Transitions, after Dangergeld / closed / for Shae

[Rièle]

Rièle emerged from the tent exhilarated; her mind was in another world, free of the bonds that had held her back for so long. Finally she was moving forward to the place she needed to go. She walked with a pace that was quick and light, and the sun seemed to pierce the trees and the birds erupted in a chorus around her. But as quickly as she began to walk she halted, for someone was waiting for her just outside.

The man was tall and strikingly handsome, with brown hair and eyes and a kind face. His features seemed to have a silver tinge to them, which only added to his overall mystique. His robes were strange, and like no clothes she'd ever seen, though he somehow gave off a woodsman-like aura. She knew he was waiting for her, as Jack stood beside him with her saddlebags upon his back. Jack pricked his ears at her, and his eyes seemed to say 'Well, are you ready?' The stranger smiled, noting her eagerness. "Hello Rièle," he said. "My name is Kalin. I've come to guide you to Nerandor."

Rièle's jaw dropped. A guide? Really? This was more than she could've imagined. She had no idea how to get to Nerandor, and no money to speak of that would allow her to book passage on a ship. Was this really true? Her heart said that it was. Kalin reached out and took her hand. "Are you ready?" he asked. "We must go quickly, for the tide goes out at sunset, and we've a long way to travel."

Rièle started to step forward, but then hesitated. Curin. His presence held her there like a lead anchor, its rope tied to her heart. She panicked a little, not wanting to leave without him, and hoping against hope that at this deciding moment she would be able to take him with her. "What about Curin?" she asked.

Kalin's eyes wavered as a deep concern briefly shone within them, but his expression quickly calmed. "Curin is with the seer now," he answered softly. "Whether he chooses to hear her words or not, there are many paths that lie before him. You are bound to your fate, while he is not. To follow you and commit himself to the path you walk is one path that he may yet choose. But you must not choose for him, little one," he whispered the last, his voice low and urgent. "If he were to know that you leave now, he would want to follow you out of emotion, and not because he chooses to share the bonds that hold you. If there is another life that he would choose over this one, in which he might be happy, would you not wish that choice for him?"

Rièle's eyes teared, and she looked back at the tent, knowing that Curin was only feet away from her and aching to see him. To leave him behind this way seemed like a sort of betrayal, and it was unbearable to think that she might never see him again. But Kalin's words reached deep within her, for she knew too well how the pull that she felt bound her and restricted her own life, and she would never wish that upon Curin if he did not choose it for himself. "You promise, Kalin, that if he chooses my path, he will be able to find me?"

Kalin smiled with the utmost confidence. "You know him better than I," he said, "But he knows where you are bound, and I understand he is an excellent tracker and woodsman. Also, the magic that has marked you is very strong, and should he choose to embrace its purpose it will lend him power that he does not have at present. Have faith, Rièle, he will come if it is his will to do so."

Rièle nodded uncertainly, but tore her eyes from the tent behind her and agreed to go. Jack nuzzled her reassuringly, and Kalin's approval of her choice helped to quell the fluttering uncertainties in her heart. She watched as Kalin reached out his hand, and a slit of light appeared in the air before them. The sliver seemed to grow and unfold into a large doorway in the air, tall enough that even Jack could pass through it. Jack swished his tail nonchalantly as if he had expected this exact thing to happen, but Rièle's jaw had dropped down close to her knees. She looked in awe at Kalin, who must have taken her glowing amazement as a compliment, for he blushed a little and averted his eyes. "It's just a little magic, to get us there a bit faster. It won't do to be tromping about in these woods for weeks when you've got someplace you need to be. Are you ready?"

They stepped through the door of light, which Kalin later explained was called a gateway, and Rièle felt a cool spring breeze and smelled the salt of the sea. As Jack walked through behind her the gateway closed, and the three of them stood upon a little hill overlooking a port city, where many large ships were docked in the harbor. The cries of gulls could be heard even on the high hill above the city, and a line of carts and wagons traveled the road in the early morning to greet the ships bringing goods to trade and sell.

"Just a moment," said Kalin, "before we go any farther." He took a small pouch out of his pocket, and withdrew a silver chain, upon which a delicate silver pendant was hung. He unfastened the clasp with his fingers, and placed the chain around Rièle's neck. The pendant was shaped like a crescent moon, and Rièle would soon learn that the silver shape itself waxed and waned with the phase of the moon overhead. "There," he said, once the chain was straightened. "Now you, too, are a child of light. Shall we?"'

He led the way towards the city, and it took them most of the morning to walk down to the road and reach the city walls, with so many traders in line before them. Once inside Kalin guided Rièle to a pleasant Inn where he bought them a meal. Rièle was eager, and somewhat overwhelmed, for not only had she never seen magic that could take her from the mountains to the ocean in but a footstep... but she had never been amongst so many people in her life. She kept close to Kalin, not wanting to become lost, and watched the goings-on of the city with a distracted discomfort. Kalin was kind enough to select a quiet place for them to eat, and he spoke with her about unimportant things to keep her mind from the larger troubles that were bothering her.

They made their way to the docks by the afternoon, and Rièle marveled at the greatships that were docked in the harbor. There were huge ships with so many masts and sails that she could not count them all, and small fishing boats that were still larger than the little boats they'd used at home. Fish and goods were being transported to and fro in a fray of chaos that these strange city-folk navigated with an ease she did not think that she possessed. But Kalin placed his hand on her shoulder and guided her through it, stepping as easily here as he did through the woods of the elves. Rièle admired his confidence, and was glad to have him with her.

The three of them attracted more notice than Rièle knew, for she was too out of her element to notice the stares of people passing by them. Jack, for one, was no common breed of horse, and his lovely form and confirmation drew many a horseman's eyes. And then Rièle and Kalin, both fine-featured and oddly dressed, attracted many glances from the ordinary fisherman and traders who worked at the docks. They were neither nobility nor workers, and their presence there was notably strange to many.

Kalin led them to a small ship, docked far down at the end of the harbor. Rièle knew little of ships, but it was of fair size and had several sails, though it was by no means as large as any of the trading ships they'd passed. It was fashioned of a lighter-colored wood, and seemed to glisten with a silvery sheen in the light. She glanced sideways at Kalin upon noticing this, for its color seemed to suit him. A small crew dashed about upon the deck of the ship, cleaning and repairing things. As they boarded the ship the crew greeted Kalin with familiarity, addressing him as 'sir' and smiling as they continued their hectic work. They showed no trepidation at Rièle's presence, or at Jack's, instead treating them as honored guests.

Jack was settled into a large bedded stall below the main deck. He rolled in the straw contentedly and then began munching at the hay that had been left for his dinner, and Rièle left him there satisfied that he was in good care. They stood upon the deck as the ship was untied from the dock, and the current began to pull them out of the harbor and towards the sea. Soon the crew raised the sails, and as the sun began to set the wind carried them farther and farther away from the shore. Though she did not realize it herself, Rièle's depression grew so overwhelming that Kalin wondered if she might be ill. He squeezed her shoulders reassuringly, and guided her below deck so that she would have some time to herself. Rièle was given her own cabin, which was small but comfortable, and Kalin left her there with directions to the galley and an assurance that he was in the room next door if she needed him.

Rièle looked briefly out the port window in her cabin, but the light outside was fading and there was little to see other than the home she'd known forever fading away in the growing darkness. She collapsed upon the bed and began to cry unceasingly; of all the things that she was sailing away from, the absence that she mourned was Curin's.

****

Days passed, but Rièle's state went unchanged. She spent most of her time abed, crying or sleeping. Kalin managed to force her up occasionally and saw to it that she ate a little, though she had no appetite. He walked with her out on the decks, usually at night, for she was embarrassed to let the crew see her miserable state. She sat with her head resting upon the railing, staring at the vast infinity of stars and ocean and wondering how much matter and life there was before her, and yet it felt like an empty hole filled with nothing. Kalin sat with her, often reading a book but always watching over her and keeping her company. Once she looked to him despairingly, wondering what it was that was wrong with her, and he smiled softly. "Love is a strange thing, little one," he said. "Sometimes we don't realize what we've found until it's gone."

Rièle looked at him, dumbfounded. Love? Was that really it? And yet she knew it was true the moment he'd spoken it aloud. Gods, how had she stood beside Curin and felt this strongly for him, and not even known? Why hadn't she been able to tell him how she'd felt? She cursed her own incompetence... for how would he possibly choose to follow her not knowing how she felt about him? What was that he'd said... when she'd told him she knew she was leaving? He'd seemed to accept it so easily, stating that that was what must be. Perhaps, then, after all, he'd been able to accept their parting as easily as that? Perhaps he would after all choose another path besides following hers?

