The day that Loren returned dawned with painful brilliance. Every color seemed brighter; every smell seemed stronger; every voice in the air seemed to ring like a bell. In sharp contrast to Sky's miserable prediction upon his departure, Sun tried hard to make Loren forget there had ever been a time he was unhappy. Who could be unhappy when the whole world was warm with radiance?

The Wizard's Door, two men tall and five men wide, stood in the study of strongest mage in Gambia's main castle. Wizard's Doors were operated with powerful magic, constant magic, easily disrupted magic. The swirling misty portal that would take Loren instantly back to Ellinae could be used to transport an enemy army into the heart of the city. It needed constant supervision, unlike the dormant mini-portals that could be bought for an arm and leg and kept in wardrobes and closets for specific and pinpointed use. It was one of these he would arrive by, disguised as a grand dark mirror in the east corner of Denobar's office.

The operating mage, a man named Scamalander Miorokison, turned a blind eye to the group's goodbyes. He bent his lanky frame over some scrawls of parchment when Skylie cast the barest hint of a look toward him. He didn't even make an excuse. Just pretended not to be there.

Loren had spent the last two days keeping his spine straight and his head up. This was how he faced them, with a quiet apathy that the Old Loren would have found insufferable.

Four pairs of gem-toned eyes reflected his face. Ness' layered gaze was ringed with complicity, like the finest types of agate. Skylie's color-changing eyes resembled pale tanzanite today, sparkling like the facets in the stone. Soft blue topaz burned him up, from the one pair of eyes he couldn't meet. And finally, this remarkable new Lan, determined and strong and hooded today, was displayed in a sapphire so deep it didn't seem real. The silence was choked by strained history. "Well," Loren said finally. Nothing. Everyone wanted to say something but not everyone wanted to say it at once. He suspected they all wanted to say the same thing. "I guess I'll go."

Ness looked down. Lan's face shuttered. No one said anything.

"Ok then--"

"If anyone's bugging you, you can sleep in my room. If you aren't restricted to your room," Skylie offered.

"...Thanks. I."

"Nothing's really changed. The baths, and the stables, and...well, you--I guess you'll find that out," Ness finished.

"Okay. Thank you." He started to turn toward the door, stopped, then started again. The film beneath the glass beckoned.

"Love you," Lili said.

Loren cast a guilty bit of glance over his shoulder...and walked straight through the surface of the Door.

--------------------

The mage's study had been light-bathed from huge windows and the glow of the magic-water fountain in the corner. In contrast, Denobar's office was dark--dark woods, dark rugs, dark walls and no windows to speak of. The moment his foot touched the ground, the reality of what was happening hit him a hundredfold. His heart started pounding.

Oh God oh God. Oh, God. His vision failed him as the coal inside the ice swelled to swallow the iris. He searched the shadows and the faded fields for the long, strong frame of his former commander; searched for the eye-shine yellow eyes that never missed a thing; for the broadsword at his left and the customary circle of the whip at his right. Denobar?

You weren't wrong after all, my lord

One of the shadows moved and he tried to stop blinking. OhGodohGodIcan't--

Hey.

"Welcome back, Loren," Awariye said.

He--Hey.

He straightened from leaning on the desk and uncrossed his arms. Sure enough, it wasn't Denobar's short, pale hair that caught the lamplight, it was Awariye's sharply-cut length of mahogany. His aquiline face was a far cry from the strong frame of Denobar's profile. His body was slimmer and his skin was much paler; so deep and pure a milk not even a hint of the blueness of veins was visible. He was a sexy kind of vampire, with sharp teeth and dark eyes and a beautiful little smile playing around the mouth that had made him a whore.

"Awariye!" Loren said. "I--I--I--"

"Come on baby, say hello like you should. You know I'm not mad anymore." He took a step forward and held a low hand out for Loren, keeping one hand on the desk as though he expected the exuberance of a human puppy.

Old Loren reared his hollow head. He wanted to be a puppy, to jump on Awariye and wrap his arms around his old friend's shoulders. He wanted to kiss him, and touch his hair, and be held by someone who laughed with happiness to see him.

Sorry, New Loren told him. I watched you die.

