President Silen hummed before speaking, “You both had given the Council much to consider, but yes, any further discussion can wait until tomorrow. If people, ask about the nature of this discussion we will simply report that the Council felt the need to question your motives for being in Lihaelin. We were satisfied with the answer given and while we will pay close attention to you we do not believe that you are a threat.”

Then a Councilperson that Darin did not know leaned forward, “Out of curiosity. Why did you kill?”

Darin’s snap cut off the rest of the question, “None of your business!” She pulled away from Ridahne to glare at the asker a glare that could freeze the very air, “The death of that monster is the business of Ridahne Torenzi Seed-Chained, The Tree, by extension me, and no one else.” She turned her glare to the president, “Watch for the Red Hand. Discuss what you will. We are leaving.” She held out her arm towards the bird, “Come Taja.” She smiled at the cat that was still purring, “Will you lead the way MItaja?” Her attention shifted back to Ridahne, “Come along. Talking further at this point would be pointless.”

With that Darin was done with this whole pointless endeavor. She moved to leave the building only to pause for a moment when she came level with Mrixze Janeel. Darin smiled wildly at him as she ducked her head in respect. He was shocked into gaping at her like a fish. Taja let out a screech and Darin took that as her cue to move. As they moved though the halls Taja took flight again and as they finally exited the building was lost to the night sky. Darin was not unduly worried. She figured that the hawk was headed back towards the stable with Talbot and Tsura. At least she hoped that Talbot and Tsura were still in the stable. The forest seemed to be at peace for the moment. Though people would be suspicious that the two of them were asked to stay. Yet again Darin was left questioning the wisdom of traveling anonymously. It would all fall to pieces when they reach Azurei. Maybe traveling discreetly would be better though even that was debatable given the fact that all of Astra grew excited as she walked.

Then, halfway towards the inn, Darin stopped to ask a question that had been plaguing her mind for some time now, “If you had died that night. If the Red Hand had gotten you. What story would your Ojih tell the Keeper?”

Darin wasn’t sure she would ever really understand why a person would want their entire life story on their face, but she did know that was the purpose the Ojih served. She also knew that Ridahne’s story was incomplete. She was also painfully aware of the fact that the warrior could die at any time. She didn’t want that to happen, but if it did Darin wanted Ridahne to receive a fair judgement based on both her crimes and her attempts to make it right. They had discussed this before and had discussed waiting until they got to Azurei before Ridahne made changes to her Ojih but that was almost a whole year away. Who knew what could happen between now and then? It didn’t help that Darin was simply sick and tired of people looking at her beautiful, amazing, stunning Ridahne and thinking she was a stain on Astra when she was one of the strongest Children there had ever been. Darin didn’t care that people may not know what the new mark, whatever that may be, was. She would know, The Tree would know, The Seed would know, and people would be forced to take at least a second glance. She couldn’t make Ridahne make changes to her Ojih if she didn’t want to, but Darin felt she had to at least try to make her concerns understood.

Just when she thought their point had been made and they were finally in the clear to go slink back to their beds for a bit before sunrise, someone had to ask that question. Ridahne was at all times irritated by and expectant of that question, and though she had long since accepted its constant inevitability, the judgement in his tone made her boil. The shift in expression did not jump right to an explosive inferno of anger, like she was sometimes prone to. It was colder, quieter, more calculated and more controlled, and all the more dangerous because of it. She stood rooted to her spot on the floor, even after Darin turned away. A cold fury was storming in her amber eyes.

"Wait." She had the look of a cat about to pounce. Ridahne didn't always feel up to explaining herself to strangers, but it bothered her somehow that the leaders of Eluri thought her a wretched monster, or at least some of them did. "You should know the truth, and unlike the rest of what was spoken here tonight, this you can spread as far and wide as you like. Khaltira," she said, and the lack of the suffix 'Sol' was obviously marked by the Council, "was a corrupt, lying bastard who thought her whims and desires were more valuable than the lives of the people she pledged to govern and rule and protect. She was a murderer and I was her tool. But no longer. Those who wield sharp swords without knowledge of how to use them often get hurt by their own reckless stupidity. I did not apologize to the Sols and I do not apologize now. Know the truth and judge me as you like, but until you understand what really happened, I'll hear none of your condescension. I am Ridahne Torzinei and I have spoken!"

Ridahne pivoted on one heel and stormed away, some of her usual fire showing through the collected mask she made for herself. She did not give the Council a chance to speak after her, though she did nod at Mrixze as she passed. Once outside, and the cool air of night touched her hot cheeks, Ridahne huffed a final breath and tossed her hair back as if trying to shake something off of her and leave it behind. And as they walked a few paces, she admitted, "That felt really, really good to get that out. And did you see their faces?" She laughed like one who was free of a burden. "Absolutely worth it."

As they continued to make their way back to the little inn they were staying at, and as Ridahne gave sharp warning glares to anyone who stared too long at them, Darin asked a question that Ridahne had never put into words herself, but had in some way thought about before. The warrior got very quiet. She understood her point immediately. She could be whoever she wanted in her own heart, and in the heart of Darin, but tonight made it all too clear that her own redemption had not become an external thing just yet. Ridahne reached out a hand and held Darin's, squeezing it once. "A story of dark deeds, ambition, and betrayal. Nothing good, really..." she said with a soft sigh. "For so long, it felt deserved but...well, it doesn't feel right anymore. Perhaps...I should give more thought to that, shouldn't I?" And then with resolve she added, "Okay then. Before we leave Lihaelen. I'll come up with something by tomorrow night and I'll make it happen."

Darin had wanted to give Ridahne a chance to avoid answer the question yet again for yet another crowd of people that simply didn’t seem to care. Yet when the warrior asked her to wait, she did so gladly. It was Ridahne’s business. If she wanted to share the choice was hers. The human would not begrudge the Azurei that. There was nothing to begrudge anyways. The story she gave the Council was briefer than the story she had given others in the past nut it wasn’t any less true. Darin did appreciate the brevity. She wasn’t sure she would have been able to stand being here in this room for too much longer.

Ridahne’s response to her question cause the young girl to wrap her arms around the warrior in as tight a hug as she could manage, “Thank you Ridahne. Thank you so much. You have no idea how much than means to mean.”

It meant more than Darin could ever hope to verbalize. She hadn’t been looking forward to taking Ridahne with her when they first meet. She could remember trying to hide who she was. She could remember being apprehensive of taking in a stray. Yet Ridahne had changed. She wasn’t torn up by guilt anymore. She knew the love The Tree had for her. She walked with a confidence that Darin didn’t realize people could have. She was not afraid to admit her crimes and the truth of the entire situation. She seemed proud to be both the Guardian and to be Seed-Chained. She was someone Darin couldn’t imagine living without. Darin loved her the same way she loved her mother, as dear and precious family. The fact that she was willing to modify the traditions of her entire culture to comply with the whim of a silly human girl was a good example of how much the relationship between the two girls had changed.

The human did her best to tighten her grip on the warrior as Darin had to consider how she had changed since Greyrock. She didn’t feel like she had. She still felt like she was out of her depth. She still had no idea what she was doing. Only now it was worse; much worse. She could level this forest and it wouldn’t even be very hard. She was still afraid of people knowing she was The Seed-Bearer; not just because of the threat to her life, but also because she felt unworthy of the role. She swung between wanting to avoid people to keep her name and face a secret and practically screaming from the rooftops that she was The Seed-Bearer. The problem with the first was that she was trying to make friends. So, she couldn’t avoid people. It was also becoming harder and harder to hide her identity. People just seemed to know. The problem with the second was that Darin didn’t want to seem like she was bragging, She was also unsure of how people would react to her. She really didn’t want to be showered in praise. She was just trying to do a job.

