leads vanished, with all their follies, from the minds of their descendents. However, their legacy lived on, in face and hair, until you could not tell the origin of one Royal from another, except through their gifts. The separate houses melded into a single reign, and history moved in its inexorable spiral. The rule passed to a young king, by the name of Lare, one of spring, and newly married. He was liked by most of his subjects, and kept a peaceful counsel with the other Royals. Unfortunately, like all Monarchs, he had enemies, and the greatest was the counselor of the cold land of Kes, Sikar. The tenuous peace held until the eldest princess' Coming of Years. It was then that Sikar ambushed the Royals in their hall, brutally murdering most who had tried to hide there. Nine years later, a rebellion was brewing among the commoners of the land, who looked to the last free royals for leadership. The rumors of revolt were spreading like a season of Summerfire, and it is in this time I continue my story.

Part One: Slave Girl Ten Years After the Royal Massacre Winter Forest, Lha All countries have their legends, and most tales hold a grain of truth. Lha was no different. The old forest spread like a brown blot over western Lha. In its place it could be considered beautiful, if you enjoyed the beauty of winter woods, snow brightly glistening in the long dead tree boughs. To the people of the warm southern lands it was just an ugly dead blotch, unfamiliar and unwanted. The very foreignness was the reason so many stories seemed to sprout from the mouths of the Elders and Storiers of the surrounding villages.

The legends went something like this: courageous so-and-so found the center of the forest, enduring many hardships to succeed. Just as he loaded his pockets and packs with the fabulous treasure that resided there, he was discovered by-by what? The children of the town would plead. Nevertheless, the Storiers could not say, for they knew no more than the children did. The legend only fueled the minds of young men of the village, and they set out from their homes in borrowed armor and riding the family luk (A luk is something like a three-legged, short-eared, hairless donkey). If they were lucky they would even be able to obtain a sword, but most were only armed with a spade or a hoe and whatever wits they were born with. None, in anyone's recollection, had ever returned.

The didactic Storiers added their names to the Memory and soon a new legend was created, more vivid than the last. All of the stories agreed on one thing, in which they held a semblance of truth. Someone, or something resided in the center of the cold wood, and it had been that which had killed the trees. The only clue the Elders had to go on was an ancient prophecy, recited before each Storier's tale.

The prophecy spoke of four to fight the cold. The Storiers claimed that the cold was the Usurper who had taken control little less than a decade past. Some said that it portended an event larger than any one could guess. Others claimed that the prophecy was too vague to tell what it could portend. One can never be sure about prophecies. Many young people held on to the hope of some great leader rising up and leading the land in a rebellion against the tyranny of Sikar, Cruel Lord of Klaern. The time was ripe for a rebellion, but the people lacked courage, and one to lead.

Leaf

The girl lowered herself to the hard, cold floor with a sigh. She pulled the thin blanket over her shoulders, the only comfort allowed her, and very soon she was fast asleep and dreaming of another life. She sat on the wooden floor of a large, warm room as half-familiar faces floated around her. One in particular was very clear, that of a plump brown woman, with a joyful countenance. Her black eyes sparkled and on her silver-black hair, there rested a white peaked cap, like a snowy mountaintop. She seemed to be singing something, but the girl could not make out the words. They pricked her mind, and she wanted to ask the woman what she was saying. The elderly lady's face was swept away, and another hovered in front of her, a younger man, in the prime of life. His red-golden hair was grown to shoulder length, and as his face came closer, she thought she felt a beard brush her forehead. She felt him lift her and his face came near to her own. She reached up, but he seemed to half turn away from her. When he turned to her again, his lead gray eyes were wide . The man looked so strong, and so confident for a second the real part of the girl's mind wondered for a moment that he would be afraid of any thing. Then he was going away from her, and she tried to follow, but someone held her back. A red haze floated across her vision, cleared to a deep void, shapeless and terrifying, from which issued agonized screams, and insane, hysterical laughter, and the clanging of metal on stone. Someone's arms were around her, and she was gliding quickly away from the horror that followed like a malevolent beast.

"Get up, girl," a shrill voice, coupled with a sharp kick banished any visions from the slave girl's mind. She sat up, and stifled a groan. Her back and legs were sore from the beating she had earned last night, but that was natural pain, one that she had had all of her life. She felt the early poundings of another headache; they had plagued her for as long as she could remember, hovering in her mind and battering at her skull. It seemed every time she had a dream they would follow, afflicting her for days at a time.

