Long Night

"Death. I was thinking on death."
"Damned unsporting of the everlasting to fix his canon 'gainst self-slaughter. If you ask me."
--Ioan Gruffudd and Duncan Bell; Horatio Hornblower: The Even Chance/The Duel









The tremor hadn't been entirely unexpected.

It was however, entirely loathed.

When he came to awareness and thus, himself, Renne lay in the snow and spat a string of long lines in his own Low-Tongue. Thankfully the language couldn't fully translate, else any mariner might have blushed to his toes.
Whether or not it ran in the family, whether or not the tremors were uncontrollable, he still hated dealing with them.
The string of curses better left untranslated was brief as he slowly sat himself up and forced away the bone-deep fatigue -- he'd been out for half-a-day already.

When the cold air cleared his mind and words tumbled in his mind, Renne cried out inwardly.

He's gone and not coming back...

*Long night

Archie's gentle, stony, stricken and controlled voice reverberated in his mind. is eyes filled with tears left unshed. Thin arms gathered his treasures, put them away, then reached out to offer an embrace to 'Nathan and Cinder.
The touch was brief but in its brevity, held a message. He was determined to come back and he wanted to come back to them.
In Cinder's keeping, Renne placed the trust of his oversized, feathered pirate hat.
In 'Nathan's keeping, Renne placed his beloved cutlass.

...and the position of cook here for as long as you like...
He never willingly gave that up and never will

He didn't speak then as his touch parted from them. He hoped that if not found here, he might find them at the Harbours or Eastern Drive. Renne's face revealed little of his thoughts even if his eyes betrayed him.
When he turned away to follow the path of stench, he took solace in praying and listening to the remaining beloved voices in his mind.
See you later

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

Renne crawled with his head kept level and his back kept as straight as he could while crawling. Al he heard around him was the frozen quiet of the forsaken norths and the voices in his mind. Sometimes they were taunting whispers. Sometimes furious threats. But mostly, he kept his mind on fervent prayer and the kinder voices.
Idly, he wondered about another tattoo.
He smiled upon remembering his English literacy lesson from Archie.
O, Long night

A tear fell when he heard thunder in his head.

But he continued on.

He didn't have much choice.

He prayed to any that still might listen. Renne flared up his ears and squinched his nose a little. Demonic stench was enough to have him switch to relying on his own trapped heat to survive. It was short-term, he knew, but it gave a needed respite from the smell of death.
He'd come to know that smell well enough already.
The smell was endured in little bursts of alternating between lung-breathing and relying solely on his own skin to recycle what his body already has. The sound of the Hunter's whispers and distant growled threats were countered by his prayer and the voices of his remaining heroes.
This is what it all comes to

He didn't feel shame in praying not only to deities but other figures as well. He wasn't ashamed that he prayed to the many gods he knew of, the angels, to Pendrell, 'Nathan, Zonker, Cinder, Melkor, Rena or Archie. He prayed to them all as he moved through the cold stench, somewhere distantly deducing his continued northward track.
Eventually, he came to the sound of an ocean and the sound of ships creaking, sails snapping and fluttering in a light wind.
This is what we all go through
Renne stopped here to listen and allow himself a reprieve from the stench of the trail he chose to follow.
He sat on a ground that felt something of cold sand and a dusting of snow. The sounds of the sea and ships puzzled him really and he pondered over it until he formed a small plan in his mind.
Renne pulled out his journal and ran his fingers along its binding.
It had been a long time since he had written within it and knew that for a while, he couldn't touch the thing. So for a time, he sat and began to write.
Another friend is gone
O, long night

When a letter to no one and nowhere had been copied and cast to the wind, he put his journal away and got up again.
It was time to figure out how far north he had come and why demon-stench mixed with the smell of the sea.
Renne crawled onto the hard wooden planks of a traditional dockside harbour and small shipping town but he didn't understand why he heard no laughter here. No laughter, no shanties, no drinking, no scolding to avoid "drinks not meant for minors".
He decided to try and whisper a little shanty to find out what kind of reaction would come of it.
Leaving us to carry on

"Quiet, whelp! Been livin' under a rock, have yah?!"
The gruff command surprised Renne into a brief silence and in his confusion, he crawled toward the voice with his confusion evident on his face.
The voice laughed at the tears left unfallen in Renne's eyes and its unseen head shook as if dealing with a small child.
In many ways, it was dealing with a child.
"Lissen, whelp. Not a soul 'ere's happy. Shanties ain't been sung, merrymakin' ain't been done. These docks be cursed docks, Boyo. It ain't the way ta Fiddler's Green."
Still confused, Renne sat down again and flicked his ears forward to listen. The voice leaned back in a squeaky rocking chair and solemnly spoke again.
Death is a mighty uniter

