"Sun's down," Mesteno had announced, when the glimmering of gold beneath the poplar's branches had faded, and dusk's silvery gleam had bleached the gardens of the Georgian manor to argent monochrome.

He had the horses outside, saddled and patiently tethered, a preparation which he knew would make it more difficult for his companion to suffer a last minute change of heart. "We should make the ride in an hour, hour an' a half tops." And they did. Much to his surprise, he'd not needed to cajole, and as they once had frequently, they'd made the trip with what might have passed for their normal companionable banter. Of two very different upbringings, they rarely agreed on anything, and discourse tended to be a game of riposte and counter riposte, chiding from one mouth and sly mockery from the other. It was only when they came closer, when Mesteno announced to his friend that they were at the border of the land they meant to reach that he sensed hesitancy.

Vadriel, resplendent in a crushed velvet riding jacket, a waistcoat of peacock blue-green beneath and tall, glossily polished riding boots to the knee, was staring in a manner most disjointed towards the tree-line which concealed the lands beyond it from those travelling the road. The double reins sat slack in one gloved hand, the placid Friesian horse he rode twitched not a muscle, as if perfectly in tune with his rider's inclination to pause here and go no further.

"Vadriel," Mesteno had turned the blood bay he rode and ridden the short distance back to him, reaching across to grasp one of his forearms, to bring him back to reality from whatever other-world his thoughts had wandered to. "They won't bother you while I'm here. You know that. So long as you're in my company they'll keep their distance and nothing's gonna happen that'll make Bjorn's clan or the Alfar look't you like you're any different."

"Empaths and telepaths," Vadriel replied, gathering in the slack of the reins, relenting without further need to entice, "they will know very well that I am different." Yet he was willing to brave the looks should they come, prayed that he would not witness any discomfort from such a sensitive community, and permitted himself to be led through the trees and into the domain of strangers.

"If you were bad different, they'd chase you off. But you'n I both know you're nothin' like that. Besides, Evander'll be here, and so will Bjorn and Ivanya. You've met them before." Though it had been some time.

The pair appeared along the main route leading towards the centre of the settlement, where the buildings were no longer half constructed shells, but proper longhouses and lodges. Mesteno had pre-warned them that he intended to bring the doctor, but that didn't keep the wolves from appearing to escort them, Ethnir at their head, huge and pale of coat, but warm of eye like his brother Leif. Mesteno, accustomed to their curiosity paid them little attention beyond reaching a hand down to offer it to uplifted noses; he was too busy peering ahead with eyes which saw as well in the evening gloom as they did in broad daylight. Searching for one face in particular. Evander he'd told of the doctor's coming too, the hope being that a familiar face or two might make the whole process a less daunting one for the voluntary hermit.

Bjorn had spoken to his people, in order that they not intrude upon their visitor. All agreed to visit the manor grounds and stop work for the day so that he did not feel overwhelmed by a profusion of people or else remain indoors minding their own business. A few however were allowed: Evander due to Vadriel's familiarity with him and Isaiah, who was intrigued by Alfar culture and had spent the most time with them since their return, even more so than he had with his own people.

Evander came up to meet the new arrivals with the wolves. Whilst he would have preferred to do so in wolf-shape just to f*** with Meste?o, he respected Bjorn's suggestion of avoiding power use and jogged up to keep pace with them and the pack, flashing white teeth and bright blue-eyed.

Eyes would've had to be sightless not to register the pleasure writ on the necromancer's sharp features as he spotted Evander on the approach, and before he'd come close enough to greet them, he'd lifted a sinewy arm high to flag a wave at him, and at the waiting figures in what passed for the small community?s village square. The wolves made way for Evander so that he could press in alongside the bay Mesteno rode without obstacle, and not for the first time, the redhead was pleased that he'd taken the time to ride the horses out to visit his friends frequently enough that they'd become accustomed to the big predators and understood they posed no threat.

Stretching sideways, Mesteno offered an arm down to Evander in order to pull him up onto the thoroughbred's back. Evander accepted it and settled immediately; so natural was that wrap of sinewy arm around his midsection, the subtle press forward of his pelvis into the other man's rear so that not a sliver of air could rest between them, that wild tangle of red-gold hair moved off his back so that even it presented no obstacle. That crooked Roman's nose came pressing in at the side of Meste?o's throat, touching it along with that broad mouth of his, stealing his scent as if he'd a right to it, and his other arm only went halfway around him, stretched long out forward to lie across his thigh with his hand resting just a couple inches above the knee. How intimate it seemed, even if there was nothing overtly sexual about it ? just nearness, just scent ? and the nearly imperceptible shift of his expression that mirrored, if one stared hard enough, a warmth in contentment now that they were as they were supposed to be.

He received no attempt from Mesteno lover to dissuade him from engaging in their naturally comfortable, tactile arrangements. The man leaned languidly into the cradle of solid muscle, one slim, tawny skinned hand overlay that which had found a resting place on his thigh, the other too busy with the reins to relocate.

?Vadriel, hey,? Evander greeted the doctor, ?Good to see you again. I was hopin' I wouldn't have to for a long time, considering the kinda circumstances I figured it'd involve, but it's good to see you for other reasons. Hey, f*****.? The latter was for Meste?o, sharp with heat and a knife smile.

"Y'lucky he doesn't reprimand you like he does me whenever I curse," Mesteno groused, though it was light-hearted. He was of course, referring to Vadriel.

?He don't reprimand me 'cause he's wise enough to see I ain't got any shame left to be properly chided; ain't it so, Vadriel?? Comfortable, he was easy around the physician for he had saved Meste?o's life and he'd not witnessed him ever behaving improperly with him, so the combination allowed him to emit some of his usual rakish charm; perhaps bolstered by the fact he was surrounded by his kin, relatively, and he was never more himself than with them or one-on-one with Meste?o.

"It pleases me to see you whole and well," the doctor offered, "and I've no right to reprimand a man with years beyond my own." As if the age old lesson of respect your elders still applied. Though his face was too serene to offer any warmth, his tone conveyed it with perfect sincerity.

Vadriel had no real grasp on what Bjorn and his clan were, but when the majority of RhyDin could not be judged by their appearances, he'd not found it particularly unusual when it had been confided to him by his red haired friend that there was something of an age difference.

?What do you think? Nice patch of land we got out here, ain't it?? Evander asked, and Mesteno said nothing, hopeful and expectant. He was keen to let Vadriel engage in conversation (mentally willing him to remember the rhythms of speech as he seemed to have so easily on the ride over) and slipped a nervous glance across.

At Evander's prompting, Vadriel did turn a look outward to consider the property, as if he could not simply agree for the sake of social niceties but needed to reply honestly. Could never have considered anything else. And in doing so he could not help appreciating the clarity which his friend's presence always permitted. The dead did not desaturate the world, and cloak it in their smoke-like, twisting shapes. He did not have to guard his eyes from the sun now that it had dipped below the horizon.

The four beat gait of the horses' walk had sounded a half dozen times before he replied (and if it seemed the words lingered longer than they should have somehow, the ears did not play tricks). "The men and women who dwell here know how to care for their land," he stated, and whilst it might have seemed cryptic, there was a wealth of compliment in those words. They had not harmed it in their settling, instead it seemed to thrive in a state of comfortable balance.