He swallowed. He swallowed again. The urge to run and jump was gone--completely gone. He inspected the carpet, then the glass in the cabinet next to him. He really didn't want to see Awariye's face when he realized there was someone new looking out of the eyes of someone old. He stayed where he was, and counted the seconds.

The expression he didn't want to see flitted across Awariye's features. His knave's smile faded. "Loren," he said. "Come over here. It's been so long, and I've missed you terribly."

"I'm sorry, friend," Loren said, finally looking up. He wore his dreadful, alien nonchalance. "I--it's been too long, I'm afraid. I guess a solemn hello is about all I've got to give. But...I was expecting D--Commander Denobar..."

Awariye's brow furrowed. His head was angled slightly away as his mind ran. He cocked it slightly more as he considered Loren. "What is this?" he said, refusing to be distracted. "I said come here."

But mulishness was a trait that served old and new alike. "And I said no. Where is Commander Denobar? I have to speak with him."

"Last chance," Awariye warned, overlapping the end of Loren's speech.

"Awariye..." Loren said, with a staid kind of exasperation.

"Last chance for you to come here."

"Or else what?" Shit. Smooth.

Awariye came forward. He looked angry.

Well, it had worked with Lili--would it stand up to Awariye? "Awariye, please respect me. The foundations of this institution are brotherhood and cooperation, right? You violate both ideals if you extract from me anything beyond what I'm willing to give."

Awariye stopped. "What the hell are you talking about, Loren? I want what I deserve. A hug and a kiss from my wayward brother, whom I haven't seen in a year. Don't tell me you're going to be a bitch about this."

"I'm not your brother anymore, Awariye," Loren whispered, with eyes averted. "I'm sorry you think I'm...being a bitch. But I've never forced anyone here, which is a courtesy I hope you'll return."

Moments ticked past. He waited longer than he had to. "Please," he said. "Tell me: why are you here? Where is Denobar?"

Awariye looked murderous, outraged that he should be cheated of the kind of greeting he'd expected. He tapped his thumb on the hilt of the scimitar he was holding in a white-knuckled grip; trying to get his temper under control. He wanted tight embraces and choked laughter and inarticulate noises of relief, to be back. And he got a sullen cold shoulder.

"Commander Denobar is attending a political embassy in Shah. With him are Iren and Sobre. In their absence, I was named acting commander. You'll have to wait a few days to have word with him."

Loren stood rooted. Something didn't compute. "You--he isn't--how long has he been gone?"

"The trip was two weeks and twelve days have elapsed."

"Does he know?"

"That 'Loren's been found'? He does not. His attendance was important and mandatory and he would've come back if he knew."

Loren frowned. Acting commander? But he couldn't... "It was you? YOU sent the letters?"

Awariye threw his hair back and nodded, daring Loren to argue.

"You didn't have the authority to do that! You had me pulled out of school! Kidnapped! Dammit, Awariye, you had no right--"

"Getting you back was my first priority. Denobar would agree, though I'll catch hell for deciding his priorities for him. You were coming back one way or another; consider yourself lucky it was as painless as those simple letters."

Now it was Loren's turn to do the outraged-sulk thing. This had been totally needless. Now he had to wait here for two damn days, when he'd hoped he could finish his business in ten times that many minutes. What was he going to do with himself for two whole days? Besides get into trouble? Maybe I can stay in the city…

"Don't even think it," Awariye said sharply. "As acting commander, I'm remanding you to castle grounds, and you're to give personal and physical tokens to a castle mage, so that we may scry for you should you ever 'go missing' again. So help me, Loren, if I find out you so much as imagined yourself as a bird in the sky, I'll have you chained to your bed and the locks melted on."

The old Loren would have snapped straight, raged at the injustice of it all, and slammed the door on his way out.

The new Loren opened his mouth, heaved a defeated sigh, and closed it again. "Yes, sir," he said.

Awariye looked slapped. "Yes, sir?" he repeated. "Is that all you have to say?"

Loren shrugged at the ground.

Awariye turned around. Loren could practically see him struggling with himself, though he didn't move and the bulk of his armor muffled the tight lines of his muscles. Just before it had been so long it would have gotten weird, Awariye turned around again. He was frustrated, it was plain.

"Then you are dismissed. If you have any concerns, questions, or any comments, or if you feel at all like you'd like to give me that hello I mentioned earlier, please come and find me. I would greatly appreciate it. I don't think you understand quite how much."

