Dragon Breath

The now-larger contingent packed lightly, and with some doubling, managed to get all the rangers on horseback. About an hour out, Robin notices that she's needing to adjust the trails. Ninety minutes or so out, Robin comes to a large, unexpected ravine. The place feels real, but the ravine seems old and overgrown. She can try to go around it or abandon the horses and have her rangers climb down. There might be a trail down upstream or down, but it's not obvious from here.

"Uh-huhn." Robin grunts pragmatically, eyeing the ravine with suspicion. There are so many reasons why that is so not good.

With a few short hand-gestures, she lets Totter know that they'll be stopping here briefly and to set up a tight sentry ring, no one to stray beyond her influence but eyes in every direction.

Dismounting, Robin approaches the ravine cautiously, senses on high. The Ranger crouches down at the edge, her head cocked. (Can she tell the source of the Real ravine? Does it feel like Family or Arcadia or something else?)

It feels wild, unfocused. There's a stream here, in reality, but there's serious water down below. The Green is below.

You hear cadence in a bird call. It's Totter. Potential Hostiles in Area. Tracks only, no one spotted.

"Yep, yep, yep." Robin mutters to herself disgustedly. She stands up, wiping her gauntlets on her thighs in unhappy swipes. Place reeks of ambush.

Trying her best not to feel like a silly girl spooked by shadows, the Ranger reaches into the breast pocket of her shirt. Robin pulls out the hinged wooden case therein that holds her most precious possession, the Trump of Julian.

Her mood as she flips open the case is one of definite irritation. But if someone is blocking her way back towards Amber, they're doing it for a reason. And Robin isn't about to get involved in a lot of heavy reasoning right now. She's got other tracks to follow.

The sight of Reid's Trump tucked into the other side of the case brings a quirked smile to Robin's lips as she teethes off one of her gauntlets. Tucking the glove under one arm, Robin gently strokes the cold image of her Father with bare fingers. And Calls to him. "Sir?"

After a moment, there is a question in response. "Who?"

"It's Robin, sir. Nothing immediate. Sir? That thing that your siblings did with passing the army back to Amber? Can you show me how to do that?" Robin is biting her lip, still concerned that she's over-reacting, but also not wanting to be bogged down by a confrontation she can avoid.

Julian is in an encampment. Vista stands nearby, clearly taking orders and preparing to relay them to the men. "You can hand them through to me if need be. What is the difficulty?" he asks, with typical Julianic understatement.

"When I got to Girth's, sir, it was teetering on the edge of Deep Green. And the area was looking a might Vale-ish for my taste. I'm thinking that they've already lost all patrols. So I pulled the men out and was making a trail for Brousailles."

Behind Robin's quietly murmured and matter-of-fact words, the girl's impressions of the former encampment swirl to the fore of her mind. The slipperiness, the sense of a lack of safety, the hint of otherworldliness in the vegetation, and the fact that she's had to constantly work and concentrate to keep herself and her men where they need to be.

"But someone's plunked a very large, Real and Green Ravine right across our path, sir." Again, Robin's impressions of the ravine - sight, sound, and other - flow to the top of her mind. "And Totter's reporting hostile tracks in the area."

Robin's eyebrow goes up. 'See, Dad? Ambush-to-be. And I'm not supposed to attack them yet. Dammit!'

"You were right to contact me. Pass your men through, and come through yourself. Vista and I can use them, and you."

Beside Julian, Vista straightens, as if getting ready for possible hostile incoming, or perhaps to bark orders at the newcomers.

"Yes, sir." Robin nods and with her gauntleted hand gestures to her men. A spiral withdrawal guarded and centering on herself. Horses and gear to be included as the girl has absolute confidence in her father.

Meanwhile Robin's mind darts all around. A flash of irritation at herself that her father knew she needed his reassurance regarding the decision to call him is mixed with absolute gratefulness for Julian's sensitivity and response to the need that she shouldn't have had in the first place -- gaaah! Behind that is the frustrated howl of a little girl who didn't get to finish her mission melded into a burst of predatory anticipation that now she really will get to get to the war right away - wahoo! All of this leavened heavily with Robin's joy and relief that she did get through to her father this time and that she hasn't ridden off into... that again.

But the main course Robin's mind flies is that of a senior Ranger getting her men together and moving in an orderly fashion while at the same time covering their backs and oh by the way, this is only the second time she has successfully used a Trump - ick! - so she'd better lock down and pay attention. Because... are there such things as Trump accidents?

