[Ymiden] Some Good in This World

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Ymiden's Domain
First of Vhalar, Arc 719
Previous

Llyr stepped through the crystal door, departed the Veil, and held tight to Wren's hand. He didn’t know what laid on the other side, but he instinctively felt it wasn’t a dreamscape. The sense reminded him of a time before, from that arc's Saun season.

The door to the Veil vanished behind them. A gentle breeze drifted through what looked to be a never-ending landscape of green meadows. In every direction were rolling hills of lush grass and wildflowers. Trees dappled in spots on certain ridges, full of lively leaves and healthy branches. He caught the familiar rippling sounds of a nearby brook, likely just over the nearest hill.

Comfortable, in every way, the temperature wasn’t too hot or cold. Insects flitted about, but they didn’t land on them or aim to sting. They seemed accepting of the intrusion to what Llyr could only view as another world entirely. This wasn’t Idalos, it wasn’t the Veil, and it wasn’t anything like anywhere he’d ever been before. Still, he could draw comparisons to Idalos. The way the breeze felt comforting as it lifted his hair away from his scarred forehead. The hummed buzz of insects and demure wildlife going about the trial to come. The blue sky of fluffy white clouds and the fair warmth of sunrise.

The world appeared to be the perfect Ymiden trial, at the height of the vibrant season and without any harshness or imposing juxtaposed elements to dull the seasonal beauty.

“Is this where you wanted to go?” He looked down at the boy. Wren nodded.

They walked along a pebbled and dirt path that curved along the eased slope of a hill. When they reached the rounded ridge, Llyr felt his soul subsumed by a significant sense of awe. It truly was a land of summertime in its ultimate magnificence. The sun remained on the horizon, as if locked in perpetual dawn.

If he sat down on the grass, he could imagine staying here forever, eternally happy. His eyes welled with tears, but he managed to keep from letting any droplets fall. He composed himself for the sake of the child beside him. No matter how unusual Wren acted, how sober of thought the boy seemed, Llyr still noticed the need for help from someone older. Wren might have been the one waiting for him in the Veil, but Llyr felt the instinct to protect the wandering boy all the same.

“It’s beautiful here, yes?” he asked the child dreamwalker. Not much of an answer came from the quiet lad beyond a nod. Lly hesitated, then asked, “Is this your home?”

Wren’s nose scrunched and his brows raised. He shot a look of bafflement at the biqaj, then laughed, “No.”

“You act very calm for your age,” observed Llyr aloud. “As if you’ve visited here before… or a place like it? Wren, how is it that you were made a dreamwalker? You’re so young...”

No answer came. Instead, Wren let go of his hand. He walked along the hilltop, and Llyr followed. The boy wasn’t forthcoming. If it was a trick of hostility, lying in wait, Llyr wouldn’t concern himself with it until it made itself known.

The mage stretched out his gossamer wings. He lifted off the ground and followed a handful of butterflies in darted, erratic flight. Wren jumped slightly, startled by the sudden flight of the biqaj past him. Llyr spun himself around, then landed in a purposeful somersault. He rolled down the hill. As soon as he landed at the bottom of the slope, grass stuck in his white-blond hair, he called to Wren, “Roll down. It’s fun! There are no roots or anything to hurt you.”

Wren shuffled his feet. He looked side to side, then lowered to sit on the hilltop. Llyr waved in encouragement for him to roll. Finally, the boy decided to give it a try. He laid on his side, then weakly rolled aside. Gravity helped the motion along, the lush grass temporarily flattened under his path, and Wren very slowly rolled down. Limbs awkward, arms at his sides, and a few kicks to keep the slow momentum so he wouldn't stop midway on the hill, eventually Wren landed at the foot of the hill. He stared at the sky, eyes wide with what Llyr assumed had to be curiosity.

“That was so…” the mage considered, then said, “uh… safe of you. Come along, I’ll show you how to roll down a hill properly.”

Llyr took Wren’s hand, helped him to his feet, then hiked up the hill. He sat on the top of the slope, then patted for Wren to do so as well. The mage smiled then he wrapped an arm around Wren’s shoulders. He outstretched his other arm to gesture toward the hill before them. He said, “First, we look for any rocks or roots or things to avoid. Do you see any?”

Wren shook his head 'no'.

“If you did, then we’d choose to avoid them in our path down. And check that it is not too steep, otherwise we could go much too fast without control,” explained Llyr. He ruffled the blond hair of the boy, then he crossed his arms over his chest. “Put your arms like this, hands near your shoulders.”

Wren copied the crossed arms in front of his chest, hands on opposite shoulders. “Like this?”

“Yes, exactly!” Llyr’s smile brightened into a grin. “That’s it. You’re a quick learner, Wren. Now, we lay down…”

He shuffled away to get some room for his lanky body, then laid along the edge of the hilltop. He waited until the boy also laid in the grass. “Keep yourself together, as if you are a tree standing strong against a wind. If you want to go faster, you can lift your arms above your head like so,”-he demonstrated, then returned to the crossed arms-“otherwise keep them here, legs together, draw your body weight back… and then tilt yourself over the slope. Follow the downward pull of the soil. Ready?”

“I think so?” said Wren. The boy wiggled, testing the placement of his arms, but he looked uncertain.

“If you don’t get it, we can try again,” assured Llyr. He followed the tilt of his body, then rolled down the hill. It was simple enough, and he got to his knees once he landed. He looked to see Wren following, the boy spinning against the grass until he landed nearby. It was much improved, at a quicker pace, than before.

Wren scrambled to his feet, eyes round, and face slightly reddened. “I did it!”

Llyr chuckled, “Almost perfect.”

“Almost?”

“You should give it another try, yes? Practice some. Go on, back up the hill to try again,” suggested Llyr with a small smile.

“Yes,” agreed Wren enthusiastically. He ran up the slope, got back into proper stance, then rolled down the hill. This time, Llyr sat on the grass and watched.

“Hmm, try it again with your arms above your head,” he suggested to Wren.

A smile crossed the boy’s features and he didn’t even say anything as he sprinted to the hilltop so he could roll down again. This continued, in repeat, as Wren seemed to enjoy the practice - or truly, the carefree play.

Llyr looked in the direction of the rising breeze as pollen drifted through the air. It all seemed to be going some place, along with the insects and butterflies. He saw someone walking on a nearby hill. The biqaj stood, brushed the grass off his breeches and boots, then smoothed out his tunic. He didn’t know who it was, from what little he could see, but they appeared to be human and perhaps female. Llyr glanced at Wren, who hadn’t noticed yet. The boy had gotten distracted with his newly acquired skill of rolling down hills.

