There is silence from the stairway, for a time, and then a lovely song echoes through the chaimbers, a gust of wind sweeps under teh drack of the door, then it slams open with a greater gust. A shadow falling over the figure that hides within the room beyond lets loose with a gargled scream, then all is silent and still again.
With a wave of her hand, the now dead people in the room turn to dust, and blow away in the breeze of the hot desert outside the window of the keep. She moves down the stair, ready to deal with the threat to her mate. ~I'm on my way Marada.~ She sends to him, a new power in her thought tendrils that he had not felt before.
As Marada struggles to hold onto the last millilitre of self-preservation and adrenaline he had been granted, this thought strikes him. Odd... somehow disquieting and elating at once, as it was Torrinah, and alive, but not Torrinah as he knows her.
He could almost feel the strange energies vibrate around him at her thought-touch. And then he was aware of her using his mouth... his voice, to cast her spell to protect him from the larger drake's vaporous acid.
This tosses an icy cleaver of discomfort into Marada's mind. He did not at all like the idea of being used by another without even a clue of what was being done.
The Dark dragon before him smiles, as it rips his surface scales form his chest with a mighty swing of great claws.
Whatever was left of the old sorcery that held his pain in check now confuses Marada-- whatever was going on... it made no sense.
She has lain dormant, watching the oppression too long, it is now time to act... to avenge the people she has watched suffer for the last 5,000 years. It is time for Whisper the Shadowform to take her rightful place amongst the legends of old.
This tool is rapidly grabbed by the threatened drake, and it becomes obvious it's a way more practical device than the dracus blade.
With a roar, the great dragon rises up, slashing wildly at the smaller magenta form.
These strokes render his wings less aerodynamic, and his limbs barely in one piece. It's doubtful he could even escape if he was given a chance.
With a soothing song, she brings the shadows of the keep to her aid, making them act as a wedge to move before her toward the mines below.
With a smile, Zoldar steps into the shadow, letting it embrace him like a long forgotten lover. It is time to set teh balance again.
She does not thank him, she knows that it is not necissary. Her thanks will come when she ends the dark taint that has taken root in the land she dwells.
Moving toward the caverns below, she hears the screams, and then the roar of the dragon. She tries to find Marada's mind, a chill flitting through her heart, at the possible loss of her new-found love. ~I'm almost there, love... I'm coming to help.~ She tells him, winding her way down the stairs in search of the chasm she had escaped only a short time before.
He starts to compose a protective response... ~Don't... don't risk yourself.~ But the thought his mate is alive and coming gives him a new energy. He begins to look for the tool he had snagged and cowardly dropped, figuring it could be pressed into service as a weapon. If he would die, he may as well try to die on his feet.
He spies a mattock, the glint of it's metal shining like new, thanks to the acid removing the rust from it's ends. It lay, abandoned, like a glorious sword ready to be taken up by a brave hero of old.
But even as the surge of violent response is flowing, his tenth-century morals are setting up to run interference. As he lifts the tool, his arms begin to shudder, and it is again taking more and more effort to force himself to stand violent against a brother dragon.
Marada's opponent, however, has no such qualms, and slashes out at the smaller dragon with his claws. As he rakes Marada's left arm, the unevenly worn talons partially cut, but partially rip the flesh of the Magenta's shoulder and bicep, leaving Marada to struggle even more with the weapon.
The ensuing rivers of blackness from the wounds only serve to slicken the grip, forcing Marada to compensate with a tighter claw-grip on the mattock.
With a start, and being thrown by Torrinah's weight, the drake rolls to his back, claws raking upward on the female's form. When Torrinah bites his neck, he roars again, this time Marada knows it is not to intimidate. He rolls her under him, pinning her with his massive forelegs. "You will not find my own soul departing the fleshly coil, but finally your own, spirit-witch!" he screams at her.
The battle is at once horrifying, being both the potential death of a dragon and his mate, and fascinating, almost seeming symbolic of his own political strife. He approaches slowly, barely clutching the mattock.