With great reluctance Darin pulled away from Ridahne, “And I suppose we should discuss if there is any point in continuing to travel as your apprentice. More and more people seem to know the truth. What do you think?”

Ridahne smiled, reaching one arm over Darin's shoulder as the girl hugged her. Ridahne wasn't sure how to say it, but it felt so good to be loved. Hadian and Ajoran loved her, of course, but they were so far away, and Darin was actually here. And honestly, having Darin's unwavering approval gave her the confidence to not need to seek it from others. Even if she wasn't the most important person in all of Astra, it still just felt good to know someone backed her, and there was someone with her whom she didn't have to constantly win over. These thoughts made her miss Ajoran terribly, and she couldn't wait to introduce him to Darin.

The elf considered the idea of traveling openly. It did seem like they were simply more and more known the further on they went. But then again, they were in the heart of Eluri. It was only to be expected that a large portion of people would know due to visions. "I don't know," she said at last. "Something to consider is that we are in Eluri, the land of frequent visions. When we get to Orosi, no one there gets visions. Some in Azurei do, but less. The Sols and all their court will know who we are, but the public won't necessarily. Not you, at least. But a condemned traitor displaying the token of the favor of the Sols is going to raise some eyebrows, too. And nobody in the Siren lands knows anything about either of us. Personally? I think having even the option of plausible deniability will help us, though we don't have to stick to our ruse as tightly if we're found out. But I leave that decision up to you. You can also share what you want about who we are from town to town. Because you hide in one place doesn't mean you have to hide in another. But if we go the route of openness, we also need to employ misdirection. Spread false rumors about our destinations, whereabouts, and intentions to throw off the trail of anyone hunting us."

They made it back to the inn, where a couple bleary eyed visitors were having a little nightcap to ease the pain of the night's events. They looked up and watched them curiously, but one look into Ridahne's eyes made them turn their attention back to their glasses again. She wasn't in the mood to deal with any more strangers tonight. They made it back up to their room, and Ridahne practically launched herself back onto her bed with a sigh. She might have been piss and vinegar a moment ago, but as soon as the blankets wrapped around her, she faded fast. But before she did, she muttered, "I'm proud of you, you know..." Then her breathing deepened and she fell asleep.

Darin supposed that Ridahne had a point. It was the visions alone that had allowed people to know who and what she was. Not everyone in Astra got visions and even the ones that did weren’t promised to receive them. It was more of a hit and miss type thing. Darin supposed she might be overreacting or worrying for no good reasons. Then again it seemed like the Red Hand had people all across Astra. It was very possible that even humans, who were admittedly the most mundane of the Children of Astra, that knew already and were just waiting for her to come back to human lands. It was yet another dilemma or problem that Darin had that she had no real answer to.

The human let the warrior lead her back towards the inn and back towards bed. Ridahne seemed ready to return to rest, and so was Darin. Then Darin heard with the Azurei had to say right as she fell asleep. Darin stared at the sleeping figure with wide eyes. That couldn’t be right. She had to have heard wrong or Ridahne must not have known what she was saying. That was a possibility. The Elf had only said it as she was falling asleep. Darin was exhausted. Ridahne had just misspoke or Darin had just misheard. That was the only explanation. There was no way that Ridahne was proud of her. Right?

Darin sat down on the bed as she stared at her sleeping companion. Darin desperately racked her brain for the last time someone said they were proud of her. Was it Ravi back at The Farm? Darin couldn’t remember. Maybe it had been The Tree. That seemed more likely. Except the human couldn’t remember either of them saying it; just that she was glorious, amazing, beautiful, incredible. Was that the same thing? When was the last time her mother had said it? She hadn’t, had she? Darin could not recall a single instant of Talia claiming to be proud of her. The elders certainly never did and if Martin ever did Darin did her best to block those memories from her mind. Talia must have said it at least, once right? Maybe when Darin had first gotten The Seed? Darin wasn’t sure. She couldn’t remember anyone every claiming to be proud of her. She was the disappointment, the daughter of the runaway, the daughter of the lost, the foolish girl who thought to work a farm by herself and not get married, the village disappointment. How could anyone be proud of her? How could anyone think she could do anything right?

Suddenly the room was too warm, too close, too small. As quietly as she could Darin exited the room and somehow stumbled downstairs. The tavern portion of the inn was finally empty as the forest returned to some semblance of normal. There was no one to watch her as she stumbled outside. The trees rustled in worry, but Darin did her best to reassure them that she just needed some air. They ceased to rustle but their worry was still felt in the air. Without knowing where she was going Darin picked a direction and began to walk. She knew she would get lost. She knew she would probably trip at least once. She didn’t care. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t process. She misheard, there was no reason, none whatsoever, for anyone, especially Ridahne, to be proud of her.

Somehow, though a mix of luck and guess, she arrived at the stable where Tsura and Talbot were. There was no door so there was no need to break in. Talbot sense that she entered the building immediately and looked up in distress with a whinny to let his person know where he was. Darin stumbled over to him and threw her arms around his neck. It wasn’t long before she started to cry. She couldn’t do this. She was trying, but there were so many questions that she was supposed to have answers to that she just didn’t. She was supposed to be good, but she barely qualified as not bad. How desperate was she to pretend that she was a good person that she was making up things that no one would ever say about her? Why did it even matter? She had never cared about having anyone’s, not even her family’s, approval before. So, why did she so desperately want Ridahne’s? Finally, all the stress from the day’s events caught up to Darin and she fell sleep next to Talbot. The horse did not seem to mind.

Ridahne was not usually one for sleeping in late, but today, she did. The sun that filtered through the thick trees was already bright, and it felt like she'd been asleep for an eternity. It took her a moment to figure out what happened last night, but when she did, she looked for Darin. The bed was empty. A spike of panic leapt up in her, but then a bit of wisdom soothed it. Darin never stays in one place, and if anything happened to her here, the trees would likely tear Lihaelen down to save her. Ridahne chuckled at that thought, but got up to go find her companion anyway. She took a handful of apples from the kitchen downstairs and, eating one of them, she made her way towards the stables. There was some chance Darin went to go see Talbot, but either way, their two horses would not begrudge a snack.

Tsura and Talbot saw her and whinnied; Tsura tossed his head like he was begging for a ride. She spoke to them in Azurian. "Good morning. I brought you something." She offered them each an apple, which they took graciously. Mitaja was there too, and she rubbed her face on Ridahne's thigh. There was dried blood on her whiskers, so Ridahne knew that her cat had fed herself sometime in the night. She just hoped it was nobody's livestock. Mitaja didn't usually do that, she knew better, but once or twice she'd been known to slip away with someone's chicken. "Hope you've behaved yourself. Have you seen Darin?" Mitaja gave a deep throated mao sound and rubbed her body on the gate of the stable. "Oh, you have, then? Hm." Ridahne peered over the gate to find Darin and chuckled. Ridahne lifted her last apple, aimed, and dropped it into Darin's lap with a chuckle.

