There was a woman riding slowly on horseback who, for reasons Melle and Erron immediately mistrusted, sped up to ride alongside their carriage back towards the Egrethore Estate. She was content to say nothing and let them misunderstand, which Erron, at least, was definitely going to do. After all, Erron--as a mind mage--was very rarely in the company of anyone who he could not understand, unless that person was a mind mage herself.

She wasn't. She was just very, very special.

The woman was, if you looked no more than skin deep, an incredibly erotic woman. Her skin and clothes were perfectly clean; not even road dust seemed to stick to her. Her skin had a thin sheen of oil or sweat, and gave off a scent that was detectable a dozen feet away. She rode her horse as though she had been born on it, and every sway of her body was perfectly graceful.

Neither Erron or Melle dared to think about the woman in such shallow terms even for a second. Both sensed the same thing from her: an absolute, incredibly powerful lack of anything. No magical sense registered so much as a flicker of power from her, not even things that should naturally have been there. Her flesh did not contain stray elemental power they way it should, nor were there flashes of elemental magic when her nerves and muscles twitched. Either she was something impossible, or more likely, she had magical shields better than either of them had ever seen.

After a few minutes riding in silence, Melle cleared her throat. "Good afternoon, lady. May we ask your name...?"

The woman laughed, and shook her head. "No, young lady, that is something you may not know. Better women than you would kill to have it, believe me. If you like, though, you may call me Colle."

Melle and Erron exchanged looks. "Do you have some business with us?" asked Melle, hesitantly.

"Not with you. I made an arrangement some time ago with a man, and now, well, suffice it to say that his time on this world is over." She let out something of a sigh. "He accomplished what he desired, though he realizes now that it's over that it was not enough. If he could do it all over again, he would have had a different desire. But then, if he could do it all over again, so many things would be different." She effortlessly lifted one leg and switched to riding side-saddle, to look at Melle and Erron more directly. She seemed to barely, if at all, need the reins to keep the horse going, and rather than gripping anything, simply put her hands on the beast's neck and back to steady herself. "Life, I hear, is often like that--you don't understand until it's too late." She offered a wide, toothy smile. "I wouldn't know."

Erron shivered, but Melle remained composed. She was a good one, the woman who called herself Colle decided. She had poise, and gumption. The other one, the fat one, he was a fool, but she wasn't bad.

"You don't... mean us any harm, I trust." Melle pressed her lips into a line. "If you did, I suppose you would have done something already."

"You act as though someone in this country might betray you," Colle let the naked sarcasm in her voice run thick, just to be sure that even Erron understood.

"We have some reason to suspect, perhaps," replied Melle evenly.

Colle laughed, and rubbed her horse's neck fondly. The stallion toss his head and trotted a little, and turned his head just a bit to look at her, but continued on walking as though it had been no more than a tease.

"No," Colle finally answered, "I mean you no harm, but neither will I help, most likely. Perhaps a deal could be made, but I am not overly fond of humans. I am sure that here, of all places, you understand what I mean." With her other hand, Colle gestured outwards, but it was directionless, not pointed either at the castle or the Egrethore estate, not that Melle or Erron could detect. "No, I simply enjoy having a bit of pleasant conversation. I do so miss it some days. But when one lives long enough, it is hard to not notice how one conversation can be just like another. I've had many conversations like this one so far, but this isn't too bad. You haven't tried to grovel at my feet or control me. You don't show overt fear nor cowardice. It's... good." Colle patted the stallion again, who responded with a whinny and a head shake.

"What are you?" asked Erron bluntly, pain and fear evident in his voice.

"See, now, that's the question I always get, and it's so foolish." Colle turned in the saddle again, to look forward. "You don't want to know what kind of person I am, but rather what I am capable of.  Between the two, doesn't on tell you so much more?  When you know for sure that I'm different, then all of a sudden you fear me, mistrust me, want to use me. You humans have such a problem with 'others'. It's repulsive."

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"I am sure my companion meant--" began Melle.

"You needn't explain what he meant, darling Mellenia. And you don't need to apologize on his behalf. If I were the spiteful goddess you fear me to be, well, you all would know a lot more about me than you do." Colle offered the other woman a somewhat shy, genuine-looking smile. "He means to defend himself. He believes knowing what I am will do that, or at least help. But in a way, it's insulting that he just assumes I'm a monster. You worry about it too, I know, but you're trying, I can see it. You want to give me a chance to show my character. You, Erron, you have spent too long being defensive and haven't really had any good friends you can laugh with in entirely too long. It's simply too hard for you to let down your guard. Isn't that so?"