"Boy, you ain't lived the life of a sailor. I know y'want to but, 'tis a hard life. Fiddler's Green ye go and yer lucky. Most o' us end up here. It ain't truly bad but happiness, it's brief. Hollow. We work fer nothin' and stoppin' is near unheard-of. Aye, lad. I'm a ghost. I went down durin' a storm out the' n' I fergot ta pray. Not tha' I had anythin' ta pray to or for."
Renne listened, shedding a single tear as he heard the short tale. He could still ignore the sinister laughing in his mind and he did so any way he could. This stranger's tale lent a great hand in distancing the Hunter's taunts eve if it drew sadness into him.
The defeat that comes to every fighter

The sailor-ghost's low voice told another tale, one of caution. The blue-skinned critter may have looked like an animal but in the eyes lay the eyes of a child that had seen too much and knew too well the lessons of betrayal and abandonment. And the lesson of endurance.
He spoke of demons and fallen angels whose purpose it was to deceive, break and lead into darkness. He listened as Renne whispered confessions, believing himself to be as evil as Humans thought him to be.
But the old soul gently tapped a finger against Renne's mouth and bade him farewell with a word of hope.
"Boyo, if there stands a hero within yer heart, hold to him. He will lead ye to calm waters."
Live on, the dawn will be brighter

Renne nodded and shed another tear for the old sailor-ghost. Upon turning around and going on his way again, his skin found the dockside wood softer, more rotted as he went along. More and more he had to crawl with a careful tread and the more he listened, the creaking of ships and rustling of sails became clear.
This wasn't a safe harbour.
It was a sailor's graveyard, not for the damned but a graveyard nonetheless. It was a place haunted and forever cast in the pall of sadness. He went with care and quiet, never letting a shanty that he knew pass his voice.
Instead, he sang a song more fitting to the place. It was a song that held both hope and despair in the same note. It was a song that kept him tightly linked to one of his remaining heroes. His BondMate.
It was a song he could draw strength from and endure another long night.
Live on, live on, live on

**Chase the dark star over the sea
O, where my true love is waiting for me
Rope, the south wind, canvas the stars
Harness the moonlight so she can safely go
'Round the Cape Horn to Valparaiso

~<>~

*Long Night; Rawlins Cross
**Valparaiso; Sting, featured in White Squall

Long Night
Captains Courageous II

"The Albatross wasn't just a ship or a school, it was something that we made, something that's inside of us. That's who you are Skipper, what you gave us you carried us, now let us carry this together. Let us carry this together."
--Scott Wolf; White Squall









"Jake, lad, y'all right?"

Erik gave the younger man a once-over just as he had all his other men huddled in the small lifeboat. It wasn't easy fishing his crew out of churning waters and it wasn't easy having to watch his ship become one of the many that the storm had claimed in the last few weeks.
But overall, none of his crew had perished and for that, he was thankful.

Jake had crawled over the side and honestly, forgotten about the hairy thing he'd yanked off of his shirt until he noticed his captain and his mates staring at his left hand like it'd just been chewed off by a rabid chihuahua. At first, his eyebrows went up in a face that almost expressed indignation.
Then he remembered the thing his fingers were curled into. And he felt it squirming.
Immediately, his fingers let go and slid out of the tangled mess of wet hair and his eyes stared unblinking at what the hair was attached to.

"It's...blue."

"What the hell is it?"

"Ain't got a clue. Cap'n?"

The men looked to him now -- and they saw Erik Childess baffled for the first time. The bearded man just shook his head and stretched out his arm to deter any sudden movement.
"No sudden moves, mates. It ain't attacked us yet."

"Is it the divil's work, sir?"

"Hush that talk, Matt. Might jes' be another sea critter."

The men kept quiet then as they watched the blue-skinned thing squirm and roll up into a sort of low, crouching position. One couldn't help but hold back a snicker as he watched a pair of huge blue ears perk up on the thing's head. Another kept his eyes on Erik, wondering what he meant by the almost superstitious tone in his voice just now.
"Now, don'cha be hurtin' us, wee critter. We're not out t' harm ya. Ye saved me mate, Jacob. D'ja know that?"