The great black dragon then draws open it's maw, ready to swallow him, and he feels a brief moment of deja vu when Torrinah's voice rings out over the din of the screams and roar of the mine's inhabitants, "Traitor!"
But instead of Marada being swallowed, he sees the dragon attacked by his mate, her small black form as that of a dragoness, biting firmly into the drake's neck. He rakes at her with his talons, as he had just done to Marada; and Torrinah falters in her attack, her teeth ripping away some of the flesh of her opponent. But, it is enough for the great beast, and he sends her spiraling to the ground with one bat of his massive claws.
She looks up at the beast with blood oozing from her newly aquired wounds, and her mouth as well, then spits out a chunk of the giant wyrm's flesh. "I should have taken both your eyes, like you did my wings..." She begins, unable to move, as the greater dragon raises a foot, as if he would crush her underneath it.
He feels the bones of the female grate under his feet, and there is an audible snap from her form. The great black dragon smiles, with a twisted, sinister grin to Marada, he growls, "You're next, little fool."
While the ethics of fighting against a dragon for his own survival were iffy, those of standing in defence of his mate was not. He waddles over and holds the mattock at the ready, apparently ready to let it fly if he comes 1 cm closer. What Torrinah said slowly forges a connection for him-- was this the Great Destroyer she had spoken of? This could easily, were his mind not preoccupied with several million grammes of irritable drake, cause a lot more questions.
As Torrinah screams in pain, the drake moves from her still form, approaching Marada with a relish in his reddened eyes that would make a true warrior tremble.
And indeed, the dark-hearted warrior does tremble, for a combonation of fear, bodily weakness, and a dramatic loss of blood. He shifts his eyes toward Torrinah, hoping- wishing he could do something more. His weak grasp on the mattock is turned into an embarrassing shaking with his trembling, and he almost appears to be miming a metronome. 'Ye will no' hurt her!' He tries to draw on love-- a foreign energy source-- to replace bravery and physical strength exhausted.
Marada looks down at the source of new warmth across his body-- the large patch of splintered and splayed orange belly scales that the Great Drake has formed. He stops for a moment, and appears on the edge of dropping the mattock, responding to the shock of the wound healing unnaturally quickly, like the damage done earlier to his mate by the Huntress. Moreover, the pain seems to be drifting away quickly-- he knows what this should feel like, and it isn't being reflected by the fact.
Looking up shifts him back from confusion to terror. His mate is dying a few metres away, and a large foe that has him totally outclassed is approaching with the speed and momentum of an eighteen-wheeler. His grip firms for a second, then becomes weak and tenuous. Struggling to formulate a strategy, he tosses the mattock forward, in the general direction of the foe, figuring it's the best method to attack and possibly repulse the shade without a direct approach, which would surely expose him to being slashed or squashed, and without using his wings, which he doesn't really consider, still somewhat assuming them to be out of commission from the attack.
The great foretalon begins to decend toward Marada's mate, a stray drake already crushed under the other foot, it's mangled wings showing plainly to Marada's eyes.
He realizes almost immediately that this was a stupid manouvre, as it denied him anything beyond natural defenses to protect him if he gets seized and eaten instead of julienned. He covers his eyes, not wanting to see the tool miss, do negligible damage, or further enrage his foe, and preferring to avoid seeing the jaws that will surely destroy him. ~Please... do not kill a fellow dragon.~, he thoughtbegs in blinded fear, trying for a last-minute appeal to the draconic patriotism he knew was strong in his own kind.
There is a peircing roar of pain and anger, and then a loud thrumming that causes the entire mine to rumble and shake... rock falls all around, and the dragon rolls, crushing many of the workers, but finally breathing it's last breath. The pick handle barely protruding from it's left eye socket, blood welling around the head of the great beast.
Torrinah lays motionless, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps... the blood oozing from her wounds seems more than she would normally have, as it pools around her body. She stares toward the ceiling, her thoughts drifting beyond all that the mine or the physical world around her holds.
