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Days and Nights

Very, very close to the Boil, there is a beach to the bordermarches.

The Crimson Needle Peak.

Infamous on the Boil, where a freehold resided until a little while ago. 'Behind the mountain', they called it. Those taken behind the mountain, those from behind the mountain. The Raksha.

Days walks an infamous trail that many Raksha walked before, and she can feel it, as she walks the snow-covered plain of the North, past a few mounts and forests... and walks into the mountain.

The first thing to notice is.... that everything there is wasted. The trees are dead, trails cut roughly into the mountain for Behemoths to walk. It is ugly, it is broken.

And then, she steps into the Bordermach, and sees the Freehold.

Whatever it was, it is not anymore.

Cast in iron, an opressive castle molded by the undead on the remains of Gossamer. Warded from the own Wyld around it, a palace of iron made to hold... made out of the broken dreams of a destroyed freehold.... Days can feel something from it... the broken dreams in iron used to made this... thing.

Child of Wyld Days: She hisses. The subversion of a demesne to make a Freehold was one thing. But to take a freehold and corrupt it in such a manner... it stung her to the core of her being. Nonetheless, Snow Monkey stood and beheld the terrible sight, her Air-body melting away the moment she passed from Creation into the Marches, taking on her true Wyld form of stone, brass and the chill of death. Still...

Still, she could not hide her disgust. Nor her apprehension, Owl and Serpent springing to life within her hand. She has to be aware, for it was very possible that the dead things would sense her and come to attack. Even then, her curiousity toyed with her common sense, making her linger there instead of pass on and bolt to the next waypoint.

... these are the things that the Angels serve. How sad. No respect for life at all.

????: "Quite a sight, ain't it?" Comes a voice from somewhere amidst the chaos - the little that is still chaos - around the mad former freehold. A voice sweet, deliciously sweet... a voice like strawberries. "Quite a sight... so are you, too, of course."

Child of Wyld Days: A tense, uneasy stance becomes one both concerned and curious, the Child's tail swaying as she looks about for whoever's addressing her. Once, twice, the war-charm on her tail jingles as its lashed about, brushing along the ground.

"Well, I appreciate comments and compliments, but they mean so, so much more when I see the one who's giving them... if you'd be so kind as to come out, perhaps we could have a quick chat. I really need to be going, you must understand..."

I do so hope I don't have to kill someone today. That would just not do, as much as I'd love to. I'm on a damned schedule.

????: A clearing was shaped. Spetacularly. A hurricane of flame, and a great tree was there. And the figure appears, perched over the tree... touching her wings, as if preening. The lady wore little. So very little. Flowing scarves of golden and silver, of aquamarine and a color that seemed to simply be... fire, captured in a flowing scarf. Her arms melted into wings, whose feathers were the purest azure. She smiled at the Child, smiled with full shadow lips. "Of course. I am here."

The symbol of the Waning Moon shines, faintly, on her brow. "And no problem if you are going. I just do not see many like you Nobles around... after all that happened."

Child of Wyld Days: I do forget the beasts can learn to understand the Chaos as we do. While not quite as capable as we are, they... are servicable. And this one has some talent.

Snow Monkey mirrors the smile, offering a slight bow in greeting. "It is a shame, yes... the dead things have done so much damage in the area. Of course, they dare not go deeper than the Bordermarches, for they would surely have a fight, then... but here, I suppose, is all that they need for now.---oh! Where are my manners?" Another bow, this one deeper. "I am the Child of Wyld Days, the Snow Monkey Who Dances Atop Dragons, the Glory of the Fight. I am on a bit of a business run, you see. There is much I must return to, but also much I must attend to. What brings you to this place, Moonchild?"

????: Suddenly there is a fruit on the tree, and the woman reaches to it, picking the fruit, her eyes intent on the Child. "What? Oh, what indeed... so many, so many answers! Where would I begin? Why would I begin? But, it is a pleasure to meet you, Child of Wyld Days! You surely must be great if you dance atop of Dragons... are those defeated dragonlings, or do you dance for the amusement of a court atop the great dragons? And I think I know where I would begin, if not why - what do you think brings me to this place, Child?"

Child of Wyld Days: "Oh, a bit of a dance of blood and joy atop a city-smashing beast! But sadly that day has passed, although it's still fresh in my memory..." She looks at the fruit momentarilly, and her inner being clenches, reflexively tensing while her outer self remains somewhat calm. "You... are either here to scavenge what artifacts may lie unbroken within the confines of this freehold, you may be seeking to find out whatever caused this, you may be what caused this, or you are merely passing through... the possibilities are endless, my friend." She places stone fists to stone hips, and her living staff wraps around her arm, waiting. "Although I'm sure only you know for certain!"

