Sylvia sat in the family?s quarters watching her sons play with their toys. Amusingly pleased that no fights had broken out between them so far over this or that plaything, she let her attention wander to the windows where midday light beamed its way through the paned glass. As ever, when given the opportunity by lack of distraction, her thoughts turned to the north. Waiting was a fretting type of condition, but useful in its own way. She never got so much accomplished in a day as when she was trying to keep her mind and hands occupied. It was why she normally would be in Rhydin when these things happened, but she did not want to be there either. This time, she wanted to be here when he came home.

The door of the room was opened by Miriam. She stepped just inside before speaking. ?My lady, Master Pearan desires to speak with you.?

It was a strange sensation those very innocuous words brought upon Sylvia. Her stomach knotted, but she managed a smile. ?Of course, please have him come in.?

Miriam nodded and opened the door wider for the member of the Circelus to enter. Without question or hesitation, Miriam then conducted the boys from the room with a very reasonable excuse of taste testing treats in the kitchen. The boys would not even blink at the idea or the timing, but went running from the room. The knot in Sylvia stomach grew and hardened.

Master Pearan approached and gave a bow. ?Please sit, Master Pearan,? Sylvia smiled and motioned to the chair next to hers.

?Thank you, my lady.? He worried at the corner of his mouth as he gathered robes. The man, a scholar as well as a performer, tended toward colorful draping garments. Today the layers were a perfect blend of blue shades. She wondered if he wore it with intention.

But his eyes did not match them. No, they were dark when he lifted them to her. ?I can feel your anxiety and trepidation, and I will not use my gift upon you to ease your worry unless you ask it of me. But your feelings are justified, for I now wonder upon offering you good news or bad news first.?

Breath broke from Sylvia in a half-hearted chuckle. ?I think at this moment you might as well say either and as quickly as you can before I get myself too worked up.?

?It is my fault, but I fear nothing delivers such news well. Not even a song. I will speak plainly and succinctly. I have heard from Kiema, though she suffers vastly from the working she has done. The expedition went poorly and many men were lost in the confrontation. Those that remain are sheltered by Baron Galwyn. That is less than half the men, but they did regain one thought lost. Master Corinsson, Ewan, has been recovered, but drifts in and out of delirium. It seems he was transformed into Sedlaral.?

The gasp broke free of Sylvia?s mouth and she sat forward. The knot loosened in her stomach only to be replaced by nausea. Some little sensation, the anticipation of a breeze upon an exposed neck, told her the worst was yet to come.

Master Pearan nodded at her obvious distress over the news, but continued on. ?There is some inkling of recovery, but no certainty.? He sat up a little straighter, faced her more directly and kept his dark eyes locked upon hers. ?Baron Kieran has been severely wounded. They are doing all they can to restore him.?

And her world went topsy turvy. Nausea drove itself high in her throat, and her hand flew to cover her mouth as she lurched forward. Master Pearan edged forward on his seat, his hands gently on her shoulders and back to support her.

Tears burned at her eyes and drifted down her cheeks. Her mouth worked, but her throat was closed to words. Eventually she croaked out in panicked desperation, ?He needs to come home. He needs me. I can care for him. I can save him. Please?? But who was she asking?

Master Pearan rubbed her back, ?Shhh, you know he cannot be moved without greater peril to his life.?

?Then I?ll go to him, or?? and it brought her shockingly to her feet as she cried out, ?Atin! Atin! Oh please?.please hear me.?

The Changeling?s puzzlement was obvious in the twisting of brows and mouth. But that mouth dropped open as the figure of a young man appeared just inside the door. Pearan rose to his feet slowly.

?You called,? came the smooth voice.

In a whirl of skirts, she turned to the door, kicking toys out of her way as she moved to him. ?You can save him, like you saved me. Atin, please, save my husband.?

The sorrow in the strange fellow?s face was obvious to Pearan, but Sylvia could not see it in her desperation. ?I cannot, Sylvia. Not here.?

