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"..and so I don't know what to do. I think my family is going crazy."

The two sat on either end of the campfire, both staring at the ground as Lahkin told his story. Dustwing reflected the worry must have been building in the youth for a long time, as it had been some days since they had set out in the Outlands--and since Lahkin had had contact with his family.

"Don't despair," said Dustwing. "You're not the only one with a family who isn't perfect. Show me a perfect family, and I'll show you a flock of mockingbirds."

Lahkin looked up with a strained smile. He was growing up, Dustwing realized. Still full of laughter and child-like wonder, but more and more often Dustwing had caught the youth staring off into the distance, his grey eyes heavy with some unexpressed thought. There was a growing awareness to the boy, the kind that would eventually grow into truth-seeing wisdom. The wisdom of a crusader...or a cynic. Such a far cry from the child Lahkin had been, but as Dustwing knew all too well, suffering had its way of overwriting everything a person was.

As Lahkin continued to look sad, Dustwing continued. "In fact, did I ever tell you about my nephew?"

Lahkin's eyes widened and he shook his head, his sorrow momentarily forgotten in his surprise. "No. You've never told me anything about your family. I didn't know you even had one!"

Dustwing smiled, though it was bittersweet. "Of course I do. And my nephew was dear to me. He was just about your age--" Dustwing stopped. "Well, what your age would be if you had aged normally. But see, his father and I did not get along."

"Really? What happened?"

"I--" Dustwing started off, but then found his words caught his throat. He closed his eyes.

"I'm surprised to see you here, offal."

The wild-haired night elf snarled back at Kildrad, though in his sneer was also amusement. "After my relationship with your sister, you expected something more?"

"After the treatment of my nephew, yes."

"Pretty damn hard to be a good father when you're exiled," Divyrr shot back.

Kildrad didn't bother to answer, expression sour, and Divyrr continued.

"I'm not here to fight for you, Wildmane. I'm here to fight for the Alliance, and the Dawn."

"Which means you'll be under my orders. Can you handle that?"

Divyrr caught Kildrad's arm and spun the lieutenant to face him. "For my brother's sake, I would handle anything. The Lich King must pay."

The two night elves stared at each other, until they finally broke off eye contact at the same time.

"Prepare to move out at sundown," said Kildrad, turning back to survey the rest of his troops.

"I thought the Argent did their operations at dawn," said Divyrr with a snort. "More symbolic that way, I suppose."

"We are merely to be a feint so the others can march on the Citadel," Kildrad answered quietly. "Today, there will be no dawn."

"Dustwing?" Lahkin asked as the silence stretched into minutes.

The night elf shook his head, willing away the memory. Lahkin was looking at him, the corners of his eyes creased in worry. Struggling to put a smile on his face, the hunter reached over and patted the young human's shoulder.

"He did...a very bad thing to my sister. But in the end he was redeemed. Enough stories for tonight, youngblood. Tomorrow is another long day, and you'll need your rest."

Lahkin stared at Dustwing, and the night elf felt unsettled by the penetrating gaze coming out of such a young face. But then the youth smiled as if nothing had happened, and got up to sort out his bedroll.

Dustwing continued staring straight ahead, watching the flames of the campfire make shapes in the night air. And he remembered...

*****

Nagrand was hot this time of year, though Lahkin had to wonder if seasons could really change in a shattered land like Draenor. While on the Hellfire Peninsula, Lahkin could have counted the stars that were visible throughout the day. Here though, only the sun shown in a clear blue sky. Lahkin could have almost believed he was back home in Azeroth.

Almost.

Dustwing said the atmosphere was stronger here, hiding the stars and ensuring the climate to be more stable for the surrounding lands. He also said that it was the best kind of atmosphere to start flying lessons. Lahkin could barely sit still while Dustwing went to pick out a suitable hippogriff from Telaar's stables.

That had been almost two hours ago. Lahkin's hearthstone had buzzed while the night elf had been away, one of the Pia Presidum calling on anyone with a strong enough sword arm to rendezvous with him in Icecrown. That didn't include Lahkin, but it did include Dustwing. And so now here Lahkin sat, alone in the village of the Broken.

Lahkin still wondered how the night elf had become acquainted with his order. Dustwing didn't like to talk about his past, his only explanation being that he had met them in his line of work. Whatever that meant. As far as Lahkin could tell, Dustwing's line of work was being a loner, picking up odd jobs for a bit of coin. His clothes, his carefully cared-for bow, even his scarred up skin showed signs of having gone through better times. Lahkin was left up to imagining stories for how the night elf had obtained some of those scars. A great battle? A daring escape from the Horde? Or a misadventure with a kitchen knife?

Lahkin sighed, clacking his heels against the stone wall he sat upon and bringing his thoughts back to the present. The meeting with Icecrown was to be with Cyrus, and Lahkin would bet (if he were old enough to bet) his last month's savings that it wouldn't be a friendly meeting at all. Lahkin knew that Dustwing would not have gone and left him here alone if he didn't expect to come back, though. He told him to wait, not to return home.

Dustwing was planning on coming back, but he hadn't yet. And Lahkin was growing bored of waiting.

The night elf had taken his own hippogriff of course, but the rented one he had intended Lahkin to learn on still stood a few yards away, snapping at flies. Lahkin got up, and the creature threw up its head, turning it sideways to stare at Lahkin with one orange eye.

"Hello," Lahkin told it. Dustwing had said the animals were intelligent, and the hippogriff did indeed give a nod in return.

"You've been standing there for a while. Do you want to go for a ride?" Lahkin asked.

The hippogriff nodded again, or maybe it was just tossing its head at the flies.

"Okay then, just stand still. I'm new at this..."

It took a few tries before Lahkin managed to clamber onto the beast's back. The hipogriff stood patiently, holding its wings up out of harm's way. Finally Lahkin sat back, feeling pretty good about himself. He gathered up the reins and gave them a snap. "Okay, forward!"

The hippogriff looked back at him quizzically.

"You know...forward! Onward! That way! ...you know?"

Lahkin wasn't ready for the hippogriff to leap into a run, and even less ready when it leaped off the plateau altogether. He yanked back on the reins as he scrambled to right himself, until the smart bird snapped them out of his hands with a toss of its head. Lahkin yelled and instead grabbed the saddle for dear life.

The hippogriff circled lazily in the air, still tossing its head until the reins came off of its antlers. Finally Lahkin built up enough courage to loosen his grip and sit straight, taking a look at how far they had come.

Mistake.