She cried even harder that night, knowing now that she loved Curin, and allowing herself to believe that she had lost him. The next morning she went to see Jack as nothing but tears and a black hole of despair, and he was so bold as to bite her on the arm in irritation, drawing blood. The pain and shock were so startling to her that she jumped, momentarily forgetting her grief, and stared at the bleeding wound in disbelief. She looked at Jack's pinned ears and disapproving stare and realized what an idiot she was being. Wiping her eyes she stood and hugged his giant head, thanking him. While the sadness still gripped her, and that hole inside herself perhaps would never heal, she would not allow it to consume her life. She left to eat a meal, not even bothering to bandage her arm, and spent most of her time after that walking about the deck with Jack and using her gift to speak to the seabirds overhead. Kalin's relief was invisible, but immense as the ocean itself, for his conscience was unbearably guilty at having been the instrument that separated the two. He continued to keep watch over her as the weeks passed by, and they headed farther and farther east towards Nerandor.

[Shaebodine]

The heavy felt of the tent shifted as if breathing in the wind. Something was taking place. Curin turned from where he was sitting to watch Riele put the flap that served as the door out of her way, not looking back. His instincts were sinking within him, powerful magic was gathering. He turned to look into the face of the Elf seeress, who paused. A part of Curin wanted to dash out of the tent. Where such large scale magic was taking place, he did not want Riele out of his sight. The moment before he was about to move, the Seer spoke, and he felt her exert a power upon him, one that rooted him to his place. "It is done, then." She said, and in his very soul Curin cried out. She was gone. "What would you ask of me, Curin of Carthon? My eyes are now open, and I see many paths before you. I can tell you what may befall you along one or more of them, if you would hear it. But I think the most pressing thing that you would know of me is that your Rièle has already gone. Not by foot, or any way that you may so instantly follow, but by a way of magic that none here possess. There is no need to fear, she is with a friend; a guide, if you will, and on her way to Nerandor."
Curin pressed his own -seemingly not insubstantial- will against that of the Seeress, struggling to his feet as if his every muscle had been weighed down with sandbags. "I know what you have allowed was not to hurt me, but hurt me you have." He said.
"Curin, please sit, this should not come to pass like this, please accept the calm I have tailored for you." Said the Seeress.
Curin considered the feeling that his Will struggled against. If it was a calm the Elves relished, he now understood a greater difference between them and himself. He felt no comfort in it, in fact he rejected it with every fibre of his being -knowing all the while that he may indeed be acting more dramatically than was required. "Where have you sent her?" Curin's senses went from a deadly calm, suddenly searing with the first trace of panic.
The Seer bowed her head, as if the failure to bring comfort and succour to Curin weighed heavily upon her. "If you seek her, you will find her. You are linked, in more than love."
Curin's scowled, his eyes filled with reproach. "Tell me, if it is in your power to perceive. Sending Riele away, now, like this: how much easier has it made it for her, or for me? Or do none of you care? We are just the playing pieces you use. She should be here! With me! You can't just take her away from me like that!" He gripped himself, realising his voice had taken a note of hysteria.
"So you love her then?"
"I am nothing without her." Hearing his own voice speak the words, though his mind had not intended to speak -as if for once he had acted from the heart like Riele, Curin was visited by the spirit of this realisation. He saw himself as the soldier he might have been, if he could but have cultivated the required fervour. He was visited by the visage of himself as a loveless wanderer, rich from the trade in furs. He saw many fates that might have come to pass, had he not -since he saw Riele in the dress loaned to her in the temple- made the decision to bind himself to her fate.
"Would you have realised that if fate had come to pass any other way?" Asked the Seer, and in her eyes Curin saw that there were many ways she might have become quickened, as she had by the visitation with Riele, but that she had subjected herself to the fear and doubt of waiting on Riele, because she had seen the higher destiny at work through them. "Curin, will you not ask me of your fate?"
Something in the Seeress' voice pierced him, a note of desperation that was in no way out of concern for herself. She was hurting for him.
"Curin, you have already made a powerful ally in the search you are binding yourself to undertake, you already let her into your soul -into your dream- and she will help you. Once you felt what is was to have the shadow and the light knitted together in your soul. Go there, and seek her, and perhaps you may ease the passing of your fate to the height of your most precious hope."
"The Ancient."
"You'd almost forgotten her."
"I had... I can't believe it, but I had."
"You are already a greater, more sensitive man than you were. Go with my blessing Curin. I do not fear for you any longer. Give Riele my love"
"Only after I've given her mine."

[Rièle]

Weeks passed, and the days lengthened. The weather, for the most part, was fair, and Rièle passed her days upon the ship walking about with Jack or sitting with Kalin. She found the time very peaceful, though poor Jack was fed up with life aboard the ship, and some days it was all she could do to keep him from leaping over the railing in frustration.

Rièle asked Kalin about his books, which it turned out he was eager to share with her. At first she simply enjoyed listening to him talk or read aloud, but Kalin quickly learned that Rièle had never been taught to read or write. When she told him this he gaped in disbelief, though Rièle shrugged and thought it ordinary, for hardly anyone she'd known growing up could read at all. And so Kalin took it upon himself to teach her what he could, and as Rièle had nothing but time she did her best to learn it. They somehow found a slate and chalk, and Kalin set her to writing the alphabet over and over again. He taught her simple words, and names; Jack, Kalin, Rièle, and Curin. Jack found Rièle's new studies incredibly boring, particularly as the bits of chalk she played with tasted vile, and because it took her attention away from him. He caused a great deal of trouble during their last week aboard the ship, chewing ropes and sails and defecating in inconvenient places.

They arrived at last not at Nerandor, but at a lonely island covered in hills and grass. A castle stood far in the distance, upon the largest hill, but the dock and harbor were miles away from that place. Kalin explained that this was a resting-stop, and that he knew the owner of the castle well. "He is a mage," Kalin said, "Though very different from me. You're to meet our host, Rièle, as the next step in our journey. He has something to teach you, ere we depart from here."

"Something to teach me?" she asked. "But Kalin, I can't channel any magic. I just hear the thoughts of animals."

Kalin smiled. "You have a different kind of magic that touches you. I can't speak with animals, but there are many ways I can shape the magic that flows within me. It's the same for you; you just need to learn to use it."

Rièle was confused, but she consented nonetheless. Kalin, after all, was her guide, and she trusted that he would direct her upon the path she needed to follow.

As the ship pulled up to the dock, Jack made a great show of leaping the railing before the ship was fully tied and galloping away to the shore. He kicked his heels, ran until he was nearly out of sight, and then rolled in the grass before lowering his head to eat. Rièle laughed at him, and was glad to see him happy after so many weeks trapped on the small ship.

Kalin pointed towards the hills. "That is the way to the castle," he said. "You'll find a worn path as you go. Follow it until you reach the castle gates. Also, this journey of yours has a spell upon it; you will not be able to return to the ship until you reach the castle. If you try to turn back, you will only wander in the hills until you cross the path again, and it will lead you towards the castle."

"Why would I turn back?" asked Rièle. "It's only a few miles' walk, I'll be at the castle by sunset."

Kalin smiled. "You'll see. I cannot come with you, and neither can Jack. But I will see you soon."

Rièle nodded, thinking this whole situation very strange. Kalin handed her a small pack, which she slung upon her back, and she headed into the grassy hills where Jack had run.

At first Jack followed her, prancing beside her and eager to play, but when she found the path of which Kalin spoke he trotted off and let her continue alone, seeming to know that he must not follow. Rièle walked for several miles, enjoying the opportunity to stretch her legs, and breathing in the smell of grasses and dirt that she'd missed during her time at sea. The path led her ever upwards through the hills, with the castle always looming in the distance, growing ever closer.

And then Rièle reached the top of a high hill, and the path followed its crest until it stopped in midair. A sheer cliff dropped downwards beneath her, and Rièle stared outward at the giant gap that divided what she now realized was actually two islands. Something had cleft the island in two, for there was a straight gap of several hundred feet between herself and the island that the castle sat upon, with sheer cliffs running along either side. She stared at the gap, dumbfounded, wondering how on earth she was to get across.

Perhaps there was some mistake? Had she followed the wrong path? Rièle looked around for another path, but found nothing nearby, and as the sun began to set the light was growing dim. She sat down upon the grass and fashioned herself a bed nearby, wondering what she was going to do. She found provisions in her bag, and thought that perhaps her situation wasn't wrong after all, and that Kalin must have known it would take her some time to solve this puzzle.

She dreamed of flying. Her wings suspended her in midair above the giant gap, and she stared down at the waves crashing upon the bluffs below. The strong sea winds gave her thin wings lift and she soared easily upwards, as naturally as if she'd known how to fly her entire life.

The next morning Rièle awoke thinking that her dream was ridiculous, and that she'd spent far too much time conversing with seabirds over the past several weeks. She ate some breakfast and decided that the most sensible thing to do was to walk up and down the bluffs looking for a bridge or a place where the islands came together. The island was large enough that this endeavor took most of the day, and at last when she realized that there was no way she could reach the other bluff by walking she sat down and ate her supper, and set to thinking how else she might reach the castle.

That night she dreamed that her arms turned to wings, and her nose to a beak, and her entire body shrank as she took the form of a bird. She stood on the ground, thinking how different it was to be a bird, shifting from foot to foot and moving her wings a little, unfamiliar with the new body that she'd achieved.

She awoke again thinking that the dream was silly, and laughing because after all, wouldn't it be convenient if she could turn into a bird? But instead she'd decided that the path must be hidden, as the path of rocks and air that Curin had found in the mountains. If she could find the invisible path, she would be able to walk to the castle upon it.