?He is not here. He is up north. Go get him. You healed my wounds. I beg you. I will do whatever you ask of me.?

?My lady,? Master Pearan warned. He knew too many tales and songs with similar words spoken that brought only tragedy.

Sylvia ignored him and gripped Atin?s tunic, ?Please??

Atin drew away her hands and stepped past her. ?It is not lack of wanting to, or requirement that you give something to me. I cannot do it. I do not have the ability.?

Sylvia?s mind hardened on the words. ?You liar! This is some trick of yours. Some game as before. You want him to die!?

?Oh, my love, I assure you I do not. I saved you in another time and another place. In this land I have little gifts to use.?

Shaking her head repeatedly, ?No, no?you tried to train me here.?

?Tried, yes. And because you are of another land. I had to see if there was a way to make it work. I had to learn the reason why gifts and tricks do not work here.?

?I was an experiment?? Sylvia?s voice was soft with tears and confusion.

Atin did not answer but his look spoke fully to the question. Instead, he began to fade away. ?I would spare you this pain if I could. I swear it.?

Sylvia wanted to purge every content of her stomach. Her body lurched again in motion of doing so, but nothing would rise up. She turned in lost circles in the room, seeking what she did not know. There were no answers. There was nothing anywhere around her to help her. Master Pearan had become as furniture and toys, just another object without purpose.

Her wanderings stopped as she realized what she was looking for. She was seeking Kieran.

Ewan felt as if he were rattling around in a large dark room. If he gave into the darkness, little shafts of memory like light through stained glass windows would begin to perform for him an settle in their place. Yet, when he roused from the uncertain state, all memories became vague shadows greyed in thick fog. All he knew was he still lived and he was in a blanket that bumped and jousled him around.

He tried to speak of the memories his mind had offered in hopes of knowing them in wakefulness, but the task was too great. His mouth moved over words partitioned by weak breathing and people would make him drink. Always he would seek the slumber again where more light would recapture him and fill the dark room of his mind.

"Your Excellency, we have received word that Prince Maelgwn is coming to Seansloe," the soldier driving the carriage called through the speakhole.

Kieran lay sprawled on the makeshift bed created from boards across both bench seats and covered in cushions. "As expected. The messenger must have made very good time." Or he had lost time in his dozing.

"I believe, sire, the Circelus took a hand in the matter as it has been just two days since we left Haresford Keep. We have some leagues to go yet, my lord." And the portal was closed.

"Of course," he breathed out. Of course, Master Pearn would have contacted the Circelus ambassador with the news. The imminent death of a baron with only young children as his heirs would require the royal presence.

Tears stung a corner of his eyes and he turned his head using the pillow cover to wick away the moisture. Sylvia would not be allowed as Protectorate until Cian reached his majority. That task would have to fall to his sister, Lyana, who still lived in Seansloe. She had refused enough suitors to fill a sloop, and had gained a reputation of being stubborn and hot headed.

The carriage was so dark with the curtains drawn, but a grey hazy light formed in the corner of a seat. Kieran felt he must be dreaming or perhaps it was a spirit come to claim him. A hollow voice tinged with pity spoke, "Your family will continue without you. I promise to watch over them."

No, that was just it. He had to be there to help Cian and his children grow up. He had to be there with Sylvia so she would not suffer through what his father did. He had to survive.

Gaerwyn had sailed over to Rhydin to represent the family. Aunt Maeve, Ewan's mother, was so distraught over the news of Ewan's condition that no amount of talk could persuade her to come. She had determined she would be useless wringing her hands over Ewan's still body and would keep herself busy at home.

Gaerwyn was more convinced that she could pretend Ewan was still just "away" if she did not see him. When he had seen his cousin, he almost wished he could just end the suffering. One quick stroke and the bewildered, caged animal look in his cousin's green eyes would be at peace.

Instead, Gaerwyn had forced himself to walk the city and bring back news of whatever caught his eye. Maybe just talking to Ewan would help. It was better than nothing.

