This story is © Angela "LemurKat" Kingston-Smith (aka "Raynflower") and cannot be used for any means, profit or non-profit, barring reading of, without the written permission of the author.

Aeturnis remembered well the day her mother died. As she sat on the narrow wooden bed, staring at the chipping paint of the ceiling, she remembered. In her arms lay The Memory Book - her mother's final parting gift. Her memories. She had known her time was short, had known soon she would shed this mortal coil, she had worked too long collecting the Blackemarr, the essence of Magick. Found only near the Deadlands, those that collected it were often struck with the curse. But it was also the lifeblood of their world. A dire necessity - at whatever cost.

Yes, Aeturnis would always remember her mother - her warm arms, her gentle words, so different from the harsh and stark treatment she received here, in the Orphanage. She knew she was Huvryss - of mixed blood, and as such was marked as something of an outsider. Cross-kin relationships were not forbidden, as such, but such unions were frowned upon. Marriage between them was illegal and hybrid children were a real rarity. She should have been revered, but instead she was feared. The girls whom she shared the small quarters with avoided her, preferring to pretend she did not exist. Aeturnis did not mind, not really (although deep down inside she felt only sadness) - she had her books, and her Memories.

Knowing she had limited time, her mother had dedicated the last few months of her life to creating the book - filling it with photographs, anecdotes, stories, poems and quotes. And the Memories... Her mother had always kept a journal, and here were the extracts, scripted in her mother's tidy hand.

Aeturnis swelled with love as she read it. She was luckier then these poor orphans - she at least had known a mother that loved and cherished her. Very few of the others could claim that.

As she flipped through the familiar pages, she turned at last to the back - the pages she could not bear to look. They had been written just before her mother had passed away, and her hand was shaky as it formed the words. Aeturnis could not even begin to read them without tears clouding her eyes and threatening to stain the delicate pages. She forced herself through them, turning at last to the final page, and finding a small picture - not a photograph, but clipped from a magazine. She paused, puzzled, for it seemed to bear no relevance to anything else in the book. The picture showed a lean, muscular Lycaon, clad in naught but leather pants and a white shirt, open to display his uniquely patterned and muscular chest. He stood on a stage, astride a microphone stand, mouth open as he howled the words to the song. Perhaps that was why he was here, Aeturnis mused, her father had been a Lycaon. Her mother had told her the basics - there had been a brief and greatly frowned upon relationship, the prejudice drove them apart before she was even aware that she had become pregnant. She had never seen a picture of her father, but surely this muscular musician was not that of whom her mother had spoken?

The caption to the picture read: "Julius Lowe of Aeternity struts his stuff."

She froze - Aeternity, Aeturnis? Surely this wasn't her father? How would her mother come to be with a musician? She had always been so quiet and gentle and shy!

The coincidences were too bold to ignore. Beneath the picture were words in a spidery, shaky script, almost unrecognisable from the same hand as those earlier.

I should have told you sooner, but cannot bear to admit my foolishness, even as I know my last days are due to pass I can still not admit it to your face. The recklessness of youth brought with it my greatest fear - but also my greatest treasure.

You.

My daughter, I pray to Elysia, Goddess of Life, that you do not harbour anger at me for keeping such things a secret. Please understand that I did it to protect you and because I love you. But now I realise you deserve to know.

You were a love-child, as you always knew because those not of the same kin-group could never marry. What you do not know was that your father and I came together for only a fleeting fragment of time. This is he, the only picture I could find - Julius Lowe, vocalist of the once very popular Aeternity. His band is your namesake. Our night together was impulsive and passionate. I cannot say I loved him - idolised yes, and I know to him I was nothing more then another groupie, yet he was both gentle and fiery. The next morning I made my way home, feeling shamed and excited at the same time.

A month later I realised I was pregnant.

You were a miracle, my sweet Aeturnis - his seed should never have taken (at this Aeturnis felt slightly embarrassed, as though she were reading something she should not. Her mother had ever been frank, but reading about herself in this manner seemed a little ... creepy), and yet it did. You were my miracle, my treasured child. I adored you, and I still do. I will forever love you, Aeturnis.

I never informed Julius of your existence. For this I feel guilt, but I did not want to trouble him, and to be honest, I felt somewhat shamed that I had acted in such a way. Do not believe that I regret your birth - you were the meaning of my life, and I shall forever cherish you. It is the means that was somewhat of an embarrassment. However, now I am not long of this world and as you have no blood-kin, save your father, I inform you of his identity. Whether or not you choose to find him is your decision.

The band Aeternity have faded into obscurity. His last known residence was in Eriwyn - a city in the hills to the north. If you decide to pursue this matter, I urge you to take a wagon. The road is dangerous for one on foot and the Deadlands encroach on both sides.

I cannot say how Julius will react, nor can I say whether it is right or wrong for you to pursue him. You deserve to know your paternity, my beloved daughter, and I will not hide it from you in my death.

I love you.

Your mother,
Alianna Christie

Tears danced in her vision, and she wiped them away as excitement warred with the grief in her heart. She had a father - he may not know she existed, but he had a name and a career. She could not deny that a small thrill ran through her - her father, a rock star!

But how would he react to her? She glanced around the small room, the room she shared with three other girls, all of which showed her nothing but disdain. There was no life for her here. She had an inheritance - for all its risks, collecting Blackemarr brought in the money (and if it were not for the fact that at 15 she was underage, she would certainly not be in this Orphanage) and she was certain she could afford the carriage ride to Eriwyn.

She would do it. It was time she stood up and stood tall. She would find her father and make him love her - if the need arose.

"Sorry little lass, but without ye Guardian's permission, I canna be affordin' ye passage."

Aeturnis backed away. It had taken all her courage to go forth and ask at the Ticket Booth. Carriage fees to Eriwyn were not cheap - and they would not let her travel, not without Parental permission - and failing that (since Aeturnis didn't really have a parent at present), not without the consent of her legal Guardian - the Orphanage. There was no way they would risk harbouring a runaway - not when they had to give her passage through the Deadlands. She was not about to argue - Aeturnis didn't argue. She stalked away. If only she were 18 years old, then she could do and go wherever she liked.

It just wasn't fair! Why did her mother have to die? Why couldn't her mother tell her about her father before she had died? Then she could have given permission. She sighed, sinking down on the step. Around her the bustle of the wagon-train continued.

She hugged the Memory Book close. What was she to do now? She'd left the Orphanage early this morning, creeping out after being told to "take out the garbage." She couldn't go back now? What would they do to her? She shuddered to think. Well, there was only one thing she could do.

Walk.

Surely Eriwyn could not be that far?

Settling her backpack more comfortably, she set out along the northern road. There were a few other travellers on the road - most caravans drawn by the strong and steady zebu (a non-morphic species of cow). It appeared that noone else was foolish enough (or desperate enough) to make their way on foot. A few of the zebu drivers glanced at her, foreheads creasing in puzzlement at her stupidity. She kept her muzzle low, eyes downcast, unable to meet their eyes and see the pity there.

After a short time the imposing gatehouses of the Boundary rose into sight.

The road to Eriwyn wound its way through the Deadlands, and as such all travellers had to be permitted passage. It was too dangerous for anyone to wander upon impulsively. This Aeturnis knew in theory, but she had never journeyed this far. Now she recoiled - she had not expected them to appear quite like this!

Very few things in Furritasia were constructed from stone - most dwellings were created in wood or buried in hills (with entrances of course) - the stone structure of the gatehouse seemed completely unnatural and alien.

Two towers rose on either side of the road, where it cut through a narrow gorge. It was impossible to bypass - at least for a Hyenadae, the cliffs rising so sheerly on either side that they could not be natural. Built by sorcery, Aeturnis thought - or maybe in the Beforetimes, before the Great White created the Deadlands. The road itself was narrow at this point, barely wide enough for one laden cart to travel through. Across the road, at about chest height, a massive bar rested, so massive that it could almost have been an entire tree. Before the bar stood two muscular Ursa, hands on hips.

