Closed Eyes - 16

When Cece's only reply was a blank stare, Dravin patted his sword hilt and tapped the eagle in flight on his chest. "We are all King Xvenaad's men, but we each have our parts to watch over. My Seat is to watch over the Kreesh men, those of us that know the long sword and are dedicated to its purpose. We stand behind the Captain, of course, for he is the main leader of the whole army, but one man cannot train each individual weapon we have on hand…" Dravin trailed off, a slight flush in his cheeks as he realized how much he was rambling. 

Clearing his throat and standing impossibly straight, making him seem even taller than Bramaad, Dravin gestured toward Cece. "I have heard rumor of your name, stranger, but I prefer to be properly introduced." 

"I am Cece Marks," she said simply, giving her current last name. She had confused Loyie enough claiming a new last name in a few short months, and she felt foolish explaining every detail to a dream that should know what it meant to marry and take a new name. 

"Cece Marks," Dravin repeated, bowing again that made him adjust the sword on his hip, "it is good to finally know a stranger's name. Let the Eagle protect you and keep watch over you." 

Cece raised an eyebrow. She had heard the men say as much to Loyie, but thought it was more of a sign of the small woman's station and a sign of respect. Unsure of what to say in reply, Cece simply murmured, "And may it watch over you in battle and lead you to glory." It was not the usual response Loyie had given, but Cece was not one to simply repeat what she had heard, and chose words based off what she felt would have more impact. Dravin did not seem to notice the difference, however. 

Straightening, Dravin's dark brown eyes drifted to Cece and seemed to drink her in and assess every detail about her all at the same time, making her shift under that uncomfortable gaze. She felt her cheeks heat and her pulse race as if he were Patrick giving her the most loving look possible. 

Just as she was about to tell Dravin to stop looking at her so intently, he simply smiled and let his gaze turn to sweep across the many small mud huts surrounding them. Cece hadn't noticed if others were watching, but didn't dare look now that her cheeks were as red as her sunburn. 

"It seems you gather attention wherever you stand, Cece Marks. Wandering about will not be the best idea. Even in the presence of the King himself these men would be suspicious of you. It will take time for them to trust, but not today." Dravin's eyes continued to search amongst the huts as if searching for someone. "Not after what happened today," he finished in a murmur, his hands clenching tighter on his sword hilt. 

Cece frowned, not understanding what the man meant, but gave her no room to question him as he beckoned her to follow him. She felt a sudden sense of unease and tension about the man, but he sauntered along a well-used path as if a cat stalking a mouse. 

"You are a very dangerous man," Cece murmured to herself, though nearly cursed when Dravin turned and raised an eyebrow questioningly. 

"We are all deadly in our own way, Cece. Even someone that knows nothing about the tactics of war or weapons can be very deadly. Someone with the wrong information, even with the best of intentions, can ruin a mission that could be deadly to every man going with it." 

Dravin's eyes seemed to darken, making Cece wonder if he were speaking from experience, or if he meant it as a warning for Cece. 

Cece only nodded, not daring to reply. Patrick had often talked about how cops are sometimes more deadly to themselves than the man holding a gun to your head. The simple act of letting down your guard could get everyone killed. 

As if making sure that Cece would remain silent, Dravin stroked the hilt of his weapon and gave her a wolfish smile that made her snap her mouth shut. 

"Will I at least get to learn about the purpose of this… village?" Cece asked finally, as soon as Dravin's intent stare left her face for a few moments. 

Dravin only chuckled and started moving forward along the path once more. "We are not a village, though I'm sure sometimes the men feel like it is. We've been here too long, but a cornered mouse can do nothing but back further into the corner and hope the cat's paw doesn't catch it too fast." 

"Or you can try and bite the paw," Cece murmured, though this time Dravin did not seem to hear. 

"But in either case, it is not my place to tell you what we are doing here. The King gave specific orders, and as a first Seat, I will see them through. You will stay with my sister among the Kreesh men. They will not do you harm, but don't expect a warm welcome, either." 

Cece rolled her eyes at the man's very muscular looking back and briefly admired his head of loose black curls that made him seem all the more dashing with his flourishing bows from before. This dream keeps handing me very good looking men, but none of them Patrick! What am I supposed to be getting out of this other than some eye candy? 

"At least tell me what are groups there are. You handle the… long sword… you said? What others are there?" 

Dravin did not pause as he took a side path, slightly less worn than the major path they were on. Cece could tell that this group had been stationed there for well over a year, or else they wouldn't have made mud huts, rather than tents. She knew nothing about the tactics of war or battles, but she was confident that she would rather have a hut than a tent if she decided to spend time outdoors for longer than a few weeks. Her mind certainly was paying attention to all the small details in this long, never-ending dream. 

"I'm afraid that it would bore you to hear about our organization, plus you'd be too confused over the names. Get used to the Kreesh men first, then maybe I can introduce you to a few of the other commanders." 

Cece sighed and brushed a silvery strand of hair back over her shoulder. She still had not noticed a single breeze within the wooded forest, yet the temperature felt pleasant and comfortable. Such a strange place with no answers. Maybe I'm somehow getting ahead of my mind and is just trying to fill in the holes… 

Dravin turned down yet another path that led to a wide clearing filled with more men, all wearing the armor with the sun and eagle on their arms, rather than their chest as Dravin had. Cece supposed that it was to show rank, more than anything. Many of them were practicing with their long swords while other men and women without armor walked quickly as if on an errand. Few children were in the clearing, though a few laughed and played near the hastily built mud huts.

 

"Welcome to the Kreesh camp, Dravin said over his shoulder, giving a flourish of his hand and giving a mock bow. His eyes sparkled mischievously, causing Cece to shake her head. What kind of trouble will this man give me?

 

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Times Forgotten (Post Four)

They had camped at an old way-station, an outpost that was often used by travelers and merchants when they had business with the Iron Wells.  His men's tents, made of deep crimson and bright yellow fabric and emblazoned with the bust of a golden ram, were easy to pick out in the quickly thinning forest.  He could see that they had already begun setting up a central fire and pulling out a large cast-iron cook pot.

Alec's belly rumbled, reminding him that he had not eaten since he left the camp that morning.  Food had not been an issue since their departure from Gaewyn, something that his group was certainly not used to; the hardships of war extended well beyond the ends of each battle.  No, the luxury of stopping at each town and city had kept their pack animals loaded and their bellies full.  The King's coin made sure of it.

