"Willen, your company with me!" Ewan called as he watched another splinter group, beyond the seventy odd swarming the walls, continued up the road following the western border towards the woods. "You archers there, up on the rooftop!" He commanded the two with a pointing gesture to the tall roof of the guest house.

With her company of seven Willen ran to his side as he began a trot up the inside of the western wall. "Magic user, sir?" She asked as she spared a moment to wipe away a trickle of blood irritating the side of her eye. The cut was beyond her hairline and stained the edges a deep maroon.

He nodded. "One at least from the way I can see. I do not think they will risk many in the unknown. Not yet."

Not until Sid's traps reveal themselves and the gate seems like the lesser peril. Ewan felt the eyes on him, hair rising no the back of his neck, and it was all the comforting thrill of blood and battle, death to serve, and bodies to slay. He smiled and saw the mirror of that smile on the muzzle of a forest fox crouched low at the edge of the wood.

The enemies met as the wall ended, each spotting the other at the same moment. No hesitation on either side as bodies and blades clashed. Ewan fought in silence while the grunts and cries of combat around him washed out the fluttering of leaves in the wind.

A blow like a hammer upon his back drove out his breath. When he turned to face his assailant, nothing was there. Sucking in air and clinging to keep his vision clear, he searched the near area and found the magic user, her blue eyes focused on him and her hand rising again in mimic of a strike. He dashed aside to try and break her attention upon him, but again he felt the blow and crashed down to his knees struggling for breath once more.

Lurching to his feet, he aimed for the magic user. The gleam of her proud defiance seemed to add an aura of radiance about her. He doubted he would gain enough ground before she struck again, determined to beat him down as if she knew he wore the magicked armor beneath his leathers. Perhaps she did.

A roar built up inside his chest, growing and aching to be freed, but it was not his roar that cried above the tumult. It rolled like thunder and shook the trees. Ewan braced himself against the sensation to fall upon his knees again, and looked up at the tall, dark form of a great mountain bear.

Its coat was inky in the shadows of the trees where twilight behind offered no light. The might paw swung like the torrent and smashed against the bright and mystical magic user. Strangely, even amid the sounds of battle, Ewan heard the snap, like a might branch broken. Her body lay crumpled in a misshapen heap, watering the ground with blood and entrails.

The others of the brigands, cried now in fear not in battle rage, and ran back to the false safety of the long wall. The bear did not pursue, falling to all fours and huffing, as if in disappointment, that she had no further bodies to slay. One great root rose up from a nearby tree, like a vine it stretched and curled about the body of the dead mage, and drew it in close and deep, sinking back down into the earth with its prize.

Heavy breathing and murmurs of prayers and thanks echoed about him. He blinked away the sweat from his eyes and took account of those with him. Willen lay upon the ground, wide eyed up at the starry sky with attendants of wolves guarding her body empty of its soul.

Ewan had no time now to tend her. This small skirmish had been won, this part of their border secured, but the battle continued on. "Come, you lot," he coughed against raw lungs. "We are not done." He gave a nod to the bear, almost laughed at himself in the doing, but there was no doubt she had saved his life.

Now to go risk it again.

Storm knew it was happening.

After her discussions with Shawn, Storm wanted to ask Kiema more specific questions about her own gift and their uses in Yransea. Despite the growing tension that was building at Yearling Brook, Storm's desire to learn to use her gifts as quickly as possible rode her patience enough to seek Kiema now. Kiema would not have to leave Yearling Brook, and Storm could ask the questions that she needed answers to. And now the vines screamed of the warnings of battle that Ewan had explained only a short time before.

Storm ran silently aisde the wall of roots and vines, staying clear of the warning to Sid's pods. Irritably she reached up and tore the cloak's binding against her. With anger building, dark rolling clouds were quick to move and cover the area. There was going to be no restraint now. Her gift was at it's fullest, and a grin was quick to show as continued to let the air cushion the sound of her footsteps. She had no metal weapon, but for the time it didn't matter. The clouds were building, creating a dark looming cast over the vast area. She had no need for her arms to balance her run, and so she began to consense the air in between her hands to make it dense to form a weapon of her own.

Finally, she heard the sound of clashing metal and voices on the other side of the wall. There was something else, and while Storm couldn't put her finger on it, her skin crawled with the electricty that filled the surrounding air. The opening was quick find after that, and she quietly eased her way through, and pushed the dense air into a thin, small disk. It felt like metal in her hands and yet it it had only a tint of grey color to it. Keeping it in her left hand, she sought the quickest group of fighters and made her way towards them with a silent run. Any sound her breathing made could have been covered up by the growing thunder.

As she neared on the group, Storm noticed that the fighters were cringing, but not to the various blows they were receiving. They stood still from what seemed to be terror or panic, and never acknowledged when a blow was coming. As she searched the odd scene further, her eyes landed on a tall woman that also wasn't moving, but her face showed no signs of torment. When Storm's skin tingled again, she knew that this woman was in charge, and was to be the target of her weapon. Storm raised up her hand as she neared the group, and suddenly the setting changed and she threw the disk only to hit a man standing in the way.

