She slept peacefully for a thing that had managed to stir up so much malcontent and bruised prides in the span of a short day. Her dusky skin, more a pallid grey than a proper, living hue was crisscrossed with interesting, unidentifiable lines that were too faint to see in the dark light of the chapel where they had placed her. Scars? Holes? Tattoos? Mana lines? None could quite make it out and the ones that had found her were hardly experts in understanding what she was. The realm of the living, not the dead, filled the lives and spirits of all who stayed here, occupied their waking thoughts and tantalized with feelings of self-worth. Healing the living- their mind, bodies and souls- it was a dream that the residents here paid more than just lip service to. This was a place of the devout, of the holy and where true saints made temporary residence for a brief respite from the rigors of the world before trekking back out into it again.

The... creature, despite her cherubic, almost angelic face, was no saint though. Nor goodly creature either. For many, she was a monster. And that was the reason for the malcontent, for while this was a community made and based on tolerance and virtue it had its limits. Found in the rather extravagant clothes of this creature (was -everything- she wore magical?) had been a rather large collection of cruel implements. That alone would not have damned her for even in such a peaceful place, a philosophical understanding of the world had been forged and all knew that blades were but tools. Many vile and hideous creatures used naught but claw and limb to rend and tear and many a virtuous soul carried their heritage and skills in a scabbard. It was not the what that mattered but the how. On the other hand various strips of dried 'meat' could not be so easily explained.

Nor could the hideous cat that had been left with her. Someone, fortunately, had managed to find some fairly potent alchemical water that had cleaned out all her insect cohabitants. And the stinkbug. They had done it almost unwillingly though- the stinkbug was a favored creature of the divine and had alerted one erstwhile priest to the presence of this thing where all other methods had failed.

No one quite knew how she had entered. There were ways- hidden, esoteric, knowledge- that should have prevented the entrance of one such as she. Or if not precisely prevented, at least warned of. For she was undoubtedly and indisputably, one of the undead. Not the blood-suckers that sought to hide their nature in the lifeblood of others, or the life-hungry lichs whose fell spellcasting aided their survival and hid their identity- but a mere... well, no one knew what to make of her. Perhaps she was some form of advanced zombie. According to the chaplain that had found her she had simply said: "I'm tired Mommy... really... really tired..." before collapsing. An innocent undead- it seemed inconceivable, for the very basis of necromantic magicks involved the twisting and torturing of spirits that once inhabited the earth and fleshly bodies.

And yet here she was. A child of trouble and chaos. An omen of things to come. When the dead take shelter...

((OOC: I know this post is like a month old but I'm bored so I figured why not reply right?))

Terion wandered far and wide, as was his way, but today he found himself in a strange new place. It was beautiful but deathly quiet. White sections of broken walls and old, stained statues, ruined by the slime of ages, surrounded him. He walked slowly taking in the dead, yet divine, majesty of the ruins. His head slowly gyrated from side to side with each few feet he conquered. He wondered what beings had created such a place and then let it fall into darkness. He caressed the hilt of his longsword absently, to those that knew Terion this was not abnormal, even though the gesture was oddly affectionate. There was a thin sheet of rain descending lightly from the sad, grey sky. Terion threw his hood up to protect his already weatherbeaten face. He suddenly had a strange notion that he was not alone. He spun, searching for the source of this feeling. There was noone else there. He was surprised, which was not common, noone could sneak up on him. He almost knew there was another prescence in the area. Something else suddenly struck him, fear, it tasted odd and unusual in his mouth.

"Is there someone there?"