So, the young mage left him be for the moment. His wings outstretched, Llyr darted in quick dragonfly-like flight and landed in front of the woman's path with a short distance left between them. There seemed to be a good likelihood this was the woman Wren wanted to find. She resembled the man's portrait in the locket, perhaps a sister? The biqaj waved in acknowledgment of her presence. His gossamer wings folded neatly behind him, and his halo dimmed above his head, the irises of his eyes were vibrant ocean blue.

He smiled and greeted her, “Good trial, miss! Is that boy your’s?”

[Eliza Soule]

If Eliza hadn't found herself among the ranks of those who could willfully walk in Emea, in an instant and quite by accident, she might never have chosen to pursue it. In a way, she had not just Jesine, but Hart to thank for that. But the daughter of Ymiden didn't resent it, and wasn't complaining. Emea, and all the dreams, domains and dreamscapes within it, was a seemingly endless source of inspiration for her work in the waking world. In turn, she could use her brush and her imagination to create masterpieces in the Otherworldly. Rich or poor, everybody dreamed. She couldn't have asked for a better medium or larger gallery in which to display her work. Sometimes she even indulged herself by signing her work.

But as dreamwalking went, she wasn't very good at it yet. She'd developed the knack for manipulating her own dreams. But when it came to moving from one place to another, most was by happenstance at best, and sometimes embarrassing mishaps at worst. You learned a lot about people by observing their dreams; even if you hadn't meant to. She'd learned things, now and then, that she'd rather not know. The elderly Ser Wolfert, who slumbered next door in Caervalle Town, dreamed about drinking and winning at cards. Which wasn't particularly interesting or scandalous either. But his elderly wife sleeping next to him, dreamed of a flirtation with the local baker down the lane, who in turn dreamed about her. She hadn't been able to look either of them in the eye since. Or Ser Wolfert either, without feeling awkward.

Wren, though. Wren was, in a sense, born in Emea. Or rather, reborn might be more accurate. He'd been reborn in that same moment, more or less, that Eliza had become a dreamwalker. To say he was good at it would be to put it mildly. Occasionally he walked with Eliza and seemed to indulge her foibles and missteps without pointing them out. The young woman might like to think that he needed her to keep him fed, clothe him, and just maybe, love him a little. But in Emea? She was sure he was humoring her.

She knew that Wren walked in dreams without her. It was a full season gone now, and he'd never stopped looking for Hart. Eliza looked for him too on her own, and sometimes they looked together. She'd promised Wren though, that they wouldn't stop looking, and somehow she'd get him back home. Ordinarily she didn't worry about him out there in Emea. He might look like a child, and be a child in some of the ways that did him the most good. But he had the soul, the knowledge and even the soul of a much older man. And he was much better equipped to care for himself in the dreamscape than she was.

This particular night, however, was different. It was Eberhardt that had nudged her while in her dreams, and insisted that they had to find Wren, now. No line of questioning was enough to get a straight answer as why time was of the essence, once the tiny primate had assured her that the boy was unlikely to be in any type of immediate danger. But given time, he might find some. Eliza tended not to question reason too much. Not when it came to her talkative and curious companion. Eberhardt too, was born in and of Emea and knew it much better than her.

But apart from telling her they needed to go, Eberhardt was less forthcoming where it concerned how to actually get there. Eliza was far from experienced enough to deliberately dream her way from one place to the next. But somehow she'd felt pulled, pushed or guided to exactly that place where she ought to be. Maybe it had been Eberhardt who'd done it. This was no ordinary monkey after all. Or maybe it was some other force that had shown her the way. Whichever it was, it felt right to step through the crystal door of a structure that glowed like a beacon in the night. She was overcome by a powerful sense that what lay on the other side was exactly where she needed to be, Wren or no Wren.

It was a strange sense of familiarity that only intensified when she stepped into a vast landscape, that felt more like home than any brick and mortar structure ever could. The breeze gently lifted her dark hair off her shoulders, and laid Eberhardt's hiding place bare on her shoulder. She breathed deep, and smiled. "You know? If I wasn't going to paint what my father's favorite haunt ought to look like, it would be just like this" Eberhardt chittered as ordinary monkeys tended to do, then asked, "Would you now?" As if her little friend knew something that she did not, just yet. But before she could ask, she spied another figure off on the horizon. Or rather, in the air coming towards her. A winged sort of man, along with any number of other flying creatures that were headed her way.

She hadn't decided just yet if she ought to view the stranger with suspicion, and be prepared to defend herself. He didn't look as if he meant any harm. But if Eliza had learned anything in the season before, it was that things in Emea were rarely as they appeared to be. She still felt welcomed, even embraced by this place, and if she hadn't glanced down and caught a glimpse of Wren in the distance, she might never have reached up to the knot that she wore in her hair, secured by a large hatpin. A strange, unexpected, slightly uncomfortable motherly feeling washed over her out of nowhere. And with Wren there, and a stranger between them, she was prepared to do what mothers did. Hat pins made very good weapons, in a pinch. She pulled it loose, the knot in her hair unwound and tumbled down on her shoulder, and she clutched the thing, just in case, down by her side as the winged man lighted before her.

Eberhardt looked suspiciously on from beneath the fall of her hair. The man's eyes were like those of a Biqaj, who she'd seen plenty of back in Rharne. But that was there the similarities ended. He smiled, and while she wasn't convinced just yet, she offered a restrained one in return. "Who're you and what are you doing with our boy?!" Eberhardt chattered, showing off a set of tiny, but razor sharp teeth. Though to Lyr's ears, or anyone else's besides Eliza's, that's all it was. Animated monkey chatter and nothing more sensible than that.

Eliza was somewhat less combative in her approach. "Hello," she said, then glanced again at Wren off in the distance, and the way he rolled down the hill without abandon. Not afraid or bothered. But, laughing? It was the most childlike thing Eliza had ever known him to do. Still..."He is," she said, to the question of him being her boy. It wasn't exactly true, or at least she'd never considered it to be more than a temporary thing. But she was unsure of this stranger just yet. And he didn't need to know the particulars. Still, she smiled more genuinely than she had before. "He appears to be enjoying himself. You must have made a good impression on him. He's usually a bit more reserved around strangers." Quiet and solemn too, which made Eliza wonder what made this stranger different than others. Besides the wings and the unusual appearance.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Llyr might not have noticed the hairpin if the woman’s locks of hair hadn’t fallen along her shoulder by doing so. He felt that the color of her hair had similarity to the small portrait of the man in the locket. He noticed the pin, but he didn’t make mention of it or look directly at it. Instead, he greeted her all the same, as if he didn't notice any suspicion or possible makeshift weaponry.

A little monkey chattered at him, showed off teeth, and even though he couldn’t understand what was being said – he could recognize the hostility of a little creature such as Eberhardt. He’d encountered monkeys in the jungles between Desnind and Quacia. They could be mean things, fully capable of harm beyond simple mischief, if provoked. It was the larger ones that you had to be more careful about, though. His smile turned a bit more politely forced. He shook his head at Eberhardt as if telling the monkey: no.