?Yeah, they do; even Bjorn ain't disturbed it none aside from the buildings that were already here when he moved to the adjoining property. Y'should see the manor sometime ? the woodwork he's doin', it's damn fine, ain't seen better in the whole city. Ghita ain't gonna be around, but she's our resident healer - she does some handiwork, like sewin' folks up and birthin' babies and shit, but she ain't like you; she wanted to meet you but the other one, Fox, said if Ghita did, she did too. An' yeah, 's them.?

"It's quiet," the doctor murmured, almost as an after thought.

"We asked folks not to come out 'n bother you too much," Mesteno explained, for it was often bustling on these summer evenings, which might've intimidated. "There'll be Bjorn an' Ivanya, and Isaiah, and Svana will be up there too, representin' the Godsmen, though you can meet Sven and Thina later too, if you want to." Only if you want to.

"Ghita... yes I remember her name,? Vadriel admitted, ?Perhaps if there is time later we might exchange ideas." Another healer who did more with energies considered preternatural, than via the miracles of modern medicine.

Conversation. Vadriel wasn't sure he'd ever been aware of how to properly engage in one, even as a child. Bedside manner with his patients was something he'd developed awkwardly and still could not claim to be expert in. The guests who'd enjoyed quiet, uneventful stays in his home during recovery had often left as oblivious to his true nature as when they'd arrived. Mesteno had been his one source of friendship with any frequent communication, and even that he could not be sure was 'normal'. Yet he tried, his voice never betraying his uncertainties, never hinting towards the fatigue which dulled eyes of a deep and unnatural violet.

Mesteno had said nothing to him yet of Dair, and though he'd promised to carry a message on his behalf, there hadn't been a right time to broach the subject. Not yet. Fearful of a set-back in the doctor's recovery, he'd decided to focus on fixing him first.

Up ahead, Ivanya stood watching their approach with his weather beaten brow catching in the creases of a frown. The trio were not close enough to overhear him, but those keeping company with him should have no trouble discerning his comment. "There's something so strange about that man. I picked it up at Gem's wedding too. Nothing unfavourable, but he doesn't... I can't quite place what feels amiss."

Sprawled comfortably by his bare feet, Valdris let a yawn stretch his jaw broadly. Whatever it was his brother had sensed, the Packlord seemed to have deemed Vadriel a non-threat even from a distance.

There seemed to be little more than a hair's breadth between Vadriel?s height and Ivanya's, and they were not dissimilar in build, but where the Alfar stood bare foot and in loose attire befitting the summer months, Vadriel's wraith pale skin - so pale one might have expected a translucence - was entirely covered from the throat down, and even the hand he reached towards Bjorn, the first to approach him, for the customary shake was covered - gloved in fabric which cleaved perfectly to long, surgeon's fingers.

Bjorn gave the hand a firm gentleman's shake, telling him, ?Greetings, Vadriel, and be welcome. This is Ivanya, my m?ivoln, as it is said.?

Even through the velvet there was a coolness in the hand Bjorn gripped, a sense that it was not quite flesh beneath, but some mimicry, the way a master of sculpting managed to transform marble to make it appear like the most shear of fabrics.

Ivanya had not offered his hand, but in the custom of his people, clenched his to a fist and raised it to touch his opposite shoulder, bowing his head with the barest dip of his spine which left the bone and metal of trophies in his hair clinking dully.

"Blessings be upon you, friend. The Mother bids you welcome." Svana smiled, but briefly, with Ivanya regarding her in blatant surprise for such a bold remark. The women of the Alfar race were far taller on average that human female, and Svana was no exception at a shade over six feet. She?d a classic hourglass figure made with the sensuous in mind, but which she managed to make seem demure when she reached to take both of Vadriel's hands, one in each of her own for a brief squeeze.

Isaiah had bowed his head only briefly, wordless as if inclined to remain in the fringes, half-unnoticed and insignificant. He was of a more cerebral inclination than most of his kin which left him level-headed and warmly steadfast, quick to find the logic rather than an emotional response?he looked the part of a savage well enough in his borrowed clothes for he owned nothing, still learning his place in this new world with no income or belongings that were not given to him to be borrowed, and he could have easily faded into the backdrop for a man with a taste for blonds given the sight of both Bjorn and Ivanya at once.

His mane was of a medium brown coloring closer to blond than black?sun-made highlights in the dirtiest of golds threaded through it here and there sparsely, rippled as if it'd been river-wet and dried that way, hitting his shoulders. It was relatively thick considering the sides and back had been shaved down short, and he wore a mustache and beard that was longer at the chin despite the fact that summer had not yet left. He had those eyes, though ? as stunning a blue in his tanned face as Evander's nearly, deep-sea blue with a hint of turquoise-green bright and lucid, that hit on Vadriel only briefly.

Vadriel did his best to return each greeting with as much grace as he could conjure, slow moving like a woken statue; Isaiah's simple bow of head was almost a relief, something he could mirror without wondering whether he made a fool of himself, and perhaps because he had so naturally withdrawn as if to make himself unimportant, Vadriel found himself regarding him with quiet interest.

The telepath might sense his relief however, when the doctor realised that none were repulsed by him, and that the introductions involved none of Mesteno's customary embarrassing scraps of information.

"Thank you all for such a warm welcome. I shall do my best not to inconvenience anyone while I'm here."

"Most've been up since dawn and are probably thinking of bedding down for the night anyway," Ivanya reassured. "Mesteno says you've particular talent which might be welcome here-- an affinity for those passed over?" Unaware that he'd made a faux pas in getting straight to the cause of their visit, and genuinely eager to see if perhaps Vilkas, or Ilya might be there to talk to.

Bjorn was intensely curious over Ivanya?s response to Svana?s remark, but said nothing to investigate the matter openly. Unaware of himself, he touched a warm, callus-toughened hand to Ivanya's back, quiet intimacy that came and went, as he interjected, ?You are of no inconvenience at all, Vadriel; visitors are so rare that we had to make sure that not one and all flocked around you with curious interest so as not to inconvenience. Company here is rare unless it is Meste?o, thus you are a rare pleasure for us all.?

Diplomatic, compelling with his summer's-heat drawl and his piercingly over bright, citrine stare, Bjorn could charm the clothes off a miserly merchant's back for his sincerity was unflagging, his friendliness one hundred percent genuine, and his easy manner with people was intrinsic to his personality rather than feigned for appearances. ?Not that Meste?o is not always a pleasure himself, but he is frequent enough that at times, he may as well inhabit the land alongside the rest of us. Ivanya wishes simply not to put you out if you wish not to become tangled up in niceties, but there is no rush on our end unless you wish to proceed now. If you would prefer to rest from the ride first, there is a fire set up further in with humble offerings of a bit of bread, fruit, and cheese if you hunger, drink if the ride has woke a thirst. Our water is very pure out here, but if you wish something else, we've mead, wine, milk??

Evander interjected, ?Vadriel likes whisky; the good sh**.?