The girl limped to the pantry, combing her crimson hair out of her pale face with long, thin fingers. Knowing the Lady counted the small loaves of flatbread, she only grabbed one for herself, almost all she would have to eat for the day. She delivered the Lady's customary breakfast of Ygip milk and flatbread, and went out to feed the Ygip.

As the hog-like animals snorted and hummed over the meager slops, the slave's thoughts turned to her dreams of the night before. She shivered, not from cold, for she had never known warmth, except in dreams. The look of terror in the man's gray blue eyes unnerved her; she had often had similar night hauntings. All of her dreams were just as confusing, and very vivid, so much so she could feel the sun on her back, and rain in her face. She could hear the voices of people, men, women and children, though she only knew of the Lady. Scenes of other places constantly flashed across her minds eye, other lands, different from the cold, dead forest which had surrounded her all of her life. A shimmering, brown-green lake, bordered by a sea of orange flowers, waving under an azure sky. An ancient stone castle, silhouetted against a starry firmament, and a great expanse of gently rolling water. So many colors, scarlet, gold and indigo, were swirled in a brilliantly shifting range of hues. Color infused her dreams, and this confused her most. The girl had lived her life enslaved to the Lady, trapped in a cold forest, where no warmth ever touched her skin. She had never seen her surroundings, and could never escape. She was blind.

The girl paused on the long remembered way to the cottage steps. A chill wind blew swiftly around her, lifting her gold red hair about her face. She felt the familiar weight of the slave band around her neck. This was the real reason she was forever ensnared. Even if she miraculously eluded the Lady, she would be slowed by her blindness, and anyone who understood her band would be free to capture and imprison her again.

If a man came across her, she would receive a worse fate. The Lady had often gleefully told her what men do to young girls, in horrid detail. The girl was well and truly caught, and the only escape she had hope for was death, be it the Lady's-or her own.

Leaf 1

Naelren (moonlit) Tower, Eastern Lha

The tower rose from the meadow like a silent sentinel, surveying her land under an all-seeing eye. Red-gold Naelr (moon) slanted its wan light onto the flat roof, silhouetting the creature standing with head bowed in sleep atop it. A slight wind roused the beast, and it swung its long face to the door of the round building capping the tower, flapped her wide ivory wings expectantly. When no one emerged, she began to pace, swishing her feline tail impatiently. The long, slender legs of the creature glided over the smooth stone in an even trot. The front legs were powerful, capable of lifting the beast's bulk in large leaps. They were shaped rather like a rabbit's forelegs, with strong 'elbows' set close to the body. The rear limbs were suppler, with one knee-joint midway down the leg, which allowed the animal to bound into its unusual three beat run. This was a Llantra, the most coveted of creatures in Klaern. Any one who had the mindset to befriend a Llantra was to be highly envied, for few understood the bond between a Llantra and her Chaern.

The Llantra once again looked towards the brown wood door, and she was rewarded by the sight of a man, dressed so darkly he was almost a shadow, come out of the gloom. In his big, dusky, caramel hands, he held a dark leather hood and a woven rope. The beast moved eagerly towards him, for this was her Chaern, connected irrevocably through mind and spirit. Human and Llantra met eye to eye, and as the man almost reverently put the hood over his friend's deer-like head, a silent conversation ensued.

{What took so long, flood/river? The Naelr rose in a clear, cloudless sky. I waited for you many hours.} Llantra were not able to think in pronouns, and instead used pictures described their Chaern's character. Unlike their human counterparts, they could not fully understand the concept of a name, though they understood that human's had a need to name each other. Llantra's are asexual, as far as humans know, and so are always described as 'she'.

The man stroked the dark gray nose. {I am sorry Jhall, (Gray-orange of dawn light), but I was--upset} the man's sending was infused with half thoughts, swirling like a wild river in a spring flood. The last word of the sending meant far more than Lucarn intended, but Jhall understood, just as she understood the dark shadows behind her friend's green-blue eyes. Jhall sent a bright gold and blue stream of color {let us fly}

Luc readily agreed and Jhall bent for him to clamber on. The Llantra's strong front legs bent and flexed, and they were propelled into the night sky. The two flew silently for a time, and the wide snowy wings settled into an even rhythm of flap-glide-glide-flap. After a few hours, Jhall sent a tiny trickle of blue, which spread and formed into a question. {Are you worried Undertones of concerned red about a sharp icicle cold and unmelting?} Lucarn had been dozing, and his sending was full of the cerulean blues of half questions {What? Are we? Where?}

He felt a babbling brook enter a corner of his mind, Jhall's way of laughter. It's wings shifted as the forest came into view, and Luc felt his stomach grow cold with anticipation at what he would be doing a few scant hours, what he must do. The witch had been empowered for far to long, and Lucarn had the best chance at dethroning her. It would be a small victory in the large war that was gradually taking place, but it would be the beginning of the rebellion.