He felt foolish, like the dull minded victim in some old woman's fireside horror story. Still, the presence seemed only to get stronger. He ducked into an alcove peering out cautiously into the sliding sheets of rain which now fell with greater strength. The hand which had lovingly caressed his sword before now choked it with white knuckles. He jumped, eyes going wide, when a crow called in the sky above, unseen through the haze. He regained his demeanor and chuckled. He was acting like a fool. He shook his head, the fear passing from his mind, rising away like a dark cloud touched by the west wind. There was a muffled scuttling behind him and slightly to the left. He spun and found himself looking into a pair of beautiful, dead eyes, so similar to the beautiful dead place. He wondered how she had ended up here and if she was a vampire or some lich as she appeared.

"Uh...hello lady. You're not going to drain my blood are you?"

Robyn was dreaming. She was not used to it... the dreaming, that was. Those that died and had not passed on usually were not blessed with the luxuries of life- sleep, the sleep of dreams and of possibilities was (usually) one such luxury denied to them. Most that died, did die when they slept. But things were changing, the fates balancing their share of the stakes with different tools and for them the Old Rules were bending to the point of snapping. And so she who was supposed to be Dead while aSleep was allowed to dream. Perhaps the time that had froze for those who were neither living nor dead would be allowed to unwind and spin forwards, the pendulum given a push by those who would rather see life unwind than life crumple. But despite all that, this was not a mortal's dream composed of sight and senses. Rather, it had been colored by intention and hope and despair- a maelstrom of that which was merely emotion. And at its center was the Voice. It was Terror and it was Fear and it was Love.

And Robyn, so small, so helpless, so tiny and precious- was pulled. Pulled as a moth to a candle, a fly to the web, a snake to the mongoose. She knew- as prey did- that she approached Danger and Death. But still she looked, trying to find a way through the haze of pain and unbroken continuity that were her knights trying to futilely protect her from herself. But she would find the crack- find the loop in the hole that would allow her to break free. All she needed was a key- a fragment of that which had given her guardians. She knew the Voice's name- knew it's shape and it's form. It was a gift that was beyond precious- a form of power so ancient and powerful that no one was free from its pull. And it's name was-

Change.

And then she was there, floating serenely through her guardians as if they had never existed. Change snorted. Robyn smelled... no felt him. He was like an old man stuck inside a concept. The feeling was best described as... itchy.

The story is about to start, young one. The voice rasped like wind through a choked chimney, or sand through the hourglas of Time. Have you chosen...?

And then he was gone, blown to ashes by the fires of wakefulness. Lights danced across her vision and then focused upon a person. No, a personification- of guilt and violence and more besides. Words danced and shimmered around him, like pale auras of inner light made outer save that the light had not chosen its color quite yet. Robyn resisted the urge to meddle with them and smiled pleasantly instead. She was fairly certain that he looked scared but couldn't think of the slightest, inkliest little possibility of why this was so and thusly ignored it as being impossible.

"Uh...hello lady. You're not going to drain my blood are you?"

Robyn cocked her head at him, saying nothing and instead crept closer. She had never seen someone with such an... odd... troupe of words and letters suffused to his form. Her hand reached out...

He was mixed in his assessment of the situation. He was more struck by surprise than fear, how would he know that he would meet such an odd individual. His hand lingered by the pommel of his oldest friend, a longsword whose gleam had faded somewhat over time, yet it was still deadly sharp. The girl was lovely in a strange way, trapped, it seemed, in that age where a woman's beauty began to fully bloom. She had silky looking skin and an inexplicable air of innocence, although she was obviously some sort of unnatural creature. She smiled at him, it was a sad kind of thing, but he thought that was only because of her appearance. Was she truly dead? She seemed helpless but that could certainly be a ploy. Terion had some serious trust issues, although it rather seemed justified in this situation. There was a dazzled look in the girl's eyes as if she could see something of his aura or she was looking past his skin and into his soul. This last did send a further chill through his skin, raising gooseflesh up and down his arms. She reached out towards him and he shied back a few steps, he tried to descry her intention through her manner. Normally, he was damn good at reading people. It was a gift his elven mother had given him long ago in the woods near Alulanta. He wasn't a gambler but, what was life without a few risks thrown in? He stepped toward the girl again and kneeling down he took her outstretched hand in his own, starting a bit at the coldness of her flesh.