??ah, and whisky, too. I have a Dalwhinnie aged twenty-five years that has a very pleasing taste to it ? there are hints of manuka honey, spice, with a peppered earthiness before it finishes with notes of caramel and cinnamon, the heat of it smooth. It would put me out by no measure, for to serve you a glass would give me ample excuse to indulge in one myself, and if there are any questions you may have first, we may sit and know one another better first if this is preferred.?

"S'all right Bjorn, you don't need to double back-- Vadriel knows the same as everyone else here I'm a pain in the ass," Mesteno announced cheerfully when the Lion thought to make that little addendum. It earned him a snort. It was true that he'd taken to spending a great deal of time amongst the Alfar though, and once they'd all grown accustomed to the not-quite-good-guy feel of him, and understood that despite it he was no threat, he'd made close friends of Ivanya?s warriors.

He?d been watching everyone closely, and paying particular attention to Vadriel whom he could not help wanting to protect, attempting to see beyond the tranquillity of his expression to what lay beneath. It could be so difficult to gauge his state of mind sometimes! Seeing nothing which concerned him overly, he'd started immediately after Evander as if he meant to help see the horses to the stables, but hesitated when he realised parting from Vadriel might see his familiar entourage return in a rush and leave him swamped amidst strangers. He ticked a measuring look across at him.

Vadriel didn't see it to begin with. He was attempting not to seem rude, listening carefully to all that was spoken to him, and Bjorn's offer (and Evander's interjection) ought not be ignored. "As Evander has so eloquently put it, I do appreciate the drink. But I might find it more rewarding if I have been able to assist the gentle folk here first."

"Don't feel that you need to earn it," Ivanya corrected him gently. "We would have you feel welcome as a friend. We haven't asked you here to work. Truly, if you'd like to relax a while in our company first..." His trailing off was not intentional. His empathy had caught a note of apprehension from the man when he'd watched Vadriel's eyes spy Mesteno in the process of moving away. He had not been quite aware of the dependency, but now found himself fascinated.

Svana had of course seen it too, and took a step nearer to Vadriel, the rich, low roll of her voice uncommonly reassuring. "Where we mean to take you, the Mother's influence is strong. It is a calm place, a good one. Your friend will not be far." The smoky green of her eyes drifted towards Isaiah, and she inclined her head to the quiet man as if to invite him along. His habits, calm and unobtrusive were just the kind she thought might be welcome, and his telepathy might be useful in discerning how best to proceed with him. Svana was not, and likely never would be entirely comfortable in the company of strange men, but she knew Isaiah well enough to trust him, and if she had to be the representative of the Godsmen, it was him she chose to aid her. Besides, she was perfectly aware of the current inclinations of that damned randy pair who seemed barely able to go an hour without tumbling one another!

Their path had led them deeper into the woodland, the leaves just starting to turn yellow and curl at their edges, though in the moonlight all was blanched to silver. The trees here grew particularly well, as if nourished beyond the norm, and the ex Magnar knew that this was not the work of the Godsmen, but of what they had put to slumber in the soft loam the year prior. The glade they'd chosen had ground so spongy with moss it felt like walking upon carpeted floors and the trees at its edges were as ancient as they felt, the bark craggy and home to multitudes of symbiotes, whilst pale, tiny, transparent mushrooms clustered about their roots, poking their caps out of the debris of last year's leaf litter.

The sapling at the centre of this glade was not a species which might be found in Rhy'Din. It had been born of a single, acorn-like seed, a pewter grey which had looked half-desiccated when Leif had found it, and which no one had really expected would grow. Now it stood some fifteen feet high after only a year, and filled the space with a scent both sharp and clean, not bitterly alpine, but purifying the air near bracingly. Despite the summer heat, there was a sheen to its trunk like hoar-frost, and it was so smooth in places as to reflect its surroundings. In place of leaves, it had something more like pine needles, milky hued and soft to the touch as feathers, yet they were resilient, and none ever seemed to fall to litter the moss.

All around the glade's edges, the Alfar had hung the symbols of their deities in intricate wood carvings and bone-sculptures, suspended so that the wind could slide through them and whistle mournful notes. It was here that they spread the ashes of their deceased, and here that they had broken the soul traps to release the spirits of their dead to the buried Mother.

?Is The Mother stronger or yet weak?? Isaiah asked curiously, for as much as nature flourished around this place, he did not know if perhaps the heart of Iskerryon could do such in a weakened state or if it flourished.

It was Svana who answered again, her low voice gentled in reverence of the ground they stood upon, or more precisely, what lay beneath it. "Compared to what she once was, she is vulnerable as a newborn. Yet she is safe, and healthy, and rests peacefully in this foreign ground. We cannot hope in our lifetime that she will strengthen considerably, for what is one Alfar life to all the years she existed before us? However she responds to us now in small ways, where once her voice had been lost to all but the strongest Godsmen, who only then heard her in dreams." Svana had not been one of them, and whether any of her companions had been, she seemed unwilling to state at present. Gently disentangling her arm from Vadriel's, she stepped further in, and stood beside the sapling as if to invite him along with her.

Vadriel did not move to begin with. There were whispers tangled into the windborne notes rippling through the numerous rune-carvings, and by their nature alone he knew that it was not a case of the living watching them. The dead were there in the woods around them, and he sensed that they were feeling him out, that they watched. He heard the name of the absent necromancer mentioned, albeit without any hostility, but it was long moments spent in silence before he noticed the world beginning to grey at the edges, the other plane creeping in as the dead approached.

Ivanya glanced at Bjorn as if he thought he might have some notion of how to proceed, whether they were supposed to do something, yet he could sense that their guest was captured by suspense, that something beyond their seeing was happening around them. What surprised him was when Valdris, his wolf, slipped forwards from his side, such a quiet presence all this time that he'd been a shadow and little else. His beast brother was in an odd mood, his mind sharp and intrigued, and sat not far from Vadriel, facing him, and moved not a muscle.

Vadriel was not unaware of him. In fact by so deliberately placing himself there the wolf had, he suspected, intended to draw notice.

For Bjorn the situation had the thrill of a s?ance attached to it without the fetor of old burning incenses lit behind heavy curtains, instead threaded through which such an earthiness as to put a man of the wild at ease, the entire environment designed as if to welcome the living as naturally as it did the dead. This was why he wasn't unsettled, the way he might've been under gloomier circumstances (perhaps in the cobweb-cornered, dusty Georgian manor with the ceilings tall enough to make a man feel as if a room was wide and dark enough up high that it might swallow him like a shadow-sea); but he was as comfortable as he could be given the circumstances, and what the quiet beauty of nature did not soothe, his own curious nature and secret yearnings otherwise calmed.

The closer the dead came drifting, the more the plane of Sheol interposed, the more clearly he saw what the others could not. The roots of the sapling were plain to him, stretching down into the ground in a great webbing, far deeper than he might have expected, much longer than the delicate seeming branches on the surface. The ground offered no shield from his gaze. There, tangled in its roots something gleamed, small and intense, a light so steady that it could not at all be called a pulse. But it was not the only source of light. There was something similar, albeit dimmer in the wolf. A pale reflection, almost dim by comparison, yet it was there, and in nothing else living within range of his eyes. It was there too in the unknown figures who drifted forward from amongst the trees, not en masse, but one here, two there, some more formed than others, one or two so distinct that he could even see the design of the clothing they'd garbed themselves in from memory.

