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As the Luskian dawn settled along the black coast, Cillian washed his child in a basin built into the main balcony of the manor. A lily floated in the soapy water with Kalen as he splashed playfully. Cillian could feel the coming warmth of the day as the sun’s rays breached the sky. Perhaps he would take Kalen to the underground garden, show him the thousand year old fungus and the worm farms. It would be cool down there until noon. He could then take the boy down the field, where he would practice with his new bow, one which he had strung yesterday. The boy could bask in the sun for a while until they headed down to the market to trade grapes for steel and leather and wool. Kalen always enjoyed being around the other people at the market, or so it seemed. The sunlight began to grow stronger as Cillian stood Kalen up to dry. It strengthened endlessly until it encompassed all his vision, and suddenly he was awake, propped up against a lone tree on the bluff he had inspected after walking with Grace. He had returned to the camp only briefly to retrieve his fly net which he now struggled to remove from his face and body.

He smiled as he watched Emmett dash across the desert sand toward the camp, in the distance behind him were a roving band, perhaps slavers. Cillian already had his fists covered, he forgot to unwrap them from the night before. He stretched his fingers a little in their place as he stood up, leaning against the husk of the tree. Some of his knuckles cracked in the process and he sighed in relief. Cillian began walking down the bluff as Rook set out along the desert toward the band. As he did Cillian approached the group from behind. He looked around the camp briefly, silently standing behind Rook’s tent. Now would be as good a time as any to try and have a look at Rook’s personal business, Cillian thought, as the group anxiously awaited Rook’s return. He slipped into the tent unnoticed and carefully looked though the things inside. Nothing seemed to be under the bedroll or a lamp he kept inside. He peaked briefly into his rucksack, saw a book, perhaps a journal. He wanted to grab it but he heard Rook returning to camp, speaking. Cillian looked around breathlessly, thinking of a way out of this situation. If he was caught in here it would be a damning situation. He turned on his heels as he knelt in the tent. Rook was saying something about the roving group, he couldn’t hear him clearly. He looked in the sack again, further in this time; rope, brush…

A sudden commotion outside startled Cillian, forcing him to quickly close the the ruck sack and peak through the flaps of the tent. Rook was on the ground and Emmett wrestled atop him. “What luck?” Cillian thought as he carefully slid from the tent and back around it. He peaked around the corner again to see Othen atop Emmett now, Floure stepping up. There would be no better time than now, Cillian thought, as he crossed the sandy desert floor toward the conflict. Othen had now separated the two and was shaking Emmett vigorously. Cillian caught Grace’s gaze as he approached the group casually, as if he’d always been there. Rook tossed Emmett’s daggers across the ground, exclaiming the boy’s madness. Cillian nodded then as he approached.

“You’re right, the boy is touched by more than just the heat.” Cillian unlatched the button on his utility belt pocket and slid the slightly wilted flower from it. He held it out as he approached the three men; Rook, Othen, Emmett. He came very close and held the flower between Othen and Emmett. “Isn’t this what you want?” Cillian asked flatly. He then brought the flower out of range again, holding it in his hand for Rook to inspect. “I found it amongst his things yesterday evening when we were setting up camp. I had been suspecting him for some time already.” Cillian lied, but with confidence. With clear foresight he could see how someone would have suspected something, if they truly were paying attention, which Cillian had to admit to himself that he had not. “I took it from him to see if he had in fact been using it. Last night’s escapades heightened my suspicions, but this proves it. Look at his eyes, for the lord’s sake.” Cillian said with a practiced disdain. In the courts of Lusk he had learned the complexities of such falsehoods. Sometimes lying was the best thing for everyone involved, and Cillian was only happy now that he had learned that skill and could employ it here. It didn’t matter if Emmett gave a conflicting story now, the truth was out and his word was tarnished. Cillian would suffer any repercussions this might have brought onto Grace. Rook would be able to deal with his nephew rationally, and perhaps Emmett would learn something from this whole scenario.

Cillian looked briefly over to Floure, hoping she’d be able to keep her information to herself. At this point, there were so many lies in the mix that Rook would never be able to get to the bottom of it. As far as Cillian was concerned, anyone who wanted to see Emmett cured of this plague would seize this opportunity to help him. “He needs rehabilitation.” Cillian said flatly at last, his eyes burning into Rook’s. Of all the lies told around this camp, this statement could not be counted among them. “Don’t you agree?”

