The tepid boredom of previous days had vanished for Sorore. Instead, her time was consumed with wild speculation about the cosmic serendipity of the new carriage occupant. She wanted to know everything about Aya - her family, her history, her life in this village seemingly isolated away from everyone and everything. That hunger for knowledge and familiarity now burned within Sorore with a furious light.

That made sense, after all. She was one of them - a Bequeathed, a sister in all but blood. How could she not be interested, especially when Aya was found under such unusual circumstances? Visions were expected for a Bequeathed, but she’d never heard of one being found through those visions. The dreams had always been so nebulous, so abstract and inconsistent between themselves but she was never quite what they were telling her, or whether they could be trusted.

Such doubts had contradicted her ecclesiastic minders’ insistence, which, from her perspective, was now vindicated. Much of her contact with priests back in the holy city was to help her interpret the various things she’d seen. On the whole, they were of mixed help, mostly bogging her down in old writings and circuitous interpretations. Now, she wanted to return to those halls and libraries, to plumb the depths of the wisdom they now certainly held. Finding Aya was more than a fortunate coincidence - it was revelatory to Sorore.

The younger was not particularly talkative, and Sorore, despite her enthusiasm, did not pry. She understood the pain of leaving home for unknown places well enough. The sight of Aya’s mother being shut out from the carriage in particular prodded old wounds. Her own parents had been reluctant to let them go, despite the obvious destiny that lay before them.

So, in the spirit of solidarity, she remained silent, offering small smiles whenever the girl cast a glance in her direction. The woods passed, tree after tree wandering their way past their window - the day whittling away like a burning log. Niche elected to skip the sermons and Lillian was taciturn as usual. It remained that way, with barely a word between the five, well until the sun began to down to the east.

Sorore wasn't entirely sure why the column was keeping such a relentless pace. Perhaps the encounter with the creatures in the mist had spurred urgency within the knights. Regardless, she was satisfied to go along with it, wanting to get back to the holy city. There would be so much to show a new sister.

She began a mental list of all the various places she would take Aya to. The first would be the Grand Promenade, with its wide central streets and rows upon rows of trees that grew heavy with fruit in the fall. She wondered if the girl would enjoy swimming in western aqueducts, that drank from the plunging cataracts of the Silver falls. For a moment she wondered if Aya could even swim at all, but of course, that was silly. Who couldn’t?

As she tallied the streets and sights of Angorrah, she began to wonder if she was being presumptuous. Even in her reverie, she did not underestimate the outpouring of sorrow that the girl might experience. Given that she and her brother had been inconsolable for the first few months, perhaps a more gentle approach would suit.

She began to fiddle with one of the several different bracelets her twin had fashioned, each a reminder in the grand tradition of Erratz. She had three, one for being ordained as a Bequeathed, one given to her by her mother, and one to celebrate their first year in Angorrah high society. She glanced at her brother’s wrist, where the braids she’d fashioned for him hung loose. She’d have to tighten them when next she stopped.

They weren’t proper clirud - that would required beaten metal, shaped to the individual shoulders of the wearer. But they were as close as she was going to get without raw ore and a forge. Her fingers brushed the cornerstone for her mother’s clirud - a half-piece of beige gemstone spotted with browns and blacks. It was given to them as a reminder of their days in the port, and how much their parents had spoilt them.

The evening moved on - the trees fading into silhouettes as the first stars began to glint above. Aya had fallen asleep again, and Lillian had reached over to gently place a portion of her own cloak underneath the girl. The paladins seemed almost unsure of what to do, a sharp contrast to the resolution which with church agents had accepted the twins.

Perhaps it was a product of the unexpectedness of the find. For the twins, a light lord practically paraded into Erratz in search of them. There had been much rejoicing in the city, the merchant princes turning out half the town in celebration and feasting. Both her and Frare had enjoyed the pageantry, although she thought it may have been a little much for such a solemn occasion.

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When the raucous crowds had proven exhausting she’d managed to sneak into a side street. Her brother had found her there and taking her hand, he’d slumped down against the brick next to her.

“What's going to happen to us?” she remembered him saying.

“Much and more,” she’d quoted the light lord, not entirely understanding what the words meant, but feeling the truth in them.