Marada looks terrified. The rapid healing he and Torrinah have demonstrated seems still insufficent for that quantity of blood.
Marada uncovers his eyes, makes a cursory note that the Great Drake is out of commission, and waddles over to his love, looking closely at her and trying to size up the situation. He then tries to lift her up and carry her along.
She gasps, a wince of pain crossing her features; and she gurgles blood, when Marada attempts to lift her.
For a moment, the drake lowers her, unsure how to deal with this, and raises her again realizing there was no fix handy.
He turns his head again toward the drake, and starts to realize what he has done. However, the full impact of his crime will take a while to grasp. For now, the indelible burning of the image into his mind will have to do.
As it falls, the guardians around it disperse into harmless mist, or fall to the ground dead, themselves. Armor, now disenguaged from spectral forms falls to the floor with loud clanking noises.
The mask of black surrounding Torrinah's eyes becomes more apparent in this light, and her scales reflect the shimmering of the large corpse that lays near by. She begins to focus on Marada, a smile slowly spreading across her lips. ~You're here too? You still live, or are you travelling beyond with me?~
It takes Marada a second to realize what 'traveling beyond' apparently means, and he challenges his mate for the first time. 'I'm not letting you run beyond without a fight.' He squats down, realizing he can't really move a creature like her without basic knowledge of what might be leaking and how badly. Then, he tries to lean her over his hind limb, so that her head is tipped back, as he recalls keeps the airpath clear on similarly-designed dragons and humans. This is followed by draping his wing as much over her as possible and stroking her on the forehead. 'I will not let you die here.'
She does begin to breath easier, but the blood still wells in her throat, making a sickly rasp and gurgle clearly heard to the drake. "Ma-rada, don't h-hold me back..." she swallows, "... don-'t make me a wr-raith."
Marada doesn't understand; he's not entirely clear on what a wraith is, and how trying to save her fur would make her one. He is afraid to comply with her order, but honestly, he doesn't know how to defy it. His claims that she would not go beyond were little more than an attempt to raise her morale and faith.
The tears shine in her eyes, and she winces again, this time her claws gripping into the drakes forearm with instictual pain. "M-my love..." she begins, then passes out, her breath fading as if she were dead.
The drake stifles a grimace at Torrinah's clutch. He understands enough to know that making such a torturous moment worse would not help his love. His heart is beginning to tear, as he watches, silently wishing that she might live. But even this wish starts to get muddled with uncertainty that it might make her this hated 'wraith' thing.
As the female lays in his arms, he hears a chorus of voices singing... strange, apparitions begin to form around Marada and his mate, taking forms much like hers. The dance, one of them doing a pirouette around them, then all stand still, each one looking as if she were the exact likeness of Torrinah... eight in all.
Marada's first response is to assume he's hallucinating or dreaming. A few blinks serve to confirm that the creatures are a part of his reality. This evokes his curiousity, as they could represent almost anything. Perhaps even the eight remaining lives of a cat.
~Greetings Grandsire, we wish you well, and want you to know that we are here to help you and our Granddame. We are yet to be, but we hold the power to make her well, given to us this once by the Great One From Beyond. But there is one condition, we must have you turn from her for a time, so that we may perform this action; know that we mean no harm, but know that we cannot be seen for the healing to work.~ Their lovely voices echo in Marada's mind in unison, a chorus of angels in a pit of dispair and evil.
The first statements answer his main question, but open many more: Did Grandsire and Granddame mean what he thought they did? Who was this Great One? How could they exist if they were yet to be? He supposes many of the questions are rooted in the odd sorcery this world studies.
As their voices rise to a cresendo of beauty and also terror, Marada realises that Torrinah's own voice echoes in unison to the others. Her song rising form her in a near deafening roar of beauty and primal desire. The sound from her throat threatening to make Marada desire her fragile body yet again.
Marada knows he must fight this urge. The last thing they need is 80kg of dragon pouncing on her. He tries to focus on recalled distant songs from his past instead to draw him from the seduction.