Darin felt something hit her as she jerked awake, “I’m awake! I’m awake!”

She then looked around as she rubbed the sleep sand from her eyes. It was easy enough to figure out what had happened. She must have fallen asleep while visiting Talbot and Ridahne had woken up and then come to find her. Darin stretched out towards the sky as she pushed herself up. She suddenly remembered that she did not like sleeping in the stables. She was sore and stiff. Luckily, she was young and would soon work out the kinks. She bent down to retrieve the apple Ridahne had tossed at her in order to take a big bite out of it. No matter why she was or where she would go apples would make an excellent breakfast.

Darin smiled at Talbot as she reached out to rub a hand along his flank, “Thank you for sharing your bed with me Talbot. I’ll be back later.” She turned to speak to Ridahne, “Where to today? I figure we still need to resupply, and I would like to see the archives you spoke of.”

Another voice called out, “I can help with both those things.” Darin turned to see Mrixe Janeel, “I hope you don’t mind me accompany you today Warrior Torenzi. The Council has asked me to ensure you don’t cause too much trouble while you are visiting.”

Darin thought she knew what was going on. The Council wanted to provide someone to escort The Seed-Bearer about Lihaelin and saying they wanted to watch Ridahne made a perfect cover story. They also showed some wisdom by having Guard Janeel be the one to do it. He and Mr. Armin were probably the only two people from the meeting last night that Darin would have tolerated, and the guard was the person that would have made sense to trail after an exile and a criminal. Darin just wasn’t sure if she wanted a shadow today or any other day that she was here. She took a few deep breathes. What would happen if she said no? She wasn’t sure and wasn’t sure how to ask.

Then Mrixe held up a basket, “My partner made apple dumplings for breakfast. They’ve been out of the oven for a little more than an hour.”

Okay, Darin could be bribed. She would admit that she could be bribed. She left Talbot’s stall and practically flew towards the basket. Mrixe laughed as he held it up. She reached in for the breakfast pastry. It was the perfect warmth and there were plenty that Darin didn’t feel guilty or greedy for taking a whole dumpling for herself. It was just warm enough that was perfect. She bit into it and let out an appreciate moan. The cinnamon and sugar were in perfect balance. It reminded her of good days of home. It wasn’t exactly the same as what she made at home but it was close enough. The pastry that the apple slices were wrapped in was almost perfectly flaky. Mrixe’s partner didn’t skimp on butter.

She turned to Ridahne with a smile on her face, “Ridahne! It’s like apple pie! For breakfast! Come try it.”

Mrixe laughed at the almost childish antics, “If you don’t mind me asking how old are you Mr. Lively?”

Darin looked at him with wide eyes, “19. Almost 20.”

Mrixe looked at her with surprise on his face, “That’s young. Even for a human. We’ll have to work in some fun for today. All work and no play make apprentices very, very tired.” He looked over Darin’s shoulder at Ridahne, “Wouldn’t you agree Warrior Torenzi?”

What did that even mean? Darin wasn’t sure. She understood the concept of having fun as a way to rest. She just didn’t think that fun was called for. Did her climb yesterday count as fun? What was Mrixe’s idea of fun? She wasn’t sure if they had time for fun. She finished her dumpling and eyed the basket. She could have another right? Mrixe smiled at her as he held out the basket. She took that as an okay to have another. His partner was a really good baker. She wasn’t going to worry about fun right now. She was just going to enjoy her treat.

Ridahne laughed. "Good morning. I wondered if I'd find you here." A voice made her turn, and some part of her was prepared to start going off on the guy, when she realized who it was. The Council were smart, and they could not have sent a better messenger. And yet the idea of having someone babysit them irked her, too, regardless of who they sent. Darin didn't seem to mind, though Ridahne took a little longer to come around to the idea. It wasn't Mrixe she was worried about, she like him well enough. It was the subterfuge.

"I see. Someone to make sure the assassin does not assassinate anyone else." Ridahne thought it unwise to add that she would very likely defeat him if it came to an altercation between them--she hoped there never would be. She didn't want to give him the impression she didn't like him either, because that wasn't true. "I suppose it's as much to cover our tracks as much as theirs..." she admitted with a sigh. "Don't take it personally, Janeel," she said in a kinder tone. "If I could have chosen anyone as an escort, it would have still been you, and I think my companion would agree. But I've been at the mercy of the whims of powerful people for too long, and came out of the experience with too many scars. Naturally, I'm wary of meddling. And while there might be wisdom in the Council's decision, it feels to this poorly-used eija too much like meddling. A wound of my past that has yet to heal, it seems." She was willing to admit that her feelings on the matter came mostly from her own bias and not from any instinct of wisdom. Ridahne had come a long way in healing of her old wounds, but she still had far to go.

But Ridahne joined them anyway, taking one of the proffered pastries. Any wild beast could be coaxed and soothed with food, and Ridahne was no exception. She studied the pastry. "So this is pie? We do not have pie in Azurei," she explained to Mrixe. "Martin has been trying to explain to me what it is for a while now." She took a bite and her eyes widened. "Oh. Mm, the cinnamon! I never thought to put cinnamon with apples! Give the chef my thanks and approval. I understand why it is one of your favorite things now," she told Darin with a smile.

She smirked at Mrixe. "I wish I had that philosophy when I was an apprentice. My master was very hard on me, but it made me what I am today, and that is just the Azurei way. We have a belief that when you are comfortable, you cannot grow. To grow, you must be stretched. But I hope to be a better teacher than mine was, and to learn from her mistakes. We do need to resupply, and we both wanted to go to the archives. Martin had something he wanted to look for, but I have something I'd like to research myself. If you have a section on Azurei ojih and its history, I would very much like to see it. But I don't imagine those two things will take all day..."

Mrixe was quick to correct the warrior, “This is not quite apple pie. It’s close, but not exactly right. Though if you are looking to try apple pie, I can talk to my partner about making you some before you leave Lihaelen.”

Darin practically lit up like the sun, “Yes please!”

Mrixe raised an eyebrow, “Well aren’t you polite.” He held out the basket towards the young human, “Here. Why don’t you take a couple to share with you faithful steeds while Warrior Torenzi and I discuss the plans for today.”

Darin nodded, “That sounds like a good idea.” She reached in to pull out a dumpling for Talbot and one for Tsura, “Thank you!”

She then moved to returned to where the horses were stabled. While apple dumplings were not the best for horses one a piece certainly would do much harm. She held on out for Talbot and giggled as he pressed his mouth to her hand to practically inhale the treat. He then eagerly pressed his nose against her shoulder, looking for more of the sweetness that she was carrying. Darin laughed at him as she gently pushed him off. Then she moved to give the other dumpling to Tsura. The warrior horse acted much the same way as the farming horse. It seemed that somethings were universal. Once both treats had been distributed, she moved to wash the sugar, butter, and horse slobber of her hands. She didn’t want them to dry sticky.