He entered the dark room of the barracks with barely a knock. Storm must have been out tending to something, for Ewan lay as he had before, mouth moving over half words and incomplete thoughts, voiceless. Eyes opening into blank expressions of confusion and closing once again. Gaerwyn took a seat by the bedside.

"I saw Lenika today, old fellow. She looked well and will probably visit you. You look dreadful, you know. Might want to get yourself together and wash up. I know that Storm creature might accept you like this, but really, the smell is beginning to match the fish monger's home." This was not true. The staff had been doing a good job of keeping Ewan clean and the bed linens fresh.

"Oh, that's another thing. Took a walk about the Marketplace. You never told me how busy the trade here is in the warmer months. I could make a pretty penny if I started up some business, but I'm not sure I'd deal with the miasma of connections that would need to be made. Soon as you're up and going again, you can take me about to meet the right people."

Gaerwyn sighed as the conversation was doing him some good, but did not look to help Ewan at all. Nothing ever changed. "Well, come on then, can't let your bones get to jelly just lying there. Let's see you do some pushing." Gaerwyn took a book from the bedside table he had brought intending to read and laid it on Ewan's arm. As the first time, the arm twitched then struggled to turn and finally wiggled out from under it. Gaerwyn then placed the book on the other arm, and as he went through this made up exercise and talked, he kept an eye on the time piece at his pocket so he would know when to leave for dinner.

This time she ran. She ran as fast as she could through the barely awakened streets of Seansloe until an empty carriage and driver caught her eye. The storm had beaten the ship down, and they had arrived at the docks later than she would have liked. But the sea has her own mind, and it was only up to Kiema to make of it what she could.

?Seansloe Manor in haste,? she spoke breathlessly to the driver, who took her at her word and barely waited for her to be inside before starting the horse of with a quick flick of the whip to its flank. Sunrise drew up its gloried light from the horizon to press away the tired darkness. Kiema leaned forward in the carriage as if her assistance to press it further on could help.

As the entry gate released them into the courtyard, she left coins upon the seat and sprang from the carriage, stumbling in her haste. Servants were moving about their early morning duties and Kiema barely noticed their round shouldered stances or dark looks. Kieran must still be badly off and worry cast a pallor over everyone.

Driving her shoulder against the entry door prepared to race down the corridor, the scene inside was a trumpet sound announcing what had happened and that she was too late. Drapes remained closed and mirrors were concealed beneath dark green chiffon. The colors of the barony in unadorned simplicity covered the seat of the baron in the great hall. Kiema walked slowly down the corridor until she was found by Nyla.

?Sad day, Mistress Buie. He was so young.? Tears sprang from her eyes to cover the tracks of older tears shed earlier.

?Where is Her Excellency??

?In the room seeing to her newborn.? At Kiema?s look, Nyla found a small smile. ?A daughter.?

?Is she receiving anyone??

?None, miss, but her family, though, you I think she would see. Colwyn is there, miss. He will know.?

Kiema nodded and made her way to the family rooms. She knocked upon the door and waited. Colwyn opened and gave a bow. ?Mistress Buie, Your Excellency,? he announced.

?Have her come,? Sylvia?s voice was changed and barely held its pitch.

It was a simple sight that met Kiema?s black eyes. Sylvia sat in a chair nursing the baby. Aiden played at her feet, but without the sweet simple joy he used to display. He seemed dismayed and uncertain. Afraid of what he is feeling around him, but not sure why everyone was crying. Kiema could feel it in him and it cut her open that he would scarce remember his father. Even Cian, who sat clinging to his mother?s leg now, knowing his father was gone but barely understanding. Some day he would not remember.

Matre noctis, what had she done?

Sylvia looked up to her not even attempting a smile. Kiema moved to sit on the floor by her side, ?I failed you.?