"Okay," he said, but the 'oh' part was too quiet to be heard. He tried not to scuffle or hunch his shoulders too much as he opened the door to the hallway outside, but he couldn't keep himself from ducking his head. That...probably didn't go as well as it could've.

Though it had been a year he knew the way as well as if the map had been drawn on the back of his hand. He turned left at the end of the hallway, intending to head for his quarters...and literally walked right into Boots.

------------------------

Loren set a hesitant hand on Boots' shuddering shoulder, uneasily wondering what he should do. "It's okay, Boots. Calm down. I'm sorry I scared you. Please."

Boots looked up. He sat on his heels, struggling for breath; suddenly he grabbed Loren's hand from off of his shoulder and pressed it against his chest. His heart was pulsing.

"Loren, Loren, Loren," he said, using his free hand to brush Loren's cheek. "Oh, God, Lorie, you're here and you're alive and you're so solid--Loren--" He fought to say several things at once but could only start and stop the beginnings of each. Finally he managed to force one out. "L-Loren, I would have defended you. Please, you have to believe me. If I had been here--if I had only been here to defend you--but you know I was out on patrol, when I got back you'd already left, everyone was explaining it to me, and I was so--I was so SICK--honey, you know I would have been there for you. I love you. I would have stood up for you. Do you believe me? Gods, say you believe me!" He suddenly pulled Loren into a tight hug, where Loren could feel his pumping heart even more because it was pressed so closely to his own.

"Boots, come on," Loren said uncomfortably. "Let go. You're being a girl."

Boots tried to kiss him then, first on his neck and then on his chin and then close to his mouth. Loren yanked away.

"Loren!" Boots begged. "Loren, please!"

"Come off it. Boots you wouldn't have been any damn different. Don't lie to yourself."

"I would have!" he cried. "I would have! I trust you, and I l-love you--"

Loren fought the urge to roll his eyes. Maybe that's what he told himself, in the dark of the night, but Loren wasn't inclined to think so. He was buddy-buddy with Addio, and Addio had turned on him at the drop of a hat. "Well, thank you--" for taking my side once the fight is over, sneered Old Loren, but New Loren bit it off, "--for that." He said it with as much sincerity as he could muster. "I apologize for frightening you when you were going to see De--oh guess what? Denobar isn't in there. He's been gone for two weeks. Guess someone should have told you that before you made any kind of trip to come see him." He took his hand out of Boots' and turned to leave.

"Wait, Lorie!" Boots said, putting a hand on the wall to help him get up. "Hold!"

Loren stopped.

"How di--why a--I mean, for Gods--how--are--Loren, how?"

Loren sighed. He pulled on the front of his tunic, a fidget he'd picked up since the University had made him nervous. "It's a long story and I haven't any interest in telling it properly. Suffice to say I won't be staying long; please don't bother me and I promise to stay out of your way. Alright?"

"Not alright!" Boots said. Dammit, would he just let it drop. "Where are you going?! And why? Denobar will never let you leave again, you know that. Gods, this is just--I mean, you're--Loren, we have a lot to talk about. Where are you going now? I'll come."

Oh, for-- "I'm going to have a bath in my room and then I'm going to sleep. It's evening here isn't it?" He'd lost like twelve hours through the door and he was mentally and physically exhausted. He hadn't gotten much or restful sleep on the ship.

"Sobre put your bath out of commission so you couldn't use it. You'll have to use the public baths. I had to show Awariye something but I can show him later if you want me to come--"

"It's fine. Take your time. I don't want company." He balked at being so sharp but he really wanted to be left alone. He had a lot to sort out and Boots wasn't acting like normal easygoing Boots. "Sorry again that I scared you."

"Loren, wait," he said. He grabbed Loren's hand before Loren could pull it away and kissed the back and the front. Then he reached up and touched a lock of Loren's hair. "I'm so glad you're back. I'm happy to see you again. I'll come see you tonight, after you've settled in and you're feeling better. Okay?"

Are you kidding me? Tonight I'm gonna lock that door like it's never been locked in its life. "Okay Boots," Loren said, using body language to reinforce his intentions to leave and soon. "Bye," he said.

