"Tell them what you see Feathers of Four. In the heart of the man is there a beast' Or does he pretend, wearing only the skin."

The girl was beckoned to where the man knelt. Still within maidenhood the woman-child was sacred. Tribe members discussed in hushed whispers as they watched on. Soothsayer they called her. Mystic.

These were the terms more gentle to be spoken of, kinder titles then what they spoke in secret.

"He does not pretend. His spirit....howls."

Tiny palm cupped the warrior's face. A whisper.

"Come."

Lilting sweet serenade of summon. A spirit would answer, respond to beckon of a child. The man's beast rolled within him, stretching sinew and muscle where muscles were not meant to move.

The man groaned as he felt dark fur caress the very fiber of his soul. Head back and a baying howl.

Till the wolf stood there.

An exhale of breath was multiplied by the tribe. Uncertainty. Fear. Awe. She would be called from that day forward, the Bringer of Beasts.

The Nameless One would find a name. Nimue. For a name unknown to her, elusive to memory, she would accept a given name as if meant for birthright.

It was a Blue Hour.

The time between Day and Darkness.

When the moon matched the hue of the sky, she would wait.

Still unaware of what she was meant to be waiting for.

"What does it mean' What does it all mean." "You are changing. Those beasts that you have brought from the spirit of man have imprinted you. Left their mark." "Father, I do not understand." "You will in time, child. Seek the Shaman, he will show you the way."

Winds of Change. She felt it like a stirring in her soul. A deep stretch of the animal shields awakening to no longer be just guardians of her spirit but a part of her.

Imprints.

The beasts she would bring from the spirit would become her own to call. Part of her.

She was not a Skin Walker. No. Instead the Shaman had found a different name for her.

Spirit Walker.

Blue Hour. He warned her when walking the Spirit Path to stay from the Shadow Lands.

Feathers of Four was one not to listen. She wished to know what lingered in the dark.

A disturbance. Darkly written in the night as the doe dark of her eyes moved over the forest as she woke in the thick cloak of midnight.

Fingers palmed at her features. She had been dreaming.

Shadow creatures seeming wolven....seeming feline.

She found herself looking to her healed palm. Tracing the line of that jagged scar. No longer visible.

Had Amber's saliva and touch done something to her?

Nimue would not sleep that night. Her thoughts would consume her.

Instead she found herself staring up at the sky, forging beasts out of clouds.

"She's a pretty thing. But she's wild." "Maybe she needs broken." "Maybe she already is."

Blood and Pain. Fur and Claws. Was it an illusion, a nightmare or a dream that had her in the swell of a full moon to move as mountain lion, as coyote, as red wolf, as crow.

Fly Away. To be so tempted to that notion of flying away. Breaking away from it all. She remembered iron bars, rope and twine.

Treated her like a wild mare they were waiting to break, control and make a broodmare.

The fear and terror of it all being taken from her, the fear of what she was becoming was slipping away. Fed to the beasts that rolled now....moved and claimed her spirit.

Tranquility in action. Feathers of Four palmed the four feathers of various shades in her hair. The trinkets made by the hands of her tribe. Tiny carved beasts.

The additions, that homage seemed to quiet her soul. Peace again as she watched on, worry a black gleam in doe-dark eyes.

Tea's and Tome's and become an escape. A place for the quiet when the Glen was filled with too many beasts that would spark in her a reaction.

She still did not understand it, why the presence of beasts around her brought that quiet calm. More so why she was seeing now beasts in men and even women. Felt them stir like spirit guards brought alive. Awakened.

A gift it was to find the silence in McCarty's soul. He was a wild horse.

The nature of his spirit gave her a different sort of spark.

Eyes like frost that were as warm as fire. The Native American choker passed down through ages.

The intrigue was there. Silent in her soul. Unspoken.

Her words had been truth to him. When it came to discovering and remembering her past, there was no one to look out for her save for herself.

Perhaps Isaac when he was around. She didn't know Amber well enough to confide.

Unsettled and restless she stared out the window, the knowledge sinking in.

Alone. She would face it alone.

Not alone.

You can't attract the attention of one of the Guardians and be alone.

His home - now in Ghost Town - is spartan in its appointments, and he is rearely there. ut when he is, it is alone.

And yet, his thoughts dwell on the one that calls herself Nimue.

He had gone by the tea shop he had encountered her at, as well as the Inn, hoping to see her. But every time he had gone, he had the feeling he had just missed her. And every time, other matters had come up.

Being a Guardian had gotten busy of late, thanks to the ruckus over the proposition.

But even then, he finds his thoughts wandering to Nimue.

Beautiful, quiet, as gentle it seemed to him as the wind ofer a grassy plain in the beginnings of the autumn. And somehow, she reminded him of home, back when he was younger, before life had become a lonely expanse of wandering.

He sits on his bed in the run-down hotel, looking down at something in his hand.

Lupinius had told him how to make it, how to access the magic that allowed a Guardian to link himself to one person, for as long as they wished to remain with them.

Lupinius hadn't asked questions about it, either.

For a long time, he stares at the object in his hand. It is a crystal point, about the length of his thumb and no bogger around than his pinkie, looking to be flawlessly fashioned from ruby.

Blood red in color.

Just like the light from his amulet.

But to give it to Nimue, who so intrigues and attracts him, but whom he parely knows...what would that mean?

He's been struggling with this decision all day.

Enough indecision, he thinks.