By that time the first Ranger should be at her side and Robin puts all of it out of her mind and gets to work.

The horses have to be led through, but they can be laden with goods. It takes some time to hand them all back, a weary work that seems to bother Julian far less than it probably does Robin. But perhaps half a glass later, all the Rangers are in camp, and Robin herself steps through to her father.

"This is thirsty work," Julian says. "Vista, have you got these men settled?"

"Close enough, my lord."

"Then we shall retire for a drink, and counsel. Robin?" Julian offers his daughter his arm to lead her to the command tent.

"Oh, yeah. That'd be good, sir. Thank you." Robin nods as she wipes the sweat off of her head with one forearm. But before she takes a step, the girl makes sure that her precious Trump is returned to its protective case and securely tucked away inside her tunic. Once the treasure is secured, Robin links arms with her father and steps toward the command tent.

And no sir, she is most certainly not leaning on him. Not at all.

In the command tent, there is water, and ale if Robin desires it. Also, there is stew, hearty and filling, and fresh fruit and bread--real bread, not the waybread the Rangers carry with them when they travel.

Though Robin ate well last night, and again this morning as they were cleaning out the stores of Girth's, she makes a heavy meal again. The unusual effort of the Trump movement gives her a prodigious appetite, both for bread and stew and for ale.

After they dine, Julian waits for Robin to offer her full report.

Wiping the foam of her lip with the back of her hand, Robin launches in.

"We made good time to Girth's. Nothing unusual until we got to... within a couple hours. The place was deeper - and Greener - than I remembered it being. Something about it twigged me. When I Looked closer, it had the taste of Vale, but more subtle." Her eyes narrow. "Real subtle. I might've missed it if I wasn't on full out paranoid."

"Path was also moving under my Tread, sir. I had to be real careful about extending my influence or we would have tipped right off into Shadow and missed the encampment entirely."

"Place itself was in good order. Girth was there. His leg's been messed with. Sez he was attacked by a lizardy-thing that dropped his horse on him. Followed up with a pretty serious infection. Didn't say how said infection was remitted, but when I looked it over... he'll live. It should be checked regularly though."

"When I mentioned Turf to him, Girth... he didn't know anything about the trafficking issue. And, while it's possible," Robin allows that reluctantly, "I don't think he was leading me on." She nods firmly, conveying her opinion that something else weird is happening, as opposed to a Ranger turning.

"That night I scouted around..." the girl shakes her head with a low whistle, "Place is just... Sir? It's like saplings growing on a fallen Giant. There's Green everywhere, growing and alive, but not Arden." Robin shakes her head again, not sure she can use words to describe her observations and sense of the place.

"They had a couple patrols out, and at least one messenger, sir." Robin squirms uncomfortably. "But I think they're gone. The camp was teetering by the time I got there. Not safe, not anchored at all." "Anyway, I decided to pull 'em out for Brousailles. So we closed the encampment and set off. Less than a watch later, I'm fighting to keep Amber-bound. The trails are drifting pretty strong. When poof big ol' Deep Green Ravine. Right across our path. Used to be a nice little stream there. Now we got a major route blocker; Old, Real and Green." Robin tcks her tongue in disgust.

"A quick look-over shows no way easy way around and hostile tracks." She shakes her head. And looks over at Julian. "So I decide to not be ambushed and call you, sir. Rest you know." She finishes with a shrug and another swig of ale.

"I had not expected it to encroach so quickly, so fast," Julian says. "It is unfortunate that you were not here during the Regency. I wish I had a better sense for how long it has been encroaching."

"Bay told us about the marked paths having moved," Vista reminds Julian, as he takes their plates and sets them aside.

"Yes," says Julian. He seems lost in thought for a moment. Then he turns to his daughter. "Robin, we're in a more difficult position than I had expected. You were right to call for the fallback, but that it was necessary is not good news. I think it's best that I question Girth myself; I mislike this situation. Vista, will you fetch him?"

"Yes, my lord." And Vista is gone, out the flap of the tent.

Robin takes another draw on her mug. And then asks oh-so-casually, "Any news on Vere? Jovian? Daeon?" trying hard not show how much thought she'd given to the word order.

"I have heard nothing yet. But no news was expected in these few days. I shall let you know when I hear something about, or from, any of them," Julian says evenly. "Particularly when I hear something from my brother."

A blush spreads across Robin's face as her eyes flutter around the room and she can't keep the embarrassed smile from her lips. "Thanks, Dad."