He returned his attention to the human. His eyes lit up in a brighter blue when she confirmed that she was the guardian of the boy. “Aha, so the boy does have true instincts,” he casually commented.

Llyr stepped aside to give a better view of the child who continued to play along the hill. He stood near the woman and folded his hands behind him with a tall soldiery posture. The pale blond considered her words, then replied, “Perhaps… I found him in the Veil. Or, should I say that he found me. Was waiting for me, or so he said. More reservation would have suited the situation, likely on the part for both of us but then he made mention he wanted to find you.”

“I’ve never met a dreamwalker as young as he, and considering that, he handles himself exceptionally well,” he added with the lilt of his southern continent accent that blended the various regional dialects. The mage watched as Wren stopped at the landing of the hill and looked over. He must’ve seen Eliza because he started on a walk over instead of hiking up the slope for another roll down. Before the child would join them, Llyr turned and offered a hand in greeting to the woman. “My name is Mister Magpie. I am an etherist residing in a city along the western coast of Orm’del Sea. Your son informed me that his name is Wren. Might I know a name for you, miss?”

He waited for her to either shake her hand or deny it and seemed patient with his hand outstretched in however many moments she would decide which it was. Llyr would extend trust to her, for the time being, and observe how Wren would interact with the woman to see if her claim of guardianship was sincere. There were few things to make it seem otherwise, but he didn't like the thought of the lonely boy being kidnapped by a pretender, or someone he did not want to return home with. He considered the portrait in the locket again and said, “Apologies, perhaps he is not your son but your nephew?”

[Eliza Soule]

Eberhardt chattered rudely and bared her sharp teeth; and in return, Lyr eyed her and shook his head. No. Eliza's tiny companion never had taken well to being chastised. She rolled her lips into a straight line, puckered them then, and blew a raspberry back at the winged man that was louder than one would expect it to be. Anyone besides Ymiden's daughter, that was. By then, Eliza had concluded that Lyr was probably no threat to her, or Eberhardt, or more importantly, to Wren, considering how comfortable her small charge appeared to have been in his presence.

"Don't be rude, Eberhardt," she scolded.

"He started it," came the reply.

"Technically, no, he didn't."

Turning her gaze back on Lyr then, she smiled, almost apologetically. "Don't worry about Eberhardt, she's much more teeth than bite, and she's been worried about him too," she explained, flicking her eyes briefly towards Wren, who'd reached the bottom of the hill once more. "She's not your ordinary monkey. She was," she considered, looking for a way to explain, "In a sense she was born in Emea. She's probably never seen a jungle or even another monkey in her life." Besides the ones that Eliza had shown her small friend, pictured in books.

Meanwhile, the little primate had scampered down from her shoulder and had taken off, headed towards Wren. Come to think of it, Eberhardt probably had more in common with Wren, than her. She smiled then when Lyr talked of Wren's instincts. "He does," she confirmed. "More than me. More than anyone else I know. At least here in the dreaming." In the waking world? Less so, but considering how long the poor child had spent as a captive of the meddling twins, it only made sense that now, Wren would find childhood to be an awkward adjustment. "You could say he's a bit of an old soul hard at work, trying to reconcile himself to a younger one."

Eliza probably didn't appear very surprised when Lyr described how they had met. And she had no reason to believe he was lying. It sounded very much like Wren, in fact. "Eberhardt implied as much. Not so much that we needed to find him. But more in a sense that my presence was required," she said, watching the reunion between child and monkey, and the way that Eberhardt scampered up onto Wren's shoulder. She quirked a skeptical brow though when the man introduced himself. And then she grinned at the name she was given. "I suspect that mister Magpie is Wren's doing. But nonetheless, pleased to meet you. My name is Eliza," she said, and extended her hand in kind.

Of course she'd forgotten that with that same hand, she'd been holding onto the hatpin. Pressing her lips together and wearing a sheepish expression, she transferred the makeshift weapon to the pocket of her cloak. "You'll have to forgive me. A girl can never be too careful." And then she grinned as she grasped the man's hand. "My great aunt Fanneld once told me that a young woman should never leave the house without two things. Her best lipstick, and a good hatpin." It only occurred to her then that she'd been referred to as Wren's mother. She wasn't sure yet whether she should deny or confirm it.

"He's alright, Eliza. You won't need your hat pin," Wren said, having finally reached them, and when he did, Eberhardt took a giant leap, from Wren's shoulder to hers, where she once again turned her suspicious gaze on Lyr. The Emea born primate knew how to hold a grudge, it seemed. Even an undeserved one. "He's alright. I came here to find him and was waiting for him to catch up," Wren said. "And me?" she asked, and Wren as good as confirmed it, by shrugging his small shoulders. "Here, in particular?" she asked then.

"It's the best place. Even if you didn't know it." Eliza looked around again at the early morning paintbrush sky, and noted the butterflies and insects that had never strayed far from where they were standing. She smiled. "I do know," she said, for just a trill, forgetting that Lyr was there. "I do know it. It's my father's house." It was no wonder then, why she'd felt so at home, so welcomed, from the instant that she'd crossed the threshold. In a very real sense, the place was in her blood.

"Told you," Eberhardt piped up from her shoulder.

"You didn't," Eliza muttered.

But before she could answer the man's question, she needed to know more. "Why were you waiting for him Wren? Do you know him?" she asked, and Wren shrugged again. "I've never met him before. I just know that he can help." All it took really for Eliza to understand what Wren was referring to, was for the boy to reach up and grasp the locket in his hand. Hart. Eliza sighed and turned back to the man. "Wren isn't my son or my nephew. So far as I know, we don't share any blood connections." Then again, one never knew. She'd been alive more than two centuries now and had realized that family trees looked more like intricate spiderwebs. With so much time gone by, anything was possible.

Still, she was unsure until Wren reached out and took her hand. "It's ok, Eliza. You can tell him. I'll tell him what's left."

"I'm his guardian," she explained, having found no other word for a relationship like hers and Wren's. How could she explain after all that she and Wren had come together in much the same way that she and Eberhardt had? And that in a sense, she was helping a very old fellow more familiar with the dreaming than the waking world, learn how to become a child again? "When Emea fractured, I was there," she explained. And in fact, if the man thought back to his own dreams during that time, well, as she understood it, all dreamers on Idalos would have witnessed the coming undone. If he considered it long enough, he might even recognize her face. And Wren's. Then again, it had been a very chaotic moment. "Wren was there, and when everything came undone...." she said. "Wren and me, we've been trying to get him back home."

[Llyr Llywelyn]

A monkey born in Emea, what an interesting thing… Llyr considered this but kept the subject centered on the boy who’d brought him here. A gentle smile graced his lips when she decided to describe Wren as an old soul trying to be younger. While he couldn’t be certain of what she meant by it, he understood well enough through his own perspective. He made mention of the Veil and how Wren mostly guided him rather than the other way around.

