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.

Deryk Almeeda proved to be lively company, but lively company was not what Aeturnis really sought.

She had begged with him, almost to the verge of tears, to be taken back to the scene of Mysanthropi's demise, but he had refused her. The sight, he declared, was too much for her to bear, and besides, he had dragged the bodies into the wagon and torched them. Better to be devoured by flame then to feed the scavenging scrittling hoards. To that she had to grudgingly agree. The grief was almost unbearable without having to look upon his maimed and bloody body. Yet there was still the niggling doubt, the desperate hope that somehow he had survived.

Three days had passed since the Meerkat warrior had rescued her from the bandits, three days spent recuperating her strength after the blagh gru attack, but making little progress in their travels. Her entire body throbbed, but the pain of her limbs was nothing compared with the deep, unrelenting hollowness she felt inside. Even Deryk's cheerful banter and words of encouragement were not enough to draw her out of this self-enforced funk.

"You must be wondering," he said, "why I have chosen to travel this road afoot?"

Aeturnis shrugged. The thought had barely occurred to her. It seemed she hardly thought about anything anymore, it was easier that way. Less painful. For the previous two days she had been content merely to listen to everything the Meerkat had to say, answering his questions with little more then a nod.

Deryk did not let her disinterest stop him. One hand fingered the hilt of a scimitar and he flashed her one of his charming grins. She imagined he could be quite the charmer, but right now she was not susceptible to being charmed. "Well, as you may know, I am the third son of Duke Dariel Almeeda, Keeper of Kalimere and I am on a dangerous and exciting Quest," he declared.

This caught her interest, at least a little. She frowned at him. "A quest?"

"Indeed my fair lass," he slid the scimitar into his hand and slashed it through the air in a much exaggerated manner.

A small smile flickered at the edges of the Aardwolf girl's lips. He looked very ridiculous. Then the memory of Chaz returned to her and she hugged her Memory Book close.

"'Tis a deadly and dire quest indeed," he continued, tossing his scimitar from one hand to the other in a move so casual one would doubt it as the razor edged object it was. For a moment his eyes flashed and Aeturnis felt a cold chill down her back. "And, I fancy, a false one." He cut the air ferociously with his blade, making her jump. "After our oldest brother was murdered," he growled, "my surviving brother had to get me out of the picture. I was the one that killed him," he added, the words sending a shiver through Aeturnis as he kicked a pebble off thee path, "or at least that's what he wanted them all to believe." He sighed , turning his bright eyes to the Aardwolf girl. "Can you believe that? My own brother, framing me for something he likely did. I started to ask too many questions, brought up too much proof - so he conjured up a Fool's Errand to get me out of his fur. Anyhow - enough about me, tell me a little about yourself, lass."

At this current point, Aeturnis was bursting with questions and also much alarmed. To talk so casually about Fratricide? What manner of a family did he come from? "There's not very much to tell," she replied.

Deryk hilted his scimitar in one easy movement and took her hand in his. She did not resist, although a part of her wanted to pull away. "Nonsense," he said. "We all have our tales to tell and I must confess, I am curious as to why you were in the company of those travelling entertainers. You are not one of them, no?"

She shook her head.

He grinned. "I could tell, you do not have that air of arrogance and charisma about you that is invaluable amongst performers. Do not be mistaken," he added, "I mean that not as an insult, but at a compliment. I doubt I could stand those garrulous fools. But please," and he turned taking both hands in his and his touch was warm and soft. "Please, my dear, do tell me a little about yourself. What interest lies for you in Eriwyn?"

She shrugged, wondering how much she should tell. It was not as if her adventures were particularly exciting and she could not imagine him being particularly interested in what she was up to. "My father," she replied.

"And your father sent you to Eriwyn with travelling entertainers? Novel family."

"Oh no," she said, "my father doesn't even know I'm coming. Madame Zufraia offered me a ride…" her voice faltered as she first remembered the betrayal.

Had she imagined it, or for the briefest moment there, had a feral, predatory gleam crept into Deryk's sky-blue eyes? No, he was a gentleman, a nobleman no less, and he had saved her from the bandits and shown her nothing but care and respect. "You're really the son of a Duke?" He could be lying, after all. She drew away from him, the hungry look had flickered and vanished, but she could not pretend it had never been there.

"Oh yes my dear, you do not think Commoners learn to fight as I have do you?" He paused, a wicked grin lighting his face. "I know what you are thinking lass, you're thinking 'Meerkats rule a kingdom?' and I would have to say, but of course. The Feline-kin look rather more noble and powerful, but in honesty are quite lazy chaps. It is near nigh impossible to get a days work out of them." He sighed and shook his head, "naps every three hours, indeed."

Aeturnis was curious, despite her grief. "So the mighty king of the jungle sleeps all day?"

"Mighty King of the jungle, my tail," Deryk grins toothily, "Lion-kin do not even live in the jungles, you know." He shrugged, "how are you feeling?"

The question caught her by surprise, but brought with it the answers. Her legs throbbed - her calf muscles felt as though steel poles had be shoved down them. Pain radiated across her back but nothing was as heavy as the grief that lay upon her. She shrugged. "Okay I guess. All things considered."

"How would you feel about a little company?" He looked at her quizzically.

She shrugged. "Company?"

Deryk gestured at a plume of smoke rising in the distance. "It looks like tonight we shall not be camping alone," he grinned, "it could be tinkers, or merchants or just a caravan of travellers but either way, there will likely be a few tales to hear. And maybe a few more to tell?"

"I don't tell stories," Aeturnis replied, hugging her book close.

"Of course you don't," and there was no hint of patronising in his tone, "but little lass, I do." He flourished his sword once more. "I could tell you the tale of how I fought the king of all skrittlings or won a game of dice against the prince of thieves." He winked, "how about the lost city of the Furless ones?"

"You've done all that?"

"Well, with a little embellishment, for sure. All that and more. Or, perhaps I could tell of how I rescued the fair maiden from the foul and evil bandits?"

Aeturnis blushed. "I'd rather you didn't," she whispered.

Deryk patted her on the shoulder, an over-friendly action that made her cringe. "Do not fear, fair lady, I shall tell the one about the giant, mutant alligator instead."