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It was in that moment, while those not involved with Emmett’s outburst remained standing on the outskirts of arm’s length from Othen and Emmett, did Cillian step forward, like the dark northern isle of a divine entity he was. For a split second, their eyes locked onto to one another, and all she could manage was to nod her vigorously, his intervention would quell the dispute, surely. She did her best to conceal the horror she felt within, as her heart took a nose-dive into the pit of her stomach, just like plunging off a cliff straight into the sea. She knew his lie contradicted the one she had told Othen, as she had found the flower, not Cillian. But who was to say that Cillian didn’t find a flower in Emmett’s leather bag earlier in the evening when they had all retired for bed, and then she another after confronting him when she went to relieve herself? Come what may, the sensation that he would do anything to direct the blame away from Grace for concealing this fact, calmed and at the same time mortified her. They were stranded out here in the desert, sure she had a replenished water skein that Rook gave her, and she had a map to guide her out of the Badlands, but the idea of losing the opportunity, the glory accompanied with locating the Palm made her feel sick. Glancing nervously to Floure, she wasn’t sure if any of them would rat her out. While she doubted the trust-worthiness of the group, Othen, Emmett and Floure, from the events that transpired last night, it did make some sense for the tall tale that Cillian had spun.

Her lips were pursed together in a thin line of worry as she viewed the unfolding scene with skepticism. While she cared little more for the lie, she felt more concern with Rook. How would he react to the news that Emmett was using the Desert Flower, casting the entire company into jeopardy? Regardless of what they all said, it was the truth that the boy consumed the flower. As Cillian had mentioned, not only from Emmett’s frenzied antics, but his body was exhibiting unquestionable signs that he was indeed, dependent on the flower.

With the lack of sleep, she had slept for a rough estimate of five hours or less before waking again to the breaking dawn on the eastern horizon, Grace had relished in the quiet moments of the morning, as most had not stirred from their sleep. It was when Emmett arose with his sling dangling from his hands, did she start to question withholding the flower from him, even then, his eyes were strained, darted to and fro, checking to see if anyone would notice his disappearance. Most importantly, she wished that the group would see some sense in having Emmett sober up, after all, if they relented, and continued to have him abuse the flower as he has, it would end in tragedy for the sake of the mission. She waited patiently under the heat of the morning sun for an answer, from anyone to break the silence that had fallen over the landscape, and strange it was, as there were no other sounds that echoed across the derelict land; no sounds of life, nor civilization. They were truly in the middle of nowhere. Her brows furrowed together like a tight knitted shawl, the shade from her felt-wool hat shielded her eyes from the harsh rays of sunlight as she planted her hands square upon her hips.

The pack weighed a great deal, but fortunately, the tent and garments had broken his fall. In the collapse, even then, Rook had managed to pull out his two military picks and claw onto a chunk of sandstone. Pieces were raining down on him as he frantically clung to life. Bruised and battered, sand grating in his eyes and causing him to cough, and above all else a weightlessness surrounded by acceleration. Falling. It seemed like he had toppled a thousand feet before he suddenly became aware of himself as Emmett cried out.

For a moment, Rook was stunned and paralyzed, unsure if anything was broken or anything had impaled him. Pain told volumes of his body still functioning, but it wasn’t anything serious. Twisted joints, a contusion here from his tent pegs, a number of bruises, and a fun scrape on his forearms.

He tried to hurry to his feet, but the added 90 pounds of equipment weighed him down enough to prevent that. Hurriedly, he unfastened his pack, and rolled over. His hand made contact with his warhammer, and he instinctively grabbed it. The environment was so radically different from the world above that it made Rook dizzy. Cold where there was blazing heat, dark where the eyes had grown accustomed to blinding light. However, death was everywhere just like before. Only whereas the desert was the land of bleached bones, this was a grave.

Standing was difficult, and almost sent Rook tumbling backward, as his feet dug deep into the slope of soft ash. The disorientation didn’t help. However, he fought it still, moving as fast as he could on three limbs. It was an awkward and slow gate. Twice the distance could be covered in half the time should it simply been a floor instead of a dune, but he was there by his nephew's side shortly enough. At that moment, nobody else even existed. At that moment he was back in his sister-in-law’s house, climbing from the wooden floor where he slept, hearing the cries of his nephew about some unknown threat or injury. But this was more than night terrors. Something did go bump in the night, and it was more than an overactive imagination.

In the dim light (if you could call it that, for it was more like the dead light, that had lost its vibrance and will to illuminate) he identified the form he was very familiar with.

Rook’s calloused hand grabbed tight to the still bound hands of Emmett. He paid no mind to the stinging pain of scraped flesh and sand still embedded in the wound.