He went to shake her hand, letting her believe what she wanted about his name of Magpie, and then he paused when he noticed the hatpin. His smile turned coy, and he quirked an eyebrow. He nodded, and replied in a lighthearted tone, “Yes, I suppose I’ll forgive you.”

They shook hands. He chuckled at the advice of great aunt Fanneld. “What lipstick do you have with you then?”

He glanced over when Wren approached and the monkey leaped over to join the boy. He settled with his hands folded behind him in a patient stance. He listened to the exchange between the woman and her charge, then he blinked when she made mention that they were … in her father’s house? That struck him as odd. He looked around again, then returned his gaze onto her. He remained quiet though.

So the two weren’t blood-related, but that didn’t mean they weren’t family. If anything, Wren seemed friendly and accepting of the woman’s presence so it wasn’t anything of conflict. Certainly he couldn't derive any reason to feel concerned about this woman. She struck him as any other dreamer in Idalos, though he remained aware by the intuitive sensations in his perceptions that they were elsewhere than a mere dreamscape.

He nodded, with little reaction to the idea that she was the boy’s guardian rather than mother or aunt. Such things mattered only specifically. After all, he was comfortable with adoption as a means of taking care of in-need youth. However, his steady composure faltered when she mentioned Emea’s fracturing…

Llyr lowered his hands to his side and glanced at Wren. His memories rushed, past the fixations of his own past, and he vaguely recalled the faces before him now that he’d been reminded.

“O-oh,” he said, then dryly swallowed. “I… I am very sorry, that must have been difficult for you both. You’re a kind woman to care for him as you are.”

A thought occurred to him from what she said. He asked, “Where is his home?”

He glanced at Wren, smiled slightly at the boy, then returned his attention to Eliza. He added, “Perhaps this is why. I am able to travel to certain areas. Given enough time, I may be able to locate wherever his home might be and take him there. Especially since he can already travel so freely in Emea, I don't see why I wouldn't be able to. It may take some time, but it is possible.”

Perhaps that was why Wren had wanted to find him, he supposed. He looked at the boy and his smile returned. The tall biqaj lowered his weight with a bend at his waist and spoke directly to the boy, “Is that it, Wren? Have you been wandering the Veil trying to find your way home?”

He straightened his posture, looked at Eliza. He considered mentioning to walk elsewhere with her, somewhere more private to speak, but he had a feeling that Wren might be able to hear them anyway. So he remained where he was and frankly said, “I doubt I have to tell you how dangerous that is, considering. Him being alone in this place... I do not believe it is because younger dreamwalkers are comparatively rare. It is my theory that there are so few dreamwalkers that are not in their adult arcs precisely because it is so dangerous and they do not manage to survive to adulthood to continue on.”

While the southern man didn't mean to frighten the woman, or make her uncomfortable, he did want to be entirely clear on how reckless it was for a child to be lucid in Emea alone - whether dreamscapes or otherwise. After a pause, he tried to lighten what he'd said by adding with a small forced laugh, “At least he is not a mage!”

Whatever might've said to it, he followed with a question spoken in a casual tone, “How are you faring, Eliza? It cannot have been easy to care for an unexpected child of Wren's age. I noticed the locket that Wren has, and the fine painting of the man inside. Is he your brother?”

“Do you have a husband or similar to help your household?” Llyr paused very briefly between his questions so to give some breathing space, but then he looked at the woman - shorter as she was - and he asked her without a speck of frivolity or amusement about the next forthright question, “Are you in need of any assistance?”

[Eliza Soule]

Eliza's description of Wren, an old soul more or less, was something that people said sometimes about children who seemed wise beyond their arcs. But in Wren's case, it wasn't just a saying. Although it seemed impossible to find the words that would do Wren's origins justice. His small body after all, did contain the soul of a very old man. One wizened not just by the arcs, but by cruelty and circumstances beyond his control.

Now that old soul was having to learn to navigate the now unfamiliar waking world as a child. Not an easy task, she didn't think. The daughter of Ymiden wasn't sure, even if she could find the words, that it was hers to tell. Except Wren didn't appear to remember' he only knew that he was different. Maybe it was best that way. "Well I've given you little choice," she told the winged man, with a smile, as they shook hands. Then in the wake of her next question, she slipped the hatpin into the pocket of her cloak, and pulled out a used paintbrush instead. Lipstick? Not exactly. "I prefer to do my painting on canvas," she explained, then dropped the brush back into her pocket. "I'm an artist."

"Eliza painted my locket," Wren said quietly then, and reached up to curl his hand around the enclosed portrait. Then the man appeared to recall; most likely snippets of dreams that were more than a season old now. It must have all been a shock to the slumbering dreamers on Idalos. Many of them must have wondered if what they witnessed was real or imaginary. It was much easier for Eliza to remember. She'd been there, and was hard pressed to forget it. "It's alright," she said, shaking her head to indicate that there were no apologies necessary. "It was difficult. We were all changed in some way. People lost, and people were lost. Some more than others. Wren and I had been through a lot. And when it all fell apart and turned to chaos, he was holding tight to my hand." There was no sense in leaving it out now. The man had seen, in his dreams, and might sooner or later remember anyway. "We ended up together and I've resolved somehow to get him back..."

"Home," Wren said, solemnly. It as good as confirmed the man's question. "He's not speaking of a physical place," Eliza explained. "To Wren, Hart is home." She frowned then, contemplating how many times she and Wren had attempted to find Hart, and failed. "The last place I know him to have been, was in Scalvoris. But that was many seasons ago. I believe he'd have lived on a boat and maybe moved from place to place. But we should have found him, here in the Veil." Which was why, of course, Wren spent so much time in Emea.

"Hart's not dead," Wren said stubbornly, as if someone might jump to the conclusion that Hart had died when it all came apart. Eliza didn't believe that however. She thought there might be another explanation. "After it happened, we...I at least," she said, frowning. "I was tormented by the same dream each night. But it was a broken one in need of repairing. I had to do so, in order to move on and dream freely again. If others experienced anything similar, if Hart did and has been unable to move on, then it's no surprise that we've failed to locate him. I don't even know if Hart realizes that Wren is...." She left the thought hanging in the air just a trill longer, before adding. "That he's with me."

If Hart had realized it, then surely he'd have come looking? Wren knew her thoughts though she'd never said it aloud. There were several explanations, one being that Hart might believe that Wren was gone forever. Again, it was nearly impossible to explain that Wren was indeed a young dreamwalker, and a child, but that many of his experiences were alike to those of an old man. Perhaps Wren might choose to tell, or not. "I think that at least here" she said, smiling slightly as she looked over the landscape again, "both Wren and I are safe from harm." She no longer saw the reasoning behind keeping her identity a secret. "It appears that this is my father's domain. Ymiden." It was enough to identify her as a mortalborn.