Some campsites along the Eriwyn-Windhaven road were more popular then others, and River's Rest was one such place. As the two walkers approached it, it soon became apparent that there was not one caravan but several, clustered in a circle about a roaring bonfire. Several small children, barefoot and skyclad even in the chill autumn weather, raced around the caravans, tossing an inflated zebu bladder to one another. A small cluster of zebu snorted and shuffled and a sleek silver, non-sentient canine rushed at them, howling in righteous fury at the invaders. Aeturnis cringed back, but it danced around Deryk, leaping and yelping until its owner called it back.

"Come on," he said, "there's naught to be afraid of."

As if in response to his words, a panpipe began playing - a merry, jaunty tune. Aeturnis shivered. She had never really been all that fond of crowds. Deryk put his hand on her arm, squeezing her in reassurance. She managed a small smile for him and together the two of them entered the campsite.

The campers looked up as they entered and even the piper stopped. The Aardwolf girl hugged her Memory Book tight and refused to look any of them in the eye.

Deryk, on the other paw, entered with bold strides and swept into a dramatic and exaggerated bow. "Greetings, fellow travellers," he declared, "I am Deryk de Almeeda, from the far-lands of Kalimere. The fair lady and I have travelled many miles afoot and would ask only that you permit us to lay our weary carcasses next to yours."

A jovial Beaver clad in rather fine looking attire chuckled. "This is a public place," he replied, "bed ya down. Ya got food?"

"We are a little … lacking in the food stakes," Deryk said, "but I assure you, I can certainly talk for my supper and you will not be sorry for the sharing."

"I can tell already." The Beaver stood up, wiping his large hands on his garish clothing and proffering a hand. "The name's Phillipe Trevani, fabrics merchant." He smiled at Aeturnis, who was crouching almost double in an effort to remain unnoticed. "And what do they call ya, lass?"

"Aeturnis," she replied, "Aeturnis Christie."

"Pleased to be meeting ya," he shoved his hand in her direction, and she took it instinctively.

"Thanks," she muttered, as he shook her hand, in a surprisingly gentle manner.

"So lass, why be ya travelling to Eriwyn?"

Aeturnis was not sure she really wanted to answer this question. If anything, her recent loss had made her more withdrawn and edgy. Deryk spared her the decision.

"We're on a mighty Quest, the fair lass and I," he declared. "And I shall tell you all about it, once my belly is filled and my feet at rest."

Those words appeared to have an effect - weary from travelling and the dry, dusty roads, new company received a warm welcome - especially when the new company was as theatrical as Deryk de Almeeda. Aeturnis was glad to just set down and rest her back against a handy tree. Her feet throbbed, her back ached and her legs were so stiff she felt she could barely move.

Deryk seemed to suffer none of these ailments common from walking long distances. He chatted amicably with the travellers, introducing himself to each and everyone and apparently remembering all their names. After a time the piper resumed his tune and the skyclad children curled up together beneath one of the wagons with the scruffy white dog. Sleep came upon Aeturnis too, a sleep borne on wings of weariness. It had almost snatched her away, when a hand tapped her on the shoulder.

She shrieked, sitting bolt upright and almost sent the bowl that Deryk was proferring to her, flying.

"Bit jumpy, aren't you?" He said. "I've managed to scavenge us up some vitals." She accepted it gratefully and he sat cross-legged beside her. "How are you doing?" He asked.

She shrugged but did not speak. The scent of the stew sent her salivary glands into overload. After a moment she managed a small smile for him.

"That's better," he grinned. "Now eat up, for soon I shall start my tale."

A short distance away, one of the (apparently) sleeping Kitlings, quirked an ear. It appeared that little ears would be listening.

The stew was good, extremely good. Deryk had done his best to prepare Interesting and Tasty meals for the two of them, but there was only so much one could do with insects and small birds. This had real meat, red meat, in it, big rich chunks of it. She ate it with enthusiasm as Deryk began his tale.

"'Twas a dark and stormy night the night I met the great God of all 'gators," he began, strutting before them. Everyone had ventured out of their caravans to see the strange and extroverted Meerkat prance before them. A jug of firewater passed from hand to hand. Deryk's voice proved rather soothing, and it had been a long, hard couple of days - Aeturnis felt herself slipping again. A tree was not the most comfortable place to fall asleep, but somehow she managed to dance on the verge of reality.

Deryk's voice came as if from a long, long way away, fading in and out.

"In my journeys I came across a tiny village called the Neverglades, populated by aquatic folk such as yourself, Phillipe and others such as Otters and even a Selkie or three. It was a peaceful, happy village." He paused, "except for one thing - they were haunted by a gigantic predator that would only come out at dawn and dusk and would snatch away whatever it could catch."

"It so came to pass that I arrived there just as the villagers were mourning the death of a young Selkie child. She had been taken on the riverbank two nights before. The aquatic folk place their dead to rest in the swamps, weighing the corpses down with rocks and sinking them into the Sacred glade. This was where things went badly wrong, as you may have guessed. The 'gator had grown fat feeding on those laid to rest in the Sacred glade and it had also grown lazy. There had been no deaths for some time and now it grew hungry.

"Little kitlings, with their dangling feet proved too great a temptation for the hungry beastie. And it swam along, under the water, crawling up to seize them within jaws like steel traps.

"SNAP, SNAP!" He pounced towards some of the younger folk that watched him with eyes wide. They cringed back, and then laughed at their own fear.

"Anyway, I said to myself 'why hasn't something been done about this menace?' And myself replied, 'because these are not warriors, these are a peaceful, cheerful folk and, well, they're just lucky that I - Deryk de Almeeda, have come along to save their tails.' And so I set about conceiving a plan so cunning you could put a tail on it, and call it a weasel."

He paused here, and Aeturnis felt herself drifting deeper. She was not particularly comfortable, leaning against the tree, but she was very tired, and Deryk's voice proved soothing.

She drifted out and into the clouds, but was drawn back down to reality all of a sudden.

"… Into the slippery, slimy swamp I sludged, armed with nothing more then my trusty blades and then I heard it moving towards me.

"Swish-swish-splash - it crawled through the murky waters. The air was thick and heavy with the buzz and whirr of insects, biting nasty things - fit to disturb even the most courageous of adventurers.

"But insects were not enough to deter me, for I had a mission and I had a task and nothing would drive me from my cause. So onwards I slogged whilst insects bit my neck and leeches gouged my legs.