Curious, he looked from them back to the wolf, whose eye--- or eyes? were full of that same dim light. In silence, and moving so slowly as to seem dreamlike, the doctor began to peel a velvet glove from his hand, baring nacreous skin and long, fine fingers.

It was for the guarding of this talent that Vadriel took such care to prevent contact with his skin; unintended, he might bring some innocent a sight they did not wish, and there had been bad reactions on more than one occasion when fearful men had recoiled from the sight, cursed him for an abomination, or struck at him as if he'd caused them some intentional harm. If he'd enough warning, if he'd enough strength to focus, he could with difficulty guard people from it. Truly it was a wonder that he'd ever had any kind of physical relationship in the past.

"Ivanya, if you would give me your hand for a moment," he urged gently, "and do not be alarmed by what transpires. I believe there are some here who would have you see them."

The m?ivoln bond was shot through with as much shock as surprise, and a not insignificant amount of caution mirrored from both sides. The ex-Magnar stared at the offered hand as if it were likely to burn him, and impulse would have had him deny the guest. Yet he felt no malice, knew that it was only fear of the unknown stalling him, and with a single look of trepidation at Bjorn as if he sought his approval, he stepped forward to take the hand.. though not alone. He'd reached for Bjorn's to bring it along with his own, as if he would not do it without him. Wanted him to see too.

Vadriel was understanding of the trepidation of the men he'd extended his hand to, and said nothing to rush them, utterly patient and unwaveringly still.

Bjorn did not deny him, and his fingers threaded through his m?ivoln's, rough-textured, impossibly long, irrevocably strong. They sought to bruise the moment the world tore back a layer to reveal another, leaving him breathless and Isaiah tense, watchful of not just the trio but Svana too to measure her own response to whatever invisible event happened beyond his realm of sight.

Svana could do nothing but observe at this point, conscious of the unusual swell of energy within the glade but cautious of applying her talents in case it caused some kind of interruption. Furthermore, she had the same kind of regard for Ivanya as most of the Christos clan had for Bjorn, an awareness of seniority even if in the ex-Magnar's case he had officially declared himself removed from authority. She would not have claimed first try, when it was owed to him for all that he had done for their people. Yet she desired to know what he saw, just as she felt dozens of other Alfar minds curiously testing the edges of their little group as they sensed something far beyond the norm transpiring in the resting place of their dead.

Bjorn and Ivanya saw as Vadriel saw, a gift shared. Ivanya knew the faces well.

Sturl, as if mention of Skalds had brought the man from hiding. Further back, clearer and more greatly defined was Calder, albeit not stooped with age, and with his eyes intact. Smiling, as youthfully cheerful as he'd been in life, Vilkas was stood near the Godsman. Indeed, even Baptist? was there ? also of two eyes and no disfiguring scar but with his battle axes on his back as if even in the afterlife he was of warrior spirit, destined for some realm comparable to Valhalla.

Bjorn had not seen his countryman at first, no, first there was Calder (which left him minutely apprehensive as to the good will of this particular spirit), and Sturl and Vilkas, and he'd meant to search for other faces when he saw the warrior. He clasped hands even tighter.

Had he been able, Vadriel would have removed himself so that they could share such things in private, but the contact was essential. He'd only ever been able to gift one person with the sight, a person who that very moment was unwisely occupied and had suffered bleeding eyes and blindness for its duration. Vadriel was however skilled in remaining so silent, so wraith like himself that he faded into the background as Isaiah seemed able, and so the pair enjoyed their short-lived meeting with the spirits without the slightest of interruptions.

Ivanya was utterly and overwhelmingly proud of Bjorn, and he?d watched closely as the pair voiced things they'd never had chance to in life. Bjorn's parting words were so fitting as the spirit faded that Ivanya made no attempt to add anything of his own, preferring that the last voice Baptiste heard should be that of the son he'd claimed.

With the warrior gone, the patiently waiting spirits of the fallen Alfar were left watching over them, and for the first time he noticed there seemed to be faint, but definite links between them and what lay beneath the tree. Their Godsmen had not been wrong about the ties, and what they returned to.

In contrast to the elder spirit which had approached Bjorn, it was the youngest Alfar present who came forth to represent his people - Vilkas, bright and smiling, still with the traces of lankiness he'd never quite grown out of in life.

"The wolves run happily here, Magnar. The lost Alfar all came home, but for those died beyond the Mother's reach."

Even hearing his voice again left Ivanya with an unexpected stab of anguish for having lost him, for having lost so many of them in the transition, and the choice of words did not bode well for his hopes. "Ilya then... he is not with you?"

The spirit's eyes seemed to convey compassion much more easily than they had in life. The shake of his head was small and slow, the sway of his hair a gentle drifting as if he were beneath water rather than in open air, yet still the click of metal trophies was audible, like something heard in the tail end of a dream, echoing. "There are ways he might be brought home, him and those who perished in the tunnels. But it is not my place to tell you. Time will place these opportunities in your path, and as always choices must be made. But The Mother grows stronger, she hears the voices of her chosen. Have our people keep their faith strong and remember the old ways and in time she may be able to answer them as she once did before she fell into slumber."

?Glaedir?? Bjorn asked quietly, perhaps surprising the others, but like Ivanya had been glad to see Niamh at peace, he could not help but hope the same for the Alfar, even though he'd been the one to end his physical life.

Vilkas gave him a nod of confirmation, adding, "He took a little longer than some of us to find his way. He did not fall near here. Death teaches us things, and his has seen him enlightened where before ignorance coloured his actions." The warrior knew better now, than to curse them for their choices.

Ivanya's teeth clenched tight, for he knew what Vilkas? words must mean. How to retrieve those lost in the Weave without returning to it himself? He could not fathom another way, already felt panic seize at his chest at the thought he might need to re-establish contact with the Yu'lahn.

"There are so few of the Godsmen left," he murmured, his voice tight for reasons entirely different to those of earlier. "So few Alfar. I did not save enough. I should have kept Danica safe, I should have found some way to save Aela..." Of all the things to declare! Yet she had been a woman, and capable of carrying on their race. He'd thought nothing of rescuing her, happier to have her with the horned monsters for her crimes. Perhaps he had not thought clearly.

The panic that Ivanya experienced was nothing, Bjorn imagined, to what Svana might experience herself after such brutal treatment at their enemy?s hands, and while he was reassuringly strong in the bond, offering comfort, he could not help but glance her way as if he'd heard something relevant to her, brief and then fast back upon Vilkas.

Svana was listening all the more intently at the mention of the Godsmen, for after all she was one of them, and Aela had been her greatest competitor - what in RhyDin were the spirits telling the Magnar?

"Your choices have not been poor ones, Magnar. The Mother approves of your bonding, of all that you and Bjorn have achieved together," Vilkas told them, and he paused to smile at Bjorn, boyishly reverent as he'd often been in his hero worship of Evander. "Valdris is still with you after all. That's always a good sign."