"Hart isn't my brother. We're not related beyond our experiences in Emea," she said when the man who called himself Magpie asked. "Though I suppose that anything is possible. When you've lived nearly two and a half centuries, the family tree begins to look more like a tangled web doubling over itself." Eliza grinned a little, and the quieter Wren grabbed on to the one revelation that had somehow passed him by till now. "That's old!" he said, in a typically childlike, no filters way. And Eliza fixed him with a playfully scolding, teasing look. "A lady's age is sacred Wren. Better not to invite the wrath."

As for how she was faring, or if she needed help, on the one hand life with Wren was a pleasure, and at times an adventure. But she also knew, had always known that it should be temporary. She'd never fallen into the role of being a mother. She wasn't, and Wren knew it as well as she did. "We've managed, Wren and me. I have a studio and home near Rharne. It's a nice, quiet place where a young boy has a lot to explore. My nearest neighbors are a retired lightening knight and thunder priestess. Elderly. They lost their only child when she was very young and they've fallen into the role of grandparents for Wren. They love him very much," she said, thinking of the old couple back home. Sir Wolfert wandering the forests in his dented up, antiquated armor or working in the garden. His wife in the kitchen or tending her chickens.

"I've been teaching Wren to paint," she added. "I've learned to cook a little but not terribly well." And then Wren piped up again. "Eliza makes good fried bread. I like it after she cuts the burnt edges off." Eliza smiled sheepishly. As for assistance? "I'm not sure how you could..." But then Wren stepped forward, reached out to take her hand and interrupted. "He can help. He's supposed to. That's why I was looking for him." Eliza's expression turned thoughtful, and concerned. "What do you mean, help? How do you know?" she asked.

"He can help me find home. I don't know how or why. I just do, like I know other things that I shouldn't. But it means I need to go with him," he said, and Wren's large, beautiful eyes were solemn and glistening with unshed tears as he looked back at Eliza. Wren and Eliza might not be mother and child. They might not be bound by any traceable bloodlines. But nonetheless, in a very real sense they'd become family, just as the old couple back home had done. Even the thought of sending Wren away with a stranger, of not knowing where he was going, how he'd fare, caused Eliza's expression in return to as good as mirror Wren's. "You say you know it Wren," she said gently, but then glanced the man's way. A meaningful gesture all on it's own. "But does he know it too?"

[Llyr Llywelyn]

At first, Llyr assumed that the paintbrush was some sort of odd makeup applicator until she clarified that it was meant for canvas. He glanced at Wren when he brought up the locket and he nodded slowly. “Ah, I see. Then you are accomplished. A locket portrait is so tiny, but the details are fine. Not that I know much about art or paintings, myself.”

The conversation turned from polite banter into what had brought them together – and about the common thread that was the fractured loss of Emea at the start of the Ymiden season. Llyr tried to not look as guilty as he felt. Though he’d gradually started to release his initial guilt toward the chaos that occurred, he still found himself wishing he had done something differently or changed the course of things somehow. It was a nice, but mostly delusional wish.

“Hart,” an apt name for a person meant to be home to the boy. He searched through his mental inventory of names, in wonder if he’d find it… and then he did. But was it the same Hart?

Llyr crossed his arms, a hand on his chin as he contemplated the slight connection and searched for any more memories or information that might aid the boy and his guardian’s search. His blue eyes glanced to look at Wren when he heard the stubborn insistence that Hart wasn’t dead. He didn’t say anything though, opting to listen closely to what Eliza told him.

Could whatever the woman was speaking about – in regard to the torment of an individually locked dream – be similar to what Kasoria had spoken to him about in Saun? About the destroyed Etzos he’d wandered in, and had to help put together, was this why Emea had returned? By the efforts of other dreamwalkers? The thought hadn’t fully connected for Llyr before now. Between what Kasoria had told him, and what Rakvald had written him… Then that meant Kasoria had helped bring Emea back into connection with the rest of Idalos… his heart momentarily swelled with an unusual sensation but one not entirely unknown: pride. He felt pride toward his initiate in that moment.

“It’s possible that it is the same for others,” he mentioned inbetween her words. “I have discussed it with a couple others and what they say is alike to what you mention, in regard to fixes and repairs and the broken nature of the dreamscapes.”

He surveyed the landscape as Eliza looked over it again. The irises of his eyes warmed to a yellow flowery hue, then he sharply switched his gaze to stare at the woman once she’d claimed that they were not only in an Immortal’s Domain – something he could believe as it was – but that she was… Ymiden’s daughter?

Llyr stared at her blatantly. He’d never met anyone who claimed immortal parentage, let alone confirmed it. The young biqaj hardly heard what else she said about Hart… until he caught nearly two and a half centuries… and away fell Llyr’s disciplined composure. His amber-lit eyes widened, his wings outspread behind him, and he dryly laughed when he heard Wren mention the age as well. If it were not for the child, he might’ve remained shocked for a bit more. Instead, he smiled and said, “I suppose compared to Immortals, two and a half centuries are comparable to a trial or two for us regular folks.”

He shuffled his feet against the grass, looked around the domain as if searching for something he hadn’t noticed before. Llyr nodded slowly when she mentioned they were living in Rharne. His thoughts still swam with what she’d said before. A bit too much so that he simply listened while looking between the woman and their surroundings… and then the boy as he made mention of help again.

The blond wasn’t certain what exactly was being discussed anymore. All he knew was that he had a ton of questions, a few tenuous connections, and a feeling that if he didn’t help… well, there simply wasn’t any other option. He had to help. Llyr cleared his throat, then inquired with the first pressing question, “By Hart, you mean the same Hart who is the child of Edasha, yes?”

“I didn’t realize that… th-that such titles meant actual lineage. Th-that they were more about… like a priest or… Do they mean like you say? You s-say your father’s domain? Your father, Ymiden? But not in the sense of worship, but… You’re over two centuries? I… H-how is that possible?” It felt like such a long time since that question last left his lips. The concept of impossible things had fallen far from his grasp since he'd taken a spark into his soul. Most everything seemed possible now, and he was inclined to believe the fantastical, but the woman being as old as she claimed - of immortal parentage - it rattled him. He rubbed at his brow, a vaguely baffled expression on his youthful features.

Llyr shook his head, got ahold of himself, and said, “Wren is correct that I can help. I am certain of it. My reach extends farther every trial, and I find myself traveling through Emea with greater ease. Whether it takes a short amount of time or not, is the only question.”