Testing her theory took four full days, for she had to throw rocks or dirt out into the air to see if there was a path before her. But there was nothing along the entire stretch of cliff, and Rièle began to grow discouraged. At night she dreamed of turning into a bird, or of flying, or of taking off from the edge of the cliff. The dreams grew longer with each day, where at first she would see an image by itself they slowly began to put themselves in order, to form a sequence.

Perhaps, then, it was a leap of faith? She was to step out into the air, and trust that the path was there? But the path of air and stones in the forest she had been able to feel it, whereas at this path she felt no magic at all. Rièle thought this notion a bad one, and decided not to test it. She contemplated climbing down and swimming over to the other bluff, and again walked the edge of the cliffs looking for a feasible route that she might be able to manage. But at even the lowest point it was a hundred feet to the ground, and the rocks were sharp and cragged and not of a shape that she could easily climb. In addition, the current between the islands appeared strong, she watched the waves for some time and realized that the flow of water in between was quite swift, and if she tried to swim across she'd likely be swept out to see.

Rièle sat down upon the path and sighed, for no more ideas were coming to her. Each morning her pack was magically filled with fresh provisions, and so she was not wanting for food or drink, but she felt that she was no closer to learning how she might reach the castle than when she started. She considered trying to turn back, though she dismissed it quickly, for she believed Kalin's words that the spell would not allow her to return to the ship.

Magic inside myself, she thought. That had been the theme of Kalin's words. But what magic did she have? She had no idea what sort of magic existed in the world, let alone what might get her across to the other side. Could she open a gateway like Kalin? But he'd said that his magic was very different from hers. Was she supposed to ask a giant bird to carry her across? The gulls circling far below suddenly looked irritably small.

She dreamed again about turning into a bird, and flying over the gap. The dreams were becoming more continuous; though each was real and vivid, and she remembered every detail of them when she woke, they at first came to her in small pieces while now they formed a continuous story. She saw herself changing, felt how it was done, and flew gracefully from one bluff to the other, the dream ending when ground was underneath her on the other side.

Days went by, and all she had were her dreams. Rièle found herself driven by the desire to run at the cliff and leap over the edge, but her common sense kept her feet firmly on the ground. And yet as more time passed she would fall asleep in the middle of the day, if only for a few minutes at a time, and dream that same bird-dream until she awoke. She started to wonder if she really could turn into a bird. She sat for long hours, concentrating, visualizing the moment in her dream when her shape changed, but no matter how she tried she could not manifest such a change upon herself. She even went so far as to leap into the air, flapping her arms, willing herself to be a bird (and hoping to the gods that Kalin had no means of watching her attempts) but with no success.

The dreams came to her more frequently, until Rièle no longer knew whether she was awake or sleeping. Every time she slept she would dream, and at the end of the dream she would wake to stare at the gap that faced her. Her exhaustion would force her to sleep again, and the dream would grip her mind almost instantly. At last she stood, her mind in a haze of dream-sleep. She turned towards the cliff and broke into a sprint, leaping with all her strength outward into midair.

[Shaebodine]

Quivering amidst the shivering leaves of beech and birch the voice of an unknown bird reached Curin's ear. A fine misting rain blew in through the gaps in the tree canopy and dripped like the ringing of tiny bells in the puddles amongst the roots. Curin walked alone amidst the woods, nursing the loneliness and pain of it within him, but as one protects the light of a candle. He didn't want the pain to go away, not if it meant the little flame would go out. For a month now he had resided amongst the Ancients, and they received him this second time with love and welcome, and there was no aspect of their spirit or wisdom they withheld from him. The Most Ancient seemed to love Curin most dearly, and to conduct himself with the greatest gratitude toward Curin. That day, perhaps lulled into a dreamlike openness by the lovely -if wet- weather Curin asked the Ancient about this, the spirit quietly stood thinking. While he thought a night and a day passed, and still the Ancient seemed deep in the inflection of Curin's seemingly simple question. "Ah, you are still here." The Most Ancient remarked, when at length he emerged from his reverie.
"I am Lord." Curin had said.
"And that, Curin, is why I love you." Curin must have frowned at this, and when his attention returned from the depth it delved trying to understand what the Ancient might have meant, he saw the Ancient smiling at him. "It is harder for you in a way Curin." The Ancient said, his ethereal hand squeezing Curin's shoulder. "The force that has chosen you does not control you. You represent the choice to become one with nature. It is up to you to consciously choose to follow your path, and to fight the battle yourself. Riele, by contrast, is somewhat safer within the knowledge that her fate is decided, she was chosen by nature, and that if she remains true, and steadfast in her fervour, she will not fail -though she will never know freedom the way you do."
Curin smiled, his eyes sad, explaining to the Ancient how he had been turned out of the military for failing to exhibit the required fervour. "History repeating, it seems."
The Ancient nodded in a way that showed he didn't completely agree, or saw more in the issue, but that he did not wish to complicate the delicate point through speech. This was usually Curin's cue to excuse himself, and to go and think. He was doing that a lot. And the more he thought, and the more reasons he thought of why he should turn away from the fate he saw before him, the more certain he was that he wanted that fate.
In this way the spring brightened into the green of early summer, and Curin stood before the gathered Ancients, and the Seer had come, and faithful Yamar -friend unlooked for. The Most Ancient spoke for them all, "Curin, when we first met in your troubled dreams you were a Veteran, a soldier through and through, though the pain of your exile, your Dangergeld, was smouldering within you. Now look upon yourself. You have learned much, in humility and willingness. What will you think of yourself from this day, as you set out upon the path you have chosen?"
Curin shrugged, a self-effacing smile of his face, his eyes turning pleadingly to the elf-warrior. Yamar shook his head, as if scolding Curin for false modesty. "You're a Woodsman now Curin."

[Rièle]

She fell. The moment Rièle leapt over the edge her instinct for survival subdued her half-sleep state, and she screamed as she knew with certainty that she was going to die. Her shape did not change, and the air beneath her did not lift her up easily as it had in her dream. As her fall accelerated her stomach left its place beneath her ribs and seemed to crush the inside of her chest. The salty air rushed up against her face, stinging her eyes and whipping her hair against her cheeks. Only seconds passed, and yet to Rièle the moments lengthened into hours as the water below grew closer. Tears filled her eyes, and she preyed to the gods for strength. Curin's face flashed inside her mind, and memories of him filled her thoughts in an explosion of recollection. The scent of his hair, and of the strange meals he cooked; the touch of his hand upon her arm; his warm smile, and the sparkle of his eyes when he laughed; the warmth of his body as he slept beside her. The ache in her heart overwhelmed the crushing of her chest, and she wept.. Oh Curin, she thought. Would that I could turn into a bird, and fly to you. Please, help me find a way to be a bird...

And that simple question brought forth an epiphany inside her; it was not her body that she must shift. She recalled the dream, and what it was to be a bird, and shifted not her arms and legs but her mind and thoughts to bird-thoughts. The speed of the wind, the calls of the gulls below, the warmth of the sun on her back, and the scurry of little mouse-feet beneath the grass. Her eyesight and hearing sharpened, her thoughts grew more focused, and her sense of smell dulled. With a rush of wind her arms became wings, and she was no longer falling as the surrounding air lifted her upwards. The muscles in her wings shuddered, for they were undeveloped and unaccustomed to battling such harsh winds, and her flight wobbled perilously. She attempted flapping her wings, but the motion was clumsy and unpracticed and it gained her little altitude.

Soaring along the cliffs Rièle allowed her instincts to guide her to a place where the sun shone brightly, and an updraft carried her higher in long, slow circles. At first she tried to steer with her wings, but quickly realized that this was ineffective, and recalled that she now had a tail. With some practice she managed to grasp the concept of steering herself, and she learned to occasionally flap her wings as-needed to remain suspended in the current.

As quickly as Rièle rose she grew exhausted, but she was irrepressibly determined. When she finally rose above the bluffs she allowed herself to gain some extra altitude, and then steered herself towards the island upon which the castle sat. She worked hard against the winds, which tried to sweep her out to sea, but managed to steer a crooked path until she was once again above land. But how was she to land? Tentatively she adjusted the shape of her wings, and lowered her feet to slow herself down, but as her speed decreased she lost control completely. Awkwardly she tumbled from the sky, landing in an ungraceful feathery heap in the soft grass.

Rièle rolled onto her feet, tentatively moving her legs and wings and finding nothing broken. She settled into a comfortable place in the grass for several minutes, resting, before resuming her concentration and recalling what it was to be a girl. Curin's face flashed again before her, and she might have blushed had she not been covered in feathers, but in moments her shape changed back and she was herself again. Her clothes had not come with her, having fallen into the ocean when she'd changed her shape in the air, and she crouched naked in the grass, breathing deeply and whispering a prayer of thanks to the gods.