Boots backed away, pointing at him. Just pointing. Boots was an odd duck, but pointing was better than hyperventilating. Loren gave him a tiny wave across the twenty feet that separated the corner from the door to Denobar's office. When Boots disappeared he made a point of checking the hallway both ways before using it, and set about getting the hell OUT of there.

------------

Now the baths were chancy. He'd never in his entire time at Ellinae been to the baths when they were completely empty. While he needed a bath badly, he wasn't about to drop in next to Corra or Sobre: he'd decided remaining inconspicuous would greatly improve his chances for survival over the next two days. Depending on the audience, he might have to scurry back to his room and see if he could jury-rig whatever Sobre had done to his bath.

Gingerly Loren explored a seldom-used bath room entrance; a service door tucked behind a bushy fern in one of the alcoves. Luck was with him tonight: the place was fair deserted.

Hej and Ouit were messing around by the far wall, as far away from the front as they could get. They must not want to be disturbed. As he entered he kept himself to the opposite end, praying they'd be too involved with themselves to greet him. He didn't fancy being discovered here by beautiful Ouit and haughty, lovely Hej. They had been particularly disdainful of him when the scandal was in full swing.

He stripped his clothing off in record time and carefully submerged himself in the steaming water. He washed thoroughly but quickly, rinsing all the salt and grime from his body and unconsciously attempting to make himself presentable for Ellinae once again. It was after he re-emerged from his second rinse-dunk that he realized the bath room was silent.

Ouit and Hej had stopped fooling around. Had one of them said something?

"What?" Loren said, trying to roughen his voice. Maybe if they didn't...

"I said, come join us, Jakery. There's room for one more," Ouit called.

Oh, mercy. They thought he was Jakery. His now-dark hair and rather chubby figure must make him resemble Jakery's muddy peasant coloring and stocky build. Thank you, God, Loren thought.

"Ahhh...sorry," he called back, trying to make his sound passable as Jakery's brogue. It couldn't sound like an actual attempt, though, because if they found him out then he couldn't claim to have misheard them calling him Jakery. He was going to be in trouble no matter what happened, but he didn't want to look dumb, too.

Ouit said something else but Loren was too busy splashing himself off and trying to appear insouciant to hear him. By the time he very carefully exited the baths it was obvious they'd scented something amiss with 'Jakery'; they'd separated and were both watching him like hawks. Embarrassment and nudity flustered him as he hurried back into his clothes and hurried to gather the rest of his things.

"Hey," Hej said. Loren had to force himself to keep his footsteps steady and not bolt like a scared hare. What was wrong with him? A year ago he was practically humping everyone's leg and they treated him like the plague. Now he ran from them like a tender and flinching maiden. He knew he had a right to wanting privacy after the heartache he'd endured...but these people had been his life. Why wasn't he happier to see them?

Nothing would get you into more trouble in here than acting the part of the prey. It was like mice among foxes. He tried to bolster himself and slow his step as he re-entered the sleeping quarters wing, but he couldn't keep from hurrying just a little bit, especially because he was reasonably sure either Hej or Ouit had just gotten out of the baths. He stepped inside the door to his old room, closed it very gently, and threw the lock. For added security he also propped a chair beneath the doorknob.

When he turned around he received quite a bad shock, making him realize he should scout not only the hallways he desired to use but also the rooms he wanted to enter.

Boxes upon boxes, bags upon bags, brightly wrapped or thrust into crates, or just barely tied with colored string. Shoved into corners, settled on the floor around the bed, laid on his old nightstand, and sprinkled upon a few random pieces of furniture around the room. Loren stood stunned, trying to think what the hell had happened. His room was covered in...presents?

The nearest crate held a tiny leather bag on top of it, beside a simple piece of bleached vellum. Loren nudged the bag aside and picked up the vellum leaf, folding it open so he could see what it said.

It was a note from Ness, written in his flourished, well-educated hand.

Please wear this as a token of my affection.

Inside the bag was a mess of water-colored silk. Inside the silk wad was a simple leather cuff, fastened at the wrist by a brass buckle. An elaborate forest stag had been worked into the leather; his one regal eye gazed up at Loren from the surface of the bracelet.

A stag for Loren to wear.

Ness was from the Empire. He knew what it meant to ask a crane to wear a stag. It was incredibly important. The cuff was just leather, but it was incredibly, incredibly important.

