The Scene: When last we actually played, Chakan led a "hunting" expedition to the Outlands. This story takes place the day after the hunting party was itself "hunted" by a pair of Chasmes. It was a close struggle, with our heros prevailing when one teleported away after taking a lot of damage and the other was done in by a tag-team psionic attack. The margin of error one round.

Killraven heaves a few more logs onto the bonfire burning under Valas. Within the curtain of flames Killraven can make out his friend sitting quietly on crossed legs, suspended on his floating disk, lost in thought and absorbing the heat.

"I'll be turning in soon, Oberon," he says.

If the magma elf hears him, there is no response. This does not bother the gladiator. Valas knows what time it is and knows that Killraven will be going to his tent shortly. Killraven makes his announcement partly to show respect and partly to remind Valas that he will not be performing any more duties for the day.

Nothing else being required of him, Killraven goes over to the dying cookfire. Jehnath is there, sitting on a rock with his chin in his hands, watching the embers pop and spark. Beyond him Chakan has finished setting up the boy's tent and prepares for his evening watch. Lilah, who will have the second watch, went to bed over an hour ago.

Killraven finds the dampness of his hair uncomfortable in the evening chill. He probably did not need to soak his head after Lilah had cleaned them all of blood (and other dirt and grime) with her cantrip, but he kept getting the nasty sensation of things crawling on his scalp. Post-battle nerves, no doubt, and understandable given his encounter with the Chasme's insect swarm.

He finds a log near the cooking fire and pulls his wet dreadlocks toward the heat cast by the embers.

Jehnath does nothing to acknowledge his presence. His eyes still stare into the fire, although Killraven notes his left knee bobbing up and down with nervousness.

<Our trip is ending. I suppose its time to see if the mollycoddled piss-ant has any potential to grow into a man>

"You have your trophy, boy. You haven't said - are you pleased with it?"

Jehnath starts at his words. He gingerly touches the Chasme's snout that he has threaded through the belt of his (now worn) hunting outfit. "You four earned it, not I. I did not even attempt a shot at it . . ." His effete voice quavers slightly with the memory.

<Ahh. Good. He does not take credit for it then - that is a change> "There is no shame in that. You cannot fly, boy, and your weapons likely could not have hurt it directly anyway. By fighting the manes . . ."

"Phaa! I fought because I was scared for my life. The last thing on my mind was earning a trophy! It was not like the boar hunt at all. I was so terrified I soiled myself. I have never been so humiliated."

"You killed two of the manes. Had you not done so, Chakan and I may not have been around to bring down the last Chasme." Killraven gives a final twist to one of his damp dreadlocks and then shakes his hair like a lion shaking its mane.

Jehnath thinks about that for a moment. "But Huntsman, the only thing I proved was my own cowardice. Every time I look at this . . . I am reminded of the fear. There will be no feeling of pride or of glory. Doesn't that make this whole exercise a useless hunt?"

"I don't know whether this hunt was useless or not. I am not a hunter. "

Jehnath finally looks up at Killraven. "Big surprise," he smirks, trying to rekindle his old attitude.

Killraven ignores the feeble dig.

"I am a gladiator. Fighting well to defend yourself is not useless. Defeating something you fear entitles you to respect. Defending your friends against something you fear gives you honor. These are simple truths, Jehnath."

Again, Jehnath is silent, thinking about what the gladiator has said.

"You called me Jehnath. This whole trip you have needled me by referring to me as "boy" or 'the boy'." You rankled me so I could hardly hold back from slapping you."

This last remark is said in such an unconvincing manner that both he and Killraven have to smile at it. "Did you use my name on purpose or just forget to skewer me?"

Killraven pulls his dreadlocks back into a thick mass and wraps a leather cord around them making it look like a bizarre upside-down turkey tail. He does not answer, choosing instead to simply lock eyes with Jehnath until the youth looks away.

"Aren't you going to answer me," Jehnath whispers, looking down at his feet.