“I’m here.” was all he said. He glanced about, looking for salvation, for wounds, for foes, and for any threat, any hope, any insight no matter how small or insignificant.

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When Cillian had held the flower right into his view, there first had been no visible reaction from Othen. He had just stood there, still holding Emmett at bay at the other end of his arm. His head had started to lean sidewards with noone knowing if he had been doing this on purpose or not. Then there had been seemingly random jerks occurring accross his face.

Why ? It wasn't even that much about Emmett himself. In fact, one could be glad about having found a physical reason for his strange, violent behaviour just as well as one could be enraged because of it. It was about all of it having been uncovered so late. Shouldn't someone who had been so proficient when it had come to unraveling Othen's secrets had been even more successful when it had come to his own nephew ? The last word was the keyword in here. The rather close relationship between their lead explorer and their lead troublemaker did trigger some suspicions, but the berserker was far from speaking about it. To add to all of this, he had a gut feeling that something else was wrong. Something about the stories Cillian and Grace had told him just didn't fit, but he had not yet been able to identify it. It had been a displeasing night after all and if the searing heat did impair someone's ability to memorize things as easily as otherwise - that someone wasn't alone.

Now he had been selected to serve as a mobile prison for a cocky boy that was suffering from withdrawal symptoms. Othen had spent some thoughts about his own 'addiction, though one couldn't really call it that. The stuff he used was a bit of the inverse of ordinary addictives like the desert flower. It was dangerous while in use, not while not using. How would the party react when someone discovered this ? The thought made him pay more attention to his belongings, especially his backpack...

Sometimes it had been him dragging Emmett behind, other times it had been Rook's nephew trying to drag him behind. Othen wasn't a fast walker, a fact that easily could be attributed to his stature that took several aspects to the very extreme. On occasion, he diverted his steps from a straight line in order to pick up a large stone he could use for training while walking. Then, seemlingly out of the blue, Othen found himself being consumed by the collapsing desert floor, taking Emmett wit him into the darkness.

When the war-painted man got up again, it wasn't from a more or less deep dent in the soft floor, it was from half a crater. A familiar voice was advancing to his ears even before he was able to get a clear picture of his surroundings. It seemed everyone had survived the fall without major injuries to their bones - a rather astonishing and strange fact in itself -, but: blind ? How the hell did Emmett manage to loose his eyesight ? Othen attempted to blame the sudden fall for this as he did not straightforwardly believe that nonsense a probably hallucinating Emmett was talking about. When he realized how much their environment was like death and decay, the rope was immediately loosened. A calculated risk if one took the boy's recent unpredictability into account, but he could ill-afford to be still tied when there was combat. And he had a feeling that there could be. Othen grabbed one of his enormous axes and his shield, then started to advance forward slowly. They could discuss things while on the move! The earlier they attempted to get out of here, the better. "Emmett! What happened ?"

Sweltering rays of sun made every footfall Grace took, an agonizing step. Her boots were filled with sand, and a river of sweat ran down her face, dripping off the tip of her nose, or stinging her in the eyes. The hat she donned kept the glare of the sun out of her eyes, but did little to provide any cooled shade. Her white blouse, while typically loose, clung to her back as it were slick with sweat. Even the seat of her pants were damp from the overbearing heat. Leading the group, with the map rolled tight in one clenched hand, the mentality that kept her going, was the sole idea of reaching the Palm. Emmett had settled down, more or less, once they tied him to Othen, and for once, her ears obtained a rest, as she wandered in front, no more whining pipsqueak. Hopefully the heat had exhausted him to some degree. They had traveled for some time, and when Grace thought about stopping the group for a short rest and water break, she noticed the sand beneath her feet moving. At first, she thought she must be suffering from a bout of dehydration, or an onset of a heat stroke, for the ground underfoot, felt as if it had...rumbled. Her gait slowed considerably, and then it happened again. Another rumble. The beating heart within her chest cavity started pounding vivaciously, the blood flow to her hands and feet ventured away from her outer extremities, giving her the sensation she danced on the verge of passing out; of course, this was not the case, rather she felt fear. She had heard in tales from the men to the east, of how the ground moved, quaked, and opened up, often times swallowing cities, or destroying entire villages. A sharp cry made it past her lips, but not before she felt herself plummeting downwards. Grace tried in vain to stop her descent, alas, there was nothing that she could grab a hold of.

PHUMPF!