The second part of their claim makes Marada both hopeful and uneasy. He wasn't keen on leaving his mate; he doesn't trust that they won't run off with her. There had been many pleasant offers in this country that masked worse truths. However, what choice did he have? Anyone would know more about Colzar biology than he would. He slowly, delicately begins to draw his hind leg in and push Torrinah's body away, lowers her to the ground and stands up. He proceeds to walk out of the circle, but then snakes his tail back in, and voices two issues to the creatures."If I may not watch, may I hold to her to ensure she isn't taken from me?", he asks, referring to the tail he presses to Torrinah. Then, quietly, he adds the other issue. 'Please... do not make her a wraith. She told me not to.'
One of the young females approaches him, a smile lighting her features that make her look so much like Torrinah she could be a clone rather than a child. ~Great father, know that you are welcome to remain with her fragile form, but also be aware that should she be moved before our healing of her begins, then she will pass to the Great Beyond, a wraith evermore...~
This warning only encourages Marada to withdraw his tail. He fears to upset the system, and figures the best thing to do is to keep as far from it as possible. He thinks of it as possibly pressing her aside with the tail, and not of motion that might result from removing the tail.
But Torrinah's tail entwines with his own, a kink felt near the tip, where a new break in the bone must be.
Marada barely muffles a shriek of fear. He does *not* want to mess this up, so he immediately stops when he feels the counterforce and looks nervous and uncertain as to how to proceed.
~…and so with her, the child that you and she share that dwells within her now.~ With a gentle kiss to Marada's brow, she piroettes back into place with the others, and sings once more.
These words strike Marada like a copy of Hostetler's Precalculus to the head. //Child we... share? Within her...?// This shocks the drake slightly as he leaves the circle.
~Marada... my beloved mate...~ Torrinah holds tight in the only way she knows how at this moment. But soon, the connection is pried from them, one of the singers slipping between the Drake and Felinoid as it happens, lost in her dance.
~Torrinah... my angel love. It's all right. They'll help you.~ He tries to reassure her.
After a moment, he wonders wether the demand to hold onto her was too much. He didn't have another chance to save her, and as such had to press his own needs back to ensure they play along. Not to mention he wasn't sure it would even be useful or safe, given he doesn't know what they'll do. He draws the tail out of the circle and states 'Forget the holding thing-- probably no' wha' ye'd want or helpful.'
The females surround the drake, dancing about him, their magics weaving a spell to coax the magenta form into sleep. ~Rest a while, grandsire.~ he hears their voices say in unison, one echoing slightly longer to let him know she speaks more to his tired brain. ~In your slumber we will teach you how to get to the realm of shadow to rescue Jesren, my brother, your step-son.~
The arguments for him to remain wakeful are limited, especially against this force and his own weariness. And it did protect him from the forbidden sight well. He hopes if he is being taught that he may remember the dream, or better yet, take notes.
He then steps toward the nearest wall, closes his eyes, and mutters 'Go.' It takes all his strength to fight the mix of suspicion, curiousity and fear he feels, urging him to open his eyes, twirl around, and gaze upon the forbidden practice.
As he drifts in to sleep, he hears words in his wearied brain:
~Until this knowledge comes to you, becomforted to knwo that you and mother will heal with our magics... and our love, father.~
He slips into rest, somewhat numbed by the amazing statements he has heard. It's still hard for him to believe the claims of fatherhood, unless it is metaphoric; but at least some claims seem to corroborate the others.
In his sleep, the dragon finds Torrinah touching him, carressing him, making him feel a desire like he has never known before.
This was a delightful dream, but it doesn't seem to have anything to do with what he was supposed to learn.
But before he can act on it, she begins to smile wickedly, her claws ripping through his chest, pulling his heart out.
Marada is obviously stunned, both at the action and that he can survive it.