She was exhausted, but had no desire to sleep naked in the grass when the castle was but a few miles' walk. The day was growing late and the sea-wind was quite chill, and while Rièle wished adamantly for a cloak to keep her warm she determinedly marched down the path towards the castle, her arms wrapped around her torso and her legs moving as quickly as they would to keep her warm. It took her an hour to reach the castle gate, the sun just setting as she arrived, and she found upon a stone outside a simple dress and a warm cloak, folded neatly. She wrinkled her nose at the dress but donned it nonetheless, and eagerly wrapped the cloak about her shoulders.

A door beside the castle gates swung open with the lightest touch, and Rièle passed inside. The long shadows of the evening completely covered the walls and courtyard, and the only sign of life within was a flowing fountain. Rièle looked around, and walked up a set of stairs to begin exploring. The castle had endless rooms and corridors, and seemed well-kept for place that was so old and empty. She judged by the lack of fires that the wing she had entered was empty, and so walked about the building searching for her host. It did not take her long to find a hallway filled with lit torches, and she followed the light to an open door that led into a room where a fire blazed in the hearth and Kalin and another man were having tea.

Rièle's jaw dropped, and she instantly wondered how Kalin had arrived at the castle when she herself had nearly died trying to reach it. She considered that he might have made a gateway, but an itching intuition told her that the answer was much simpler than that. Glaring irritably, she strode into the room with her arms crossed over her chest, with plans to scold Kalin viciously for nearly killing her when he'd gone the easy way himself. But Kalin looked up with a delighted expression, as if she'd just entered late after having a bath, and took her hands with a smile.

"Rièle!" he said, "You've finally come. You look lovely." He embraced her fondly, and Rièle found that her irritations were quickly melting away. "This is our host, Rhys. He's a dream-wizard."

Rièle looked perplexedly at the man across from Kalin, who quickly stood politely and took Rièle's hand in greeting. His hair was strikingly red, with lots of freckles upon his face, and appeared to be about the same age as Kalin. He wore robes, as strange to her as Kalin's and yet different, and though his face was not so handsome he had a friendly smile and kind eyes. Rièle smiled back, blushing a little, for she could tell that Rhys found her attractive.

"You got my message, it seems," said Rhys. His voice was soft and quiet, with a tenor pitch that was much higher than Rièle expected. And there was no malice in his words, he and Kalin were in fact glowing with pride and admiration as they greeted Rièle.

"Yes," she said. "It was very... compelling."

Rhys and Kalin burst out laughing at Rièle's attempted tact, and Rièle blushed again. "I'm sorry," said Rhys. "But you finally listened! You knew yourself that you could turn into a bird, but I had to convince you of it," he winked.

"I suppose you put the idea in my head, yes," she admitted. "But harassing me until I leapt off of a cliff?" her voice was pitiful and tired, and the two men instantly showed compassion for her state.

"Is that what happened?" asked Rhys. "I'm sorry. The dreams were truly yours, my magic only gave them some direction. But you must know that Kalin's magic keeps you safe; we wouldn't let anything happen to you. Your path is too precious to be cut off so easily. And," he added, "You must have more faith in your instincts, when they tell you to follow it. The magic that binds you is very strong, and you are capable of many things, little one."

Rièle met the wizard's eyes meekly, wondering why his words sounded so similar to Kalin's. But the serious tone to the conversation was dropped there, for Kalin took Rièle's cloak and offered her tea, and soon the three of them sat down to a cheerful feast at Rhys's table.

Kalin and Rièle stayed the night in the castle, and though Rhys seemed to greatly enjoy their company Kalin insisted that they depart the following morning. They bid their friend farewell, Rhys kissing Rièle lightly on the forehead, and Rièle soon learned that there was a second dock upon the island where Kalin had sailed to after dropping her off on the other side. Jack was waiting for her at the shore, ears pricked and tail swishing contentedly. He was loath to board the ship again, but glad to see her, and his large black nose quickly located the carrots she'd swiped from the dinner table and stashed for him in her new cloak. They boarded the ship and the sails rose above them, and they headed east again towards Nerandor.

[Shaebodine]

Lifting his nose to the air the trail-battered man stretched with a creaking of corded muscle. In spite of the chill wind that had come blustering out of the south his cloak was bound to his pack, and he mused on this, with something of a nod at himself. There was a time he would have cloaked up, and inspected that each of his men in turn followed suit. But it had been almost a year since Curin of Carthon had been a soldier, and much had come to pass. Choices had been made and seeds had been sewn, and the woodsman wandered, more often than not allowing the game trails to direct him, his heart still at work with the parting questions that had been posed to him.
"You go to seek Riele?" The Seer, pressed him again.
Curin nodded, knowing that his face showed the two or three strains of thought bound up in that one issue -a trait he had picked up from the Most Ancient. The Seer tilted her head patiently, content to await his response. "I do, but for more reasons than I knew."
She smiled, not without more than a little relief. "Then I am glad."
Curin smiled in return, knowing that she must know the rest of what he might have said.
Yamar gripped Curin's shoulder. "Off with you, then, Elf-man." Curin must have made a face, because the elf-warrior laughed. "Have you not seen yourself Carthon? It is as if years have fallen from you over these months, or, rather, as if the weariness of your years no longer bore any weight.
The Most Ancient looked long into Curin's eyes. "How do you feel?"
Curin raised his eyebrows up and let them fall. "Sort of alive, but bundled up."
"Like a seed?"
Curin nodded. "Like a seed, yes."
The Most Ancient had embraced Curin. "Remember, dear one, the seed that must grow is within your soul. You can wander and strive your entire life, trying to act out on the instinct within you, but it is not the wandering of your feet, nor the work of your hands that will help your seed grow. Not yet. Allow yourself to listen and feel and think, and -importantly- to dream. As you did when you came here with Riele. You were so worried for her, you opened up, and grew very quickly in that short time. But I do not think even she could help you with this next stage of your life."
"I think I know what you are saying." Curin smiled, if a little sadly, willing to accept the advice not to rush out in search of Riele, not until he had grown more.
"What am I turning into?" Curin asked.
"We'll see." The most Ancient said, placing a parting kiss upon his brow.
The metamorphosis was not glorious or impressive, but Curin knew it was happening. He now had a conscious awareness of his body, able to sense every fibre of his body. He was now able to use either hand even for the most intricate task, this incredible ambidexterity one day feeling utterly natural -perhaps as a fledgling bird knows to fly. He was able to consciously control the pace of his heart, the heat or chill of his blood. This all came with the patience to listen to himself. His body and soul began to speak to him, and the more he could listen to himself, he realised it seemed his body could hear and feel the wilderness about him. Looking at a track he knew, with a clear gut instinct, what creature it was, and how long ago it had been left, as if his very skin could see or smell in greater detail some trace that the eyes and ears could not.

[Rièle]

Rièle kept the dress that Rhys had given her, but as soon as she was back aboard the ship she donned her leathers again. The sailors had looked at her strangely while she wore it, and made a fuss of her return where before they had practically ignored her. Rièle felt disgruntled about it; she would rather the world judged her for her character and not for her appearance. Well, there was one man she would like to stare at her that way, but he already knew her character.

The ship sailed onward, and Jack returned to his disgruntled state as he was cooped up again below the deck. Kalin explained that they were quite close to Nerandor, and it would be less than a week before they arrived at the coast. Rièle was restless, perhaps absorbing some of Jack's eagerness, and stared at the sky recalling how exciting it was to fly. She wanted more than anything to practice changing herself into a bird, but Kalin discouraged this notion. For one, the sailors would see her, and Kalin said that it would be best if she kept her shifting ability a secret. She might have tried at night, when few crewmen were about, but Kalin also pointed out that as her flying skills were not yet developed it might be unwise to practice staying aloft over the ocean. Rièle consented to his logic, though that didn't make the following week any easier.

Kalin taught her a little of the stars and their paths across the sky, and helped her further with her spelling. This distracted Rièle for most of the day, however, oftentimes her mind would drift, and she would think of walking in the trees, or riding Jack at a gallop through a meadow, or the wind filling her wings as she soared over the cliff on the island. Kalin thought her much like Jack, in many ways, a creature of nature, ill-suited to a constrained life aboard a ship.

At last the coast came within sight, and Rièle lost all concentration for her lessons. She spent an afternoon watching the land grow closer, wishing that she had the will to leap off of the boat and fly or swim to shore. The ship drew alongside the coast and turned southward, and Rièle leaned as close as she could to see the trees and the formations of the rocks, which were so different from the coast of Meigia.

They did not sail into port until late that night, when the stars were out and only torches guided them into the harbor. Kalin explained that this was the city of Haven, in the Kingdom of the Winds, and that the country should be safe for her to travel through.

"But Kalin," asked Rièle, "You sound as if you won't be going with me. Is that true?"

"Aye, little one, it is," he replied softly, placing a hand over her shoulders. "I can't guide to to something that you are meant to seek for yourself. You knew that you must come to Nerandor, and so I have not influenced your path by helping you to get here. But if I were to come with you any farther I would be meddling in things that I am not meant to touch."

Rièle seemed to understand, though she hung her head a little, not wanting to be on her own. Kalin lifted up her chin. "There now, don't feel lonely," he said, smiling. "While there are steps of your journey that you must take on your own, you aren't meant to be alone forever. And for now Jack will keep you company, and I'll see you again when the time is right."