Gently Loren set the cuff back in the bag, and set it down on the crate again. He didn't know what to think. Besides that he must look mighty silly, standing in his old room surrounded by love with his chin wobbling like a baby's.

How could something he would have liked so much once become something that hurt him so badly now?

Beside the crate was another bundle, soft-looking and rounded like a crepe. It was bound by a piece of suede and a bit of ribbon. Loren knelt to pick it up and carefully untangled the ribbon, pulling it off with excess care and looping it on the ground beside him.

Unraveled, the 'wrapping' was taller than he was and just as wide. It turned out there was nothing inside because he had mistaken the covering for the gift: it was just a giant bundle of mulberry bunny fur blanket.

He turned it around and around, marveling at the silken feeling of the fur and the deep, stormcloud color. Only the hares around Ellinae were this exact hue, not gray or violet or any color in-between. It must have taken months of hunting and piecing and careful preparation to make such a cozy, comforting blanket. It was the kind of blanket to cherish. Dropping it over a nearby crate, he searched around for the ribbon. Long, red, lustrous…and sewn with a tiny white tag at one end, no bigger than Loren's thumb.

For LorenFrom Corra

Happy Birthday, Loren

I hope this blanket protects you and keeps you warm.

Happy Birthday? But his birthday had been months ago. Actually, his birthday was near midwinter—and here spring was dredging dutifully out of the murky depths of snow.

He picked up another item, wrapped in vellum and scribbled on near the corner. Love, Roben. He peeled away a bit of the silky paper and exposed the square beneath it: it was a big, glossy book on Snow Mountain warhorses. Like Warning.

A giant crate on his bed turned out to be gorgeously detailed star charts, compliments of Jakery.

A leather-bound book dedicated to sexual positions was written in flowing calligraphy script, from Ouit. He had dog-eared certain pages for whatever reason and just looking at them made Loren feel a little scandalized.

A painting above his bed portrayed the eight monsters of Lath, a town of legend that was said to have been plagued by dragons made from the darkness in the townsfolk's souls. The dragons of the story had names like 'Jealousy', and 'Hatred', and 'Lust'; though traditionally people could name their own. Hesitantly Loren approached the painting, close enough at least to read the tag hanging from the corner. The text was succinct, saying only that Denobar trusted Loren knew his demons and hoped that, like the hero of Lath, he had the strength to overcome them.

A pair of unmarked envelopes had been laid on his pillows, and he almost dreaded opening those. He thought it had been proven quite successfully that words cut him deeper than actions, and he shied away from reading whatever it was had been written. But they drew him like magnets, those two simple envelopes, and he had to open them.

He picked up the first, sealed with wax and bulky with its contents. His fingers felt too long and too pale as he peeled the crimson off and let the papers drop in his palm.

Calle's handwriting was blocky and very stylized, because the language he wrote in wasn't the language he'd been born to. His precision with the unfamiliar characters gave him away. Loren had once or twice caught a glimpse of his native alphabet, when he and Mercy were separated by a time or distance that required written correspondence. He was madly glad he'd never been forced to study the language--so far as he could see, all the letters were circles.

To Loren

For whenever it is you return

"I know a letter may seem impersonal, but I felt that I needed to organize my thoughts and feelings before time corrupted them. I want to tell you how I feel, but...you're not here. So this letter will just have to do."

As if as an afterthought, Loren turned slowly until he could settle his weight on the bed. His eyes and his hands were locked on the paper. As he skimmed rows upon rows of lines letters words, he felt...he felt cold.

"When you first arrived here you were so coddled, pampered, spoiled—as far as I could tell the only reason Denobar accepted you was your pluck, and even that was obnoxious. We came from similar backgrounds, yet I felt as though I'd been born with more common sense than you. At times I thought you childish; your behavior fatuous, and your mind vacuous. But there were also times you could be sweet, and so charming, or so ridiculous I couldn't help but laugh. No matter what we said or did to one another, I did love you. I still do."