An insidious laughter fills the emptiness around them, as the great dark beastial dragon he had already slain moves into the dim lighting of the scene. "Nicely done, pet!" The drake says, putting emphasis on the last word to ensure Torrinah remembers her place.
This makes increasingly fractured sense. The connection was being made that the drake was the Great Destroyer he spoke of, and she hated him, so how could she be on his side?
Without a word, the felinoid woman begins to sing, Marada's energies rising, while the larger drake begins to sway with fatigue. As her voice hits notes beyond a range any living being could fathom, Marada feels a surgence of power... he feels the energies of his ancestors flow through his blood, and he begins to grow, to change, to show more of his heritage from ages past.
There is little to show; the Draconiati have been small for a long time. Any growth he shows would merely be a misreading of his larger form.
He hears the cries of Corbyn, the cat-child calling to him... to Lleu and Penri for aid, but then it is not Corbyn's voice he hears, but that of his new son, Jesren. "Marada!?! Mother! Help me... I don't want to be a wraith... help, please!" The boy cries out, as a serpentine form moves in the shadows behind him, poised to strike if someone approaches.
This is the first chapter that makes sense to Marada in the context of the promised dream.
~Only you can decide what to do, now, Marada my love... I am bound with the power I have taken to save our unborn child.~ He hears his mates words. ~What will you do, Marada?~
He knows what to do. With rage in his heart, he storms in the direction of his son's cry, paying no attention to Corbyn's. 'He's no' yours!', he bellows. 'The only way he becomes a wraith is if ye kill me first!'
With a note that hits a range far beyond measure, Marada's flesh rips from his soul, just as a tail lash from the great dark dragon strikes his form. And then he feels the surge of energies.
The split of the flesh and soul, while painful, is strangely not as painful as the description would imply, and is rather smothered by the surge of energies, whose unfamiliarity makes the drake uncomfortable. He finds it hard to believe the tail did not crush him.
Marada feels the power of magick and psionic merge within him for the first time, and knows that gods and ancestors alike watch him from a place beyond... as if seeing his progress in some perverse test.
Marada has felt this before, for almost as long as he has been here. He's been constantly tested-- his commitment to the party, his first-grown allegiance to the shades, his concern for Torrinah and Jesren all seem to reach points requiring proof.
With a thought from his mate, and their child echoing thoruhg his head, he knows that they have added their own power to him, allowing him to come awake with a knowledge of how to tap his mind for power to fight the forces of darkness... for this world, for his son.
Marada does not trouble himself with the technicalities of how the power might be added, or with the concept of saving a world. He is not even concerned with fighting the forces of darkness at this moment, despite the affinity of his own kind to darkness. All he sees is the attempt to save his son. He continues to storm toward where he heard Jesren cry, if necessary with flesh dangling behind incensed soul. The look in his eyes is that he'd walk right through the serpentine form.
As he marches in dreams towards Jesren, Marada begins to regain his wakefulness. The dream in a way was pleasant, and he was warm, so it is a battle he does not wish to fight. He slips back into rest, and the dream's duty, but for how long?
The answer is quick to come. It seems like only moments later that he is disturbed by familiar voices. Not voices of the past, or hauntings of the future, but those of his companions, Penri and Angel, and strange voices.
The sounds awaken Marada rapidly. He still expects to be in his lair, and the only sound that he would expect would be the howl of a distant wolf, certainly nothing like standard speech. He starts to panic and looks around.
As he opens his eyes, he immediately recognizes Torrinah's bedroom in her home. He hears her beside him, breathing deeply in slumber.
These sights still do not feel right to him. He struggles to remember where he was last. The mine begins to return to him, and he doesn't recall how he got back. He sits up halfway, listening to the voices in the next room. He recognizes them as comrades, and if they were to be some hideous nightmare, they were underachievers in that field.
What got him back home is still uncertain, and he ponders over it. He recalls the last few minutes at the mine, the strange, enchanting dance of the children, and the black sea of blood flowing from a dragon. This horror upsets him deeply, and he tries to evade it by watching gentle Torrinah's quiet breaths.