She came to a halt as the battle left her vision and instead she was in darkness. The feeling of earth caved in around her and panic laced through her anxiety. She hardly noticed the blow to her middle as the scene shifted and changed once more. She recognized the room of torture that was hers years ago, along with the smell of spices and the two men that would always come for her "sessions." A blow behind her brought her down to her knees as the scene changed back to Yearling Brook. Though this vision was in a simple room, with Ewan laying in the bed with the sickly tattoos over his skin. The feeling of despair was so overwhelming that tears threatened to fill her eyes. The back of her mind knew that this was only a collection of her worst memories, and yet she could not separate the feelings that associated with the scenes. Every blow to her was numbed compared to the reviewing of the memories that woke her in the night.

Storm lost track of time. It seemed only like seconds and hours at the same time. The vision of being trapped inside of Jeremiah's tree wavered and revealed the gifted woman controlling the vision being pushed into the vines, hitting several of Sid's pods in the process. The induced panic was giving the woman a hard time to control her gift over so many. It was just enough time to break the feelings that loomed over Storm and to bring her mind back to reality. It didn't seem like she had been influenced for long, and yet her body ached to say that it was long enough. With a quick glance up, Storm knew that the clouds were rumbling still with her gift, and they were ready.

She tucked her feet under to support her weight as she sprinted into a run. She had to take advantage of the woman's disorientation. With no one standing in the way, it was the one opportunity to save the others were trying to separate the visions from reality. She lifted up her left hand, feeling a bolt of lightning stir in the air before it released to find home in her hand. It's power radiated down her arm and through her body as it shaped itself into a weapon for her use. Without pause, she swiftly reached the surprised woman, and drove the bolt into her middle, letting it's power release into the woman. She didn't have to wait to see the life leave her eyes as she pulled the bolt out and quickly turned to help the recovered fighters handle the rest of the splinter group.

Once she was certain that it was under control, Storm ran down the wall again to find another group. Her skin tingled again, but before she had an opportunity to see what was going on, her eyes landed on a man with red eyes that connected her her own, and her mind was filled with a sound that racked and pained every nerve in her body. Her run stopped instantly as her vision blurred and she fell to the ground, letting the bolt discharge into the ground as she covered her ears. The frequency heightened, and the ground spun dizzily around her as she closed her eyes and felt her muscles twitch and spasm in agony.

The sound overwhelmed her thoughts enough to disguise the sound of oncoming footsteps.

Yearling Brook became the murky surreal landscape of dreams and nightmares. The fury of the forest creatures and the hardly comprehensible mannequins of terrors brought to life set havoc in the hearts of the invaders unaccustomed to such visions. The fighters of Yearling Brook recognized those shapes and phantoms of the motley diversity of Rhydin, gratitude forthcoming in weary limbs as the final brigands were corralled in the murky and muddy field besides the creaking and broken ice of the creek.

Sylvia walked to the little more than a dozen of those that had not fled or died. Her mind was on Marghaid and when the healer would come. It had not been long enough, she knew, for Gwen to get there and back, but it also seemed like forever. She was quiet as she walked around the disarmed and defeated group, weaving in and out of the circle of mystical and magical captors while those of Yearling Brook tried to tend to their wounds and those of their brethren.

The body of the man was heavy, but Ewan did not care. He dropped it unceremoniously at the feet of the captives, letting its red eyes stare lifeless up to the sky now regaining stars. The twisted and distorted neck, it's angle sickly and unnatural revealed how he had died. Ewan had seen his wife succumb to whatever trick the mage employed, and while the focus was on her, two angry hands and quick jerk had snapped the mage's neck clean.

By that hour, the battle was beginning to cross from desperation into despair by the attackers and not much longer, the battle was done. Kiema's eyes were as black as the sky above them, her dress stained with blood not her own along the skirt and dark streaks of mud along the hem. She was too weak to employ any talent upon the captives, but they knew what she was, and for some that was enough. A changling among the terrors of Rhydin kept men praying to the Twelve and eyes darting away from their curious glances at her.

Sylvia saw Gwen riding double behind another on horseback that came clattering into the yard, only barely kept from being attacked by the young servant's hail. The horse did not stop until it reached the barracks and both riders dropped off and ran past the shadow guard. "Ewan, see to the rest of this rabble." Sylvia grumbled as she ran on to the barracks.

Her heart was pounding and her hastily bandaged side ached, but all that stopped when she saw the face of the healer and Marghaid's pale, still body. "I am too late." The healer, a young man unfamiliar to Sylvia, but she saw no lie in his eyes when he looked straight at her. "I am sorry."

The healer began to look her over, but she waved him off. "No, there are others in more need of your aid out there. I can wait." She saw his lips go firm to start arguing, but he nodded and left.

Rian's weeping was soft as she cuddled close the softly cooing infant. "Gwen," Sylvia began and the red eyed servant girl approached with the meekness of a mouse. "Return the children and others inside the manor house. Help the others see them to bed and return here with me. We will prepare Marghaid for her journey home."

There was nothing out of Rian as she followed almost blindingly the guidance of those around her. With the room emptied, the quite of bubbling water from the large soaking bath the only sound, Sylvia pressed her back to the wall and slid down, sitting near Marghaid. The tears flowed, burning eyes and lungs with grief, pain, and the relief of tension. She cried out all her hurts, her doubts, and her sorrows. She cried for those that had died and those that were lost to her. Tears came until there were no more to be had, and the burning alone remained like a flame bright and terrible in her heart.