His men saluted their commander casually as he walked by, many with a quick glib aimed at Kalif who still followed close behind.  The bleeding had stopped, but his nose was still very red; Alec's fist had made a solid connection.  The Second just glared at them, sometimes coming back with a retort of his own.  Alec just laughed, keeping the uneasiness he felt buried deep inside.  It wasn't every day that things of this nature happened, and he didn't want to worry his men more than he needed to.  Besides, as far as he could tell, there was no serious harm done and he had received the worst of it by far.

It wasn't long before they came to the entrance of a tent with three gold streamers flying from an extended central mast, marking it as Alec's.  "Find Firehammer.  Tell him that I should want to see him shortly."  He shifted and fidgeted in his gilded and polished officer armor.  Not meant for battle, it was lighter than the plate that he normally wore, but stiff and uncomfortable from disuse.  "I want to get out of this formal gear and into something more appropriate, and then I must talk to him."  He turned to Kalif and clapped the man on the shoulder in dismissal.  His second saluted and made his way towards one of the old stone structures at the back of the way station.

Alec sighed and undid the strap holding his tent closed. The cool, dark interior that greeted him was refreshing though he knew that he couldn't stay for long.  He tossed his bright red cloak onto a stand and began undoing his stiff, uncomfortable armor.  As he stretched for the rear clasps holding his cuirass, his fingers brushed over some strange marks in the metal.  He pulled the plate off and turned it around, startled to find claw-marks etched deep into the decorative gilding.  Claw marks that had not been there when he put the armor on.

A shudder ran through him as he laid the piece down on his cot.  Not many things had that effect on the weapons master, but being so helpless and close to death reminded him of just how small he was.  Indeed, he was nothing more than a single officer in a vast army, easily replaceable and easily forgotten.  The world and everything that happened in it was beyond him.  The balance of power, ever changing as it was, left him feeling like a piece of wood floating in frothy white rapids.  If left unchecked, he couldn't help but feel swept up in it all.

He quickly turned the plate over, not wanting to dwell any longer, and continued to pull off the rest of his rigid armor.  A groan of relief left him as he finally shrugged out of his red velvet covered arming doublet, heaping the padded garment with the rest of his Officer's armor as he stretched his sore shoulders and back.  Even if the riding was smooth, it should be at least a couple weeks before he would have need of the flashy armor again, and he couldn't be more glad.  Finery had never held any attraction for him, as it only seemed to complicate things.  Oftentimes, simplicity was much more useful.

Alec pulled off his damp undershirt and tossed it aside.  A bucket of cold, clean water sat next to his cot, a cloth laid neatly over the edge.  He made quick work of washing up; the air was much warmer at the base of the mountain, but the early nip of winter could already be felt.  He quickly tugged on a clean undershirt before selecting a dark blue shirt to go over it.  Though much less formal, the shirt still held the gold Ram Insignia on his left breast and sported three gold bands around each cuff to represent his rank.  His fine, light-brown paints with gold embroidery were replaced with another, still brown but lacking the fine stitch-work.  His polished black boots were replaced with a plain, dark brown pair that was much more suited for the long ride back to Gaewyn.  Finally, he threw a dark red cloak around his shoulders.  The trailing edge held the three bars of his rank, and the clasp had the Ram etched into its gold surface.

With one last stretch and a quick smoothing of his garments, Alec pulled open the entrance to his tent and stepped back out into the light.  Kalif stood to the side, ready to escort Alec to the dwarf.  "He's waiting for you in one of the old stone huts back this way." The Second gestured to the line of old stone structures left from when the Dwarves first moved in to the Iron Well.  With Alec's nod, he turned to lead the way.

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Closed Eyes - 15

Loyie watched Cece go, only feeling slight concern at her sudden exit. She could hardly blame the girl, for it was a lot to take in with not the most warm of welcomes. She had more of a temper than Loyie expected, though she never questioned what the prophecy told her. Anyone can change, given time, she reminded herself. Loyie had too many other problems to contend with to worry over such a small detail. 

“I should send someone to watch her,” the king murmured, his eyes also glued to the door of his hut. 

Loyie nodded and turned from the door, already moving on to the next topic she wanted to discuss with the king. “Dravin of the Kreesh would do well to watch her. His sister will be more than open to housing Cece for a few nights.” 

Xvenaad finally tore his eyes away from the door to give Loyie a startled look. “Dravin? Why him, of all people?” 

Smiling, Loyie took a few steps toward the king and placed a hand lightly on his arm. “Dravin is liked by his men, and he has the largest group. If he accepts her, many others will.” 

The king nodded his agreement and stepped around Loyie to stick his head out the door. She heard him mutter a few words before stepping back inside his hut. She knew it would not take long before the king stepped right where she needed him to be and bring up the topic she could not dredge up herself. Being tied to prophecy created unusual circumstances, though very few ever knew just how much Loyie had to dance around pretenses with the prophecies, and none of them were still alive. 

“I cannot afford to have a rebellion in my own camp,” Xvenaad said, his tone full of warning. Loyie knew the king would not want to drop the topic of Cece so lightly, despite all that had happened that day. 

Loyie only nodded, slowly making her way toward the tattered map of the land. She could see the troops had made no major advancements since she last checked, though felt no surprise. They had lost many today in a battle Loyie had warned was futile, but she knew as if it had been already written in stone that Commander Eerle would take his battle axmen against her warnings to try and ambush the Grignogn supply wagons. Eerle had always been brash, though no one but Loyie had known that it would lead to his and many other men’s demise. 

Losing had been a major blow to the other soldiers in the camp, which made for a dangerous situation for Cece to step into. Men were always suspicious of what they could not explain away, and even more suspicious when it tied to a dangerous prophecy. 

Finally, Loyie spoke softly, though not taking her eyes off the battered map, “As long as Prince Bramaad chooses not to spread more unneeded rumors, you will not have dissent amongst your camp.” 

“I don’t suppose you can tell by prophecy whether or not my fool son will ever become less of a fool?” Xvenaad asked dryly. Loyie glanced up from the map, finally seeing a bit of the man’s old humor before his face fell once more. 

“I’m afraid not, Xvenaad, but there are steps that need to be made so he will not detest Cece so.” 

The king frowned and moved closer to the map where Loyie now pointed. He was a rather large man, used to looming over people. Loyie supposed he used it to his advantage to intimidate people, though she had never viewed the man as more than a mere man wanting to keep his people together. Though I have had to deal with enough kings to last me another ten prophecies! Her small frame also made her more than used to people looming over her, but it had been several hundred years since she had actually felt intimidated by anyone because of their mere size. 

“What steps are you thinking, Watcher?” the king asked suspiciously, eyeing the placement of where Loyie was pointing. 