The creature's almost too-large-for-its-face-looking eyes blinked rapidly as if its mind were somewhere between confusion, guard and trying to understand what was just said. It chirped back at the voice and tipped its head to one side.
Jake piped up right then and caught a glare from his mate, Matt.
"Um, sir...what makes y'sure it kin unnerstand? I mean, no disrespect n' all but it ain't human."

Both the glare and the creature's response put a little shut-up on the entire crew's mouths for a good, solid minute.

"Hew-mahn be e-vil."

Erik spoke up after that minute; his aged, gray eyes warm with a kind of stern patience.

"Now, what makes ye say that, Critter?"

"Eeh. Noh-t Krrrrit-terrrrr. Is Rrrr-enne."

Erik didn't stop the scattered chuckles of amusement from the men. Honestly, the creature's English did sound funny and nothing so far had proven to provoke an attack.

"Ah, Renne, is it? pleased t'meet you then. Now, why d'ye think us humans evil, hm?"

"Hew-mahn be-trrrrray."

"Ah. That they can do that, but not all of 'em."

Erik smiled in approval and some embarrassment when his men chimed in and spoke their loyalty to their captain out loud. They'd never done that before and really, there hadn't been a need up until now -- a captain's worst nightmare having almost entirely come true already. These men though, they knew all had been done that could have been done.
When they noticed Renne's expression of utter confusion, their voices softened.

"Why d'ya look so confused?"

"I think, Jake, our wee critter mighta' seen a squall or two of 'is own."

Erik nodded back at Matt and jake. Offering his hand out, palm-up, he allowed Renne to have a sniff. It was both a measure of extended trust and to show that none here meant any harm. He stifled back a smile when his thumb got a little lick.
It was down to business.
"Now, men...I'm sorry. So terribly sorry, I truly am. But as we saw, th' sea takes what she'll 'ave n' this time, she wanted th' ship. Now, we're all 'ere n' unhurt which is good."

"Was that a white squall, Sir?"

"No, Jake and thank God fer that."

Erik looked down as he felt Renne back up. The crew still couldn't hep laughing a little as they heard the creature's questioning chirp.

"A white squall is a storm, m'critter -- a sailor's worst nightmare. It comes out o' nowhere and hits ye where it hurts."

The solemnity of Erik's reply put a frown to Renne's face and a slow nod that made a few of the other men edge a little closer. While none of them spoke up, Jake's hand offered a small scratch atop Renne's head. he didn't startle when Renne tensed up at first; just kept his touch light and ended up listening.
They all listened as the blue creature from the deep told the story of his own white squall.

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

He had in the end, spared no detail -- the only ones he glorified were the remaining heroes in his life. He told them of the mistake he believed he had made, the guilt when he heard Archie's voice speak to him. He told them of the cold winters, the nightmares and the letters written to a dead man that ultimately, were never heard.
Renne spared nothing of himself as he detailed the killings he didn't remember and the ultimate deception playing out in a jailhouse and ending with a plot of bare earth where a beacon of hope once stood.

By the end of his tale, no man there doubted why Renne thought so little of Humans.

"Your heroes. Are they humans?"

Jake's question received a single nod and another little story -- this one concluding in a faint ray of hope and the light of hero-worship that somehow still remained within the cynical, disillusioned little creature.
He told to Archie, the clear-voiced saviour who had borne the mantle of teacher, friend and even hero all at once. He told of how the man had saved Renne's existence and the happy little moments of playing tag, teaching English and Shakespeare. He told them about his BondMate, Johnathan, and the love he'd come to have for her. He told them of her beauty and her strength.
He spoke of these remaining heroes with the last ray of hope he had.

"Hold onto 'em, Renne. Ye'll find yer redemption n' if they're as y'say they are, calm seas will come again."

Renne nodded to Erik's words and silence fell on the small boat as it drifted through a steadily calming sea. He listened to the waves and each Human as he dropped off to a snoring sleep. He let his mind wander, to his tales, to his past and to what he sought. His mind wandered, even thinking idly of staying here with these men. Away from Rhy'Din. Away from the deceit and darkness.
Renne idly thought of returning to his nomadic ways.

He knew he was always an explorer, seeking knowledge wherever he could find it. he also knew that to come back to a place called home was a joy and a wholeness he sought that so far, ended up eluding him.

Thoughts as deep as these snared his awareness, never letting him register the transition from open boat to the steel thing at his back.

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

He wasn't surprised to find the steel door behind him again but found a small stab of disappointment. The small crew in that boat out there on the ocean had provoked many thoughts. They provoked some temptation without having realised it.
They tempted him to remain with them; humans who hadn't sunk to the depths of evil. But he knew he couldn't have stayed.