????: "Only ah? Ooh, nooo... many do. Many, many, many do! For what woman is an island? What woman is alone in the world? Many do, my assossiates, my partners. " She brings her leg against her chest, and rests her face on her knee... "Hmmm, a city-smashing beast. The trouble on the Boil, by any chance?"

Child of Wyld Days: This one knows. This one knows alot. But I suppose I could play dumb and see what else she knows...

"Ah, so you've heard about that little dust-up. Heh, it was quite fun, but I got there so, so late... didn't find enough to sate my needs, but better late than never... hm. Were you there, fighting as well? I imagine it would have been quite fun to share glory with others at such a time... that is, if you're the sort that likes that kind of thing. You seem rather at ease in the Marches, for being a fixed one."

????: "Oh, my dear I like glory. Oh, my dear I love glory. I love to receive glory for killing. I love to receive glory for destroying. I love to receive glory for saving. I love to receive glory for winning. I love to see the glories of others, and I love to be the focus of it. I love to share glories over a bed, I love to share glories of drinks. I love to share them over stories, and over treasures. I love every aspect of it there is."

"... why do I think I am even here?"

She shakes her head, slowly, still on her knee... "But no... I was not on the Boil."

Her lips, so malicious...
"No god would be alive if me and mine had been there."

Child of Wyld Days: "Now... while I do truly love your stance on glory, I have to wonder what you meant by that last part..." Snow Monkey's tail stiffens, momentarilly, although the rest of her posture remains unchanged. "I have little quarrels with gods, myself, unless they would seek to harm me. So far, the only harm a god has done to me was in the heat of passion... although I have to admit the pleasure quite outweighed the pain." Her smile is pleasure, joy, satisfaction, and even more curiousity. This one is dangerous. But... in what way?

????: Her hands glint with claws, now.

She begins humming, as she thinks on how to reply.

"What I have against gods? Nothing at all, to tell you the truth. But they were the ones to beat back the powers of the shade-tainted Solars on the Boil, were they not? If I was there, if mine were there, the shade would win. And I would cut gods." She sighs, "But alas, I am a busy little bird..."

Child of Wyld Days: "Interesting." Her eyes note the claws. Owl and Serpent scream as one, and she gives the staff a momentary stroke. "It is really a shame, that. I imagine you could have made things most interesting! And what's a battle without delicious complications, yes?" She grins wide, honestly---for her, after all, difficulty is the spice of life. "Nonetheless, you seem to have missed the brunt of the madness... whatever will you do now, brilliant Moonchild?"

????: "I am sure you would do as well, Child of Wyld Days. I would look foward to rending your heart and conquering your sword." She says, her eyes glinting with power.... and then, she sighs. "Oh, now I must go south. I am a busy little bird, I said. I have duties to myself and mine. Too much happening in this War, and it is not up to us to go and take the Boil back."

"yet"

Bright Feathers: "I just came around to haul a few heads to the prision, to tell you the truth. Boring job. Some glory, of course."

Child of Wyld Days: "You speak rather freely... and rather surely for one who does not know the future." Snow Monkey shrugs, faintly, although for a moment she herself holds her Sword forward spiritually, spirit pulsing with the will to conquer. "And as for conquering me... you must defeat me on two fronts. While I am not sure of one... I am certain you will be surprised when you test the other." She smiles, and that smile tells the tale of those before who tried.

And failed. "But, if you're busy, I suppose I could be on my way! Oh... I didn't get your name, Moonchild..."

????: And then, she comes down from the tree... the flowing scarves like many tails, twisting around her, bracers coming around her arms... "My name is Bright Feathers, Child. I look foward for when we meet, however. It is not chance that we meet today - it is Fate. We will fight. And you will die. But I will know my opponent."

"Oh, and," She points to some point behind the Child, "The one behind you is Merun."

Child of Wyld Days: "..." Deep within, essence pulses, and suddenly, the Child knows what flows, what breathes, what lives close to her. The Awareness open, she frowns, albeit not turning around.

"Now, now, it's impolite to sneak up on people."

Merun: Behind her... she feels. Without turning around. In the shadows, lurking, a great toad... a great toad of ice and mud, a long tongue drabbling to the ground... it was not just a toad, however. Its body was humanoid, standing on two legs, but with a mouth and eyes like a toad... a monster covered in what appears to be the mud of a swamp, bubbles appearing here and there over its skin and plopping....