Those green eyes dart back to her father's face, fondness and gratitude flickering in their depths. In the back of Robin's mind, a small tension she didn't know she was carrying releases as well. 'These few days.' Thank the Green there wasn't a big time slippage out there this time.

"Nothing on Brita then either?" The Ranger makes a circling gesture with one hand, indicating the camp around them outside the tent. Surely there would have been something noticeable in the atmosphere if there had been news, but Robin wants to confirm anyway.

Julian lets the frown appear rather than suppressing it. "Apparently Fiona's mother has obtained custody of Brita. I had a brief Trump from Bleys, to let me know my services would not be required in the matter after all."

A similar frown dances across Robin's face. Then she looks over to her father and her expression softens. "Awww. Dad." The Ranger's eyes briefly in thought.

"Listen. Conner and Brita probably feel they have a stake in Daeon's situation. Maybe... if you brought them in on that, you could - I don't know - start some inroads?" Robin shrugs with a flat smile. She knows that she doesn't have nearly the history with the redheads that her father does. And already she wants to toss Bleys down a tall steep mountain of glass shards. But she wants to help anyway.

"It will be as it will be," says Julian. And he is again the Warden of Arden, his armor fully in place, and ready for Vista and Girth a moment before Robin knows their step outside the command tent.

When they come in, Robin can see that Girth has had a chance to clean up from the road while she was eating. Vista says, "My lord, Ranger Girth."

"Thank you, Vista," Julian replies. "Girth, come in, sit down." It's ordinary politeness to a man with a crutch, and Girth takes it gladly.

An odd expression crosses Julian's face, as if he's smelled something a bit off. "Vista, fetch me my healer's bag, please. I think I should take a look at your leg," he adds to Girth.

"Yes, my lord," the lanky Ranger says, and is gone.

Girth says, "Thank you, my lord. I'd been worried it'd gone a bit sour, but it seemed to have all cleared up. I admit I'll rest better when you've done looked at it."

Julian turns to the sideboard to pour a whiskey for the injured man. Whatever he means to do is probably going to hurt like hell. And so it is that Julian, like Robin, is caught off guard when Girth leaps out of the chair, springing on both legs as if the broken one bothers him not at all, and closes his hands around the Warden's throat to choke the life out of him.

Robin whistles a piercing alarm as she springs toward the pair. Yanking her scabbarded sword from her belt, the Ranger swings a mighty flat-bladed blow at Girth's head. The girl is acting on training and instinct though, as her interior thoughts have become stuck on 'what the f*ck?!?'

The blow is true, and it should have stunned Girth by all rights. Yet it seems to have no effect on Girth. Nor do Julian's hands on Girth's wrists, though Robin can hear the cracking of Girth's bones as Julian attempts to tear Girths' hands away from his throat.

Outside, there's a noise, and a bright flash as the tent flap opens, and Vista's voice yelling "Verde! He's gone for the Warden! Look for an attack from the deep green!"

An inarticulate cry of rage tears from Robin's lips as she snaps the scabbard from her sword with a sharp gesture. Her blade flashes in the lit tent as she swings in a mighty roundhand, intending to separate Girth's head from his shoulders.

Vista is in the tent now, and behind Robin, staying out of the way of her deadly blade.

Robin's strike is true. Girth's head flies off with the force of the blow, striking the side of the tent, making a bloody mess of the sideboard as it rolls off, and landing on the rug.

Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to be enough to stop his body. Girth's hands remain wrapped around Julian's throat. Julian is beginning to look a little pale, although the cracking noises at Girth's wrist continue as Julian tears his hands away, destroying them in the process.

Operating on the hope that there's a directing force somewhere inside Girth's mass, Robin attempts to dice his body as quickly and into as many pieces as possible. The Ranger's face is deadly pale as she works, and Robin's brow is furrowed with the strain of holding off the crisis until the job is done.

With Vista aiding her, Robin dismembers the former leader of Girth's in a few minutes. When they cleave through his forearms, Julian is able to tear the remnants of his bloody hands and wrists away, and leans heavily against the sideboard, recovering his breath. He does not seem seriously injured.

Outside, the noises say the camp is secure and watchful. By the time it's all over, there are other rangers in the tent, waiting to help if either Robin or Vista need aid. Vista directs them in gathering up the twitching remains in the rug and carrying it outside.

Careful to keep her boot away from the mouth, Robin gently kicks Girth's head into the growing pile on the carpet. Stooping, she wipes her sword clean on the same carpet and, after scrounging around a little, gathers up the scabbard and sheaths the bare blade. If the girl's fingers fumble a little as she re-ties her scabbard to her belt, experienced rangers know enough not to notice. The line of her shoulders and the grim turn of her mouth also indicates to the experienced that Robin definitely does not want any help right now.

