Where does a Man go when he has not a home" What space can a ghost cocupy when he's tethered barely to the plane that knows his name"

Oja loomed in the doorway between the Kallow Trail and the Tree, the Crease, that was this world, this place where his friends and loves had and still did, he hoped, walk.

The doorway between places was an empty time, filled him with a sullen. He frowned and sucked in his cheeks, to exhale, closing his eyes and clenching his fists. He had not the weight to throw into anger. Instead he was all air, smiling, laughing, chatting, he hadn't the energy for frustration. It was so much easier to be content.

He found it a surprise, and a delight, to chance upon Jewell Ravenlock-married-to-the-sea, the first person in this town, this side of the mirror, to offer a smile. It was only fitting that on this his return he find her face greeting him, smiling, offering him beer, and a fey kiss to the cheek. There was much to that woman he enjoyed watching come forth. There was more to her than he suspected most saw, or rather, allowed themselves to perceive. There was a sadness, a lurching strength, an accessability, as though she herself were a doorway to some grand thing, though he had not yet suspected what that may be, and as often he did, kept to himself, and supressed questions, hiding under his wide brimmed hat and the veiling black hair, to listen and smile and enjoy his surrounds the way the quieter types do.

Outside, between the doors, now that he had a foot on each threshold, the wind howled, seemed to moan through hsi bones and hurry with his blood. Again, he felt empty, though not confused as to the source of such longing. Yes, he loved Sakura, yes, he loved Maia, but both had gone with the turn of the sky, the ruthless, patternless Time, and he had, not expecting a thing, shrugged and with a shake of his head given up, returning to the Dream to help what he could, restore colour to a toneless world.

But then it had come, the Forecasters urging him out, as danger threatened at the periphery, consciousness overriding his desire to do good in his land. Now he had to run again, bandit, fugitive and innocent.

Now Bernie was back, stronger, not willing to become undone again, by the threat of love or the past, ever, ever again.

He had been drawn out of his reclusive bent for a reason.

Throught the masts in his dreams he had heard the cries of a voice like silver. In his mind there was no one he could pin it to, it had been too long.

Another night in the Inn had brought him to Kairee's attention, old friend and delightful nuisance, and the intimidatingly, resfreshing service of Eless, who was dilligent as Jewell, and it impressed him. Anyone would forgive him for appreciating the simple things.

But later that night he stood to watch the fireplace in his house. The big house, gray walls and furnitureless but for the bed in his room upstairs. He stared at the flames wondering why he had been brought of the Kallow, and for whom"

He often found himself on a wander without any real idea he was where he was.

Even the gryphon pendant, once of startling beauty at his beck, was no clue. Seemed Kairee was right. He had changed. Less observant, he had turned outward, falling from introspective and towards absolution in distraction. Such a clever muse it was.

He reached out for the flames, fanning in brilliant amber at his feet. He fell to a crouch and stared within them. Where was the life he knew" Where had Maia gone, who strangely, he had lost a feeling for, as though she was gone completey, not even a sypher, and the saturnine calm of Sakura, his first great love, the one that had unbraided his mystery and his disappointment and cast him off, a fresh thing, no longer scared of all his paper tigers.

Disappearing, twice in a few years, only to return here. The same man, of cadaverous beauty, with sullen eyes, a sad turn of the lip, gaunt cheeks peppered in white lines, lanky limbs, forever the tall dark stranger, sinister in his regard for the quiet, small things, like a champion of the undertow. What brought him around, they might say, such a man, clearly on the run.

Runaway.