Bjorn felt relief that in the Mother's eyes, they were not an abomination - that the unification of their people was smiled on by both 'mothers' so to speak - and he quietly added, ?The Alfar bring out the best in my people; our binds honor us, and so we shall honor them. Your people are as our own, and if there are those lost, it is as much our duty to see them returned home.?

And should the pair stop and consider those words, and weigh the emphasis the spirit put on them, they would not be wrong in assuming that it meant more than he'd said. Ivanya glanced back at his brother again, the strange light which seemed to infuse him, and he'd been going to ask what Vilkas meant, demand answers of him, yet when he looked back, he, and all of the other Alfar had vanished as if they had never been...

Vadriel gently parted his hand from theirs, maintaining a respectful silence.

Disappointment that they'd lost contact with the other side showed plainly in Bjorn?s face, that yearning for more despite his own origins, but he would not be the first to break silence, nor did he immediately release Ivanya's hand, gripping it tight until slowly, very slowly did it ease after an additional squeeze, to slowly separate fingers. Ivanya would have kept hold of Bjorn's hand for much longer than his lover permitted just then, had they been alone, but conscious that they had an expectant audience, he complied with the release and took a deep breath which saw his ribs rise like massive bellows.

He?d been left shaken, and couldn?t immediately summon the words to thank their guest for the experience. And his brother, Valdris was no help at all. Turning to him for explanations was useless, for there was only the inquisitive touch of that too-intelligent mind, single eye watching them all as if this were some kind of entertainment on his behalf. Bjorn clapped a long-fingered hand over the Alfar?s broad shoulder in a way that might linger for some time without being wholly permanent - an excuse to touch as he sensed he needed.

"This was nothing like what I had expected we might witness this eve," Ivanya confided after a span of quiet, raising a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose, eyes closed as if he were trying to recall it all. Doubtless it would replay in his head, incessant and maddening.

"Who came to you?" Svana asked, unable to resist, curiosity compelling her away from the sapling and toward the trio who'd seen it all. "I heard you mention the Godsmen. Is there something we must do that we are not already?" Warranted concern, for to fail in her duties would have been disgraceful. "Why would you ever think you made the wrong choice in not trying to rescue Aela?" Her fear was palpable, even if she did not stand there wringing her hands anxiously or looking dismayed like her younger compatriot might have. Instead she stood on the defensive, her shoulders stiff and her expression guarded.

Ivanya lifted a hand to calm her, to bid her stop her questions, and it was only further evidence of his continued authority that she did so without argument. "Worry not, Svana. Vilkas tells us that The Mother hears the voices of her chosen. That if we stay strong in our faith, in time she may speak to you once more, directly as she did to our ancestors.

"If you wish it, I will remain with you so that you can speak to them yourself if they return this eve," Vadriel offered the woman, gently persuasive. For the nonce, they were gone, and the air was clear of the dead once more. It appeared that his proximity to Mesteno was yet enough that his usual companions still feared to come near.

Svana shook her head though, a sharp, tense motion, as if she would not witness the dead as the others had, was simply not ready for it now that she knew what to expect. "I appreciate your offering, Vadriel. I feel that they rest again now and you might be waiting hours before any stray back to the mourning grounds." She could sense when the dead of her people were near, even if she could not identify whom, or communicate with them.

"I understand," Vadriel returned, not in the slightest offended. It was to Isaiah he looked next, mild mannered and expectant, as if he extended the same offer to him, unsure if there was anyone he desired to see.

Isaiah's response to Vadriel was interesting - the barest sideways tip of his head, the nearly imperceptible hint of a roguish smile, as if privately amused with the insinuated offering, although without the cruelty of mockery, no sense of being condescended to. Perhaps he was much more traditionally Vham?rian about death, but he did glance at the two who had witnessed and implied, ?I sensed as though these two still had questions of their own. Has the act spent you any, Vadriel? Wish you a goblet to drink from or nourishment of another form? It would appear there is time, if you are inclined to linger.?

Ivanya was quiet, seemed almost shell-shocked now that the experience was over, and wished for once that Mesteno was there so that he could resume his guardianship over the doctor. Unfortunately it felt suspiciously as if he were still... engaged in carnal things.

Ivanya, still astounded over Vadriel's lot in life and the things he'd witnessed, regretted his brief reticence, and straightened up with intent to make amends. "If you are not inclined to stay the night, at least come drink with us before you leave. If Mesteno is disinclined to be your escort, one of us would accompany you to make sure you do not lose your way."

?Vishuan,? Bjorn agreed, ?what Ivanya says. I have a twenty-five year aged whisky that awaits, and if Meste?o prefers to remain behind, I will send with you Isaiah. He is one of our best.?

?I would not mind escorting Vadriel home,? said Isaiah, who never minded following an order (or suggestion as it were.)

Vadriel, large as he was had never been a victim to any attempted violence, no muggings or harassment in the streets. Odd, considering his obvious wealth, and yet perhaps his entourage was palpable enough to the hostile to keep them at bay. Still, he did nothing to decline the offer of escort back to the city, grateful though uncertain how the telepath would fare alone on the way back. Perhaps he ought to offer him a room until sun up... His musing over the matter came to an end when Ivanya spoke up, seemingly recovered from his shock.

"I would not decline a drink, and should you need longer with those passed on I would gladly offer you opportunity and speak with the Lady Svana afterwards."

Pleased that Vadriel consented to stay for a drink, Bjorn gestured with a broad-palmed hand was an unspoken prompt to begin strolling while they spoke to one another, and the other hand, still on Ivanya's shoulder, smoothed over it and along his back to urge him into motion subtly as well, lingering somewhere in the middle with absent-minded, circular motions that were so light-handed, so casual, so slow, that it was not plainly obvious that he did not simply settle his hand there without movement.

Ivanya moved along seamlessly with him, but paused before speaking, his hesitation a pregnant one for certainly there was some curiosity in him, palpable to anyone with half a talent, that he was fearful to know the answers to. "Vadriel, my brother... the wolf before you," he gestured to Valdris, who had sprawled across the tree's roots. "You saw him as we must have. Can you tell me of the significance?"

"I can only theorise as I did on the subject of Baptiste's presence. I have seen similar manifestations in body thieves. Powerful spirits or entities who are able to occupy the flesh of those they slay, or displace. I have never heard of one choosing to occupy the body of anything like a wolf before though. It is altogether likely that he chose to be there, rather than was put there however."

Ivanya was unsure of how much Valdris could understand. The doctor's accent was schooled, upper class English, and the Alfar had to pause to make sure he'd understood correctly sometimes, so he doubted the beast recognised much! However he sensed no disapproval from the beast for the guesses, only that continued, playful deviance, the I know something you don't know.

"If this is true, it cannot have been since his bonding with me," Ivanya declared firmly. "I know him inside and out, and since my fourteenth turn he has been steadfastly the same being he is now. For anything to displace what was there, I would have felt it, our bond would have been severed."

Vadriel hesitated, and the empaths would be able to sense the guarded secrecy in him, an uncertainty in saying more. He was honest to a fault though, and wanted to help. "Some spirits are able to take root whilst the young are still in the womb, before the spark of life intended for it ever finds its way into the flesh. What resides within him might have done the same and been born in the body it now inhabits."