Meanwhile Mrixe was speaking to Ridahne, “I here that Azurei are oftentimes more frank than most people are or expect. That is not the Eluri way, but I will try.” He took a deep breath to prepare himself, “I have been sent by to Council to do two things. One is the reason that will be known by all people; that is to watch you for trouble. The other is the reason that I think only she,” He nodded at Darin, “Has figured out. I am here to ensure that The Seed-Bearer’s stay in Lihaelin is as productive and comfortable as possible. I cannot hope to win in a fight against you. I deal mainly with drunkards and the occasional thief and protecting the Councilmembers. Then again I do not think we will have much reason to fight each other because you are wrong about the whims of powerful people.” He seemed to shift the direction of the conversation, “Let me give you some wisdom that I have learned in my near five hundred years of life. People like us are almost always at the whims of powerful people.” H nodded at Darin again, “And you are currently at the whims of the most powerful person in all of Astra.” He laughed lightly, “You should just be grateful she seems to utterly adore you and care for you.” He sighed, “That’s all people like you and I can hope for; to be at the whims of a master or leader that cares for others rather than is consumed by selfishness and a lust for power. I know you have been hurt by such people in the past. So have I. Yet now we both seek to serve the same cause. As such there should be no reason for tension between us. Is that not correct?”

Ridahne smiled genuinely, though it was tempered by her thoughts on having an escort. She couldn't deny the wisdom in it on the Council's part, but it didn't make her feel any better about it. Maybe she was just being petulant. Even when she was a child, she never liked being treated like one. Then again, she reminded herself, she'd always been mentally prepared to have some kind of escort in Azurei--as soon as word got out she was back in the borders, her every move would be tracked and watched, if she wasn't outright accosted. Why should this be any different?

Still, some part of her was indignant. Was she not a good enough guide of the city for her charge? Sure, Mrixe probably knew it better than she did, but Ridahne knew enough. Besides, having an escort would make them stand out even more, and draw more attention to the fact that she was a traitor, a snake to be watched and avoided. Ridahne was glad, at least, that Darin liked him. She did too, in her own way, but the fact that Darin enjoyed the man's presence would make it feel less like the warrior was hovering. Ridahne hated hovering. When she was very little, her mother let her amble off by herself near their home and tag along after some of the other kids. The young elf had been overjoyed by this freedom, until she learned that the whole of the neighborhood had been instructed to keep eyes on her at all times. Even back then, it made her angry. Looking back, Ridahne understood why a child so young couldn't just wander off unattended, but at the time, it had felt like a betrayal of trust. That was a bit like how she felt now, to be honest. Like Mrixe, likable though he was, was just another neighborhood elder watching her from under their small awning.

Ridahne gave a long sigh and let her eyes close. Evidently, she was fighting a mental battle and was trying her best to silence it for the moment, or come to a conclusion. "I have no quarrel with you, Janeel," she said softly, trying her best to inject a little warmth into that statement. "I guess when you're a person whom society has burned and cast away, there's always a part of you that desires to ever again gain people's trust, and for your word to be a sufficient promise simply because you spoke it and meant it. Foolish of me to hope for that." That last bit she muttered under her breath, almost inaudibly and with a momentary flash of sadness that was difficult to see on such a a proud, grim face as hers.

She looked up at him. "But you see, Darin, unlike anyone else of great power, has earned my trust. Trust is a hard thing for me to come by, these days. I gave blind trust to the wrong people before, and it ended in the death of my partner and friend, and in the deaths of countless innocent people. All at my hand. Forgive me if I'm less quick to trust, now. It's not your fault, and I'll accept your company without argument," she said with an apologetic bow. "Besides, your presence seems to please my companion, and therefore it would be an honor to have you." She didn't wholly mean that, though she wanted to. She really did want to. It wasn't so much a lie as much as it was her own way of trying to settle her turbulent thoughts, or trying to convince herself, like if she said it enough, she'd feel it. She did hope he understood it was nothing personal. Ridahne had nothing but respect for Mrixe, but she had her own issues to sort through, it seemed.

With a warmer and slightly more genuine smile, she said, "The pastries don't hurt, either..." She plucked another from the basket.

Mrixie’s cheerful laugh could be heard throughout the stable, “Of course pastries help. Why do you think I brought them? I know a few things about wayward, but determined and good natured, young adults. I’ve raised wayward, but determined and good natured, young adults of my own. They are always in the mood for good food.” His tone was too jovial for be seen as anything other than simple fact, “I’m glad we can be in agreement in some things.” He called out to Darin, “Come along young Mr. Lively. We are headed to the Archives. I think we will spend at least the morning there.”

Darin came over with a hop in her step. She wasn’t a fool, well, not a complete fool at least. Ridahne had to be chafing at the thought of a government overseeing her every move. The human knew that if the Council of Seven Winds trying to actually police the warrior she would react badly. That actually worried Darin. She had a job to do; a job for all of the Children of Astra. Could she afford to have favorites? Though the answer to that question hardly matter. She did have favorites: Ridahne, Talbot, Taja, Mitaja, Tsura, Thomas, Milla, and her mother were just a few examples. A better question would be should she allow her feelings for her favorites influence her actions? She was letting her emotions influence her actions a lot lately. Darin wasn’t sure, but she was pretty positive that wasn’t necessary a good thing. She needed to learn to be rational even when she was upset. Astra reacted to her emotions. She needed control or she might accidently rip the continent apart.

Still, she was in a good mood right now, so she nodded cheerfully, “Sure!” Lead the way.”

Her good mood swiftly vanished as Mrixie lead them though the city. It was nothing that Mrixie or Ridahne had done. It was the atmosphere of Lihaelin. Yesterday it had been noisy and bright and friendly. Today it was subdued and sober and closed off. Vendors and buyers alike whispered quietly to themselves; gossip was surely spreading like a wildfire already. People eyed the traveling company with wary eyes, though Darin noted that other outsiders were receiving similar looks. What the trees had done last night had set everyone on edge. There were a few people laugh and hanging signs or banners welcoming The Seed-Bearer. Some hawkers were calling our “Arrival of The Seed-Bearer” sales. Most people were quiet and wary though, and they hurried about their business, eager to be home.

Suddenly Darin felt a hand on her shoulder as a person spoke in a loud exuberant voice, “REJOICE! For soon Astra will be at rest and her Children will be abroad! REJOICE!”

Darin turned to see an Elf woman so old her hair had gone silver and her face was covered in wrinkles. How old must she be for even a long-lived Elf to show signs of age? Her eyes were milky white. Had age or something else called her to lose her sight? The woman had no idea who she was looking at or even where she might be. On her face was one of the biggest grins Darin had ever seen. She let go of Darin’s shoulder and bowed the bow of a lesser to better. Then she ambled off without waiting for a response. It happened so often that Darin’s heart was still racing.

Mrixie seemed panicked as well, “I’m sorry Mr. Lively. That’s Ms. Rochelle Pines. She used to be on of the best seers in all of Eluri lands. Then the visions got worse or stopped coming, it depends on what gossip you believe, so she resorted to drugs. Finally, she was helped free from her addictions but the damage to her mind was already done. She’s harmless for the most part.”

Darin spoke quietly but with a certainty that couldn’t be questioned as she watched the old woman walk away, “They got worse.” She then shook her head and turned to smile at her guide, “Are we almost to the Archives?”

Mrixe nodded and held out his hands to point, “Yes. Just a little bit further.”

Some injured, bitter part of Ridahne was glad to see that it wasn't just her who was getting all the dirty looks from the locals. At least their suspicion wasn't wholly her fault, she thought. A part, maybe, but not everyone could have known who she was from either her ojih or rumors. There was too much general fear for it to be just her. Part of her was angry that these people were not showing Darin the respect she deserved, but then she knew precisely how Darin felt about accolades or attention and let it go. Still, it bothered her a little that people were not generally more excited about the Seed Bearer's presence. Outside of the Red Hand, people liked the Gardener, and honored the Seed Bearer. Even if they had all been spooked about the ancient trees of their home suddenly warping and bending at the (unintentional) whims of a human girl, would they not understand that such an event was tied to the Seed Bearer, and therefore meant no harm?