Child of Wyld Days: Another.

"Well, Merun! It is a pleasure to meet you! Although I'm going to have to ask why you had to sow up in such a sneaky manner,,, one would almost think your intentions were hostile!" She laughs, heartily, then folds her arms and swishes her tail. "Bright Feathers... such a lovely name! But you assume too much! I am not some mere raksha unaware of shaped tactics. I am the Child of Wyld Days. And I can promise you that our fight will be one that the gods themselves notice."

There is a pause. "There will be glory for the brave and for the fallen. But as to who will be which... only time and talent will decide."

Merun: The thing takes slow steps, walking around the Child, its eyes hateful, suspicious... the tongue hits the ground, again...

He grunts something to the Child.

Bright Feathers: "Do not mind him, he is just sullen because he proved himself to be a complete and utter failure!" She says, cheerfully, and in a violent moment, the tongue lashes like a dart towards her. In a flash, her claws hold it, shining in the colors of an aurora. "Watch it." Droplets of the oil and mud fall on her arm. "You dirtied me."

Letting go of the arm, she smiles at the Child, "If you live long enough and are on the same side as the Windwraith, tell him Merun says hi."

"Of course, he also fought with things he was sure he would win against, and lose. So, he thinks you truly are dangerous. And what you just did... I think I will agree. I will enjoy seeing you in action, Child. Someday. I will be there to watch, not fight."

Child of Wyld Days: "Then I shall have to make every battle a work of art for you, Bright Feathers. I would hate to disappoint." She grins, bowing as she releases the essence tied to the Awareness, then straightens up. "Nonetheless, I should be going. I have gifts to procure, and a new body to craft for myself. Unless, of course, you have some other interesting tidbits of information for me!"

Bright Feathers: "See you, Child."

"Do not die too soon!" She calls, and then shapes herself away, moving herself and Merun... somewhere else.

Child of Wyld Days: "Heh! I shall endeavour to stay alive for you! It wouldn't be right for us to talk so... and not settle matters with finality!" She watches them vanish... and frowns, tail switching about like a nervous cat's. "Still, how bothersome... looks like the dead things aren't quite done yet... and they have more friends. Ah well, they'll learn when they learn! I have too much to do..." With a final gaze towards the wrecked freehold, she herself bends the Wyld, tugging her being in the direction of the Chapel with all haste.

????: ... and far on the wind, as she leaves, the Child can hear the howl of an unearthly wolf...!

Child of Wyld Days: That makes her pause, if only for a moment.

In her mind, she remembers the vision. Of the Seventh Moon inside his skin, the Wyld part of him, the REAL Wyld part. The one that shook her to her very non-soul.

Even as she ran along the airs of Virtue, she shuddered, pushing that memory away.

The Chapel of Liar’s Ice...

On the Iron’s Grasping Talons, a clawed hand that grasps metropolis in a sphere of ice, far above the meeting point that is the hand itself... where gravity only obeys where you stand, structures still having their base on the fingers no matter how far up or how vertical it has become... for one standing that high up, one is simply on the ground, the icy orb behind oneself, the palm below, the opposing finger above.

As ice spiders clean the streets, the Gates of the Freehold open... and the Child of Wyld Days once again steps into her home. Those of the Empty Brigade around give her cold stares. Festival’s private army, they were not particularly... fond of the Child.

Child of Wyld Days: She can only stare back. Quite frankly, she could give half a damn what they think--not a single one of them could best her in combat, and she was a mistress of the Freehold anyway. With such came power. So... she waved to them, grinning all the while.

"Hrm... I'll hit my suppliers later, and I guess I can snap up all I'd planned to get soon enough... shouldn't take long at all if I hurry!" She does take a moment to breath the 'air' of the Middlemarches, full of Essence and life and Virtue, and for the time being, the Boil and stale old Creation seems to dready, so boring, so unwelcoming. This... this is HOME.

"Now, I wonder what's gone on since I've left..."

Strifemaster Gaul: Not much seems to have changed... Raksha still wander around, shaping at their whim, buying and selling the most amusing things, goods from the Grove of Sin and Providence... stories of love and betrayal and deceit and cleverness being played in the streets and marketplaces of the Iron's Grasping Talons... not as much as in the icy city above, the true great city, the true great heart, but enough for those who wish more freedom and less perils... and specially for the mortals. Ah, the mortals wandering around... 'Raksha shall not harm raksha, nor shall they harm mortal, within the confines of Iron's Grasping Talons lest they invite doom and destruction upon themselves.' is an oath inscribled in the talons, and it works its charm well - for mortals are almost as common as the lords of chaos within its confines...