Loyie tapped the map with a finger. It was on the main kingdom, Seyew itself, the land they were all fighting to regain. “How many eyes do we have in the city?” She was almost there, casually guiding the king to the proper topic she needed him to be on. 

Xvenaad frowned at the map, as if it would give him the answers he needed. “What does that have to do with our new guest and my son?” 

Sighing impatiently, Loyie tapped the map more pointedly. Some days were harder not to interfere than others. “Answer the question, king.” 

Not taking any offence to Loyie’s lack of respect for his title, Xvenaad finally looked away from the map. “They have all gone silent. It’s hard to tell whether they grew too fearful to leave the city or if they were found and killed.”

Loyie nodded, knowing full well the answers to the questions she asked. “So we need someone to go in and give us an update, yes?” 

The king eyed her suspiciously. “Are you suggesting sending in that girl and my son into the city to find out what is happening?” 

Loyie only shrugged and spread her hands innocently. At least Xvenaad had always been quick to draw sharp conclusions, unlike his son. “If that is your wish, my king. Though it may solve some problems of trust between the two and enable us to retrieve more refugees. I believe it to be an interesting solution.” 

“Are you mad?” the king burst out, his self-restraint clearly gone. “Bramaad is the prince of Seyew! If the Grignogn’s don’t recognize him the moment he walks into those city gates, someone else might recognize him and betray him to a Grignogn! We cannot be sure how loyal any are that are left in the city. We don’t even know if this Cece girl can do anything beyond lose her temper!” 

Loyie raised an eyebrow and waited for the king’s tirade to die down to mere sputters. She would bring the king to see her way, but she had not expected him to throw a tantrum as if he were a young man again. Sometimes Loyie wondered how Xvenaad seemed to be blind to the fact that his son was acting the same as he had when he was a foolish young man. 

“Bramaad spent little time out in the city where the peasants could see him, if you recall. If he is seen in the city and is recognized, then he is even more of a fool than we could believe for wandering too close to the manor houses of the inner city. As for the girl, did you not notice how you wished to listen to her whenever she spoke?” 

Coolly, Loyie crossed her arms and watched the king mull over what she had said. His expression hardened as he finally nodded. 

“This still doesn’t make the plan any less foolish. This Cece girl will not do anything she doesn’t want to. That is plain to see,” Xvenaad said, though he sounded more as if he were trying to convince himself than anyone else. 

Loyie smiled. “Any woman will see sense, no matter how crazy the idea is, as long as it gives her something she wants in return.” 

The king sighed heavily and drew a chair up to the battered map before taking a seat. “Alright, Watcher, guide me to what I need to know.” 

Nearly bursting with relief, Loyie directed the king’s attention to the map once more. It certainly was going to be a long night.

 

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Times Forgotten (Post Three)

Alec realized that he was more nervous now than he had been in a very long time.  Numerous battles had come and gone, his life dangling on a wire many-a-time, and still they could not match the tension that had seeped into him now.  He had to remind himself to breath, slowly and evenly, or else he would never be able to react in time should something actually happen.  He glanced back off into the darkness.  Now is not the time to forget his training.

Alec returned his gaze forward, only it was no longer what had been there before.  Instead he found himself looking back into the trees where that darkness waited.  He shuddered and closed his eyes but when he opened them, nothing had changed.  Then he realized that the horse was gone.  Baldrik was no longer beside him on the bench.  Instead it was just him, alone, surrounded by ancient trees and looking straight into the darkness now looming ahead.  A darkness that was now seemingly alive and creeping forward.

He tried to call out, but his voice failed him.  In fact, his entire body was rooted to the spot.  His sword sat in his lap, hand on the pommel, but he could will nothing to move.  Instead he sat, transfixed on the now smoke-like shadows.  Tendrils twined and snaked, disturbed by an unfelt breeze, as they wormed their way forward.  A subtle hiss could be heard as dropped pine needles scattered in the passing.

Suddenly it was cold, colder than any winter storm Alec had felt.  His breath puffed unsteadily in the chill but his brow continued to bead sweat.  His fingers twitched uselessly over his sword.  Still the smoke rolled forward.  He could smell it now, like stale air trapped for far too long.  His vision began to blur as his eyes watered from the cold.

Soon it stopped, a smoky wall swirling no more than an arm's length from where Alec sat frozen in his seat.  His past rolled through his head.  He thought of all the times that he should have been dead, all the wounds that he had taken in the service of his king.  It stung him that, after it was all said and done, he should leave this world in such a helpless state.  His teeth gritted as he stared the darkness down.  The least he could do was look death in the face.

Suddenly, many hands shot out of the smoke like snakes.  Grey, peeling skin rasped like leaves as their long, spindly fingers grabbed at Alec, pulling him off his seat and hoisting him into the air.  A strange face slowly rose from the smoke, gaunt skin was pulled tight over too-high cheekbones and a long, narrow chin.  Silver teeth glistened from under parched lips, and shriveled lids hung over empty eye sockets.  Wisps of grey smoke curled from every orifice.

It rose slowly, shoulders sharp and angular soon leaning forward, bringing the face inches from Alec's.  He could feel his body trembling despite his best wishes.  Hands moved to cradle the weapons master's head, forcing him to look deep into the dry, empty sockets of the creature.

"Blood of the Haz'Raith, soul of the Redkin.  Mountains shall fall in his passing.  Dust to those who follow."  It drew him closer still, its nails digging into his temples as silver teeth began to gnash.  Then it was gone.

Alec's vision blurred and he slumped.  He was aware of being shaken, but not much else.  For a few brief seconds in his stupor he thought the creature had come back.  Instinct took over and he threw a fist, guessing as best as he could where his foe was.  It made contact with a crack and a yowl.  And oddly human yowl.

He shook his head and did his best to blink the haze away.  As his vision slowly cleared he could make out men surrounding him.  His second in command, Kalif, sat back a few feet nursing a bloody nose.  A steady stream of curses could be heard coming from him.

"What happened?"  Alec rubbed his bruised knuckles with his other hand.  He was still a little light headed from his ordeal.

"You damn near leveled Kalif, sir."  The casual reply received a few snickers from the group of men standing around.

"You'd be out cold if it had been you!"  Kalif's retort was muffled through blood and his hands.  The men laughed.

"No, no.  I see that, and I am truly sorry Kalif, but what happened?  How did I get here?"  He looked past the men to see that they were in a clearing somewhere in the younger, outer layers of the forest.  Neither the cart or Baldrik were anywhere in sight.  "Where is Firehammer?"

"Firehammer is fine.  After you disappeared, he steered the cart to the camp and got us out looking for you."  Alec had always kept and easy air with his closest men and so they felt confident speaking to him as an equal.  His ability to keep level with them is part of what gained him such great respect in the ranks.  "As to how you got here?  We were hoping that you could tell us."