Ridahne was on edge, feeling the tension in the air as they walked, so she just about jumped out of her skin when the haggard elf woman put hands on Darin. The elf turned so fast that the bone ornamental beads in the two forward braids of her hair swung so hard that they audibly clacked against each other and her collarbone. She had one hand raised as if to forcibly and aggressively break the grip of the woman, but she stopped dead as she caught sight of her. Ridahne had never met Rochelle Pines, but she was a legend often spoken of by all the elf tribes. Depending on who told the story, she was either a cautionary tale about the dangers of actively seeking out visions, or she was revered and honored as the greatest Seer in Astra's history. Ridahne would not lay a forceful hand on her for any money, or under any command. Plus, she was ancient, even by elven standards. What could she really do to hurt anyone?

"That was really her, wasn't it? I didn't realize she still lived..." Her lucidity had always been called into question in every story Ridahne had ever heard, though the warrior got the distinct impression that she was not so far gone as people often talked her up to be. Clearly living in another plane of existence, as the Azurei would say, but not entirely delusional. Ridahne watched her go, then eyed Darin with a stern look that said, "I have questions for you, but I won't ask them here." "I will tell you some of the stories I have heard about her later, Martin," she chose to say instead.

If Lihaelen itself seemed large, it did not prepare one for seeing the Archives for the first time. Lihaelen was massive, but it was a collection of buildings and structures and bridges and platforms that formed something cohesive. The Archives, however, were so large that the building itself had to be constructed on the ground, for not even the ancient trees of Lihaelen would hold up its girth. Within a considerable radius, there were notably no fires anywhere near the Archives, and no fire was ever allowed inside. Instead, the elves of ancient Eluri had cultivated a population of uloia that made their nests in and around the structure and provided ample light. Upon entry, little jars filled with nectar attracted a cluster of the insects and served as torches. No daylight pierced the inside of the structure, because there were no windows to be seen since the sunlight would damage the documents inside over time.

Everything inside was neat, orderly, and organized. Rows upon rows of shelves of varying shapes to hold varying types of documents filled the building. The shelves were so straight that they could be looked down, all the way to the opposite wall, which was also lined with shelves. The building had multiple floors, and the second one was nearly exclusively taken up by smaller rooms. Some were filled with artifacts, also neatly displayed and ordered, while some were empty except for a desk, some writing implements, and an austere chair. The third floor had no shelves along the walls, but instead was painted with hundreds of murals depicting a wide variety of images. Some were cohesive and clear, like the section that showed what ancient war looked like before the Tree had prevented such a vast evil from occurring. Whoever had painted these had done so in incredible detail, and many of the images were uncomfortable to look at. Other murals were less identifiable, and ranged from hazy shapes of people or suggestions of places to mere blotches and lines of multicolored paint. A middle aged elf woman stood in front of a fresh canvas, her eyes distant and unseeing. She painted as she hummed or muttered to herself, clearly in the throes of some vision.

The fourth floor was much like the first with its ordered rows of manuscripts, though there were some murals hung on the wall or painted on the ceiling. There were colored banners hanging over different areas of the Archives, and it appeared that there was some color coding system to mark where to find information on specific topics. A large section of Azurei history, for example, was marked with the indigo, white, and black banner of the elf tribe. Milling around the place were a vast number of attendants, each dressed in green and silver robes, that were available for guidance or interpretation, as well as general maintenance. The entire air of the place was surreal and ethereal, especially with the light given by the uloia. But it was oddly silent, too. Not the silence of a quiet evening in the woods, or the calm of the sea on a windless day. It was nearly stifling how much noise was dampened in there, and not a single echo was heard.

An attendant, a girl who couldn't have been much older than thirty, came to greet them with a bow of polite neutrality. This was a sacred place of knowledge, and hierarchy had no place there. "Greetings. What do you seek?"
Ridahne spoke first. "I'm looking for Azurei history, specifically anything pertaining to the history and development of ojih, ojih calligraphy, and any information or vision records you have of the establishment of new markings, past, present, or future."
The girl nodded. "I will alert the Section Master. Would you like her to bring you selections in a private study? Or do you wish to browse the shelves yourself?"
"I would like recommendations from your Section Master, please. If my apprentice desires a room and would like to share one with me, allow him to do so."
The girl bowed again. "Certainly. Your room will be on the second floor, number 56." She turned to Darin. "What do you seek?"

Darin shook her head, “I’m just going to look around if that’s okay.” She stuffed her hands firmly in her pockets to indicate she wouldn’t touch anything, “I’ve never been here before and just want to look around.”

The attendant nodded and Darin waved to Ridahne and Mrixe before wandering off. She had never seen a building this big before in her life. She had also never seen so many books before. She didn’t like to read and write, but she could read and write both common and the tongue of her little village. It was the one thing that the elders insisted that every child know how to do regardless of gender: reading, writing, and basic mathematics. It was harder for a trader or someone from Lively to scam them or rip them off when they could read, write, and do sums, Darin got that. It was one of the few things she and the elders agreed on. She still hated it. She preferred working with her hands and the dirt.

She wandered looking at the books and artwork. Occasionally a book caught her eye and she paused for a moment to crane her head to look at the title. Most of the books that caught her eyes had bright colors. Her hands stayed in her pockets as she wondered about, and she didn’t make too much noise. Occasionally she whispered a title as she struggled to sound it out loud, but no one seemed to mind that. One time, after sounding out a particularly difficult word a nearby, well Darin thought he was a librarian, smirked and nodded approvingly. That was odd and Darin found herself quickly moving away. Slowly she made her way up the different stories.

Only to stop in front of one of the murals on the third floor. It was war. It was war in such vivid detail that The Seed-Bearer almost thought that she was practically there. Her hand came out of her pocket and stretched out to brush across the canvas only to stop just above it. The painting had to be old, yet it was remarkably preserved. Darin’s hand drop as she stared at the reds and browns and carefully placed blues. The canvas took up a space that was huge, at least three times her height and wider than it was tall. Darin found herself desperately searching for the one thing she knew had to be in the painting. She studied carefully but couldn’t see in on the canvas she could see easily. Without thinking she grabbed a nearby chair and practically dragged it over before scrambling on to it to see the higher parts of the painting.

An attendant protested, “Hey! We have ladders.”

Darin paid her no mind as she studied. It was not a carelessly search. Her eyes focused on one part of the canvas to rove over it desperately dozens of times before moving on to the next section. Occasionally she got off the chair to move it. The attendant hover nervously. She was new and not sure what to do as the human studied the painting like she was some type of scholar or master who specialized in one specific type of brush stroke. Darin ignored her and finally found what she was looking for in the upper left-hand corner painted with only a few brushstrokes in shades of brown that were almost black. It was a spindly shape that almost looked like it could be a spider web or mistake. There was one straight bold line with several curly thinner lines sprouting from it. A few of these thinner lines were dotted with pale sickly green triangles. One had a misshaping circle dangling from the end of it painted in somber red. Darin’s hand came up to hover over it. It could be covered by two of her fingers. It was far distance from the battlefield that was the main focus of the painting.