"Are you alright? What is your name, and how did you come to rest in such a place?"

The words spun, this was a slow dance and for once Robyn could see that there were more than just letters- but numbers too, maybe even whole Ideas that participated in the dance. For a moment, Robyn thought she glimpsed the word 'deuce' but it hid itself before she could grasp it- dancing with the lightness of a dragonfly above the water or a hornet above the trees... or lightning on the waves. And then her focus shattered and the words all fled as she felt a hand reach out to grab her own. Hadn't he just retreated? She had read the Fear, or thought she had. For a moment, her clothes roared out their fury- her cloak deciding to protect its precious with force rather than by guile and then Ice danced at her fingertips, the embodiment of cold fire returning with a vengeance. She shushed it with a few reassuring coos and watched the fire retreat.

The boy (was he but a boy?) hadn't seemed to notice. Perhaps the Frost belonged to the land of 'what-might-be'. Robyn smiled, faintly and continued to stare at him, daring the words to return. They did so- but only timidly and then disappeared again as he made more. They were large, imposing, hurtling through the air with all the grace and pride of horses without their knights or slaves without their masters. Free from all things except, perhaps, the inevitable End.

"Are you alright? What is your name, and how did you come to rest in such a place?"

Concern. She grasped the word the word out of the air and tucked it into her mouth. Fate. Chance. Whim. Identity. She giggled at the parade of concepts that circled the free words, binding and constricting them to some Meaning. Freedom was but a different way to view the sky that bound the earth to its moorings. A precious way to see that which was different and that which was the same. The unchilde giggled again.

"Robyn-Rin is Robyn-Rin." The undead creature was nearly distracted by the procession of concepts and images her own words generated. "And Robyn-Rin is always Robyn." She laughed as a question mark appeared over her name and as that which bound and tied words to the ground tried to decide if 'Robyn' either described things or was a thing- or both. Apparently glad to have answered the questions she grasped his hand firmly and stood up. "And Robyn walked."

"May Robyn ask Mr. Stranger's Name name?"

The girl continued to give him that strange look as if she were seeing something beyond, or behind him. He was again struck by the urge to flee, there was much power in her, this much he could sense. He hoped he hadn't signed his death warrant with a simple polite gesture. If she attacked him, he didn't have much magic to hold her off with(and he thought most likely magic would be the way to battle such a one), but he would certainly see if she could bleed. As a ranger he had always been the type to try and drive evil out of the wilds, but in this he was confused, was the girl even evil? He didn't know and hoped that he would discover the truth before it was too late if she decided to 'show her fangs', whether literally or metaphorically. Her answer to his question was muddled and as odd as her existence. He got out of it that her name was Robyn and she asked him his own name.

"I am Terion Blackwind, ranger of the southern wilds. I am far from home, wandering as it is in my will to do sometimes. Where is it that you come from my little lady?"

Despite the small measure of fear he had initally felt upon her discovery, he still tried to be pleasant with the girl. He feared perhaps she was insane, due to her cryptic and, almost laughably, strange manner of speaking. He was drawn to her in some deeper way, he wondered if it was her resemblance to his young cousin Eleine. Eleine was younger than this girl and not nearly so pale or dire looking, but he assumed that could be it. Terion remained tense in case this, coldly lovely lady changed her demeanor and attempted to assail him. His hand was no longer so close to the hilt of his sword. He observed Robyn's actions, if nothing else she was extremely interesting. He wondered how she had come to be here, and even more perplexing, how she survived when it seemed she was in a world all her own...