As Renne leaned back against the steel door, he found it slightly ajar, as opposed to firmly closed as it was before he'd been picked up and spat into the sea. He investigated the door, then upon learning how wide the opening was, wriggled on through.
Immediately, he both smiled at the warmth and perked up his ears to have a listen. He heard no life-form nearby but the acoustics alone, detailed by the air currents, spoke of an enclosed space. A very large enclosed space that for now, lay empty.
Glad of the emptiness and the heat, he sat down again and gathered his thoughts into paper once more. He dealt with the demon-stench as well as he could and put his mind to his pen.

He wrote down his thoughts as he always did and when his name was signed, let fate take his next letter to wherever it was deemed to go.

Long Night
Brooklyn-Style Blues and Bites

"Hope is a thing both frail and indestructible. Lose it and it finds you again. Hold onto it and it lights your way."








It wasn't clean.
It wasn't crisp and cold and it wasn't welcoming with heat.

It wasn't clean.

They weren't clean and he felt their filth on every inch of his skin. He had fled the demonic touch, fled from the mocking caresses of things nowhere close to warmth or gentleness. There was no mercy here and there was no light here.
He felt his mind begin to crack again at it.

Renne kept on going across the increasingly cold, smooth floor. He kept praying, singing and thinking. Hoping to drown out the voices he knew were there -- the voices of deceit, betrayal and doubt.
They questioned his worthiness to have Bonded with 'Nathan.
He called out to her, hoping that through the Bonding, she might hear him. He called, speaking of his ever-growing adoration of her, her beauty and the strength he knew she had.
They mocked his hero-worship of the absent but alive and still loved Archie.
He thought of the accented voice, the laughter and the sensation of a strong arm wrapped around him in protection against a bullet. He whispered Archie's name to himself, remembering the unchanged, steady beacon of hope.
They made play at his love for Cinder, whispering accusations in his ears.
He thought of the warmth, sharing not-fyrewine, truth-or-dare underground and the promise of a great adventure. He thought of the Ferisha he secretly called 'Uncle'.
He kept going, screaming against the voices that worked to soil the last heroic names he had left. He kept his ears down against the onslaught but felt within the slow work this place was doing.
He was strong but he wasn't impervious.

That strength wasn't entirely his own, in any case.

Renne crawled onward until he felt the sick, slimy touch of hands on him again. Long fingers trailed down his back and arms, leaving behind a feeling that couldn't be washed away with water. It left a slick, disgusting feeling that made him want to scrub his own skin away to remove the sensation.
The smells coming with the touch were just as insidious -- the stench of a decaying swamp and the damp darkness of underground catacombs reminded him of dead things.
The Cities of the Dead.
The Deadlands.
Bone yards.

Renne wanted the touch gone from his body.
He wanted to do his duty and then get out.

He ran again, crawling as fast as he dared across the slick floor, flattening his ears against the taunting, sneering hiss. He ran with the dirty, darkness-ridden hands mere inches behind him; ran until he felt he could run no more.
Slowing down was inevitable and it was at that point he prayed again, prayed for a moment of solace. A moment to clean himself of the filth, gather his mind and keep going.
The fingers ran down his arms.
One ventured down the side of one leg from hip to ankle.
One went up his front, inching to the weak spot in his chest.

He screamed, howling and hoping the sound might shut out the touch --

-- that never came.

The filthy hands were gone.
The stench of death faded from his nostrils.
The sound of his own screaming echoed in his head and from his voice against an odd backdrop.

When he silenced, he found the ground beneath him changed. It was not slick and cold now; rather t was roughened like sandstone with a long, precise, straight crack gouged into it. Footsteps pattered, thumped and clipped around him.
And the voices were just as odd, if not a little frightening in their own way.

"Watch it, dawg!"

"Aw, sorry, bruthah. D'joo see dat on the walk?"

"Whatchoo talkin' about, Dreads? You on hooch again?"

"Uh-uh. Over there, see that?"

The voices then grew quiet as Renne felt two pairs of eyes on him. He still felt filthy but that was briefly put aside as both ears perked up to listen. The hum of fast-moving things whizzed by his ears; horns occasionally blew and a beat-box thumped nearby.
"What the hell is that?"
"Ain't got a clue, Canine."

The name 'Canine' was the deciding factor.
He ran again, along the strange stone with straight cracks in it until it dropped off about four inches into another smooth stone surface. It had no cracks in it.
It had the roaring hum of fast-moving...things. It had the horns blasting, drowning out the beat-box.
One humming thing turned into a screech.
He darted away from the sound in time to hear a moderately loud crash behind him.

