All That Glitters...

[Jen]

There was sand as far as the eye could see. It could really play with the mind, especially the ones that had been in Xexoria before the end. This island, however, was only a fraction of what Xexoria had once been and the desert was slowly being swallowed by forest and jungle. In time, given the changes, it wasn't a far cry to believe it might all be covered in foliage some day.

Isabella cut the glare of sun and sand by shielding her eyes with her hands. She raised up slightly to get a better view from atop one of the taller sand dunes.

"Still nothing. How can this desert seem as endless as the old one? Its a fraction of the size!" Isabella called back to the group as she half slid, half walked down the dune.

"Illusion was everything to this Kingdom once. Its not unusual that the land would reflect that." Kahlan shifted her weight from one foot to another. They had only been at this traveling for three days and she wagered they would reach Rivenfelde's crater in at least two more days. It couldn't take that long to get across this forsaken land. That meant that the time was drawing near for Igraine and Kahlan to part ways with the group. There was still so much to do for Ulster that could not be put off.

"What do you think, Vylrath. Should we make shelter in the shade of this dune for the day? Its bound to get unbearably hot very soon." Isabella looked up at the sky as the sun slowly made its way to the midday point. As she surveyed the sky she could hear people dropping packs and pulling canvas out to rig extra coverage as they passed the day dozing, waiting for nightfall and the time to move.

[Vylrath]

Vylrath knew that he had been making poor choices as of late. So, to save himself the grief of humiliation, he decided to simply agree with the woman asking the questions. “Yes, we should.” Isabella knew that he had run out of argument- they were lost without him and he was lost without her. (It was his belief - through much hard-learned lessons- that a King was not a King without his Queen. By right, he had caused the fall of Xexoria, and she was the true Queen who was giving it life again.)

“The night will favor us.” Without so much as an explanation as to why it would, he buried the blade of the sword into the sand and sat against the thick cavity wall of the dune. “I’ll take watch until morning. A little exhaustion won’t kill me.”

[Jen]

Bella helped set the canvas tents up and when everyone was comfortably under the medium sized rigging, she stepped outside to bring Vylrath a skin of water. She knelt next to him for a moment, looking out at the desert they had already traversed. He wouldn't die, but the heat of the day would be anything but kind.

"We have plenty of water for this journey thanks to Caela. She really is handy with her Vuri power." Her daughter had managed, somehow, to ingest Fae-like powers of healing and herbalism. She was much calmer too, since her change. In the end it was something that Vylrath had unintentionally given his daughter that managed to work itself out to a good end. A good end that didn't mean she was pregnant with his child.

As if beckoned by the thought of his patronage, Trydian stepped out of the tent. His silver hair shone brilliantly in the desert sun, and his skin -- tanning so easily in the sun, looked somewhat red today, irritated no doubt by the cloth of his tunic. He had his back to his grandmother and father, and it was obvious he wasn't paying them any attention. It was most likely becoming somewhat quiet as the group settled in under the tent.

"You should make amends." Isabella pressed her lips to Vylrath's temple and rose, making her way back to the tent to get some rest.

------------

"Why do you bother with him?" Trydian spoke with his back to the tent, and Vylrath.

"I have known him longer, and I know his heart -- even if he does not know it."

"You don't even know what he's put us through!" Trydian's hands curled into fists as he crossed his arms. "My mother..."

Isabella shifted in the sand behind Trydian, coming to stand beside her grandson. She rested her hand on his forearm, feeling the tension, and despite it she smiled.

"Your mother is my daughter. I regret that I was not strong enough to birth her and live. She is a strong woman, though. Do not demean her by holding anger against your father. She is stronger because of him, in more than one way."

Trydian pressed his hands to his face and shook his head, his silver hair coming partially loose in his attempt to shake thoughts and feelings out of his head. He sighed heavily and looked over at his grandmother, a light rueful smile spread across his lips as he watched her.

"I'm glad you're back. You keep his head on straight."

"Well, I need you to get yours straight. His heart is in the right place, if its a little screwed up."

"I will try."

"That is all I ask."

Trydian watched his grandmother walk into the tent, talk to the forms stretched on the ground, and knew that she was a good woman and must have been a great Queen. His eyes flickered over to where Vylrath was seated and he trudged through the sand to come close to him. The old feelings were there, but he wasn't about to alienate this demon turned man if he didn't have to.

"Need company?"