Melle looked over at her companion, but Erron just sat there, sweating heavily, unable to tear his eyes away from this peculiar woman.

"Generation after generation goes by," she said suddenly, "and people make all the same mistakes again. One would have hoped the Order, at least, with their penchant for handing down knowledge, would make fewer mistakes... but it has become a mirthless organization, hasn't it? Ambition brought you to the Order, and all you find there are other people with ambition. Where is the joy of living among your people? You know how to do everything, and you enjoy nothing. It is sad."

"But what is saddest," she said after a few moments silence, "is how this isn't the first generation like that. No doubt, your Master is afraid and ashamed of that man, as is the watcher from afar. But how many generations must be sacrificed in the name of fear?" With that, Colle let out a loud huff, and turned her head away from the two on the cart.

They all rode in silence for a while. Eventually, Erron and Melle began speaking in low whispers--as though that would keep them from being overheard, but Colle was kind enough not to listen. Whatever argument they had, Melle seemed to win out, and Erron sat in stoic silence, while Melle sat in a more contemplative silence, occasionally glancing over at her.

"Are we supposed to pretend the threats of the world don't exist?" asked Melle finally.

Colle turned to look at the woman, a thoughtful tilt to her head.

"You are supposed," she replied, "to ask for help."

"From you?" burst in Erron, as though it was his place to speak.

Colle dismissed the question with a shrug and a wave of the hand. "The joy of living comes from being together. It comes from loving flaws and only begrudgingly accepting virtues. Because--be honest--how many virtues bring joy? They bring peace and happiness, sure, but joy? If you had a pet that never surprised you, not one day in its whole long life, you would forget it was alive. If your pet worked slavishly to please you and was never once selfish, you would find nothing to love in that creature. You might appreciate it, and you might reciprocate with equal kindness to it, and thus make it appreciate you. But joy, bah! You will discover nothing new in that creature and it will teach you nothing about the world."

"The flaws and sins of the world, the good ones--not corruption, not infection, but honest flaws born of mistake and misfortune--they show the true virtue of people. When a woman stumbles over a rock, but picks herself up daintily and marches on, she has done no good. When a woman stumbles over a rock and picks it up and throws it into the distance, well, she may have done bad--might have hurt someone else--but hasn't she also removed the rock so nobody else stumbles? Her wrath--her sin, her violent flaw--exists for a reason. That flaw is worth loving."

"So too with all life," Colle stood in the saddle to stretch her legs, then settled back down. "My people were a violent sort. Long ago, they embraced their own flaws. But a cruel infection, a corruption spread through the people, and they began to believe that their flaws must be removed, that only virtues should remain. When one day they met a powerful stranger, they were repulsed by his flaws. They started a fight they could not win, and were destroyed."

Melle was watching Colle, but the beautiful woman refused to turn back in her direction. "I don't have any enmity for the stranger who killed my people. His wrath was flawed, but it was a beautiful flaw. He took war-torn lands and made them stronger, better, more beautiful, and in the wake of all that death came new life. I have learned much by watching his flaws, and those of his people. Indeed, it is their virtues that I have come to despise--their single-minded devotion to leaving a legacy, as though their legacy mattered more than anyone else's. Their cold, calculating certainty. They were correct, of course. But how they were correct is less important than how they were wrong. Yet speaks only of their virtues, and not their flaws, and so they have become cold and calculating. It is sad," she said, finally turning to look Melle in the eyes. "It is a flaw, I think, to worship virtue. In a way, it's a lovable flaw, because it shows your people wanting to do better. But I am so very tired of watching it play out the same way, over and over. You could do so much better, if you only understood."

Melle swallowed, looking deep into the woman's eyes. Finally, she turned away, studying the road ahead.

She understood who she was talking to, now, though she couldn't bring herself to say it. Riding next to a powerful sorceress or immortal was one thing; Melle had even once been in the presence of a God, as they spoke of things happening across the world. But never had she met a Djinn, and never would she have expected the woman to be so... philosophical about life and death.

It made her truly feel small, in a way that no magic or godly power could ever have. The conversation--words with no magic to them at all--revealed her own innocence, ignorance, youth and foolishness. Even her mother could no longer make her feel so small.

They rode on in silence.