Faelan spent most of the day in Turin's shop, talking, laughing and sharing stories.

Turin was a sharp fellow. As soon as Faelan had taken his cloak off, Turin's eyes fell on the hidden throwing knife compartments in his tunic and laid the connection between him, Gillian and their line of work.

"I don't think much of it," he had told Falean. "Everybody has his calling in life and makes their own decisions. I took Gillian for a blade singer the instant he stepped into me shop. That's what dwarves call you folk, in case you were wondering. It just was something in the way he carried himself. But that's not important. You have to tell me how you got yer hands on these gorgeous blades."

He pointed at Auýn, lying on the table under a magnifying glass.

"See this red sheen the steel has? Authentic dwarven blood steel this is. Means it's old. Very old. The ancient dwarfs used to believe that adding their blood to the steel would strengthen it and make it more fit for battle. These days, only traditional blacksmiths follow this practice purely because it's tradition. T'must have been quite a hassle to get yer hands on them."

"They were a gift," Faelan half lied.

As much as he felt a connection with the kind halfling, he didn't trust him blindly.

Turin stroked his forge-scorched beard and wistled. "Quite a valuable gift to give someone. These two blades together are worth more than my entire shop. It's a pity I don't have the equipment to sharpen them for you, or I would have, just for the chance of working with such fine steel. You said you were planning to pass through Durinar. Investing in the right whetstone would be smart if you manage it."

Faelan nodded. "Aye, it would. I tried thrice in the last two weeks, but the steel is simply too hard."

He looked outside. Noon had already passed, and twilight started to set. "I should be going. I still have to get a room at the inn and write a few letters. You can probably find me in the tavern after that."

"Sure will. You owe me an ale, remember?"

They both laughed heartily, and Faelan returned to the small settlement.

There, he spoke to the tavern and inn owner, a friendly old woman named Rosalia, who let him stay the night for free if he promised to clean after himself. With a chuckle, he agreed.

After placing his belongings in his room, he wrote two letters; one to his father and one to Artemis.

In the one to Talvar, he spoke of his journey till now and his shortcut through Terr'Alveran.

His letter to Artemis was a bit more personal.

"Sister, I miss you," he wrote. "The last few days have been hard on me. They have forced me to reflect on myself more than I have had to in the past few years. I met this elf, Nym Arwen. You would get along well with her. I-"

His quill halted, unsure of how to continue.

"I don't really know what else to say in this letter. You were always the better one at putting words on paper. I wish you were here. I'll be in the mountains by the time you receive this letter. I hope all is well. Have a lovely season turnover festival. Strength to you, my sister. I will write to you again as soon as I can. Ashes to Ashes."

He rolled up the letters and placed them in the small leather containers.

After that, he met with Gillian and Turin in the tavern downstairs, handing the letters to Gillian.

They spent most of the night talking, laughing, and drinking together.

As midnight approached, Faelan returned his wine glass to the table and yawned.

"Time for me to hit the covers. It was nice meeting you two. Turin, if you ever travel land inward, stop by Orions Keep if you're close."

He got up and gave the two men a short bow.

"Gillian, I thank you for your assistance. Ashes to Ashes, brother."

"Dust to Dust, brother. I have already sent a raven to our contact in Durinar. He goes by the name of Uldin Murama."

Faelan gave him a nod. "Again, you have my gratitude. Have a good night."

With that, he made his way upstairs to his room.

===================

The following morning, he packed his belongings and headed out. ]

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Despite the protests of the innkeeper, he placed two silver pieces on the counter.

"For the hospitality," he told her.

He smiled at her and left.

When he found a secluded spot outside the settlement, he grabbed the leather bag strap and started to shift.

As his mass rearranged and teyun flowed through him, he felt his senses change. His sight got sharper, and his body lighter.

Within minutes, he soared through the sky towards the mountains in the form of a black feathered falcon, his predator eyes roaming the land far below him.

Every now and then he saw the movement of small rodents between the grass, and the animalistic urge to dive down and snatch it up flared up in his mind. His rationality, however, repressed this urge and he kept on flying.

He kept up like this, soaring over the rocky plains for a good few hours, making significant progress as the plains shifted to more mountainous scenery.

But his wings started to ache after a while, and his body strained to maintain this form.

He mentally sighed and started to lower his altitude. Just before he reached the ground, he began to shift back.

He calmly landed on his feet and continued in a steady walk, before tripping over a stone and falling.

Loudly cursing he got up, and dusted himself off.

His eyes roved over the barren rocky terrain and landed on the Durinar peaks ahead of him. It would take him several more hours to reach them.

Well, off I go.

He started his walk calmly, the mountain winds tugging at his clothes and hair.