What she expected to be a hard landing that ended in the chance of broken bones, Grace found that she had landed on her back. A tightening in her chest made it difficult for her to inhale, and it was then that she realized that the wind had been knocked from her lungs. A black array of pinpricks and bright colours filled her eyes as she stared up into nothingness. She could still hear, that was not lost in the fall, for she heard Emmett crying in fear. While she waited for her vision to clear, and to regain the breath in her lungs, Grace remained spread-eagle on the floor. Her rucksack had taken the brunt of the sudden fall, and when her vision began to clear, she felt the odd, sandy texture beneath her feet. Yet, this sand bore no resemblance to the sand above on the desert floor. It was black, like ashes. She remained on her back, as the pain in her chest had no subsided so easily, and found herself gazing back up at the world from which they were walking just moments ago. A patch of blue sky hung above the cavity in which the company had fallen into, making it easy for her to discern the different colours in the side of the sandy walls, transitioning from a soft tawny hue, into a charcoal black, Grace questioned if this cavern had underwent some form of catastrophic change in the soil, such as a burning.

By the time breathing became more acceptable to her body, Grace caught wind of Emmett's words, apparently the boy lost his vision, as well as witnessed some woman, who apparently stole his sight away. She couldn't decide if it were his hallucinations from the withdrawal, or if there truly was a woman. When Emmett so graciously addressed her as Madam Matriarch, she found the strength to utter a short laugh.

"Ha!" Grace forced herself into a kneeling position, her lungs still straining for air as she tried to speak, her voice coming out in a raspy strain. "Don' ye worry, nah. I didn't die in the fall, as much as ye would like for me to. If ye don' watch yer mouth ye little brat, I'll show ye what kind o' business I can stir up. So don' ye fookin' test me. Besides, ye would've come to this eventually. Better now or never, Emmett."

"Got the fookin' wind knocked outta me, give me a damned minute, eh?" Kneeling with her hands balled into fists on her knees, Grace encouraged her lungs to recover.

"Is anyone hurt?" She asked, it was imperative to know if anyone had suffered any form of injuries, as they would have to attend to that first before they could even consider finding a way out. Oddly, she felt a cool breeze in the area, one that she took to identifying as some passage way or tunnel nearby.

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Floure was convinced the fall had lead to her death and she was now in the Shadow Lands of Traveler legend. It looked like the place she imagined it would be, dark, cold and desolate. It felt like she was floating somewhere in between, between consciousness and dream. But something sharp digging into her back brought her back to reality with a relentless stinging sensation. The pain caused her to feel everything else that her numbed senses had failed to pick up before. She was laying on her back on some kind of sand, up high she could see a slight crack of daylight but it was barely the size of a thin branch.

It was a work of magic that she was still alive, she attempted to hoist herself up off the sandy floor. The pain in her back didn't help but she managed either way. The young woman felt around to try and identify the cause of her pain and when she touched her medicine bag she realized in slight shock what it may have been. Some of the glass bottles in which she kept her ointments and salves had shattered upon impact with the floor. Luckily the shards hadn't pierced the tough leather otherwise she would have needed to stitch herself up, something she was never really that great at, treating her own injuries was difficult.

Assured of her own state of wellbeing she immediately sought to worry about everyone else. She whipped her head around, searching for the others and though it was hard to see, their voices were all she needed. Grace asked the exact question she needed answering. If anyone was hurt she would be needed. Floure got up into a slightly wobbly standing position, the fall had shaken her up more than she realized. She walked into the direction of where she heard Grace and Emmett talking, trying her hardest to ignore her current surroundings which all together gave her chills.

I'm alive I think...." She answered with a laugh. The gloomy atmosphere was best thwarted by laughter and light. The first she could muster up easily, the second one not so much.

If anyone needs medical attention I think most of my supplies survived but there is not a flicker of light in this place."

Where are we anyway?". Floure asked, looking to see if there was any other way out. Climbing up would be impossible and turning them all into birds was a bit beyond her skill.

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"I'm not hurt, but it could hurt me if we hesitate much longer. This place is too strange for me to stand around doing nothing." Othen's voice was like thunder, though he didn't actively intend it to be that way. The echoing gave it that effect.
"I suggest not looking far ahead as long as it is not absolutely necessary. That whatever-it-was could return and blind the next one. I'll go ahead." Othen didn't see much of a point in attempting to answer Floure's question. The truth was: He had no idea of where they were, and it was a more than feasible assumption for him that noone else had. So the logical conclusion was to go ahead. He already was in front of the others, and in his mind, he was well suited for the leading end with both his shield and his axe. Of course the risk was increased, but someone had to do it and a risk was nothing Othen was afraid of. "Does anybody have torches ? We could really need one, now!"