She nodded, glad at least that she might see Kalin again. "And what of Curin?" she finally asked, knowing that she would regret if she did not. "Do you know if he follows me, or not?"

Kalin's face took on a sad expression. "I have no way of knowing that," he answered. "But have faith, Rièle. If your heart tells you that he loves you back, then know that he follows you, and look for him."

Rièle embraced Kalin as a friend, and thanked him for guiding her so far - for how she would have come across the sea on her own she did not know. He kissed her forehead and stroked her hair, taking her friendship to heart and glowing with the gladness of it. She made him promise several times to come and see her, and he assured her that he would.

They docked in the city of Haven, where Rièle departed very early the next morning with tearful goodbyes. Kalin gave Rièle as many words of wisdom as he could for traveling through the city, as he knew that the throngs of people were sure to overwhelm her. Rièle and Jack managed to navigate the docks before they filled with market crowds, fishermen, and traders, but were caught upon the city streets mid-morning by the masses of people moving to and fro. Jack was a prancing ball of energy, barely able to contain himself from breaking into a full gallop and bowling people over, and Rièle was direly lost with no knowledge of how to navigate the city streets. She walked, instead of riding, and went slowly as Kalin had suggested. Rièle at least could navigate by the angle of the sun, and Kalin had told her that the city had a western gate that she should be able to reach by mid-day, despite the crowds. And so Rièle picked her way westward, keeping her eyes to the ground and yielding to the city-folk who all seemed to be in a rush to get where they were going.

More than once people stopped to speak with her about Jack, but she made shy and curt replies, for she was too uncomfortable to speak to anyone. She might have worried for the few items in her saddle bags, except that Jack pranced about so energetically that it would have been impossible for anyone to get close enough to grab them, or reach inside one of the pockets. After several hours she learned that it was much easier to follow the flow of the crowds on the main streets than to try to navigate around them on the smaller streets, and so she slowly made her way westward, following the traders who were leaving the city with wagonloads of goods from the docks.

It was past midday before they reached the city's western gate; Rièle was in awe, for she had never in her life seen a city so large as Haven in her life and could not believe the distance they had traveled to reach its end. She and Jack passed underneath the gate without trouble, and at the sight of open country Jack exploded into a gallop, leaping off of the road and tearing across the open grasslands, kicking his heels. Several merchants laughed at Rièle, stating what a shame it was to lose such a fine horse that way, but Rièle paid them no attention. She followed the road away from the city, and as she reached the top of the first hill Jack trotted back to her calmly.

Rièle had slept little the previous night, and she and Jack made camp early atop a high hill west of the city. She looked down upon the city lights below her, and the harbor beyond, and thought that admiring the city from afar was vastly preferable to trying to walk through it. The lights were very pretty, and she could see the sails of the ships over the glinting waters of the bay, and she wondered whether Kalin's ship was still docked in the harbor or whether he had sailed elsewhere. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling very alone, and realized that she had not traveled by herself since she had come upon the little village early last winter. Jack nuzzled her threateningly, and Rièle recalled the fading bite wound on her arm. "Don't worry Jack," she said, smiling fondly. "I'll be alright."

(OOC: I will get to the part about the thread between Rièle and Curin in the next post... this is getting a bit long!)

[Shaebodine]

As if they'd had a lesson in store for him, and were hanging on to him until they were satisfied he had learned it, suddenly the mountains seemed to open and unfurl before Curin. Or, he mused, had he truly reached a new height of empathy for the wilderness within which he had been so at home. Stooping beside the ponderous depth of a remarkably deep and slow-shifting river, Curin looked at his reflection. In his soul he knew the mountains, as a true wilderness with no influence of men, ended beyond this last gulley. He stood, his hands unconsciously checking his axes, and with a shock more frightful than vertigo, he realised he did not carry them. He stared, chin weighed down with the effort of recollection, trying to think when he had put them down, or where, within all the wilderness. He could not recall.
This rattled Curin to his utmost depth, as a former soldier, and a man of Carthon, his axes represented a vast and significant aspect of his manhood and status as a free man. And in this wretched and vulnerable moment he found himself in a state which he could alike to nothing else more than perhaps that of prayer. But where other men beseech spirits from outside of life, Curin felt as a tree must, who delves its roots into the earth for sustenance and stability, and for the first time he openly communed with the earth itself, perceiving the rumour of the earth and the life within the horizon. He was aware of the rains that had fallen upon the tree canopy on the mountain tops as it seeped through the living rock; he perceived the beasts and the birds, each seen in the eye of his soul like the lights of a city at night. This perception grew, more detailed and complex, and in the increasing immensity of it Curin was aware of how insignificant he was, and yet no less precious than the innumerable cicada pupae within the soil. And as his mind gently lifted out of the concentration of this, Curin realised this perception was not something he did consciously, nor with an effort. It was a part of him, as if the wilderness was his soul, and he did not have to try in order to feel it. In fact, he felt an enormous relief, as one who has at last been able to release a long held breath. And then, unable to have perceived it before, Curin realised two things within him. One yearned into the distance, and he nodded in contemplation of it. It was the flame he unconsciously harboured, and somehow he knew as he put an effort of his Will through it, he knew that where ever she was Riele would sense him. She would know he thought of her. The other seed was something else, something not entirely of himself, nor entirely of Riele either. Something new, a product of their link. If his soul had hands, they gently held the kernel, if his soul had new turned earth, and water, he planted the seed, and tended it, and he felt it germinate, and he knew it's name: Corulain.

[Rièle]

Rièle and Jack traveled across fields and farm roads, keeping away from the flow of travelers and enjoying the serenity of riding together again. Rièle had little idea in which direction they should go, but felt that if she had some time to get to know the land a little, that her sense of the pull might find a focus that would allow her to locate what she sought more easily. And so it was she found herself walking alongside Jack that afternoon, her daydream thoughts straying to Curin, and what he might be doing. She imagined him walking beside her, the sun reflecting that copper sheen of his hair and his eyes sparkling beneath the shadow of his brow. She felt him laugh, and tell her how delicious almond-sauce was with grilled fish, or some strange thing, and marveled at the realness of it. While she missed him so deeply that her heart still ached, the pain was lessened, for she knew him so well that she could summon his presence with her memories. It was if because she knew his smile and the way he would react to the most ordinary things that he truly did walk beside her, and was never absent from her heart.

And then she stopped, for with that realization came a rush of sensation so sudden and powerful that it overcame her senses. She wavered unsteadily for a moment, absorbing the warmth of it and opening herself to its connection. And then, she realized, as real as Curin had appeared beside her in her thoughts, reaching his hand out to take hers, so too was he reaching out to her in thought. She felt him, felt his thoughts of her, and she snatched ahold of that connection and channeled her own thoughts back; the love and longing that she felt for him, and her joy at feeling the touch of his mind with hers. The moment they connected was long, but finite, but it soon faded to naught but a tiny thread, through which Rièle could only feel that he was there, somewhere to the west.

But it was enough. Rièle wept a little with joy, and relished every lingering second of that moment she'd been granted, even thanking the gods for that tiny little thread that remained; for it was something of him. She felt connected again to another half of herself.

The warmth that she'd absorbed inside herself had not faded, and Rièle quickly realized that more had passed between herself and Curin than their feelings for each other. She allowed that warmth to soak into her bones, and realized that it was a gift he'd given her; a power that allowed her to feel more than she had before. Jack grew restless nearby, but Rièle sat down upon the ground and closed her eyes, letting this new gift dance inside her soul. She felt the wilderness around her... the millions of blades of grasses, the buzzing insects, the scurrying field mice, and the wings of a bird overhead. Her own soul delved into the earth, as roots, and sought out the flow of life beneath her. The mountains called to her, and the great forest to the east; the sea-coast to the west, and the deserts to the south.

For hours she sat, speaking to the earth and to the life that flowed within its veins. She thrust her own mind into its depths, swimming as one of the dolphins she'd watched from Kalin's ship, learning the essence and power of that life, and letting it learn hers. At long last she returned to herself, feeling as if a new world had been opened up to her, and relishing that in the depths that she'd explored the pull she'd sought had risen, and found her.

Curin, she thought, Thank you. You've given me what I needed to find my way. Because of you I am no longer lost. She opened her eyes to find Jack staring at her impatiently. Giggling she leapt up and embraced his neck, kissing his cheek. "East, Jack," she said. "We must go east."

(OOC: I don't have anything more for Rièle to do except arrive at the tree and then leave to find Curin so that she can guide him there as well.)