"This seems a more likely explanation," Ivanya confided, recalling that Valdris had infamous even before their bonding. "But that still leaves me wondering what kind of spirit would choose to inhabit a wolf. And why." He knew Vadriel would have no answer to that though, so did not voice it as a question. "Perhaps one of the deceased Godsmen could tell me. Perhaps Calder." Though the name was not one he spoke with any affection, only resignation, regret.

?It must be something native to Iskerryon, do you not think it so, m?ivoln?? Bjorn asked, though he was fairly certain of the fact to begin with. ?What higher powers are there in Iskerryon, aside from The Mother? Surely he is no Gyre beast and whatever he is, 'tis not dark. I have always felt an undeniable kinship in Valdris, and he has accepted me from day one - - and we are like-minded, for when you hesitate to kill, oft Valdris and I are in agreement to not be so hesitant. There is a savagery in him that reminds me of nature -- nature is not evil, but nor is nature always passive or kindly. Whatever kind of spirit it is, he is still our Valdris and we are still his.? He stated compassionately, loyally, yet he understood Ivanya's burning curiosity for he could not entirely squelch his own.

"As Svana mentioned, there are her sisters, Illinga and Sol," Ivanya suspected Bjorn might remember he'd named his horse after the former, for her pale hide, "Valdris has always seemed to me an entirely masculine creature though." He frowned faintly, trying to recall the things Danica had said to him about her suspicions, and determined he would need to sit down with Sven at some point to discuss the old lore. "Danica spoke of Summit wolves, the predescessors to our brothers," Ivanya admitted. "That they had been put upon Iskerryon by the Sol-eater, that they were his offspring, though I remember learning nothing of this in my youth. Then again, her temple upbringing gave her access to scrolls and records, and the Alfar from their version of Iskerryon had remembered skills long forgotten by ours."

It concerned Ivanya that so much had been lost. The skills of the new Godsmen were impressive to say the least, but it was past time those old legends were put rune to parchment. Sol-eater, or 'sun eater' was a worrying term. Again he was given no inkling of rightness from Valdris, who simply padded along beside them content and amused, nose low to scent the ground as they made their way back.

?I remember that,? Bjorn nodded, ?We will see then if Calder will speak to us should Vadriel still be up to it after a drink or two.?

The group had by then split into pairs, with Vadriel and Isaiah a few strides behind the Lion and his Magnar. The doctor was a scholar by nature, and listened with a certain appreciation for the legends of another culture, but when Isaiah drew alongside him, he glanced away from the bonded pair leading the way to give the telepath a gently inquisitive look.

"You had no interest in seeing whether anyone waited for you in Sheol," he remarked, "Have you lost no one you desire to see again? No family?" Of course he was unaware of his schooling, and little did he know he was prying at secrets.

Isaiah was surprised at being spoken to by Vadriel and it showed in his face -- not immediately, for he did not realize he was the one being spoken to at first, felt as if Svana must've rejoined them and glanced off for her before making the realization.

?I have no family,? he confided, for what information he thought to give should not have put them in any unnecessary danger -- still, he was contemplative as he spoke, never telling what might be considered secrets, but he felt as if he had little to hide aside from what Bjorn and the others would not have him vocalize. ?I have lost comrades and friends, but none so close to me that I feel as if I would merit contact from the other side. All we need know about one another was known in life: my respect for them, my admiration and I was aware of theirs for me. When they fell in battle, I do not feel death changed what lay between us, only put it on pause until the day my spirit, too, detaches from my body. Regardless, your offer honors me.? A dip of his head implied his sincerity, as did the short crawl of a smile that was no less sincere for its brevity, with the blue of his eyes cutting through the gloaming before they cut back ahead.

Vadriel was bemused by Isaiah's brief confusion - seemed the man had not expected to be addressed, or was so accustomed to blending in he thought he might not be noticed? Yet he was living, and even in his faded, borrowed clothes, he was bright as a candle flame compared to the dead.

"You have a level headed take on death," Vadriel remarked, sounding approving. "I was not aware that you were a warrior. I cannot imagine the self-command required to fight on when you lose comrades in such a fashion." Their worlds were very different. For Vadriel it had been civilisation, passivity, never a risk of loss or pain beyond the psychological. Now it seemed he was surrounded by men who lived by the blade, and somehow did so honourably, rather than with the questionable scruples of his necromancer friend.

Isaiah said nothing when it came to having a level-headed approach to death for he privately wondered certain reasons for that which someone like Vadriel might not suspect and he felt unsure of sharing, whether or not it would compromise things his people would wish silent, but he looked at him unblinkingly with those night-bright irises of his, thick-ringed around pinpricks of black, more luminous still for the darkness of his summer tan.

?I have never known anything else, by contrast; I was born into my position.? A mystery, indeed, for that accent still clung thick to each syllable, and he took a moment to study Vadriel's physiqu?, not with any inappropriate interest but with pragmatic curiosity, outlined in what he had to say next. ?Your size would boast a power in battle.? It was an opening for him to reply about his own prowess or lack thereof, the latter which would appear to overly surprise Isaiah.

Vadriel was doing his best not to seem entirely amateur in the art of conversing with the living. Isaiah was an undemanding partner in this pursuit, for which he was grateful, but he was concerned about making him uncomfortable by asking things he might not be able to answer. Instead of prying into the circumstances of his birth, he chose the safe option and made a comparison.

"As I was born into mine. Being birthed with a silver spoon in ones mouth as the old saying goes, might assure one of a comfortable life, but certainly not an uncomplicated one. I am grateful I have never known war however. My size is nothing to sniff at but it has never been used on a battlefield. I've genetics and University competitiveness to thank for that. Hardly boast-worthy," he admitted.

"It was suggested that you might wish to remain here with Evander this evening," Vadriel explained, "and since I've patients to tend to on the morrow, Isaiah has kindly offered to accompany me so that I don't lose my way on the roads." This time he was pleased that at least his trepidation ought be well concealed, though he did endeavour to give Mesteno a reassuring span of eye contact as he did so.

Pleased by the news that Meste?o would be remaining, Evander said, ?If you guys run into any trouble on the way, I'll let Isaiah borrow my phone, ain't a problem.?

Still surprised by Vadriel's willingness to return home with only a relative stranger for company, Mesteno did his best to hide his frown, and to not think too far ahead to what the rest of the night alone with Evander might entail.

?The... univer-si-ty of Caim-bredge... St. John's Collige.? Isaiah picked up their conversation after the brief interruption. His pronunciation was not spot-on the first time around, and he wore a studious expression, attempting to catch on to these new words, but he was smart enough to realize without asking that John was a person, that saint must have been some sort of title.

As far as whether he would have envied Vadriel himself or not, he said not a word but he was a good listener, and it was clear by the look of his eyes, his posture, that he was still fascinated, that he was not only merely polite. Isaiah helped himself to some mead when Vadriel went for the whisky, though he preferred vodka, but he knew better than to reach for Evander?s.

?Is it located near the city?? It was a curiosity only, for he knew even if he ever had the money, he would never join ? like the Alfar, he'd spent so much time in the wood that to have remained indoors for hours would have felt terribly unnatural, though he had memories of doing just that.