Almost two and a half pages of neat, silky writing catalogued every little emotion Calle had ever felt about him, from his growing resentment over Loren's relationship with Lili, to the secret delight he took in spurring their periodic and brotherly squabbles, to the irritation he and Mercy shared that Loren would intrude on something as special and as private as what they had. He wrote about what he liked in Loren, which seemed surreal, because Loren was pretty sure he'd never liked or admired a single thing about him. He thought Calle barely tolerated him--he found himself doubting these confessions were motivated by truth, but rather guilt. Calle thought he was pretty? Yeah, right.

"You had such a big heart. A fickle heart, but still a big one. When you brought that little harlot back here and he had you so wrapped around his little finger, I confess I was apprehensive. I KNEW he was trouble. Right from the very start. You let yourself fall into him, and he certainly didn't try to catch you. The way he led you on and led you around, it was disgusting. He had no decency, and it was like you didn't have the sense to care. I was SCARED for you, Loren; I was trying to PROTECT you."

When he neared the end of the third page he felt an explosion of relief that he didn't have to read much more. Yes, he thought, Calle's confessions had been more for Calle than they had been for Loren, because even the nice parts of the letter made him feel like shit.

"I'm not trying to justify what happened to you; nor am I trying to apologize. I regret that you were subjected to the fate of a traitor, but such a fate is what a traitor deserves. I only lament that you had to endure that ordeal even though you WERE innocent. Wherever you are, Loren, I hope you can recover from the terrible injuries that were inflicted on your body and your soul. Dwelling on the past does us no good; all we can do is make up for it with the future.

From: Calle."

Loren pasted the word disgust over the feelings baking in his head and chest and dropped the letters back in their envelope. Get over it. Move on. Grow past it.

"I'm trying, Calle. I truly am," he muttered, tasting bitter irony. He wondered if Calle's attitude would remain one of such calm sensibility when he had to look into Loren's eyes again. Easy to talk to the paper when the paper couldn't cry.

He turned to the second envelope, a slim slash of lustrous white, folded but not sealed. The message inside was simple, so simple in fact that at first he didn't understand what it was.

Warning's first foal

From Colt

Warning's fi—

But Warning was gone.

Warning?

---------

"All this is a year's wages?" Cavort Colps mused, weighing in his hand again the bag Loren had given him. "You know, I think I'm in the wrong business."

Loren traced the velvet peachskin around Warning's egg-shaped nostrils, memorizing her with his fingertips. If his eyes could've welled, they would have, but all his cries had been all cried out.

"Then take up mine. I warn you, though, it's treacherous." He traced the sinews along the hooked length of her head, all the way to her eyes that she blinked but didn't flinch.

There was silence for a while as Colps watched Loren and his horse, forgetting even the wealth of gold in his palm. Finally he sighed, setting the bag and its gold on a shelf near his hands.

"Lad," he said, resting a heavy hand on a bony shoulder, "She'll never want for a thing with me. A lady as pretty as this deserves a fine home, and it's a fine home she's got."

Loren said nothing as he measured her ears with his palms. Her breathing paced his own, slow and deep, fit for a time as important as this. She knew something was wrong, but her sweet, bestial mind couldn't deduce what it was. She watched her master with trust in her eyes, trust that whatever happened, he would keep her safe.

Loren drew a deep breath, inhaling the wonderful scent of hay, horses and cobwebs. "Mister Cavort," he whispered, pressing his forehead to the mare's own. "I am a selfish man. I am selfish, cowardly, and weak--an imperfect being. In these times, when my faults are so evident and my virtues so few...the sweetness and purity of my love for her scares me. In my entire life, the only one who's never abandoned me; doubted me; betrayed me...is her." He pulled his head away from Warning's, running his hands over eyes she'd closed, and trained his on Cavort. "It is my responsibility to keep such a rare and trusting being safe. She wasn't safe where she was. I hope she'll be safe here with you."

"O'course," Cavort said gently. His hand dropped limply off the boy's shoulder to hang at his side. "Likely I'll use her as a pasture-mate for the boarding horses; she's just big enough and just calm enough to be a good influence. But I promise you this: she'll never see a day of hardship in my stables, even after your rent runs out."

She was wasted as a pasture-mate and Colps knew it, but Loren supposed he could thank his lucky stars she wouldn't become a carthorse or a broodmare. A quiet, simple life was the best he could give her now--when his own future was so uncertain, he wouldn't risk hers.