The attendant was still worried as Darin was on her tiptoes and stretched out as far as her body would go. The chair was wobbling. Finally, the crazy human relaxed and carefully got down from the chair. Darin’s eyes were still on the shape in the corner as she fell to sit in the chair. Absently Darin’s eyes moved back across the rest of the canvas before returning to the one spot. The Gardener had been almost too late. She knew that and here was the proof. War, a thing that no one in Astra really knew, and yet Child had heard tales of. War, a strange hauntingly beautiful terror that everyone was afraid of, yet no one understood. War, that seemed pointless and yet served a purpose, even if that purpose was dark.

Darin suddenly stood and moved back down to the second floor. She had made note of where room 56 was and for now she just wanted to see Ridahne. As stupid as it was, she wanted to see her friend and verify that she was okay. Darin was almost away from the section she was in before scurrying back to put the chair back to where she had gotten it from. The attendant was confused by the strange human, but simply shook her head. Humans were odd. So, what if this one was enthralled by a shape not one master scholar had managed to figure out in several years. It was just a misplace shape. Though the attendant found herself looking at the left corner. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was important, at least to the strange human.

Ridahne seated herself and got comfortable while the section master gathered a few books to start with. Browsing the shelves on one's own was allowed, but Ridahne knew it would be easier for her and for the archivists to just let them do it. Eventually, the Eluri woman brought a stack of tomes, indicated the titles of each, gave a neutral bow, and left Ridahne to peruse them. The books were mostly written in the flowing script of the Azurei, which was used less commonly now that common Astran became the norm. It occurred to Ridahne that the section master must be able to read them, and could likely read ojih, too. She knew who Ridahne was, but did not indicate that she felt any particular way about her presence. Ridahne knew the Archives were a sacred place of common neutrality, where all were on equal footing, but she hadn't realized just how deep that sentiment really went.

She was glad to find a quill and ink and a stack of blank papers on the desk in the room. This was going to take a lot of notes and perhaps some sketching. Ridahne had promised Darin she would create but also add her new mark before they left Lihaelen, so she hoped to at least find some history on the existing marks and give her choice some context. Ridahne opened the first book and marveled at the calligraphy and the sheer artistry of it. The script was not flowery or over embellished, but it was absolute subtle perfection. Whoever wrote the tome must have been a master tattooist to not only know so much, but to write it so beautifully. It was also interesting to see that the style of the marks she found had not really changed in the centuries since the tome had been written. Ojih artistry, it seemed, was a carefully preserved art handed down over generations.

When Darin eventually found her way to Ridahne's room, she found the elf softly humming to herself as she took a few hurried notes beside a rough sketch. It wasn't often that Ridahne sang, in fact, the only time she had while they'd traveled together was at the Farm when she'd been asked to. If it was anyone else that came inside, she would have clammed up immediately, and admittedly she did falter a little. But then, it was Darin. She had nothing to fear from Darin, no hesitation of showing vulnerability with her, so she kept up the tune until she distractedly asked, "Did you find anything interesting? What do you think of the Archives? Massive, aren't they?"

The scratching of Ridahne's quill filled the soft silence between their words. Even though her notes were a little rushed, her penmanship was as neat and poetic as her swordplay. Sharp, decisive, intentional, graceful. "I've been trying to get some context for coming up with a new ojih mark. It's...more daunting than I thought. Whatever I choose, it will be recorded and passed down for...well...for as long as Azurei culture thrives. Not only that, but the design itself will stand to be the mark of every guardian to come after me." She blinked. "If I ever re-enter Azurei society, I'll have to change my sigil..." She already had a small stack of pages of sketches, some crossed out decidedly and others surrounded by uncertain notes. "I've been trying to find a way to make the mark absolutely Azurei, but also paying homage to the other nations, and the other Children of Astra. I have thoughts..." Her words were a little distant, distracted, but pleasant. "Right now I just know it needs to be black ink. Black is a far more neutral color, and since it's the darkest, it often is associated with finality, or very important things.

Ridahne sat up straight suddenly, slapping one hand against the desk. "I almost forgot! I found something I wanted to show you." She took a book that had been lying open beside her and showed it to Darin. It was a lexicon of ojih marks, with a brief description and context for each. One was achingly familiar. A bold black mark, three pointed with gentle curves in between. The description indicated when the mark had first been conceived, where is goes on the face, and what it was for. Ridahne didn't know if Darin could read the ancient Azurian script, but she didn't need to translate; Ridahne had pointed to her own many times in their journeys. "The original treason mark," she said, as if it needed any explanation at all. "But, below it, see?" She pointed to a nearly identical mark, except this one was ringed in a halo of blue. "If all goes well, and I am considered redeemed in the eyes of the Sols and allowed to return, it will look like this." She smiled at Darin, a gleam of hope in her honey eyes.

Darin dropped into a seat as she listened to Ridahne hum. The human couldn’t help the smile that graced her features. She didn’t want to help it. Ridahne humming was officially one of the best sounds in the world. She sprawled her torso across what little of the table was bare to soak in the sound and atmosphere. This place was peaceful, and Darin knew that she would grow to cherish happy little memories like this one. She did rise up a little as the Azurei mentioned the guardians that would come after her. That wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t wrong, but Ridahne would be the only one to wear the Guardian mark that she was designing. It was the Seed-Chained mark that others of all races and creeds would wear.

Darin’s voice desperately kept her voice light so she wouldn’t sound accusatory, “You know The Gardener had a Guardian, right?” She gave her head a shake as she pointed out, “And none of the Children of Astra remember them.” The Seed-Bearer gave a half shrug, “The only ones who carried the memory of them though the countless years were The Gardener and The Tree. I never learned their name, but The Tree told me a little about them.” Darin held up to fingers, “There should be two marks. The mark for Guardian is one you and you alone will wear. The mark for Seed-Chained is one that you are only the first to bear. There will be others, of all the Children of Astra.”

That lead Darin to a thought she hadn’t thought about. Seed-Chained wasn’t the only title and responsibility that The Seed-Bearer had to give. In fact, she had already given one to one man and planed to give it to others, Seed-Friend. To be a Seed-Friend was a lighter burden than that of Seed-Chained, but there was less, well, less potential honor. To be Seed-Chained was to have a chance to become Seed-Honored. Then there was the one that Darin hoped she never had to use, Seed-Cursed. There were two titles and two half titles that Darin had the power to give and there was a whole hierarchy that Darin had problems explaining even inside of her own head. Then her heart skipped a beat as she remembered that she had missed a title. She was The Seed-Bearer. That didn’t even account for the fact that when she inevitably became The Gardener the titles would shift to, Tree-Chained, Tree-Honored, Tree-Friend, and Tree-Cursed.

She gave her head a shake as she tried to explain to Ridahne, “And that is only half a title. To be Seed-Chained is to have the potential to be Seed-Honored. The mark for Seed-Chained needs to be white so it can be gone over in black.” She was insistent, “If it is possible for a tattoo to be completely covered the mark for Seed-Chained and Seed-Honored need to be exactly the same, save one in white and one in black. Seed-Honored needs to cover Seed-Chained completely. When you are finally redeemed you sin will be forgotten.” She looked RIdahne dead in the eyes, “It will not be allowed to be remembered by anyone.” She slumped back down, “Both titles belong to a family. There is also Seed-Friend and Seed-Cursed.” She swallowed nervously as she finished the family, “And of course The Seed-Bearer.” She didn’t seem so sure, “We need to come up with marks for those as well; all black. Yet it can’t just be for tattoos. There is one Seed-Friend right now. They are Eluri. I plan on making at least one human a Seed-Friend. Black is universal though. The marks should still be wearable.” Her next statement was barely a whisper, “The Seed-Bearer’s mark.” She swallowed drily before starting again, “My mark should be green. I know that it is not an Azurei color, but it is an Astran color.”

