Alain is deep in the woods right now, a compass in one hand, Jean's leash in the other, and a rifle over his shoulder. After he first realized the way to the inn had been "lost," he decided it best to be prepared, and is trying to make his way to the Forgotten Layers heading west, with a road running north-south for miles to his east as his means of finding his way back. Jean appears on edge, ears high, nose twitching rapidly, knowing instinctively that something is wrong with the forest. It's dying, and while Alain cannot feel it the same way Jean does, he can see it all around him.

Indeed, the trees were weakened. A number of them have gone grey with death, barren branches reaching in unheard pleas. The way to the inn was lost. Not even the compass would guide him there, for tears had a way of sending people away from where they weren't wanted. Izira's will, even with her gone, outweighed all others. Jeremiah sensed him, though. Plodding around through the woods with his dog and a gun. It had been weeks since Izira's flight from the realm. About the same amount of time since he had spoken with Alain. The logical reasoning would be that Alain did something. The man came like the wind, one moment nothing and the next he was walking down on the man. Bright green eyes alive with fury. His un-tucked white shirt fell over tan pants, sandals worn on his large feet. He seemed almost larger than he had the first time. His walnut brown hair with copper tones in disarray. Even the beard looked hectic. "What did you do?" He demanded in a growl.

Jean lowers his head and begins to growl, but Alain gives his leash a tug. He doesn't move for either weapon (honestly worried about bears or random monsters), but a revolver is still at his hip within easy reach. "What I deemed necessary for her well-being." He looks around at the trees, and then back at Jeremiah. "Given you suggested it yourself at one point, I did not think breaking off the relationship would result in... this... but she dissolved the bond almost immediately."

"I suggested breaking off the relationship, aye. I did not suggest you break her in the process." A hand moving out to the surrounded woods, proof that something was wrong. Then his hand came back to him as his eyes darken. His words low, "What did you do?"

"I told her I might have to sleep with another woman at the beginning of our relationship, for the sake of my undercover work. That time came... and I realized keeping her in my life like this would only hurt her more." He looks around at the woods again and back at Jeremiah. "I did not anticipate a break-up would be her total unraveling... If I had, I probably wouldn't have done it."

He paused, his eyes taking in Alain. "You... told her. You told her you were going to sleep with someone else and then broke up with her." His tone a harsh cut, he might as well have been calling Alain an idiot. "You idiot!" Taken care of then.

"Only so much a man can do with a situation like that, Jeremiah - my hands were tied." In spite of what rolls under the surface, he is keeping a cool expression, the light in his eyes extinguished. "This," he gestures to the woods, "had become an inevitability, in hindsight. The longer I'd waited, the worse it would have been. Imagine what would have happened had I waited until after the case was resolved, to tell her I wouldn't recover? The realm probably would've burst into flame."

"Longer you waited? Why even take her in the first place? Now she's gone and I can't leave to get her back her. You... You... will get her back here." Jeremiah didn't care about Alain's excuses or thoughts or feelings or anything about the man except to fix what was wronged and beyond his reach.

"Because I thought I still had a chance," he answers plainly, and gives Jean's leash another tug to bring him back under control. "I can't promise anything - she didn't seem too keen on the idea of being here with you before we broke up, and she's not likely to do what I tell her. But I'll do what I've always done..." He begins to walk away, though backwards so he can look at him. "Scheme. Deceive. Sooner or later, there'll come a way to send her back here."

"Sooner, Alain. Not later." His voice carrying the tone of a warning. Time was not on their side.

He pauses, sensing the urgency in his voice. "I'll do what I'm able... but I'm little more able of bringing her back here than you are, Jeremiah." Then he turns his back on the man, disappearing into the woods with Jean.

Calling after him, "I don't care if you drag her back half dead. You get her back here!" Though no response came in return.

Alain had slipped Locke a note while the ice elf was working his usual shift at the Red Dragon Inn that Wednesday, under the pretext (and hidden in a wad of paper money) that he had no silvers to pay for his drink. Locke had deftly palmed the piece of paper and slipped it in his pocket, waiting until his shift was over to read it. While he was changing out of his work outfit, he scanned the letter. And frowned. Izira was in great danger. Needed to return to the Forgotten Layers Inn? Why? Why did Alain care? How was he supposed to do that? He sighed, then returned to his routine. It looked like he would be going out once more this evening...

