What follows are words etched into mist, with circumstances lost to time, but for the glow of twilight and great rush of water: "Hark, come aground immediately, or else... Dear me, you must cease this folly... A terrible fate shall befall you unless... No! Stop!--"

The Young King was instantaneously transported-- away from the grim world he had inhabited-- and for a fleeting moment was placeless, one crossing between realities in a disorienting motion. The dubious early moments of his wakefulness were soon eclipsed by relief as sunlight beamed within his tent; the holy wanderers had not yet parted ways with Cortezum's radiance. "Drya, tell me, are you there?"

"Come, hence" she whispered from without. "Tarry not, but neither make haste." The Young King groggily approached, finding her peeking beyond an outcrop, like a soldier reconnoitering. With a giddy smile, she beckoned him forth. "Say, what is this foolishness?" He asked irritably, unimpressed by her charade. "Pause-- Ye shalt startle our meal." Surely enough, in the clearing a pace ahead was, of all things, an oblivious boar. Heedlessly, the Young King uttered: "Lo! What a specimen!"

Drya attempted to quiet him, natheless the swine was spooked and took flight.

The Young King, expecting the sabotage of her ambuscade to beget anger, was quickly defensive. "I apologize, yet I cannot fathom your purpose. Are you not sated with our provisions?" In spite of expectations, Drya's temperance held steady. "Your eminence, I suffer an esurience unlike yours... I seek the novelty of the hunt." She spoke with a risible mimicry of the serious Archelos, which on any other day would fill the Young King with mirth; his face remained frigid. Did she spy an annoyance in his eye, protruding like a stye?

"Art you weary of me so soon into our journey, your eminence?" Drya asked in good humor. The annoyance peaked. "No, no! It is an issue you know nothing of. Truthfully, a dream snuck upon me, and soured my mood." The sage became silently attentive, hearkening to this divulgence. "There was... Grim death- Or, I fear, there will be a death- most malicious in nature. A man, to the imminent East, within shaded glade-- Unequivocally, it was Tuakhdir."

Within that moment, all optimism was sucked from Drya's spirit. "How do ye recall this man that met demise?" "Inadequately, I must confess. His countenance was veiled, but I deduced him male. Or, mayhaps I glimpsed his face, but a memorial fog obscures detail." "So, ye deem it a premonition? A grave occurrence..." She elaborated no further. "Aye, but one we must reckon with. If the Antecedent lent me this vision, there may be some purpose behind it. Perhaps if we venture to this hollow, we may retrieve memories from dark waters. We could save the fated fellow!"

A game of death is no simple matter, Drya thought. I fear he would run into The Seventh's maw happily if the opportunity was intriguing enough. She considered her forthcoming response closely, knowing aught she said would have little effect; his young heart was set.

So, instead of opening her mouth, she attempted a different approach: Her smile peeking through, she beckoned the Young King 'round the tents. "There is something I must show you, if we are danger-bound."

***

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"Pffbbbttt! Pthhhbt!"

Drya chuckled as the Young King blew the blade of grass betwixt his fingers. "How now?" He asked, not lost on the humor of his inability. "Here, hand it unto me and I shall demonstrate." As she played nature's instrument with excellent form, her sweet, whistling song echoed about the glebe. The Young King grinned ear to ear, from her first note to her last. "The King's Finch," he recalled. "Forsooth, your eminence; an impressive recollection. I should like to impart on you this birdsong, which I learned in halcyon days." The Young King graciously accepted the chance to learn from her wisdom, as he always would: With nary a query of purpose; This was for him. Together, they savored the soft radiance upon their hillock. By and by, Drya acknowledged the matter of the dream.

"Young King," she began, "I wholly trust in your premonition, and, as such, know we will soon wade into dangerous, uncharted waters. Today I teach you this song, for, ifsoever we art separated once again, ye may call upon me from afar... With all my heart, I promise I shall come running." "Oh, Drya!" He cried, "You are beyond loyal. I apologize profoundly for my mood this morn; you deserve not to have my poor disposition forced on ye; truthfully you are my dearest friend, and in times of peril, a friend shalt find me ever at her blessed side, if I can count upon her to be at mine." She knew his words were true as he loosed them fervently.

"Prithee, allow me to apologize in turn." "Why is this?" He asked. "I fear," she started, "That my behavior in Altemplum betrayed my loyalty to you... I let you walk the temple streets alone in your time of need." "Respectfully, sage, there is no need for anguish. In mine thoughts, this egress led me to our Lûnatus acquaintances! And the annals of history will know the rest."

Momentarily, there was a silence. As the Young King gazed eastwards, donning a focused expression, Drya clandestinely looked upon him. Evidently there was word on her tongue, smothered by the blanketed silence which she dared not disturb... Suddenly, as if to pierce this veneer, the Young King whistled the finchsong. Drya smiled wearily, and admitted "Hark, there is one thing... One other betrayal I made... And anon I say it there will be no more doom and gloom henceforth, I assure ye." Ears perked.

"Young King, as I watched you flee on that bright Altemplum morning, with no intention of giving chase, I broke a promise of mine; to warily protect you." There- she had said it. A true friend of yours would not keep such secrets. Consequently, I am no friend until all is on the table, she surmised.

The Young King's focused gaze had turned from the East to his friend, Drya, the sage. More silence followed.

"You need not make a promise like that to me," He said forthright. Drya despaired- He misunderstands my saying! Young King, I mean that-- But, my resolve be damned, I have not the courage to speak again-- I should sew my lips shut!

Warding off awkwardness, the Young King once again played the song his friend had taught him. It resonated, lifting in the air, until, as it seemed, it fell upon unexpected ears. For, suddenly, a familiar face emerged from the reeds: A right swarthy hog!

"Drya," the Young King whispered, "Look who hath returned!" Her boyish game of hunting was resumed. "Come prone, and follow close," he whispered. The two must have looked quite foolish from a birds-eye view, crawling ever closer... Drya readied a fantastic net she had discovered in their stockpile, akin to some primeval hunter. By some miracle, the swine was yet unaware of this charade, as they approached the beast... And... The two met in a glance, which said, among other things: I am ready if you are.

As fate would have it, they were not as ready as they felt. Drya tossed her net towards the hog, while the Young King swung a stick in effort to club it. The ensuing jumbled mess of actions ended with dirt flung in Drya's face, a net binding her hunting partner, and a hog running free as the wind.

"We are rather ineffectual hunters, are we not?" She giggled.