"Burn it," says Vista.

The men look to Julian for confirmation, wide-eyed.

"He's right," the Warden of Arden says, his voice harsh beyond its hoarseness. "Burn it. And mark in the rolls that Girth died fighting the Dragon of Arcadia."

Robin nods to herself. Whether in confirmation or affirmation, it is hard to tell. But she takes up the medical bag that Vista was carrying earlier and approaches her father.

"P..." A ragged start makes Robin stop, shake herself fiercely and start over. "Please sir. Could I take a look at that?" With her free hand, Robin gestures to Julian's neck. Robin's eyes are swimming, but her face is all business.

"Please," says Julian, and he sits down, in a different chair.

As Robin begins her examination, the others carry the remnants that were Girth out. Vista is last out and closes the tent flap behind him.

Setting the bag down on a table near her father's chosen chair, Robin takes a deep breath and settles herself. As her father trained her to, Robin becomes a bastion of calm strength. Deep even breaths with a barely perceptible hum beneath them, steady gentle hands, a quiet confident and hopeful smile, a master's bedside manner that father and daughter share from decades of injured hawks, hounds, horses and men. Not to mention the other creatures, natural and otherwise, of Arden.

Robin doesn't talk while she clears away the blood from her father's throat and examines the damage. Now is not the time. Now is the time for healing and companionship.

Julian was clawed a little where Girth grabbed him, but the vast majority of the blood dotting his white armor is not his own. He'll have some bruises, but it could have been much worse. Especially if he'd been alone and unable to call for help.

As Robin tends to her father, she can feel a subtle thrill along the ends of her nerves. Julian is calling power, perhaps to be sure his wounds are clean of deeper taints than those one can see with the eye.

After a time, Robin finishes her examination. She is satisfied that Julian has suffered no long-term harm.

With a gentle pat on her father's shoulder, Robin indicates that she's done and starts putting the medical supplies back into the bag. She's neat and tidy about it, as opposed to her own more disorganized style, since the bag is Julian's.

Behind her, she hears the sounds of the Warden disarming. His shirt of mail requires no squire to help him in and out of it, and it will need to be cleaned as soon as possible. Not to mention the bloody clothes he's wearing--unless he wants them burned too.

After she's satisfied that the medical bag will pass the Warden's muster for the next use, Robin lets the hum die away in her throat. Her eyes begin to brim again and the Ranger is forced to an inelegant snort followed by a fierce wiping with her forearm.

Wet green eyes look over to her father. "Wha.... what happened?" Robin's hand flaps about a little helplessly, taking in the blood spattered tent, all that's left of a good friend. She's reluctant to rebirth the emotion that brought the earlier hoarseness to Julian's voice and that is still bringing tears to her own eyes. But she needs to understand what happened in order to prevent it happening again in the future. Potentially with herself in the role of dicee.

"You said he was attacked by a lizard that dropped his horse. What came back from that fight wasn't really Girth any longer. The dragon saw through his eyes, heard through his ears--and acted through his hands."

Wheels turn in Robin's head as she considers what she said in Girth's presence. In the end she decides that there was nothing a well-trained chipmunk spy or a far-hearing spell wouldn't've picked up anyway.. Besides it's done now, so the girl shrugs the line of thought away.

Julian frowns. "I don't think that was the first time he encountered her, either. If he was shipping men into Arcadia unknowing, he would have been under her influence all that time. At their final meeting, she took a more direct hand with him. That was what I smelled on him before Vista left."

"Can you teach me to smell it too?" Robin cocks her head as she gathers up her father's armor. She is definitely uncomfortable with the thought that she didn't detect anything on Girth. Also with the thought that he/it/they may have been able to lie to her.

"There is no reason why I shouldn't be able to," Julian replies.

"The scent on him was very subtle. Don't chastise yourself for having missed it."

One of Robin's cheeks dimples slightly with what would have been a smile under other circumstances. Her father, who knows her so well, moving to comfort her will always be a joy to the Ranger.

Her eyes twinkle behind the wetness and she drops her gaze bashfully to her arms. To find them full of Julian's armor.

Robin's dimple becomes wry. She hates that armor, what it means, what it's become and yet, here she is using it exactly the same way. To protect herself from the vulnerability of being close when she's this upset. With a ruffle of her shoulders, Robin sets the armor down next to the inside of the door to the tent. And returns to her father to embrace him in an enormous hug full of warmth, life and shared sorrow.