"Cambridge?" Vadriel asked, a touch surprised until he recalled that Isaiah could not be expected to know its location. "No, it is a city located in a country called England on a world known as 'Earth'. I believe that a great many citizens of RhyDin originally hailed from Earth in one version or another, one time or another. It is a strange cross-roads we find ourselves in."

?Ah?Earth,? stated Isaiah as if with familiarity, although truth be told, his only familiarity with it was the conflicting, confusing matter he had seen from the minds of citizens; but perhaps he sounded familiar enough that Vadriel might suspect their home to be a place on Earth during a certain time period, who knew.

Reaching into the deep pocket of his frock coat, Vadriel slipped out an engraved, silver cigar case, a cutter tucked in one end, though he hesitated to ask if anyone minded before he'd go ahead and trim off the cap to light it up.

"There are universities here in Rhy'Din you might attend if you had the mind or the means to," Vadriel told him, lighting up the Havana after receiving no objection from those at the table (Mesteno had wrinkled his nose but waved him on in go ahead fashion). "In fact Mesteno taught Latin in one briefly," he remarked as the smoke began to curl, and he was careful to make sure it drifted away from everyone's faces, a gentle wind directing it from the table.

"Was a long time ago," Mesteno muttered, as if he'd rather it hadn't been mentioned, both hands wrapped around the glass of vodka Evander had graciously shared with him.

Evander let his hand off the Sadist's thigh to elbow him in the ribs.

?Oh, yeah? How come I ain't ever heard of this? Tell me all about it. You ain't told me you went to college.? And then, by his ear, he murmured something lower that the others could not hear, barely a breath so that even Mesteno would struggle (no, Bjorn still heard and he pretended well not to!) to pick it up, ?Got things left to teach me, punk?? Hot air and innuendo.

Mesteno grunted softly, hand shaken and vodka splashing out over the lip of the glass to drip off his fingers. "Y'wastin' it, as*!" he accused, switching the glass from one hand to the other to suck the booze from his skin, though he'd been tempted to flick it in his face. "I didn't go to college," he muttered, reaching for the bottle to top up his drink, "I just taught at one. They needed someone for the Latin, and bein' a native speaker, they thought it'd be useful. Was a long time ago."

Struck with a paralyzing fascination, the blue-eyed Llessilm stared unblinkingly as Meste?o licked the liquor from his flesh, relegated to nothing more glorified than a voyeur, and he drained his own glass of Stoli greedily.

?You don't seem to want to discuss it much; what happened?? He shrewdly slit a searching gaze up from the man's mouth to his Helios-graced eyes, his brow line edging up to emphasize his question, for the reluctance to speak on it might've masked more.

F***, don't look at me like that, Mesteno could've groaned when he caught sight of Evander's intense focus. A touch in the wrong place, a murmured suggestion, that was all it would've taken to see him gracelessly bullying his lover away from the table in front of everyone. He poured another three fingers into Evander's glass, and shook his head, lackadaisical to chase away the impression that anything momentus had happened to warrant his dislike.

"Got tired of hearin' 'em butcher the language, that's all. Tired of 'em houndin' me when I was sat at Bess' place, askin' me for out of hours help, or whinin' when I gave 'em their papers covered in corrections. I didn't have the patience for it."

The informal approach he had to teaching with Evander, and the laid-back lessons he had with Rei, were far more his pace (albeit his methods varied enormously from one to the other!)

Accepting Meste?o's answer without a shadow of doubt, Evander instead diverted the conversation without a lewd comment, or at least, not that lewd comment. ?So Isaiah's takin' Vadriel home; that mean you don't mind stayin' the night out here? We'll find us a place in the wood somewhere where we can see the stars; just you and me."

"Yeah, I guess he is," Mesteno murmured thoughtfully, letting the edge of his glass rest against his lower lip, tone introspective. His concern was plain, yet he sighed it away, followed it up with another swallow and put the full weight of his gaze into a meaningful look at Evander. His voice was pitched low when he spoke, told him, "Don't think I'd really be able to ride right now anyway. Shoulda punched you twice."

?You could always punch me again later,? drawled Evander, ever the terrible influence.

Isaiah and Vadriel paid them little attention, too intent on their own conversation to keep track of that of anyone else sharing the table.

?A university in Rhy'Din? No; I could never.? Isaiah said after exchanging a look with Evander, but there was no bullying sense from him that would aim to dissuade him either.

Mesteno meanwhile had proven weak willed. Couldn't resist the compulsion to lift a hand and touch the place where his knuckles had landed their punch on Evander?s jaw, but it was so transient that the pressure of his slim, long fingers might have been imagined. Moving cautiously, he got up off the bench taking care not to knock the table with his knees and excused himself for a visit to the nearest restroom.

That touch?so ephemeral, so passing?felt like an invitation so when the Sadist excused himself, his lover stayed behind long enough to polish off his glass of vodka and Meste?o's if he had anything left in his glass, and he excused himself without a murmur, without a word, attempting to be as discreet as possible when he wandered off in that direction to cause a little trouble. That had been an invitation, hadn't it?

Vadriel glanced at Mesteno as he went, but trusted him not to go so far as to leave him in potential trouble, and never once gave thought to what he might be up to. His mind simply wasn't wired to think that way, reserved and whilst not quite perfectly pure, close enough when there was no influence otherwise that he might as well have been.

"I understand why you might make that assumption," he told Isaiah kindly, rather than disapproving of his unfortunate ignorance on the subject. "But a scholarship is when the tuition is funded by someone, or something else other than the student's own pocket. Usually as a reward for having performed well in earlier studies or achievements."

Another ripple of smoke from between pale lips, slow spiralling away as he turned his head to make sure it didn't travel across the table, and he accepted Isaiah's honest replies with a languid, graceful gesture, an accepting acquiescence that it was not for everyone.

"For some it is enough to further their studies in the peace of their own homes. They do not need examination results or the praise of a tutor to make it worthwhile. I found I was likewise inclined when I left 'home' for Rhy'Din. The learning of a doctor of my time was far behind and in cases inaccurate, when compared with present knowledge. I was three years in study to bring my knowledge up to date with what was available here."

One might start performing mental arithmetic at this point had they known the length of time a medical student spent at university. Five years would have taken Vadriel to twenty-one from admission, a further three to twenty-four, and yet there was a sense he was a good deal older than this, that there had been a gap prior to his shift to Rhy'Din.

"Sound knowledge is a matter of opinion," he admitted, "To take a university course you would be expected to be advanced in the subject far beyond the rudimentary, and my knowledge of your early education is not enough to gauge whether you might be considered advanced."

Isaiah listened to the explanation of a scholarship and immediately knew this would not be his own route, but without hint of disappointment for he had never expected anything for free in this life nor would he begin to just because he had relocated to a new world under the leadership of one Bjorn Andrews. As for age, Isaiah did not do such a count for whilst he looked to be in his early thirties himself, he was far older and knew that appearances, even in this town, did not indicate age; he looked to be an adult, and carried himself like a man of many years, and so Isaiah assumed him older than his appearance but this could have been incorrect.