She smelled the surf and the wind then- the pounding of the rain upon the broken leaves and the wonderful scent of life that was death. A cycle- a circle, sometimes vicious, sometimes canny but always round. Robyn relaxed and nodded before letting go of Terion's hand. She could See and Smell now. Was this what the dream had meant- that change was finally happening after the sleep of forever? That the hourglass had turned, the pendulum unstuck? Perhaps. She did not know. And she could not guess. The little undead creature danced backwards, pirouetting slowly- he was a nervous one, this child of the wanderer!- and considered. Her spinning paused for a moment.

"A good name." The unchilde finally decided. "A name of air and stone and earth."

Then she continued spinning, once again deep in the lands of thought, her mouth firmly closed- and it would not open before she had finished this spin. That was very important. So slowly she continued. Her teeth were all present, even if not all were hers. But they had been hers for so long that even their words had changed so that they became Robyns. As had this body. Was it a gift or a curse to make things that were not hers... hers? But that was a mystery for another time. Compulsion was of the oddest shade and Robyn was not about to delve into that color just yet. There was risk in every endeavor and this particular one was riskier than most. That which was Master was also Slave.

"Robyn does not remember." She announced pleasantly. Her spinning had stopped. She was proud of her voice- it had not cracked or rasped for the entire day. Perhaps it was the building that cared for her much as her clothes did. Except for her hankie, but that poor thing could not help it. Robyn would not like to be used to mop up blood either. "Robyn walks." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "And Robyn knows that they are watching." The unchilde nodded wisely. "They do not like Robyn at all. Their Eyes say so."

"But Robyn knows that Alice-Mommy will come to save Robyn if They become mean." Her voice was still mild, cool but was tinged with winter's heedless, impersonal bite. There was no joy in it, but no sadness either. "Is he of the black winds... mean?"

Terion smiled despite himself, for a creature of death this, Robyn, was actually rather pleasant. His little lingering fear dissolved into a chuckle as he watched the undead girl spinning with some grace in the dim chamber. She was odd, but also comical and ,if it was possible, innocent? He had been many places and seen many wonders but an innocent zombie? It seemed impossible. He really didn't think that zombie was the right word to describe her in any case. He had never met a zombie(if you can meet such an individual), who even had the ability to speak, much less to dance around like the girl did. He was geniunely surprised and didn't really know how to proceed. When she leaned in close to him, her dead eyes glittering, and told him that 'they' didn't like her, he looked around for a moment. 'They' didn't seem to be anywhere around.

"Who is they, little lady? I don't see anyone here..."

Terion was normally very good at sensing the existence of other life forces, especially those with malicious intent. There just wasn't anyone there. He guessed it was kind of strange, but the way she talked was actually kind of endearing, as was her apparent zest for life. He wondered if it was weird to find the actions of an animated corpse... cute? He shook his head and laughed again, this time more to himself. 'Take it as it comes' his father had always said. It wasn't inconcievable he guessed. She asked him(referring to him as 'he of the black winds') if he was mean. He blinked in surprise before replying.

"Far from it little Robyn, though I guess I could be mean under the right conditions. I do not intend any harm towards you, if that's what you mean. I wouldn't attack anyone without being provoked, except maybe an orc I don't like those types very much." he laughed again. "So I gather you like to walk, I'm something of a professional walker myself. Would you like to walk with me?"

((OOC: You post quick kiddo! I'm about to be bouncin from work though so I'll probably get back with you on monday. It's been fun, you made my day go sooooooooooooooo much quicker :tongue: ))

OOC: Saturday was me being freaky. Don't expect that sort of postathon spirit much for the rest of the month. XD

IC:

The church's wooden pews were old, worn-out things that had probably not gone to rot and ruin only because of its inclusion in the holy lands of the Angels' Sanctuary. Leaping up delicately, the girl balanced herself on one before precariously placing one foot in front of the other, arms extended like driftwood wings or golden oars. The words tumbled around her, cascading like a waterfall from some unknown heights so many and so different that she could not sift through them and determine their intentions. Even the smells and sights were beginning to become contradictory, like caged skeletons that once had purpose but whose remains told stories only to those who could appreciate them.