Aeturnis had money, likely enough to pay the toll - if that was what they wanted. But would they let her through? An underage, unsupervised girl on foot?

Somehow she didn't think so.

She watched for a moment as a carriage approached the Boundary, the zebu halting before it snorting and fussing, restless to continue. The driver fossicked in his coat pocket, producing what seemed to be a tablet of thin wood, a Passage Ticket. One of the Ursa Guards inspected it carefully whilst the other inspected the carriage itself. The two nodded and grunted at each other then each took one end of this enormous bar and lifted it as though it weighed little. To them it probably did, she reflected. The zebu and carriage passed through, and the bar was lowered back into place.

Aeturnis sighed and slumped against a rock. Her pawpads hurt already - despite her sturdy footwear. How far did she have to walk? She could not even remember how far it was to Eriwyn. Weeks, she recalled. Weeks by carriage - a luxury she was not permitted.

But where else did she have to go?

Tears stung her eyes - to fail so quickly, so close to home. How could she turn back? How could she return to the Orphanage, to the mocking glares of her peers and to face the wrath of the Matrons?

No - she could not turn back.

Shoulders slumped, Aeturnis sat by the side of the road and prayed for a miracle.

It was not to be long in the coming.

"Miss, miss? Are you okay?" Aeturnis blinked and glanced up to find a scruffy Skunk gazing down at her. He was clad in the black and silver uniform of the Boundary guards, the colours nicely set off his pelt. "What are you doing here?"

Aeturnis forced herself to meet his gaze. She could not do it - her eyes fell away. "Nothing," she whispered.

The Skunk placed his paw on her shoulder. "Where is your caravan?" He asked, not unkindly. "You do realise that someone of your age out here, without your Guardian is against federal law?"

She nodded, unable to say anything. Her shoulders shook as the tears escaped. Finally she forced the words out. "Are you going to arrest me?"

This received a faint chuckle in response, "well, here we have a quandry," he explained. "Federal law says you cannot be out here unescorted - but Federal law also places responsibility on your Guardian. You are too young to be imprisoned for this type of offence, so your Guardian would be penalised in your stead."

She forced herself to meet his gaze. "I have no Guardian," she said, her voice barely betraying her nervousness. "My mother is dead." The Memory Book lay in her lap, its weight solid, familiar and reassuring. She could not keep the pretence up for long, and her gaze swiftly fell back to the ground.

"Oh, you poor thing." He sat beside her and put his arm around her. She tensed, she did not like the contact, but she was too frightened to push him away either. Feeling this, he quickly stepped away from her. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "But you must tell me, why are you travelling this road?"

She was shamed at her behaviour - shamed at pushing him away, denying herself even that contact. If she could not talk to him, how would she ever talk to her father? "I'm going to Eriwyn," she stated.

The Skunk was so startled he could not contain the snort of amazement. "You're walking to Eriwyn? Do you realise quite how far it is?"

Her shoulders rose and fell in a shrug.

"Well, dear child - it takes a zebu cart just shy of a full turn of the moons to reach its destination. And zebu are stolid creatures, that can plod from dawn to dusk requiring nothing more then a few pints of water and a constant supply of hay. They may move slowly, yes, and you could likely walk faster - but your legs would tire and your muscles ache as hunger gnawed at your belly." He shook his head. "Only fools or the very brave would dare walk to Eriwyn."

Aeturnis bit her lip to keep from crying. Even here, miles from civilisation, they still mocked her.

He continued, his tone gentle and kindly enough but his words cruel and scathing. "Have you ever seen the Deadlands, dear child? Because if you travel this road, you will see them, and there is no path darker then that which wends between those barren, lifeless lands. But they are not really lifeless." His eyes glinted, "there are monsters there - scritlings - insects large enough to drag down a zebu. They are swift and merciless, and hunt in packs." Finally he noticed her reaction - her slow drawing into herself. "I do not seek to upset you, dear child, merely to warn you of the dangers that lie ahead. You would be wise to turn back now and return to civilisation. Nothing but pain and death awaits you on the road to Eriwyn."

Her words were barely audible, little more then a murmur. It was a mantra to herself - not to the Skunk. She must not let his words affect her. "I must find my father. He is all I have left."

The guard's ears were sharp. "Your father? Does he live in Eriwyn?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

"And he would not send you a chit for the passage? What sort of father would allow his daughter to walk the Deadlands?"

She could not say anymore - she could not explain herself, could not stand it. She did what she had done at the Orphanage.

She jumped to her feet, and bolted.

The action was so sudden it took the guard by surprise. But there were only two directions she could run - back to the village she had called home, or towards the Boundary that blocked her from Eriwyn.

She chose the latter, to retreat would concede defeat. Towards the mighty blockade she ran, the Skunk shouting at her to "stop being so foolish!" The Ursa, currently inspecting a covered and painted wagon, looked up, faces contorting in surprise. The two of them effectively blocked her path. She tried to weave and dive between them, but one reached down, grabbing her by the scruff of her neck and lifting her feet from the ground.

"Where do you think you're going?" He rumbled.

Aeturnis was too petrified at herself to say anything, and froze.

"She's going to Eriwyn," came a musical voice. "With us."

It was hard to tell who looked more surprised - the Ursa guard or Aeturnis, they both stared at the speaker. Even Aeturnis, unable to meet anyone's gaze, was unable to tear hers away from the creature before her. She had not seen the driver, or indeed the driven, of the painted wagon.

Gracefully seated on the driver's bench was the most bizarre Furrae that Aeturnis had ever seen. She had seen birds, of course, the small winged creatures that flitted for crumbs cast from her hands - but she had never seen an Avian.

Large, kindly, dark eyes peered at her over a fearsome looking beak, open in a semblance of a grin. The Avian's head feathers swept back into a long plume, the feathers tufted. Her arms were not arms at all, but wings, huge powerful wings with hands set upon their wrists, the fingers long and exquisitely graceful.

"The girl is coming to Eriwyn with me," the Avian repeated. "You have inspected my ticket and found it valid - you have inspected my wagon and found my wares and companions to be acceptable - therefore, the girl shall join me and we shall pass. Together."

The Ursa looked fit to protest.

"I would do so if I were you." Another, somewhat harder, voice cautioned, "it does not pay to anger Madame Zufraia."

It was the second time Aeturnis's jaw had almost dropped to the ground - for the voice had not come from the wagon - but from the beast that drew it. Not a mere beast of burden, she realised, seeing his muscular chest and crossed arms - an Ungutaur. Long curved horns swept back from his handsome, yet alien, face, his skin and fur as black as pitch. He stamped one foot.

Madame Zufraia cocked her head on one side. "Farleigh is quite correct," she said. "Now, kindly let us pass on our way, the girl with us."

There was something in her tone, that and the narrowing of the Sable-taur's eyes, the guard's resolve broke and he dropped Aeturnis roughly to the ground.

"You want to go to Eriwyn?" He rumbled, "then be my guest. Pass and may Elysia be with you."

Aeturnis was not about to wait around for him to change his mind, the Skunk looked close to objecting, she jumped into the wagon and sat, eyes downcast. The Ursa rose the bar, muttering to each other and Farleigh passed safely through.

For better or worse - she was on her way to Eriwyn.

The Boundary was receeding into the distance before Madame Zufraia spoke. She turned her large, dark eyes to Aeturnis and the Aardwolf shrunk beneath the power in her gaze.

"So, you travel to Eriwyn."

Aeturnis attempted a smile, despite the fear. "Yes, thank you for helping me, Madame Zufraia. If you would like, I can walk from here."

The Avian threw her head back and laughed. "Walk? Foolish kit - if you walk, you will be on this road until doomsday. And that," a dark cloud flitted over her face, "I'm afraid to say, may not be too far away."

A cold chill spasmed down Aeturnis's spine and it was not bourne by the weather, which was mild. Was the Avian joking?

