%~ Dark were the clouds o"er the deep rolling sea~%

The punishment mete out for me was to be banished, as it was for many of my breathren when we dared defy our Creator by proclaiming that we would no longer follow a path just because He set our feet upon it. The timing was key, it was a mass exodus and that, I believe, is the reason my punishment turned the way it did.

Our Creator did not listen when we told him we had changed. The fact that we, or perhaps it was just me, that had in some fundamental way that even I did not understand yet, was the reason my words fell on deaf ears. He cast me down in a place called Ta"gant"althan. The place was similar to that of Earths Scotland, the largest difference being that it was torn with wars that never reached such heights in those highlands. In that place the people congregated in clans, some were strong enough to stand alone while others formed alliances to keep their land and people safe.

I was born again to a human woman from the small, but respected Clan Thorne. I was the fifth child born to Helena "ur McGaun "il Thorne, the first daughter. If asked Helena would have said that she was not happy to have another child when she first learned of her pregnancy; that view changed the moment the small baby girl was set into her arms. Her husband, Gahan, had nearly torn the roof off of their humble abode with his shout of joy at learning he had, at last, been gifted with a daughter.

Few that knew Gahan outside of his clan would have credited him with the behavior that he exhibited toward me, his one and only daughter; he doted on me day and night. His sons followed suit, they treated me, named Gabrielle but called Red, like some precious doll to be dressed up, teased and protected.

Growing up I had been shown more love and fierce loyalty than I had ever been afforded in my previous existence. It fostered in me a chance to access the myriad of emotions and to develop a true sense of self. My brothers helped foster a playful spirit that reveled in pranks. My parents showed by example how deeply a family could care for one another. There were no sweeping proclamations nor demands, but rather a constant show of love and support. But perhaps that is getting ahead of the story as well.

My childhood was not free from conflict for the land was still rife with war and it was always a concern. My training started when I was seven, two years later than the boys in deference to my sex. At seven I stood five foot three and towered over other children my age, it was a forecast to my eventual six foot four but it also meant I was gawky and ill at ease with my body as it changed month after month. It also meant that my mother had given up on trying to dress me in pretty things she made by hand, opting instead to throw on some of the boys old kilts. The kilts were easy to adjust and I seemed less likely to roll in mud while wearing them, I never took well to pretty dresses.

My training was something that I reveled in, and I wound up surprising both my father and my brothers in my aptitude for bladework. My training started with my youngest brother, Alain with footwork and some tactics. Alain was four years my senior and very like me in mannerisms, or I suppose I like him.

It was through him that I learned the finer arts of prank playing and oh were we a plague on our Clan. We were in trouble more oft than not because of something we had done, either separately or together. There was one time that we went a step too far, we dyed the neighboring Clans sheep pink and our father was forced to put a foot down.

It might have frightened us straight for a bit if he could have kept the laughter from his eyes, I think he was proud we managed to get all the sheep done without anyone seeing us during the act. Unfortunately pink dye is unforgiving to flesh and the two of us were pink from the elbows down for weeks — otherwise we could have, indeed would have, gone with a staunch denial of wrongdoings.

Perhaps my next venture at putting down the tale of my life will give some background on Gahan "ur Thorne ?il McGaun. Yes, the more I think on it the more I believe that knowing more of him will enable the reader — if ever there is one — to understand what follows.

~You could no sooner move the mountains~

My brothers were a stabilizing part of my childhood, they taught me to fight, play, laugh, to love learning and to love. I was their mischievous sister that they would defend no matter the guilty look upon my features and the neighbors dyed sheep.

The oldest of my brothers was Timeron, a huge tower of a man. He stood six inches over six feet, his shoulders were broad and his dark curls fell to touch them. The most remarkable feature about him though were the gray-green eyes which held a treasures hoard worth of knowledge and compassion.

Timeron had decided early in life to study everything and anything, he was a walking library and for me he was my hero for any question I might have.

One day was I was about thirteen, I can recall a conversation with him; it's one of my fondest memories for he answered all my questions with honesty and sincerity (if with a bit of slight amusement).

~* *~ — Note, I have attempted to recreate the sound of the accent from my homeland, it brings back memories of a time and place. I hope any readers in the future will forgive my indulgence.

"Red, lass, why do ye approach me with tha' look 'pon yer face" I ken ye have a question, aye?" He set down the book he had been reading, the firelight flickering shadows across his features.