The scattered, choking breath caught in Sylvia?s throat, and she shook her head while trying to regain her voice. ?No, Kiema. You tried. There was no way to know how fast the infection would spread. It was a deeper wound than they thought.?

Kiema looked at the little baby and smiled bittersweetly. Sylvia seemed to know some intent behind that smile and said softly, ?He saw her before he went. He saw his sweet Beata.? And the Baroness leaned over to kiss the child?s head and then rested her head back while silent tears washed her cheeks afresh.

That someone coming to the manor at this hour was unusual enough, but for them to knock as well was something to rouse suspicion. The quartermaster was roused from his slumber and informed as one of the guards went to answer the gate and open it with some caution. This particular recruit being of Rhydin, and having grown up in the shadows of the inn, recognized the visitor immediately. "Miss Sid, ma'am." He pushed the gates open further so she might enter.

The quartermaster was trotting his way up with another recruit in tow. Of the men still on the grounds here, he was the only one from Yransea, and he was a little more reluctant to be letting just anyone on the grounds he did not know. Fortunately, he was also a fairly sensible man, and in seeing the recruit who had opened the gate seeming at ease, he let his guard down -- a little. "Something we here at Yearling Brook can do for you, miss--?"

"Miss Sid, sir, or leastways that?s what she's called about the inn," the recruit piped up.

"Oh is it now. And you spending lots of your time there to know are you?" a brusque curl of his lip frowning at the lad.

"Well, yes, I used to. Sir, she's a friend of Baroness Sylvia."

The quartermaster had enough of this, "Back to your duty, lad. I'll see to our guest here." And the other men were off without a second thought. "Pardon, Miss Sid, but I hadn't been anticipating your arrival. The Baroness Sylvia's not in residence, nor likely to with the Baron passing on and all. Was there somewhat perhaps one of us can do?"

He had guided her in further of the grounds so when the question came about, they stood equidistant from the front of the main manor building all dark and quiet, and the barracks with its unpatterned lights in windows.

The man knew that tone of voice alright and he gave a nod, ?Not staring, miss, but I?d be lax in my duties if I didn?t warn you it will take a day and a half, if the weather favors the next ship that sails in the morning, for any messages to reach Seansloe. Just the way it is I?m afraid.?

The quartermaster had not been the only one wakened from his bed, but Gaerwyn had risen due to the noise just outside his door and no other reason. Sounds were somehow different here than at home in Seansloe or on the Inspire. He dressed quickly and came out to see what the kafuffle was about. There was something on the air as he stepped out the barracks door and approached the two not far off. The quartermaster just explaining the method messages pass back to Seansloe by ship when Gaerwyn came up.

The quartermaster continued, ?I don?t know what use you can be, miss, to a man dead and gone a full night past now, but that?s your matter. And I know little about this healing Mistress Buie called you about, unless it has to do with Master Corinsson.? He had felt Gaerwyn coming up and bowed out of the conversation. ?Captain Caisson can better help you with that. By your leave, I?ll see to your requests.?

Not that the man waited, but was off to make sure the required note was written and added to the satchel of missives to be sent out with the next ship bound to Seansloe in the morning. Gaerwyn bowed slightly to Sid, ?My cousin is in his barracks, and I do not think a salve is going to heal him. Mistress Buie wanted some healing salve for the Baron?s wounds, but apparently did not arrive in time.? He lifted a hand to indicate the barracks behind him. ?If you?ll come with me I?ll show you to Ewan. I do not know if that?? he stops and starts again, ??if Storm will be in there or not. She keeps watch over him most nights.?

He is uncomfortable in this lady?s presence even in his knowledge that she is a friend to the family of Yransea. It is something around her, about her, the sound of her or the smell, or perhaps it all together. It was like how he can tell a squall is rising up when out at sea. But Kiema called her to aid his cousin, and it will not be he who fails in making sure what aid that can serve reaches Ewan.