The men became serious and all eyes turned to him.  Alec firmed his jaw and stood, if a bit shakily, with the aid of the tree at his back.  "I can't rightly say what happened.  I'm not even sure if I know myself.  I have no memory of ending up here, or even leaving the cart for that matter."  He turned to look back into the forest, a brief shudder running through him, but he checked it before his men could notice.  "Though I suppose the important thing is that Baldrik is safe.  For now, let us return to camp and prepare for the night.  We leave at dawn tomorrow."

His men snapped their heels in attention and saluted before turning back towards camp.  Kalif, still covering his nose with a bloody cloth, waited behind with Alec.  "Sir, forgive me, but are sure that you are alright?"

"That I am, Kal."  He put a hand on his second's shoulder in reassurance.  "I don't know what happened, but a little food and some rest will have me back to top shape."  He looked around again, absently rubbing his chin in thought.  "On that note, where exactly are we?"  All he could see were trees beyond the clearing.  Any smoke from the camp was still hidden by the canopy above.

"We're about a half mile south east of the camp right now.  It's a fairly easy walk"  Kal gestured in the direction of the camp as he spoke.

"Then we best get back.  I need to talk to Firehammer immediately."  Alec took a step and stumbled, still feeling weaker than he expected to.  Kal caught him and supported him by his shoulders.  With his second's aid, Alec started towards the trees again in silence.  He had a lot to think about, and many unanswered questions floated through his head.  Hopefully Baldrik would be able to shed some light for him.

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Wanting Peace

Jonathon smiled brightly as he tapped his inked quill against the blank page. "I've got it!" he exclaimed, though there was no one around to hear him. It did not matter. All that mattered was that the words were finally coming back to him. 

He had been staring at the blank page all night, wracking the smallest memory out of his head while his wife had long since retired to bed. Her smile had been of encouragement, but he had seen in her eyes just how worried she was. Jonathon had to be careful to note every last detail, every last memory from his time with those strange people. He had not been a prisoner, but rather someone they let wander about their small camps. He certainly had not seemed a threat to them after he explained how he only wanted to learn. 

Jonathon wanted nothing more than to have peace between his people and the other tribes that had the land before them. They were gracious and full of knowledge of the land that he had never dreamed was possible. Jonathon had never farmed before he came this far west. His true place was with quill and paper, writing like he had back in the city. Mary wanted to escape from the city life, however, and he wanted nothing more than for her to be happy.  

So he had tossed his writings in his luggage and the two made their way west, along with what seemed like hundreds of people. Jonathon thought they were all foolish, trying so hard to claim land when most of them had been city folk, but Jonathon knew how to find out information. "Don't worry, dear, I will find out how to make us prosperous farmers!" he had told her, and meant every word of it at the time. 

Now that he hadn't touched his writings in several weeks, Jonathon had been itching to break off the stoppers on his ink wells and start something fresh. He wanted to write more than anything, but his wife chided him and reminded him what chores still needed to be done. Farming was more exhausting than creating a brand new story from scratch!  

Then trouble happened, when some of the Indian tribes tried to chase them from the land that the men laid claim to. Jonathon did not agree that they were savages like some of the other men in his community, but rather volunteered to find out what would make them happy. And learn how to make crops grow more quickly and better than the other farmers had successfully done. If these people have always lived out in the west, they must have some tricks for him to learn. He wanted to be the most prosperous farmer in the area, as he had promised his wife months before. 

And learn he did. He did not understand their language, but he understood their methods. He observed while they observed him. Of course he had set up a pact and brought gifts they did not have in exchange for their knowledge, but none gave him trouble. The women seemed to encourage him to help pick vegetation and even taught him how to gut a bison. It was more than he as a city man ever dreamed of doing. 

Every time he came back home, his wife embraced him as if he had been gone years, then kissed his cheek and told him to write it all down. Remember every detail that will help them understand who these people were. 

This time, Jonathon had not liked what he saw. Men from his community were closing in on the tribes and fighting would not be far away. As much as he did not believe in violence, he could see the Indian tribe getting ready for a war. They showed him spear points and arrow heads, things that would give them advantages, while he sat quietly and refused to tell them of the muskets and pistols his men would use against them. Not that he would ever raise his hand against either man. 

Writing quickly, Jonathon wrote briefly of the hunting methods used by the tribe. He did not mention their true intentions of war on his own community, but did feel clever as he whipped words into sounding more docile than they truly were. Surely the men in his community would appreciate the artistic view of his words and not view the Indians as 'savages' any longer. They simply needed peace between white man and red man. 

Dusting sand across the inked words, Jonathon beamed at his detailed work. It wasn't one of his masterpieces, but then again, this had little need for imagination in them. 

Quickly he set the page down and stoppered the ink well before standing from his small desk. He stretched and carefully tucked away his quills, not wanting anything bent or twisted if he could prevent it. He hated making new quills. 

Grunting in surprise as the door to his home rattled, Jonathon grabbed the lit candle from his desk and hurried to the front door. He hoped Mary wouldn't wake. She got little enough sleep as it was. 

"Open the door, John! We've got a problem!" a gruff voice yelled before Jonathon could yank open the door. He certainly was not pleased to be disturbed so late in the evening. 

"What is it, Hank? Mary is trying to sleep and I just now finished with my next-" 

"It doesn't matter. You've been feeding us a bunch of crock!" Hank said, his face twisted in pure anger. His eyes were glistening orbs of onyx, making Jonathon shudder despite the unusually warm night. 

"They are not bad people," Jonathon said as calmly as he could manage. He felt as if he were writing the bitter twist in a story, and he was the main character about to lose everything, despite all his efforts. "All I want is for us to have peace!" 

Hank reached forward and grabbed the collar of Jonathon's plain gray shirt. Slowly he pulled Jonathon forward until their faces were within inches of one another. Jonathon was too mesmerized to even think of pulling back.

"Then why did they just take my wife and daughter? Why did they just burn my home? Everything I own!" 

Jonathon merely shook his head, careful not to spill any of the wax onto his hand as he held the candle closer to Hank. He could see the man was covered in dirt and soot with blood on the side of his face. His green eyes rose to the north where Hank's farm once stood and could see orange through the trees, though the smell of fire had not reached his home yet. 

"Hank, why did you kill one of the families today?" Jonathon said calmly. He had seen it with his own eyes. All I want is peace… 

Hank's grip tightened and he began shaking Jonathon as if he were a girl's doll. The candle wax spilled over Jonathon's hand, making him cry out and drop the lit candle. 