Confusion wafted towards her nostrils, vibrant and violently fresh and she nodded. So the Black Winds were did not See them. But she did. They had brought here here. They did not know her and because they did not know they were scared. It was all very understandable. And then someone would lose an I. That would be understandable too. But they wouldn't see it that way. The wooden pew sang out to her, telling her that there was weakness in one place and she deftly skipped over it, her makeshift wings still leaden.

"Far from it little Robyn..."

Truth with the capital T circled around his speech like a wounded bird and she called it to her, the fragile thing pretending it was real even as it winked in and out of existence. The chains of mirth and madness surrounded it- so many demands were made out of the poor word. So many expectations, so many contradictions- how beautiful! How sad! Like a Dratian tragedy but written for those who could Perceive the fate of such a rose. The unchilde let it circle for a few delicate moments before releasing it, whispering sweet nothings that might ease its passing into the realm of constructs that knew too many masters to be real and True. But with its passing... ah, was this... irony? She watched it finally disappear as the black wind finally stopped letting the words free.

Robyn nodded, seemingly satisfied. She gracefully dropped off the pew, reaching into her winter cloak that still hissed- madly wanting to consume and destroy the black winds- to find her wolf's face.

"Robyn will walk." She said, putting on the mask, fashioned of bones and stewed from spirits. The Wolf entered her thoughts.

"As a wolf."

OOC: Just in case of confusion... the 'Wolf's face' is a lupine helm. It appears more like a masquerade mask though.

((OOC: Freaky huh? :shifty: I actually looked through your inventory on Saturday it was pretty interesting...))

Thunder rolled outside as some little spritzes of rain found thier way in through a broken roof. The rain dribbled down a statue of a winged female like tears. Through lightning flashes Robyn danced around and flapped her arms like a clumsy bird on a warped wooden pew. He smiled, she certainly seemed in her element here, among the decaying remnants of some lost religion. This young lady of ashen skin and glittery soulless eyes was an enigma, something Terion could neither explain nor understand. Could she really be as harmless as she seemed? He shrugged to himself disregarding his normal caution, shrugging it off, so to speak. He looked out into the rain wondering what other wonders this odd place might hold. He was most used to forests and mountains. He was by no means a city dwelling type of man, but this abandoned and decadent city did hold some appeal for him. Nature was retaking it's control of the structures and statues here as thier foundations sunk into the dirt.

"I wonder, are you ever uhh... mean, Robyn?"

Terion found himself, once again, thinking of his lost and estranged brother Launaux, who would certainly know much more about the girl than he could. Though Launaux would certainly qualify as what the girl termed 'mean'. He was, in fact, downright cruel sometimes. This was one of the major things that had made Terion and his brother more like enemies than kin. As a matter of fact Launaux usually attacked him instead of saying hello. He turned around when he heard Robyn speak again. He nearly jumped out of his weathered skin as he beheld the terrible majesty of a wolf, fur and all, stuck over her eyes. She grinned like a skull from underneath. He laughed at his own nervousness, then extended his arm, palm upward, towards the door.

"You take the lead, little Robyn. Let's see what we can find here. Perhaps some treasure?"

OOC: Oh, I think I get what you mean. Ignore the lupine helm’s flavor text- that role-play was unfortunately aborted due to someone’s (*glares at a certain former deity figure who asked to be included in the role-play* XE ) lack of participation beyond the second post.

IC:

The wolf smiled, pleased by the Fear.

All was as it should be. Balancing on all fours before stretching the Wolf pushed itself upwards back to two feet, missing the feel of the winter winds even as it luxuriated in the scent of a growing storm. It could not Perceive the Words. How odd. But it could Smell them. Hear them. Would the skies themselves howl and the winds rebel? Would the black winds join in, adulating the powers that were both a part and apart of Nature? For a moment, the Wolf balanced on the knife-edge, courting allegiances as low, growling sounds indicating thoughts and not stones came from somewhere deep inside. Then the skies turned to growl and the Wolf howled back instinctively, though it sounded more like a polite giggle from a very naughty little girl. In the echoing, distant remains of Thunder the Wolf heard a query from the past and a query from the present and answered both.