Reaching over his lap, she plucked a small conglomerate of feldspar from between the cobbles, red and pale stone merging together. She held it up to the moon, the light glinting as it passed through the transparent portions of the rock.

“This, this will be Erratz”, she said, spying the tiniest line of cleavage. She had struck it against the masonry, splitting it almost perfectly into two bands of intertwined colour. Half she delivered to a brother, with a promise that he would keep it safe until she could find a bore drill. It had taken her some days in a workshop, but the resulting bracelets were one of her favourite creations. They were worn as the twins were ushered away from their birthplace, and were kept throughout their travels.

The following journey to Angorrah did resemble this one. The light lord kept his mouth closed behind his white beard, despite the jubilation of his attendants. He’d sat there in the gloom of the wagon, occasionally answering the questions when they felt comfortable enough to speak. Remembering the creeping dread, Sorore swore to ensure Aya’s experience would be more pleasant.

As that thought popped into her head, she realized something she could do something for her. One of the handful of pockets she’d insisted on adding to her vestments held a stone, scrounged on the edge of Aya’s village. It would make a perfect corner for a clirud, given some time and care. Rummaging around, she retrieved the rock, seeing little strands of colour thread across its surface. Splitting it into three wouldn't be easy, but if she could drudge up a good set of chisels she could probably make something work.

With an uplifted heart Sorore began to consider all the various ways she could make colours and patterns. What objects she would include, the material for the cord, what manner of clasp she would create, and so on. The daydream ended as a long low call echoed from the top of the line.

It was a hold-on, used to communicate when they were breaking for camp. The carriage slowed to a stop and Frare practically exploded to his feet. She was reminded of a sheepdog being unleashed into a pasture as the paladins opened the door.

Sorore was met by an indeterminable mass of trees and not much else. The ground was partially covered by thin snow, and the forest was now caught somewhere between deciduous and coniferous. Before she could scout out for various items to complete her clirud, the paladins took them aside for dinner.

The group sat around a quickly-erected fire pit, Frare pacing around the logs until Sorore pulled him down beside her. Various pots and pans were produced to accommodate the needs of the soldiery around them. Snow was clodded and thrown into an iron pot to melt for drinking. Sorore huddled close to her brother as the cold began to set in through her clothes.

“Where’s the girl, you know… uh…” said Frare as he watched Niche ignite the wood.

“She's sleeping,” Lillian said, “just as well, she's had an exhausting couple of days.”

“I think that might be an understatement,” said the commander, emerging through the groups of soldiers. Niche and Lillian acknowledged him with a nod and turned back to their tasks.

“Either way, I do hope I get a chance to speak with her more. I’m sure she has some interesting stories.”

Lillian’s hands twitched, just for a moment, but it was enough for both twins to look at each other in concern.

“If she wants to speak with you, I’m sure she will,” said Lillian, “right now she needs to rest.”

“I think we could all do with some sleep. I’m sure she can do so soundly, with the good hands she’s in.”

“Is there a particular reason you wanted to talk to us commander?”

“Only to tell you to keep your eyes peeled tonight. A bad wind is blowing.”

Sorore at this point was hearing the tail end of the conversation, having returned back to the carriage for extra blankets for the intolerable cold. Inside, she stole a look at the sleeping form of the girl, wondering just what she might be dreaming of.

As she retrieved a set of furs from the back, she heard a groan. She withdrew, fearing that she would awake Aya, but it was only a sporadic motion. Moving carefully to make as little noise as possible, she retrieved the blankets before turning around and nearly screaming at her brother.

For someone so energetic, he could move surprisingly quietly when he wanted to.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, recovering the blankets she had dropped to the floor.

“I wanted to see what you were doing,” he said.

“But why did you have to sneak up on me?” she said.

Before Frare could respond with a no-doubt excellent rationale, a rustle came from Aya. Sorore turned to see the girl’s eyes flutter open, dull and unfocused. Sorore stood in utter silence, hoping against hope that she would fall asleep once more.

The girl reached out slowly, pinching the edge of Frare’s shirt. Her voice, when it came, was a dry whisper.

“Don’t go,” it repeated, over and over.