The humming sound softened to a degree.
And it surrounded him now, telling him of no path to escape through.

The voices came again.

"Damn glad this is my precinct. Geesh, Dreads."

"Straight, man. What's -- it's dat thing!"

"Yeah, don't let it git away, huh?"

The voices separated then. One moved to a distance, speaking to other voices in authoritative but assuring tones. Its strange words of 'car insurance', 'compensation' and 'animal control' filtered through the air.
The second voice didn't drift. It closed in on him.

"C'mon. You jes' did us a li'l trouble, fella."

He growled back and started crawling in a small circle. He kept his ears on the voice nearest to him, listening to it talk -- almost croon, really -- about things he didn't have a clue on. It spoke words like 'precinct', 'car', 'police station' and 'ghetto'.
The voice circled with him and kept on speaking. It edged closer, like it had done this before; cornering a creature.

It wasn't long until the voice had Renne cornered with his back against the warm, smooth metal of an automobile door.

Long Night
Moment

"Nothing is relegated forever to the past. Nothing is bound and said to go unremembered."








The prison guards had changed shift several times by now.

He'd listened to everything with an ear that was guarded, curious, untrusting and nostalgic all at once. Renne didn't move much since his last letter was put to paper and flung to the winds until the chattering voices of guards rambled past his newest prison cell door.

"...shoulda' put it in th' animal shelter."

"Eh, true. What day is it?"

"Wednesday the ninth. Why? Hot date?"

"Yeh, with Tina..."

The voices faded away with no one listening to them except each other. Renne sat back against the wall and stifled a small chirp.
It wasn't any but his memory that turned distant, careful nostalgia into a wistful memory.

He could smell the eggs and hear the crackling fry of bacon.

He could almost taste a slice of tropical-ish fruit from somewhere too far off to know.

Renne pulled out his journal and channeled what could easily have been either tears or cries of rage into writing.
If he wasn't worth enough to keep something going, he'd take refuge in saving the past.

Long Night
Suicide is Painless

"'Cause suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
And I can take or leave it if I please"
--Johnny Mandel, Mike Altman; M*A*S*H series theme







It took him forever to find the scent.

When he did however, Renne shed quiet tears of joy and didn't care if the owner of Cinder Shirastan's scent saw those tears. Neither did he care if any of the Humans saw him when skinny arms reached out to embrace the Cinder-scented one.

He'd thought about the letters both written and received in this strange world of Humans and great metal dragons that had bad breath and ultimately, he knew one thing.
He wanted to flee this place as fast as he could.
Even if it meant going back into that dark world of demons and voices so loud he couldn't shut them out.

"Eeh. Th-is pla-ce be wi-th e-vil. Yeu ahn-d Rrrr-enne go, eey-ess?"

Antsy as he was, Renne was still patient and awaited any response either to the affirmative or the negative. Patience was easily his to control.
Warps in space, time and other such things, he could not control and it was in fact, one of these insane, unpredictable warps that did three things simultaneously. Firstly it tore a hole in this place/time that, at the other end lay a sunny little tropical paradise in the middle of only the gods know where.
Secondly, that same rift at the other end contained an intersection that ended at the ever-familiar eastern Drive and the Salvage Yard.
These two crazy hiccups weren't things to loathe.
It was the third that Renne found to despise.

It flung him through the rift much the same as it did when his homeworlds were torn apart -- he felt warm currents that would incinerate other life-forms that he could bask in; he heard the howling, raging winds of planetary storms. His body curled in to avoid things whizzing by.
Comets of unbearable cold.
Stars with flaring geysers of glowing gas.
The cries of both triumph and defeat that shook entire worlds around him set apart by vast expanses of cold, dark emptiness.

The rush of wind and the deep thud of impact were his only warnings that he'd stopped on his unpredicted journey through the vast everywhere.

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

The trees were trees all right.

And they weren't trees at all.

Renne woke to the sound of screaming, crying and the crackling crunch of wood being stripped. He woke to the sound of leaves being torn off their branches.
He smelled Human blood on the wood-smell of the trees.

Utterly confused, the imp gathered his wits and ran a webbed hand across the ground beneath him.
It was sand that, to most, was too hot to bear and while he could stand it, love it, on the ground, Renne found the sand blown by the howling wind to be almost as bad as the sandstorms beyond his native mountain ranges.
He hated sandstorms.