But, in following of his traditional behaviour, the more he tries to evade the issue, the more it haunts him. He recalls Torrinah as a dragoness attacking the Great Drake, himself holding the mattock with blood-drenched claws, and Torrinah's body lying near-lifeless on the floor. He almost can understand why he was doing it-- to save Torrinah and himself-- but he far more clearly grasps the hardest fact-- that he killed that noble, dark dragon. He doesn't want to believe this, or even think of it, and tries to ignore it again, focusing on his love. He also recalls the children's note about her gravid nature and looks for signs on the sleeping kitten both of the wounds of the attack and the egg she will soon lay.
The voices come from the outer rooms...
"Um, hi," [Penri] finally manages. He looks at Angel and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "Uh, you didn't mention you were having guests?"
[reference to In the Mind of a Child]
Torrinah stirrs only slightly, but does not awaken. She seems unusually peaceful beside him, perhapse the most relaxed she has been since he first met her. Her wounds are nearly gone, though the trauma of their quest is still evident.
Marada seems relieved. Her peace and relatively unwounded body seem to reassure the tormented drake. She appears not to be in danger.
The voices in the other room continue. It is apparent from their tones that they are tense, worried, tired.
Marada's earfans spread slightly, as he tries to listen to their conversation; perhaps they had important information.
His hearing picks up Penri's voice, then another familiar source, that of the wizard who transported them all here. Still, he cannot hear exactly what is said.
The drake turns back to watch Torrinah apparently enjoy peaceful rest. He puzzles over what he can or should do to her... wether he should wake her or not. The light level isn't much help, as the mine area's perpetual dimness had spoilt his knowledge of the time when he started to rest, and by extension how long. He decides to run the back of one talon first, then the whole back of his foreclaw, up and down her back softly, gently, heavy with affectionate love. One side of him wants to awaken Torrinah, and the other wants her merely to enjoy it in dreams.
The felinoid beside him stirs only slightly, then begins to purr, wrapping the end of her tail around Marada's wrist for a moment, then letting it slip from the entanglment as she fades back into deep slumber.
The purring softens Marada's tormented heart, and he smiles, tensing somewhat when the Colzar's tail binds him, afraid he's disturbing her, and then calming as she returns to the Plane of Dreams.
A thirst soon develops in the front of his throat, however. He waddles away from Torrinah and finally decides to find out where the nearest water faucet is. Perhaps the local water will be clean and pleasant to his tongue, or at least not come in both "Regular" and "30-weight" flavours.
There is a pitcher of cool, clean water on the dressing table, a basin nearby shows that it could be used for bathing, but a glass beside that shows him what he seeks is there.
Marada quietly pours a glass and drains it, repeating with much more abandon. The water here is good, and he hasn't drank in a long time.
From the outter room, he hears a voice that is like the most pure music he has ever heard, and it seems to make gooseflesh appear on his hide... an itching feeling of both unease and total abandon under his scales at the same time. Her voice is heard through the door, speaking of things that he knows already.
The voice is not familiar to him. It is not Angel, and he doesn't expect much from Jesren or Torrinah at the moment.
"The child Jesren is not about to awaken; his very soul was stripped from him, to be formed as one of the wraithes. It writhes in agony, even now, in her dread pocket of darkness... but there are more powerful realms you must cross to find hers, those of the Great Destroyer. It is a dangerous journey, and will take much cunning and stealth... not forthright bravery, but the steady whisper of love and good to Jesren's mind and soul will win him back..." the melodic voice continues, speaking of other beings who were damned to wraithdom, just as Jesren, if not helped.
Marada understands the principles that are discussed, but knows not how to apply them. He loved Jesren, the little flame-heart... but how could he use that to draw his son back? Was it to be a form of bait?