"Because I can't stand sharing my land with one of those savages!" 

Jonathon stomped out the candle as best he could, desperately not wanting his home to turn into Hank's. He gripped Hank's beefy arm and held tight. 

"Then your pride has cost you everything! If all of you had just listened to my suggestions in the first place, you wouldn't have Sally and Maylin missing!" 

Jonathon thought he could hear Hank's teeth grinding as he shook Jonathon harder. The man was reaching for his belt, though without light, it was hard for Jonathon to see what. 

"Hank, don't do anything else you'll regret tonight. I can probably go to the tribe tomorrow and-" 

"Jonathon?" Mary's voice came from the back of the house, a candle in her hand. "Is that you, Hank?" 

"Yes ma'am, and your husband here thinks that all his work has made the savages less deadly. You are in danger, Mary. They took Sally and Maylin," Hank said, and although he had stopped shaking Jonathon, he seemed no less ready to let him go. 

"Hank, I'm so sorry! Jonathon said they were harmless, so maybe he can talk some sense into them…" slowly Mary trailed off as she came to the door, her mass of brown hair loose around her shoulders. 

Jonathon was able to crane his neck just enough to smile at his beautiful wife. He always thought the warm glow of candlelight brought out the coloring of her skin and made him want to write her in an epic tale.  

"I will try, Mary, but Hank has to let me go, first." 

But Mary's eyes never flicked toward her husband. Instead, she stared wild eyed at Hank, her pale blue eyes never blinking. 

"Hank, please put that down. Jonathon will do his best, I promise you will see your wife and daughter again." 

Slowly Jonathon turned back to face Hank, the man's onyx eyes no less cold than they had been. Now that there was candle light near him once more, Jonathon could see the small pistol in the man's hands. 

"No Mary. John is going to lose everything, just like I did," Hank said slowly, deliberately.

In what felt like seconds, Jonathon heard two loud bangs. He felt dazed as he realized he was sprawled across the floor, Mary beside him, a rosebud blooming out of her chest. Her blue eyes held a tear in them, but her lips did not move. He could not feel anything but sadness as those beautiful blue eyes lost its light. 

"All I wanted was peace," he whispered, not aware of the candle that had fallen a caught against the curtains Mary had worked so hard on. 

Jonathon slowly rolled onto his back, gasping for air as he clutched for Mary's cold hand. He smiled, in spite of himself. What a fitting end for a character in one of my tales.

Times Forgotten (Post Two)

Fortunately, though it was still a ways off, the smoke from his men's fire was easy to see over the treetops, the lazy grey streamer drifting up into the crystal blue sky.  They had been lucky that the mountains had blessed them with a rare bit fair weather, something that would soon become a memory once winter fully descended the rocky slopes.  Alec looked up at the snowy peaks of the Thorn Mountains, well aware that their storms are the stuff of legends.  Many men, both friend and foe of the dwarves, had been lost in sudden whips of lethal fury from these mountains.  Survivors would tell stories about how the roaring winds would hurl the snow so hard that any exposed skin would be worn raw in minutes.

He also knew that, despite the untouched look of this particular peak, named Rorrin's Horn after Baldrik's ancient ancestor, the dwarves had many eyes watching them at all times.  Story told that the entire mountain had been turned into a winding network of tunnels and lookouts, masterfully crafted in such a way that the untrained eye would never see them.  Dwarves could be devilishly sneaky creatures when it came to protecting their secrets.  The man sighed and returned his attention to the path ahead of them.

As they travelled farther and farther down into the tree line, leaving that area above which nothing grew, it became harder and harder to pick out the camp's fire.  Soon they were enveloped in a mass of towering, ancient pines that cut off everything but brief glimpses of the sky directly above.  It was deceptively peaceful, the sounds and smells of the forest so serene and seemingly untouched.  Yet any wise man knew that ancient trees often harbored ancient creatures who would fiercely protect their home.  This place was no exception.  Between the unforgiving mountains and the surrounding forest, it was not hard to understand why the Iron Wells remained hidden for so long.

Indeed, even one as experienced with a blade as Alec could feel worry here.  He reached over and checked that his sword was close by and ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.  Even Baldrik had stopped his muttering and was warily watching the surrounding trees.

"You dwarves surely know how to pick a perfect spot to call home..."  Alec tried his best to release at least some of his tension.  There was nothing to be alarmed of.  Yet.

"Aye, we do be knowing the value of our home."  Baldrik still sounded distant, but his eyes were sharp.  "Asides, what we be here for lies 'neath us. We don't be caring too much for what's up here."

The dwarf's ability to insert his disdain for the surface into almost anything he said was astounding.  Alec just shook his head again; "Yes, I know."

They fell back into silence as both were too involved in watching and listening to the forest around them.  Even the horses were listening.  Their ears were flicking wildly, and they hardly made a noise but for the sound of their hooves in the dead pine needles on the ground for there was no paved path for them to follow.  Instead Alec guided his wagon through the woods following subtle markers and clues placed by the dwarves.  Things simple as a fallen tree, positioned just so, or a pile of rocks that, to any untrained passerby, would seem completely natural.  Dwarves could be sneaky, but these were exceptionally so.

"We be watched.  And it aint me boys."  Baldrik's voice was low and gruff.  He still seemed outwardly uninterested, but there was a hint of the tension now built up in the stubby dwarf's body: the tip of a studded mace could be seen sticking out from under the folds of his heavy cloak.

A subtle nod of Baldrik's head directed Alec's hooded gaze to the right of the wagon, off into the dark thicket of trees.  The gloom was so heavy that the man could hardly see anything, but he could almost feel whatever was watching them, lurking just out of eyesight.  The small hairs on the back of his neck prickled.  "Can you tell what it is?"

"Aint no way to be knowin'.  Most men 'er dead that's seen what be out here."  He paused and rubbed a finger under his nose, sniffling heavily before returning his hand to his cloak.  "Though I don't be thinkin' we in trouble just yet. 'Else it wouldn't a showed isself."

Alec supposed the old dwarf had a point.  Part of him found it odd that the tribe of the Iron Well would allow their founder and leader to tread this dangerous path out of the peak.  He supposed that the dwarves in all their secrecy saw move value in keeping their cards close than in a single, albeit legendary, dwarf smith.  It might even have been at Baldrik's command: regardless of how things turned out, the forges would still be burning long after Baldrik Firehammer joined his ancestors in the hallowed halls of the afterlife.