“The Cat plays. The Wolf hunts. The Sheep eats. Yes.” More thunder. The Wolf was not sure if those had been thought or spoken. But then again it did not matter. Those who could perceive had ears up, no doubt. Ears up. It was what would save them in the end before even light and sound, color and motion. Then the Wolf shuddered- shivered!- as Robyn took back what was hers and the words became far too distracting to ignore. The wolf went hunting.

“Mmmpf. Robyn is back.” The little girl announced, admiring the words as they played about her in slow, skeletal spirals. It had been a difficult task, distracting the Wolf. He could not See and making it See had been a bit of a doozy. Not impossible, of course, but still awkwardly difficult nonetheless. But Robyn had been impatient and wanted to Smell and Hear what the wolf could. The little unchilde did not regret, not for a moment. Even if the Wolf ran free she would not mind it. Or not mind much. Robyn was never too sure if the Wolf liked or disliked Alice-Mommy. It was quite a puzzle. And Robyn was not sure if it would become bored either. That could become a wee bit awkward.

Entering the rain Robyn wondered to all the People that had brought her here before remembering that she was not alone in this.

“Coming?”

There was an odd feeling in the air that struck Terion as he watched the undead girl swagger out into the rain. She seemed oblivious, watching whatever ghostlights there were that danced in front of her lovely dead eyes. Lovely dead eyes? What are you thinking Terion? In any case, there was something amiss in this shell of a deceased cathedral. He felt a chill in the air, as if perhaps someone were watching them. With his sword pommel back within his palm's loving embrace, he looked slowly from side to side. He had nearly forgotten the ill feeling that had gripped him when he wandered into this lost place. His skin crept on his neck, like an army of hyperactive, marching ants. There was nothing there but shadows that lay deep in the corners like the cloaks of slain wraiths. He continually expected to see some fell red gaze coming from the folds of the darkness, but it did not appear. Robyn spoke and brought his thoughts back to the present.

"Coming?"

He saw her looking back at him from the entrance to the cathedral. With a ghost of a smile that barely reflected his mood he began to walk forward towards the door. He was not sure what evil could be here lurking and watching them but it irked him and he wasn't sure how he could make himself feel comfortable once again. While he was sure the girl must have some supernatural power, he didn't know that he could trust her to help him if they were attacked. She was utterly distant and seemed almost too innocent. Maybe even to the point of being oblivious to the danger. As he caught up with her he asked her,

"Do you know much about this place Robyn? I would know more if I could."

He didn't reveal his reason for the question as of yet...

The Wol- no Robyn- nodded graciously, each raindrop hissing as it splattered onto her cloak. The intricate design, etched by fingers who had seen to its craft for decades if not centuries, seemed to rebel waver and rebel as the sky grew fiercer and the weather more glorious. Lightning glared, horribly close, alighting upon a form that seemed to waver along with her cloak. Alien and familiar, feral and tame, child and adult the undead creature whispered into the depths of the storm, her voice somehow heard amidst the rumbling. Around her words spun and laughed before tapering off into the dull roar that indicated lack of Purpose.

"This is the second home of those who once lived up above- or maybe below." The Wolf hid the furrowing of her brow as she concentrated but Uncertainty crept into her voice anyways, like a plague riding into a city on the backs of those that scurried. The Wolf could smell the Death and the Carrion- It luxuriated in those scents. With a stronger nose did not necessarily come more Hate for smells but rather a love that was different more generous. "They are sharers and givers, takers and receivers- and they," the brow unfurrowed, "watch. Robyn does not know why." Her voice was plaintive- distressed.