{Are [you] worried that cold frozen lake, dark and brooding will triumph?} Jhall inquired again, in pale gold and purples of concern. {Not so much as I had imagined I would be} Luc's sending was incased in a blue-gray river, calm and serene. {Do not be so confident streak of burgundy, and a wild river, white with foam. (Swirling snowstorms) [She] is powerful enough to the cold dead forest and [she] has no reason to back down [you].} The calm river that was originally Lucarn's sending was a rushing torrent in his mind, outlined in red.

{What troubles you? (Cool blue river, running wild and strong)} Jhall asked again, speaking gently. Jhall knew why her friend's surface thoughts were so agitated, but she did not understand the deep shadow beneath the river. She did not fully understand such human emotions like anger, or moodiness.

{Just pre-battle worries, my friend.} Luc hated hiding his thoughts from his Chaern, and yet Jhall felt that he was doing so. {Ever have that feeling, just before a storm?} Lucarn's pictures and Voice were faded. It is very hard to lie mind-to-mind. Jhall understood that her Chaern was troubled by far more than nervousness, but she also was aware enough to not to push him. She could not discern exactly what troubled his soul because Luc's mind was closed from her own. All she could tell were dark shadows blocking her lightly questing mind.

She huffed through her nose in anxiety, and Luc, misinterpreting the action, wrapped his arms around his friend's neck, as if to comfort it. He felt a reassuring rumble against his chest. The Llantra pushed at him with her nose, nudging him away from her and on to the task he must undertake.

Her mind followed his determined path as her body moved towards the welcoming grass. She could not help Luc in his undertaking of the witch, but she would always be watching.

Leaf

Luc moved cautiously, ears trained to hear any small sound that could portend danger in the woods. As he moved through the silent forest, feet making little noise on the carpet of twigs and snow, his fingers seemed to drip gold. The light cascaded to the forest floor, and wherever the Spring light touched, snow melted and greenery spread like fire on dry wood. Red and purple flowers slowly budded as the forest became verdant again in the long awaited spring. It was a sight Luc loved to see. He was a Royal, a spring Gift, one who was able to bring the warmth and light of the first of the cycle of seasons. The witch was a winter gift, the last season, and by the Law, he was stronger than she was. A royal gift could vary in strength, but normally it was Spring stronger than Winter; Summer stronger than Spring; Autumn stronger than Summer; and Winter stronger than Autumn.

Just as the moon set, Luc came upon the large clearing containing the weather beaten cottage and small, ramshackle Ygip pen. He looked with pity at the half starved creatures, ribs showing through their shaggy red-gray fur. He assumed that this was the living place of the one he sought, and he was aghast at how meager a life the witch led. The false dawn cast a gray light on the barren area, and Lucarn thought it almost anticlimactic that this would be the source of the chilling disease that spread through the woods. A light snow covered the dead ground and limbs littered the area. He shivered a little, for though he was dressed in flying-hide, the relentless cold of the witch's gift seemed to prick his skin. Unwittingly he put his hand to an old Darkwood tree, and sudden warmth enveloped it, causing the long-frozen limbs to pop explosively. Lucarn belatedly remembered that sap expands when suddenly warmed. Lucarn jerked back, regretting his action, because now all element of surprise had to be discarded.

The witch had come to the doorway, and Lucarn was surprised at how young she seemed. Her face was slightly marred by wrinkles of middle age, but she could only be forty years. He was not surprised by the cold black of her eyes, nor the angry twist to her mouth, distorting her features. Lucarn had time for one thought, an oath he had recently learned, and then he was surrounded by a wintry fury. He was caught so unawares that he gasped for a moment, and then tried to fight back. Nevertheless, his power was not strong enough to immediately ward off the swirling chill. He had already expended so much bringing life to the outer reaches of the forest. The ice swirling in his face blinded him, and for a moment, he lost hope. Then he cleared his mind, and focused only on walking slowly towards the source of the icy wind that was slowly numbing his body. Still, he may not have made it, were it not for the girl.