[Vylrath]

He was quickly foreshadowed by something unexpected: his son. “I think my most reliable company is in a bottle…” Regardless of his thoughts toward Trydian, he motioned for him to sit near him. It would be like signing their death if he decided to fight him now- Vylrath knew that much. Sighing, he could hardly believe, that this young man came from him and Caela.

“You aren’t a demon. I don’t know what you are, but you are not a demon…” He had never actually studied his son before- his gait, appearance, all resembled Caela in every way. Vylrath sourly doubted that the man had actually even been in war- how could he of commanded anything?

“I suppose your mother sent you?” Looking at the boy’s face, he quickly changed his thoughts. “I see…well, what do you want to talk about?” He struggled to keep composure, never really having felt comfortable around Trydian. Whether, the boy or his grandmother, wanted to admit it, Trydian’s mind was always calculating.

The tension continued to fray between them, and he wondered which one would break first. He couldn’t have been more joyous to see the daylight- if only it would hurry up with its natural cycle.

[Jen]

Trydian sat next to his father, resting his wrists over his knees. He never looked at Vylrath, but that he consented to even sit within reach of the man was sign that he was trying.

"Grandmother said something to me that made sense." He started, picking at a piece of dry grass between his feet with his fingertips. "She said that you have changed and that you care even if you don't show it. She said that she knows you better than you do." At the last he smiled and looked at his father.

"Has she always been this pushy? What was she like before she had my mother? She seems so sad when she looks at Mother. She regrets." Trydian couldn't stop the word vomit and so he looked expectantly at his father. This was the first time he'd ever, in his young life, spoken more than hatred and fear in Vylrath's presence. Trydian plucked the piece of dried grass out of the ground and fiddled with it as he studied it.

"Why Mother? You could have avoided making me, because I am a demon. Mother doesn't regret me, but I know you do. I am comfortable with what I am and who I am, even if I don't appear to be. My role is simple compared to yours. I am to protect Mother, Sebilla, and Grandmother. Mother doesn't understand why you picked her, beyond blood." Trydian tossed the piece of grass into the wind and watched it tumble across the sand. He didn't understand a lot of things and he didn't know if he would be making much progress, but hell -- at least he was trying!

"Has Grandmother always been this good at making people do the things that she wants? I bet she was a great Queen." Trydian stared off into the distance as he spoke aloud the thought he had just minutes before.

[Vylrath]

Beyond blood….did he mean anything to them beyond blood? “Your grandmother could always get people to do her bidding and it was always for the better. I, on the other hand, saw her world differently. I wanted it for myself, including her.” Isabella had been different, thrown into the thrall of politics before he had met her, and he had always felt that he had been a sort of savior to her madness.

He was actually the greatest cause of it.

“You see that blade of grass? I was just like that…aimlessly wandering, caught against a greater force, and only caring about what I stumbled across. I didn’t have any real goals and your mother was never foreseen in my future. I knew my duty was to my blood- that’s how demons are brought into their natural world. We fight for survival, uncaring of the outcome.”

Vylrath knew Isabella would be listening and he felt a desire to burden Trydian with their history. “I married your grandmother so that she would not be given to Man- who could be considered worse than Demons.” Remembering Raynalios and the political plot, he muttered his final words uncomfortably. He shifted in the sand, letting himself get comfortable, annoyed that his words could carry against the wind.

“I didn’t think anything was going to come of it. I didn’t see a future with her- I was a political tool, a title, to keep the greedy Men from taking their share. She was a great Queen and I let myself become lost in the war that I had originally wanted to create- I abandoned her.”

How could he keep going? The emotions were new, but the history was still living inside him.

However, he knew that Isabella would mentally prod him, if he suddenly stopped his history lesson with Trydian.

“The world was basically lost because of my abandonment and her death. I came back to Caela out of madness. I wanted her dead- all reminders of your mother to be lost forever! I ravaged her and took her innocence. That’s how you were made.” He brought up a hand to silence Trydian, should he start to retaliate against his words.

“I only regretted it after I changed. I killed her lover and was given these stranger powers. Kahlan changed me…if I were still a demon, I’d of probably killed you, or Caela by now.” He continued to explain his reasoning, “Natural demons are not held by family, or any other types of bonds -the fact that others wanted your mother kept me tied to her. I am attracted to power and couldn’t stand to see her fall to someone like that. I couldn’t stand to lose and now I’m sitting in this shithole.”

Power was everything where he was originated from. It had kept him immortal, with a driven animosity.

To see such an empty world, made him wonder why these creatures continued to make new paths. What did their history prove? That they preserved? It was a bleak reminder that nothing good may come of this. The talk put him in a foul mood, reminding him of his dark past and the obstacles ahead.