Flagstones beneath her feet, cracked and dry were soon engorged as the tears of the sky poured into them, making small streams and rivulets creep upwards towards boots that had once loved snow and waited patiently for Winter's return. A fierce, almost irresponsible desire for Winter to return entered Robyn with a violence that surprised and astonished. The cloak flickered, its Hunger unceasing. It wanted Winter to be Back. And, suddenly, so did Robyn. With the ferocity of the Wolf and the patience of the Lamb. Her Words- her Story- suddenly spun and raged away from her and into the deep beyond and Robyn gasped as she suddenly understood what it meant to be Alone. And that she was Not.

With a jerk she spun her Story back to her, clutching it close to her heart. There was something wrong about this place, the oldness of it... the watching eyes... the prying minds. Had they wished it, Robyn's story might have ended then and there.

"Robyn thinks black winds should hurry." The unchilde whispered. "The City does not like Robyn very much."

The rain fell heavily around him like thousands of tiny crystals glittering in the flashing light of the storm. He tossed the hood back up over his head to keep the chill, stinging rain out of his eyes. He could still feel eyes on his back, he turned once more towards the shadowed entrance to the chapel. There was, of course, nothing there. He watched Robyn as she walked ahead of him, listening to the cryptic words that she spoke. She said that 'they watch' and he was quite certain that, that much at least, was true. He wondered who exactly they were, these ones that lived 'above or below', did she mean some sort of lost gods? Gods or not he didn't like the idea of them watching him, at least not when it felt like they might be over his shoulder at any given moment. He could tell that Robyn was just as uncomfortable, if not more so than he was. He followed her, quietly, with his hand rested uneasily on the hilt of his sword. The thumb of his left hand lingered under the leather strap on his shield. Of course, he doubted the defense a mortal made shield could provide against the forces of a god. It comforted him, either way.

Shadows peeked out from under statues and ruins. It was impossible to see more than three feet in front of his nose. He increased his gait to keep up with the, now swiftly moving undead girl. He wondered if she felt the same dread that he did. He thought probably not, but she was definately nervous now, not as carefree as before.

"Robyn thinks black winds should hurry. The City does not like Robyn very much."

Terion shuddered as he replied,

"The black winds agrees with you Robyn. I don't think the city likes me very much either."

He wondered if maybe the gods were only watching him because he walked with her. Then he tried to convince himself he would continue travelling with her if he knew this were the case.

OOC: I think I should apologize, I've been artificially inflating my posts and it's starting to show. I won't do it anymore. -_-

IC:

As the black winds spoke Robyn started to get an inkling of what this city Meant. The pieces of the puzzle started to click, the blanks that had been in the Story now filled with something both less and better than the Words that were missing. The City did not like black winds either? Distaste... dislike... no, it was something stronger. Something more primal, something very much like-

Now that Robyn knew what part of the Story she was searching for she found it, a fiery wound that had seared through the foundations of every scrap of the Story and the Song. Hate lingered like a rolling miasma, wrapped up in pretty words and marvellous tones- but still, at its core, Fear. Those that watched probably did not even know to whence their roots extended but it, the Hate, coloured even them, lending them the darker Words of the Story.

The parapets and minarets of the old buildings wept black tears. And then Robyn saw. A Story so vast and huge that it would swallow hers without thinking and she would be gone, just like that. A drop into the ocean and not the bucket.

"There was once an Elder here." The unchilde whispered suddenly. "He was sad- so sad because he had one of the greater Gifts and could not die. But it was not a gift he could share. And with each new Death he remembered how Alone he was. And so he cried. The city remembers."

The unchilde smelled the smoke then and hushed. This was a secret story and even if she could Read it did not mean it was for all to hear. Some stories were like that, bits and pieces of the World that simply did not wish to go on but did because they were Remembered. Because they were Recalled. And they wished the rain to wash them away so that they might begin anew.

"The city does not want to remember."