Killraven stands up and heads for where Chakan is standing vigil. He turns and looks over his shoulder at Jehnath, <I showed you all of the answers already. Do the rest your own damn self>.

Lilah is in a tree. Her legs are wrapped around a limb and her tail around the trunk. In her left hand is a wand and in her right a Tanar'i red steel dagger.

A Chasme has just appeared a few dozen feet away and it has set its eye on her. It beats its wings and launches itself at her, pointing its probiscus at her heart like a hideous lance..

Panic wells in her gut as she again fires her wand. Again her aim is poor and the glob sails harmlessly past the creature. She raises her dagger, knowing that even if she hits it the Chasme will still drive its sucking stinger into her chest.

And then Killraven is there. He has a clinch on the Chasme' head and points its stinger down. Saved. I am saved. He has saved me again. For a moment, Lilah feels relief, and then dread grips her again. Killraven?

Now the Chasme has impaled her lover. Its front claws grip his waist and its awfull mouth has pierced his heart. Pierced his heart? He has stopped struggling. Lilah can literally see the pulses of his blood travelling down the length of the Chasme's probiscus. She feels each sucking gulp as if it were her own blood, her own heart.

She cannot remember any spells. Even though the monster is near her shots with the wand still miss.

No. No no nonononononono!

She is in a helpless panic. Killraven jerks, twitches, and then his beautiful copper skin goes grey and he is still, dead. Lilah feels nothing now. A cold, dread, nothing. The Chasme lets his body drop from his snout. It looks at her, no past her, like she no longer exists. Then it flies right through her, laughing in a horrible bug voice. "No blood in the dead, no blood in the dead, no blood in the dead . . ."

Lilah panics. Killraven is dead, not me, not me. I am not dead. He is, not me. I am not dead.

Yet the coldness on the inside confirms that she is.

"I am NOT DEAD!"

There is heat and an explosion. Lilah wakes, her eyes fly open. She is surrounded by flames. <Oh no. Oh no.>

Killraven is standing with Chakan when he hears it. "I am NOT DEAD!"

His head jerks toward the tent at the far side of the camp. He takes a few steps toward it.

"Nothing has come into the camp . . ." Chakan says to the gladiator's back as Killraven quickens his pace.

Then there is an explosion and the tent, Lilah's tent, bursts into flames.

<LILAH! BY ALL THE GODS> His legs pump with powerful fury as he clears huge chunks of the camp. He leaps the cookfire and Jehnath without breaking stride. He does not hesitate as he reaches the inferno.

"Killraven! Stop!", cries Chakan, jogging after the gladiator. "We can put it out! VALAS!"

Lilah puts her hand over her mouth and rolls out of her burning blankets. Her own flames will not hurt her, but those now consuming her tent will. She is on the cool ground on her knees, looking for a place to run.

The tent flap explodes inward. She is dimly aware of a massive shape and then she is grabbed painfully and jerked off of the ground. In almost the same motion she is carried to the rear of the tent and spun around. She sees flames and smoke everywhere and then she is carried backward, falling actually, through the back of the tent onto Killraven.

In another moment, the flames are consumed in a huge billowing cloud of smoke. She is coughing, laying on her back on top of Killraven's chest.

He is coughing also, trying to squeeze out words.

"Are <cough, sputter, sputter> you <cough, cough>." He can feel her move on him, although he cannot see. He can feel her flesh on his belly. She is choking. Alive. He relaxes and restricts his breathing.

Her eyes burn. A cooling breeze from nowhere starts to dispel the smoke. She is suddenly aware of where she is and her dream and its meaning linger. She is angry, embarrassed, humiliated. She wants to get away, to run, but Killraven still has her by the upper arms. Squeezing.

"Let GO of me YOU SODDING BERK!" she screams. The remnants of the choking smoke make it more of a croak.

Killraven is stunned. He lets go of Lilah's arms as if they were burning logs.