"And then it came, erupting from the waters before me - so swift and stealthy I had not even heard it, or even seen it. Its mighty jaws were open and its teeth glittered in the moonlight. Each tooth was as long as my finger and terminated in a razor sharp point. With eyes as dark as pitch and as cold as the endless sea, it stared at me and I knew then that I had to react. The gator was the biggest monster I have ever seen, bigger even then the king of scrittlings. With a mighty 'splash' its tail slashed through the water and caught me about the legs. Down I fell, tumbling beneath the roiling, turgid waters. Water flooded up my nose and into my lungs and all breath was stolen from me. I thought it was truly the end, but then he snatched me up in his mighty jaws."

There was a gasp from the Kitlings under the wagon. No longer did they even make an effort to feign sleep, but instead lay on their bellies, staring at the spectacle, engrossed in the story. Even the non-sentient dog seemed to be listening.

"Now some of you may think this might mean the end of me. Obviously, you were wrong," he grinned, "for here I stand before you - a few scars for sure, but do not fear, for I assure you, I shall escape from this plot alive. Maybe not the next, however." He winked.

"So what happened?" One of the Kitlings shouted, then shoved his hand across his mouth, trying to push the words back in, lest his parents force him to go to bed. Luckily everyone was thoroughly enraptured by the tale at this point and noone paid him any heed.

"I had but one chance and I grabbed it by the horns and rode it. One of my scimitars had fallen from my grasp, but the other still dangled from my hand and thus as the mighty beast opened its jaws to devour me, I drove," and he mimed as he spoke, fighting an invisible fiend, "my blade deep into the back of its mouth."

"This, as you might agree, rather upset the great big thing. Now, its brain wasn't really very big, but my aim was true and I speared it straight into its inner cortex. Lizard blood dribbled all over me - but I was already soaked in swamp water and saliva so it was almost an improvement.

"It jerked its huge head and the great jaws dropped open, letting me tumble out. Then its entire body began twitching and writhing and flailing as it realised that I had rather nicely messed up its mind. Just as I reached the shore and was about to drag myself out, the tail caught me across the back again." He paused, for dramatic purposes, one of the Kitlings gasped. "I doubt somehow that the monster had enough brain left to chose such an attack, but more that its flailings had led to that unfortunate event.

"Back I tumbled, back into the broiling, frothing waters. I felt them close across my head, suffocating the life from me. Huge, wicked talons nicked me and the water ran red with my blood. I thought then I was lost, to drown so foolishly after destroying my opponent, but luck was on my side.

"My struggling brushed me into tangled, gnarled root and I seized my chance with both hands, dragging myself from the water at the end of my breath. For a while I lay across the tree trunk - black and slick with mould and other foetid substances, whilst beside me the gator ceased its struggles, and finally floated, belly up.

"The next morning the villagers fetched the carcass from the swamp and butchered it. For more then a week they lived off the flesh of the mighty beast, but I departed as soon as I was recovered from my ordeal. As tasty as gator-flesh is, there is only so much one can stomach.

"And that, ladies and gentlefurrs, kitlings and non-sentients, is the tale of how I destroyed the mighty gator. And I swear to you, it is the truest truth as I have ever told it."

He bowed in a much exaggerated fashion and, taking the jug of alcohol from the hands of his audience, downed a mighty mouthful. There was much laughter and applause.

"Thank you, thank you," he declared, bowing and waving the jug about. After a moment he collapsed beside Aeturnis, wiping one hand across his forehead. "Phew," he said, " story-telling really takes it out of me," and shoved the jug into her hands. She stared at it blankly.

"You're not supposed to look at it," he said, "'tis a beverage that should be sampled, not admired. Noone brews moonshine better then the travelling folk."

Aeturnis sniffed it gingerly, as though it would jump from the jug and force itself down her throat. It smelt of fruit, with a sharper undercurrent. Bringing it to her lips, she took the smallest sip.

It was sweet, almost like nectar, but it seared a trail of fiery pleasure down her throat. She gagged, startled but after a moment a peaceful haze seemed to settle on her stomach- as though it were warming inside. She took another, larger mouthful, swirling it around in her mouth. It was good. A pleasant warmth settled on her and she barely noticed when Deryk refilled her jug.

The entertainments continued as a juggler took the stage. He was a lanky Kinkajou, a ridiculous jesters hat pressed on around his ears but elsewise wearing nothing more exotic then a grey tunic and leggings. He also could not juggle and sent oranges and apples tumbling every which way.

It took Aeturnis a while to realise that his supposed incompetence was in fact a ploy to entertain. Having never been exposed to the tricks of showmanship, she remained ignorant in that regard. It was only when his female assistant, a rather well-proportioned Binturong, also wearing a plain tunic, although one of rather a tighter fit took the stage, that she began to take notice. She opened a case and removed from it a torch, which she ignited from the fire and presented it to her partner.

The Kinkajou refused the first torch, waving her away and shaking his head emphatically. She insisted, forcing it into his hand where he stared at it as though it would bite him, then tried to hand it back.

She would have none of that, pushing his hand away and stepping back. He stared at her, aghast, then tossed the torch into the air, inserting a finger in his mouth, as though it were scalded. The children gasped in horror and awe as the flaming brand cut a fiery comet through the sky, twisting and turning. Just as it seemed it would fall to the ground and all would by lost, his tail darted up, the prehensile tip wrapping about it, snatching it from the air.

He laughed, and thumbed his nose at his assistant. She smirked, and tossed another at him. He caught it, stared at it for a moment, then threw it back. She tumbled, landing on her hands, and caught it with her foot, long toes wrapping about it. With ease she threw it, catching it with her tail, and completing her tumble.

The two of them stepped together, took short bows to much applause and then flung the torches into the air again, the Kinkajou catching both of them, one in each hand. He tossed on in the air, caught it again and then grinned mischievously at the crowd. The audience, those that had not fallen asleep that is (it had been a hard day of travelling, after all) applauded and goaded and watching with wide eyes as he threw it into the air again, then threw the other one up. The two crossed in the air in a flaming arc, and then he caught one with his tail and the other in his hand.

The Binturong lit another torch in the fire and threw that into the melee, and then another, so that finally he was juggling four flaming torches between both hands and his tail. He then flung them at his assistant one at a time, as she did another rolling tumble that resulted in her holding one with her tail and one in each hand, having first caught them with her feet.

Still holding the last one, he bowed and doused it, as his partner threw them back, he caught them one at a time and doused them.

Until the last one.