I paused a moment before beginning. Although we had an open relationship I had never asked him on such a personal issue before. I believe he sensed my hesitation and patted the seat beside him. "C'mon, lass, ye can no ask a question tha' ah'll not answer for ye, ifn' ah can."

Flopping down into the chair, I was still an ungainly teen trying to get used to the recent growth spurts I had gone through, I thought on how to phrase my question.

"Ye'll no tell da, will ye, Timmy?" I'm sure that I was looking up at him with a look of imploring youth.

"No, Red, ask yer question." The look on his face telling the tale that he thought he was about to be asked of some legality that she had "accidentally" broken with one of her pranks.

"Wha' does a girl do ifn' a boy asks to kiss 'er?"

"Wha"! Who asked fer ye ta kiss 'im' Ah'll...well ah'll..." he had stood up and was half way to his sword before he turned back. Noting the crushed look of disappointment on my features he settled down, moving to take the seat across from me.

"Forgive me, lass, aye' Ah ken tha' ye are growin' up, but ye are still mah little sister." He took my hands in his, clasping them tenderly. "Lass, ifn' a boy asks ye ta kiss 'im, ye tell 'im tha' yer waitin' on someone special. Someone tha' be worth yer kisses will accept tha' lass."

"How will ah kno' who ah am waitin' for, Timmy?"

"Ye'll kno' lass. Yer heart will start ta flutter, yer 'ands will tremble at the thought of a mere touch, most importantly, the lad will no ask fer more tha' ye can give. The lad will no' demand o' ye, nor make ye uncomfortable. He will spend time w' ye because there is no other place he would rather be than basking in yer light."

Unable to help myself, I giggled. "Mah light, Timmy' Mah 'air is bright, but it does nae shine."

"No, lass, but ye do and will be a lucky lad tha' gets past da and yer overprotective brothers ta see it." He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"Ah, tis no so difficult, ah get past ye all often."

He chuckled softly. "Aye lass, ye do. But there is no a man as wily as ye out there. So ye will need ta find yerself a smart one; one worthy of ya, else ye'll be livin' out yer life as an old maid."

~* *~

Timmy was felled in a battle just south of our home. His body was brought back to us on a cart drawn by four horses. Before I knew what the cart carried I, in my youthful curiosity, sprung forward to lift the sheet that had been carefully strewn over him.

It had been only a few months before that we spent that time by the fireside, whilst he spoke of protecting me. That was the first time that I felt a negative emotion in that new life of mine. It was foreign and vile, it took me a long time to figure out that it was hate.

Much to my fathers dismay I announced that day that I was intent upon training to join the Kings Calvary. For it was also that day that my blood felt the first burning flame for the need of revenge. When I look upon the still body of my brother, his features pale, breathless, his beautiful treasure filled-eyes closed forever. I knew that I could not allow another of my brothers to stand alone in battle. When next my brothers went to battle I would be there to protect him.

When worlds collide

I have mentioned before that God has little mercy, especially for the first of his children. His attention had been elsewhere but freed momentarily he took note that the punishment mete out to his fallen was not what he had intended; some of us were happy and that would not suffice.

For me he took a direct route at correcting this oversight, though I still was not fully cognizant of the who I had been I would there after remember. Danor had been sent home after taking those grievous wounds on the field of battle, and it would be another six months before I was released from duty and sent homeward.

By the time I got leave I longed for home, the warmth of my family and the feeling of security I felt there. I had begun to unravel without the stabilizing presence of my family and it had formed a thread of worry that never ceased to burn somewhere in my heart.

I saw the fire from a fair distance, and despite the fact that my heart would not allow me to think that billow of black smoke came from my home, my brain knew that it was the only structure in the area that could produce such an abundance of smoke.

I urged my horse, a fine war stallion named Thor, to a full gallop and closed the distance between myself and my destination. When I crested the last major hill between myself and home I could see the flames that were devouring my home, hungry and fierce.

I whipped Thor into a lather as I raced toward my home. I leap from his saddle as he wheeled by the front of the burning building, balking at being so close to the all-consuming flames. Rushing into the burning building I called out desperately, searching for any signs of my family. Turning a corner I came to the sitting room and found them...