The clefthoofs grazing outside Telaar were only as big as beetles, and the Kurenai buildings looked like children's toys. Lahkin groaned and pressed his face into the hippogriff's neck. "Okay, I think I've had enough. Take me down? Please?"

But the hippogriff was just getting started. It flapped and strained until it found a good air current, then rode it like a rafter on a river. Pockets of turbulence dropped it from the air, and cross-currents buffeted it this way and that. Up, down, side to side, a few straight-aways as gentle as sailing--never enough straight-aways. Lahkin clung to the saddle until his muscles hurt.

"Oh dear Light..."

He was slipping sideways, and it threw off the hippogriff's balance. Squawking indignantly, the animal went into a controlled tumble out of the sky. Lahkin felt his feet leave the stirrups, and then--

Flump! He landed in a bush. It took him a few minutes to notice the thorns, and then he was flailing out of it with a yell. He fell face-forward onto the grass and lay there, catching his breath.

When Lahkin looked up, the hippogriff was standing a few feet away, calmly preening its feathers. It looked up and regarded him as if to say, "Clumsy little thing, aren’t you?" before returning to its grooming as if nothing unusual had happened.

"You did that on purpose, smart-aleck!" Lahkin snapped at it. The hippogriff screeched and took off.

"No, wait! I didn't mean it! I didn't--"

Pain exploded in the back of his head, and Lahkin pitched into the grass. He had a few moments to puzzle out what was happening, before a rough hand grabbed him and threw him on his back. He stared up into the brown-skinned, pig-nosed face of an orc.

And then the orc was gone, and the angry screeching of the hippogriff filled the air. Lahkin stumbled to his feet, trying hard not to black out.

"No, no, no! Leave him alone!" he shouted as the hippogriff dived and slashed at a group of three orcs carrying hunting gear. The hippogriff reluctantly landed besides Lahkin, its feathers sticking out in all directions in its displeasure.

Lahkin turned to grin apologetically at the orcs, to find their crossbows trained on him.

"Er, hello," he said lamely.

The orcs didn't reply, except to fire off their crossbows in the hippogriff's direction. Lahkin trailed the bolts with his eyes, numb as he heard the thumps and subsequent screech.

He turned around again just in time to be shoved to the ground.

*****

"Ah Genevra, you're going to kill me."

Dustwing stood with his arms crossed, chewing his lip, as he surveyed Lahkin's pack--with no Lahkin in sight beside it. He could trace the youth's footprints in the mud of the plateau easily enough, as well as the deep imprint of the hippogriff's hind hooves where it had sprung from the cliff.

But hippogriffs didn't leave footprints in the sky. “First I go to Icecrown to find your brother-in-law. Then I come back to Outland to find your son…gone. You’d think at least one of them would have the sense to stay put!” Dustwing rubbed at his face. "Ah, Elune. There’s nothing for it. Old bird, do you have energy in you for one more flight today?"

Behind him, Dustwing's hippogriff raised its head and chirruped. Dustwing crossed over to its head, flipping the reins back onto its neck, and mounted.

"Thank you. Take us out wide and high. It's been hours since he left, and I'll need your keen sight. Fel-damned kid could be anywhere in Nagrand by now..."

*****

Lahkin's consciousness came back slowly, like rising out of a deep sleep. The first thing he saw was red, and for a moment, he had a terrifying thought that he was covered in blood. Soon enough, though, he realized he hadn't even opened his eyes, and the redness was from the glare of the sun shining on his eyelids.

The pain in the back of his head was more than enough to excuse his mistake. Lahkin uncurled slowly from the awkward position the orcs had left him in, only to find a rope loop around his neck had necessitated the ungainly curl in his back. He opened his eyes with a soft groan.

The orcs had thrown together a quick camping site around their hogtied human captive. Their crossbows were piled up against a rock several yards away, beside three packs and what looked like a painted talbuk horn. Beyond that, Lahkin could just see the owners, huddled together with their backs to Lahkin.

The orcs were surveying the prone hippogriff. Lahkin was glad to see that his mount was alive, if not in the best shape. He couldn't see its wounds from here, but the fact that the hippogriff was making no effort to stand didn't bode well. For now it lay, wings out to the sides, and hissing whenever the orcs got too close.

"I still think we should make a meal of it," one of the orcs growled.

"It's one of the Telaari beasts," answered another. "If we could train it, use it as one of our own..."

"After it nearly gutted Plinth like that? Talk sense, Ushand!"

It took a few minutes for the realization to register through the pounding in Lahkin's head. Orcs! Speaking Common!

But then, why not? If they could speak in Common, maybe they would answer in Common.

"Hey," Lahkin croaked. "Hey!"

The orcs turned around, and their faces darkened. Lahkin closed his eyes, just as much out of pain as out of fear.

"I'm Lahkin. Lahkin Stoneheardt. Nice to meet you."

Maybe it was antipathy, or maybe it was surprise from hearing a human introduce himself as if they were all guests at a banquet, but the orcs didn't reply.

"I didn't mean you any harm," Lahkin continued. "The hippogriff was just trying to defend me. I hope you don't hurt it. Er, anymore, that is."

"Lahkin," cut in one of the orcs, and Lahkin cringed. "Lahkin is an orc name."

Lahkin didn't know what to say.

"We're wasting time, Ushand," said one of the others. "Farseer Kurkush said to shoot down the intruder in our skies, and we did. Sort of. Now let’s get back to our hunt."

But the first orc didn't move. Lahkin cautiously peeled open his eyes again, one by one.

"Bring him," the orc said finally. "But do not untie him. Leave the hippogriff. We continue to the Ancestral Grounds as planned."

"But--"

"Are you the leader of this expedition, Agar? No? Then do as I say!"

The other orc grumbled, and stomped towards Lahkin. The youth couldn't help a scream of pain as the orc hauled him to his feet, slipping a hand in the loop around his neck.

"Give us any trouble, and I'll cut off your air," the orc growled in his ear. "Whatever Ushand believes about you." Despite his words, the orc loosened the noose, so Lahkin could stand straight.

The youth stole a glance at Ushand, who watched grimly. Agar shoved his head the other direction, sending starbursts across Lahkin's vision.

"Eyes on the road, human. You've got a long walk."

"What about my hippogriff?" Lahkin dared to ask.

"Be glad you're not sharing its fate." The orc leered, then gave Lahkin a push. "Move it!"

*****

Dustwing ran his fingers along the ground, tracing the claw-rends, broken feathers, and spatters of blood. He paused at the boot outlines that could only be Lahkin’s, and the heavier, deeper footprints of three other creatures.