The avid attention of the audience was all directed towards the two performers, so that no one could honestly say where the orange came from. It tumbled through the air with unerring aim, striking the torch just as the Kinakjou reached out to catch it. It jerked it, sending it spinning directly into his chest, where his tunic erupted into flame. His scream was horrible to behold and the stench of burning fur filled the air. Before anyone else fully realised what had happened, the Binturong had dragged a heavy blanket from her case and threw it around him as he fell to the ground, rolling to douse the flames.

"When you play with fire, you're sure to get burned," Deryk commented, appearing at Aeturnis's side and shaking his head sadly. She had not even noticed he had gone. The look in his eyes frightened her, the same hungry look she had seen before upon mentioning her father. And then it was gone, replaced with concern as he rushed forward to help pour water on the poor Furrae's scalded chest.

Somewhat shaken, Aeturnis wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging herself tightly and took another sip from the flagon. And another.

The Kinkajou was escorted off muttering obscenities beneath his breath and raving about sabotage.

Deryk returned to her side. "He'll be fine," he said, "the two of them know more about burns and the treatment of such then anyone else in the camp. Do not worry yourself."

She can only nod in response, taking another sip from the jug. Her head does not feel quite right anymore, like she is being drawn away from reality.

Phillipe took the central stage. "Sorry about that," he said. "Do not worry, Mister Karlos will be just fine. Minor burns are fairly common in his department. So, without further ado, I present to you, Fately!"

Fauns, or Satyrs as they were also known, were an oddity even amongst the Furrae. Unlike most of their kin, who had evolved into the taurish form of six limbs and two torsos, Fauns were merely bipedal goats. Normally reclusive and solitary, Fauns had developed quite a reputation of being extremely over-enthused lovers. This, in part, may have been inspired by the fact that the few that ventured down from the rocky mountains and into the cities, tended to go rather more then a little wild. Aeturnis had read about them, but she had never imagined ever meeting one.

Of course, she had never imagined meeting an Avian or an Ungutaur either. Everything she had done, everything she had seen, had been nothing more then a dream to her.

And now these dreams were her reality.

She remembered Chaz and tears started streaming down her face. Now there was a dream that had turned to a nightmare before she had even had time to take hold of it.

Light music filled the glade, as Fately began to play his panpipe, snapping her from her alcohol-induced depression. It was a light, lilting tune, bringing back memories of butterflies and running through the long grass. A smile crept onto her lips and the tears faded.

A slender Coyote stepped from the shadows of a wagon, his voice picking up the tune in a soft, sweet voice.

"A year is just a drop in time
it cannot touch the female form in my bed
She is just a friend of mine
In the dark I knew the touch of her hand*"

It was glorious - Aeturnis just closed her eyes and let the music carry her away.

"Let the music play like you want it to
Let the sunlight glide through your hair
Let the moonlight play at your feet like a babe
And softly, linger there…"

The song was not sad, but she still felt the tears creeping into the corners of her eyes again. Different tears from before. Aeturnis could cry an ocean if it were ever required, not that she regarded that as any sort of talent.

The tune died away but Aeturnis hungered for more.

"Little lass," the Faun asked, staring directly at her, "do you sing?"

"Nuh-no," she shook her head. No, she didn't sing, although the tune broiled inside her, wanting to be heard. She must never sing - her mother had warned her against it. She shivered and hugged the book closer, aware that the eyes of everyone were upon her once more. "Can't sing, won't sing."

"Oh," said the Coyote, "but I'm sure you have a beautiful singing voice." He smiled at her and there was such tenderness in his smile she knew he spoke the truth.

Fately nodded, "listen to Johann," he said, "he has a seventh sense for such things."

"'Tis true," Johann admitted, putting out his hand to her. "Do not be afraid."

But she was afraid - terrified. When Aeturnis was young, she had once tried singing along with the Soundbox, but her mother had stormed in, turned it off and forbid her ever to sing again.

She had cried for hours, feeling as though her mother had torn away a part of her - a part of her she did not truly yet understand. But it had not stopped her singing. Instead, she kept it to herself, allowing the tune to come only when she was alone. Why had her mother forbidden her? Was her voice really that bad?

Johann continued to smile encouragement at her and Deryk put his hand on her shoulder, pressing another jug of the sweetwater into her hands. "Go on," he whispered, "it is an honour to be singled out by a true bard. If you do not go to him, you will have dishonoured us."

Aeturnis had no wish to dishonour them - and more to the point, she did not want to see that look in Deryk's eyes again. She swallowed nervously and gulped down a mouthful of the alcohol that seared her throat and near-nigh choked her, but filled her with a pleasantly warm glow. The troubles of the world began to melt away.

She accepted Johann's hand and took the stage beside him. It was funny, she reflected, she had thought that standing up here with everyone watching her would be terrifying - but she could not deny the exhilaration and adrenaline that rose inside her. Her father was a rock musician - maybe the apple had fallen not so far from the tree as previous evidence declared.

Deryk held up his thumb to her in the traditional "good on you" position. She blushed to the tips of her ears and applied her bravest smile to her face. "So what do we sing?"

"Do you know any duets?" Johann asked her and she shook her head in response. She didn't know any songs anymore. "Well then, can you read?"

"Yes," she replied, blushing further. He pressed a small notebook into her hands. "Fately will sing with you," he explained. "My voice is not matched well to the tune."

Fately smiled at her kindly, giving a little nod with his head. "It is a song that you must start," he said, "but I trust Johann. If he says you can sing, then you can sing." Johann drew out a magitric harp and began the tune.

It was a popular one, and one Aeturnis recognised immediately. She shivered a little, glancing around at all the faces, eagerly watching her. How had she got herself into this? Could she even sing?

She gulped, as Fately put his hand on her shoulder, and began to half sing, half read, the words off the page in front of her:

"In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came, that voice which calls to me," she stuttered a little on the first line, before her voice truly found the tune and ran along with it. "And speaks my name." She glanced up and took courage from Deryk's smile of encouragement. "And do I dream again? For now I find - the phantom of the opera is there. Inside my mind."

Here Fately took over, his voice deep and rich. "Sing once again with me our strange duet; my power over you grows stronger yet. And though you turn from me to glance behind, the phantom of the opera is there inside your mind." She dared a glance at him and he smiled and flashed her his thumb in approval.