“You need not be separated,” he offered with a slight smile. “Though, I have a young slave girl who is a few arcs older than Wren. She is very familiar with caring for a child about Wren’s age. I purchased her to attend to my adopted daughter, who would’ve been nine in Saun, if she’d survived the plague. The girl has fallen incredibly lonely and depressed since the passing of my daughter. She’d likely find a degree of purpose with another child to look after, even if only for a short time.”

To have another charge could be the thing that Oceta required to get out of the depression she was so prone to. She’d been smiling and laughing, right up until Hazel had fallen ill on their journey across the Etzori territory. He recalled those memories with a slight pain in his chest that he absently rubbed at the spot in the center. He clarified, “But that is more… a thought. There is no need that he must come with me unless Emea would fall again, or something of that nature. I can brand you or your home, and guide him between places when and if needed. If you would like, he can remain with you while I search for this Hart... or he could spend some time in Etzos, as he seems intent on, likely in the case of quicker journey once I locate the man in question.”

[Eliza Soule]

"Thank you," Eliza said with a soft smile when the man complicated her work. In regards to Wren's locket in particular. "In fairness I've been painting and drawing for as long as I can remember. To have heard my grandfather Poppy tell it," she added, the smile transforming itself into a fond grin of remembrance, "I was drawing with chalk on the side of my crib before I was old enough to crawl out of it." Of course it had been a very tall tale on Poppy's part, since he'd been 'grandfather' to her in name, heart and soul, but not by blood. So far as she knew. In fact she'd witnessed her beloved kin's life playing out from cradle to grave.

It seemed to her that Magpie had been somehow affected by her revelations about the fracturing of Emea, and what must be done to put things to rights. It was an expression on others' faces that she'd seen more than once. All of Idalos as she understood it had witnessed the same events that she and others had experienced, and the things that they'd done. But while others had seen all in what must have been a dizzying glance. those who had lived it had done it slowly. How confusing it must be for them.

Meanwhile, Wren had settled down cross-legged on the grass, across from Eberhardt, and the two of them were keeping themselves busy with marbles and and a small piece of string pulled into a loop. The little primate had somehow conjured the things, as usual from out of her pocket. It occurred to her, not for the first time, that Eberhardt knew more about being a child, than Eliza could even remember. It had been too many eras since then. Sometimes Eberhardt was Wren's only playmate.

"I believe it must be," she said, when the man wondered about others who'd been in the same position as she. "A single dream, only that one, as if played out in a loop, of a broken place that must be repaired. I can only assume that each experience has been different for each of us who were there. And conceivably, as many different solutions as there were puzzles." As for her own? Once she'd stopped fighting it. Stopped trying to force oddly shaped pieces into places they'd never again fit easily. "Like a chipped teacup. What's been broken can always be fixed. But what's fixed will always been broken. I took an approach that I hoped my own father might approve of. Not repair, but rebirth." Of course what had worked for her, might not for others.

Magpie seemed more than surprised by her revelation, and Eliza wasn't terribly surprised. She'd seen that look before. At least in this man's case, it wasn't instant revulsion, or even fear written all over his face. The latter was one of the reasons that up until recently, she'd rarely revealed her own origins to others. Some weren't as receptive to mortalborn as others were. "Two hundred and thirty-six arcs, to be exact," she said. "But close enough to two and a half I suppose." And yes, "That Hart. Have you met him?" she asked hopefully.

The rest though was complicated. "Lineage, yes. My mother was human," she said, and reached up to the neckline of her cloak and tugged on a delicate silver chain. Out came a small oval locket, more stylized in a feminine way than Wren's was. The locket wasn't just ornate however, it was an antique. At least two centuries old if not more. Flicking it open, she showed the man what was inside. One one panel, a portrait of a beautiful young woman with blonde waves tumbling over one shoulder, and fixed to the opposite panel, a lock of faded blonde hair. "She left me with others at birth. But she left this for me. As I understand it, she loved my father very much." As for whether or not the reverse had been true, she might never know.

"We mortalborn live such a time that it might as well be thought of as forever. And within our reach are abilities that spring from our Immortal parents," she explained. "One of my own, latent abilities however, means that I have matured differently than other mortalborn do. Usually a mortalborn will grow to maturity within twenty arcs or so. For me, well it's complicated, but it has taken me over two centuries to achieve the same, relative age. It hasn't come without it's challenges," she said and sniffed with amusement. That had been putting it mildly to say the least.

In spite of her own experiences in Emea, clearly this man was more experienced than her. Wren might be more experienced than the both of them put together. Except that there were things that he didn't seem to remember. If he remembered any of his life or any of what had happened to him before he'd died an old man and been reborn a child, he'd certainly never let on. Which made this new life all the more confusing for him, Eliza was sure. But because she was fairly sure that he didn't remember, she never spoke of it herself. Not to him and not to others. It would only cause him more confusion, and perhaps a great deal of pain as well. That was for Hart to tell, she was sure, if he was ever to choose to.

So this man could help, without requiring a separation? Eliza's eyes widened in the hope that it might be possible, but as if reading her thoughts, Wren looked up and shook his head. "I'm supposed to go with him, Eliza." But for such a young child, those who don't usually possess that sort of sensitivity to the feelings of others, he said it quietly, sympathetically. Even sadly. But she wasn't quite convinced just yet, and she hadn't lived nearly two and a half centuries without having developed something of a stubborn streak. On the other hand, while Wren might not remember his previous life, exactly, his instincts were unlike any other on Idalos. Perhaps they were better than her own.

"I'm very sorry for you loss," she said, when Magpie revealed the loss of his own young daughter. She might never have had a child of her own, but Eliza understood loss as well as anyone if not more. She'd experienced the loss of dozens, tens of dozens of loved ones by now. Because she trusted Wren's insight so completely, she was caught in a very strange place. Reality and logic were one thing, but the heart didn't always agree. Wren wasn't her child, she'd always known that her care taking role was a temporary one. But she loved him, and he was family nonetheless.

As if sensing her struggle, Wren got up from the ground and reached up, and she crouched down to meet him. He wrapped his arms around her. "It's ok, Eliza. I'll write letters to you. Send you painted pictures like you've taught to me do. I'll send them to Sir Wolfert too and I'll come visit you. Right?" he said, turning his large eyes on Lyr. Expecting nothing less than what he'd promised the woman he'd come to see as family too. She hugged the child as if she'd never let him go.

"Your eyes are leaking," Eberhardt observed dryly, bluntly, and Eliza couldn't help but snort, in spite of her dampened cheeks. It was Eberhardt's way, a dry, sharp edged way of interacting. But Eliza wasn't fooled. The little monkey had as big a heart as any, and wasn't any more eager to see Wren go than she was.

"I know you will. And I'll write to you too. And I'll expect you to visit. But I'm not sure if Magpie has decided?" Clearly Wren believed he knew the right course. But "Wren is special. Special in ways that can't be easily explained," she said, standing and facing the winged man. There was an implied promise there too. If this man wasn't all he'd presented himself to be, if he harmed one hair on the boy's head, either by deliberation or neglect, she'd hunt him down and end him herself. Two had a half centuries had also provide him with a good deal of scrap.