“An orc hunting party?” Dustwing sat back on his heels. “And they had a fight.” He looked back to find his hippogriff leaning over the other, biting and tugging at the bolts buried in its chest. “Ah, Elune. Here I was hoping he just got lost. Here, bird, you’d better let me do that.”

Dustwing’s hippogriff bobbed its head and stepped back as the night elf examined the wounds. The wounded hippogriff didn’t even call out as Dustwing pulled the bolts from its wounds and rinsed them clean with his waterskin. Dustwing then kneeled before it, taking its head in his hands and staring it in the eyes.

“Your rider is in danger. I need to find him, but I can’t take you with me. Show me the way he went. Please.”

The hippogriff ground its beak, then tossed its head until Dustwing let go. It drove its bill into the ground, sc*@#@*@ at the grass until the dirt underneath was revealed. Rending lines in the dirt with its talons, it stabbed one claw into the middle.

“A map?” Dustwing asked. The hippogriff’s head bobbed. “And that right there is us?” Another bob.

The hippogriff dragged its talon then, across one of the lines, and down another. It stabbed its beak viciously at that point, then looked back up at Dustwing.

“Across the river, and along the High Path. They go to Halaa?”

The hippogriff cawed in frustration and dug at the dirt some more. Dustwing frowned as its drawing became hopelessly obscured.

“Further then. Ah, Elune.” Dustwing rubbed at his face. “Old bird, think you can take a message back to Telaar? This one can’t fly, and we don’t know how many men will be needed to rescue Lahkin.”

Dustwing’s hippogriff chirped in eagerness, hopping to its feet. It waited impatiently while Dustwing scrawled a message on the back of one of his traveling maps and attached to its antlers. With a whipping of wings, the hippogriff was in the air, streaking towards Telaar.

“And now you,” said Dustwing, turning to the wounded hippogriff. “On your feet, and let’s see if we can’t hobble you out of here. I know, I know. I don’t like it either, but a good commander never leaves anyone behind.”

Dustwing smirked at himself as the hippogriff struggled to its feet. “A good commander, I never was…”

*****

The walk was long, but the night after it was even longer.

The orcs tied Lahkin to a tree while they laid out their camp. Their crossbows again went in a pile far away from their prisoner, and Lahkin saw no hope in getting free that way. That was assuming he could get past the pain in his head enough to begin with.

As the sky darkened in Draenor’s unnatural night, one of the orcs approached Lahkin with food and water. Lahkin took of it gladly, coughing on the strange seasonings of the meat, but managed several thanks as was polite. The orc only grunted and left.

An hour or two later, the pain was getting worse, and Lahkin felt like the ground was rocking underneath him. The orc Lahkin had picked out as Ushand walked over, detaching from the orc silhouettes against the fire like a drop of water from a pond. He stopped and studied Lahkin for a long moment, until the youth wanted to curl up in a hole to get away from the penetrating gaze.

“Bare your neck.”

Lahkin choked. They couldn’t think of killing him after leading him all the way out here, could they?

“Bare your neck,” Ushand commanded again. When Lahkin still didn’t move, the orc pulled his head forward by the hair and began to chant. Lahkin felt a sharp sting, then numbness, as the orc slapped something wet on his wounds. The youth relaxed as the pain subsided, and the world began to still.

“What are you going to do with me?” Lahkin asked as Ushand worked on in silence.

The orc eyed him. “What we are doing is none of a human’s concern. You are not like most humans.”

Lahkin wasn’t sure what to make of that. Ushand finished his work and pushed Lahkin back up against the tree, pulling the noose forward so it lay limp on his chest. Lahkin smiled his thanks.

“How did you come by the name Lahkin?” Ushand asked.

“My father named me, after his brother’s son.”

Ushand raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“They weren’t blood brothers,” Lahkin continued quickly. “Dad spent a lot of time with the orcs when he was younger. He doesn’t talk about it much, though.”

Ushand’s brow furrowed as he thought it over. “And this other Lahkin. Does he still live?”

“No,” said Lahkin. “He died when he was just a kid.”

Ushand nodded slightly, looking back over his companions, joking with each other by the campfire. “To be named after one who did not even make it into adulthood...your sire must have been close to him.”

Lahkin again didn’t reply. The orc seemed to be hinging on something important, not quite daring to say it, not quite daring not to.

“It’s a foolish dream we follow, human,” Ushand finally said. “Hope that you do not get caught up in it.”

Lahkin blinked up at him, but the orc had already turned away. Agar called out a friendly greeting, and Ushand sat down beside him, temporary gloom dispelled by a story the other orc was sharing.

Lahkin sighed and laid his head on the tree. Why did no one ever say what they meant?

It had been a long walk, but the night was even longer.

*****

They awoke him before dawn, dragging him to his feet when Lahkin couldn’t stand on his own. Ushand refused to look his way, but the other orc, Agar, was plenty happy to poke and shove at the human until he was moving in a pace that Agar approved of.

When the sun came up, it lighted on the clear green crystal pinnacles of a draenic structure, and Lahkin’s heart leapt at the thought that he was headed back to Telaar. But the flapping of the Horde flag stole his optimism in the next breath.

Three buildings stood on a plateau, connected to the rest of the land via four sturdy rope bridges. Blood elves guarded each of the structures, frowning at the quartet as they made their way across the bridge closest. Ushand spoke to the elves in their own language, and grudgingly, they parted to let them through.

“We restock on our supplies here, especially the Oshu’gun dust,” said Ushand. “With any luck, we’ll be out of here by sundown.”

Lahkin groaned. Agar pushed Lahkin down under one of the awnings stretching out from the buildings, and the youth gladly curled up so his head was between his knees. He tried to forget where he was, imagining himself back in Lakeshire, or in Stormwind in the Blue Recluse.

“Anywhere but here. Why didn’t I stay put like Dustwing said? I just want to go home.” He thought of his mother, probably cooking breakfast at this time of day. His father would probably be still asleep, or just rising, banging on Lahkin’s door and telling him the eggs would get cold if he didn’t wake up…

Someone was shouting. Lahkin lifted his head, squinting against the sun. Agar and Ushand were standing some yards away, arguing and looking south. The other orc—Lahkin didn’t know his name—hurried to shove several pouches into their packs.

“His magic is not like ours,” said Agar. “You wish for peace, but you forget the very things driving us apart! The other shaman will never go for it.”

“Sometimes, one has to look past the obvious obstacles to find the treasure underneath,” Ushand said softly.