The weapons master continued to glance in the direction of whatever was following them between course adjustments.  He never once caught a glimpse of it beyond a darker shadow shrouded in even more shadow.  He found the sudden silence unsettling.  Besides the creaking of the wagon and the clop of hooves through the underbrush, there was not a sound to be heard.  Any breeze had gone still, birds and forest critters had ceased what they were doing.  It felt almost as if one giant, collective breath was being held in anticipation for what would come next.

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Rustle #3

Rustle Donaldson III strode down the marble floored hallway, his head held high, nodding to the other students as he passed. Everyone in the school knew who he was and he liked it that way. He always had his best friend, Craig, at his side, leading the way wherever they went. Craig had been blind ever since Rustle knew him, but Craig's father had let him live with the family ever since they were both very young. Rustle felt he owed a lot to Craig, so made sure no one picked on him. Because of Rustle, everyone loved Craig.

                "Hey Rusty, let's go back to the room," Craig said, using Rustle's nickname, and began tugging on Rusty to make sure he was listening.

                Rusty winked at a girl passing by and she visibly swooned over his dark eyes and golden haired looks. He had that affect on every girl, though Rusty never purposefully  tried to gain their attention when he was near Craig. The guy was already blind, but he had the ears of an owl and usually teased Rusty when he was trying to go for a pretty girl.

                Finally Rusty switched directions, heading down the back hallway that lead to Craig's and his own room. Ever since they went to school, they made sure to have the same dorm room. The school understood that the pair of friends could never be broken, so went through extremes to make sure everything went properly. Rusty loved the outdoors, so they even found a room that was only a short trot away from the back courtyard.

                "You know, Rusty, I haven't heard from dad in a long time. He's usually calling me and telling me about the different business trips he's gone on, or where he is traveling to next in his fancy jet plane or whatever new toy he's gotten."

                Rusty could only shrug, not knowing what to respond to such a statement. He considered Craig's dad as his own dad, but Mr. Krueger never took the time to reach out to Rusty since they left for college. Rusty had expected something like this to happen considering he didn't even know who his own father was, and knew that in general he had bad luck when it came to the father department. He was, however, instructed to take good care of Craig, and that he would. Rusty would never turn his back on his best friend.

                "He got this new boat, you know," Craig continued as if not noticing Rusty's silence. "Apparently it was fixed up by some Captain of the Navy."

                Rusty only grunted as they continued down the quiet hallway. Rusty hated being out on a boat, and Craig knew it. Rusty also knew that Mr. Krueger hated boats as well, but couldn't resist buying something he felt was worthy of his money. He could just imagine how the man would want a boat fixed up by some Captain.

                "I know, I know, you hate boats and swimming, but I thought it would be cool to home and go for a ride on it."

                Rusty knew that Craig was hinting at him coming with, but just the thought of standing in a rocking boat made his stomach become queasy. "I guess if you want to go, we can," he murmured, trying not to say it loud enough where Craig would hear him.

                "That's the spirit!" Craig exclaimed as they turned into their dorm room and shut the door behind them.

                Rusty only sighed and shook his head as he made his way toward the corner of the room to grab a snack to eat. Craig slowly made his way toward his bed, sitting down heavily and throwing his books to the ground.

                "I really don't want to do homework tonight," Craig complained, but continued to open his Ancient Civilization book and started scanning through it, using his finger as his reading guide.

                The night went by quickly with the two taking frequent breaks outside in the courtyard, talking to the other students who were also ignoring their work for a few hours to enjoy the warm fall air.

                Finally the two settled down into bed, Rusty stretched on top of his blankets while Craig settled deep within his. Rusty knew Craig was becoming increasingly worried when his father did not call him yet another night in a row. It truly was very unusual.

                "Maybe I should call him," Craig tried to reason.

                Rusty shook his head. "You know he wouldn't answer this late at night."

                Craig sighed and rolled over on his bed, ignoring Rusty's words but not picking his phone up to call his dad, either.

                Hours passed when suddenly Rusty woke with a start. He could feel the air in the room change, making his hair stand on end. It was freezing, as if the window had been blown open and snow started pouring into the room.

                Blinking in disbelief, Rusty stared at an opaque figure standing right beside Craig's bed. It looked somehow familiar as if he knew who this figure was. He had never seen a see-through person before.

                Craig also woke with a start, sitting up straight, his hands tightly clenching his blankets from fear.

                "Rusty, what is going on?" Craig said, his voice filled with his panic.

                The figure only stood there, standing over Craig's bed, completely ignoring Rusty.

                "Son," the figure spoke, making Rusty shiver. He now knew why the figure seemed so familiar. "Listen closely, son. I was out on that boat. It crashed. Don't worry. I went quickly. Keep close to Rusty."

                As soon as Mr. Krueger had appeared in his ghostly form, he disappeared and the temperature in the room turned back to normal. Rusty felt his body begin to unfreeze, though he felt his panic rise.

                "It was dad! Something's wrong! Dad was a spirit! What's going on!?!"

                Craig threw his blanket off and ran to where his phone sat in its usual place on his desk. Rusty could see the light from the phone as it was flipped open and Craig dialed a number.

                Rusty's panic only grew and he jumped off his bed, yelling in fear, "What's going on? Why did I see dad standing by your bed? I don't understand!"

                Craig turned to Rusty and snapped, "Shut up! I'm trying to call dad's phone!"

                But no one answered. The two stayed up the entire night, side by side waiting for his phone to ring. But both of them knew that something was seriously wrong. Even Craig, who did not see his dad in spirit, felt his presence and heard his voice. Rusty was still trying to understand.

                Before the sun was peaking above the horizon, Craig finally got the call. His father had taken his new boat out to sea without waiting for his hired captain to take him. He had been impatient, and had therefore paid the ultimate price, capsizing out at sea.

                Craig had then thrown his arms around Rusty, weeping for hours while Rusty sat in numb silence. Mr. Krueger hadn't even said good bye to him in ghost form. He truly was an unwanted son, but knew his role was to be a protector for his best friend.

                "Don't worry, everything will be okay," Rusty reassured him.

                Another semester passed and the two were back home for the summer. Craig had never been the same since that night his father came to visit the two in the dorms. Craig became obsessed with the afterlife, knowing that something was out there, something that needed solving. Rusty wanted nothing to do with it, but unfortunately had the knack for seeing these spirits and being able to keep Craig from danger in the different run-down buildings they had been to.

                Rusty felt like Craig was searching for his father, trying to find his spirit again and talk to him one last time, but Rusty knew that his father had already moved on. However, he didn't have the heart to tell Craig that his father was beyond gone. Instead, he helped Craig find more and more evidence of otherworldly activity, which seemed to make him happy.