As she sung the third verse, something strange happened. The audience seemed to flow away and for a moment she was Christine, facing the mysterious Phantom in the dark recesses of the Opera house. She could almost smell the stagnant air and polished wood. Fately's clothing appeared to have changed from a plain tunic and leggings into a long black coat over a white frilly shirt. As she glanced down, she realised her own clothing had changed from a rather dirty and tattered dress into a fine, albeit low-cut, gown made in a rich red fabric that swished over her legs.

He pursued her across the "stage" in a manner more reminiscent of dance then anything more. Fear, intermingled with curiosity and a strange and frightening desire, washed over her and she feared to let him catch her, lest he touch her. All the while, they sang.

"Your spirit and my voice in one combined; the phantom of the opera is there... inside your mind." She sang, fleeing from him once again.

The song reached it's rather manic conclusion: "Sing, my angel of music!" Fately insisted, swirling his coat about him as he danced around her. He caught her with one hand on her shoulder, spinning her to face him, and for a moment the two stared each other in the eyes and she wondered if he would nuzzle her. He was Fately no more, but now the Phantom, a mask covering his face and she reached up to draw it from his face.

And then the music died, Johann's hands falling away from the magitric harp. Stunned silence followed and Aeturnis felt the disappoint rise within her. She had been an embarrassment. Her singing had been terrible. Her head fell to her hands and she sought escape - her fine gown replaced once more by tattered rags.

Then the applause began, slowly but gaining in tumultuous waves until it echoed in her ears.

And then Fately screamed.

All eyes glanced his way and saw he stood before a fine mirror, a prop from one of the other wagons. His hands were tracing the shape of his face, which in the mirror reflected horribly burned and scarred, the fur melted entirely away.

Aeturnis took one look at him and knew, knew why her mother had forbidden her ever to sing in company. She had done this to him. It was all her fault.

She took one look at the audience and then turned on her heel and fled into the darkness.

All fear of the horrid Deadlands and all terror of the skittering beasts had fallen away forgotten, in fear of herself and what she had done. So lost was she in her own despair, that she found herself standing in the desolate, barren wasteland before she knew it. Small clumps of Blackemarr, too wispy to collect, glowed faintly from their perches on the rock. She had never realised before how beautiful the fungi, the source of all magick, was. In the darkness it was luminescent, covering a whole spectrum of colours from white to ultraviolet. She remembered something her mother had once told her - Blackemarr fed on the radioactive air and the colours it assumed were linked to the levels of radiation and growth. For a moment she merely stood there, gazing in wonderment. Then she heard a strange noise. It sounded like two bits of metal being rubbed together - almost like a blade being sharpened. She froze, eyes darting madly about seeking the source of the noise, and alighting on a large rock. Over which appeared two spiny legs, closely followed by two bulbous eyes and a pair of spindly antennae, twitching alertly.

Aeturnis and the giant cockroach stared at one another. The sword-sharpening began again and she saw now it was rubbing its front legs together. They were equipped with wicked spines, not unlike daggers. It spread its wings and sprang at her.

She stumbled and fell with surprise, rolling away just as it struck the ground, where she had been standing only moments before. The light from the blackemarr reflected off its multi-faceted eyes and the glinting blades on its legs. Recovering quickly, it stalked towards her. She fumbled about, seeking anything that could be used as a weapon and her hands locked about a fist-sized rock. It wasn't much - but it had to be better then nothing.

The cockroach, and it had to be a skrittling, fanned its wings again in preparation for another pounce. As it sprang, she threw the rock. Her aim flew wide and the stone bounced off one of its forelegs. It was enough to disrupt its aim, and it tumbled to the ground, a mass of legs and antennae, quickly leaping back onto its feet. Aeturnis backed up, finding herself pressed up against the blackemarr. She shuddered at its touch. It was blackemarr that had been responsible for the death of her mother.

That thought sent a new fear racing in on her - she was standing in the Deadlands! Was she too doomed to get the wasting sickness and die? Such dire thoughts were pushed from her mind as the cockroach lunged again. In a last desperate act, she grasped a clump of blackemarr from the rock and flung it at the roach.

It swept through the air, a fiery orange missile, and this time her aim was true. It struck the skrittling in the snout and exploded across its eyes with a vivid white flare. Spots danced across her vision and she was almost blinded herself. The roach crashed to the ground, working with its forelegs to clean the gook from its eyes.

Aeturnis took the only route available to her, and ran.

But she felt different somehow. Her hand where she had touched the fungi felt … odd. There was no other way to explain it - it did not hurt at all, the skin just tingled. She wondered if it was the radiation beginning to take effect. She could hear the "skritch-skritch" of the giant roach stalking her and fear gave her feet wings. A moment later she crashed off the Deadlands and found herself on the outskirts of the camping ground.

Two fears collided. The roach was hunting her and would not hesitate to follow her out of the Deadlands, but would be reluctant to enter the camp, so close to fire. Yet if she returned to the camp, she would be returning to the scene of the crime and her latest disgrace.

Eventually she rolled under one of the caravans and lay there, staring into the gloom. The skrittling did not follow. Maybe she had hurt it enough to dissuade it from further pursuit. In the dirt she lay, her hand tingling and her clothes torn and dirtied and she began to cry. Once the tears started, they proved impossible to halt and she lay there, sobbing and whimpering, pathetic and weak.

"Lass?" Came a voice and she turned her reddened eyes to see the concerned face of Johann, crouching beside the caravan. "Lass, is that you?"

Embarrassed she tried to wipe the tears away, but succeeded only in smearing dirt across her face. When she brought her magick-tingling hand to her face, she felt a small flicker pass through, as though stabbed by a slight magictrical shock. "Yes." She managed. "Leave me alone."

But Johann was not so easily put-off. "Lass, come out," he reached out to her.

"I, I can't."

"Sure you can, just take my hand and crawl out."

"No, I can't. Not after ... not after Fately."

"That was my fault," the Coyote explained, "I could feel the talent latent within you and I wanted to see if it was true. It was just illusion. Fately's fine - just a little startled." He chuckled, "I should have thought to warn him. Strange things happen when you play with an untrained lyrical mage."

Aeturnis's forehead creased. "Huh?" She asked, somewhat stupidly.

"You've got the talent," Johann explained. "And the potential to be a mage."

The Aardwolf was speechless. She could do nothing but stare at the Coyote with wide eyes.

He smiled, proffering his hand once more. "Come out from under there. You know, you really belong in Tirra-Inle. You're a mage, child, and as such you need to be trained. Such power in the hands of a novice can lead to…" he faltered, "accidents."

