She was tired. No. She was exhausted. And yet, instead of heading home she was walking toward another destination entirely.

Days had come and gone too numerous to count since he had been taken. Taken before she could ever truly thank him for his gift.

She put a clawed hand up to touch the lid of one eye. She could not look in the mirror without being reminded of that gift. It gave her back her life... and then some. Every morning she would brush her hair, looking at the yellow wyrm eyes that stared back at her. For close to three centuries they had been green. Before that they were the angry dark almost black that most of the moredhel had. And now they would forever be a testament to what had been freely given to her.

She let the hand drop as she continued her walk. The other hand tightening it's grip on the almost mended staff. His staff. But it could not be complete. Despite her sister's almost unlimited abilities, it could not be complete. Her memory flickered in the back of her mind.

"Please Chryrie. Fix it. Just fix it."

"I can't. Not completely."

"What do you mean you can't? You can do almost anything you wish. I've seen it!"

"I can meld the wood back together, but it's still missing pieces. It will never be whole again. And even if I had every splinter here, and could put them all back in place, it would most likely not restore it's power."

"But... I've seen you regenerate entire body parts. You can raise people from the dead. Why can't you just do that with this? "

"Yes.. I can. But that's not the same. I could regenerate the wood, but it wouldn't contain the power the original pieces do. In fact it would only weaken the power it could hold. Now if it were something of my own creation... or a mortal's.. possibly. But this is not the case."

"But..."

"I'm sorry Kitty.. I can't."

Chryrie had done as she said she would. She mended the wood itself, but the missing splinters and bits were visible to the naked eye. Beyond that was a task only the dragon himself could fix.

She sighed and then came to a stop at the door she had been heading for. The door to the library. His library. A clawed hand lifted to faintly touch the wooden door before lowering to grasp at the handle. Would it be locked?

The door swung open easily, almost as if inviting her in. She stood there on the stoop for a moment, just peering inside. Finally she took a deep breath and went in. Her nose twitched, the nostrils flaring. She could smell his scent all over. It was faint from his absence, but it still lingered. There were others as well, but that was really the only one she cared about.

The staff was propped up against the wall near the door and she turned and moved through the rows of books. She looked mindlessly at the numerous tomes. Many of them contained subjects she could not begin to fathom, and was probably better off that way. What was she searching for? She wasn't sure.

Occasionally she would stop and pull a book from the shelves and open it. She'd turn a few pages while staring blankly at the words. Many times they were written in languages she didn't even know. No, this isn't what she was looking for. And so each book would be returned to it's rightful spot before she'd continue on.

Eventually she came to the stairs that led up and began to ascend. Her boots moved silently as she made her way up. She didn't think anyone was there to hear her, but it was a library and almost commanded the need for quiet.

When she reached the top she simply stopped there and stared at the doors. Which one? She wasn't sure. So she moved to each door and scented it. The one that carried his scent strongest was the one she reached for and opened.

It was merely an office. A desk, a chair, more books, and a couch. The couch was where she eventually landed, sitting there with her elbows on her knees, her chin resting in her palms.

That was the way she fell asleep. That was the way the dawn would find her.