“Treasure? Treasure! Listen to yourself! Ever since Farseer Kurkrush put you under, you’ve been spouting nothing but nonsense. The blueskins are our enemies, Ushand.”

“They haven’t always been our enemies. Must more die in the name of useless bloodshed?”
Agar sighed. “Look, I know you aren’t happy with Hellscream’s latest war. I’m not either. When he left for Azeroth, he left our people to fend for ourselves. But we are still orckind, and we stand as one. Against the draenei.”

Ushand reached out to place his hand on Agar’s arm. The other orc scowled, but did not pull away. Ushand closed his eyes, breathing deep. Lahkin thought he was trying very hard not to lash out. Ushand’s next words were almost too calm. “I am shaman, Agar. I am a new to our brotherhood, I will admit, but I feel the spirits’ will moving within me. Those very spirits who threw themselves into the battles with the draenei so long ago, now calling for an end to the madness.”

Agar was about to reply in anger, faltered as Ushand bored on ahead.

“It is as strong as nothing I have ever known before. I see other worlds. I see where our current path will take us. This one does not look like much on the surface, I know. But be it by his own kin or some other phenomenon, he has the touch of the talbuk. Don’t you see it, Agar? He is of the Air.”

“What shaman couldn’t?” Agar growled. He threw an accusing finger in Ushand’s face. “I cannot believe you. You would replace our lost brother…with HIM?”

“I do what I must,” said Ushand. “As do we all. The circle is left unjoined.”

“And you never once thought that maybe it’d be better if you replaced that spot with another orc? Even one with no gift would be better than the blasphemy you speak of!” Agar clenched and unclenched his fists, then abruptly stormed off in the other direction. “Then let it be done! And don’t think I’m doing this because I believe you, Ushand! You’ll see. You’re not the only one who can blackmail your brothers into compliance!”

“Some threat,” muttered the orc next to Lahkin, and the youth almost jumped out of his skin. He looked up at the third orc, now standing right behind him, finished with his packing. “Call me Plinth, by the by.”

“What’s going on?” asked Lahkin. “Who are they talking about?”

Plinth shrugged. “Ushand is doing what shaman should. Sometimes, the gift of foresight makes orc go a little nutty.” The orc tapped his temple and winked. “But it is a gift. One that goes underappreciated in Hellscream’s Horde.”

“What is he trying to do? He said peace…”

Somebody yelled, and the orc looked up. Ushand came running their way, throwing his arm out wide towards the south bridge. The blood elves were moving, lining up in ranks. Beyond that, the air crackled as the first blasts of magical energy assaulted the first building.

“Fel damn it all. The draenei are attacking. We must hurry out of here.”

“Draenei! You don’t think—“ Lahkin bit his lip as both orcs looked at him in surprise. “Sorry.”

“Do you think they’re here for the boy, Ushand?” said Plinth.

Ushand paused. “No. Halaa has always been the source of great conflict. But we can’t let them know we’re here, either way. Hide out in the blood elves' research center, over there. We’ll slip out from under them when night falls."

Plinth swung a pack on his shoulder with one hand, and pulled Lahkin to his feet with the other. Ushand grimaced and scurried off to find Agar.

“What is he trying to do, you ask?” Plinth said, watching Ushand go. “That is just what you’re going to find out, little human!” Plinth laughed, then went grim as he turned his eyes to the southern horizon.

"We aren’t out of the fire yet..."

*****

Dustwing stood on the stoop of the Blue Recluse, staring at its closed door. He stepped aside each time someone walked in or out, but got no closer to going either forward or backward himself.

Genevra wasn’t going to like this. Narnicka, either. They had trusted him to keep their son safe. And now look what had happened. Lahkin missing, Lahkin possibly dead. All on his watch.

Dustwing closed his eyes. The sting of failing in his duty was harsh enough for the wartime veteran, but this was something more. Deeper.

He hadn’t told Genevra, hadn’t even admitted it to himself. He loved the boy. Despite his efforts to never get entangled with the rest of the world again, he had come to think of the youth, the Stoneheardts, as family.

When he first heard Genevra had been pregnant, Dustwing had smiled to himself, knowing it would be years before the boy would be old enough to come to know his parents’ acquaintances. Genevra and Narnicka would both be busy with his raising. In the meantime, Dustwing, as was his wont lately, would fade away into the background. By the time Lahkin was old enough for his parents to turn their gaze outward once more, neither of them would remember he existed. He would have nothing to fear--and nothing to lose—again.

But then came the assassination attempt. Dustwing had not been there, but he heard of what had happened, and had seen the results. Lahkin grew up unnaturally fast. Suddenly, his parents, instead of thinking of finding him baby clothes, were thinking of finding a trainer for him on very short notice. With his experience, Dustwing was the obvious candidate, though it was not necessarily by the Stoneheardts’ request.

Lahkin had seemed safe. The night elf laughed to think of it, of how he, the veteran of so many battles, could be so scared by something like a friendship.

It was Sierra, damned cat, who had inadvertently brought them together. One time Lahkin had been fishing out at Lake Everstill. The nightsaber had tracked him down by the smell of his catch. The youth showed no fear at all as the big black leopard sat down beside him and proceeded to beg like a household dog. Each time the youth fed her a fish, the nightsaber came a little closer, until she was right on top of the boy. Dustwing had to come running to order the cat off him, who refused to move from her delightful new couch, squirms and all.

Dustwing smiled to think of the incident, and shook his head. He was stalling. The longer he waited, the worse trouble Lahkin would be in. With that thought in mind, the night elf took a deep breath, and pushed his way inside the tavern.

*****

The night was moonless, and Plinth kept a hand on Lahkin’s shoulder to keep him from tripping. The battle behind them continued in fitful bursts, felfire and light magic lighting up the sky in intervals. Slowly, the blood elves were losing ground, and the four were still panting hard from their lucky break out of their hiding place and across the south-east bridge, past enemy lines. Lahkin only hoped one of the draenei had seen, would get word back to his family, maybe even rescue him here and now...

His hope died as they continued down the road without any sign of being followed. After a couple of miles, the orcs stopped to lick their wounds.

“Peace,” Agar spat, pulling an arrow out of his pauldron. He broke it in two and threw it away. “Some peace.” He gave Ushand a pointed look, but the orc ignored him.

Ushand walked up to Lahkin. His face was shadowed, and Lahkin couldn’t make out his expression as the orc pulled the rope loop off his head and disentangled his hands. Lahkin brought his arms back up front of him, staring at his palms. Ushand moved away silently, head bowed.