On the corner of her eyes, the Child sees a gauntlet grab an ice-fruit from the Grove, and bring it to a featureless face to take a bite on. The lack of eyes watches her, clad in fine but threatening armor. "Little. Very little."

"We need a War, Child."

"And I heard you had exactly that? Turned tail and ran back that early?"

Child of Wyld Days: "Bah! Bah on you and your terrible sense of humor, Gaul." Snow Monkey turns, bows with a flourish, and scampers over to get closer to the war-seeking raksha she knows all too well. "It is not quite over yet, fortunately! I've just come back to acquire a few things for my continues adventures... you did hear of me, yes? Such a grand battle I fought, against god and mortal, atop a mad dragon's stony back! I am certainly going back, if this is only the beginning of what is to come." Nonetheless, she grins at her fellow faerie, arms folded under her stony bosom.

"As for War, unless the dead things think it a good idea to press further north, War may not come as quickly as you'd like, my friend."

Strifemaster Gaul: He takes another bite - how one can do it without even a mouth is anyone's guess - then throws the fruit away, disinterested already. Her grin is met with nothing but cold, a little shift on his stance making the spiked, dark red armor clack, bone beads on his long hair touching it lightly like a toast. "I have not heard, no. All I have heard is of you going south where death has consumed the chaos. Do tell me more of this war... it would be a thing to see, I believe." Then, something like eyes appear on his face. Red. Slitted. Excited.

Child of Wyld Days: "Ah, yes! I can tell you much!" She sits back, a chair of ice forming underneath her rump as she settles in, crossing one leg. "Where to begin... well, the beginning! It seems that agents of... yes, one of the dead things' Lord, the Bishop, has been making a rather eager push South, and had done some considerable damage to the area of Whiteshield, as well as many, if not all of the freeholds in their way. From what I've heard and seen, they have many helping them, and it took all that a handful of Exalted had to beat them back. I, of course, gave them most vital information... no point it allowing a fight to end too quickly if I can help it! Still, the dead look to be in the area still... not defeated, merely beaten back. Although no one knows just what they will do next."

The Child leans forward, grinning at Gaul. "Do I have your interest now?"

Strifemaster Gaul: A great crimson sword slams the floor, digging a few inches on it, and Gaul sits, his hands resting on the tip of the handle.

The eyes radiate the interest.

"Yes, Child. Yes, you do. So, you fought the dead, with the Chosen? What was it about a Dragon?"

Child of Wyld Days: "It is dead now, unfort. I am not sure whether it was created or behemoth. A crazed, deadly stone dragon. But, yes, I stood with them and fought the Dead. I find their asctetic interesting, but their goals are far, far too wasteful for me to enjoy. No pleasure in the fight, no prolonging rivalries. Only kill destroy eat maim maul. Not a drop of glory to be had." Snow Monkey nods, once, then smirks. "There is no telling what else will happen, though... although I have to wonder what's on your mind."

Strifemaster Gaul: "Not a drop of glory? That is interesting... from what I hear, the dead are passionate beings. Well, being that crave passion, at least. Stunted, silly, broken little things that are fun to play with because of that." He nearly laughs. Nearly. "And interesting to fight against. So, you sided with the Chosen?"

"You know what is on my mind, Child."
The 'eyes' close, and the face is so totally completely white.
The eyes appear again, two globes of fire... containing fire, and battle, and steel.
"War. Always, always war."

Child of Wyld Days: "Always war, Gaul. But the question is... what will our good, good friend think?" She smiles, faintly. "But, that's neither here nor there. I'm sure that you'll find some way to find what you seek... after all, you've always been so very good at it. That, and I'm sure he likes you enough to let you sate your needs, hm?" She uncrosses, recrosses her legs, smiling Just So. "I imagine that if you were so inclined to move, you could easily take to task anyone daring to linger in the Border Marches... and that would certainly gather their attention as well... or not. They seem quite focused on something, although I'm not sure just what it is... perhaps something on the city, or those Chosen..."

Strifemaster Gaul: "I would hope so." is all Gaul says, grunting as he begins to caress the handle of the sword... wanting to wield it. To cut his enemies in half and leave his mark in rivals. To rally others to war and let blood flow. "So, the enemy is focused? And you are talking about... distractions? You think I would be a mere distraction Days? A little Shaping Trick?"