Closing his eyes and lowering his ears, Renne crawled toward the nearest crying sound. He ran the lower jawline of his face against the trunk of the tree whose roots he'd tripped on.
You have not employed this nerve cluster in ages
Renne ignored the taunting voice in his head. While true, the sensitive nerves along his jawline hadn't in years been employed to find tactile information, he needed to know what was howling.
He wanted to know why the tree itself vibrated with anguish; why its tough wooden trunk was slick with human blood.

He wanted to know why the same blood rained down on him from above but all he heard were keening wails and spine-chilling shrieks in the hazy, sulfuric sky.

Long Night
Sweet May Wine
(Dated for April 21)

"If he calls that half, I'd hate to be his wife and share half his bed!"
--Ioan Gruffudd as *William Wilberforce; Amazing Grace







The harpies hovered above him like vultures.

The trees loomed in their height like misshapen giants ready to slaughter the next lamb.

And Renne crawled along the burning ground in an effort to stay ahead of the things that he dared not turn back to find.
He'd hidden for as long as he was able from the harpies and demons of this place; hidden behind rocks or under the sand itself until he could stand it no more.
When he came above to let his skin have a break from the burning abrasion of hell-sand, the Harpies spotted him. He was still the hunted; still the prey. And now, pursued prey.

Renne prayed again as he picked up speeds, prayed he could stay alive long enough to find that soul, discover the mystery of the bleeding trees and find himself. He prayed only for redemption in a world that had, for the most part, thrown him to the dogs. He prayed for those dogs, that they might lose their teeth of deceit; that they might find mercy behind ragged fur coats of pretended righteousness.

He prayed despite how little faith he had that he'd be listened to.

He prayed to all the gods he knew of.
All the mythical beings he knew of.
All the heroes he knew of.

Johnathan's beautiful voice filtered through his head and sang.
He sang back, pouring out the growing, ever-growing love.
Cinder whispered echoes of fond memory.
Renne whispered back, determined to keep a vow made long ago.
Darran's old, aged voice spoke to him of wisdom and fondness.
Renne almost smiled as he remembered little Heaven dressing him up like a doll.
Harold-of-the-Past proclaimed a name and laughed in merriment.
Part of Renne cringed. Part of him spoke back, for a moment reliving something he couldn't let go of.
Archie's deep tones smiled at him.
Renne whispered back, hoping to emulate the last Human hero of this and other worlds.

"Turn around, little mortal. Face us."

He didn't turn around. He kept going, dashing through the sands and winding between bleeding, screaming trees.

"Heroes fallen, candles gone out."

They taunted him endlessly, twisting names and memories into sadistic things that were but parodies of times treasured. The Hunter thundered alongside the screeching avian things.
And more than once, the Hunter stood before him, determined to block Renne's path and break him down.

He thought again of Johnathan.
Of Darran. Cinder. Archie.
Of things that once were.

Things that are no more
-Things that still are!-
Lies spoken
-Still protected-

Stopped again by the Hunter's grisly, skeletal visage, Renne struck out and slashed a path. He didn't care that he missed -- the Hunter lifted a leg to avoid that clawed hand -- it was the lifted leg that was his path and he took it.

Renne ran on with harpies at his back, screaming trees at his sides, the unknown at his front and desperate prayers above him.

~<>~

William Wilberforce (1759-1833), was the youngest member of England's Parliament to date. He dedicated his life to the such causes as the abolition of slavery in the British Empire and founded the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. In later years, William Wilberforce was hailed as the Hero of Humanity.

"DAMN HARPIES!" The human shouted; his energy had distracted them, little more. The human should have realized it sooner, but here in Hell, he may have some power, but THESE things had been at it for millenia or more; no doubt they had tricks to survive anything. "RENNE! RENNE IT'S ME!"

"LOOK OUT!" Derek shouted, and jumped from behind the human and sent out a scorching jet of black flame at the harpy; it instantly caught fire and shrieked with unholy pain and zoomed for the horizon, several, but not all, of her comrades following, not to help, but to feast on their fallen 'friend'... "You can't turn your back on these things! They would eat the Dark One Himself if given the chance! That's why they stay down here, so the damned souls that commited suicide can never find eternal rest! Because THEY are restless!"

"Then I'll take them all on! I HAVE to save the Imp!" The human snarled, eyes ablaze with stubborn, head-strong light...

"You never did say how you KNOW that thing." Derek muttered, and ducked just in time, for the human had taken a swing at him.