[Shaebodine]

The rugged wilderness clinging to the sheer mountain sides had gentled into a peopled countryside, rank after rank of hills with ever wider and more ponderous rivers braided within ever flatter river-carved valleys. Curin inclined his head, strangely shy of the people he chanced upon as he strode along their rambling lanes and byways. But with his new empathy he could perceive how very different he had become to them over the course of his long dangergeld within the wilderness, heightened by the look in the peoples eyes when they saw him, the instant recognition of something about him, an unhesitating deference. But with the long contemplation he had undergone, and the inherent soul-searching that had been required to understand and foster the growth of the Corulain, Curin could no longer be dishonest with himself: from a care-worn soldier-in-exile, he had become a mage -even he who had been so terrified of magic now had to admit this. He wondered, though, on what level the country-folk sensed the difference in him. For he did not see the awe-inspired deference he knew to be the effect of elves upon mortals. This was something nearer to the human heart perhaps, or perhaps nearer to the earth, with which these farmers and fielders had an established relationship.
The Corulain was a joy, which was at first conceived merely as the sense of a life-force within him. Slowly, as he communed with it, it blossomed until he was aware that it had become at one with him, body and soul, as if the roots of the Corulain had grown alongside his every nerve, in contact with his every living part of him. In this time he underwent a kind of fever, as the Corulain asserted its power within him, and he walked within a body remade. If he had not witnessed more overt magic previous to this metamorphosis, he might have lost his mind from fear and doubt. But the reassurance as his body was remade was that the flame that he'd consciously coveted within him, that quiet pain as the cleaved to Riele across the distances, was now a living part of him. In a sense, they were now one, or -he mused- what part of herself she had entrusted to him he had become infused with. Once the Corulain had physically grown within him he was daily astounded and amazed, knowing that this power was but a small part of what Riele possessed -for all that he had tended it within him to grow stronger in its own right. He wondered what height of power she had achieved herself, if his own development were so phenomenal. But the most amazing development occurred on an afternoon when Curin had been walking within the sunny lee of a high hedge, and had cast his tunic aside to feel the sun across his shoulders. While the sun beat upon him and his pace was quick he was content, but as the sun westered and the sky overhead darkened, he realised he had felt no need for the tunic. And to his astonishment, he saw that indeed he was clothed. Now revealing itself as more than a concealed life-force Corulain had quickened, so that Curin seemed garbed in leathers, leathers with a sentient form of life. Like the pelt of a bat, the Corulain-leathers were in form impossibly fine-haired, and dark, a dusky blue-roan, seemingly smoky-black, with a shifting silver beneath the stars and moon. To the touch they felt as soft and warm as if they were Curin's own skin, and he perhaps the handsomest example of lycanthrope. And he felt a surge of joy at this, not wanting to conceal or deny this phenomenon in the least. He cast aside his mundane clothes, and would abide them never again. The Corulain, knowing his character, had grown with the semblance of a heavy kilt, and was able to conjure such straps and compartments as part of itself so that he discarded his pack and his sheath-belts. So it was he walked amongst the honest-faced country folks, raimed in the remarkably well fitting leathers of the Corulain, his face and features bright and brimming with a tireless sense of youth that was not the awesome and fey brightness of the elves. And passing from the township he came within the horizon of the sea, and in his soul he swooped and careened amongst the gulls and terns, but his heart soared all the more for the first sure sign of Riele's trail. She had been in the port-town, and Curin now knew, with the soul-certainty into which he had grown, he needed to sail toward Nerandor.

[Rièle]

Rièle rode eastward for weeks, crossing the vast plains that stretched across the valleys of Nerandor. She was alone, but for the occasional kindness of strangers and the knowledge that Curin was following behind her. The pull of the source was so strong now that she wondered why she had not been able to feel it even in Meigia. No wonder it had pulled her from her home, and her life, and even from Curin; it was a pulse of life in itself, stronger than any force she had ever felt. But perhaps, she thought, she had not possessed the means to sense it before, for the gift that Curin had given her allowed her roots to delve so deep into the earth that she didn't even need to concentrate to sense things that she had never felt before. It was wonderful to experience the world around her from the perspective of the flow of life, and she would sit on Jack's back with her eyes closed, simply feeling the balance of nature that surrounded her.

They reached the great forest of Nerandor, a large and continuous sea of trees that seemed to extend to the ends of Elumintir itself. There the roads ended, and Rièle and Jack picked their way on foot along the deer-trails. The paths were slow, for Rièle crossed mountains, valleys, and rivers, and it was weeks again before she began to pass into another realm. The trees were enormous, larger even than a house, and the plants were lush and beautiful. There was a magic to the place, or perhaps an enchantment, and she knew the moment she passed within its boundaries that it was untouched and unseen by men. It was old, even ancient, and there was a presence there; something wonderful and hidden, and she opened herself through her newfound connection with the world to drink in such saturated splendor.

The strength of the pull was so great that it filled Rièle as fire fills the sun. Her steps were no longer directed but set in place, as each action that passed was woven by fate. The brush of Rièle's hand against a tree, the patch of light that shone down through the canopy, and the songs of the birds overhead; all of it formed a beautiful scripted dance that she could not escape, nor did she wish to. She walked slowly forward, followed faithfully by Jack, for the first time in her life feeling a warmth and love from the force that bound her life, her purpose, and her soul. Whether hours or days passed she could not have said, though the realm in which she walked was vast.

At last the trees parted, and a clearing appeared before her. Rièle stepped into a silvery light that was neither moon nor sun, but the surrounding canopy stretched so high above the ground that she could not see its source. Inside the massive open-arch of branches was a tree of silvery-white, with the deep, creviced bark of an oak, enormous buttress roots, and hanging branches, as a willow. The leaves were large and deciduous, hanging gently from its branches, but no fruit or blossoms could be seen upon its stems.

Rièle's channel was completely open, and she sensed the life within the tree, and the profound age that it bore. She stepped up to its roots, her feet bare, and placed her hand upon its bark. It seemed to glow and thrive at her touch, and so she leaned upon it with a smiling contentedness. I finally found you, she thought, closing her eyes.

She remained there for a long time, the tree stirring mentally, as if awaking from a slumber. As its consciousness became more alert it shared its mind with Rièle, expressing a wordless joy, and love, and even a sense of pride. Rièle felt a change within the tree, and opened her eyes to see a blossom forming on the nearest branch. She smiled.

"Of all the creatures in Elumintir, you are bound to me," came a soft, powerful voice in Rièle's mind. "And I see that you are worthy of this gift. Welcome, my daughter. I am Galithil, the oldest tree of Elumintir, and the mother of all life upon this world. I have called you here because your heart is pure and true, and in its making your soul was bound to me, to be my guardian. Fate has pulled you here to protect the source of life and magic in the world, and to ensure that the flow of life that courses through the roots of nature's realm remain unbroken by men or magic."

"Your purpose grants you many gifts, but asks of you many sacrifices in return. I have watched you in my dreams, and I see that you have found the first of these gifts, and suffered through the greatest sacrifice that I could call upon you to make. But mourn not, daughter, for this burden that you bear has accomplished a great task; the first of many that will be asked of you. For the trees of Elumintir are not served by a single guardian, but by two. As the ancient magic states, one shall be bound to this fate, while the other must choose it. You have found the second guardian, and already imparted the magic of the trees upon him."

Rièle listened quietly, knowing that the tree spoke of Curin, and glowing with the thought of sharing her fate with him. "I must send you now to seek him, for he does not know the way to my realm, and cannot find it on his own. But his journey must remain his choice; his love for you must not be allowed to confound his decision to follow this path. You must go in your otherform, and guide him back as such. Only when he reaches the outmost edges of my realm will you be able to change back."

Rièle nodded eagerly, grinning with such elation as she had never experienced before. She turned to look at Jack, who was eagerly devouring the lush grass that grew in the clearing. "I'm going to find Curin," she told Jack, knowing that he understood. "Will you wait here for me?" Jack whuffed irritably, Of course I'll wait, Rièle interpreted. What did you expect me to do? He went back to eating.

The tree did not wait for Rièle to gather her concentration, but shifted her into her bird-form of its own power. Rièle had not practiced her flying skills at all since her visit to the island, but after only a few unsuccessful attempts managed to get herself aloft and gain enough altitude that she cleared the canopy of the trees. She flew westward, following the connection that bound her and Curin to each other, knowing that she would see him sooner the faster she flew.

[Shaebodine]

Dreams were no longer mere visions of the night. Curin lived a second wakeful life while his body rested. And his soul unfettered blended with the over-soul of the world. He roamed amidst the fires at the core of the world, and wheeled with the mighty winds at the utmost edge of the heavens. The sea-journey he had undertaken passed easily, being able to wander with nature in this way, even if his body could not. But still, he came across barriers and chanced upon veins and roots and currents that would not reveal themselves to him. At first he paid these a certain fearful respect, not daring to provoke the awesome power he sensed they possessed; but gradually his confidence blossomed, and he began to feel almost as if the essence of the world began to recognise him, and then he dared to press upon that which he had at first feared. And they were not kind.
Daring to press his mind upon one of the roots it lashed him. Coiling darkness and light mingled, like fire and freezing cold. These elemental powers tore into his character and his soul, and he felt dissected. Being held in this speculative eye was like being melted. A vision appeared to him, and he recognised it with a groan. The young warrior, whose chest had been opened from the collarbone to the sternum by the blow of his own axe. Welcome, great mage of doom, weilder of axe, master of life and death. Finally you have come to seize the reigns at the core of the world, come, come join me, where you sent me by the cutting edge of your own axe.
Curin's soul smoked. "Great mage? No!" He objected, and the lashing root tortured him further, so that his smoking soul began to singe at its edges.
You put yourself above me! You swung the axe! You took my life into your own hands over what? Gold? Fame? You are the master of death!"
Curin tried to object, but his resistance was but a fan to the fire that threatened to erupt, and his very soul would perish. He anguished, like an insect pinned by the light that looked within him, crushed by the dark root that grappled him. But somehow he found the will to resist the image. The next formed as instantly. And the next. And only once his soul had burned to it's last strain did he realise, he was being faced only with the choice to accept responsibility. Nature was not punishing him for the deaths he had brought, nor the power he had wielded over others. But it required him to accept that those choices were a part of him. He wept, and welling out of that sole surviving strain of his life force came such grief. He had no idea how much guilt and regret formed a part of who he had become. The innumerable hours of anxiety, the brutal recklessness of choosing to kill in order to survive. Truly, he was a great mage of doom, certainly to each of those he had slain. Truly he was the weilder of the axe. Coveter of gold, of fame. And accepting this, his regret and shame and tears flowed like a river welling out of the void, and he was made whole again, and the burning root became one with him.