Finally she found her voice again. "But I can't go to Tirra-Inle," she said. "I must find my father. He's all I have left."

Johann shook his head sadly. "I wish you would consider it," he replied. "Fately and I will be dropping in there in the next two days. If you wish to join us, the offer is there."

"Thank you." Aeturnis replied, knowing she would not. Her a mage? No, it had to be some sort of strange joke. She was nothing, noone and she certainly had no latent magickal talent. What had happened to Fately had been an accident, one she dared not repeat. No, she would never sing again - then everything would be just fine. She accepted the Coyote's hand and he drew her from beneath the wagon.

"Another thing," he said. "Keep an eye on that Meerkat fellow. I know he seems a nice chap and everything but," he shook his head, "there is something hidden about him, something dark. You would do well to leave his company as soon as possible." He was speaking in a low whisper, and just as well, because at that moment a voice piped up from the shadows behind him.

"Ah, there you are my dear - I was starting to fret." Deryk stepped into view, almost, but not quite, hiding the look of direst malice that he flashed at the Coyote musician, if only for a second. "Come along child, you must rest there is much ground to be covered tomorrow." He reached out and took her hand in his, flashing another glare at Johann as the two of them departed.

Aeturnis was shaken and allowed herself to be lead back to the spot Deryk had chosen for them.

"I would not put too much thought into the words of those travelling minstrels," Deryk said, flinging a blanket at her. "They are known to be most unreliable. We'll be in Eriwyn in a couple of days, if we make good time. Then we can find your father. What did you say his name was again?"

She hadn't, but there seemed no harm in lying and she did not want to be evasive. "Julius Lowe," she said.

"Oh my," Deryk whistled between his teeth. "You sure you are not making that up, my dear? 'Tis many people would love to be known as Mr Aeternity's spawn."

"My mother told me, and she named me after his band." Of this, at least, Aeturnis was sure. Almost. Her mother would not lie to her, after all.

"For sure," the Meerkat smiled, "it is only that I do not wish you to be hurt. There are rather more then a few people who would willing lay the accusation of paternity to an unrelated party for kitlings born out of wedlock."

He spoke verbosely, but Aeturnis could still see what he implied. "My mother would never lie to me," she whispered, but the seeds of doubt had been planted. Was Julius really her father? Surely! Her mother would never lie to her about such a thing - certainly not on her deathbed. But, what if she had. What if she did not even know the identity of the man she had mated with? What if Julius was, really, a convenient scapegoat? And even if he were not, even if he were indeed her father - would he care? He was a musician and probably had kits all over the world.

"Do not worry, if he does not wish to take responsibility then you would be welcome to join with me," Deryk offered, "we could have many fine adventures as we fulfil my Quest and then you can return to Kalimere with me. My father may not welcome me with open arms, but I am sure he would welcome you."

"Thanks," she replied, unsure. Johann's words, and that look in Deryk's eyes, still lingered in her mind. It had not been pleasant expression. Could she trust him? Or would he betray her as Madame Zufraia had? She sighed. "I'm tired," she said, "I need to sleep now. We can talk further in the morning." And with that she wrapped herself in her blanket, rested her head on a handy tree root and hugged her memory book close.

Her adventures, combined with the large amount of footwork, had worn her out and she fell deep into dreamless sleep.

It was her hand that woke her with a dull, incessant throbbing. She came to reality slowly, forcing back the fog of sleep. It took her a moment to remember who she was and where she was, and then a moment longer to realise that Deryk, who usually slept curled up next to her, was absent. This startled her into a further state of awareness. Where had he gone? Her fingers tingled and as she glanced upon them, she fancied she saw the veins within were shimmering ever so faintly. Needless to say, this rather unnerved her and roused her further. Hugging her book close she drew herself into a crouch.

"Aeturnis my dear," a voice came from nowhere, a soft voice that was achingly familiar.

"Mother?" Aeturnis whimpered. "Is this a dream?"

"Insofar as life is a dream," her mother's voice replied and Alianna Christie now appeared before her, translucent as though spun from gossamer threads, but there, nevertheless. "Trust the minstrel," she said, "not the warrior. His way lies only suffering. Oh, my poor daughter." And for a moment a star flickered brightly, a tear in her mother's ethereal eye.

And then she was gone, leaving Aeturnis feeling more lost then ever before - her cheeks stained wet with tears. It was then she heard the voices.

"So you really think she's the one then?" It was a stranger's voice with a slightly croaky edge to it.

"Yes," came Deryk's voice. "There is no doubt about it. She is the one of which the Prophecy spoke."

"Interesting. She seems so… timid."

"Oh, she is. She is a pathetic little weakling and I must confess, I seriously had my doubts until that Dog-boy asked her to sing."

He sighed, his words had left Aeturnis shaking and with an aching chill inside. Pathetic weakling indeed. She crawled closer, holding her book tight.

"Not that her voice was anything special," the Meerkat continued, pushing the knife in deep. "But there was a hint of magick there. For a few moments, we were swept into a rather powerful illusion. Quite impressive in one untrained."

"Bring her to me." The voice commanded, "I must see her with my own eyes and lay my hands against her soul. If she is the one of which the Prophecy spoke, then she shall now become my puppet."

"Sir," and she actually heard Deryk gulp. "Would it not be better if I were just to kill her now? She sleeps and it would be swift and easy. She trusts me."

"You grow weak. Me thinks you have developed some affection for the girl. You seek for her the easy escape. Whilst my other minions grow strong, you grow weak." And the stranger laughed then, a horrible giggling-cackle.

"I do not grow weak," Deryk sounded almost childish in his defensiveness. "It is you I fear for, Sir. Would it not be easier to merely kill her here and now, lest the prophecy come true?"

"No!" The mysterious speaker roared, or rather cawed, "in this situation, death is not the answer. Bring her to me and I shall deal with her accordingly. Now begone before I remove your eyes from their sockets."

Aeturnis huddled back in her blanket, feigning sleep. If she ran now she would not get far. Her only chance lay in sneaking away whilst Deryk slept. Pretending to be asleep proved very difficult when her heart was racing like a cheetah on speed and tears were streaming down her cheeks. She caught the briefest glimpse of something white flapping off into the night, before she turned her face away and closed her eyes. A moment later she heard Deryk's footsteps and was aware of him wrapping himself up in the blanket beside her.