She scrambles off of him and looks wildly around through the whispy patches of smoke. She sees Chakan by the smoldering ruins of the tent. Something that must be Valas is cruising through the smoke on his disk. And Jehnath's shape is there also, staring.

"Lilah?" Killraven rasps, stumbling to his feet. <What has happened to her?> He holds out his arms for her.

Lilah turns to him, enraged. "STAY AWAY FROM ME!" she shouts, covering herself with her arms.

He takes a small step toward her. He is confused. Why won't she come?

Lilah fights the urge to run into the darkness. She has nothing. No weapons, no dignity, no privacy . . . nothing. Her face contorts into a snarl, and as Killraven inches closer, she draws back her right hand and slaps him as hard as she can.

"I SAID STAY AWAY!. She pulls back for another slap, but he catches her hand before it strikes. He yanks her toward him and she struggles.

"Lilah, what is . . ."

"LET GO! Is your brainbox too thick! GET AWAY FROM ME."

He tries to smother her struggling but she does not relent.

"I don't need this," she hisses at him. "I didn't ask for this. LET GO of me. Killraven! Just let go!"

The use of his name shocks him with the realization that she has not gone senseless. He lets her go, and she rewards him with another sound slap.

The sting of it all brings tears to his eyes. He doesn't know what to say.

Valas is there.

Level 1: "Take this Lilah. We will see if your gear survived the conflagration." He offers her a blanket.
Level 2: Deduction -- self induced anxiety triggers automatic defense mechanism. Likely the result of dreamstate.
Level 3: Pyrotechnics is not the most efficient way to extinguish a flame. Processing for alternatives that do not produce as much smoke.
Level 4: DON'T LOOK! RUN RUN RUN - - - subject LILAH -- Suspend.

Lilah snatches the blanket and wraps herself. Her tail is still twitching wildly.

"Why did you ever have to love me, you leatherhead!" Her voice is still loud and an octave too high. "I did fine before. I was fine with just being friends. WHY did you have to ruin it all? DAMN IT. WHY COULDN'T YOU JUST TAKE SWAN!"

Killraven does not believe his ears. His face decays from surprise to crestfallen. "Lilah . . ."

"Don't talk to me. Don't ever talk to me!" She spins on her heals and stalks toward the ruined tent, where Chakan is poking through the canvass. He has found her pack and some of her other things. She snatches it, then starts walking, then trotting, then accelerating into a full out run into the concealing darkness.

Chakan watches her go, her tail flailing with her anger. He looks at the smoking ruins beneath his booted feet, then over at Killraven. The gladiator has not moved a muscle. "Such is the way of Entropy, my friend," he says softly to himself.

It is an hour later. Killraven and Chakan are sitting side by side on a log near Valas' bonfire. The magma elf is not within it, having gone to find Lilah. Jehnath, now thoroughly uncomfortable with the whole situation, excused himself under the withering stares of the two "hunters" and retired to the remaining tent.

Chakan pokes some unburned wood into the fire. He chooses not to break the silence. He does not always enjoy the fallout when Entropy has done its work. This is one of those times.

Finally, Killraven looks over at the Doomguard. "Do you have something to say?" he asks Chakan.

"Yes."

He does not offer any more and Killraven does not ask. They both know what Chakan has to say if prompted for a general explanation. Killraven asks a more pointed question. "What do you think happened? And leave entropy out of it."

"It is there whether I refer to it or not," Chakan replies. "But since you ask, I will refrain." Chakan takes out a cigar, picks up a burning ember from the bonfire, and lights it.

"Something triggered Lilah's self-defense reaction." He looks at Killraven to see if he understands. "Like the time we faced the self-styled Lord of the Undead in the Hive."

Killraven nods.

"Of course, as I said, nothing entered the camp. Whatever caused her to flame up must have been incorporeal, invisible, or non-existent."

"You did not find anything in the burned tent, did you Chakan."

"No." Chakan takes a deep draw of his cigar and pulls down the brim of his hat.