"But perhaps the presence of another child might do him some good," she suggested. "Our little home outside of Rharne, in Caervalle Town, is mostly populated by retired Lightening Knights and Thunder Priestesses. They are wonderful, warm and caring, but there's rarely any young children around for Wren to interact with." And how could Wren learn anew how to live as a child, if there were few or none to interact with? He'd already begun picking up Sir Wolfert's quirky, if antiquated speech mannerisms and sayings. He'd complained on occasional mornings about the gout, even though she was fairly sure he had no idea what it was. She wasn't clear on that herself, in fact.

"That sounds right, doesn't it? If I go with him?" Wren said then when Magpie seemed to offer something of a solution. Branding her, so that Wren could visit her, go from place to place, and she could reassure herself that he was alright and that Magpie was doing right by him. It was probably the best solution to be found, since Wren was determined to go. Even though his eyes looked a little teary as well, knowing they'd be saying goodbye. Seeing this, Eliza smiled and shook her head. "Do you know what my Poppy used to tell me Wren?" The boy shook his head. "He told me, never say goodbye. Instead, say see you later."

"Perhaps then, what my great aunt Beatrice might have referred to as a trial run?" she said to Lyr. "Wren's instincts have never been wrong. It would be wrong of me to question them now. We am currently visiting Desnind, but I will be returning home to Caervalle Town before the end of the cold season." Ordinarily she'd have added, 'weather permitting'. But the existence of the flutterbus that could carry her from Desnind to Scalvoris quickly, and the portal between Scalvoris and Rharne that would send her home in an instant, made that qualifier all but unnecessary.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Like a chipped teacup. What’s been broken can always be fixed. But what’s fixed will always been broken.

Llyr considered this statement once Eliza had shared it. Similar to conclusions made in certain texts he read in the library while searching for discourse on etiquette and the upper-class mannerisms of socialization, drawn to the philosophical bent of it, he smiled slightly and nodded.
But he was soon distracted by the woman’s claim of being Ymiden’s child.

“Two hundred and thirty-six arcs…” he repeated in a whisper. He blinked. That made her 217 arcs older than him. His eyes widened. How much had this woman seen? How much must she know! He felt an urge to inquire on so many things, all at once, that he managed to keep quiet and focus on the task at hand instead. Certainly, she hadn’t shared her age so that she’d be bombarded with question after question from someone like him.

He wasn’t sure what to think about the whole matter. While he’d heard myths in brief moments of stories shared in taverns and books, he hadn’t thought that Immortals would bother with something like mating with mortals. Llyr stared at Eliza, now trying to figure out if he could notice anything different about her that should have given him a clue as to her nature. There wasn’t much to find though. She looked so ordinary, more so than himself. She just looked like a regular human.

Looking at the locket that she shared with him, he smiled politely at the woman painted in it and the lock of hair. Abilities, she mentioned, and he looked to make eye contact with Eliza. The irises of his eyes were a warm amber. He nodded slowly and then said, “That’s quite… extraordinary.”

He cleared his throat, then shook his head, “I encountered a Hart, child of Edasha, within Emea last season. I do not know what became of him, the last I recall… he departed through a portal.” Some memories flickered back to him, then disappeared just as quick. He sighed.

Though he offered, in understanding how a guardian might feel about the separation with a child they’d decided to care for, the boy in question spoke up for himself. Llyr wasn’t about to argue with the precocious child. He believed that children could speak for themselves from time to time, despite their lack of experiences. Llyr glanced at Eliza, thinking about her age again, and feeling a tad overwhelmed by the thought of it. Over two hundred arcs… My, he thought to himself. What could be accomplished within that span of time!

Though from what she’d said, it sounded like most of Eliza’s time had been spent growing up into the woman she now was. He considered the idea of that to be vaguely frustrating.

He nodded when Eliza offered her sympathy for the loss of his adopted daughter, Hazel. Llyr had mostly moved past it, and he still had Hazel’s presence in the form of her ghost – though that more reminded him of his failings in the matter than anything else… he briefly mentioned to the woman, an instinct driving him to do so, “She resides in Idalos still. As a ghost, that is. She seems unable to cross over… or unwilling… I am not sure which.”

Llyr stepped back, folded his hands behind him, and allowed the mortalborn and her ward their moment together. He considered various potential options while he listened, and when Wren looked at him, he simply nodded. The boy seemed to have some sort of understanding in mind, and Llyr wasn’t the sort of man who would question intuition of that nature. He lived much his own life on similar intuition. He felt no awkwardness toward the tender and gently sorrowful moment. It was appropriate, given the situation. Llyr didn’t try to interrupt it or lessen it with humor or curtness. He simply offered patience and let them have however much time Eliza might require.

“Is Wren the child of an Immortal as well?” inquired Llyr directly when Eliza made mention that the boy was special. He assumed this for the context of what he’d just learned, though he didn’t miss the implication in the woman’s tone when she’d said it. His gossamer wings fluttered slightly behind him before neatly folding again.

“Rharne. Caervalle Town,” he repeated aloud so he’d more likely recall the address of Eliza’s home.

“Wren, if you are capable of entering the Veil on your own,” said Llyr and he gestured to Eliza. “Then you should be able to brand Eliza for yourself as well.”

He looked to Eliza and spoke directly to her, “I will also do so, in the case of the unexpected, but it would not hinder for him to also be directly connected to you. This will make it so that if he is ever lost in Emea, he will be able to find you. For that matter, he might also brand me, and it will create more options for him. A trial run sounds suitable, especially if you are currently residing in Desnind. This will keep him from enduring such a long journey.”

The young mage gestured to the woman, for her to approach closer to him. “I shall brand you, but first…”

Llyr took a few steps to meet Eliza’s approach, whether she followed his gesture or not, and he fiddled with a satchel attached to the back of his belt. He thought about what he wished to find, and the bag supplied it to his fingers within trills. Llyr took out the pair of scrolls. He unbound them, then handed one to Eliza. “Given your… I’ll assume you know this is an echo scroll. I will give Wren the other, and you may communicate to one another directly through them.”

He handed the other scroll to Wren. The boy took it from him and examined it with curiosity evident on his young features.

“If Wren requires any lessons of study, I will attend to finding him a respectable tutor during his time within my household,” informed Llyr. “From time to time, I will make effort to visit you or write to you so that I might inform you of how the search for this Hart is going. Again, I do not expect it to take long.”

“Now.” He said in a final way, latching the satchel secure again. Llyr took a short breath, then raised a hand. He showed his palm to Eliza in a surrender gesture and said, “Please… if you would but hold still. I am only going to brand you, and it is a painless process. After, Wren might attempt to do the same in his own way.”