"I'll leave ye alone now, to say your goodbyes," Cavort rumbled, turning to leave his stables. "When ye're ready, young master, there'll be a nice brown horse awaitin' you in the courtyard. He's a courier makin' the trip back to port you can ride...directions to where you can leave him are in the saddlebag. The least I could do."

"Thank you," Loren said.

He waited until the sound of Cavort's boot heels had faded all the way back to the inn proper. Hooves stamped and bodies resettled as everyone adjusted again to the peaceful and uninterrupted air of the stable. Loren hugged the mare around the base of her neck, pressing his cheek against her scratchy mane, leaving fingernail trails on her withers. He'd thought he had nothing left to cry, but he'd been wrong. His face squinched a little as hot water seeped from his eyes, and it darkened the gray that it fell on to black. Everything --breaths, words, tears--was sad

"Goodbye, Warning," he whispered.

---------------

"Hello, Loren."

Guh, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Hearing a voice from where no voice should be was such a terrible kind of scare. It made him say profanity words, and it made him say them kind of loud.

Ouit laughed openly at his fright. He was standing in the doorway to Loren's room, beside a door flung wide open and a chair sitting rather innocently with four feet on the ground.

"Didn't I lock that?!" Loren snapped. "Didn't I prop it closed, too?!"

"Oh, please. You put a chair beneath the doorknob. Oh, please."

He'd been gone for too long. It was implied in Ouit's speech. He didn't remember how things worked anymore, or the worthlessness of locks around Rankhara.

"Traitor," Loren hissed at the chair, who just winked at him.

"Oh, don't blame him. I seduced him. He let me in just fine. Maybe you need to get some better guards," Ouit suggested. He twined his raven hair around one finger nonchalantly, but nonchalance failed him in his face.

"I locked the door for a reason, Ouit," he said sternly, struggling to recover lost ground. Was Ouit going to try and pretend everything was fine? Well he wouldn't get away with it.

"And I opened it for a reason, Loren. I told Hej you looked too skinny to be Jakery."

Loren blushed a bit. "I'm not skinny anymore," he said. "I've changed."

Ouit stopped twirling and restored the raven lock to its proper position, shading the side of his narrow face. "Whatever you say, dearheart. Would you like me to try you on for size now? It's been awhile."

Well now his color was just furious. If Skylie was oversexed and Lili was a sex kitten, he didn't know what Ouit was. He had a pirate's black hair and a gypsy's green eyes, and he used every feature he had to full advantage. Today he had lined his eyes with kohl, and they glittered pale promise in his bronze skin. He was also quite naked and sopping, dripping wet. And he totally didn't care.

"I...ah...ah..."

"Oh, look at you. You're adorable. Like a virgin again. Take off your clothes."

Typical Ouit, he thought. Not OH MY GOD, LOREN or WHOAH, WHERE DID YOU COME FROM or even LOREN, MY GOD, I'M SO SORRY. Lovin' makes everything the better.

"Stay back!" Loren warned, louder than he meant to be. Ouit had made plain his intentions just from the way he moved forward. "I'm not going to--I'm no--don't come any closer!"

Ouit stopped dutifully. He cocked his beautiful head. "What's the matter, baby? Is something wrong?"

"YES! I...I...I don't want you."

Ouit snorted. He took another step, and Loren backed up so fast he almost fell backward over a crate.

"Come ON, Ouit! I said NO!"

"WH--I don--Why are you doing this?! Are you trying to punish me? You want a heart-to-heart or something? You want to talk?" Irritated confusion was replaced by a sudden calm. But 'calm' for Ouit...didn't look...particularly peaceful. There was something wrong with him, with his eyes. They were too bright, too narrow. He looked...feverish? "Baby, we can talk it over till we're blue in the face. But right now, it's been a long time and I need to prove to myself that you're not a ghost. Won't you please step forward?" He ended it with a hint of steel, a tinge of emotion too strong for his carefully cultured carelessness.

"I'm not a ghost, I promise you that. I--I came back with Skylie. And Lili. I'm just here waiting for Denobar to come back so I can officially tender my resignation from the Rankhara."

There it was again. Something too hot, too bright. He was...he was shocked, right now. And suddenly very angry.

But his features smoothed again, back into slanted and sultry composure. "Is that right? Going to leave again, hm? Where to, my lamb? Found someplace better than our happy family here?" Wow, he was way more than angry. He was furious.