"Anyway," she continued, as though she had not just spoken of impending doom. "I have been rude, and have not introduced our little crew properly. We are 'Mysanthropi'." She paused for a moment, placing her odd hand beneath Aeturnis's chin and forcing the girl's eyes to meet her own. "Such pretty eyes," she cooed, "'tis a shame not to let the world see them."

Aeturnis shook beneath her hand. "I'm suh-sorry," she whispered.

"No matter, we are Mysanthropi, travelling performers. Freaks," she added, grinning wickedly. "Much like you child."

"I'm... I'm not a freak." Aeturnis tried to look away, but Madam Zufraia's grip was firm. "I'm a Huvryss."

She had a musical laughter, did the Avian. "Nor are Farleigh and I Freaks either - across the seas we are perfectly ordinary, normal boring beings. But you, my child, are special. For the blood of Hyenadae and Canidae flows in your veins. And you have been marked." Her other hand delicately outlined the strange horseshoe shaped fur-mark on Aeturnis's forehead. "You are blessed with the sight, yes?"

"Cursed." Her voice was barely audible, but Madam Zufraia heard regardless.

"A curse and a bless both, it depends what way you come upon it." She glanced over her shoulder for a moment and a smile danced on her lips. "Farleigh, I believe it is time for you to rest - I must introduce Aeturnis to the rest of the Crew."

"Huh-how do you know my name?"

"The Madam has the Sight too," a voice piped up from inside the wagon. "She can read ye fortune in yer hand."

Farleigh stopped, turning his humanoid torso about to regard them. Sweat glistened on the thin black hair of his chest. "Well," he said, "make your introductions so we can move along - I haven't got all day. Where's my waterflask?"

"Strapped to ye hip - where it always is," the voice came from inside the wagon again, ripe with mirth.

Farleigh threw back his head and laughed a rich rumble of a laugh. "Oh but it is empty, send the boy to fill another one."

A low grumble emitted from the mysterious voice.

"I heard that!" Farleigh exclaimed, "now fetch me some water or we'll have you pulling this thing!" A passing zebu Driver stared for a moment and the Sable crossed his arms and held his chin high. "What are you staring at?" He demanded. "Never seen an Ungutaur before?"

With a mutter, the fellow traveller urged his tiny merchant cart onwards.

A moment later a slight, untidy figure emerged from the wagon, sweeping back a tousled mane of wild black hair with a grimy paw, revealing a vulpine muzzle beneath. "Who's the girl?" He demanded. "Is she the one ye spoke of, Madam Zufraia?"

"Yes, she is. Have you forgotten your manners? Greet her formally."

The boy held out his hand, glanced at it for a moment and realised it was dirty, spat on it and wiped it on his trousers. He proferred it to her once more, frowned as he realised what he had just done and quickly stuck it into his pocket. "Hi," he said, quirking his head on one side so that his hair fell in his face, "I'm Chesterton Warren, like the rabbits. But e'ryone calls me Chaz, who're ye?"

Aeturnis shyly met his gaze. His bright blue eyes shone with mischief from beneath tousled locks. Well... he seemed friendly enough. Almost too friendly - but if he was travelling with these odd beings, he was hardly going to regard her as a freak, was he just?
"I'm Aeturnis," she said, "Aeturnis Christie."

"I'm sorry to hear about ye mother," Chaz said. "She was truly a remarkable woman."

Madam Zufraia thwapped him up the back of the head, mussing his hair even further. "Chaz..." she growled, albeit musically.

"What?" He exclaimed, and then realised. "Oh, sorry miss, didna mean to offend ye."

"Are you fetching me my water boy?" Farleigh demanded.

"Oh, sorry Far." He didn't sound sorry in the slightest. "Only Miss," he continued, "sometimes I can see into the past. It ain't no great talent or nothing, but it can be useful." He scrambled off the wagon to take Farleigh's waterbag from the Sable's hand.

"Anyway," was that amusement detectable in Madam Zufraia's voice? "That was Chaz. But you can call him Chesterton if ever he offends you. Our gallant driver is Farleigh, do not let him offend you, he's got a kind heart."

"Hey, I resent that!"

"And now you've met almost all of our merry band."

"Hey, you forgot me," came a very small voice.

"Patience, Rose," said the Avian reaching into the caravan with one hand, a moment later she held it up to Aeturnis. Standing on her palm was a tiny Mouse, pure white but with startling green eyes. The Mouse waved one minute paw.

"Hi, I'm Rose," she said, doing a little bobbing curtsey. "Welcome to Mysanthropi."

The forested lands fell away, giving way to the Deadlands. Aeturnis had not journeyed far from home and nothing she had been told prepared her for the sight of miles and miles of utterly barren land. Nothing grew on the Deadlands, not a single leaf shone green in the sunlight. Just miles and miles of exposed rock and black soil. It was not like a desert - it was far, far worse. Amongst the barren grey wasteland, she caught a flickering motion from the corner of her eye. Life in that deadland?

The seizure struck hard. Her whole body stretched taut as a bow-string and then fell limp. At the same instance she released her grip and tumbled from the wagon.

They were crawling all over her, ugly insects as long as her fingers. Their feet were like little claws, tearing and seering. She swiped them away but couldn't get up and she was drowning, drowning...

Aeturnis's eyes opened with a start. She lay upon the dirt road, only a few feet from the border of the Deadlands. A concerned circle of faces peered down at her, well two anyhow - Madame Zufraia and Chaz, although she thought she detected concern on Farleigh's long face.

"Are ye okay?" Chaz asked, "did ye hurt yerself when ye fell?"

She shook her head. "No, I never hurt myself - my body just goes all limp..." Her vision took a moment longer to clear and she realised she was wrong. She had hurt herself - pain throbbed in her tailbone and the base of her tail ached. It had been a long way from the cart to the ground. She accepted Madame Zufraia's hand and staggered to her feet. Chaz impulsively threw his arms around her and she shrunk back from his embrace.2

"Sorry," he said, "w-we was just worried about ye. What happened? Why did ye fall and start all a-quivering like ye was fightin' shadows or someit?"

Aeturnis fiddled with her bracelet. "I have seizures," she said softly, "and when they seize me I sometimes see things... things that sometimes come true."

"The Sight." Madam Zufraia smiled. "Then my heart sang true. You are one of us."

"No," Aeturnis shook her head, "I'm not anyone. I just want to find my father." She turned away and clambered onto the wagon, shamed at the sympathy and embarrassed at the attention. She wasn't used to anyone but her mother treating her thusly. In all honestly, until her mother had died, there had been noone else in her life - no friends, no siblings, just her and her mother. She missed her mother so much - her kind words, the little stories she used to tell her before tucking her into bed at night. The way her mother brushed and braided her hair... everything.

What was she doing? Why would her father want her? A bastard child begotten on a forgotten lover?

No, she was on a fool's errand - there was nowhere she belonged.

Misanthropy was an appropriate name, after all.

She was broken from her reverie and self-induced moping by Chaz, clambering into the wagon behind her. He paused, brushing his hair out of his face. She wondered why he didn't just cut it short - it would certainly solve a lot of problems.

"Are ye okay?" He asked, sitting beside her on the narrow bench. "I didn't upset ye did I? Cos I'm sorry if I did, only I was ye know, worried 'bout ye and all when ye tumbled into the ground. What did ye see anyway?"

She shuddered, unable to meet his eyes. "Cockroaches," she said, "big cockroaches. They were crawling all over me."

"How big?"

"As long as my middle finger."

"Oh," he paled. "Ye better stay in the cart from 'ere in. The scritlings are nasty - but the blagh gru are worse. They ain't verra big, as far as the 'roaches out 'ere get, but they sure are nasty."

Not very big? Aeturnis shuddered, if those pests were not very big, she shuddered to think how big they did get. "Blagh gru? What sort of name is blagh gru?"

