Llyraien sat, watching the rain spatter off the rocks outside the cave. It was near midday now, and the sun should have been much brighter - instead, much of the landscape looked like a watercolour painting, misty-edged and somehow not as solid as it should. From his vantage point he could see the grey stones of the flat he had sprinted across earlier, and further out, the forest below. The trees looked small from here, and if he squinted, in the distance he could just make out the spires of the citadel through the mist. He instinctively scanned the horizon to the right of the citadel, but the haze and the narrow cave entrance obscured most of the landscape. But he didn't have to look to know what was there - the ground was black and bare, and in some places there were still wisps of smoke rising from the charred skeletons of buildings.

He shuddered, shoving the memory and the sudden acrid taste in the back of his throat back beyond awareness. Somewhere outside, he thought he heard voices - still not too close by, but close enough for him to slowly edge his way to the front of the cave to try to get a better look at what was out there. He stopped about 3 feet from the opening in the rock face to listen, and the faint murmur slowly grew louder. If it was a patrol, what were they doing this far up? He had thought that only the aerial patrols would come this way. As he listened, a sense of dread began to coil in his stomach with the growing crunch of boots on rock - now he could make out a few words here and there. He cursed silently as he recognised the sound of the Ranger foot patrol, and stood stock still, straining to determine which way they were coming and how high up the ridges they were.

As the boots and voices came closer, one of the Rangers laughed raucously, and Llyraien froze. He knew that laugh, had heard it before...He closed his eyes tightly against the sounds and sights flickering in his mind, and the wave of nausea that accompanied them. Oh, Eona, not now! He swallowed, trying to stay focused on the patrol outside. The voices grew louder, and now he could make out their conversation:

"Aw, c'mon, Cap'n, why would 'e be all the way up 'ere? If he was, surely the birds woulda seen 'im? Thought you said he'd be inna forest by now takin' advantage of all the cover, not up 'ere in Nomans", came one amiable-sounding but disgruntled voice.

"You know as well as I do that we have orders, Corporal. My gut tells me he'd be making his way back to his village - or what's left of it, anyway." Peals of derisive laughter met this observation before the Captain continued, "but I'd rather keep my head ON my shoulders, thanks." The rest of the patrol murmured grudging agreement with the Captain's assessment. "Right, let's get on with it and get out of here."

Llyraien felt the back of his throat burning - with what, he wasn't sure. Bile? Tears? Anger? He realised the patrol were on the flat below him, and stayed absolutely still, listening to which way they were heading and the conversation that might give him clues as to their plans for the direction of future patrols. They were almost unbearably close now, trudging directly underneath him...

"Company...HALT!" The Captain's voice cut into his awareness. With trepidation, he realised they were directly below the cave entrance, and that any sound or movement on his part would alert them to his presence. He felt fear trickle down his spine like a bead of sweat, and bit his lip hard to force himself to concentrate. He closed his eyes again, knowing that he couldn't move any closer to the entrance to get a better look. He took a deep breath, and allowed himself to adjust to seeing with his eyes closed. Slowly, he projected himself forward....bit by bit, in case any of the patrolmen were perceptive enough to notice the shift in energy. The cave walls looked surprisingly less solid from this perspective, he noticed, and flinched slightly at the feeling of open space as his awareness slid through the narrow gap and to the edge of the ridge outside, much like suddenly lighting a candle in a very dark room and blinking at the brightness. He silently thanked Halador and Eona that Halador had taught him how to project his consciousness - Halador had said he had a natural aptitude for it, even though his father had protested at such a young child being taught such skills.

He brought his attention back to the patrol below the ridge, where they had now decided to stop and take a rest. His awareness hovered overhead like an unseen hummingbird as the patrol members argued over whether they should climb up the ridge - it was the middle of the day already, they'd been out for hours in the rain as it was and would still have to spend hours walking back to the citadel in the wet. Besides, they could see that there was nothing and nobody up there - there's no cover and not much but wasteland, why bother climbing all the way up just to confirm it?

The patrolmen argued back and forth for a few more minutes before the Captain told all five of his subordinates to be quiet and make the best use of the rest he had allowed. He was getting too old for this nonsense, he thought to himself - he deserved better than being sent out after a solitary rogue that the Queen had a problem with. He didn't understand why she hated this Elf in particular so much - granted, she hated Elves in general, but why this one? Oh, wait....he remembered, this Elf had defied her and refused to worship the New Gods or fall into lockstep and comply with the dictates of the Queen for Elves under her rule. But then, so had others, and she hadn't bothered with them the way she does with this one. Tareth wondered if it was...personal.

Llyraien studied the Rangers closely, one by one. He took note of their physical appearance, build and weapons, mentally cataloguing these in case the patrol did actually come up onto the ridge and discover his hiding place. His attention came to rest on the largest Ranger sitting on a granite boulder, hunched over his food.

Llyraien bit his tongue to avoid making a sound as he recognised the hulking shape - the oversized, meaty hands; the head that looked like it had been chiselled as an afterthought on top of a roughly hewn block of stone. He didn't need to see the Ranger's face, and when the Ranger suddenly laughed at one of his companions making a joke, Llyraien's blood ran cold. He pulled his awareness back and pressed the heel of his hands into his eye sockets as if to block out what he was seeing, but it was no use. The screams tore through his memory and he could smell the thick, bitter smoke - taste it, even. He reached into his pouch and fumbled for a moment till he found what he was looking for, and pulled out the fine silver leaf-shaped locket. Clenching it in his fist, he drew it up to his face, but did not open his eyes to look at it.