“I don’t regret you…I regret what you are. You are a better son, than my first…you have a spine. He couldn't even face me or your grandmother when he tried to backstab us. You have true power- more than you know.” He spoke those out loud, uncaring if Isabella, or Caela overheard. The power in his son made him envious for his old self back, but he knew that change came with reason. Perhaps the Gods weren't completely dead afterall. Something had gotten them this far.

He knew Isabella was sleeping in her tent, but it wouldn’t doubt him if she stayed awake long enough to hear their conversation.

“Your mother is bent on restoring this shitter- I’m just here for the muscle. The bastards threw me in the arena, when I stepped on their pride. I thought your grandmother was a Goddess…” Memories flooded his tired mind, while he began to doze against the dune.

[Jen]

Caela stepped out of the tent after some time had passed. She stretched her arms and pressed her hands firmly against the small of her back. She wasn't a very tall woman, but she wasn't short either. The sun played off her blonde hair, scattering like a thousand diamonds across her face and shoulders. She was beautiful, and there was a significant change in her. Once she had been a red head, a tan woman, a half demon succubus. Now, well now she was Vuri.

What was a Vuri? Well none of the three in existence really knew what they were capable of. They had their limits, yes. Caela's own powers seemed to revolve around plants and nature. It had been a gift of her's since Xexoria.

Xexoria. Standing on the soil that had been her home for so long, and had turned its back on her when she'd needed it most felt so strange to Caela. She shaded her eyes with her hands, scanning the horizon for signs of life. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she turned back to the tent, only to be stopped in her tracks.

Trydian and Vylrath, together? What force could cause those two to sit so close and share even the same breath? A wry smile set itself on Caela's lips as she crossed her arms and stared at her father and her son. Perhaps things could be different in this home away from home. Her mother had a way with words and with people, a talent Caela had only a small knack for. In the end, it had been Caela's demonic heritage that had unsettled her hold on Xexoria.

Would the people bend to a Vuri any easier? They weren't demons, wraiths, zombies, or even vampires -- they weren't any different than most immortal creatures, except perhaps in their drastic ability to change -- Caela moreso than Isabella and Vylrath. As Caela wandered over toward Vylrath and Trydian she hoped that her mother could hold this land. At least she still looked human.

The exiled Queen of Xexoria smiled, her deep blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight, reflecting the promise of the night of travel to become.

"How are things, gentlemen?"

[Vylrath]

Caela surprised him, his natural instinct to grab the sword. He had completely turned into a fighting stance, with the blade just resting a few inches off of her neck at a side angle. The motion had only been interrupted, because of his startled realization.

“…Caela!” He gave her a stupid expression, blank of any excuse. What could he say to her? The last he had been with her, he had killed her lover- thus, the reason why they were the way they were.

“Sit with us if you want, but you should be in the tent with your mother! I’m here to stay watch- I could’ve killed you and Trydian wouldn’t of been able to anything about it…” Vylrath held the sword close to him, the connection obviously taking hold on his new soul. It was luck that Kahlan had replenished his soul, but at what cost?

“Maybe you can enlighten your son on why your mother is the way she is.” He made himself comfortable again, the sword not leaving his side. It rested against his body, almost mimicking a shield with its broad size.

[Agony>Misery]

Vylrath could say what he liked, but for the same split second that Vylrath had come out of his sleepy daze and turned on his mother, so, too had Trydian managed to scramble to his feet, coming up with a knife from inside a hidden place at his belt. Grumbling silently, he stayed his own weapon, and stared between his parents expectantly. As uncomfortable as this new situation made him, he was curious, and so waited in silence, not mentioning the disrespect he was witnessing. So much that was unnatural had been laid out before him. His father spoke of his ways, and that of true demons, if any of it were true, and Trydian himself were less human, would he feel the same way about his own bonds? Perhaps if his heritage were slightly different, he would have to worry about killing Caela just as Vylrath did. An epiphany. Suddenly there was a newfound guilt he felt for every time he had judged his father. What if their roles were reversed? What if it was Trydians' instincts and emotions were his own inhibitors?

Trydian couldn't imagine ever having to control himself to keep from harming family. He worked quickly to clear his features of his inner struggle, as he strained to concentrate on what his mother might have to say in response to Vylrath's prodding.

[Jen]

Unpreturbed by Vylrath's overreaction, Caela took a seat on the sand and pointed to the ground.