"RENNE IS NOT A THING! HE IS A PERSON! GET IT RIGHT OR I'LL TAKE YOUR HEAD OFF!" The human was known, by those who know him well, to have several redeeming attributes; he was kind, considerate and caring... and perhaps just a little too trusting at times, a trait that he and Renne might've had in common... but he had a few negative aspects as well. Such as a stubborn streak so strong ten oxen couldn't match it, and a fiery, violent temper. He usually kept it under control, because things tended to end up broken if he vented it... like a coffee table he heel-kicked, or putting dents into a steel door.

So it came as no surprise to himself that when his temper, already on the edge, was unleashed, he was quick to charge in. The harpies swooped in instantly, glad for a big, easy target, but the first harpy that took a nose-dive at him found her greasy feathers scattering from the full-body tackle the human gave her. Screeching in his ear, she clawed at him and pecked at his flesh, but the human didn't seem to notice; in fact, he didn't. It was common that when a human is under the effects of adrenaline, they can do amazing things; lift cars on end, run at inhuman speeds, or become so intimidating that a wild grizzly would run away in terror. However, this particular human felt nothing. Whenever he let his temper go, he was temporarily immune to pain. He was, whenever he let his temper go, so headstrong, he just might do anything, if he thought it would benefit those he was protecting.

Derek, in the meanwhile, ran to the nearest tree; incidentally, the one the blue thi-.... the blue PERSON had bit. It was an older tree, but not so old that it had forgotten itself. In fact, it had a small bud growing on the far side where the harpies generally didn't frequent... it was a little known fact, but here in Rhy'Din at least, Satan had told every Suicide if it could grow a leaf for every year it had been down here, he would be let go. Since then, the harpies had redoubled their efforts to pluck even a healthy looking TWIG from the trees...

But that was beside the point. Derek examined the tree, and, very much aware Renne might be listening, spoke to it.

"Tree... can you speak, or just yell?"

"I... can speak..." The tree responded. "You're not... a demon... are you?" The tree asked.

"Well... yes, I am... but I'm not your typical demon... I'm leaving Hell." Derek said. Behind him, the human was snarling, roaring and blasting every harpy in sight with energy, very much mindful that the Hell Hounds were going to arrive soon... "Well... why are you down here, mortal?"

"Isn't it obvious? I was cheated!" The damned soul/tree said. "I sacrificed myself for my family, for my friends, for my people! The invaders promised... if I threw myself off the cliff... they would release everyone and never return! BUT I WAS CHEATED!" The tree roared, it's wooden body groaning as it writhed in a wind that did not blow. "THEY KILLED EVERYONE THE MOMENT I DOVE OFF THE CLIFF!"

"Yes. That is a form of 'release'..." Derek informed him solmenly. "Yes, you were cheated, but based upon the covenant laid down ages past, you were a typical suicide, and if Azrael didn't take you, Satan had every right to do so. It's such a stupid thing, really; if Azrael even HESITATES, Satan calls it as his refusing to collect, and steals the souls of the dead. But... what can you do?" Derek sighed, and put a hand against the tree gently, doing his best to use his energy to heal the wounds. "I may be a demon... but I care."

"You're the first of your kind." The tree scoffed.

"Not true... there's a semi-immortal up-top... his father was one of the most vicious demons I'd ever seen. He's a half-demon, but he's one of the most considerate people I've EVER heard about. Lives in the kingdom of Golden Horn, I think... he's a Healer. Go figure..." Derek said as his attempts to heal the tree failed. "Sorry friend... I can't heal you. My energy is better suited for destruction... I'm no healer." Derek sighed and looked at the human as he slashed at the last harpy; several harpy bodies lay scattered about, the air finally, BLISSFULLY quiet. Without their screeching, the atmosphere was actually semi-calm. The human was bloodied, sore and tired, but because he wasn't alive, he was dying, either, so he walked over to where Renne was...

"Renne... it's me... the human that tried to save you." He whispered. He dared not try to hug Renne for two reasons; one. He figured Renne, with his wits about him, wouldn't trust a 'human', and secondly... he was covered in blood, there was no way he was going to get Renne that filthy... the Sword-Woman had said something about... taking Renne away? The human wasn't too certain, that moment in time was a blur for him now... but he would never take Renne away from those he loved. He couldn't if he tried! Renne was, if anything, more stubborn than even him. His love for the Imp was brotherly... fraternal love, not romantic love... all the human really wanted, all he had ever wanted... was to protect the blue child he saw as his brother.