Curin screamed, his bedsheets were aflame, and terrified sailors were hurling buckets of salt-water upon his seared and singed flesh. He saw the eyes of the captain and the healer, both horrified, and blacked out.

The healer rubbed his forehead. "I felt as if the world were riping itself in half." He smiled, mirthlessly. "What were you doing ser mage?"
Curin still hesitated at the use of the word mage, but even the attempt to resist the truth of it brought a wrenching pang of nausea. "I... I tried to speak to the soul... the soul of the earth..."
The healer's will passed over Curin's body, tending and touching, encouraging the seared and scorched flesh to grow true. "And made it back in one piece." The healer grinned as he spoke, a forced show of teeth. Curin frowned at the attempt at humour, feeling the enormous emptiness that had been burned inside him. He related as much to the healer, who chewed thoughtfully at his lip. "I know for a fact that there are many trees whose seeds can not sprout unless fire has passed over the ground. I sense you are some form of nature mage... and you were... speaking... of a tree when your fever was still high. You seemed to think your soul was a tree, and it has been burned. Maybe it has, ser mage. But maybe what is next to grow is more important, now, than the tree that was."
Curin stared out to sea once the healer had gone, wishing he could spill all the oceans into the yawning void burned within. Even the thought of allowing the ruin of his soul to pass into nature filled him with utter dread. But the healers words resonated, and Curin was forced either to be honest with himself and contemplate himself, or face the nausea of ignoring the truth of his life by indulging the dishonesty of pretending he did not have to face it. This was the kernal that remained after the fire had passed.
Curin reached a shaking hand to the rail of the ship, only able to stand for short periods. "What the hell am I then? What the hell do I do next?" He sagged, dread warring with the knowledge that the kernal stirred.

[Rièle]

Rièle flew ever westward, towards the sea. She envied the young, fledgling birds, with parents to care for them and weeks of time to learn to fly before they began their migration. How many times had she watched young eaglets practice soaring from a hilltop, only to walk back up the hill by the effort of their own two legs? Rièle had no such luxury, each time the currents of the air or her own wings failed her it was hours before she could muster the strength to regain her flight. Over days she learned to stay above the mountains instead of following the valleys, for there the air was swift and constant, and the currents would hold her aloft through no effort of her own. But a vast plain lay between the mountains and the sea, and only through the effort of her own two wings and the blessed afternoon thermals could she mange to make any progress.

And yet it was also wonderful. Her sight was magnified many times, and from the heights of the greatest currents above the mountains she could spot a sparrow or a vole flitting in the grass below. And oh, to fly! The air lifted her ever upwards, carrying her across the world, it was both terrifying and exhilarating. She relished every moment, and felt as if the roots that Curin had given her allowed her to share her joy with the earth itself.

Each night she landed, or rather crashed gracelessly into the grass, and found a secluded tree in which to sleep. She thought that it would be strange, at first, to sleep upright in a tree, but as a bird it was perfectly natural, and she was so exhausted by her endeavors that by nightfall she had no trouble falling asleep. No creatures ever bothered her, and she had learned by glancing at her reflection in a pond that she was a gyrfalcon... a species that had few enemies. Hunting, unfortunately, was impossible for her, for like a fledgling chick she lacked the skill or coordination to kill any prey. Rièle found that she could chase more timid predators off of their kills, and learned to spot them as she flew, flying down with ruffled feathers and aggressive calls to intimidate them. Usually she won the argument without a fight, and was able to gain a free meal. Eating meat every day, especially uncooked, was very strange, but natural enough for a falcon. Still, she missed the taste of bread and vegetables, and even almond-sauce, and hoped that she would complete her journey soon.

After many days she again found the city of Haven. Humans worried her, for as she was a bird she was vulnerable to their arrows, and perhaps a tempting target for her feathers. Rièle remained hidden, waiting in a tree outside the city and watching with her sharp falcon eyes for Curin to pass the crossroads. He must have taken passage aboard a ship by now... would he arrive soon, or must she fly even farther to seek him?

[Shaebodine]

"And good luck to you too Ser Mage." The Captain nodded a last time, his eyes showing the tumult of sincere regard and genuine fear. Curin rested for a time, enjoying the feeling of standing on the solid ground, though it still felt for a time as if the ground swayed and rocked as the ship had. Slowly, with constant breaks, he reached the temple and was given lodging, barely having the energy to thank the brother that helped him before sleepo dragged him down into the dark. When he did wake there were three plates left at his bedside, each with a dark crusty bun of bread and a large mug of water. Curin guessed he had slept through one and a half days, if the ration was doled out only at breakfast and supper. Still numb and weak he ate methodically, having to soften the crusts with sips of water. He chewed, sipped, and rested, repeating this until his hands no longer shook, and the weight, like a sodden blanket, lifted from his head.
The healer had sent word to his brothers at the temple, and one of the higher clerics came to Curin each day. Often times they merely sat in silence beside one another, but Curin could feel the Will of the cleric moving through him, so practised and subtle Curin knew he was in exceptionally good care. After some days the cleric stood, and shook Curin's hand. "I have done for you all that I can. There is absolutely no lasting damage. But there is great fear within you, and resentment too."
Curin was aware the moment stretched into a long while as he frowned. He contemplated himself, was he afraid of what had happened to him? With a shudder he knew the answer. More than afraid. He was mortified. But resentment? "Your brother, did he tell you what happened?" Curin looked up at the cleric, whose careworn face seemed as wise and noble as that of a mountain.
The cleric nodded. "The magic within you is not your own. You have tended it well, and it has grown powerful. But it was incomplete, without it's counter-part, the balancing factor. But you have somehow managed to forge a rough balance of sorts, the cool water of grief to counter-balance the fire. It is an unhappy balance, but an honest one. You are a good man, Mage Curin. Still, I pity you." The cleric looked sadly down.
Curin looked at his hands. "It's not fair. I didn't ask for this power. All I was doing was feeling. I wasn't trying to do anything."
The Cleric's hand squeezed Curin's shoulder. "I know, child. But with knowledge, even from just looking, and feeling, and learning, comes power. You have a choice. To do nothing, to let what you have wrought within yourself to lie dormant; or to finish what you began."
"I didn't begin anything." Curin felt a rush of nausea at the untruth even as he uttered it. "I didn't know I was doing it. It's not fair." The confession soothed the knot in his stomach.
"Listen to me child. I see I can not risk the more patient path with you. I know you are tired, but you must think on this now. Think of the balance: if it is grief that is the counterbalance of your power, the anchor, what then is the other side of the spectrum? You are angry, and afraid of what happened to you, but do not let your fear rob you of understanding what is happening here."

Later that day Curin leant against the sandstone wall of the temple, the late sun spilling through the oak tree in the center of the courtyard. "I know what I must do, I know I can." He said to himself. "But I'm afraid to do it." And he held his question and his fear within him, in that breathless yearning state like a prayer, and he felt the power of the fear. But so too, he felt what came bound -in balance- with it, such power and primordial understanding that the fear was as much a necessary part of what lived inside him. "I am the Choice. That is all I am." Curin said to himself. "I can see both sides, the fear, and the glory. All I have to do is choose."
Curin seemed to blossom after his last conversation with himself. He had come to Nerandor, drawn by whatever had also drawn Riele. He had chosen to see that fate through, knowing that since his fear came boiling out of the soul of the world, then there was joy and to balance it somewhere. He had chosen to hope, that while the fear had already found him, that he would find the other side. He felt the Corulain stir within him again, and within the week had already reached the same state before he was burned at the heart of the world. He took his leave of the temple, and passed from the city. Outside the city gate he wrestled with himself, trying to relax the instinct that threatened to clench up his soul. Gently, patiently he allowed his soul to open, and to begin to draw in a sense of Nerandor, speaking to himself. "Here we are Curin, we've passed over water; through fire. You've got the earth inside you, and fear and darkness. Seems we've got to find the winds, and joy... somehow."