"You would be less entertaining Father, if you didn't try to remove my head from my shoulders." Caela smiled at Trydian and reached behind her head and tied her long hair in a hasty knot to keep it off her neck.

"Your grandmother has a way with people. She's very strong willed and does not back down very easily. Now, with your father's powers, she is even more alluring and hard to resist. This will make rebuilding and gathering our people under one banner much easier." Caela glanced over at Vylrath and picked up a handful of sand and threw it at his face.

"Wake up. You already got yourself killed once. Mother nearly had heart failure and Kahlan is still very weak. Show some respect for the women that have cared about you at least and try not to let them be killed." Caela turned her attention back to Trydian and smiled.

"Son, I'm glad to see that you have decided to speak with your father. I know its hard, believe me..." Caela looked pointedly at Vylrath and shook her head. If anyone knew just how difficult it was to deal with Vylrath, the scars on Caela's back and torso were plenty of evidence. Her father had taken pleasure in flaying skin from her back for not doing the dishes, or not feeding his fighting dogs, or even for so much as looking at him crossly. He had not been a very loving father, and had done horrible things to her because of the death of her Mother. In the end it drove the desire to fight and be a demon from her body. She didn't have the stomach to do things demons did.

"Don't worry. You'll never have to witness what he has done, or even be party to what he has done. His days of tormenting me and this family are over. He can try, but I doubt your Grandmother would stand for it."

[Vylrath]

“Why would I torment this family? I need this family alive…I need your mother, not just for running a Kingdom.”

Before he could finish his speech, the sand in his eyes tossed by Caela, let him be reminded of a woman’s wrath. “Ye want me blind!?” His old accent returned with a quick temper. He could be seen staggering in surprise, while his grip lost the sword. His sight returned and his anger only increased when he had to look at his daughter.

“I don’t know why my demonic form was desperate enough for you, but I won’t make that same mistake twice! I feel sorry for any bloke who puts up with it.” Hadn’t he eaten the last bloke who had tried to be with Caela? He chuckled out loud, the joke private in his mind.

Without hesitation, his hand reached for the sword. The power he displayed, went unnoticed by its master, completely distracted by his thoughts on Caela’s relationship with him. What happened next might even shock Isabella.

The sword was pulled by a circular motion of dark mass. It left his fingers and arched upward and completed the circle with the sword at his grasp. From the bystanders view, it would seem as if he had purposely called the, “magick”. However, Vylrath simply continued to look onward, his mind a mess of contemplation and anticipation.
Whether or not Vylrath realized, the sword was quickly becoming fixed to his soul. The dark stuff resting in his veins was merely an outlet for the sword to react to.

He kept the sword at his side, comforted by the weapon.

“We need to get moving…”

[Agony>Misery]

Trydian, put off by the ending of the insights into his parents' psyches, sighed and pulled himself away from them. He trudged off diagonally up the dune they were resting upon, and headed to the rear of the makeshift campsite, kicking at the ground as he shuffled along it. There was a temporary relief from the extremes of the desert as it got later, sometime between blistering heat, and the freezing cold of night. The dune was much steeper on this side, and the slope took him a good distance away from the others, no longer able to hear the murmuring of his family. After sliding the majority of the slope, he collapsed backward, resting against a patch of pitiful-looking grass, sparsely sticking up from the base of the formation of sand.

His eyes drifted closed, not out of fatigue, but to drown out visual distractions while he lost himself in thought. Who knew what they would find of what remained of Xexoria. He, as did so many others, occasionally wondered if this place was worth all the war and strife that those connected it had suffered over and over again for it. At times, it could seem nothing but a forsaken patch of sand between the cliffsides on the Algerothorian border and the sea to the east. But then, when the warring stopped, a magical thing could happen. Between tyrants, and wars, and poverty...there could be short periods of peace. And the people and culture of Xexoria flourished on the shining sands. That was what it had to be, for every monster who seized power here was destined to be toppled by someone who genuinely wished to restore normalcy here, to see the people smile and prosper.