Through the barracks doors and down the hallway to a room set beneath the large staircase on the far side. There were no windows for the room and so when the door opened only light from hallway scones fell upon the bed where lay Ewan. It was a moment of his eyes being awake and his mouth moving wordlessly over half syllables and nonsense. And just as soon, the eyes were closed and the lips softened their motion. Spoken softly, ?This is how he is, miss. Like a fever without the heat, and when his eyes open there?s nothing to them?no Ewan behind those eyes. It?s like he?s caged away, or best I can explain it. I don?t know what you can do for him.? He kept his eyes on this cousin who every time he saw him looked more like the shell of a man.

Kiema had failed to save the baron, but she was determined this would not happen with Ewan. She had requested leave to return to Rhydin and was granted it by Master Pearen. The portal was not far off and she hurried, sometimes even into a steady jog, to gain its grasp by noon.

The thundering of hooves fast approaching behind her brought her attention around, though her feet still carried onward to the gate. ?Mistress Buie!? the rider called. ?Mistress Buie you are called back by the Baroness.?

That brought her to a stop, and the rider came up beside her offering an arm to pull her up on the saddle behind him as he explained. ?The Prince and Princess are here and demanding that Master Corinsson be brought for trial should he recover.? The messenger explained as he turned the horse about.

?Matre noctis, will this nightmare not end?? she whispered and kicked her heels into the horse?s flanks before the messenger could react. Lurching into a gallop, the horse careened around the trees, retracing the path she had walked just moments earlier.

They had to slow into a canter for some time so not to wind the horse, but were back at a gallop again until they came into the back of the manor where the gardens were tired in the midday heat. Sliding from the saddle with a word of thanks to the messenger, she raced through the gardens and into the manor where Colwyn and Master Pearen meet her in one of the corridors heading to the solarium.

?Welcome back,? Master Pearen said with a smirk. ?It seems Sylvia has some sense in her with all that has happened.?

Colwyn noticeably stiffened, ?She is not called the Yran Rose for nothing, Master.?

Kiema felt the thread Pearen sent out to soothe the manservant. ?Forgive me, Master Colwyn, for I meant no offense. The lady has been through much, and I think any person would be hard pressed to stay aware of all the complexities of this situation.?

Colwyn opened the door for them and they came upon the scene of a subtly fuming Sylvia, an uncomfortable Rian, and most perversely an amused Prince. The Changelings could feel the array of emotions and shared a suspicious glance. ?Go ahead, Pearen, take on the Prince. I would like to see this.? Kiema sent. She received a chastising glance in return.

?Prince Maelgwn, Princess Rian,? he bowed and Kiema curtsied behind him. ?Baroness Sylvia, you called for our assistance??

?Yes,? Sylvia was evidently not going to calm down, but the Changelings saw no reason to stop this right now. It was not indignant anger, but justifiable from their point of view. ?These two seem to have it in mind that Ewan should be brought to trial, and I feel you two are of a better mind to know the details of the matter.?

?Your Highness,? Pearen began smoothly and smiled to Maelgwn, ?I have a great respect for the laws of your kingdom, and they have served well for centuries. They have also been used with appropriate jurisdictional latitude in unusual circumstances. I must confess I find this circumstance unusual in the extreme, do you not??

?I will not deny its uniqueness, but I also will not say a man witnessed by you, Mistress Buie, as having caused the blow that killed my wife?s brother should be absolved of the crimes because he was not himself at the moment. I would have every miscreant in the land claiming possession if that were to become a precedent.? He revealed nothing of the light amusement he was feeling. He looked to Sylvia, ?Are we to have a trial now without the accused present? That seems unfair.?

Kiema rather wanted to know the point of humor, ?Prince Maelgwn, what if this situation do you find humorous??

The feelings in the room shifted like a boat hit by a high beam sea. ?Right on time,? Master Pearen sent through the link.

?I find it better to be amused by a pair of Changelings instructing me on the rules of my land and when best to implement them than to be angry,? Maelgwn answered crisply.