Despite the almost complete lack of light, the more than hulking berserker started moving, slowly putting one foot in front of the other while using his hands as sensors. There was a series of rather tight bottlenecks ahead: large rocks protruding into the way from both sides. Othen had to squeeze through walking sideways hard enough that it left some minor, but visible grazes behind on his back and breast. Emmett be careful. You need any help ?" Did he start to feel sympathy for Captain Cocky ? He probably did... The place seemed foul and a rather major part of him wanted Emmett to get his eyesight back. Him being blind would not help him and would not help all of them a bit, and even Rook's nephew had not - yet - earned such a terrible fate. He pushed himself against the wall right behind the first narrowing, giving the other members of the expedition enough space to move into the gap as well while waiting for Emmett to answer.

As the melodious voice rolled about the darkness without any epicenter, leaving the party glancing about in caution. However, then, then it happened. Something no one had ever seen before. Surely it would be a legend or myth or fanciful tail that everybody would have blown off as complete nonsense. But there it was, and no one could deny it. In the faint light, Emmett blinked, his eyes closed, and then they opened... like never before glowing out as though white hot or replaced with a shaft of dim sunlight streaming through.

This is entirely impossible

The though stopped Rook in his tracks

What in the world! Run you fool, this isn't normal! Run!

This has got to be a dream! This isn't happening, you're just losing your mind!

I was wrong about everything! I have to be!

I have to find out the source of this!

Magic, real magic without smoke and mirrors, without subtlety, isn't possible!

The bombardment of thoughts blasted through his mind in an instant. It was like a lightning bolt of second-guessing, doubt, and amazement arched off of his cranium, and quite a spectacular sight it might make, if people could actually see such a thing.

He stood in awe, no, shock. Who couldn't?! His nephew walked away and he did absolutely nothing. Compelled to stay by his courage, restrained from following by instinct. Then the specter appeared, and sent a cold chill down his spine that would have enabled him to challenge the desert and the sun for decades. For a moment sheer terror gripped him, but only for a moment. Had he been his former self, he would have fled, not caring what was happening in front of him, or to whom it was happening to. All of this was before the scream. Yes, the scream. It echoed through his head, it was as if he was completely alone in a world of nothingness, just him and that one harrowing, abysmal, wailing, shriek.

He knew it. He knew that kroo. It was as familiar to him as his own hand. He knew not what was behind it, but he wanted to, more than anything.

And then he came charging, full force back into the rest of the world where people stab you in dark pits in the middle of the desert unprovoked. However much he would have preferred a stimulating conversation with tea over the events that transpired, he doubted that the charging rogues would be willing to consider it.

"I have tea, perhaps..." He was cut off by two sharp blades. They would have pierced his heart and gutted him in an instant if he were not practiced in the carnal arts. The downward thrust was parried by his war-hammer. The studs in the haft were not only to give added support, give grip, and prevent the head from being chopped off, but also to cause damage. The blow and the block were so powerful and sinister, that the fool chipped off the bone cap in his wrist when he struck. The slice across his belly was countered by Rook diving backward.

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If one wanted to cut a long story short, it would have sufficed to state that Othen was not pleased with the overall situation. The obvious appearance of magic was one thing, but: Wasn't it the ultimate goal of this whole endeavour to get hands on some sort of artifact which had properties that were beyond its pure physical ones ? And weren't they in The Whispering Badlands, the very place that basically had been created by magic powers, though abusive ones ? What was bothering Othen way more was the uncertainty of the intention behind all of this: Robbing Emmett's eyesight clearly was an attack, but now they had been given a source of light. One just had to know that this would help them venturing forth. Blinding one to help the others see more - it didn't make sense for him.

And there was another short thought, one he didn't dare to reveal to anyone for its bluntness: Did the fact that it had been 'only' Emmett, the weakest of them, that had been blinded and thereby subtracted from their strength, overcompensate the fact that from all of them, it had been just Emmett, the most unpredictable and irrational, that had received the ability to lead them through this strange place with his glow ?