Child of Wyld Days: "Ah, it is not that, my friend! I am certain that when you rend their armies to shreds and use their blood to oil your armor, they will take you most seriously. It is simply that their focus is downright monomaniacal at the moment, as if they want to accomplish whatever victory they have so much that all else means little. This is actually a good thing, for if... theioretically, of course, you were to strike, would they be expecting a focused, capable army from the Wyld? Of course not! With you at their helm, a band of talentless nobodies could be hammered into a fine fighting force in no time." She can but only laugh; the implied comment was unintentional, but she could well build off of it.

"You, again, are no trick. You are Strifemaster Gaul, seeker of War. Anyone who forgets this invites their doom. I have seen as such before. I do not doubt you can do so again."

Flattery will get you anywhere.

Strifemaster Gaul: The hand holds the handle, and pushes it up. The blade is now white. The handle is cold like ice the blade white-hot. There is flame and fury in the red spots that seem to hover in front of his blank face - and that seem to always face the Child, flatly, even though his face moves. "I see. You have a way with words, Child. And that invitation for... war... is interesting. To face the dead. Tell me more of their armies. Tell me of what I will fight."

"And what would be left in the Freeholds for me to rally?"

Child of Wyld Days: "As for the Freeholds... they seem to have taken captives here and there. I just recently left one heading towards such a place, a freehold turned into a prison of iron." She spits, the memory fresh, and her spittle turns to ice the moment it leaves her stony lips. "I imagine some that have survived the dead's wrath will be glad to return the favor. As for the dead themselves..." She pauses, leg bouncing.

"They employ the usual tricks of the dead... walking dead, ghosts, and suchlike undying things. They also seem to have employed mortal warriors of some skill, trained in Creation's combat arts. And then... there are the Chosen amongst them. I have only heard of them, but I am certain they have a fair number of agents with some great, terrible power. Warriors worthy of challenging! Their attack on the Boil was largely beaten back, but I imagine they yet have more... the dead have a way of restocking their troops quickly, as we do. I imagine there are other tricks they have ready, but no word of them has flitted into my ear yet. That is all that I know, Gaul."

Strifemaster Gaul: "Even faster, what with corpses and all. Gossamer dries quicker than the messy leftovers of Creation."

He says, stroking his chin... and making plans...

"Well, then, as soon as I depart, I'll go t --"

Festival of Hearts: ".... You will go where, Gaul?"

He is there. But he was not there before.

Nineteen rows of crowns in nineteen horns chime in unison, as the tall, unbelievably graceful creature appears. He is like a pillar coming all the way from the city of ice above, slowly becoming smaller, thinner, coming into focus... and being there, clad in a long robe of ice, now, and not looking in the least bit happy.

"You have been meddling with my servants, Child." It is not a question.

Child of Wyld Days: "So you would say.... father." She lets the 'father' roll off of her tongue, half-kindly, half-mockingly. "For you to say that I'm meddling with your servants is improper and incorrect. This man seeks the battle, and I am merely relaying the proper information to him, o Festival of Hearts." She does rise to bow before him, just as deeply as she did for Gaul. "Were I meddling, would I be so open about it? This is merely chatter amongst friends, good sir!"

Fancy meeting you here...

Strifemaster Gaul: "Master." The tip of the blade touches the ground again, and Gaul kneels before his ruler.

As a good knight, as a good general... even though his eyes burn still. In conflict, in desire.

Festival of Hearts: "Good Day... may daughter." The word is like an insult in his mouth. Not an insult due to him, but to her. As if to say that saying more than that word, or Child, would be an even graver insult. "Would you not be, my errant daughter? Would you not say a declaration of war and an assassination note with the same face of a smiling monkey? Are you not the one who came back with such stories?"

"You are lucky for your fifteen-odd days."

Child of Wyld Days: "Eh, perhaps. But have I taken up such thoughts? Have It acted in a manner that directly threatens the Chapel? Do I come to sow chaos and wreak havoc? No. I am simply here to handle simple matters and be on my way. You area, after all, just as capable of doing those things as I am. That is... perhaps, why we are a bit alike, in a way. Only you seek to burn Creation one day, and I simply with to play with it for a while." She offers Festival a shrug and a monkey's grin, tail swishing freely. "Although, deep down, I am certain that you care for me.... just a little. I imagine one day we will work on harmony towards some great goal, you and I..."