Julian returns the embrace for a long moment, heedless of the bloody mess. But before he might have wished to relinquish his daughter, there is a noise outside the tent, and he sets Robin back on her balance before calling, "Come."

It's a youth that Robin doesn't know well, one who came to the Rangers while she was on the Black Road. Ger is the lad's name. He's currently carrying a dark muddle-colored bundle.

"A change of clothes for yourself and the Ranger, Warden." He bows a little, as much as he can with the clothes in his arms.

"Thank you. Set them down over there, and you may go."

Robin finds a small grateful smile in herself and gives it plus a thankful nod to the boy.

The boy does as instructed and departs.

"Go ahead," Julian suggests. He gestures to the inner room, his private chamber, for Robin to change. "When you're done, I'll change, and we can plan our next step."

"Okay." Robin gently picks the clothes designated for her out of the pile, trying to get as little blood as possible on them.

As she wanders toward Julian's private chamber, the girl sends a worried gaze to her father. "Don't go anywhere," she warns, knowing that her father must have felt the exact same thing when she rode off toward Girth's.

"I shan't," Julian replies.

Once inside the back of the tent, Robin makes quick work of stripping out of her bloodied clothes. Given that there seem to be some toxin concern, she does a better job than usual of keeping the goo off her surroundings and scrubbing it off herself.

Julian's inner office is sparsely appointed: a trunk for his effects, a table and a couple of camp stools. There's a pitcher and basin that Robin uses to good effect in cleaning up.

While changing Robin keeps a very sensitive ear and nose turned toward the other chamber of the tent, and multiple weapons handy. The Dragon struck when Julian was almost alone, she might strike again now that he truly is alone and Robin really, really doesn't want to emerge from the inner chamber to find her father dead or missing.

When Robin does come out, Julian is still waiting, unharmed. He takes his share of the bundle into the private office and returns a few minutes later, damp-haired, with his boots in hand.

"It would probably be overcautious to dispose of our clothes, but I am inclined to overcaution in this matter," he says as he sits down to don his footgear.

Robin shrugs one shoulder nonchalantly. She's not particularly attached to things like clothes and stuff so if burning them is the order of the day, then burning it is.

"We have a few days to regroup and recover. It's unlikely that the Dragon can extend herself so far again. What do you think we should do next, after I've shown myself to the men?"

"Weeellll." The Ranger clears a little water out of one ear with a pinky. "I'm of several minds about that, sir." A smallish grin darts across her face. Imagine that.

"Reid left me a pretty good starting place for wherever Girth was stashing his people. I've got half a mind to ride out there and just shake things up for the hell of it. 'Course that could be kind of predictable of me and the Dragon might be waiting for something like that after her Eyes in Girth were blinded.

"Part of me is also stinging about those patrols out of Girth's, the skeleton crew at Brita's Watch, etc. etc. I don't like to think that the men are just... fallin' off and no one's come looking for them." Robin frowns as her eyes wander past the walls of the tent. She's a ranger, she understands attrition and casualties. But not doing anything about it bothers her. "But wanderin' around on my own might not be a good idea right now.

"Then there's that great whoppin' chasm." Robin's green eyes narrow. "I definitely don't like that the Dragon might have put something like that in my way this close to Amber." Her green eyes look up at her father's. "But I just don't know how to stop the... sliding away. I'd like to start... I don't know. Solidifying Arden. Restoring her, I guess. But I don't... Dad. Before you got back, I couldn't do anything out there. I tried, but... nothing was... Dung!" Robin frowns and kicks fitfully at the floor once in frustration. She doesn't have the words.

"It will be much more difficult to reclaim the parts of Arden that we've lost to the Dragon without our anchor in Amber," Julian replies to her incomplete question. "The techniques you would have to use now are different."

Robin eyes glimmer. 'More difficult' he said. Not impossible. A small smile starts to line the Ranger's face. 'More difficult' she can do.

He pulls on the second of his boots, then runs his fingers through his long, dark hair. It falls into place, as if it would dare nothing else at the command of the Warden of Arden. "Any of those ideas would be worthy. All are risky. Think on them while I let the men see that I am unharmed."

Julian's mail shirt, now clean--through his efforts or those of another--is draped over a chair. He slides it over his shoulders and straightens his hair again. Then he offers Robin his arm.

Another smile darts across her face as Robin takes his arm and behind grief-dimmed eyes, the lightning fires of thought are burning.