"The blood suckers. Alla the cockroaches out there're cannibals - there ain't nothing to eat but each other, but the blagh gru are different - they live on the road, preferrin' the taste o' Furrae blood to anything more natural. Don't worry," he added, 'I won't let them hurt ye."

The fire failed to banish the darkness, it merely cast it into further, formidable, gloom. Aeturnis huddled, knees pulled close to her chest and wrapped the blanket firmly about her shoulders.

"So Ae," Chaz said, with his usual chipper manner. "What type of beastie are ye? Ye didna look like any I've seen before."

Farleigh chuckled. "Silly boy,' he scolded, although it was good natured for once, "you don't talk to the ladies like that if you know what's good for you. Now, can you finish scrubbing down my hide if you've finished sticking your foot in your mouth? Walking gives me a helluva sweat."

"Yes sir," Chaz picked up the brush and began rubbing down the Sable Antelope's back. The Ungutaur had knelt down, resting his muscular forearms on the hood of the wagon. He looked exhausted and Aeturnis wasn't surprised. Poor Chaz fared little better. First he had prepared dinner, although Aeturnis had lent a helping hand with that, then he had rinsed off the dishes in the stream, and now he was rubbing down the exhausted Sable-taur. But he had not made a single word of complaint. Aeturnis had to admire that.

Rose had crawled up into her lap some time ago, and fallen asleep on her knee, arms trailing down the sides and tail thrashing now and then in her restlessness. Aeturnis dared not move for fear of disturbing her.

"It's okay Farleigh," she replied, "I'm a Huvryss, a hybrid. My father was a Lycaon." She smiled, suddenly shy, "a rock musician. My mother used to gather Blackemarr. She was an Aardwolf."

Chaz laid aside the brush - much to Farleigh's annoyance. He sat down beside Aeturnis and tentatively touched her arm. She flinched a little - Aeturnis did not really like people touching her, although Rose was so small and sweet she could not resist her, but did not draw away. The boy stared through his wild hair into her eyes. His own eyes were deep and blue and dark.

"I'm sorry for ye loss," he said, "ye mother must have been quite a woman. I hope ye find ye father." He then looked sadly away from her. "Do ye know why I'm here?"

"To slave for Farleigh?" She ventured, glancing nervously at the Sable-taur. But the only grunted with mild amusement.

"Nah," he said, "I'm the last - the last Warrah. My kin did out during the great wars. I was lucky - I managed to escape an' Madame Zufraia found me." He smiled sadly and clapped her on the back. "We're all misanthropes here."

On her knee Rose stirred, tossing in her sleep. Aeturnis gently pushed the little Mouse into a better position. Outside the circle of firelight the quiet chittering and scuttling of the skrittlings sent shivers down her spine.

Outside the great snores of Farleigh rent the night air. His horned head rested atop his muscular arms, ears twitching alert for any noise. Aeturnis lay awake on the narrow pallet bed, listening to the Sable-taur snoring outside and the gentle whistling of Madame Zufraia, curled up in the pallet opposite, head beneath her wings. Atop the carved table between the two pallets rested a tiny four-poster bed, half buried amongst tarot cards, runestones, crystal balls, playing cards, a mahjong set, some tattered paperback books and a long black feather. In this tiny bed lay the diminutive figure of Rose, hugging an even smaller teddy bear.

Aeturnis did not know why sleep eluded her, even though her surroundings were utterly bizarre. It was not as if her bed were uncomfortable - the pillows and blankets made it thrice as comfortable as her Orphanage quarters had ever been - and for goodness sake, she'd expected to be asleep on the road tonight! It was not even the fact that her presence here meant that Chaz had been forced to move his sleeping arrangements to the floor beneath the table, where the pile of cushions and blankets currently lay empty. Nor was it the scratching of the skrittlings outside - far and distant, not even the fear of the dreaded blagh gru… No, Aeturnis did now know why she suffered from insomnia.

It was the habit of Mysanthropi to take turns at the watch - even little Rose took her turn. She might be small, but the little Rodent was far from helpless. The dark shape huddled in the alcove above the door, Rose's riding kestrel, was testament to that fact. Beside the alcove a set of diminutive shelves held a miniature riding crop and a minute modified saddle amongst other Mouse-sized attire. Chaz, naturally, was taking the first watch. Only Farleigh, worn after pulling the cart, was excused from standing guard. Amongst them all, he needed his strength the most.

The Aardwolf allowed her eyes to stray around the room once more, still unbelieving of her eyes. There was not a single right angle anywhere in the carriage, and indeed, it seemed larger within then without. Everything was crazy angles and Farleigh could have comfortably fitted inside - if it were not for all the stuff. The place seemed overrun by stuff, placed with no form of securing or in any sort of order. Clothes covered every flat surface, including the floor. How every movement of the carriage did not result in a cascade of detritus, Aeturnis could not even hazard a guess. At first she had thought it was just the outcome of drawing a wagon over uneven ground, but she had seen Madame Zufraia cast off her veils without any thought or concern for where they landed. A great sea chest stood at the foot of the pallet beds. It appeared as though it had been dragged from the ocean deep - the carvings that had once adorned its surface were now worn almost smooth. Aeturnis wondered for a moment what was in it, then decided it was none of her business.

Still sleep evaded her.

With a great sigh (but not so great as to awaken the sleeping Avian), she crawled down the bed and stepped as carefully off the end as she could. It was all but impossible to pick one's way to the entrance without falling over something - or everything, especially in the dark, but Aeturnis managed it with little more then a stubbed toe. She pushed aside the heavy entrance curtains and stepped out into the night.

It was warm - warmer then she had imagined it would be without a fire. The stars were a brilliant tapestry above her and she paused. She peered into the gloom, seeing the dark shapes scurrying across the barren plains of the Deadlands. The sight of these creatures - some as large as wolves, scurrying along on six legs, sent a shiver down her spine. She watched as a group of smaller skrittlings circled a larger domacile (a species of the mutant she knew to be adapted to feed upon blackemarr and therefore no more offensive then common cattle, except to blackemarr gatherers). The domacile reared up so that its first pair of legs clawed at the air and then the skrittlings dragged it down, their darker forms covering its rusty brown one and the foul sound of crunching audible even through Farleigh's snoring. She shuddered, and glanced about, wondering where Chaz was - maybe he'd ducked off to answer a call of nature?

"Ae?" A soft voice called, "what ye doin' out here?"

She glanced about, perplexed, before realising that the voice came from above - from the roof of the wagon, no less. "Chaz?"

"Who else," he grinned, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight. "Come on up." He leaned over the front of the wagon, both hands dangling towards her.

She stared at them for a moment - surely he could not mean for her to climb up there too? She was an Aardwolf - a Hyenidae (well, that and part Canindae, but still) and thus not well equipped to climb anything. "I don't think so," she whispered.

"Oh, come on," he encouraged, "ye canna beat the view up here and ye'll freeze ye tail off down there. We wouldn't want that to happen would we?" He added, "'tis rather a pretty tail."

Much to her shame, Aeturnis found herself blushing. Luckily it was dark and Chaz would not notice. He leaned further still, so far that she feared he would tumble down and break his neck on the cold, hard ground. "I don't like heights," she whispered.

"Oh," he said, and dropped headfirst from the roof. Aeturnis unleashed a little shriek, but a moment later his hands struck the platform and he pushed backwards and into a tight somersault that deposited him on his feet. He bowed with a flourish. "We didna just do party tricks an' fortunes here," he grinned. "Come up here with me - I promise ye, that I wouldna let any harm come to ye."

Aeturnis was still a little doubtful - but wasn't she the one who had been willing to set out on the Road to Eriwyn all by herself? Why should she let a little height scare her? "Okay," she muttered.

Chaz needed no further persuasion - he jumped up on the platform beside her, placing one hand upon her posterior (which sent both a shiver of fear and excitement through her - although she felt immediately shameful of the excitement). The contact was only brief however, for he heaved her upwards and she found herself placing first one foot on his shoulder and then her knee on the roof, falling forward to hold herself steady. It was then she realised she was shaking. A moment later Chaz bounded up beside her, scrambling up the wood and hide wall as though it were nothing more difficult then a flight of stairs.