And you will be my puppet, which will make things easier... although you could dead, too. We shall see, shan't we?

"But only time will tell, yes?"

Festival of Hearts: "Why, yes, we are quite a bit alike."

Why do you think I do not trust you, Child?

"And you have not... yet. And the day we work together will come... but then, you will be tamed, monkey."

The crowns chime again, the nineteen...and his eyes shine. A dangerous, dangerous shine.

"Do you wish to go, Gaul?"

'Strifemaster Gaul: "I crave war, my lord. There is a war down south. One of legends, crushing of ephemeral light, rise of shades. Something I wish to be a part of, to kill for glory in. My sword will rust if it is not used for long. I shall return as swiftly as I can for you, my lord.... but I what usefulness is a blade that remains on its sheath, for you?"

His eyes burn a little. In possession of his heart, he did not wholly enjoy this routine.

Child of Wyld Days: She simply watches and waits.

Gaul is important to him... but he can't deny Gaul what drive him for long, else the man'll go mad for certain. But I imagine there will be a price to pay... and I will have to make sure this fool doesn't die.

Her tail swings, the charm jingles, and the Child prays to whatever shinma cares for her by way of not caring for her that Hearts says yes.

Festival of Hearts: He noticed the hatred on Gaul's eyes, of course. But he would have Gaul kneel every time, even so. Did it give him pleasure? Did he do it to eventually break Gaul? Was it just what he thought servants should do? Neverthless, he assented... and in his eyes, he found a way to make a profit. "Very well. You think I would let the sword of my army to rust? Of course I would allow you to go, either way, Gaul. Only one thing troubles me - that the Child came to guide you there. If anything happens to him... I shall hold you responsible, my errant daughter."

"And our oath broken."

Child of Wyld Days: There was danger in that comment, for it was phenomenally right. Now only would Gaul's death leave the Chapel without a warmaster... it would make Festival phenomenally angry. And Days knew what he was like when he was angry. He was a terror beyond reason.

Even still, she smiled. "That is a matter I understand and accept... father. Although I am glad for Gaul that you have allowed him to act so. I am sure that he will be pleased, and your name will be heard well beyond the Marchlands." Another bow, and Snow Monkey grows quiet.

I simply canNOT fuck this up. Not in the slightest.

Festival of Hearts: "Good that you have accepted. And if my standard-bearer wins, yes, I will be there to give him his gifts, his glory, to have it sung for ages far as the Opal court. And I am sure you will help not hinder him..." He nods, then turns his back to her... and with a gesture, begins to dissolve himself... grains of him flowing upward to the metropolis of ice..

"The bonefire is still yours', Child, but I will know if you walk into my interests. Know this..."

"Walk the Path of Nishkriya, Gaul. And may you make Aardra proud."

Child of Wyld Days: "And I will know if you walk into mine... Festival of Hearts." She cannot help but sneer, just a little, then shakes it off, looking to Gaul. "Well... all told, that went well! Tell me, Gaul..."

Her grin is a dazzling one. "How soon can you have your entourage ready to go?"

Strifemaster Gaul: He rises. She can feel him twitching... just slightly. As if trying to shake the humilliation off.

"I will shed enough blood in the Wyld to make the daughter of the blade proud, Festival." He whispers as his lord goes... and then turns to the Child, waving the blade on his hand in a little flourish. "Only a few. I only have to discuss strategy, cast a few omens, break a few under my command once again. It will be no time at all..."

"... unless you have begun to see time like those shaped people do. You left and returned too fast, you know."

Child of Wyld Days: "Mortal time, unfortunately, is of the essence. As they say... 'strike while the iron's hot'. You can handle matters as best as you can, anyway. I have a few things to attend to otherwise. We will both be fore, and I will certainly find you when it is time to leave, Gaul." She bows once more.

"In that regard, I shall leave you to your preparations, for I have gossamer to acquire and things to gather. Is there anything you require of me, Strifemaster?"

Strifemaster Gaul: "Not really. I know where to find Whiteshield." The sword rests over his shoulder.

"Go see about your Gossamer, Child... I will be seeing you before you leave. I will tell you what I need then."

"Go with Nishkriya. She is smiling on this."

Child of Wyld Days: "Indeed she is." Snow Monkey bows, and then she is off, snow and stone in her wake as she tears off to handle most important business...

... and to plot the future. Most specifically, a future without that damned Festival of Hearts.

You time will come... father.

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