Lahkin looked back at the other two. Agar’s was scowling deeper, Plinth’s expression unreadable. Plinth nodded to him.

The youth shivered. He was free. For no discernable reason, he could leave...

Instead of turning and running, he found his feet pushing him to Ushand’s side. The orc didn’t look up.

“Agar is right,” said Ushand quietly, so only Lahkin could hear. “My people…are right. There can be no peace.”

The orc turned his gaze, and Lahkin followed it. One of the buildings in Halaa was smoking, the felfire and light magic dancing upon it, seeming like living, sentient entities. As he watched, one of the fighters screamed and fell, burning, into the canyon. At this distance, Lahkin couldn’t tell if it was draenei or blood elf.

Ushand covered his face with his hand. Lahkin found his hand moving to the orc’s shoulder.

“One of my mentors said, ‘What is worthwhile, is never easy,’ “ murmured Lahkin. “I heard you talking about me earlier. I don’t know what you plan on doing, but…I want to help.”

Ushand looked up just as Agar and Plinth walked up from behind. Lahkin jumped and swung around, but Agar only pointed into the distance, the opposite direction of Halaa. Ushand took a deep breath and quickly stood, stern face enigmatic once more.

“There is a rider on the road. One of Halaa’s, but not from Halaa.”

Ushand nodded and squinted, waiting for the rider to draw closer, before hailing her.

She was riding on a deer—or maybe an antelope? Lahkin couldn’t tell. The animal was obviously exhausted, brown coat made darker with sweat. As they watched, its blood elf rider slumped sideways and fell into the dust.

“Ogres,” she groaned. “Coming up the road.”

“Off the spit, into the fire,” muttered Plinth.

Ushand’s face grew grimmer. “How close?”

“Just an hour, sir. Halaa…”

“Is taken. You’d best get to Garadar, north.”

The blood elf shook her head. “No. No, I can’t go farther tonight. Just make sure my talbuk gets taken care of.”

“You’ll die,” said Ushand.

The blood elf shook her head again, didn’t answer.

Ushand turned back to the others. “Then I will go north. Maybe there’s a pass down the canyon’s sides that we can take.” He turned to Lahkin. “You should run back to Telaar. Take her talbuk. You’ll be safe enough.”

Lahkin looked at the elf, who didn’t stir. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. You ride it just like one of your horses.”

“No, I mean…” Lahkin shook his head. “I’m staying. I—I can’t explain it. It’s what I’m doing, though. It just feels right.” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Loyalty. Loyalty is what my order—any order—is built on. Without it, you can’t—“ Lahkin broke off, shaking his head again. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

When he looked up, he found Ushand watching him, measuring him again, like he had the very first night. Slowly, the orc reached out and clapped a hand to his shoulder.

“I go north,” he announced abruptly, and pulled away. "If there is a pass, I'll return." He gave Agar and Plinth meaningful looks, before throwing his hand in the air. The land around Ushand shimmered, then rose up around him, giving the orc a new, earthen skin. Ushand crouched and snuck down along the cliff. When he paused to catch his breath, he looked nothing more like a strangely shaped rock.

As Ushand’s camouflaged form disappeared up the road, Agar slowly grinned. He turned to Lahkin and Plinth.

“Ash’katah, my friends. Death and glory await us. ”

Plinth grinned back. Lahkin hesitated, his courage trickling out of him as quickly as it had come.

Agar looked back and forth between them, slinging the crossbow Ushand had left behind up over his shoulder. Plinth stiffened, but Agar stepped right past him and shoved the crossbow into Lahkin’s hands. The youth wrapped his hands around the unfamiliar weapon, confusion growing.

“How good is the pinky human at shooting, eh? If you expect to stay, you’ll have to pull your own weight. Ash’katah!” Agar suddenly lashed out at Lahkin, who threw the crossbow up to block. The blow never came, and the orc slowly stepped back, grinning. “Yes. Lok’gul gromkagh.”

“Ash’katah?” asked Lahkin, lowering the crossbow. “What’s that?”

Plinth rolled his eyes as Agar grinned wider. He grabbed the tired talbuk’s reins and shoved them at Lahkin. “Ogre roundup. You’re the lightest, so you’re the gromkagh. In your tongue, the bait.”

*****

Tired though it was, the talbuk ran swiftly. The crossbow bounced painfully off Lahkin’s spine, but he ignored it. Clinging with his knees, hands in the talbuk’s mane, he leaned forward so he could see between the animal’s arching horns.

The ogres were dead ahead, their forms like giant shadows in the gloom. From the same obscurement, they hadn’t seen Lahkin yet, but they would soon enough.

Lahkin leaned his head against the talbuk’s neck, praying silently to the Light. He could hear the talbuk snorting rhythmically, neck vein pounding against his ear. The prayer ended almost too quickly, and Lahkin straightened. He swung the crossbow into his hands and fired, letting out a yell at the same time.

There was a crackle, then a burst of light, as Agar cast a flame shock on the arrow just as it pierced the ground at the ogres’ feet. There was a low growling rumble as the ogres fixed their eyes on the human rider. The rumble swelled to a roar, and suddenly the ogre clan was charging in his direction.

Lahkin dropped the crossbow and yanked the reins around. The talbuk bleated in protest, braking and swinging about in the opposite direction. With pounding feet as loud as thunder, the ogres followed. Lahkin heard the crack as one of them stepped on the crossbow. The talbuk needed no urging, flying back down the road as if made of nothing more than wind.

He almost pierced himself on the talbuk’s horns as the agile animal went over the cliff, jumping from outcrop to outcrop as nimbly as a goat. The ogres tried to stop, the front-runners being shoved off the edge by the eagerness of those behind them. But the death count wasn’t nearly high enough, and Lahkin kept spurring the talbuk on to where the next part of Agar’s plan would play out.

The ogres gathered themselves. Some chased after him along the rim of the canyon, while other tore boulders right up out of the clifface and chucked them his way. Almost too late, the talbuk jumped to the canyon floor, wheeling around a bend and out of sight.

The ogres came in right behind them. The canyon opened up into a dead-end bowl, which Lahkin cantered around the edge of before pulling his talbuk up in the middle. The ogres slowed to a halt, some chuckling at the young human’s predicament. One of the biggest stepped forward, swinging his club back and forth as a warm-up.

The talbuk reared and screamed as the ground just upfront of it broke apart. The largest magma elemental Lahkin had ever seen rose up from the cracks. The ogre came to an abrupt halt, eyes wide. It still didn’t move until the last moment, just as the elemental’s fist smashed through it’s face.