Slaughter had been done. Not one of them had weapon in hand, nor even nearby. By the placement of the bodies it looked like they had been sitting around the hearth, likely recounting the day to one another. There was so much blood....it soaked the floor and the furniture. Smoke filled the room, congesting my lungs and searing my eyes, I felt none of it.

The thread of worry that had been growing in my heart the past few weeks burst, the howl that escaped from my lips was not human. For a moment it felt as though my body was exploding, there was a bone-jarring shiver that raced up my spine and from my shoulder blades a set of wings burst through the flesh.

I filled the valley with my rage the howl piercing the silence of the night; my loss too deep to bear it needed release and a target. I heard the chuckle somewhere close by and stalked toward it, still unaware of the new appendages that had grown from nothing on my back. It was then I saw Samael, he cut a striking figure bear to the waist, the twin swords in his hands dripping with blood. His wings, black as the night, curled around his shoulders ready to flare for defense or flight.

"Ah my love, my Angel I see you have found your wings." His voice wasn't human, it was deep, resonant and reminiscent of a roll of thunder after a deadly lightning strike.

I had nothing but rage in that moment, all I had come to love, to want and need was torn from me and this man presented himself as a target. This man, whose name sprung into my mind and from my lips before I could process from whence that knowledge came, was a focus now. "Samael, I will kill you for this. There will be no mercy this time." Again, I knew not where the memory of giving him mercy came from, but it was there. Bitter and sharp with the knowing if I had not given it to him in the past this present would not have happened.

He tsked at me as though I were a child reaching for dessert before I had completed my dinner. "Now, now love. You must have known that Father would not leave you here. Your skills are far too valuable."

"I am not your love." That a phrase that felt oft used. "And my skills are not for any to use but myself. When and how I choose." I meant that, but even then I knew it was pure bravado. I did not have the power to resist my Father no more at that moment than when I attempted to break from him....earning this punishment which had now turned to true punishment.

"In time you will come to see this was for the best, love. I'll leave you to ponder the consequences of you doing what you want, how you chose and come back when you are more amenable to talking." With that he spread his wings and lifted to the sky.

The return of my wings was too fresh for me to even consider going after him. I should have, I should have tried to end things then and there. But even Angels cannot foresee our own futures....and at that moment I could not conceive of finding love ever again so perhaps it would not have mattered. Some day I might even come to believe that lie....someday.

For more than a hundred years I wandered lost....I was immersed in the who I had been long ago and could not seem to shake that ghost off. It was on a field of battle that I first met Shane, it was a gift surely though from whom I still don't know.

The ground was sodden with a recent rain and reeked of the coppery scent of blood; there were bodies, both dead and dying, carpeting the area. It would have been a pretty place were it not for the gruesome display of human aggression. There were rolling hills that gave way to mountains, the tops a pristine white against the gray skies.

The trees that lined the field, where not scorched by fire, rose into the air majestically, a plume of color exploding from the branches as they prepared to fade and die. Leaning against one of the huge trunks was where I saw him, one leg bent so his foot rested flush against the tree. His hair was fair, almost white for lack of color, his frame was tall, and finely built, and with a single finger he beckoned to me.

At first I thought there was another nearby that the man was summoning so casually and I turned to look around. I was alone, as I usually was, on the field. I had been walking through the fields since the end of battle some hours ago, my leathers were torn and bloodied, my sword was still in hand and my hair was plastered to my face by sweat, the tips of my wings dragged along the ground collecting mud, blood and gore.

And he beckoned.

The range of my emotions was so narrow at the time that I can only think it was a fascinated curiosity that lead me to respond to the summon. I can remember the feel of the hilt as I approached and believed, during some nightmares, I approached to kill the arrogant stranger — my life would have been worth nothing if that was the way it went.

"G'day to you Red." The finger used to beckon now flicking toward his head, as though to explain where he got the name for me, my hair a brilliant red that was rare to this world.

"Not so good a day. Not sure I remember what that is anymore." Was my response to him, and I remember feeling surprise. That wasn't what I meant to say....but it was said.

"May"haps I can do something to change that.? He pushed off the tree and extended a hand to me. We stood there for five minutes; his hand extended to me and I standing still and silent. I think I was ready to try and heal, or maybe it was I wanted to see if that arrogant smile had reason to exist...

Whatever the reason I took his hand and the first step of my journey back to sanity.