He stands, heading out of the room.

Time to find out.

A moment later, out of the dry, dusty street of Ghost Town, the wind carries him away, towards the shop known as Teas'n'Tomes.

Could a wish made, even in a dream, summon that which is desired?

Perhaps.

Or, perhaps it's just a coincidence.

Right. Had he seen that dream, it would only go to further his own belief that coincidences are a nonexistent imagining of those who have no faith that all things are meant to be, in their own time.

Had she looked just a moment longer, she might have seen the beginnings of the swirling vortex of a dust devil, heard the hot, lonely sound of the winds gusting just outside the door.

But even if she missed that, there would be no missing the next sound.

A smooth, slow, metronomic sound of booted footsteps. A high, ringing note of silver chiming in rhythmic time.

A sound straight from old, faded movies of cowboys walking into buildings that stretched back into time, as old as movies themselves.

Stretching back further than that, into a time long since past, when such a sound could be the promise of business. Or death.

Or both.

He can't see the inside of the shop, nor does he care to. He had come to the shop hoping to find her, but if he doesn't...well, he can wait. Patience has always been one of his greater virtues, and he can wait for the time when she would appear again.

As soon as he pushes the door open, though, his heart leaps upwards at the sight of those four feathers, framed by dark hair, held within it as though they were embraced by a lover.

For a long moment, he stands in the doorway, simply looking at her. The woman who had, in just a few meetings, simply captured his heart in so many ways.

A reminder of youth and longing.

A prescence he finds magnetic and attractive.

Lovely features, dark and dusky, light and fresh as rain.

After a moment he wills his feet to carry him forward again, his booted, chiming footfalls no quieter for the slowness of his approach, as if he might spook her away by his presence.

"Hello, Nimue."

For a long moment, all he can do is stare. He had not seen her in days, and yet that intervening space of time, when his thoughts had been filled with visions of her, the sight of her every time he had closed his eyes, had not done her justice.

It takes a lot of restraint not to move from the place he stands, watching her, at a dead run to pull her up from the couch and into his arms.

Not to lean down and capture her lips with his, his arms moulding her body to his, holding her close against him.

He'd heard it said that absence makes the heart grow fonder, so many times.

From what he's seen in his life, that's all so much bulldrek, until he had a chance to experience it for himself.

Emotions intermingle. Relief that she is here. Fear that she may vanish as he takes a step towards her, and that, once his feelings are voiced, she might push him away, or worse be afraid of him herself. A lighthearted, happy feeling just to see her again.

Finally, he is able to make his feet move, and is pleased to find that they are not faltering or hesitant as he walks over to her chair, settling into the one next to it.

"I...well, to be honest, I missed ya, Nimue. I'm glad I was able to find ya here."

It's been long since he talked to the man he had called Father.

Oh, he's no fool. He knew the man, with his darker skin, distinctive Native American features, his raven-black hair, was not his true father.

But the man had raised him from a pup, had treated him as if Fred were his own son, had taught him, had been there.

One day he had seen a girl and boy holding hands, laughing together, close and affectionate, happy.

He had been a teenager at the time, and despite being brought in and raised with the tribe, he had still felt apart, alienated. Not by any actions of the people, to be sure...it was just the way he felt it.

"Do you think there may be someone like that for me, Father?"

His father had not laughed, only nodded, looking solemn. "We each have another half of ourselves out there, somewhere, my son. You will not know her until you find her, but when you do, you will be unable to even look at anyone else the same."

He had been confused, which had obviusly shown on his face. His father had held up a hand.

"Do not worry about this now, my son. Things go as they will. You will see."

Damned if the old man hadn't been right. His eyes ar for Nimue now, and try as he might, he doesn't seem to really see anyone else the same way. No shortage of attractive women here in Rhy'Din, but none so drawing as this one before him.

Reaching out, he takes her hands from around her own waist and holds them in his own, his icy blue eyes resting on her doe-dark orbs, a smile bringing out the faint lines of his face and at the corners of his eyes.

Listen, Nimue...t'be honest with ya, I know it's been a bit since we've seen each other, but...I haven't been able to get you out of my mind. I really like you a lot...if I were gonna be completely blunt, I think I might be fallin' in love with you."

All of it comes out of him in an uncontrolled rush, and the tanned skin darkens as blood touches his features, looking down at their joined hands.

"It's time I told you about who you really are, my son."

"What do you mean, Father?"

"You know you are not truly my son, Frederick."

"Yes, Father...I've known that since I was a small child."

"I know, my son. What you don't know is what happened to your true family, your parents."

Confusion. "You told me they died, and that it was an honorable death."

"Yes, I did, and that is true. But there are things that I have not told you until you are old enough to understand. That day has come."

He had not truly known who he was until that day. But what the girl he knows as Nimue is saying is...different.

After all, he had merely forgotten a part of his life. And after he had been told the truth, very little had changed, except that he understood.

What if her memory returns, and she finds that she is sworn to another" If she is married" Or simply is in love with someone else and has only forgotten it"

How will he handle that?

Her hands in his, his icy-blue eyes locked on her dark ones.

It doesn't take long for him to make a decision.

"I know ya don't know who you are...but that don't matter t'me, darlin'. I know who ya are now, and even if ya should find out later that yer not who ya think ya are, it won't matter..." He takes one of his hands from hers and lays his hand along her cheek, a gentle touch from roughened hands. "...you'll still be the girl I care about."