"Listen human..." The tree suddenly said. "The Hell Hounds are coming soon. If the Harpies get too excited... or, go missing, the Hounds come to investigate... all of you, flee, run, get out of here! I won't let three strangers die because of me!"

"I can handle the Hounds." Derek said. "Human, Blue Person, Tree... figure out what you're doing, and be quick about it." And Derek stood guard, awaiting the hounds. The human winced softly; his wounds HURT! He'd feel that even after they got to te surface...

"Renne... I know you don't know me... I know that... you don't trust humans... I... know of you... or at least, I think I do. My memories... they're too blurry right now, but... I am who I am... and all I wanted was to protect you. I didn't want to steal you away or make you hurt... I don't know why you're in Hell... but seeing you... seeing you alive... makes me happy. I may be a fool, Renne... but I'm a stubborn fool." And, forgetting what he promised himself he wouldn't do, reached out to try and put his hand on the Imp's shoulder...

The human was not offended that Renne snarled at him; he should've known better... he had known better, he DID know better. But his desperation to escape Hell and see the Imp had blurred the thought process in his head; Let the Imp meet you... let him learn about you. Let HIM decide if he'll trust you... blast and burn, you knew better than to touch him! The human chastised himself mentally, but he spoke to the Imp as well.

"Renne... I'm sorry for touching you... I shouldn't have. I know you don't trust humans right now... probably never will. But at least listen to me; we've got to get out of Hell. It's dangerous down here, for all of us... I don't know why you came down to Hell... but we've got to get you out of here." The human turned his inner eye to the children and the Lion with him, and they all nodded; the time to leave was nigh. "Please Renne, tell me whatever it was you came here to do, and I'll help you do it; then we can all leave, together!" The human ripped his shirt off and used it to wipe blood away from himself... the demon, Derek, came over and set a clean rag near the Imp.

"Here, blue... kid. You can use this shirt to cover your back, if you want; one of the harpies got you. Their talons can be poisonous, so..." Derek didn't finish his statement. No doubt the blue kid would be snarling at him too; after all... who in their right mind trusted a demon in Hell?

The human did... and Derek wondered if he WAS in his right mind.

The tree... the damned soul transformed INTO a tree... suddenly gave a loud growl.

"Listen, blue child. I don't know what your problem is, but that human endangered himself to save you! What can you possibly have against him?! Do you even KNOW him!? I sacrificed myself, thinking I would be saving my family, my friends, my loved ones and my whole village! Maybe to you and the demons and whoever else, it was suicide... maybe it was. But I valued life so much, I was willing to give my life to protect others. And I can see clearly, so does that human, if he would throw himself to the harpies to save a person that doesn't even trust him."

"Shut up." The human said softly... "Renne... doesn't trust very easily... I'm from Earth, and I was brought here... to him. He was dying, freezing to death on an icy mountain. I held him close, knowing if he were aware, he'd probably struggle free... but I tried to warm him. I tried to save him..." The human fell to his knees from his crouched position, the memory becoming clearer as he retold it from his perspective. "But I failed. I died before I could see him safe. There were others there, though... they... they saved him. They did what I failed to do." The human was on the verge of tears, but dared not let them free, though his voice trembled from the effort. "I wasn't able to save him... I was worse than worthless to him. I didn't do it for thanks. I didn't do it for any reward. I did it because he needed to live... because he..." Would have done the same for you? You know that's not true. You're HUMAN. You're beyond redeemable to him...

The human had nothing else to say on the subject. He'd probably said too much as it was. Derek and the 'Tree' were watching him silently as he gathered his wits. The sky here reflected the Surface World, mirroring the difference between night and day, though distorting it at the same time. Here in the woods, it was night, with an eerie full moon shining through the silent, leafless tree tops... and in the moonlight, the human wondered... beyond saving Derek, summoning Matthew and releasing the children to Heaven... did he WANT to return to Rhy'Din? Or did he want to go back to Earth? He had very little on Earth worth going back to... but he wondered if he had anything worth staying for in Rhy'Din. But almost as soon as he thought it, he dismissed it; this wasn't like him. Sure, like anyone he could be foolish, even stupid, when he got depressed, but his motto was; Everything will work you. Maybe not the way you wanted it to work out, but everything WILL work out. The human stood and wiped his eyes dry, and looked at the Imp.

"I swear my loyalty to you, Renne... whatever worth you think it may have..." He didn't know how Renne would react to this... all he hoped was that Renne wouldn't tell him to piss off. Beyond that... it was manageable. Because no matter how alone he felt, there in the moonlight... he would always have his memories.