?Mm, wise decision,? Kiema nodded and moved to encourage Sylvia to sit who was looking pale. ?However, as you say, I am the witness to this event. I am a witness in more than you can possibly imagine, and even I do not understand all what happened. But this I know, Ewan was not in control when the blow struck. I do know that he risked his life to keep the final strike from falling. So what then do you say, Prince of Palendies? Is he a hero or a traitor?

?Of course, this may all be a moot point if he does not recover. I must excuse myself and return to Rhydin as soon as I may.? Kiema looked to Sylvia for release since she had called her back.

?Take a horse, Kiema,? Sylvia offered.

A smile and nod before she departed the company, now under the supervision of Pearen as they contemplated the bizarre events unfolding around them.

Frustration, worry, and, to her, an unexplainable sorrow over the news of Sylvia?s husband were about to carry the Ancient away. It was all she could do to keep from snapping at the poor quartermaster again, especially hearing that the Master Swordsman had also fallen. ?Only a moon?s passin?,? a whisper on the wind those words fell, glamoured eyes alight with silver threads lifting from contemplation of the dust at her feet to meet the approach of Captain Caisson.

Sid was not going to wait for the ship to deliver a message. As Captain Caisson bowed and she returned the gesture with an incline of her head, fifty silver bells and nine but a soft tingle on the air, somewhere off from eyes that could see a violet shimmer rippled the darkness and through the rent in space and dimension flew a small creature, swiftly heeding her silent call.

One impossibly long leg swings off Baby?s leather saddle, the wheel-less Panhead bobbing mid-air with the release of weight and giving off a snort of exhaust that scented of lavender, basil, and dill?s sharp tang. With an affectionate pat to the depthless black tank, the Trueblood nods, following Gaerwyn towards the barracks.

?It be with great sorrow I nae quite fathom tha? I hear o? Kieran?s passin?,? strange words for an even stranger feeling, she is sure. Jackboots raise the dust of the compound as she walks alongside Gaerwyn. Words unspoken about Storm bringing her eyes to a study of the male as they near the barracks, the look is not judgmental or unkind, simply assessing in nature. ?I can be understandin? the lady?s vigil.?

Sid passes through the front door of the barracks last, leaving it ajar slightly. Stopping with the Captain outside Ewan?s room, she listens, letting other eyes flow over the Master Swordsman while her physical ones kept attention on Gaerwyn. In Summer she has been, and everything about her is heightened, it is not difficult to recognize the Captain?s discomfort with her presence.

A gentle hand is placed to his shoulder, her words quiet and low. ?Ye be kin, ye worry. Ye see him as he be afore an? dun wan? him to linger as this. Tha? be natural an? understandable. Ye explain wha? be happenin? well. ?Tis wha? it seems like. As for wha? I can be doin? for Ewan, why nae let me worry o?er tha?, aye? An? I be getting? to the whys an? hows o? it all once I send this missive to Seansloe.?

For, as soon as the Trueblood spoke those words, a small bird lit upon her shoulder. Marked with white under tail and on its throat, plumage predominately grey-brown with a glossing of green, its wings are long, pointed, and curved. Wasting no time, a stub of a pencil and small scrap of parchment are tugged from her back pocket and she begins to write, using the doorjamb as a brace.

Not worried what Gaerwyn may be thinking, she lays out instructions for the Spine-tailed Swift in an ancient Elvin dialect, the word Stormbird clear amongst the rest as the bird bobs its head, tilting it this way and that, appearing to be listening. When the note is finished, she reaches up and one multi-colored elflock comes off in her fingers. Tying that and the note about the bird?s leg, she bids it well and quickly upon its way.

?Now, shall we see to wha? be ailin? ye cousin?, Captain?? A fox lit grin on thin lips as she passes him, moving through the doorway over to Ewan?s bed.

