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She slowly turns her head in his direction, eyes seeking him out. His fingers arrest her movement as they close over the fleshy muscle where her shoulder and arm meet, fingers suddenly applying firm pressure along the joint. Another hand grasps her elbow and, without warning, rips it outward. She screams out as her shoulder flares, her arm being torn from her. Somewhere within her mind, the tiny bird screams with her and cowers within its shrinking sanctuary. She floats between worlds… aware of a soft ‘cooing’. Cold water flows over her shoulder, the pain a memory. The refreshing coolness washes over her chest along her ribs. Her skin rippling with gooseflesh as the welcome rush flows across her hips, over her thighs and rivulets between her legs, down to her sex. Her eyes open much slower this time. She drinks in the night air as she listens to his soft voice again. Aware now that her body is uncovered, unclothed. She shivers as his hand runs the soft sponge along her calves, icy. A strangeness. He remembered suddenly rising from the darkness in a clearing – a burnt out clearing. He could still hear the crackling of fire. He could still smell the ash and soot.He stumbled as his memories came back. A figure was there. The princess and – something else. Someone else.The mage. She was there. She was ... frightened. Terrified. Of him.A fireball! The Princess! He dove, unthinking – but only in memory. His life for hers. It was a reasonable trade, made more reasonable by the fact he wanted to die. He needed to die. His own life hurt far too much. The memory of Ardt – of another father – dying was too much to bear.No death. “Be my champion! Please, Yren. Be my champion! Deliver my justice.”Purpose had filled him. He remembered the feeling, the warming sensation of a sudden need.A need which filled him again. Re-filled him. Different ... and yet the same. It called to him, then as now. He couldn’t die. Not yet. He wasn’t allowed. He was needed.He strode on, filled.
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