"Spare him!" A high, small and achingly familiar voice cried out. Luc opened his eyes, brushing the ice crystals from his face. It cannot be! The resemblance was so similar. He cuffed the thoughts away, the painful memories that ached inside him. He could not think on that now. If it was. He must concentrate now on his mission, and would hope later.

The slave girl, for Luc could see the silvery-white band around her neck, hesitated for a moment. Apparently, her actions had caught up with her. The witch's lip curled in fury and her strong arms came up to strike the girl. Lucarn realized then that the slave was blind, for she did not even flinch away from the blow. Luc mentally flinched as well, because he knew that the girl could not be. again those thoughts were bitterly set aside. There were things he knew that were better left untouched.

However, thanks to the distraction, Lucarn could now act against the Witch. He shot his hand forward and a stream of golden light blazed around her, outlining her body in Spring warmth. The witch's gift was overtaken by the spring light, and the only trace now of the winter that had sealed the forest for so long was a swiftly melting pile of winter snow, left from where it had gathered at the witch's ankles. Another cannot kill a Royal through gift alone, though their powers can be greatly diminished. Lucarn a hurried sound of escape through the awakening forest, but he had no will or strength to chase the witch. He had finished his task and the witch wouldn't have strength to do any harm. She would probably hide until an opportune time to regain her place, but this time the royals would be ready.. With her powers diminished, it will take her a long time to regain her gift, Luc reasoned to himself. Until she does, she will harm no one.

Leaf

The dream started like many others had before it. A myriad of faces floated ahead of her, smiling, happy. Two came forward, almost identical, if not for the age lines around the eyes and mouth of the one closer to her. Their eyes were two different colors, and they twinkled with some hidden merriment. She wondered what made them smile so, but they were shoved away, once more receding into the deep blackness. The younger face turned to her, pleading, eyes wide now in terror. The mouth opened in soundless scream, and the blackness swallowed the petrified girl like some malicious being.

The girl awoke, heart pounding, all operable senses alert. She shook her head, trying to clear the evil feeling from her mind. She winced when that action brought a wave of pain to her skull, which pounded as if it was some gigantic drum.

She heard movement to the left of her, and she was on her feet in moments, backing away from what would surely be the worst beating of her life. She should never have defied the Lady! She steeled her self for a blow. A strange, deep voice reached her ears; she did not absorb the words, her mind only realized that he was a Man . All of the memories of what Men did to her, as told to her by the lady, came rushing in to her mind. She did not question the truthfulness of the Lady's words, as they were all she knew. He will never take me! .

Crouched down, fingers feeling quickly for any weapon, any protection. Her hand found a Darkwood limb, and with a new determination, her fingers closed around it. She stood again, instinctively keeping low to the ground. She froze for a scond, and then the threatening voice reached her ears. She thwacked out, but all she met was frozen soil. A slight rustle beside her, CRACK! She haerd the man grunt in pain. There, in front of her, CRACK! Another cry. The girl smiled, for the first time in her life, but it was more of a snarl than a true grin. This was something she enjoyed.

The man tried to yank her stick from her, but she used him as a guide, the wood shoved hard into something soft, what she hoped was his gut. She heard a yelp and felt a surge of eagerness. The stick was raised above her head and she brought it down quickly, met with soil. She froze again, heard a noise behind her, hurled the stick back wards. Met with air. She frowned, where is he? She had no time to think. another noise to the side, CRACK! There. The girl decided that she liked defending herself. Leaf

Luc stood perfectly still, hand, chest, and other appendages hurting from the whacking they had taken. He watched the girl swing her staff over him and held his breath. This was not something he had counted on. He had spoken wht he had assumed were reassuring words. Apparently the girl did not speak the language, or she did not care. All he had received for his offer of help was a beating he would not soon forget. "but she is blind! He thought irrationally. He could not accept that blind girl knew how to fight so well. Surely she was not just running off instincts. He decided to try something, an experiment.