Sid sat at Ewan's bedside, one hand smoothing along the top of the bed covers next to his leg, her eyes went over to unglamoured silver. Dark shadows tainted their edges and she looked to the Master Swordsman with trepidation. "I can only be hopin' wha' be up with me nae causes changes ye nae want, Ewan," her words soft and low, a glance given to Storm across the room before she leaned in close to whisper even more quietly.

"A'right, sweet, 'tis nae like I 'ave ne'er done wha' I be about to do, but to say it be a while since I 'ave be an understatement. Han' with me Ewan, we be gettin' ye back to rights. This be a promise from me to ye," she took his hand, the words weight the air with the magic of a true vow. Fingers laced with the Master Swordsman and a violet shimmer rippled about the Ancient and Ewan. Closing her eyes, she first tasted the edges of his thoughts seeking the easiest entrance to his psychic plane, one that would not be so tumultuous. One deep inhale and exhale and the Trueblood let pass one plea to those who would listen to one such as she that this would work, and work well.

Ewan's mouth moved in his half words and wordless motions, but inside he felt a tremble upon the landscape of his mind. The threads of memories that danced about him and refused to let him understand their place in his life skittered and tremored as if on a teasing wind. He wondered if he had been taken again by the Sedlaral and started to step back once more towards the solid memory of who he was, ready to escape back into that cocoon of safety, fearing what might happen this time.

As she found the least possible resistance in memory of self, Sid stepped through the memory onto Ewan's psychic plane, keeping her presence as non-threatening as possible for the moment. It was dark, blank, what he could see right now she could not, though he had the possibility to already discern her there about him.

She felt his fear, keeping to the shadows of his mind, and she spoke with her voice soft and warm. "Ewan Corinsson, please dun fear. I 'ave come to help ye if'n I can." Outside, fingers tightened on his and her other hand lifted to lie gently to his brow.

A memory danced close and he tried to capture it and hold it tight but it slipped away. In that moment of its nearness he saw and understood the memory. A night at the inn. Elflocks. A voice in laughter. Sid. He knew little of the Ancient or her capabilities, but he could not deny the possibility of truth in words that coaxed him from the harbor in his mind. He called out softly just the name that lingered, "Sid. Where are you? Are you....here?"

In this mindscape all glamour was negated, it was as much the plane of her own psyche as it was his. She appeared as what she felt is her trueness, the Maiden. Spider-silk silver hair cascaded down her lank form clad in gossamer white, fifty silver bells and nine chimed like the wind through trees as she stepped forward, forming before him to a solidness.

"I be here, Ewan. This..." a long fingered hand swept about them. "...be ye mindscape." It was, perhaps, blunt, but the Ancient found that sometimes that was best. Face things head on right away and move from there.

The vision of her unfamiliar, but then the memory he had held was fading again as it moved away. Maybe this was what she looked like. The voice seemed right. "Yes," he whispered, "yes my mind, but not my mind. I...nothing stays. Nothing but who I am and that."

He turned to face the memory again. The memory where he looked to know all that had happened before and that spoke the words "Let me die." Ewan turned back to the vision of Sid, almost unable to keep his mind guided upon her, he struggled to draw his focus there time and again. "Have I not died? I see things and try to hold on....but nothing stays." He slowed. "I...nothing stays and I cannot make it stay." Unknowingly he repeated himself as he focused again on a memory that danced by him and he reached for it to find more of himself.

"Ye 'ave nae died, Ewan. Ye lie half in an' half out o' yeself within the barracks o' Yearlin' Brook. I be there..." stepped forward, her hand brushes against his own. "An' this sight o' me be real, nae vision or memory. We be on the psychic plane where I be hopin' we can work to weave ye life back together an' bring ye to yeself fully. Ye memories 'ave become... unwoven, Ewan."

Silver eyes looked about the dark place, trying to pick out what it is he can see of his memory. "Storm be there with ye. An' ye cousin, Captain Gaerwyn, as well. Do ye know o' them, Master Swordsman? Can ye find them?" As she did on reality's plane, her fingers laced with his.