Darin couldn’t look at Ridahne anymore. What would the Azurei think of those declarations? Darin had just turned the task of crafting a new Oijh mark into crafting symbols for what basically amounted to, for lack of better words, her court. Yet Darin had no one else she could trust with this. She had no one who understood the importance of symbols. She wasn’t putting the task solely on Ridahne though. Darin wanted to help. She just wasn’t sure how. She finally forced herself to look at Ridahne. Darin couldn’t help but feel like she was being completely unfair. Yet there was a task to be done. Ridahne was already doing part of it. Darin could, and wanted to, help.

Ridahne's face went blank as she blinked, surprised. "There was a previous Guardian? I...I mean I suppose that makes sense but honestly I never even considered it. I really hadn't thought about it. For some reason I thought the previous Gardener just sort of took up the job and that...well, that things were fine. That's sort of what gets passed down through history, anyway. I never expected that he might have needed a Guardian." She went silent for a moment, and then softly added, "I wish I knew more about them. Probably in the same way you want to know more about the Gardener...I wish I could learn from their wisdom and experience. But then..." she frowned as she considered, "They wouldn't have had the same problems we do now, I'll bet."

Ridahne was largely silent and thoughtful as Darin spoke, except when Darin suggested the Seed-Honored mark cover the Seed-Chained mark completely. The look of shock and bewilderment was plain on her face, but she kept her voice steady. "Cover over a mark...completely? I don't know, Darin, I know what you mean by it, and I know that you feel like that sin should not be remembered. But in the Azurei tradition, we believe that all of your experiences and choices shape who you are. Not just the good ones." She gave a soft smile. "For a culture who decides to tattoo things on their faces quite permanently, we believe strongly in the idea of growth, change, and development. It's why we have marks for marriage, but also additional, accompanying marks for becoming a widow, or for separation. The point of the ojih is to tell a story, all of it. Not just the highlights. Even my damning traitor mark, I'll have to live with that my whole life. It will always be there, because I did do it. I killed those people, Darin. Now, you can make all the arguments you want for context and justice and all of that, but you can't deny that their blood is on my hands. Now, my day will come, and I will redeem myself in the eyes of my people, and the truth of all I have done will be known in full. And I'll get that redemption mark here," she pointed to her traitor one, "and in the eyes of my people and by the law of my land I will be fully pardoned. But if you were to ask me about my story, about how I got to where I was, I wouldn't skip to that part. The pain, the ugly anguish and the loneliness and the shame and guilt was all part of my story, Darin. I can't erase that. I...I don't want to, no matter how terrible it was."

Ridahne smiled, and the warmth of that expression on her usually grim face was as rare and precious as a diamond. "I know you are quick to defend me, Darin. And to know that there's someone out there who would do that for me is worth more than I can put into words. But I don't want to hide my history. Not anymore." She considered, then added, "If you wish for future Seed-Chained to have the ability to erase their sins, then we can establish a mark that can be covered. But not mine. For mine, I will adopt the Azurei tradition and highlight the old with the new. The mark for Seed-Chained will be white, and the mark for Seed-Honored will be black, but instead of covering the white completely, I will leave a silhouette of white around the black."

Ridahne realized suddenly as she glanced back at her sketches that if there were going to be more universal marks that were meant for more than an ojih, she was going about this all wrong. Inherently, her penmanship and artistic style had a bent towards Azurei tradition. If Darin were to design the marks, she'd inherently have a human bias. "I think," Ridahne said slowly, "That whatever marks we create need to be open to some interpretation. If I draw them, they will look decidedly Azurei. If you draw them, they will be decidedly human. If this is going to last for generations, there should be some flexibility amongst cultures and mediums. An ojih mark might not translate well to an arm tattoo, or to a flag or a crest. I think what I'll do is come up with something specifically for ojih to add to the tomes and records of ojih marks, but then have another version that is identifiably similar, yet is a little more neutral. What do you think? Also, if you're finished looking around, and if you have any ideas, you can do some sketches of things you're thinking of, too. Don't worry about artistic quality, that can be refined. But just ideas." She pushed a small stack of blank pages and a quill and inkwell across the desk to her.

Darin scowled, but didn’t argue when Ridahne mentioned not covering up her Seed-Chained mark completely. This was just going to have to be one of those things that Darin let go of. She didn’t like that. She didn’t like it one little bit. She supposed that she could force the issue to resolve her way because she was The Seed-Bearer, but Darin had already basically bullied Ridahne into creating a new Ojih mark. The human didn’t want to abuse her power, especially in regard to her friend. That didn’t mean she had to be happy about it. Because she wasn’t. Still she would let it be and not bring it up again.

Instead she continued to scowl as she pulled the stack of papers towards her. Darin had vague ideas of what a quill was. That didn’t mean she knew how to use one. When learning to write the elder that taught the children her age had created sticks by missing charcoal and tallow and then wrapping the shaped sticks in fabric and twine. Darin had never advanced to quills. It hurt to hold the thin sticks for too long and her page always wound up covered in black marks and her face was the same. Looking back that may have been the first time then elders decided that she was going to be difficult. Darin grew morose as she thought about it. She had really tried to get it right. She tried as hard as she could. She had wanted to impress her teachers. She hadn’t and while that wasn’t the last time, she tried to impress the elders it was certainly the last time she tried that hard.

Apprehensively Darin watched Ridhane and her long graceful fingers to see how it was done. Then, hesitantly, Darin copied the movements. She knew that this was going to be a disaster the moment she picked up the quill. It was even thinner than the charcoal sticks that she was used to. Her hand already hurt. She gritted her teeth as she dipped the quill into the inkwell before moving it towards the page. A heavy droplet of ink fell on the page to create a stark black blot. Darin wouldn’t let that defeat her. She placed the quill tip on the page to draw out a line, only to press to hard and tear the page. Okay, this was not going well. Darin carefully put the ruin page to the side before moving to redip the quill. Only she moved to fast and her arm bumped the inkwell and sent it toppling over. Letting out a shout of panic she lunged for the inkwell and set it upright to prevent more ink from spilling. Then, seeing where the ink was heaing, Darin let out another shout and quickly dive for the book that was in peril. The blank pages went flying. The inkwell landed on the ground, and Darin’s shirt wound up covered in ink. The books were all safe though.

Darin quickly began to stutter, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry.”

Unbidden a thought came to her mind. ”You know the elders say Martian Left cause of something Talia did. I bet they’re wrong. I bet it’s you fault. I beat her couldn’t stand having a clumsy daughter that can’t even dance without stepping on toes or walk without tripping.”

There she had gone again, being a clumsy fool, knocking over inkwells, falling off cliffs, tripping over things that weren’t there. It was made worse by the fact that the ink had to be ruining the table and the floor. At least the books weren’t hurt. Darin carefully book the book with the traitors’ mark in it to the side as she got gone to the floor to try and contain the damage. Tears pricked at her eyes and she tried to blink them away. She wasn’t going to cry in front of Ridahne. She wanted the Elf to like her, to be impressed with her, to think she was worth something, anything. She didn’t want the Elf to leave. Not like him. Her apologies had yet to falter.