The thought was comforting, if rationalized out of his fevered delusion. And he slowly opened his eyes, which widened, then focused on a distant object. A tiny bird, a speck in the distance, moved toward them through the orange sky. A tiny thing, it was so far away it seemed to exist in a different realm entirely. Unknowingly, a smile played on his lips as he stared at the thing, awkwardly diving this way and that, somehow making it's way in zigzag toward him, cutting through the hot air. His mind cleared as he allowed it to fix on this tiny thing, but it was growing, slowly but surely. His smile disappeared as the thing grew closer, it could not have been what he had seen originally, it was much larger. A bird of prey, perhaps. Of course it was, that was much more symbolic of this place than any dove or swallow, or bird flying in from the ocean. A buzzard perhaps? A messenger of death, representative of the tragedy that so often had befallen this nation. Trydian stared away, into the dune as he remembered the lessons he had learned about the history here, and when he looked back, he jumped to his feet. In the distance, there was no bird. There was a massive, winged thing, hurtling toward him, looking injured. It was a man, and at the same time, it couldn't have been. This man flew, upon wings of ivory, wearing impossibly heavy armor for flight. He seemed to hang limp in midair, and dangle at a precarious angle as one of his wings appeared to be broken. He managed to keep himself straight as he fell more than flew, with his one wing, in Trydian's general direction.

A few more seconds, and flight was but the fevered dream of a madman, and both Trydian and the angel over the sands realized it at the same instant. With a final flap of his left wing, the man fell into a spiraling dive, aimed just to the side of the young boy staring dumbfounded into the sky. With some finality, the man tucked in his appendages as he slammed silently into the dune, but with such force as to conjure several small tornados of dust and sand out of the wall of unforgiving grit. Smoke and sparks filled Trydian's vision briefly, as well, as the impact was so fierce it had ground strips of metal away from the man's bluish tinted armor. Trydian, inexplicably acting, ran over to the mound where the man had disappeared just beneath the sand, and began digging fiercely to excavate him. With two handfuls, his hand found something hot and sticky. He held his hand up, and it was crimson. Furiously, Trydian slung bloody sand in every direction as more and more of the man became visible.

A young man, hardly older than Trydian himself lay dying in a heap. His armor was missing large pieces, and he was bleeding profusely from several places. Trydian tried to call for help, but somehow his throat could not vocalize the words his mouth was forming. He stared desperately into this stranger's eyes, compelled, and Xavier Gottheit simply shook his head, telling Trydian what he already knew. Xavier allowed his gaze to fall to the side, staring at something shiny and glistening in the blazing orange light. He reached for it for a split second, but a sound like a vacuum of air shifted his gaze. Three men, cloaked in black had appeared from a wall of black along the sands at the foot of the dune. They walked forward, laughing quietly. Each held an odd-looking sword, each coated with thick red life, undoubtedly belonging to the stranger. They each walked side by side toward Xavier, and as the tallest in the middle reached out to grab his shoulder, they were all gone.

Trydian's eyes grew wide, and he jerked his head in each direction, wildly, trying to find them. His hands found his face, pushing back his hair. Had he gone mad? His hands were no longer wet, and he slung them down to stare at them, and then the sand. The impression the stranger had left was still there, but the slivers of armor and pools and streaks of blood had disappeared. All that remained was the glistening thing, protruding from the sand. Trydian was compelled to take it, to keep it, as proof that the man whom had died here had ever existed. It was a brilliant thing, of red and gold. The finest dagger, sheathed in gold. As he drew it from it's beautiful scabbard the ornately shaped blade took his breath away. The shining silver thing was unlike any he had seen, and it seemed to shine white against the red-hued sky, as though it were blistering hot to the touch, and as he ran his fingers along it's length, it was indeed unnaturally hotter than the air around it. He would keep it, he had to, there was no one else there to have it, to keep it safe. Such a rare and beautiful thing, why shouldn't it be his? The stranger would not need it again. He could not tell the others, either, they would not believe him, and they would try to take the magnificent thing away from him. No, he had found it, and fair's fair.

[Jen]

As the sun sank lower toward the horizon, the bodies within the tent began to emerge. Isabella was the last to exit and she looked somewhat refreshed if a little fatigued. No doubt she had spent most of the time allowed for rest, brewing plans and trying to decipher what they would find once they reached the Ruins of Rivenfelde. She pressed her hands against her lower back and stretched before helping take down the tents and wrap the canvas tightly.

"Have you seen Trydian?" She heard Caela ponder as they worked side by side.

"No, when was the last you saw him?"

"Father and I got into a bit of a verbal spat and he walked off."

Isabella grunted as she forced the ties of canvas together. Her brilliant turquoise eyes, ringed with the eerie pitch black, took in the distance as she worked. She could see nothing yet. Though she doubted Trydian would have wandered too far. Surely she would have heard him if anything exceptionally distressing had happened.

"He's a boy, I'm sure he's found some desert lizards or something. Don't worry, Caela. I'll go look for him." When her daughter gave her a single nod and took over the breaking of camp, Isabella dusted her hands off and began climbing over the dune.