The faster and longer Rook's nephew rushed forwards, the less Othen believed that this was the case. Yes, he had a tendency to charge into things as well, but only things he believed he knew about. Things he could see and judge. Many regarded him as someone noticeably crazy, but Emmett more and more appeared to be crazyness itself. Did the berserk underestimate the effects of prolonged Desert Flower withdrawal ? He was struggling to keep up with Emmett's pace, breathing heavily when they had arrived in what appeared to be a central expanse of some sort. As sweet as the melody would have been in a nice tavern or something, right now he found it to be distracting and thereby annoying. This place was foul: From the strange sand below his feet that was more like ash, along alien rocks, sudden attacks on one's eyesight and the occurrence of magic up to that shriek that caused his teeth to ache... Everything was indicating that they should not allow themselves to indulge.

Othen didn't plan to do so - especially not to a bunch of attackers that were looking like people who wanted to kill other people but did not want to admit that they lacked the strength to do it in the open field while their style of armor and weapons betrayed just that. Anyhow: They appeared to be human. That took the whole scenery back to something more earthly. And they wanted to have a fight. Othen appreciated both.

The berserk started to pick up speed, heading in a straightforward line towards the rogue that had been closest to the middle of his view. Who knew him would know that in such a situation, there was hardly any left or right for him until the center was dead. Of course he was aware that there were other attackers converging on them as well, but they would have to make a complete turn and reverse their speed in order to help their colleague - if Othen was fast enough. That was exactly what he tried to do, though he completely lacked the elegance and was way louder. Each time he rammed one of his feet into the ground, the corresponding thigh virtually exploded.

His eyes were locked onto his target, his shield firmly in his hands and one of his axes ready to strike in the other. But as it was too late for him to abort his charge and the assassin in front of him realized just how monstrous that man he was headed for was, something happened Othen had not anticipated. The rogue colleagues didn't turn around. Instead, two of them launched a throwing knife each backwards shortly after Othen had roared past them. It was unprecise, but probably still better than turning around and exposing their own backs towards the other members of the expedition. One of them only grazed his arm, the other one impacted into his right shoulder. How well his right arm would be able to function after this was something to be found out later on, but for the poor rogue in front of him it was too late. The attacker tried to evade his fate by jumping sideways, but Othen did not lack power needed to pick up an average man on his shield even if he had to partially extend his arm for that. And he knew how to give way to the impact just enough to not let the attacker bounce off his shield and land on the soft floor, but to keep the temporarily dazed man on it until the rock wall came from behind. When it happened, his ribcage was compressed between it and the shield with Othen rotating his still good side into it. The result of this method of Othen to get rid of his momentum was audible, even from further away.

Now however Othen was far away from the rest of the group as well and would have to make his return with a significantly injured shoulder.

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Floure had been watching the situation unfold on the sidelines with a worried look on her face. The feeling she had had earlier returned and she knew something terrible would probably happen again. The appearance of the specter was the herald of disaster. The first time the spirit had appeared none of them had been able to see her aside from Emmett. Now she was visible to them all and it looked like it tried to warn the group of impending danger.

The young Traveler watched with fear in her eyes as a group of robed and masked assassins crawled out of the shadows. They drew their sharpened blades, ready to attack. The Whispering Badlands were a dangerous place, that was what everyone had told her. Yet so far the only danger they encountered was the blazing sun and the poisonous desert scorpions and snakes. After a week of relative safety Floure had nearly forgotten the sands of the desert hid a lot more than just a bunch of venomous animals.

She had a mission to accomplish and if they had to fight for their lives she was going down fighting. She tried not to let herself be paralyzed by fear. The thought of a group of trained killers were out to attack them scared her obviously, she would be stupid not to be. Yet it also summoned within her a will to survive, to fight back. Floure attempted to pin point the location of the rest of the group with what little light they had. She noticed she was closest to Grace and immediately rushed over to the red headed woman, lifting her skirts as she ran over the black sands.

"Grace...." She swallowed back a lump in her throat, caused by her fear of the impending battle. Adrenaline was rushing through her petite frame while she retrieved the knife she kept nearly hidden underneath her skirts. It was attached to a garter she always wore around her left thigh. Floure looked at Grace, a mixture of fear and determination swirling in her pale eyes. She nodded and turned her gaze towards their attackers.

No one knows what really happened to Emmett that day, but he remains a legend of the Whispering Badlands even until now. Of course they survived the rogue attack, and that remains another mystery as to their intent. The journey out of the badlands was pretty uneventful from that point. Rook was of course out of sorts, and the others were thoroughly confused, however, all were glad when the rough green grasses were crunching under foot instead of the soft sand. And that sight, oh that wonderful sight of civilization, made their weary hearts sigh in relief with a newly-dawned appreciation for their lives. They determined to never allow any such oversight happen to their perspective again.

So... for better or for worse, they all lived happily ever after.

The End.