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His body shook with silent grief, and tears rolled down his face. He shifted to bring his knees up near his face, and curled up into a ball, hands covering his head as if to protect himself from the onslaught.

Below him, the patrol had finished their brief meal, and Captain Tareth sighed heavily as he scanned the rock above them. He thought he saw movement, and strained to get a better look. Damn it, was he going to have to actually go up there and investigate? He breathed a sigh of relief as a young mountain goat peered out from above him, and watched it pick its way along the rock face. He doubted anyone could climb up there, and he was certainly in no mood to do it himself. He shouldered his pack, and turned to the rest of the patrolmen.

"Right then, let's go. I see no reason to stay out in the wet any longer than we have to, and we still have the Swamp to deal with yet. This ridge is getting slippery, too - far too dangerous to try to go further up today, but I will note on the report that we will return when the weather is more conducive to a proper search. In the meantime, the air patrols will be better equipped to handle these parts."

The Rangers assembled in a ragged line and started making their way back down the ridge. Once or twice somebody lost their footing and skidded a few feet, accompanied by loud cursing and occasional derisive laughter, but they trudged off toward the west and the Swamp, leaving Llyraien unnoticed in his grief.

He flinched, feeling embers raining on his skin. The sky was an ungodly orange, and the heat and choking smoke was unbearable. His home was ablaze...where was she? Frantically he looked around for her, but there were dozens of Elves running in a blind panic, trying to escape the flames and the Rangers. Suddenly he heard a scream that pierced him to the core, and turned to look in the direction it had come from. Horror filled him as he saw the lumbering Ranger with a menacing grin, one unyielding arm wrapped around her delicate frame, squeezing her softly rounded belly as she kicked and screamed. The Ranger saw Llyraien and let out a laugh that chilled him to the bone.

"Oh, was this yours? Not any more!" The Ranger pulled at the Elven woman's dress, and Llyraien heard the fabric rip as he launched himself at the hulking frame. The Ranger brought up his other enormous fist, and Llyraien's world went black.

He opened his eyes slowly, painfully, and heard someone say "Oh good, he's awake." He tried to get up, but they had tied him to a fence post and he managed to reach his knees when a rough hand grabbed his hair and pulled his head up, turning it so he could see them. She was lying face down in the dirt, hands tied above her head and her dress torn away from her body, skirts thrown up over her body, exposing her thickening waist. The big Ranger was on top of her, pinning her with his weight as she screamed in pain and terror. Llyraien felt sick, and tried to block out her screams and the grunts of the big Ranger's exertion. He squeezed his eyes shut, but he could still see the fear and horror on her face and the chilling grin on the Ranger's.

Her screams faded to violent sobs as the Ranger finished, and then Llyraien noticed the pool of blood around her. He watched as everything suddenly appeared to happen in slow motion - the Ranger shifted his weight behind her, grabbing her long silver hair in his fist. Llyraien watched in horror as the Ranger trailed his thumb through the blood, leaned over till his face was right next to hers and muttered something in her ear as he wiped the blood onto her cheek, her eyes wide with horror and realisation. Llyraien saw a flash of steel and watched her face contort as the Ranger stood up and wiped off his blade, stepping over her as he fastened his trousers. The Ranger flipped her onto her back with his foot, and Llyraien saw her blank eyes through his tears. He didn't see what happened next, but that was a small mercy - the big Ranger had mocked his tears and hit him again, sending him back into darkness.

When he regained consciousness it was dusk, there was nothing left of the village but smouldering ruins and dead bodies, and all of the other survivors (if there were any) had been taken prisoner. He had been untied, too - either someone thought he was already dead, or thought it wouldn't matter if he wasn't yet because he soon would be. He groaned as he sat up, and then he saw her. He tried to stand up, and felt dizzy and nauseous. He forced himself to look - she was exactly where they had left her, lying a pool of her own blood with her mangled dress up around her waist and a gaping wound in her abdomen. Llyraien howled with grief and pain as he realised that they had put her child - their child - on the ground beside her.

He dropped to his knees beside them, his tears falling on her unseeing face. As he started to form the words of the ancient prayer to send souls safely home, he gently wiped the blood and dirt from her face, brushed her hair from her pale blue eyes and closed them for the last time, kissing her forehead and tasting the salt of his own tears.

He was numb as he pulled her skirts back down and adjusted the remains of her dress to cover her as best he could. He noticed that she was still wearing the silver filigree locket he had given her when she had told him about the child - he reached down and carefully untied it, then almost as an afterthought, he pulled out the tiny knife from his boot and gently, tenderly cut a small piece of her hair, folded it and put it inside the leaf-shaped locket. He took a small piece of the torn fabric of her dress to wrap the locket in, and then placed it very carefully in his pouch. Then he turned his attention to the tiny child beside her who had never had the chance to draw breath.

He picked up a tattered piece of her petticoat and gently lifted the child, wrapping it in the cloth. He wiped as much of the blood off the child as he could, grieving all the more for how perfectly formed and beautiful it was - tiny rosebud lips, and even tinier pearly fingernails. It was only when he had gone to get some water to clean both mother and child and was tenderly washing the child's fragile body, that he discovered they had a daughter.

Eona watched all of the horrors unfolding in Llyraien's mind as he sat curled up on the cold floor, her heart breaking for him. She touched the mirror again, and this time, she stepped through it. Like a warm, soft blanket, she enveloped him, wrapping around him as if he were a frightened bairn. The air in the cave rippled with her presence, and she whispered to him to calm him, "Oh, my child. I'm here."

Somewhere in another time and place, Llyraien felt her presence and warmth and sank into it, exhausted.