                Rusty had also fallen from being the most popular to just another body moving through the hallways. Craig seemed to throw people off with his internal pondering, even making Rusty want to run away a few times, but he knew he couldn't abandon Craig. So instead, he just kept his head down and pretended not to care that he was no longer the center of attention.

                "Rusty, this summer I have lined up all different places for us to visit and capture more electronic voices from ghosts. I know you can see them, so just keep letting me know they are there and I'll do the talking!"

                Rusty wanted to groan at the news, but kept silent. The house was only a reminder of the lack of life that had come from Mr. Krueger, so at least they were getting out of the house.

                "And look, Rusty, Nana Jean gave me this letter and told me the story of a nurse who committed suicide, not knowing that a man she saved left a love letter for her! Isn't that great? This nurse must be still lingering around! Maybe we can find where she lived and talk to her!"

                Rusty knew that this would be their first stop for the summer, so prepared for the adventure. There would be many more to come, so he knew better than to ask to sit out this one time. Craig had asked some others to come with them to help with the trip. Rusty didn't know how to handle the equipment, after all. He was never good with technical things.

                Several days later, the group had finished their research and headed toward a rundown farm a few hours from their home, ready to communicate with a ghost that may still be hanging around. Rusty had his doubts, but he continued on with the group. It was dark out by the time they reached their destination, but that didn't matter to any of them as they laid out the equipment in all the rooms.

                Once finished, they all sat in a wide circle in a small room, waiting for any change in the atmosphere. Finally, Craig asked the open air, "Is anyone in here?"

                Rusty scanned the room before his eyes came to an almost see-through girl curled up in the corner, openly weeping.

                "Did you hear that?" they all seemed to exclaim at once.

                The girl looked up suddenly, her eyes fearful and almost close to madness as they locked into Rusty's eyes.

                "A dog?" the girl's voice asked, sounding as if it were traveling across an entire ocean before reaching their ears. The next moment she was gone, as if the energy had been sapped right out of her.

                Craig shivered as he held out his device to capture any sounds a human ear could not hear. "Dude, did you hear that?" he asked the group. He could feel the group nod and murmur their agreement.

                Craig reached over and pet the top of Rusty's head in excitement. "You really are my seeing eye dog, aren't you? You see everything, even ghosts! This is going to be an eventful night!"

                He patted the retriever's head once more and grinned at his fellow group members. He couldn't see Rusty look up at him, but he could feel the dog's excitement as he panted and swished his tail.

                An interesting night indeed…

A Horrible Dream (Post Fifteen)

The steady drip of water is what brought her out of her dream.  She sat up, her thoughts fuzzy and thick.  Lethargy was set deep in her muscles like she hadn't moved in a week.  The room was dark and deathly silent.  She couldn't hear any of the normal sounds of the cabin and that struck her as odd.  Normally the old walls creaked or the trees were heard rustling outside.  Now there was nothing.

Sam looked around, her head refusing to make sense of anything.  She felt numb.  There were dark forms on the floor and the smell of turned earth in the air.  The cold stone slab beneath her felt rough on her skin.  Why there was a cold stone slab, she didn't know.  She shivered, rubbing her arms, suddenly aware that she was naked.  Where she was and how she got there was a mystery to her.  The last thing she could recall was going upstairs to close the crawlspace but nothing more.  Everything beyond that was hazy at best.

As feeling seeped back in to her, she realized that she was sore.  Her shoulders felt like they had been twisted in their sockets and her hands felt raw.  Sweat covered her and burned as it seeped into what had to be hundreds of cuts all over her body.  Some of them seemed to form patterns but she couldn't make them out in the gloom.

She jumped back onto the slab with a gasp when she went to stand, shocked by the clammy wet mud that her feet found on the floor.  It finally struck her that she was no longer in the cabin.  She slowly stepped back into the mud, intent on one of the mounds on the floor.  Kneeling in the dark, she reached out and touched it, recoiling when she felt the smooth skin of a person.  Rolling the body over, she fell back into the mud with a scream upon seeing the wide, glazed eyes of Jack staring back at her.  The other mounds became apparent as bodies, none of which were moving.

From the floor she noticed something above her.  Two little purple orbs floated there in the dark, like gems being lit from behind.  Something about them felt so wrong, but so very inviting, like she had seen them before.  She looked away for a second, but when she looked back they were gone.  Nothing but the gloomy shadows remained.

She stood, wrapping he arms around her chest both for warmth and to cover herself.  She was shivering, the cool, clammy air quickly chilling her.  She wanted to cry but something prevented her.  Suddenly she felt someone behind her, standing just close enough for her to know they were there.

Sam realized that she couldn't move, her body frozen in place.  The only movement she could manage was the soft shivering of both fear and cold.  Whoever was behind her moved closer, touched her, pressed against her.  The contact was warm, almost searing hot on her skin.  She tried to recoil but couldn't.   Inhumanly dark, rough arms wrapped around her shoulders and grabbed her head, turning it to one side.

"The lineage lives on..."  The whisper of a thousand voices echoed in her ear.  The creature's sickeningly hot breath rolled over her and her stomach started to churn yet she still couldn't move.  It held her for a moment longer, making no more sounds.

Then, as quickly as it came, she was alone.  Her knees buckled and she fell into the mud, curling into a protective ball.  Tears flooded to her eyes and she sobbed silently, still unsure of what had happened.  She spent a long time there before she tried to stand again, suddenly needing to find a way out.  Something was still there with her, watching and waiting as she stumbled around the bodies of her friends towards the only tunnel out.  It could be heard slinking along, the mud slopping around it as it moved.

Sam tried her best to keep moving, to ignore it, but it was no use.  It was getting closer with every step.  She turned, unable to keep her nerves any more, but stopped in silence when she found a small girl there, standing silently in the dark.  Her dark hood shrouded her face, but she couldn't be more than five or six years old.

For some reason Sam felt the need to help the girl, comfort her.  "How did you get down here?"  She knelt down and reached her hand out, "Don't worry, it'll be okay..."

Suddenly the girl's face shifted into that of a grotesque grin, her eyes blazing with purple flames.  She laughed before leaping at Sam, easily pulling her to the ground.  In seconds, everything faded again.

When Sam next awoke, she was in her chair in the cabin.  She was still naked, but all of the mud, cuts, and scrapes were gone.  Instead there was just a small gold chain around her neck, a tiny black amulet hanging from it.  She looked up and both her parents were there on the loveseat across from her, holding hands and smiling mechanically at her.  Both wore a matching gold chain and amulet.

"wha-What are you doing here?"