?My education was considered high as I am able to read and write common, among other languages, but most of my schooling revolved around what I might do in battle and how I might be the best weapon; not all, but most. If this university does not grade me on my prowess in this, then they might find me sorely lacking. I admit, however, I require no praise of a tutor or examination results; the reward for me is purely in the acquiring of knowledge.?

His smile went crooked, almost repentant, for Vadriel might have thought he found an educated kindred spirit and he was no such thing, though he had a grasp of mathematics (being able to count, percentages and statistics, all of these things were valuable to a warrior and so he had sound knowledge in this area), language, some light science as was applied to battle, elsewhere he lacked for a proper education that he did not pick up in books.

Whilst they spoke, plates had been emptied and gathered, and Ivanya and Bjorn, who?d been deep in conversation on the matter of their glimpse into Sheol, were awaiting the doctor?s attention to spirit him away into the woods for another attempt. Isaiah was not unaware of the glances their way, either.

?If you wish to continue our conversation later on the road, I should not mind but nor will I keep dominating your company when it seems all have finished their meals; your willingness to inform me of these matters is generous, and I thank you.? Graceful with his appreciation, he inclined his head, and though he was not always so formal, his company benefited from the best of his manners, he sensed. ?I do not think that I will be invited on this trip, but I shall not be far and I shall await until it is completed for you but there is no rush. I am not tired, and I do not mind how late it is before we depart.?

September 5th, 2014

He?d slept.

It was a rule broken, really, but never one he seemed to be punished for. Vadriel had chosen never to question the unexpected benevolence. That night, for four whole hours, he?d lain supine upon the library couch, his frock coat abandoned over its back, the stiffly-starched collar of his shirt yawning open and his hands naked.

It was a pleasure most would never understand, having ones hands uncovered. The smallest textures were denied him, coolness or warmth diminished under the fine fabrics of his gloves, and though he?d nought to fear alone, he still wore them as a precaution. The brass knocker did not often summon him to his front door where he might have to shake hands with guests or patients, but a little grey slip of a kitten made a regular habit of slithering beneath his palm for attention; cats were no less susceptible than people were.

Four hours was not enough to make up for weeks and months of wakefulness, but Vadriel felt the benefits of his slumber nonetheless, and had surprised Mesteno when he woke by suggesting they step outside. The young man had glanced up from the floor, belly down and elbow propped over the book he?d been reading to squint at him as if he?d misheard, yet here they were half an hour later, the September morning suffused with a murky, grey light which had not yet brightened enough to bother the doctor?s eyes.

It was still early, and the clock had not yet chimed the sixth hour.

The stone balustrade of the veranda was rough and cold under the tips of his fingers and the heels of his palms. The air licked coolly at his throat, and at the skin of his chest where the buttons had not been re-fastened. He?d a compelling urge to wander the green lawns and find everything that there was to touch, from bark to velvet petal, perhaps even to lie down in the grass and feel the dampness soak through his clothes until they clamped to his skin. There was even a pleasure to be found in the tickle of his own dark, curling hair as it skimmed across his broad shoulders and whispered about his neck.

For a man as wealthy as Vadriel, there was a great deal of deprivation, and the sensory aspect of it was truly one of the most crippling.

?They?re going to follow the owl, I think,? Mesteno told him, yawning broadly from where he was perched upon the railing. He?d wandered into the doctor?s residence not long after midnight, smelling like camphor oil and incense, scents of the Temple District.

?Then you will need to go with them,? Vadriel replied, ?and make sure that you do her no harm.?

?That?s the problem. I?m supposed to find some way to see her without harmin? her. I can?t find anything in the books that doesn?t pose a risk, and she?s connected to the Mother. Can you imagine the backlash if I do something wrong??

Vadriel drew his gaze from the gardens and fixed it upon the necromancer, who was sat shivering as if they were in the deeps of winter, wrapped in one of his smoking jackets.

?You know if I were to give you the sight again, the temporary blindness might become permanent.?

Spitting a curse effusively, the necromancer gave a shake of his head. ?I don?t want the sight Vadriel. I?m just scared of making another mistake like I did with Danica. I know I should?ve just let her die instead of meddlin?, but Evander was?? He made a futile gesture, fingers spread as if he struggled to convey something, but the tension ebbed out of him, fled on a sigh.

?Your intentions were noble,? Vadriel murmured, even if he could not approve of his methods, and never would.

Mesteno?s grunted response suggested acknowledgment but not necessarily agreement. In truth he?d not given any thought to the harm he might cause the dying woman, only to protecting his lover, and there was a selfish aspect to that he couldn?t ignore.

?You could always come lead them,? he suggested to Vadriel. ?I?d be right there with you. Promise. No boltin? off to screw in the woods or anything.?

?No.? The immediate response.

?S?not even worth me trying to persuade you, huh?? Slithering down off the balustrade, Mesteno settled into a mirroring lean beside the doctor, companionable rather than crowding, and asked, ?Was it really so bad, coming to meet them all??

The answer came only after a pause.

?It made me realise that I?ve sunk further than I thought I had,? Vadriel confessed, repentant, miserable to have to say it aloud. ?There were times I thought I had mastery over my fear, only for me to recognise it had never really gone away when you returned. That I was relieved to have you near again. I have always been reclusive Mesteno, but never a coward. Never that.?

?You don?t have to be, either. C?mon, Vay. You were given one mortal lifetime to spend amongst the living. One. You wanted it so bad you struck up a deal with--,?

?Don?t say it,? Vadriel begged him, though quietly.

?All right, fine,? Mesteno conceded, though between his teeth, ?but listen to me. You were given it despite what you did. You weren?t cast out, you were punished. The life is yours to live even if the duties of before remain, so you better f***in? make the most of it for the sake of that poor bastard whose place you took.?

There were very few ways to inspire any heightened emotion in Vadriel, but reminding him of his first and only crime was sure-fire. He swept away from the balustrade, powerful frame abruptly absent of all its inherent grace, diminished to man-flesh, brute with muscle and rippling tension. Perhaps this was how the man the body had been meant for might have moved if he?d been born into it, vigorous and sweeping aside all else before it. But this was Vadriel, whose passions spiked and then plummeted, and he was only part way across the lawn before Mesteno saw the dejection in his shoulders, the hair parting over his nape with the dip of his head.

The necromancer prowled after him, loping to begin with until he?d drawn level and could seize him by one arm.

?I?m sorry,? he murmured lowly, ?I shouldn?t have brought that up. Ain?t like you were the first one ever to get tempted.?

?How do I mend this?? Vadriel asked him abruptly, brushing aside the apology, his blood-shot, weary eyes intent upon the other man?s.

?Teach ?em,? Mesteno replied. ?You can still help them, guide them, but you gotta remind ?em you?re not theirs. You?re not what they?re looking for in the long run. You?re not even a stopping point between. You got too fond of their company, when the company you should have is living. They?re not a substitute just because they don?t hurt you.?

Vadriel considered his words, the raw truth of the matter, and offered him a smile so joyless it hurt to offer it.

?He must hate it when his servants hear the wisdom they need upon the tongues of sinners,? he remarked, turning to move back towards the manse.

?A ?thank you? would?ve sufficed,? Mesteno snorted, mock-offended, but he was grinning despite it, relieved as they turned their backs on the rising sun.