[Rièle]

Rièle waited several days for her Curin to emerge from the city. Her sharp falcon eyes allowed her to see the faces of the travelers on the road with ease from a safe distance. She occasionally left her perch, usually in the early morning when there were no travelers on the road, to seek a meal. But her vigilance would not allow her much time away, for she could not afford to miss his passing, and so she went mostly hungry during those days that she waited. As she sat she formed a plan, for she wanted Curin to take the eastern fork at the crossroads and head towards the plains and the great wood that lay beyond. A large tree stood a hundred meters down the road, it was somewhat thin at the top, and exposed to the view of the travelers on the road. Once Curin approached the crossing she planned to soar down into its lower branches, and perch atop the road she wanted him to take. She hoped he would consider her presence an omen, or a sign that he must travel east. Once he was on the road she could follow him, and hopefully he would soon understand that she had been sent as her guide.

And then it happened; Curin, her Curin, passed beneath the city gates and out onto the road. Rièle bounced on her perch with excitement. He was here, he was truly here! Her heart felt full inside her chest, for though the tree had told her that Curin came, there was no better assurance than to see him in the flesh. It was all going to happen as she hoped; they would be reunited, and she and Curin together would be guardians of the tree. Nothing could have made her happier, had she been in the form of a girl she would have wept for happiness.

He approached the crossing, as she had predicted, and Rièle took off from her distant perch and swooped down, low above the plains. Several travelers on the road noticed her, for she was a rather large, mostly white bird, and several children pointed. She spread her wings wide, slowing her descent, and brought her feet forward as she flapped to a near-stop to catch the branch.... and missed it completely. Her talons grasped just an inch short of the branch, and she fell ten feet into the grass below.

Sputtering and squawking, Rièle flapped her wings in irritation. How could she be so clumsy! Curin would think her an idiot fledgling chick, not a guide worthy of following! She quickly flew again and landed on the branch, ignoring as best she could the laughs of the watching travelers, and turned to stare at the crossroads, where she found Curin's eyes staring back at her.

"What's that stranger?" A voice asked as Curin spoke to himself. He looked up, a small house on wheels drawn by a sturdy looking cob was drawing gingerly beneath the arch of the city gate. "Were you talking to me?" She asked.

Curin looked up at the easy manner of a well built woman, who smiled with squinting eyes and even teeth. He floundered for a moment, consciously drawing his eyes away from the split skirts that had fallen away from her bared thigh. “Sorry, just musing something to myself.” He managed a colour showing in his cheeks.

“That a mage thing is it? Musing?” She teased. “You fixing to head east?” Her brow pinched. Curin turned to see what had caught her attention. A remarkable white bird crossed the sun, it’s impossibly graceful flight seeming to put time on hold but for the flow of it’s flying arc –the breath-taking effect of which was spoiled as the bird mismanaged it’s roost, and crashed in a wreck to the ground. Curin looked at the ruffled creature, his every sympathy pouring out to the piteous plight of the amazing creature.“Yes, yes I am… a long ways that way. And you?” He turned to look up at the sun-kissed face, “You going far?”

“We’ll see Mage. Ride up here with me, my brother’s are all away on errands for a day or two, and I don’t like being without at least one of them, not with the caravan.” She said, and reached down a hand, helping Curin step up on the ledge.

“How do you know you can trust me?” He marvelled.

“The name’s Elsee, what can I say? You’ve got an honest face.”

Rièle's feathers ruffled dangerously as she saw Curin greet the gypsy woman. He seemed to ignore Rièle completely as he climbed aboard the gypsy's wagon, but at least that wagon was headed east. Whether the gypsy's choice of direction was luck or fate she did not know, but she needed to keep Curin heading east, and show him that he needed to follow her and not allow himself to be distracted. It was as the tree had said; Curin did not know where to go, and could not find the tree's realm by himself. If she failed he might wander Nerandor for his entire lifetime, never reuniting with her, and she would be trapped forever as a bird.

Rièle waited until the wagon had gained some distance before taking off again, hovering above the road within Curin's sight so that he was sure to remark her presence. It was extremely difficult for her, for not only was she hungry but she was forced to follow the road instead of the currents. Her wings became exhausted as the day passed, and she was unsure how she could keep up such a journey for long, especially with only the nights - when Curin was likely to stop - to search for food.

Elsee had an easy sense of acknowledgement of her beauty that soon put Curin at ease. If she wasn't concerned about her skirts falling away from her thigh, or the sudden plunge of her blouse, he found he wasn't worried either. It was good to be in the company of a woman, Curin explained, speaking at length of Riele, how they had met, and the quiet hopes he had of finding her.

"So you're searching for love is it Mage?"

Curin nodded. "You can put it that way." His smile was brief, as he explained the mistake he had made on the ship -if indeed it was a mistake and could have been avoided- that had burned away his early success with the magic within him.

Elsee shrugged. "I've heard of it before. You've got a woman's magic inside you. We burn like that all the time, though it doesn't show." Her eyes were at once humorous, and yet deadly serious. "We bleed every moon for the miracle within us -sounds like you just burned once and for all."

Curin attempted to keep up the easy chatter, but what Elsee had said resonated with him uncomfortably. He felt racked with guilt, unable not to admit to his own weakness. He confided in the gypsy, explaining the magic he had felt, of his soul being able to extend to the smallest fragment of life, of the Corulain which was alive within him. "But... I can't seem to get past this point. I keep telling myself I want to find Riele, and keep trying to convince myself that I am ready to take the risk, and to start the magic again... but I never actually get anywhere. I return to this point."

Elsee shrugged. "You still think what happened to you was an accident, or the result of a mistake you made. What if it was done to you on purpose?"

Curin stared at Elsee, a certain horror evident in his eyes. She looked at him openly, unafraid. "I... I don't beleive that."

"You don't want to."

"No."

Elsee nodded. "Good, then your faith is true." She tossed her chin so that the cascade of her fringe slid away from her face, checking the reigns. Curin sat beside her in numb silence, his heart beating uncomfortably within him. Looking to the side he eyes alighted on the pale gyrfalcon again, and thought of Riele.

After long hours, the gypsy at last guided her wagon off of the road. They followed a well-worn set of wagon tracks through the grass, which led down to a old camp near a small stream. There were no trees near the camp, and Rièle circled nervously as the sun set, unsure where she should land. She felt uneasy exposing herself by passing the night on the ground, for there were many predators who could smell her out and attack her as she slept, but she felt more nervous about leaving Curin behind to seek a better roost. Her muscles were exhausted, and she had little faith that her strength would last long enough for her to reach the forest that was miles away. Wearily she selected an old log as her perch; it seemed left over from years past when men had logged the nearby wood and used the stream to float the logs to the road. She landed carefully, not missing her perch this time, and settled in with her head hanging low and her eyes half-closed, too weary even to preen her feathers.

The log was roughly thirty meters from the camp. Rièle watched Curin and the gypsy build a fire, and begin to cook their evening meal. When she smelled meat roasting over the flame her eyes opened, and she cocked her head and opened her bill in earnest; not begging, but knowing that she needed food if she was to follow them again the next day. She chirred at Curin pleadingly, hoping that he would understand and perhaps toss her a scrap of meat.

By evening Curin could no longer ignore the presence of the Gyrfalcon. It was unheard of. Elsee shrugged, utterly unconcerned. But Curin knew, no wild bird of it's kind would choose a roost on the ground the way the Gyrfalcon had.

Somewhere deep within Curin, where he kept the hopes he dared not even hope for, he wondered if Riele knew what had happened. She knew he had been burned, and his ability to sense and follow her was for a time diminished. Had she sent the creature? Had she grown so fully into the inheritance of her power that she had compelled the Gyrfalcon to seek him.

Slowly, he approached the bird, daring to allow his soul to open out. In his hand he held a piece of meat. "Hello pretty one." He said, finding himself repeating the inane phrase with each gingerly placed step toward the bird of prey. "Do you know me?"

Rièle's eyes were on the meat in Curin's hands. She allowed him to approach, seemingly unconcerned, and quickly snatched the meat from his outstretched hand as he offered it. She gobbled it down easily, and turned to look again at Curin's hands. Her head tilted to the side, and her eyes looked at him curiously. More?

Curin stared at the bird, the leap of joy that it had taken food from his hand only lasting a moment. Nursing disappointment that it was just a bird, and that taking food from his hand had not magically transformed it into a guide or guardian, Curin nodded. Privately scolding himself for a fool. He returned to the fire. "C'mon. Over here. There's plenty more over here." He called, conscious of the disappointment still present in his voice. He saw the strange look on Elsee's face, and explained himself.

"So, you're disappointed that a wild bird is taking food from your hand?" The gypsy scolded him in turn. "Maybe it's not a miracle, what were you hoping for? But it;s still pretty magical if you ask me." She also waved her hand to the Gyrfalcon. "Come along! Yes, you can trust us!"

Curin was waving a fresh piece of the meat, conscious of how silly the two of them must look, trying to coax a wild gyrfalcon to come nearer.

Rièle looked tentatively at Elsee. She neither knew the woman nor completely trusted her, and was hesitant to place herself so vulnerably within the stranger's reach. There were also no logs to perch on near the camp, and she felt much more secure even a few feet off the ground than standing on the ground itself. She would go no nearer to the camp, instead sitting patiently and waiting for Curin to bring her the second piece of meat.