"I'm a student now at a Royal Academy way...way up in the North. Across the Emerald Ocean. I'm going back there after this."

"Why? What's waiting for you? Is it a girl? I bet it is...a pretty little maiden with milky skin and nice firm tits. I bet you think you're in love. I'll use her guts for garters, Loren, and I'll make a trophy of her head. No one can love you like your brothers love you."

He was a little shocked by the sudden violence in Ouit, but righteousness helped him back to his feet.

"Is that right?" Loren seethed, matching Ouit glare-for-glare. "I've got my brothers' love. Who needs the blood of a hind when I've got my brothers' love?"

"Love is not a poison, Loren, but if it is, then you need a taste of the snake that bit you. Certainly nothing else is going to salve those gaping wounds of yours." Ouit backed up slowly and deliberately, fixing Loren with his bedroom eyes that promised a dose of the venom he spoke of.

Silence fell as Loren met and held Ouit's eyes, without pride or challenge, steady as the air was still. It was something the old Loren never would have had the courage to do--not just standing up to a senior Rankhara, or denying something to someone he loved, but doing it earnestly. He wasn't a dancing flame anymore, he was a weak and steady glow.

The lull lengthened.

"How did you know I was coming back?" he asked finally, when Ouit's gaze was too intense to be borne any longer.

"I'm sorry?"

"All the presents. How did you know when I'd be back?"

Ouit's eyes flicked from the presents to Loren back to the presents, tangling with himself. Apparently he lost.

"We didn't. You've been gone one year, Loren. That's one birthday, one midwinter, and one summer solstice. You weren't here to give the gifts to, so we all just left them in your room."

"But how did you know I'd be back? Lan said he'd given up on me already."

"You're back, aren't you?" Ouit snapped. "Lan needs to have more faith."

Silence fell as Loren viewed the gifts with renewed wonder and Ouit just looked gorgeously sulky.

Happy Birthday, Loren

I hope this blanket protects you and keeps you warm

"Did you get my gift?" Ouit asked.

Ouit's...the book of sexual positions. "Yes, I did. It was lewd."

Ouit's scowl morphed into a smirk. He didn't care about being lewd. "I dog-eared the pages we should try. Do you want top or bottom?"

Lili, Ness, and Awariye. But would it work for Ouit? "Stop it, Ouit. You SAY you love me, but do you mean it? I don't want to have sex with you. I don't want to have sex with anyone here. Do you love me enough to respect my wishes and not force yourself upon me?"

That was definitely not what Ouit wanted to hear. The near-crazy was back in his face. "That's it? After all the drama, and all the bloodshed, and all the heartache, I'm just supposed to walk away? Leave you alone and pathetically unmolested? Let you push me away? That's how I'm supposed to say I'm sorry?"

"No," Loren said. "Just say you're sorry, man. And be done with it."

Ouit tilted his head back, considering Loren from beneath half-closed lashes. "You're a changed man, Loren," he said finally, as much for himself as he said it for Lorie. He tapped his fingers on the doorframe above his head, thinking. "Fine. I'll leave you alone. For now," he ended, emphasizing that this tolerance wouldn't last.

After Ouit left Loren set about piling as much shit in front of his door as he felt the room could spare. He wanted a full night of sleep; nine hours, uninterrupted, 'unmolested', nearly half a day so he only had three halves left to waste. And he most certainly didn't want to wake up dead. He wasn't sure how that could happen but he knew somehow it was a possibility and he didn't want it to happen.

Yawning and fumbly Loren pulled off his grimy old ship clothes and pulled on new clothes from his bag, after a moment's hesitation about whether or not to get clothes from his drawers or his closet. He decided to use what he'd brought as much to make a statement as it was to avoid revisiting the past. Bad enough he'd be sleeping surrounded by gifts and peace offerings from a time and a people he'd thought he'd never see again--nostalgia was practically choking him, and he didn't really know if he wanted to go back. Calle was right, it did no good to swell on the past. He couldn't keep looking back when it took everything he had to look forward. As he plummeted to sleep, tense and rigid in a way he felt he couldn't help, he remembered thinking: now was the time to move on. No more living in the past. From now on there would be only the future.