Ridahne was engulfed in her work, and if one were to look over her shoulder at the notes and sketches she scratched out on the paper, it would become clear that she had narrowed in on some concept or another, and was refining its details. Whatever she put to paper, whatever she decided would be the final marks would be passed down for generations upon generations. They would outlive her. This notion unnerved the elf a little. Unlike Ajoran, who spent his younger years as a smith, Ridahne was not a craftsman. When she was young, she either hunted the land or hunted the sea, and then she was methodically and perhaps even brutally trained to destroy. Ridahne did not create things of importance, much less things that would outlive her (hopefully) long span of years.

But this...

People to come would see the work of her hand and would not know it was hers. They would not understand the events that came together to form it. They would not know the pain that came before it, nor the joy afterward. They would not feel the uncertainty of two young women trying to find their place in this world. They would know only the marks and what they stood for, not why they were ever there to begin with. She supposed that she ought to feel like she was leaving a legacy, but honestly she couldn't shake the feeling of insignificance that knowledge brought.

A cold sweat formed on her brow as this dread sunk its claws into her like a bird of prey that had swooped straight into her chest. Ridahne was a decent hand at tattooing, but she was no master artist. What if she got it wrong? What if her chosen design was mediocre and inadequate? Rough and unrefined? In any other situation, Ridahne might have walked away then to get a little distance between it and her, but the task was pressing. At the very least, her own marks needed to be sorted. She had to do this. She had to figure this out now. Suddenly every stroke of her quill felt deeply permanent.

A flicker of movement made her jump; Darin knocked her inkwell over suddenly with a startled gasp. Ridahne gasped too, instinctively leaping out of her seat with the nearest book in hand. The abyssal liquid pooled on the desk and dripped onto the floor like a black waterfall, but the ancient books were unharmed. Ridahne let out a breath, though it came out oddly choked. Darin was furiously apologetic, but Ridahne simply knelt and helped her clean the mess. The elf's face shifted from inscrutable to oddly contorted, and back again in the span of a few seconds as she wrestled with an emotion she didn't rightly understand. And then suddenly Ridahne burst out in a choked laugh marked with tears. The strength and warmth of her laugh increased, though the tears kept flowing as if something had been pent up inside her and was finding a way to come out.

Ridahne struggled to get a grip. "I'm not laughing at you, I promise, not really. It's just...well, it turns out making an Ojih mark and marks that will outlive me and my grandchildren and their grandchildren is ah...well, it's a lot of pressure. And...well I'm glad you're with me." It was not the most eloquent thing she'd ever said, but it was certainly vulnerable. For Ridahne, that was a feat in and of itself. She chuckled a little and shook her head. "Don't worry too much about the ink. Have you noticed that the floor is dark? In the countless centuries this place has existed, can you imagine how many times this exact thing has happened? You've just made your timeless mark on the Great Archives is all. Not many can say they've done that."

Outlive her children? Outlive her grandchildren? Suddenly the truth of that hit Darin like a ton of bricks. The work they were doing, both here today, and in their whole trip, would outlive Ridahne, and her children and her children’s children, and her children’s children’s children. It would outlive Ridahne’s descents for more generations than Darin cared to count at the moment. And yet she would get the chance to count them. And she wouldn’t just count the generations of Torenzis. She would count the generations for Thomas, for Milla, for more people than she could fathom. Darin would outlive them all.

She wouldn’t even be remembered. How many generations did it take before The Gardener’s name was forgotten? How many more until his true mission and home had faded into myth and legend? How many generations until no one knew him as a man and only knew him as The Gardener? How many years until all the people he knew personally had died? How long did it take until he had been a stranger, a myth, a legend, an untouchable, in a land he had helped create, but would never be home? How long until his family and friends were gone from anyone’s memories save his own.

Darin’s hands came up to grip tightly to her hair and skull as she stared unblinking at the ink that wouldn’t come up. How long until the only piece she had of Ridahne, her mother, Thomas, Milla, Talbot’s person, Harris, and others were only her faulty memories? She had planned for a life that was sixty, maybe seventy, years long, if her own clumsiness didn’t kill her first. She could barely comprehend living to Ridahne’s one hundred and three years. How could she live a life that was practically timeless? Her breathing was becoming sharp and erratic. Ravi said it was her, that it had always been her. Yet each realization, each truth that Darin finally forced herself to see, made her feel that much more lackluster. She was human. She was flawed. She was damaged. She was no one’s favorite. Even RIdahne, who she adored beyond all measure and couldn’t imagine a life without, was only here because it was her thigh The Seed was strapped to.

She looked at Ridahne with a pained smile on her face, “You’re right. It’s a lot of pressure. I didn’t realize how much when I asked you to do this.” She stood and forced a laugh out, “It still needs to be done, but we can take a break. The books aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. Let’s get outside for a moment.”

Darin was quickly gathering papers and closing books. Her hands were shaking, and she couldn’t seem to control her breathing. Darin tried desperate to not let Ridahne see that. She needed to get out of this room. She needed to get out of this building. She needed to just breath. She couldn’t breathe. She just didn’t want it to seem like she was running. She was so tired of running, running form Ridahne and from responibilites. She just wasn’t sure how she could handle the weight of the world when she couldn’t even breath. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking and she dropped the papers that she was holding. She was moving too fast. Her limbs were jerky. She tried to collet the drawing again. They scattered again. Darin suddenly jabbed her nails into the flesh of her arm. She needed to get a flipping grip! She needed to breath!

Some part of Ridahne did not want to go outside and take a break. Once she set herself to a task, she was difficult to sway from it, and she was really determined to figure this out before they left Lihaelen. That determined part of her itched at leaving behind the books and scrolls and sheaves of paper, but then the moment her mind entertained the idea of picking up the pen, she faltered a little and felt that dread loom over her again. Plus, she realized, it wouldn't just be for her sake. With equal parts resolve and reluctance, Ridahne abandoned the study and followed Darin outside into the fresh air. It had a wonderful fragrance. Wilderness in Azurei often smelled like dust, but here among the trees, the wind wafted a delicate fragrance of crushed pine needles, of soft earth, and the gentle decay of fallen detritus on the forest floor.

Despite Darin's efforts, Ridahne was too perceptive, and too knowledgeable of Darin and her moods to miss the panic that welled up in the human. Ridahne could almost feel it from where she stood. The elf wasn't certain what was on Darin's mind, and she hadn't yet made up her mind whether or not to press her directly about it. Ridahne just placed one cool hand on Darin's shoulder, her grip firm but gentle as if to pass on some of her stony resolve to the human. In that moment, she wished Hadian was there. He had often been an anchor for her, as his implacable personality lent itself naturally to being soothing and calming. Ridahne did not have this natural charm, but she did her best anyway.

"You've got something on your mind." It was a simple statement, not accusatory or tinted with any kind of judgement, and all that it implied was that Ridahne was there if she wanted to talk about it. Her father used to talk to her like that when she was upset. He never pressed her, though he did always initiate a conversation open ended enough for Ridahne to decide whether or not to expand on her thoughts and feelings. She always felt like it gave her a modicum of control when she felt she had none.