As he covered more ground, the terrain became rough and steep, and the heavy winds increased. At times he had to stop and take cover. He was constantly on guard, fully aware of the bands of orcs roaming the mountain range.

Two more hours passed like this, with progress being slow.

Faelan pulled his cloak a little closer, shivering from the cold.

"Curse these dammed mountains and this wind," he muttered.

He climbed up a ledge and kept on walking.

Wind rushes over the rocky valley, whipping up his cloak and hair, drowning out any sound other than itself. A dust cloud swept into Faelan's face and he moved up his hand to shield his eyes. He slowed his pace even further, blinking to get the dust from his eyes.

Another loud swear tore from his mouth as he cursed his luck.

As if to add injury to insult, he once again almost tripped on a loose stone.

He managed to keep his balance, stumbling forward. He stopped, blinked the dust from his eyes, and looked around. A soft growl started to rise from his throat.

He continued like this till twilight fell, shielding his eyes from dust with his hood.

As the sky darkened and the night started to fall, Faelan found an overhang for cover, shielding him from most of the wind and possible rain. He contemplated making a fire, shivering from the cold, but realised he had no wood or anything apart from Weaves to light it.

Then he remembered his tokens. He undid the knot holding the pouch to his belt and opened it.

He took out a handful of silver coins, each roughly engraved with a symbol. He lowered his sight into the Veil and looked for the right one.

He took out two flame tokens and returned the rest to the bag. Gathering three rocks, he put them tightly against each other, creating a small hole in the middle, just big enough to fit the silver coins. He held one of them in his hand and looked at the note that Minerva had put in the pouch with the Weaving tokens.

"Flamara. Tarus," he spoke the ancient Ecranan words. He didn't know their meaning, all he knew was that it caused the token to slowly activate the Weave instead of instantly, which would have resulted in a firey explosion.

He placed the token in the hole as it heated, the silver glowing red. The weave's effects soon spread to the three stones as they started to heat up, giving Faelan's shelter place a pleasant warmth.

He held the second flame token in his hand, before giving Minerva a silent thank you for providing him with these tokens.

Then he placed it back in the pouch along with the note and laid out his bedroll.

For some time he sat there, staring into the darkness and the night sky, before closing his eyes and taking up a meditative position.

===================

Last night, he had a breakthrough.

Where the day before he had accidentally managed to separate, he had started experimenting. He spent almost the entire night trying to do it again. It was a miracle he had slept at all. But just when he was going to give up, he managed. He had found himself in the field with the red flowers and the tree with golden threads. He had discovered the thing that bound him. He didn't know how and why, but every dream he had since leaving Orion Keep involved this place.

This night was no different. He knelt in the field, running his hand over one of the flowers. It consisted of thin crimson-red petals, all with a gap between them, arching outward.

He plucked it and held it up in the light, however, before he could get an even closer look at it, it disintegrated into a fine red dust.

Faelan stood up straight again and focussed on the tree.

Last night, he found out that the best way to move around in this dreamscape was to simply think of where he wanted to be.

He placed his hand on the bark of the tree, a warmth spreading through his hand and arm. One of the golden threads flowed down, connecting to his chest. He took away his hand and grabbed the thread. He felt a tugging sensation and found himself hovering above his sleeping body.

Faelan slowly drifted down until he was standing next to himself.

It was an odd sensation. He could feel the warmth of the heated stones and hear the wind rush around him, but as he reached down and tried to pick up his bag, his hands flew through, and a strange tingling sensation shot through his fingers.

Then he felt a tug at the golden strand. He looked up and found himself standing in front of an eye about his size. Its multicoloured silver and gold iris seemed to peer through him as he stepped back in the endless void that suddenly surrounded him. He tried to speak, but nothing came out of his mouth.

A wave of fear and a feeling of insignificance washed over him and he felt like his breath was being stolen from him.

===================

He woke up, gasping for air. Looking around, it was still dark. Sunrise was still hidden by the mountains in the north, the mountain's shadow stretching over the visible land. Regaining his composure, he steadied his breathing and slowly calmed down.

"It was just a dream. Focus. Get a grip on yourself, Faelan." he told himself.

As he collected his belongings the eye kept returning to his mind, but he pushed it down again and again.

I don't have time for this.

He looked at his map. The entrance to Durinar was a relatively short flight away.

I should be able to hold my wildshape for that long, right?

He did a quick calculation of how long he had held his falcon shape yesterday and how long he had rested since. With a nod of reassurance to himself, he pulled his bag onto his back and started to shift.

Moments later he soared through the slowly brightening sky, heading further north, the wind rustling through his feathers as the terrain below him blitzed past.