He kept an eye on the girl slowly turning around, Darkwood held in front of her and diagonal to the ground. The end barely trailed the now thin snow, searching for its victim. Luc bent carefully, but even his slight noise nearly earned him another crack. He grabbed for the staff and this time he was aware of the girl's technique. He grabbed the limb and turned quickly to the side, practically pulling the girl with the limb. The staff was securely in his hands before the girl fully realized that it was taken from her. Luc quickly got to his feet, but as soon as she was weaponless, the girl was off and running away from him, dull red hair glinting in the sun. She sprinted past the cottage and eastward, towards the great meadows. Luc sighed, and wondered if it really would be worth it to chase after her. After all, he tried to reason; I did not say anything to the master about taking care of slave girls. Nevertheless, he knew he could not leave her here. He groaned as he set off in the direction the blind girl had taken. He was sure to have some bruises in the morning. At least her trail will be easy to follow, he thought as he surveyed the damaged greenery. {Jhall} he sent in a bright green stream, {help me please}. {Do [you] know what [you] are going to do?} Jhall queried purpely. Luc sent an affirmative series of orange-red, and then quickly outlined his plan.

Leaf

The girl ran, heedless of the whipping branches on her legs and face. The slave band clunked against her neck, but she ignored it, finally liberated from her long imprisonment. Her legs had taken her a far way through the closed in woods, when she realized that she had no idea where to go. It does not matter, she thought. I am free!

Finally she stopped, chest heaving. She felt dizzy for a moment, and put a hand to a nearby tree, taking slower gulps of breath. She inhaled the warm air and realized two things: she was out of the forest, and for the first time in her life, she was sweating. She stepped forward, sniffling a little in the slightly humid air. The land was open around her, and sweet, different smells wafted to her on a breeze. She threw her head back and soaked in the warm rays, breathing deeply. Tears pricked her lids and she laughed aloud, the realization of what she had achieved beginning to sink in. FREE. She began to run again, reveling in the wonderful satisfaction it gave her. Never before had she been allowed to do as she pleased, never before had she not been enslaved.

She stopped again, whirling around and around, hands feeling for her surroundings. Her questing fingers found thin grasses, rough and supple, and when she dropped to her knees, she felt wonderful, soft dirt. She sensed a warm breeze blow her hair from her face, and this had a different, unidentifiable smell, something like the sweetness of old hay, and the thick pungency of a freshly wetted earth.

The girl froze, for her mind was suddenly swirling with a multitude of colors. She wondered for half a second if she could have fallen asleep, if all of this was some lovely dream. Then the voice, like dawn's first soft, gray light, resounded in her mind.

{Greetings (flame). I am called Jhall (dawnlight). Long has (dawnlight) searched for (wandering streams, flowing towards a large river) [you], though (flame) shall not yet know why} the girl scrambled up and away from the large, vibrant, voice. She tried to puzzle the pictures from the words, and then another voice, so much simpler, entered her mind. {Jhall, can [you] speak to [her] (a picture of a thin, red haired girl)} The girl realized with a jolt that this was her self, this picture. She did not understand how she knew this, but the Sky-voice 'spoke' again. It felt as if the voice were quieter, turned away. {Yes Chaern} it said plainly, large brown river, and the girl felt a great sadness she did not understand. The girl felt as if she were part of some great roadway, with many mediums passing through. She could hear slight whisperings, flashes of color connoting feelings of fear, hunger, and death. She shuddered. Sky-voice spoke to her again.

{This is the one who pursued [you] (flame). (brown, swollen river) will not harm you.} She was shown a tall dark man, with penetrating blue green eyes, the color of a calm stream. A dark, shadow-green waterway followed the brief image. {Jhall} came the simpler voice, the one that seemed to be a river, {tell [her] (flame) that I am going to take the band off.} the girl received a simple picture of this action, and then she felt hands at her neck. She tensed instinctively, but a flood of pictures rolled in, forests and soft meadows. {Peace (flame)} Sky voice echoed. She heard the slave band make a soft clunk in the dry knee-high grass.

{Have [you] anywhere to go? (Light blue streaks of question) (The cottage flashed briefly, surrounded by the cold, dead trees.)} The abrupt picture was met with such a stream of anger and hate, a flood of scarlet and coal that Luc mentally reeled, even through the tenuous connection. Then a serene purple shield enveloped the girl's mind, and she calmed. Jhall sent beautiful pictures of the Red-gold tower, outlined in the scarlet sunset. {Come with me (Green and gold and deep purples swirled to together in a never-ending stream.)}

"Yes," the girl said aloud, and her mind echoed it in a short, small flicker of saffron. "I will go there"