She waited for a while, certain the rapid pounding of her heart would alert him to her state, concentrating only on breathing slowly and deeply, as though she were asleep. Eventually she risked a peek. Deryk was lying there, sleeping the sleep of the innocent (although she knew now that he was not). One sword lay beside his bed, just under his sprawling hand and the other was off slightly to the side, the side nearest her. It would be easy enough for her to grasp it and stab him as he slept, just as he would do to her. For an eternity she lay there, staring at the sword, fingers tensed ready to reach out and take it. She inched forward, still feigning sleep and felt her fingers brush against the blade. It would be so easy, so simple.

But she could not do it. It was not in her.

With a deep sigh she rolled aside and lay watching the sky lighten towards dawn.

Close to dawn she stirred once more, dragging herself from her bed, stiff and sore. She must leave now, if she were to leave at all. Must leave, make her way to Johann's caravan, and ask them to depart before daybreak. It was a clumsy plan and full of holes, but it was the best she could manage on short notice.

Her movement woke the Meerkat and he stared up at her blearily. "Where are you going?" He asked, his speech slurring.

She fidgeted and blushed, "I need to answer a call of nature," she replied. Her heart was fluttering madly and she fought the urge to run. To show her weakness now would expose her knowledge.

"Oh," he muttered, and rested his head back on his arms, eyes closed.

She darted off before he could comment further. It did not take her long to find Johann and Fately's wagon. A scrawny Jerboa boy was harnessing the snorting Zebu. He flashed a grin at her as she approached.

"I need to speak to Johann," she said, without introduction.

"Master Johann, he not well this morning," the Jerboa replied. "He got sickness in stomach. We leave straightaway, no talk."

"Please," Aeturnis begged, "Johann said he'd take me with him. To Tirra-Inle. I need to come with you."

"Get in then," came a gruff voice from the recesses of the wagon. She glanced up and saw Fately glaring at her. "If you're coming."

As she scrambled across to enter the wagon motion caught her from the corner of her eye. A fairly large, white bird glided past, landing in a nearby tree. There was something unerringly intelligent in the beady, black eye that regarded her. Then it cawed and flapped away.

She put her foot onto the bottom step and then froze, for behind her she could hear footsteps.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," said Deryk, strutting towards the wagon. His swords hung at his belt and in one hand he held a small corked flask, which he was tossing idly in the air. "You would not be leaving without a word of 'farewell' would you my dear? Abandoning me to a lonely journey to Eriwyn?"

Aeturnis gulped, so cold inside she could barely move. "Nuh-no." She managed.

"I would miss your company," Deryk continued. "I beg you to reconsider." He tossed the flask from one hand to the other, fumbling it and almost dropping it. He caught it deftly and rubbed his hand across his forehead in mock stress. "Phew that was lucky," he said, "do you know what's in the flask, Aeturnis?"

She shook her head, not daring herself to speak. From behind her came a dry hacking cough that went on far too long and was followed by some great, heaving gasps as though one were struggling for breath.

"Oh, poor Johann," Deryk balanced the flask on one finger letting it fall into his palm. "Caught himself a nasty cough." He shook his head sadly. "Very nasty business. I'm sure he'd be glad to know that here I have the cure." And he threw the flask high into the air, catching it just before it struck the ground. "Oh, and should I mention, that this is the only cure. And it is more then just a nasty cough. So, Aeturnis my dear, you will be coming with me now, I trust."

She gulped, staring at the wild, confused eyes of the Faun and heard another racking cough from inside the caravan. "You promise it'll cure him?" She asked.

"Nothing else will," he replied.

"Then I'll come with you." She could not even look up and could not meet Fately's eyes. Fately didn't know whom he was dealing with. Not that she did either - but she had been betrayed too much recently. "Give the flask to that Jerboa boy."

"Of course, milady," Deryk gave an exaggerated, mocking bow and then presented the flask for the boy to come and collect. The lad rushed back into the caravan, pushing past Aeturnis and clutching his precious burden close.

Head down, Aeturnis made her way to Deryk and stood beside him. He smiled and patted her on the shoulder. "That's a good girl," he said. "Now, please I would beg you not to try that sort of stunt again. I would hate to have to hurt anyone around you. Although I must say, I can understand why you would prefer to ride in that wagon to walking any further. I trust your feet are up to the walk?" He did not give her time to answer but merely pushed her on before him, marching her smartly onwards. Soon the caravans were left far behind. So little regard did he have for her spunk, he did not even consider it necessary to restrain her at all. She bit her lip to hold back the tears.

"You know what the ironic thing is?" He said conversantly, once they had walked about an hour down the road. "That you were foolish enough to believe that I would actually give him the cure." He sniggered. "When instead I gave him another dose of the same medicine that is killing him." He sighed and shook his head, "the naivette of some people is tantamount to stupidity. So now you have another fatality to add to your list. I hope you're keeping score, your mother - who had to work the Deadlands to feed her little bastard-kit, that foxy boy - not to mention the rest of his merry friends and of course, your father."

Her ears flattened and her step faltered.

"No, no my dear, don't let depression cease your progress. We have a long walk before us if we're to meet the others afore nightfall. And you wouldn't want to be late for the meeting, would you? They're so eager to meet with you."

But his words fell on deaf ears. Aeturnis was gone, lost so deep into her own grief and self-loathing that his cruelty could no longer hurt her. She was sinking, and sinking fast. Her legs folded beneath her and she crumpled to the ground as a seizure took hold.

There was a flash of blue and pink and a flutter of a white wing, parting the way to reveal a great cloud of black smoke in the shape of a gigantic mushroom and from this mushroom cloud unfurled a great taloned claw, lunging for the ground and ravaging it, clawing deep ravines. Where the talons smote, the ground froze and thick white flakes tumbled from the sky. Then the whole scene seemed to pull back, as though she were watching it from afar and she saw herself, lying naked in the Deadlands, one bloodstained hand clawing at the ground.

Then something slapped against her face and she blinked back to the horrors of reality.

"What in Valliklaw's name is wrong with you?" Deryk snarled, his charming, pretentious façade lost to confusion and anger.

Aeturnis merely clung her head and moaned. The sunlight seemed too bright and it was all too hot. She had fallen to the ground, but made no effort to stand up.

Grasping her roughly, Deryk jerked her to her feet. "Don't force me to carry you, my dear," he said. "And please do try to make haste. My friends shall be most displeased if we are late."

At those words the white raven swooped from the sky, circling them once before alighting on Deryk's shoulder. It glared at him balefully.