They just looked at each other before turning back to her, still smiling.  Behind them, on the stairs, there were two little purple orbs buried in the shadows.  Sam tried to scream but realized she had no control of her body.  Instead, she stood up from the chair and moved to kneel before her parents.  Their faces had begun to change, deep crags and rifts splitting the flesh.  Still they smiled, both placing a now-clawed hand on her shoulders, and saying "Welcome home, daughter."

Closed Eyes - 14

Cece shifted uneasily, smoothing the gaudy dress over her hips. Loyie simply stared at the closed door, her lips pressed tightly together, her eyes dancing like fire. King Xvenaad's expression could have been carved from stone. 

Finally the king tore his eyes away from the closed door to look at Cece, who couldn't seem to find a comfortable position to be standing. She constantly shifted, which was not quieted when the king's cold eyes fell on her. 

"I hope for your sake that my son is not correct," Xvenaad said in his gravelly voice. "I trust you, Watcher. You have been around for much longer than all of us and have seen things none of us would wish to see in your place. But that does not mean I trust the prophecy and its outcomes." Although his words were for Loyie, he did not look at the small woman. He continued to watch Cece, as if she would suddenly grow fangs and claws and attack. 

Loyie stayed quiet for a long moment. She seemed to be taking in the sight of the king and Cece, weighing and measuring each in turn. "Prophecy is not always what it seems. It is neither good, nor evil, but is simply a message of what will come to pass based off those that are good or evil. The best anyone can hope for is that it speaks of a positive outcome, not the death of us all." 

Xvenaad sighed and finally turned away from Cece, rubbing his temples. He no longer looked so imposing, but rather a man with too much responsibility and too much weight upon his shoulders. 

Cece felt compelled to place an arm around the large man's shoulders and assure him that everything would be just fine, though she felt silly just thinking it. Why should I make anyone in my dream feel better? I'm getting waaay too into this dream! 

Instead, Cece simply said, "King Xvenaad, I have no intentions of hurting your people, no matter what this prophecy says. I simply just have to find a way out-" 

"- of everyone's bad graces," Loyie said over Cece, finishing for her. 

Cece felt her jaw drop incredulously, though she was too stunned to interrupt once Loyie had started. The woman didn't even seem fazed that she had spoken right over the top of Cece! 

The king did not seem to notice Cece's shock as he glanced up at Loyie, nor did he seem to care that Loyie had finished Cece's sentence. "I'm afraid my son has already done much damage, but there are ways to ease the men's minds. We cannot afford anyone wasting any time watching over this… guest of ours," Xvenaad said, as if unsure what Cece's status was within their makeshift village. "We are waging a war to get back what we lost, not to stare at a strange girl that could possibly be a viper in our den. We have no choice but to quiet what we can." 

The Watcher simply nodded and bowed her head. "I will make my rounds and ease concerns as I go. I will also make sure Cece stays under my watch. It will be easier to keep an eye on the girl." 

Xvenaad shook his head and stroked his chin in thought. "No Watcher, you cannot interfere if she does start anything to hurt our people. I will find a hut to put her in where more than one pair of eyes can watch over her. 

Cece planted a fist on her hips and glared at the two. "I am standing right here!" she nearly growled, though she felt surprised at her own forceful tone. She would never say such things if she were truly in front of a king and a strange woman who seemed young yet so old at the same time, but it was her dream, and she could no longer stand the thought of those two controlling everything! 

The two stopped speaking for a moment, eyeing Cece out of the corner of their eye. The king looked slightly surprised, but neither spoke. 

"Good, now, listen!" Finally something is going as it should… "I will not be treated as a prisoner or a child. No one needs to watch over me. I will be fine and dandy without you two sending anyone to stare at me and make sure I don't scare all the children at night."  

Giving the two her best glare, she spun and stalked out the door. 

Hands clenched in frustration, Cece began wandering around the small village, her jaw set tight. She ignored the frowns from the fierce men honing their weapons or standing guard around the camp, and she ignored the indignant sniffs from the women. Even the children avoided her. 

Why the hell can't I just wake up? This is so ridiculous! It went against Cece's nature to keep thinking so negatively, but she truly was getting tired of this dream. As much as she wanted to believe that this all was just in her mind, she hated how real everything felt. The sticks and hard packed dirt under her slippered feet, the cool breeze brushing against her face, all felt more real than any dream she had ever had before. Probably why I'm in such a bad mood. This place is exhausting! 

Cece shivered and stomped on, not paying any mind to the direction she was headed. It felt good to wander about as freely as possible and not have Bramaad's hard green eyes peering at her so accusingly. 

"You know, muttering to yourself doesn't help people feel more easy around you," a warm voice said, interrupting Cece's thoughts. 

Startled, she stopped mid-stride and blinked up at the tall man standing before her, a lazy hand on the hilt of a rather long looking sword. He also wore the leather armor with the embroidered eagle and sun, though it was over his heart, rather than on his right arm like the majority of men she had seen. Despite the smirk on his lips, his eyes held a deadly cast that made Cece take a few steps back from this man. 

Not wanting to talk to anyone, Cece clamped her mouth shut and turned away from the tall man. Maybe not the smartest thing I've ever done, turning my back on a man with a big sword, but if I hear one more comment on me bringing death to these people, I'll- 

"It is also rude to turn and walk away from someone trying to engage in a conversation with you," the voice said before Cece had only gone a few steps. 

Grinding her teeth, Cece turned and gave the man her best stage smile. "Please forgive me, sir, but I'm not in a very conversational mood, at the moment." 

The man shook his head and grinned at Cece as if her smile had been genuine. "Well, I'm afraid you can't be wandering about the camp. If someone else gets a hold of you, you may as well be one of the Grivnogn. Better you be properly escorted, and I volunteer my services." The man swept a flashy bow that made Cece roll her eyes. How much more can my mind really come up with!? Now I have a flourishing swordsman! 

"I don't even know who these 'Grignogn' people are, but I'm certainly not one of them, and I've no need for an escort," Cece said firmly, only slightly pleased that she had pronounced the strange name without too much hesitation this time. It seemed easy enough to catch on their strange pronunciations once more practice was involved. 

Straightening from his bow, the man slowly frowned down at Cece. "So you truly do not know of our land," he murmured, more to himself than to Cece. 

Cece sighed heavily and glared at the man. "No, I do not know of this stupid place! I wish I'd just wake up and let it all be over with! I just want a good night's sleep with Patrick by my side." 

 

The man's frown deepened as he watched Cece warily. Instead of questioning who Patrick was, or why she felt she hadn't gotten any sleep, the man said in a formal tone, "Well, then I should start from the beggining, if you truly do not know. I am Dravin, son of Heswisx, high Seat of Liowq, and First Commander of the Kreesh men."

 

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