Marada realizes there are significant concerns to address, now that they are back. Dealing with Jesren, for one. And did she have the blood sample she needed? The one that had gotten them into such a mess in the first place? In addition, with the complicated mix of emotions gaining pressure mere centimetres beneath the surface, Marada wants someone to talk to. He decides that he must wake his mate in order to discuss these problems. The drake walks slowly toward Torrinah and starts to whisper her name beside her, hoping to awaken her gently.
As if in answer to his wish, the slumbering felinoid stirs, whispers his name in a tone that causes shivers to race up and down the drake's spine, and slowly wakes. Her eyes flutter open drowsily. She suddenly stretches langoriously and yawns, as though wakening from an ordinary sleep. Her head turns and her eyes meet Marada's.
"Beloved," she whispers, her voice eliciting the same delightful response.
She gracefully sits up and brushes his jaw with her hand. "You look worried. Please, don't be."
Leaning close, she gives his muzzle a sensual lick. "It is time we arose, my love, and tended our house. There is much to do."
She rises, her magical rainment adjusting itself fluidly on her lithe body. Unconciously, she runs her fingers through her hair, the ebony tresses whispering in silken song as she smooths them. The drake can see subtle changes in his mate, changes that nearly leave him awstruck. If possible, she is more stately, a thousand times more enticing with her every gesture. When her bright eyes again focus upon him, he _feels_ noticed. Despite her noble stature, however, he feels she is not looking down upon him, but is holding him as her equal, her partner.
"Are you rested, Beloved? Healed? We should look upon our son and then join our guests." She holds her hand out for him, inviting him to accompany her.
She leads him from her chamber down the short hall to Jesren's room. The child still lies in comatose slumber, seemingly lifeless save for the gentle rising and falling of his chest. Torrinah draws Marada to the bedside, seating herself carefully at the child's side. With a look of tender concern on her face that would break even the hardest of hearts she traces the curve of the boy's pale face.
It might be a wonder to the drake that the child, effectively in a deep coma, is as healthy as he seems despite the lack of advanced medical equipment to maintain life functions. Though pale, he does not seem to have lost much weight. His eyes are ringed darkly, but his face is otherwise serene.
After a few moments, Torrinah whispers to the boy. "Don't be afraid, my dearest kitten. We are coming. You will feel the sun again."
Rising again, Torrinah guides Marada away from the boy. "We must hasten ourselves," she says in a low voice. "Else the time of reuiniting him with his soul pass. We all have much to do."
The felinoid woman guides him through the hallways of the home, pausing outside of the chamber wherein their friends await. Turning to Marada, Torrinah embraces him gently. "My dearest Beloved. What we face hereon will make all our other troubles seem small. Now is a time when you must find a way to put all your doubts about yourself, me and our love aside. I have felt the confusion within you. You come from a place where those of your own kind must be well united. The creatures here that you identify as your own kin, the Dragons, are not the civilised beings you think of them. They are not far from the primative beasts of the wild. They are more instinctual than intellectual. This wisdom and knowledge is what sets you above them, but they are also still physically stronger and this is the risk you face. They are greedy, territorial, and do not think twice against killing even their own for their own selfish goals. I know it will not be easy for you, and I dearly hope I can spare you further conflict with your own heart."
She pauses before continuing. "We will need to part for a time, difficult as it is for me to part from you. Our goals are now two-fold, if we are to save our son and this world. I need your strength to find Jesren's soul and wrest it from those who hold it. I, myself must journey and put an end to the Night Mistress's greates strength; the shades she uses as an army."
There is a cold flicker in her eyes just then, something powerful, dangerous. "She has abused the unliving long enough."
Holding him tightly a moment longer, she whispers directly into Marada's ear. "You must have faith, my love. In me, in our allies, in yourself. Doubt is the only weakness that will bring us down."
Releasing him gently, she turns to enter the room, even as the discussion within grows quiet.
[Insert from In The Mind of a Child: Desertscape]
There is silence for a moment, then Lightning leans forward, as if even she is unwilling to voice the question that begs to be asked. "So," and her words come out barely above a whisper, "how do we go about doing that?"
[Continued in In The Mind of a Child: Desertscape.]
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