She wandered a way, always keeping track of the camp occupants behind her with her mind, and searching outward a small distance until she found Trydian's mind. It was oddly calm, as if the time alone had given his spirit strength.

"Trydian!" Isabella waved as he came into view, standing near an indentation in the sand. It looked as if he might have been digging. "What are you doing so far from camp? Come along, son. We need to get back before Vylrath decides he's going to impale phantoms with his sword." She smiled as she drew close to her grandson, giving him a quick hug.

-----------------

"Vylrath..." Igraine, unnaturally graceful on the god forsaken sand, wandered closer to her father. She had such an ethereal beauty that a stranger might find it hard to believe that the angular Vylrath had, in fact, fathered her. "Mother and I must go. You're only a day's march as the raven flies from your destination. If you wish it, I will visit. You need but call for me, not unlike you do when you want to speak with Mother."

Igraine situated her skirts as she spoke, as if readying for the journey home. She wore a simple green gown, a stark contrast to the blinding sands of the inhospitable desert, and brown travelling boots. She was her mother's daughter in every way. Igraine smiled at Vylrath and then looked back at Kahlan, who was staring at the setting sun.

"She's tired. She won't admit it, but she needs rest. I have to get her back into the Faerie." Igraine glanced at Vylrath for a moment and bowed her head. "Thank you for your hospitality during this journey, and please tell Isabella how much I appreciate hers as well. She is an amazing woman."

Igraine turned toward her mother and nodded her head as Kahlan glanced her direction. Kahlan moved her gaze from Igraine to Vylrath and smiled, genuinely and warmly. She loved Vylrath, for a woman that did not would never do what Kahlan had done for him. Her brilliant blue green eyes were piercing, like a bird of prey, but soft and lovely in the dying light of the sun. It was fitting that they leave now. Vylrath would know how to find them, should he need either of them.

"Goodbye, Vylrath." Kahlan's voice was tender. In the next breath, both she and Igraine were headed through a portal in the sand -- disappearing entirely into a rich green glow. The remaining travelers might swear they smelled water and trees in the desolate desert, but they all knew why.

[Vylrath]

“Leaving..?” Vylrath spoke to Igraine like he was in a dream.

They couldn’t leave! He wouldn’t let them!

Stubbornly, he accepted the bow from his daughter, hugging her briefly before meeting up with Kahlan. “Stay with me! You can be my Queen…you carry true royal blood!” Her essence could drive any man insane, but because of who he had once been, it drove him off the edge just a little more. His pleading eyes might have been thought of as pathetic for any other man – but this was Vylrath Xanathi. He rarely showed his emotion toward any creature, but it broke for Kahlan and Igraine.

“Please…..” Standing in front of Kahlan, he gripped her before she parted, kissing her warmly. Watching her slip away made him feel as if he had lost himself again. The portal moving out of existence was the only answer Kahlan would give him: he could always call her, but he was tired of calling like a lost soul. He wanted to be by her side.

She said goodbye to him, but he knew that it was never that way. Deep down, he knew the Faerie world was not for him.

It had made him too passive, too uncaring about the happenings in this world.

He knelt down and gripped the sand where she had been. The sand sifted through his fingers, leaving him regretful. He could still smell her across the wind, her vision just as clear as if she were standing next to him.

Damn you!

His thought might travel across the portal and into hers.

Vylrath got up, before the others could see what he was up to. He would not be in a gracious mood, his mind only thinking of Kahlan and worrying over their daughter. Travelling back to the camp, he stopped momentarily to look back at where the portal had been, almost hopeful that maybe she had changed her mind.

[Agony>Misery]

Trydian blinked and looked around for a second, shaken from the visions that filled his mind. No matter how hard he concentrated, all he could see was the young man, worried about the golden trinket in his last moments. Tendrils of blood-soaked brown hair falling in his face. And then Isabella was there, and he snapped back, quickly sliding his treasure into the back of his belt. He nodded, pulled back to his previous ponderings and conflicts about his father, as she spoke of him. A slight feeling of depression and hopelessness mingled in him with excitement and fear, as well. The treasure was a mystery to be solved, a gleaming thing on the horizon of his life.

" Yes, of course...but... "

" Didn't you see or hear anything strange just recently? Perhaps feel a quake? I...sensed something strange is all. "

Trydian's head fell low, unable to meet his grandmother's gaze as he finished his lie. Without looking back up, he trudged up out of the sunken portion of the dune, toward her.