Rather than his two-tone, black and white outfit, Locke had worn a pale blue(nearly the color of his skin) with white vertical pinstripes button-up, a darker navy blue tie that had a white diamond pattern on it, and black trousers, belt, and dress shoes. There had been others present at the Great Helm as well: Zara, whom he'd seen earlier while tending; Erin, who was apparently taking a break from calling and working at the Stitch; Eva, the doctor who had tended his wounds when he had been shot in the Inn previously; and Lesty, that insufferable pink-haired vixen who had sullied his good name in print. And, of course, Izira, tending bar. Something...seemed off, though. So, on the pretext of conversing with Doc Eva about the scar on his hand, Locke asked her to join him in a booth to speak privately. He didn't pull the curtain closed, mainly because he wanted Izira and the other occupants of The Great Helm to see him actually pretending to talk about the scar. He slipped his right glove off, resting the hand on the table. The flesh was marred, with a ghost-white handprint that covered the top of his hand.

Eva took the seat across from him, angling so she didn't block the light. Leaning over to look at his hand, her own hand reached out towards him as if to touch it. "That's... unusual, Locke."

"Word of advice. If you ever find yourself face-to-face with a demon who is baying for your blood, don't ruck with him or her. Run. Like. Hell." He lowered his voice, leaning across the table, using his gloved left hand to shield his face from the rest of the bar. "That's not why we're here, though."

"We're not?" Her eyes moved away from the scar, to him, a brow lifted. "Oh..." Body turned somewhat away from the bar and towards the scar, looking back at it while waiting for him to speak further.

He held the right hand up, palm facing toward Eva. Having seen both sides, it would become quite clear what the scar was. It looked like someone with a very hot hand had grabbed hold of his own. The scar traveled under his pinky, ending in fingers a short ways into his palm. "I have been tasked with an important duty. Regarding her. You seem to be a good friend of hers, better than I am, so I figured that I would enlist your assistance."

She saw the scar fully, understood what it was. Finally getting that he's talking about Izira, she let out a quiet curse. "Jesus Christ... she's in trouble... isn't she?"

Locke kept a quiet tone as he continued, "I am not certain. All I have been told is that she needs to be...convinced to go home. Why she wouldn't want to, or why it's so bloody important that she do so, I haven't a tube." He stared at his hand, intently, as though that was still the topic under discussion.

She knew his hand would be cold, almost painful, to the touch. But she reached out to touch his hand gently, wanting to feel the shape of the scar. "Who told you? Who asked for your help?"

Lady Death

Eva stood in the dusty center of a dry creek bed and turned around. The potent summer sun beat down on the back of her neck. She wore her hair pinned up to catch a breeze, but the air was completely still. The trees on either side of the bank were brown and dead. The entire realm was a tinder box. Just the tiniest of sparks and the whole forest would go up in flames.

She kicked a rock, then bent down in the dust. At her feet were the dessicated remains of a small fish; just a skeleton now, its bones sun bleached. She picked it up carefully, examining the dead creature in the palm of her hand. There had been life here once. Maybe that's what Izira had meant when she referred to herself as Lady Death. That she was the cause of all this death.

The forest was quiet. Nothing shuddered. Nothing creaked. Nothing breathed. The silence was as oppressive as the heat. Eva knew it with more certainty than she ever had. Izira needed to come back. She'd been skeptical when Locke told her, but now she felt it in her bones. Izira needed to come back here - but not only for the realm. For herself too.

Eva tossed aside the fish skeleton and straightened up. She climbed out of the river bed, rocks tumbling beneath her feet, then settling again into silence. It would be easy to place all of the blame on Alain. For doing what he did. For hurting her. But Eva knew that all of this didn't belong to him. It had to do with Izira's power. She'd seen it flash in the girl's eyes. Seen the flames. And seen the scar on Locke's hand. Izira was out of control. The bond she'd had with Alain, the one that kept her power in check, it was gone. Eva was terrified for Izira. Maybe that's why she was so cold. Because any rise in emotion brought the fire. Maybe it was easier for her to control it when she was numb.

Eva followed the creek bed in the direction of home, occasionally pausing to glance at her map. She didn't know much about magic. Living in RhyDin, she'd been forced to acknowledge it, of course, to acknowledge that there were things beyond her ability to understand. Science was her god. But science couldn't explain what had transformed Izira into the Lady Death.

So the question she kept circling back to was this: how could mortal, powerless Eva help Izira to control her mystical abilities and bring her back home? Eva had no idea. But one thing was certain. Eva was going to get burned.