And paying little attention to the fact that her hair is spiky and unkempt from the recent scrubbing. Her eyes are red, her face pale and her clothing hastily tucked and scrunched around her figure from the hurry to get back to make sure that Julian was still there. And somehow she's managed to get a bit of dirt under her chin. And yet, the Ranger is so definitely and undoubtedly Robin that she would seem slightly askew if she appeared any other way.

Julian and Robin wander the entire camp on the pretext of examining it. Everyone gets a chance to see the Warden of Arden, and many of them take the chance to speak with him. His voice is a bit hoarse, but otherwise Robin's father is his normal self.

Occasionally as they move, Robin senses the lightest touch of the power of the Pattern, and she notes Julian's concentration at those moments.

While trying to be somewhat calm and subtle about it, Robin tries to figure out what's going on. She opens her senses to try and determine if Julian doing it or responding to something coming in from afar. And as these occurrences crop up, Robin looks around to see if there is any pattern (heh) to when and where the touches happen.

Robin believes he's shoring up the camp. Not that it really needs it; this seems to be more safe than sorry after what happened with Girth.

At the end of the day, there's a campwide dinner, and a subdued evening of entertainment around the fire. The songs are less jolly and drunken than solemn and sad. There will be a memorial later, according to Ranger custom, and Robin suspects that Girth will not be alone in being honored. So, she thinks, do the rest of the Rangers.

It is about time for everyone to retire when a runner comes stumbling into the camp. They bring him to Julian at once. Between panting breaths, he tells Julian and Robin that Little Spring, an outlier camp of Brousailles, has been attacked by wild men and women.

Those words shoot through Robin like lightning. Her eyes light up and her nerves dance with anticipation. So much better than thinking, so much better than trying to figure out what course to fly for the greatest good. There's blood in the air.

The girl holds herself quietly at her father's side, awaiting his decision. But the tilt of her head, demurely lowered to hide green eyes gleaming in eagerness, the quiver that runs up through her booted feet to her ruffling shoulders, the hands flexing and tensing... Any Ranger familiar with Robin at all, knows that Julian's hawk wants to fly.

Julian listens impassively to the tale. When the runner has finished, he sends for food and ale for the lad. Then, with the eyes of all in the camp, he turns to Robin.

"Choose your Rangers, if you will take any with you. Will you ride tonight?"

"Huit encore." Robin says, indicating that she'll take the same eight again. The Ranger lifts her face to her father's, the smile spreading across her lips both grateful and bloodthirsty.

"And I'd ride now by your command." Not only is her own eagerness driving her, but also an awareness of the time it has taken the runner to reach here. And the time it will take her riders to get to Little Spring.

[OOC: given the time, it's likely that the action will be over by the time her band gets there; there will be cleanup, and quite possibly pursuit, however.]

"Then prepare and go, with my benison," Julian replies.

"Merci beaucoup, Sir." And in the eyes of all the camp, Robin bows to her father.

And throws her arms around him for a fierce hug. Robin will never ever leave Julian again without letting him know how much he means to her.

Julian returns the embrace. He whispers, too low for the others to hear, "Be safe."

Afterward, she breaks away to stride into the fire-lit night barking suggestions to her team. The Ranger gets her team together and on the road in short order.

But once they are riding, Robin is quiet but her mind and heart tumble in fierce cataracts of conflict. The sounds a good friend made as he died under her blade won't stop echoing in her ears. And yet, a Ranger and the daughter of Julian can't ever hesitate to kill, just for love's sake.

The way Girth's body twitched under the corrupting influence of an ancient enemy. Even after he was dead. That memory sickens her even as dread slices through Robin that she didn't detect that corruption until after she had brought it to within striking range of her father. Her heart stumbles over the ledge that Girth! of all people, may have actually been feeding the enemy with the lives of the citizens he swore to protect.

Robin's teeth grind over the scars of new chasms and lost vales on the body of her Green Mother. Rangers lost in so many ways. Attacks in the shallows. From wild men. Perhaps the very savages that Turf described.

She shivers at the hoarseness in her father's voice. "Difficult to reclaim Arden" "Without our anchor in Amber." "Without... Amber." Robin squeezes her eyes shut briefly to prevent the tears. Dammit! She just swore herself to that cursed place and it's heritage. It can't be 'without' now!

And it's only been a handful of days and already she is missing Vere like a lost limb. Deep Green! It was only two days in his company! How can there be such a hole?!?

Enough! Enough thinking! Robin needs to move, to ride, to fly and to strike.