Their leader’s death sent the ogres into a frenzy. Some charged, others attacked their fellows in the effort to get away. Lahkin kicked the talbuk back onto the cliff, as the ground became soupy with more elemental magic. Lightning arced through the air three at a time, and Lahkin swore if his hair hadn’t been tied back in a ponytail, it’d be standing straight up.

The magical outburst was short-lived, however, and several of the ogre clan were still standing. Plinth and Agar crawled out of their hiding places, roaring, and leapt on top of their heads. After a moment’s hesitation, Lahkin jumped in behind them.

“Ash’katah, ash’katah!” Agar was yelling. “Gol’kosh, lok-narash, daegrom! Wet yourselves upon my axe, you ugly beasts, for it’s lok’tar ogar for us tonight!”

“Ash’katah! Ogre roundup!” Plinth added, and Lahkin was surprised that he was yelling it, too. The two orcs fought back to back, while Lahkin pressed the exhausted talbuk into one more circuit around the canyon. He had no weapon, so he used the Light, sending bolt after bolt into the ogres. Only afterward was Lahkin surprised he had the power to do so.

The battle would have ground to a grisly end if Ushand hadn’t shown up sometime during the last moments of it. Suddenly the ground was rocking, tossing orc, human, and ogre into the air. Stumbling and cursing, Agar called the retreat, and the four dragged themselves out of the bowl by any means they could. Behind them, the cliffsides crumbled, rushing down to the ogres like mini-avalanches.

Though the cascade of rocks and pebbles was only knee-deep to most of them, the ogres had had enough. Wrenching themselves out of the wreck, they stomped back the way they came. Nimbly Agar sprang after them, decapitating any ogre unlucky enough to not get out of the rocks quick enough.

Lahkin slid from his talbuk, and groaned as pain shot through tired legs. He leaned against the animal’s neck, and it turned its head back to regard him, dark eyes looking into his grey. They weren’t as intelligent looking as the hippogriff’s, but Lahkin froze, wondering just how deeply the talbuk could see into him.

“Never, ever, do that again!” Ushand was yelling. “Of all the idiotic, absurd, kazreth moth’aga—“ the shaman ended in a spew of Orcish curses. Plinth just grinned widely at his friend and engulfed him in a hug.

“Not bad, human,” said someone to Lahkin’s right. The youth looked up at Agar, who was smirking down at him. “You’re almost as crazy as the talbuk.”

“Uh, thanks,” said Lahkin, not certain if Agar had meant for it to be a compliment or not. He turned back to the talbuk, straightening its bridle absently. “Oh no...it’s hurt. Plinth! The talbuk’s hurt. There’s blood here, behind the ear. I think it caught a rock...”

“The little talbuk?” said Plinth, walking over with a chuckle. He looked over the wound, then closed his hand over it. “Running before they can walk, crashing heads before they can run. It is good the spirits give you such strong horns to catch things on.” Soft blue light flared around the orc’s hand, and when he took it away, the wound was closed over. “There, almost like new. Have no fear, youngblood. The beasts of this land breed tough.”

The talbuk reached forward and put its nose against Lahkin’s hand, as if saying thanks. Its breath was hot and damp, the nose as soft as down. Lahkin stroked it. “I suppose I should give you back to your owner now, shouldn’t I?”

“The blood elf is dead,” said Ushand. He drew all attention back to him with a wave of his hand. “And the talbuk belongs rightfully to the Mag’har, anyway. The night grows thin, and we must press on if we are to see safety away from Halaa. If you are truly with us, Lahkin, you may come. Otherwise, the offer to return you to Telaar still stands. You should never have become involved in this.”

“I am now,” said Lahkin, placing a firmer hand on the talbuk’s neck. Ushand narrowed his eyes, then slowly nodded.

“Come, then. Agar, what did you do with my crossbow?”

“I’m sorry, Ushand. I think your favorite pet human dropped it.” Lahkin blushed, and Agar smirked wider.

“Nevermind,” said Ushand quickly. “The Ancestral Grounds are waiting. Come.”

*****

“What is he planning on doing?” Lahkin whispered to Plinth as they approached the Ancestral Grounds. Other orcs were already there by the campfires dotting the hillside. The talbuk beside Lahkin let out a huge sigh, as if in relief.

Plinth whispered back. “An old ritual, said to tie us to the powers of the spirits. Unfortunately, three weeks ago the Gunagrand—Shaman of the Winds to you—was killed by a Murkblood raiding party. We had no one to fill his place, until you came along.”

“And why does Ushand think I can do it? My father can toss lightning around, but all I know is the Light. The Light isn’t, well, shaman stuff.”

Plinth shrugged. “That’s just the thing, isn’t it? A human. A Light-wielder, not attached to the elements at all. And yet, you are. Two-spirited, perhaps, by the grace of your namesake.”

Lahkin looked at him in surprise.

“Yes, Ushand told me about your uncle-in-law’s lost son. The spirits work in mysterious ways, and even the farseers cannot see all futures. But then, what fun would life be if they could?”

Lahkin chuckled weakly. “You’re always cheerful, aren’t you?”

Plinth chuckled, also. “That’s the influence of water on me. A little like air, actually, but less…innocent.” Plinth eyed the hill. “There’s the bonfire, now. They must be ready for us.”

“And what do I do?” asked Lahkin, stiffening as orcs from the Ancestral Grounds came down to meet the four travelers. Every single one of them eyed Lahkin with suspicion.

“Say nothing, look at no one,” Plinth quietly advised. “To their beliefs, you are to be a sacrificial lamb.”

“If only,” growled Agar as he walked past. Lahkin repressed his shiver to glare at the orc’s back.

Agar greeted the other orcs brusquely in their own language, and quickly passed on. Ushand stayed behind, explaining the situation. Lahkin was curious to notice the different reactions among the orcs listening. Some of them looked brighter as Agar left, nodding to Ushand’s instructions eagerly. Others held back, faces darkening as their eyes flicked to Ushand, to Lahkin, and back again.

Ushand let out a final bark of a command, and the orcs swung into action. Two of them took Lahkin from Plinth, none-too-gently shoving him up the steep hillside path and depositing him on the edge of a roaring bonfire. White dust was sprinkled over him, and Lahkin felt woozy. Some other orc slapped paint on his face, drawing artful designs in red and yellow and white. Lahkin thought he’d better play the part properly, and cried and squirmed until another orc had to come hold him down.