"Stop dawdling, fool," it squawked, only it was not quite a squawk. It was the voice Deryk had spoken with the night before.

"Meet Wraith," Deryk said, reaching towards the bird's bullet-shaped head with one finger. The raven snapped at him angrily. "Not the most sociable of birds. Do you know what they call a flock of ravens?"

Aeturnis was not really in the right state of mind to answer such a question.

"A murder." Deryk answered for her.

This made the raven laugh. It had a horrible cackling laugh that didn't sound like any bird Aeturnis had ever imagined. "An unkindness, you thickhead," it snapped, and bit the Meerkat on the ear. "Now if you're not by Valliklaw's Hand by nightfall, I shall remove the eyes from your head."

Deryk's eyes narrowed, as blood trickled down the side of his face. He clasped his hand over his bleeding ear. "Randolph Flynn," he growled, "I'll break your bloody bird's neck if it's the last thing I do."

"And it will be." The bird cackled, and flapped away.

"Blasted beast," Deryk snapped, wiping blood from his streaming ear. "One day Randolph will get his comeuppance, you mark my words." He shook his fist at the departing bird, which cackled in laughter. "Now you," and he shoved Aeturnis forward, "entertainment is over my dear, it is time for us to march on. Wouldn't want to upset his lordship, would we just?"

Aeturnis hung her head and moved onwards.

Dawn was painting the sky in subtle, pastel hues when Valliklaw's Hand finally came into view. It was only a rock structure, but the sight of it was enough to send a shiver down the Aardwolf girl's spine.

It was huge, great arches forming beneath the black rock, giving it the appearance of a six-fingered hand, clawing at the earth as though the greater bulk were still beneath it, struggling to pull itself out. It was on one of these fingers that a figure lounged, hands behind head, staring at the sunset.

The white raven, which had been shadowing them for the past few hours, glided in to roost on the figure's outstretched arm, bouncing and cawing. The figure sat up and slid from his roost. Aeturnis saw now that he was hyena-kin, like her, but of the Spotted Hyena breed, his chin fur spiked into a small, pointed beard. Over one eye he wore a black silk eye-patch and the other was a startlingly bright green. He sauntered over to her and without any manner of introduction, put his hand beneath her chin and drew her muzzle upwards so that her eyes met him.

"Pretty wee thing," he said and his voice was that of the raven's (although without the croaky edge). "Lovely purple eyes. Rather odd fur colouring though."

Aeturnis remained speechless, too overwhelmed by the experiences of the day to defend herself. She cast her eyes downwards again the moment he moved his hand.

He patted her on the rump and she shuddered, although there had been nothing sexual in his intention, he patted her in the same way one might tap a non-sentient to move it along. "No rope to bind her either," he grinned toothily, "looks like you've tamed her well. A good job, Derry."

"She had no spirit worth breaking," Deryk replied. "Hardly a worthy gift for Miss Tawny." He shrugged. "I fail to see why I could not just kill her in her sleep."

"Oh Derry, you disappoint me. Where, may I ask, is the fun in that? I am sure Tawny will make something of her, even if it is just lunch." He shook his head, "bring her inside. You must be weary after your long walk and I have brewed up some stew. Best to get an early night - we've got a long walk ahead of us tomorrow to meet with Tawny, and the map, in Eriwyn."

"So the plan went without a hitch then?"

Aeturnis was vaguely aware that she had a mild advantage here. To all their intents and purposes she was not even there, and certainly not sentient. They were talking quite openly, so sure that she would not run. And they were right, she thought glumly. Where would she go? They were headed for Eriwyn at any rate, the Deadlands would offer her no escape bar the numbing peace of death and she did not have any idea of how to get to Tirra-Inle, now was she certain she could convince them to let her enter. The only people who knew where she was were dead or dying.

"Oh yes," the Hyena gloated, pushing her into the chill gloom beneath the fingers. "The 'heroes' bought Tawny's little red herring without even questioning it. Admittedly, it was not all that much of a herring," he chuckled in that unnerving giggle that hyena's possess. "They did, after all, terrorise the concert. Quite a few casualties from what I hear but we didn't quite manage to do in that preaching Lowe. Serious but stable," he muttered, "still, it is a good sign, Valliklaw smiles upon our endeavours." He crouched down beside a tiny fire that did nought to heat the chamber and stirred a simmering pot of something that smelt extremely tempting.

Hunger was the furthest thing from Aeturnis's mind at present, however. Deryk had said her father was dead, but if she understood correctly, the Hyena had just confirmed he was not. Serious but stable - it was something to cling to. Someone still remained alive. She remained still, huddled against the cold. It was so cold, far too cold for autumn, yet Deryk and the Hyena seemed oblivious to it.

After a time Deryk glanced her way. "Are you cold my dear?" He queried, his voice filled with concern - concern she knew now was mockery. She nodded meekly in response and was rewarded with a threadbare blanket.

A meal followed and despite the stresses of the day and the rising sickness in her belly, she found escape in sleep.

"Well, my-my if you aren't a pretty wee thing," the sleek Fossa purred, running her fingers through Aeturnis's greasy hair. "You'll polish up nicely, I imagine." She ran her hand down the girl's cheek and smiled as she flinched. "How old are you, child?"

"Fifteen," she whispered. There was something soothing about the way Tawny stroked her hair, and it scared her.

"Stand up," she commanded, proffering her hand, the claws neatly manicured and honed to a sharp point. Aeturnis hesitated.

Tawny's fingers closed about her wrist, claws biting through the fur to the flesh beneath. "Stand up," she growled, narrowing her eyes.

The girl stood. Tawny stalked around her, eyeing her speculatively. "You're quite tall," she commented, "only it doesn't show. Straighten those shoulders." She placed her hands on Aeturnis's shoulders and shoved her upright. "Right," she said, "we're going to do something with that hair and get you into a bath I imagine."

"Why?" Aeturnis ventured, "aren't I your captive?"

Tawny frowned at her. "Captive? - Such a horrible word. No, child, you're our guest. And you want to look pretty for your father, don't you just?"

The girl had long ago given up trying to work out what her captors wanted from her. In truth, she was weary from that last walk to the archaic factory Randolph and his friends called "home". She had expected to be thrown into a dungeon of some sort, not taken into a shabby room with a sagging ceiling to be tutted over by a leather-clad Fossa. Spider webs decorated the corners