"Are ye cold?" He draped his cape about her shoulders. "It can be a little bit breezy up here." One hand extended and he helped her to a sitting position, and then rested one hand slightly behind her. If she hadn't known herself better, she would have assumed he wanted to put his arm around her shoulders, but did not dare.

But that was silly? Why would he want to do that?

The wind - and it was more wind then breeze, tugged at his tousled hair, revealing glimpses of his vibrant blue eyes. "So what do ye think?"

Aeturnis did not know what had come over her - she was both frightened of physical contact and wanting it, almost needing it. Barely anyone had touched her since her mother's funeral (and those only out of the necessity of comforting the poor ill-begotten Huvryss), certainly not in a friendly manner, at any rate. Well, she admitted, Rose and Madame Zufraia had - but that was more out of comfort and in a motherly way. Not that anyone could ever replace her mother. But still - she had to admit, in this carriage of oddballs, she felt oddly … comfortable.

Aeturnis surveyed the scenery. It was beautiful, this ebony land - even with the strange noises and the chitterings of mutant insects. She smiled at Chaz. "It's very peaceful," she said.

Chaz beamed at her. "I like it up 'ere, gives me a chance ter think. I like the feel o' the wind tugging at my hair. Do yer wanna see something special?"

Her heart bolted for a second. Last time someone had said that phrase to her it had been an older boy at the Orphanage. He was a bit dim-witted, see had had to admit, but he had - without waiting for an answer, flashed her. Therefore, she was a little reluctant to outright accept the offer. Chaz, like the boy, did not await an answer. A lantern sat on the rooftop, covered in a cloth that muted the light. Now he drew the cloth off, unleashing the radiance. Aeturnis blinked as her eyes, adapted to the low light levels, shrunk to pinpoints. Spots danced momentarily in her vision. Puzzled, she frowned at Chaz, but he rose one finger to his lips, silencing her.

A moment later they came - tiny, flitting bright lights piercing the darkness. Aeturnis watched in awe as they gathered around the light.

"What are they?"

"Fyreflits," Chaz replied, "cute, ain't they? Kinda like little magick lights. The light attracts 'em - like moths to a flame."

Aeturnis reached out one hand to them. One of the tiny lights separated itself from the others and danced lightly across her fingers. It tingled, not unlike a very gentle electric shock, sending a shiver down the Aardwolf's spine. She looked closer at the creature - hard because the light was so radiant, so bright.

It was not an insect - not even a moth, but in fact a tiny bird, no longer then the middle joint of her middle finger. It was the feathers that were glowing. It hovered over her hand for a moment, tiny wings flittering so fast she could barely see them. Then, apparently having determined that she was not edible, it darted away to join its fellows.

"They're beautiful," she gasped. "Thank you for sharing them with me, Chaz."

Chaz beamed at her, a full-on radiant smile that likely matched her own. "Yer're welcome," he said. "'Tis my pleasure."

Madame Zufraia spread the cards across the table. Outside she could hear the sounds of Chaz excitedly teaching Aeturnis how to light a fire and cook. The Huvryss was so inexperienced, had been brought up so sheltered. Madame Zufraia could not help but feel a little sorry for her.

The girl was also an enigma, however, and one she now hoped to understand a little better. She dealt the cards out in front of her, turning over the first one to reveal the image of a mythic Gryphon-morph.

Strength - the power to resist the cruelties the world threw at her. Aeturnis would certainly need that, if she was whom the Secretary Bird suspected. Would the delicate lass be able to withstand what they would throw at her?

The next card was the ten of swords. Conflict, betrayal and tragedy. The poor lass - she should have guessed.

Justice but inverted - too little mercy shown.

And finally, the Queen of Swords, also inverted. This one puzzled the fortune teller - usually this card would represent a victory, at least partially, but because it was inverted and because of the cards before it, she could only assume that when Aeturnis found the ally, they would not be bonded together for a common goal.

And then she drew another card, the (insert symbols here) - victory. So it appeared that the two at odds would find their common goal. That, at least, was a relief. What part did this hybrid child hold in the turmoil due to come?

And what part might she, Madame Zufraia, Fortune Teller extraodanaire, also play?

She folded up the cards and set them aside. Aeturnis might be one whom prophecies spoke of, but she was not going to allow Chaz to get mixed up in the mess. The Warrah was like a son to her - albeit a particularly unusual one. She remembered well the time she had found him, had been drawn to him in fact. The village had still burned around them, the dens of the slain Warrah torn asunder and torched, the ground littered with their corpses. It had been a massacre - the peaceful, idealistic Warrah had not expected the charge of the murderous Dhole kinsmen, desperate to reclaim what little land they could.

Chaz had been hidden in a large woven basket in the attic of one of the houses. The Avian had fought her way through the flames, risking her feathers at every step, to open the lid and pick up the infant. He could not have been more then two turns old, and clung to her with the desperate longing of contact, albeit of a strange and unusual kind.

She had taken him and raised him as she would her own chick.

She would not let this little hybrid take him from her.

She would not!

The next few days were the best Aeturnis had experienced in a long time. Since her mother had been attacked, in fact - the attack that had resulted in her contracting the deadly illness which had claimed her life. Chaz taught her much about survival on the road - how to light fire, how to trap prey, but most of all, he taught her how to smile again. Life in the Orphanage had not been cheery, and Aeturnis had forgotten the last furson that had treated her like a normal Furrae instead of a hybrid-freak. Here, Chaz and Madame Zufraia treated her with nothing but respect, compassion and encouragement. Farleigh, of course, still acted with disdain, but she expected that. Farleigh rarely had a kind word for anyone and was brash and rude to all and sundry, including the other travellers they met on the road.

It was on the fourth day of travel that things took a turn for the negative.

Aeturnis and Chaz were sitting in the back of the carriage, playing a fairly enthused game of Speed. Aeturnis's mother had taught her the card game years ago, and she had become quite a dab hand at it. Poor Chaz was not faring very well at all. Despite the motion, the table, and indeed the entire carriage, remained perfectly calm, thanks to the enchantments weaved into the wood. Yet suddenly it jerked and Farleigh's loud booming voice came from outside.

"Chaz, get out here!"

Chaz sighed, slamming his cards down onto the table. "I'll be right back," he said, "there's prollly been some sort of accident that's blockin' up the road."

Aeturnis did not like the way he always jumped to the Sable-taur's commands, as though he were some sort of slave. It was not as though Farleigh ever asked nicely. Then again, she was not really one to speak - being that she would never have the courage to stand up to Farleigh either. She followed him out and saw what the hold-up was herself.

An enormous tree had been chopped down so that it lay cross-wise across the road. It looked to Aeturnis like it had been done intentionally, for whilst there was no sign of any life, the tree had "chosen" a bottle-neck to collapse across. The Deadlands encroached close on both sides.

Farleigh was looking most disgruntled, glaring at the fallen tree as though accusing it could make it move. It was not a successful ploy. Chaz looked somewhat frightened.

"You don't think it could be… bandits?" He asked.

Farleigh sniggered, "maybe, but no bandits would dare attack Farleigh D'Mont. Nah, 'tis just an inconvenience."

The Warrah, however, did not look convinced.

Rose materialised at Aeturnis's shoulder. She had a habit of doing that - she was so small and quiet that she often went completely unnoticed until suddenly she spoke.
"Do you think Keerah and I should scout out the area?"

"I'm sure Farleigh knows what he's talking about," Aeturnis replied, but she was not convinced. The Sable Antelope was a hard one to love, or even to like. He was too stubborn and single-minded.

Rose merely smiled and whistled. For such a small creature, it was a surprisingly loud noise. Keerah, who had been perching on the railing, leapt into the air and circled Aeturnis's head.