Finally, Agar, Plinth, and Ushand took places across the bonfire from Lahkin and to either side. They, too, had been painted and sprinkled judging by the sparkles glittering in their hair and on their shoulders. An orc behind him pulled Lahkin to his feet, and the human put up a fuss until the orc slugged him. Reeling, Lahkin thought he caught Plinth giving him a wink and grin.

The assembly hushed, and all three shaman raised their hands in readiness for the ritual. With lots of jeering and threats of further pain from the other orcs, Lahkin mirrored them.

As the orcs began to chant, at first it was only the sensations of the Ancestral Grounds that assaulted Lahkin’s senses. The bonfire flickered and snapped, orc feet dragged in the light soil, wind blew through the grassblades. But as the chanting became more fervent and drum beats began to join in, the sounds seemed to separate. Lahkin’s heart leapt. He watched Ushand, across from him, moving his mouth as he shouted out words of the spell, but his voice seemed distant, disjointed.

Lahkin looked up into the sky, and the colors of the sunset bent and weaved like a drunken dream. He was rocking—the world was rocking!—he couldn’t tell which it was.

Fierce pain ripped up the sides of his arms, and Lahkin didn’t even have to feign his yelp. The two orcs beside him stepped away, fancifiully curved daggers dripping blood. Lahkin looked across to see the other shamans being subjected to the same. Plinth pressed his bleeding arm to Ushand, and Ushand to Agar. Agar reached out to grab Lahkin’s arm roughly and nodded irritably for him to complete the circle with Plinth. Their mingled blood fell to the sand, Lahkin’s gleaming a brighter red than that of the Mag’har.

More white dust was flung into the air from all sides, many of the orcs aiming for their joined arms. The Oshu’gun crystals clung to their blood, taking up its color, gleaming like little rubies.

Then Lahkin lost it. The world tipped and turned over. Dark ground and orange sky reversed, and he was running away across a wide plane, stars glittering below him. Up above the sun shone, crystalline, down below under the stars, darkness wreathed.

He wasn’t alone. The other three shaman were there, by his side. Their faces were ghostly, forms insubstantial. Agar glowed with a bright flame, bringing out the highlights in the darkly gleaming Ushand. Plinth reflected with a thousand twinkling lights, tucked away in his water-like depths.

There were others, too. Lahkin was struck by a sense of infinity as he turned and looked at the many other forms sharing the landscape. Birds and fish and mammoths and people, rotating in a great wheel, flying apart into the far reaches of space, compressing together until something had to give...

The chanting creshendoed, howling in the background like blizzard wind around a house. The half-light of the spirit world imploded, rushing together and expanding outward all at once.

Suddenly, Lahkin was the world, and the world was he. Millions of thoughts rushed through him. He could feel Ushand, he WAS Ushand. He was standing alone, on a bluff, looking out on a human settlement as the strange pink creatures built a fortress… No, now he was Plinth. A green orc held out to him a glass of red liquid, felfire flashed, and the intoxicating rage filled him up as he cut down draenei after draenei...

The focus continued shifting, changing. He was speaking to a human—no! He was speaking to Agar...The human held up an orc head--his friend,yes,now he'll pay, myfriendNO!--grinning, and Agar swept the human’s own head off his shoulders...

The image caught him, held him in its spin. A flash greater than anything that had come before split Lahkin’s head. He plunged into darkness. Someone was speaking.

“I have you...” The voice was vicious, delighted. “I have you...you can’t betray me again...”

The darkness made way for color, and the color formed into the face of an orc. Agar was laughing at him. His red fires were now green, glowing with the same deadly bright light. He was coming closer, the flames eating up the air around Lahkin.

He couldn’t escape! The flame would consume him. Lahkin struggled. Agar was a betrayer… He expected that to be his last thought.

Crack! The talbuk came out of nowhere, hooves flailing. They struck the leering face, shattered it, and the green form of the fire shaman vanished. The talbuk turned on Lahkin then, lowering its horns and charging. He caught the horns...he was flying...someone was screaming...

The talbuk was running underneath of him and inside of him. The air cooled, and he could breathe again. The talbuk stopped and Lahkin slid from it.

“I am you and you are me.” The talbuk lowered its head, touching its nose to Lahkin’s forehead. It sounded child-like, full of innocence and wisdom at the same time. “We were cousins, once. I come to you in need, for what affects one, affects the other. Call on me, and I will help protect you.”

The talbuk backed up and eyed him, nostrils flaring. Lahkin looked into the its eyes, the same dark eyes as the one he had ridden through the ogres... the dark eyes of a twin-spirit...

It was gone. The world snapped apart in the blink of an eye, and Lahkin found himself on his back, staring at the starry sky of Nagrand.

Lahkin gasped, and it hurt. He felt like he hadn’t breathed in a year, and continued to gasp until the pain in his chest eased.

The orcs were yelling. The bonfire had gone out, and sprays of sand kept hitting him in the face. Someone grabbed him by the neck and hauled him up, pulling him out away from the crowd. Another dark form joined them, and Lahkin was hurried down the path.

“What happened?” snapped Ushand at his side. “The ritual was working; I could feel it! But then…”

“We have been betrayed,” said Plinth grimly. Lahkin wondered why Ushand didn’t reply, until his eyesight cleared a little more and he found Agar standing up front of him.

Agar, except not. The once Mag’har gleamed green in the night, and he was flanked by two strange orcs, bearing the symbol of the Horde.

“You…” started Ushand.

“I warned you,” said Agar. “I warned you and I warned you, and now you have forced my hand. Blasphemer! To let a human into the spirit world, to include our most hated enemy in your sacred rituals! You have lost your mind, Ushand.”

Plinth growled. Agar looked to him, and sneered. “Yes. You and Plinth. My brothers once, but now…now you are no longer orckind.” He snapped his fingers, and felfire appeared in hand. He formed it into a symbol, some rune Lahkin didn’t recognize, and Plinth hissed in dismay.

Lahkin’s heart, having been through so much already that day, almost stopped in shock.

“No, my once-brother.” Ushand’s reply was quiet, terribly quiet. “I am afraid it is you who is no longer orckind.”

Lahkin couldn’t be sure who struck first. Fire roared, and was countered by a wave of water. Dark tendrils seeped from cracks in the earth, only for those cracks to be sealed. Plinth shoved Lahkin away, out of the line of fire.

“Warlock! Betrayer! You and the Horde!” Ushand yelled, but his voice was getting fainter. “Everyone will know of this transgression. So help me, Agar...”

“Yes, help me,” came Agar’s voice in a snarl. “Hellscream should have watched what was going on behind his back at home. Now he will know. And you will all serve the Horde in blood, as do I!”