Llyr looked at Wren and said to the boy, “Brands are highly specific things, Wren. You must follow your instincts as how best to place them on others, or in locations. For my teacher when I learned of Emea, he branded differently from how I perform it. So, do not think you should copy my action. Rather, follow the energy itself until you feel the warmth of a light…”

“Like this,” he mentioned as prelude. His hand gently went to Eliza’s cheek. He waited for her to adjust to the direct touch of his palm against her skin. His fingers brushed her dark hair out of the way. The lanky biqaj leaned down, then he kissed her in a chaste manner on the lips. A brilliant white light flared up between them. Within Ymiden’s domain, a perfume fragrance of wildflowers gathered. The light transformed into a flurry of pollen and leaves, emean-constructed butterflies flew up and around. Then it faded.

Llyr returned to his tall, soldierly posture and removed his touch from her. He nodded while he watched the brand on her lips fade from general view. “Now, you try with Miss Eliza, Wren.”

[Eliza Soule]

Eliza smiled, both bemused and somewhat sympathetic in response to the man's expression once she'd revealed what she was, and how old. She'd seen that look a handful of times now, to one degree or another. The revelation tended to bring up all sorts of questions, sometimes asked aloud and sometimes not. Not that she'd made a habit of going around informing others about her lineage. In this case, however, if she was going to entrust this man with Wren's care and safekeeping, then transparency seemed the right policy to keep. So much as she felt able to.

Putting the locket she'd showed him away, Eliza nodded. "Mortalborns in general face challenges that may not seem obvious to those with more predictable lifespans," she observed. Especially those who wanted to keep their origins a secret from others. She might be more tempted herself, had she been sired by an Immortal like Aelig or another more nefarious seeming Immortal. "At times I've found the subject of history particularly tricky. Many read about things that I've witnessed firsthand. And when the two don't necessarily match up?" she added and grinned, then shrugged. She'd had a time of it when she was younger and being schooled by mortal instructors. The temptation to point out truth versus what had been written by the winners or those with agendas, had been nearly more than she could resist.

But that was by the by. What mattered now was Wren and his keeping. And finding Hart. She hated to think that Hart might still be struggling with moving on through Emea. Much like she had before she'd managed to repair her assigned bit of it. "At first I assumed that surely Hart must know where Wren was. But then I thought of the chaos of that last moment, all of it falling apart. None of us knew where the others were. Even those standing an arm's length away. He must be going mad with worry." Or worse, she thought, but wouldn't say while Wren was close by, Hart might even believe that Wren had been lost forever.

As for Magpie's own loss, Eliza frowned. "My own understanding is that some souls choose not to move on for one reason or another, and some others are unable to. In your daughter's case, it may be a combination of each. When Emea fell to pieces, it's as if a door was closed. Spirits, those of the dead, have since been unable to move on, to leave. At the same time, no new children have been born on Idalos, because what souls are waiting to be incarnated, also cannot pass through. Until all is repaired, it may continue to be the way of things." It was as if the door between had been slammed shut. Or if one took a more philosophical view, it could be argued that there was a finite number of souls in existence, and would ever be just that number. But the cycle, along with Emea itself, had been disrupted.

"He is not," she said when asked, was Wren a mortalborn. It remained a moment of indecision, since Wren remembered little, if anything at all of his former life. She believed it would be too traumatic for him to have all revealed in a rush. Somehow she needed to find a way to say it, but without saying too much. Frowning curiously, she stepped away, urging the man to follow her so that she could speak in a whisper without Wren overhearing. "When I say that Wren is an old soul, it's not just a saying. He is not a mortalborn and he is not immortal. He is the embodiment of his previous self, a good soul and one that endured a great deal of suffering at the hands of others. He died in Emea, and he was reborn here as well. He was owed better than he'd gotten, and he's received it. He remembers very little of his previous suffering. Wren is a child in every way that matters, so unless the memories return on their own, then better for him if he doesn't remember."

"I'm sorry. I know that what I've told you may cause you to want to know more. But it's not for me to say more. That's for Wren, or for Hart. What I can and will tell you, is that those who hurt him, are no longer in a position to do so again." Eliza wouldn't be responsible for causing trauma that could all too easily be avoided. And she she rejoined Wren and Eberhardt. So it seemed that she and Wren would be able to see each other, and communicate as much as they liked. And it went a long way towards easing her concerns. "I'm familiar with them, yes," she said while taking the scroll she was handed. "Thank you." A tutor would be a very good thing, she thought. "My elderly neighbors taught him a little gardening, and I've given him painting lessons. But as for schooling, arrangements were going to have to be made. It's about time he started receiving a proper education."

The daughter of Ymiden hesitated only briefly when he extended his hand. To be branded? Her feelings were mixed. Eliza had been marked by her father, and had welcomed it. She'd been marked by Vri, and Pier and Pre though she hadn't been asked. It was too late to wonder, had she been asked, would she have accepted. But this was for Wren. All of it was for Wren and so she extended her hand as requested. Of course she'd never expected such an intimate gesture. The caressing of her cheek, the tucking of a strand of her hair behind her ear was more so than the kiss. Her eyes widened in surprise when he did it, though to her credit and probably the man's welfare, she didn't respond in quite the same way as she had the last time a drunken knight on the streets of Rharne had taken liberties he hadn't been offered. Could be that drunkard was still limping even now.

This was much different however and the burst of white light, the springing up of flowers was enough to cause her to smile, though still surprised when she stepped back. Her cheeks, to be fair, had gone a little pink. But she managed to grin a little, and then chuckled. "Is that how you brand everyone?" she asked, mostly teasing and not expecting a response. Besides, Wren spoke up and cut off any more that she might have said. In typical childlike fashion no less. "Ewww! I don't want to kiss a girl." Eliza shook her head. "Of course you don't. You do it your way."

It took Wren a full bit, but finally he climbed up off the ground and came to stand in front of Eliza. Gazing up at her, he extended his hand, palm tilted up and towards her, and spread his fingers wide. "Do you remember?" he said, and Eliza smiled. It wasn't so much what Wren said, but what he didn't. There were moments, like this one, when a glimpse of that very old and tortured, but wise soul filtered through. In turn, she crouched down on the ground at his level, and nodded as she reached out, placed her palm against his and they tangled their fingers together. "When you woke up in Caervalle Town and asked me how you'd gotten there...I said, just like this. Hold on tight, never let go." That's what she'd told him when it had all come apart, to stop him being lost.

It was through that simple gesture, palms together, fingers intertwined, as intimate a gesture as was the kiss or the stroke of a cheek, that worked it's magic. The boy was a natural it seemed, and it was done. Smiling again, Eliza stood and Wren said solemnly, to both of them. "It's time." Not for goodbyes, Eliza knew, but for see you laters.