"She wants to perch on you," Rose pointed out. Aeturnis looked at the bird's powerful talons a little nervously, but then stretched out her arm. Keerah called in appreciation, and alighted gently on the wrist. Her claws scratched a little, but did not hurt. The kestrel quirked her head at Aeturnis and opened her beak in what might have been a smile.

"She likes you," Rose added. "And Keerah doesn't like just anyone. She likes having her head scratched."

Aeturnis stared at the bird's bullet-shaped head. She was only a small bird, 'twas true, but that did not change the fact that she was a raptor and as such had a wickedly curved bill. The Aardwolf girl reached tentatively forward. Keerah tilted her neck forward, rising her neck feathers in encouragement. Fighting back mild nervousness of being bitten, Aeturnis scratched her neck. She seemed to appreciate it.

And whilst her steed was thus distracted, little Rose clambered up Aeturnis's hand and onto her bird. A moment later Keerah nuzzled the girl's hand and flung herself into the air, winging her way upwards and outwards.

Aeturnis watched her lazily circle and then bank sharply, wings flapping as she made her return with much haste.

"Ambush!" She shouted, just as the bandits made their attack.

An Otter sprang onto the falling tree. He was splendid in a burgundy tunic, laced about with a satin band from which hung two guns. His head was topped with a ridiculous plumed hat.

"Stand and deliver!" He declared, "your money or your life!"

"Out of my way!" Farleigh snapped, unable to take this ridiculous creature seriously. "My swords, Chaz."

Chaz took one look at the Otter in his peculiar clothing and darted back towards the carriage - or attempted to.

Leaping from the tree branches came a hoard of Stoats, some of them in the winter white coat of the Ermine. All of them wielding scimitars or pistols. Before Chaz could move a foot, two of them had him lined up in their sights.

"Move and they'll shoot," the Otter said, almost politely.

Farleigh held up his hands in surrender. "What do you want then? We don't have any money nor much in the way of wealth." He nudged his head slightly at Aeturnis, as though indicating that perhaps she should fetch his weapons. No guns were angled at her, after all, and she was closer to the security of the carriage then Chaz.

However, she was frozen with terror. She was not used to conflict of this kind, not being an adventurer. And where was Madame Zufraia? It was not uncommon for the Secretary Bird to wander off on exploits of her own, but she had been gone almost an hour and the path ahead was blocked. Where else could she be? A terrible thought occurred to Aeturnis - what if the bandits had already captured her?

That thought was enough to spur Aeturnis into moving - she slid slowly up the back of the seat, easing herself towards the carriage entry.

"We don't want money," the Otter said, "although we would like a share of your occult possessions. No. We want the little lass there." Aeturnis found the rest of their guns aimed in her direction. She froze.

"What do ye want Ae for?" Chaz asked, confuzzled. "She's only a wee lass!"

"Don't ask questions," the Otter commanded. "Seize him!" And the Stoats pounced on Chaz before he could make a move - not that he could make a move, with the guns were still directed at his head and body.

Chaz was thus seized, and dragged towards the Otter. One of the Ermine helpfully pressed the gun barrel against his temple.

"Right then lass, try anything funny and we're blow your friend here to kingdom come, understand?"

Aeturnis nodded mutely, too petrified to speak. What were they going to do to Chaz? What did they want with her? She was noone special! But her biggest fears were for Chaz. She liked him, a lot, and she didn't want him to get hurt because someone, for reasons known only to them, wanted her.

"Alrighty then, I want you to go into the carriage and bring out all the treasures you bunch of freaks have collected and dump them on the ground here, understand?"

Despite her fear, Aeturnis did not like being treated as though she were stupid. Of course she understood, she wasn't some sort of imbecile. Her annoyance, however, was far outweighed by fear. "Yes," she whispered, "I understand."

"Good lass," the Otter patronised her. "Go to it, or we'll knock you're friend's brains from his cute little head."

"You won't get away with this." Farleigh raged, stomping one foot in the dirt. "I'll tear you to pieces, don't think I can't."

"I'm sure you could," the Otter responded, "but only if you fancied seeing your friend's head splattered all over the Deadlands. And not even a 'taur would be stupid enough for that."

Farleigh stomped his feet and raged, but could do little. Rose, however, was still unnoticed, astride her circling kestrel.

Aeturnis gathered up an armload of Madame Zufraia's treasures and carried them outside, shedding bits and pieces en route. She was shaking so hard that she could barely walk down the narrow steps and place the goods on the ground. Immediately a couple of Stoats ran forward and began greedily fossicking through them.

"Junk," one muttered, "useless trinkets."

The Aardwolf girl hurried inside for another armload, shaking with fear and anger. How dare they insult Madame Zufraia's life work! But where was Madame Zufraia? Why wasn't she here to defend it herself? Something about that niggled at Aeturnis. Farleigh's swords lay just inside the entrance. To a normal Furrae they were two-handed weapons, but not to the Ungutaur. He wielded the two of them together. Without conscious thought, she found one hand gripping about the handle.

It was at that moment a shrill shriek came from outside - the shriek of Keerah.

Aeturnis glanced out the curtains to see Rose, screaming like a banshee dive-bombing the Ermine that held Chaz captive. Immediately he swung his gun up and fired.

The sound echoed eerily. Keerah shot backwards, thrown by the bullet, then curled her wings up and plummeted earthwards.

Chaz threw himself to the ground, just as another of the bandits fired at the place where his head had been. He grasped the Ermine nearest him about the feet and bit him on the leg, dragging him down. The gun fell from his hands as the two wrestled madly on the ground.

Farleigh stamped one final time, lowered his head and most of his torso, and charged the Otter in his ridiculous hat. The Otter squeaked in alarm, firing wildly but inaccurately, and fell backwards off the log as Farleigh, misinterpreting his thrust, impaled the hat and not the bandit. The Otter shrieked, almost as though he were physically in pain, and barely rolled out of the way as Farleigh's hooves came crashing down towards him, striking the wood in a shower of splinters.

And the Stoats fell upon him, like a pack of wolves. Some had ropes, others produced knives and as valiantly as the strong Sable fought, he was brought to his knees. And his wrists bound to the tree trunk. Even thus bound he continued to fight, grabbing an Ermine in his hands and flinging him into the Deadlands, kicking and bucking against his bindings…

But it was all to no avail. He fell forward, his torso striking the ground, bleeding freely.

Chaz scrambled free, dragging himself forward, but was quickly pulled back by the Ermine. The gun lay forgotten in the dust.

In the excitement of restraining the fiercesome 'Taur, they had completely forgotten about Aeturnis.

She stared for a moment at the heavy sword - but she could not hope to wield such a thing, even with both hands. Then her eyes alighted on something in the dust.

The Stoat had dropped his gun, and she could almost reach it…

Aeturnis sought deep within herself, seeking courage she hoped she would find. Taking a deep breath, she scurried across the ground and towards the firearm. Kneeling, she took it up in both hands and…

"Stop." The voice was calm and concise, Madame Zufraia, somehow unnoticed by the fray, stepped into view. She was holding a small crossbow.

And it was pointed straight at Aeturnis.

What manner of treachery was this? The gun fell from the girl's limp fingers, tumbling into the dirt. Chaz knelt before her, a knife at his throat as the Stoat held him down. He stared up at Madame Zufraia, his eyes filled with horror and betrayal.

At least Aeturnis could be save in the knowledge that it was not he that betrayed her.

"You're after the girl." The Secretary Bird said, "but I hold her life in the balance. If I chose to, I could shoot this bolt straight through her eye and into her brain. And you have been told to collect her alive - have you not?"

The Otter brushed himself down, having regained his composure now the dangerous Ungutaur had been pacified. His hat sat crookedly on his head, torn asunder it looked even more ridiculous. "Perhaps we have," he said. "But we are going to take this Ungutaur too. He will fetch a fine price in the slave markets of Ti'Ryn."