Lahkin closed his eyes as Agar’s presence seeped into his consciousness. Dark hands grasped, and Lahkin fled deeper into his mind to avoid them. He saw a flash of golden fur down there, and he reached out, calling on the talbuk to take his spirit far, far away, where Agar couldn’t follow.

The other Lahkin in him answered, and, for a little while at least, he walked in another world...

*****

“Ah, Little Talbuk, how often you catch things in your horns.”

Lahkin opened his eyes to find daylight flooding onto the tile floor that served as his pillow. He couldn’t puzzle out where he was, only that the room was vaguely draenic in character.

"Lahkin?"

The youth felt sick, drained. Lahkin raised his head to find Plinth lying across the room, opposite of him. The orc looked as bad as he felt, with a bloody bandage wrapped around half his head. Yet, the Mag’har managed a smile as Lahkin stirred.

"Good. You're back."

Lahkin crawled to his elbows, wincing as his head gave a throb. Half-dreams still lurked in the rear of his memory. Like being awash at sea, then swimming back to shore as slow as molasses... He looked at the orc. “If you hold still, maybe I could heal you.”

“No,” said Plinth. “I’m less useful to them this way. And after that show, I doubt you could.”

Lahkin stared at him, thoughts slowly clicking into place. The youth groaned and slowly rolled over on his back again. “We’re prisoners, aren’t we?”

Plinth grunted. “I hope you have family looking for you, Little Talbuk. It may be the only way we can get out of here.”

“Where’s here?” Lahkin asked the ceiling.

“Halaa,” answered Plinth. “Where else? Our ‘brother’ Agar decided to use the powers of the ritual to take the place back from the draenei. I'd say you worked into his plan quite nicely.”

Lahkin blanched, flipping back on his side and instantly regretting it. “Did he? Did they die? Where is Ushand?”

Plinth shook his head as best as he could with one ear pressed against the floor. “I don’t know. Best not to think of it, Lahkin.”

Lahkin closed his eyes. “I sure wish Tergen were here. Or Cyrus. If anyone knew what to do, they would.”

“In time, maybe. But your friends cannot always go chasing after you.” Plinth moaned. “Oh, my eye. We are all that we have. Unfortunately, I don’t think that will be enough, Little Talbuk.”

“It’s enough,” Lahkin whispered. He looked over to see Plinth closing his eyes. He was about to relay one of Dustwing’s wise sayings to cheer the orc up, only to realize the point of Plinth’s words.

Instead, Lahkin repeated, “It’s enough.”

*****

Dustwing shifted, wincing as his joints creaked. The hard rock was uncomfortable to say the least, but if it helped to save Lahkin, Dustwing felt the discomfort justified his ungainly perch above Halaa.

Far, far, above it. Dustwing was sitting on a floating island.

With the help of Lahkin’s parents and a handful of other adventurers, Lahkin’s location had been pinpointed to the plateau below. After puzzling out the signs left for them at the Ancestral Grounds, the six trackers had flown over Halaa just as the orcs launched their attack. Ulthryn and Narnicka had rushed in without any urging, only to be thrown back by a massive burst of magical energy.

Dustwing still wasn’t sure what to make of the blast. It had tasted of the elements, but of the Light as well. Blood elves, perhaps, except that the blood elves had only joined in the battle after the blast, once the orcs had beaten back most of the opposition. So where had the Light come from?

A puzzle for another day. It had been a long week, watching for any signs of change or weakness among his enemies. Besides the usual annoyances of wind and rain, Dustwing’s camping spot was not on the most stable ground. What Dustwing wouldn’t give to be a druid sometimes, as the island had the unnerving habit of swaying from side to side, and once, flipping over entirely. On that occasion, Dustwing had luckily been close enough to his hippogriff to not go plummeting to his death.

His camping equipment had not been so lucky, though. Dustwing still chuckled to himself to think of the talbuk’s expression when a rain of his cooking ware had pelted off its back. Perhaps that’s what caused their stampede through Halaa earlier.

Dustwing leaned over the edge. The blood elves had been diligent, and most traces of the stampede had been cleaned up. Dustwing smiled sardonically as he watched. Not as diligent as they would have been in the old days. The hunter still remembered many raids upon the plateau, back when he worked for the Aldor. One alarm had been enough to send half the garrison scrambling in that direction, to the woe of whatever scout had been caught unawares.

The old night elf shook away the memories. The lagging discipline of the guards was a valuable piece of information. If he played it right, one that could be exploited. The hunter settled back again, tapping the scar on his jawbone and pondering the possibilities.

*****

No more running. No more hiding. If we’re to get out of here…

Lahkin didn’t want to finish the thought. He pulled himself up against the wall of the anteroom-made-cell. The blood elves had cast a magical barrier to seal off the room. He could see through it, sort of, and it let the light in, sort of. When Lahkin placed his hand on it, the magic spritzed and fizzled, but held as firmly as rock.

He looked beyond the barrier. He recognized the room easily enough, as it had been the same place the four travelers had hidden before fleeing from Halaa the first time. The research equipment, if anything, had doubled, covering every available surface. Lahkin watched viscous liquid drip from one flask into another. If he could get out there, perhaps combining some of the potions would lead to a large enough explosion to serve as a distraction…

Or else bring the roof down on their heads. Lahkin sighed.

“I don’t see him,” he whispered to Plinth, kneeling again beside the orc. The orc only groaned. “But I do see—“

The guard on the other side of the barrier barked at the human to be quiet. Lahkin glared at her, and went silent.

He could see her standing on the other side of the barrier, could count the number of buckles holding her armor together. He could hear the guards outside, pacing about on patrol, changing shifts.

Lahkin slowly smiled. He crossed to the back of the cell, brushing the dust accumulating on the floor into a heap. Halaa was a research center for the strange spirit rock of Oshu’gun, and sure enough, the youth found white sparkling residue among the more mundane dust particles.

Ripping open one of the scabs on his arms with a wince, Lahkin carefully placed a few of the crystals in his blood. The world swayed, but this time, Lahkin was ready to ride it.

He fought off the alluring pull of the spirit world, wanting to remain in the present time. In his mind’s eye, he took to the air. Halaa spread out below him like a dollhouse…or a map. Lahkin floated on the winds, taking care to commit the entire thing to memory.

He was startled from his trance by a voice, and almost blacked out. Lahkin sat up, peering out the barrier, and found the dark-haired head of another human peering back at him.

“Lahkin? It is you! I’ve been looking all over…”

*****

((To be continued...))