"The Ungutaur and the boy are no concern of yours," Madame Zufraia declared, narrowing her eyes dangerously. "They are mine and will remain mine if you wish to take your precious prize home alive." For a fleeting moment, her eyes met Aeturnis's, and much to the girl's amazement, they were filled not with anger or rage, but a deep sadness.

"Agreed," the Otter declared. "Hand over the girl."

Madame Zufraia shook her head, "not until you untie the 'Taur and step away from the boy."

The Otter mumbled to himself, then gave the commands. "Let them go - it is only the girl we're after."

The Mustelids slowly went about his order, scuttling back swiftly as Farleigh came back to his feet. Chaz also was left lying in the dirt.

"Here she is," said Madame Zufraia. "She is yours now. Look after her." And the Mustelids came forward and dragged Aeturnis away. The girl was too distressed and frightened to fight. She could not look Chaz in the eyes, but kept hers downcast, unwilling to meet the faces of those she had trusted and whom had betrayed her.

Chains, magical bindings, were slapped about her wrists, and she was dragged past the deadfall and away.

Chaz stared at Madame Zufraia, face radiating a deeper kind of hurt. He did not stand up. He couldn't. One leg was gashed to the bone, blood staining his trouser leg. He ignored it, for now. The pain of the injury was nothing compared to the pain of betrayal.

"How could ye?" He said, "how could ye betray her like that?"

The Secretary Bird shrugged. "It is for our own good, your own good, and the good of the world. Do not question my reasons. You are like a son, Chesterton, and I will protect you. She will bring you nothing but pain and torment."

"And ye didna care of what ye bring her?"

"I do not think it is your right to question. One day you will understand. Now let me examine that wound - it looks nasty."

"No," Chaz growled, jerking away from her and into a defensive crouch. The movement pained him greatly. He growled, flashing his teeth at his foster mother.

Madame Zufraia narrowed her eyes, "are you disobeying me, Chesterton?"

"I think, yes, yes I am." He replied, as his eyes lit on something halfway beneath the carriage.

It was Aeturnis's book - the one her mother had given her, the Memory Book she called it and she never, ever put it down.

And yet here it was, lying forlorn in the dirt. Ignoring the Avian, he scrambled over to it, picking it up and cradled it to his chest. Leg throbbing, he held it close and wept for his lost friend as blood pooled beneath him.

Aeturnis stumbled, nearly blinded by the tears welling in her eyes. The Ermine that held her chains jerked her cruelly everytime she faltered.

"No time for tears, girly," he said, "save them for later. You'll need them then!" He laughed uproariously.

Aeturnis could do nothing but stumble onwards and wonder why. Why had Madame Zufraia, who had been so kind to her, betrayed her so harshly? She had little time to ponder such things before the cruel pull of her chains yanked her onwards.

And more importantly, was Chaz. She had just been growing fond of him, perhaps too fond. Allowing yourself that sort of emotion opened you up to a whole new world of hurt. She hugged herself tightly, wishing she had not lost the Memory Book. She felt so alone without her mother watching over her, but she would not cry, damnit, she would not!

They walked and walked. Her legs throbbed - she wasn't used to walking this far, this fast, and on such rugged terrain. Hunger gnawed at her, but worse was the thirst. Her mouth felt so dry it hurt to swallow.

It must have been late evening by the time they stopped, Aeturnis collapsing to the ground exhausted and stiff. Some of the Ermines were glancing about fitfully as though afraid of pursuit, the Otter just laughed at them.

"They won't be following us," he declared, shaking his splendid hat, "aside from the fact it will take them hours to clear that deadfall, I severed a tendon in the horrible Taur's ankle. He won't be walking anytime soon." At this he laughed uproariously and Aeturnis felt a cold shiver of dread. Poor, poor Farleigh, for him to be lamed would surely be a fate worse then death, in his eyes.

At that thought the sobs rose unbidden, tears coursing down her cheeks. She tried to blink them away, but failed miserably. Had Chaz been hurt too? That thought was as heavy as a lead balloon in her heart.

"Stop whingin'," one of the Ermine snarled, kicking her sharply in the leg and surprising a yelp from her.

"I'm hungry," she whispered, "What do you want from me?"

The Ermine narrowed its eyes. "I don't want nothin' from ya, girlie. 'Cepting maybe your cooperation. We only do what we're paid for and all that. So don't bother askin' us nothing, cos we don't know nothin', understand?"

She nodded mutely. There were no words that could be said. They had kidnapped her on behalf. She was nothing more then a business transaction, and nor was poor Farleigh, lamed for life and it was all her fault - all her fault.

But why?

To that question there could be no answer.

A moment later a flask was pressed to her lips. It was a metal flask and the water inside tasted stale and slightly bitter as the Ermine tilted it. Water dripped down her muzzle as she struggled to swallow before it was gone. A piece of bread, dry and bland, was fed to her in a similar manner, then a blanket was throwing over her.

"Sleep," the Ermine commanded. "You've a long walk ahead o' ya on the morrow and don't be expectin' no favours."

"I wasn't," she replied, curling up as best she could, bound and fettered as she was. Satisfied, the Ermine took his perch upon a rock next to her, staring out in the darkness scanning for danger.

"Help me," she whispered to the silent stars, but they had no answers.

She awoke at midnight, or soon thereafter, to a tickling sensations that began at her toes and made its way up her leg. Awareness struck her slowly, crawling through the deep fog erected by her mind as a defensive barrier against the world. As the fog lifted, she glanced down and saw, on her leg, a bloody trail and a dark shape as large as the palm of her hand.

The blagh gru had found her.

She screamed, squirming in the dirt. The blagh gru regarded her for a moment, its dark, deep, multi-faceted eyes seeming to hold something beyond usual insectile alertness. It twitched one antennae. The white patch on its back was not unlike a skull. A long tube, like a needle, was jabbed into her leg, yet there was no pain - just the tickling sensation of its feet.

"What's goin' on,? Shut up girl!" One of Ermine strolled over "Do you wanna call the skrittlings onto us?"

He then noticed the black shape clinging to her leg. "Blimy, looks like you've got yerself a clinger." His knife blade flashed silver in the moonlight. Aeturnis recoiled, terrified he was going to cut her, punish her perhaps for making so much noise? But then, in one slicing movement, the cockroach was cut free and flung onto the ground, where it twitched pathetically.

Blood trickled out the drinking needle, still impaled in her flesh. The Ermine drew a rather dirty kerchief from his pocket and slapped it across the wound, tying it tightly.

"There ya go girlie," he said, amicably enough, "yer're be right as rain. Least 'til we get ya to our employer, that is." He seemed to find this hilarious, but Aeturnis could see no humour in the situation.

Beneath the circuit of light thrown by the fire came a most dreadful skittering noise. The hairs on Aeturnis's neck rose instinctively. It was a defensive measure- but a particular useless one in this current situation.

And then the blagh gru came, skittering from the darkness so that the shadows themselves seemed to be advancing. Aeturnis stifled a scream of helplessness and fear, but barely. She would not satisfy her captors with by shrieking in despair.

The Ermine had no such qualms, in front of this rising tide of scuttling black shapes, he ran.

She could feel them now, their tiny, clawed feet making their way across her body, the movement tickling her. For all her squirming and struggling, there was naught she could do to shake them from her. Even when she rolled onto her front and dragged herself through the dirt, the blood-sucking cockroaches clung to her. Their needle straws caused no pain, just a dull and creeping numbness that seeped through her skin and reduced her to a crumpled, sobbing heap.

Her vision had become reality.

Then suddenly a brilliant light flared in the darkness, so bright it stole her vision from her and the cockroaches froze, stunned. Some tumbled to the dirt instantly, but further others fell away as someone lifted her to her feet. Much to her shame she found herself clinging to her saviour, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Are you all right, milady? Do not be fretful - I shall save you from these dastardly brigands." He pried her free of him and stepped between her and the raiders, flinging his flaming torch to the ground in the same move. It flared and burned out, darkness descending once more.

She blinked through the after image of fire and eventually discerned his figure. He was a Meerkat, tall, and lean, his hair rising in a magnificent mohawk. Clad simply in a lace-closed tunic and leather leggings, he still made quite a dashing sight. From his belt, she noticed, hung two long scimitars, and now they found their way into his hands, held before him, crossed and ready.

"Well?" He said, "who shall be the first to challenge me? Or are you all affrighted by a few bugs?"

"Bugs?!" Spluttered a voice from the darkness, "those are no bugs - those are the dreaded blagh gru. I've 'eard that a swarm o' 'em can drain a man o' blood in less then five minutes."

Her saviour sniggered. "So you would run and cower in fear from a few bugs, abandoning your sweet and delicate charge? Why, whatever you have been paid, I can see it is too much."

"I'll fight you." The Otter strode forward, hat slightly askew and still bearing the mighty slash mark from Farleigh's horn. "You think you can strut in here and steal what I rightfully have taken? I think not. Fetch me a sword." He commanded. A Stoat darted forward, heaving a large, broad-bladed sword into his hands. It was almost too much for the Stoat to lift, and the Otter appeared to be faring little better. He appropriated a fighting stance.

The Meerkat snorted. "Very well then, prepare to be defeated."

"Nah, 'tis you that shalt be defeated."

The Otter's blade came swift and fast and low, but the Meerkat countered easily with one sword, sweeping the other about in an offensive manner, cutting in from the other side. Unable to parry in time, the Otter could do nothing but drop to his knees to avoid the blow. The sword sliced by, nearly trimming his ear along the way. Rolling on his back, he slashed again, but it was plain the Meerkat had the advantage, and a heartbeat later he found both scimitars directed at his throat.

"All of you," the Meerkat snarled, "all of you be gone from this place, and pray that never I must look upon your cowardly faces again. The girl is mine now."

Aeturnis could not help but be a little afraid of the way he said that. She did not want to be his, she did not want to be anybody's (well, excepting maybe Chaz's, but that was another story and she shouldn't even be thinking about that sort of thing - imagine what her Mother would think?). She watched as the Stoats and Ermines fled into the darkness. When they had disappeared, the Meerkat drew the swords away from the Otter's throat.

"Be gone with you," he said. Staring at him a little stunned, the Otter scrambled to his feet, picked up his hat, dusted it off and sat it crookedly atop his head. The Meerkat waved the sword, which was enough to send the bandit fleeing into the night, in pursuit of his fellow brigands.

Was it Aeturnis's imagination, or had that been a little too easy?

"Right then, shall we see about freeing you of those nasty chains?" He said, bowing slightly.

She rattled them. "They're locked," she whispered, and her voice sounded pathetically small.

"Well then, fancy that. Luckily I 'm quite a dab hand at picking the old locks," he said (Ed - apparently he's British, next thing you know he'll be saying "old chap"…) , producing a small, twisted piece of metal from somewhere about his person. "Now, hold still milady, this shall not hurt at all." She held her bound hands before her, and he fumbled about with the wire for a moment or three. She was conscious of how close they were together, and how dark it was and how he smelt of musk and sweat and how there was noone around, noone except those horrible cockroaches, which she could hear scuttling about in the shadows. She shivered.

"Are you cold?" He asked, misinterpreting her reaction. "I must apologise for failing to tend to your injuries." Stooping, he retrieved the rather tattered blanket and wrapped it about her shoulders. "It just occurred to me that you would be rather in preference to being freed of your bondage afore I start my ministrations upon you."

She nodded. When he put it like that, she felt almost safe. Well, somewhat more secure at any rate.

"There," he said, and the handcuffs dropped to the ground, chiming loudly against the stones. For a moment even the scuttling of the cockroaches ceased and silence descended sharply and sweetly. Then, too swiftly, it was over and the frightful noises began once more.

"Who are you?" She managed to ask.

"Oh, please do be excusing my un-gentlemanly behaviour," he exclaimed, giving a little bob. "I am Deryk Almeeda, humble traveller of these paths."

"I'm Aeturnis Christie," she said, and then her legs folded beneath her and she would have fallen, had Deryk not caught her. Her head felt light, as though she were floating in the clouds. She had felt that way once before - and that had been at a Midwinter ceremony when she had discovered, for the first (and last) time, alcohol. Through the fog that clouded her mind, she felt Deryk wrap her in the threadbare blanket and ease her gently to the cold ground. A short while later the flickering lights of a fire fought through her sub-consciousness, and then all turned to mist and darkness.

She awoke to the bright morning glare of sunlight streaming down. Deryk crouched a few metres from her, shining his sword with a scrap of cloth. He smiled at her, he had a kind, friendly smile that crinkled the sides of his mouth, and she felt instantly reassured.

"And how do you fare this fine morning, milady?" He queried.

"Much better," she replied, "although a little giddy and weak."

"That's the blood loss, 'tis to be expected after a run in with such fiendish devils," he replied, "do not worry your pretty head, I have prepared a hearty breakfast that shall revitalise and restore you." He gestured with his rag to a pot atop the fire that sizzled and exuded forth a hearty, oaty aroma. "Alas, 'tis nothing more then porridge, but it shall certainly energize you." Taking the bowl from the fire, he sprinkled it with sugar and handed it to her.

She smiled, sniffing the warm mixture. Hunger tore at her belly like a wild beast, demanding sustenance. Eager to please it, she took a mouthful. It was delicious, thick, but not lumpy and sweetened with honey. "Thank you," she said, "thank you for rescuing me and feeding me and stuff."

"'Tis my pleasure to aid a lady in distress," Deryk bowed. "Especially one as lovely as yourself. But pray, tell me, what was one such as you doing travelling the roads? Were you perchance part of a group, or were you alone?"

"A group," she replied, not liking to voice untruths, " we were attacked and they kidnapped me." She looked Deryk hopefully in the eye, "did you perhaps come their way? Have you got news of them?" She knew even as the words passed her lips that they were useless - if he had passed them, surely he would be aware of her plight and would not have to ask questions.

He shook his head and glanced away, unwilling to meet her eyes. "I am afeared I have some rather bad news for you," he said, his voice cracking under the strain. "I passed a wagon some distance away, a brightly coloured affair?" He rose an eyebrow, questioningly.

Aeturnis nodded. "Were they there? Is Farleigh all right? What about Rose? And Chaz?" Her heart fluttered and plummeted - she could tell from his manner as much as his words that the tidings were not good.

He shook his head mutely. "Alas, my poor dear," and he put an arm on her shoulder. She did not resist. "They appeared to have met with some difficulty and…" He gulped, and could not look her in the eye. She did not want him to continue, did not want to hear him say the words that she knew were poised on his lips, waiting to flow free, but on the other paw, she had to know. "The skrittlings must have come upon them in the night and assailed them." He shook his head grimly, "'twas a terrible sight to behold. I'm sorry. Not one of them survived."

And then the tears came, although Aeturnis could scarce believe his words. Surely, surely Mysanthropi had been able to defend themselves against the fierce cockroaches? The alternative was ridiculous. But why would Deryk lie to her? What would he hope to achieve? She folded into his arms, surrendering to her grief.

Farleigh, disabled and dead.
Rose, devoured by vermin.
And Chaz, kind, gentle Chaz who had shown her the fyreflits and been so sweet and considerate.
How could they be dead?
How could they?

He broke her from her distress with a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "I am sorry to be the bearer of such dire news," he said, "but the road is a harsh and dangerous place for the inexperienced traveller. I found this, it may bring some comfort to you. The boy clutched it tightly to himself, even in the embrace of death. I pried it from him, thinking it might help to identify the poor, lost souls." He pressed a book into her hands. Her Memory book.

A bloody handprint marred the cover and the pages were stained and dirty.

"Chaz," she whimpered, cradling it to her chest, but even this relic of her mother's brought with it little comfort.