There is again an awkward silence. Killraven mulls over in his mind again and again what he might have done wrong that has caused Lilah to flee from him. He can think of nothing. He feels only the salty bitterness in his gut and the unbearable weight of his heart slowly sinking in his chest.

Chakan closes his eyes. <I should just leave him to sulk. He either will pull out of it or he will just be more taciturn than normal.> He sneaks a look from under the brim of his hat. Killraven's head is hanging so low it is almost between his knees. <Well, a woman can do that to you -- bring even a 'mighty' leatherhead like you down to earth> He takes another pull from his cigar, and starts remembering a few of their many battles together, and a few of the promises made and, so far, kept. <Oh for -- we have many more battles to fight -- you won't be able to do a thing looking at your own asshole.>

"Listen Killraven. She's and Indep, and there's not much more to say about it."

Killraven turns his head sideways to glare at the Doomguard. <There is a hell of a lot more to say about it>.

Chakan raises his eyebrows, expecting sadness and getting anger. <That's good, my friend, fire it up a little>. He continues. "Indeps make poor lovers. The basic problem is that they are not good at making hard choices, especially one that might involve a little self-sacrifice."

Killraven sits upright and pulls the knot out of the leather band holding back his hair. He takes another sidelong look at Chakan. <I don't give a damn about other Indeps. Lilah is a better lover than a body can ever hope to have. And she has already made hard choices, so bar that too. And what the hell does a decay knight know about self-sacrifice? You weren't there when Lilah saved me from the sodding addle-coved norse proxy, and you don't know what she gave up to cure me.>

Chakan taps some of the ashes off of his cigar and meets Killraven's gaze. <He's listening. I'll just give him the entire chant then> "And Lilah is no ordinary Indep. She's a tiefling and you know her, um, family. You can't expect a hell of a lot of fidelity from someone who looks like her and whose grandmother is a succubus. And tieflings are a suspicious lot. They don't like to owe anyone any favors and they don't want to be dependant on anyone."

Killraven continues to look at Chakan. <You're right. Lilah is not ordinary. She is extraordinary. As for her family -- so? For all I know my father was a mass murderer and my mother a sodding whore. And your family is nothing to parade around the Cage as a sign of honor anyway. Fidelity? What does that have to do with the way a body looks or whether she's a tiefling or a piking elf. Dependant . . .?> Killraven rubs his chin in thought.

Satisfied, Chakan tosses his cigar butt into the bonfire. "So you see, my friend, your fling with Lilah was doomed from the start. You might as well take her advice and leave her alone. If you have to have a steady, find yourself someone who can appreciate you without thinking of herself all of the time. Lann?"

Killraven's eyes flash in the firelight. Chakan stands up.

"I've got to mind the boy." <Typical conversation with Killraven. I do all the talking, he does all the grunting. Well, he seems in better spirits> Chakan starts toward the perimeter of the little camp, feeling slightly unappreciated.

"Chakan."

The Doomguard looks back over his shoulder.

"Thank you. You are a good sword-brother." He says it like he means it. <A poor advisor, but a good sword brother. And a friend. At least you tried, even though you really know nothing about us>.

The magma drow glides through the dark forest following the path of his fleeing friend. His mind is filled with many things, only the surface thoughts analyzing the direction of his pursuit.

"It is clearly evident Lilah's flight took her on this trajectory. From the increasing size of the conifers in this location, I can deduce that she has reacted in her usual manner and scaled the largest object that could be found to provide her sanctuary. Now, to determine which of these is the largest." His mind is a blur of equations, sizing up the trees as he floats past. Valas' keen eyes spot a likely indicator of her location, a discarded blanket, the exact one he handed her earlier this evening, as deduced from the trace of residual fire motes his lens aids him in detecting.

"Ah, Lilah must be residing in one of these." His eyes strain upward trying to locate her heat signature. After a moment's pause, and recalculating that he is certainly in the right area, another part of his mind reminds him of her propensity for concealing her whereabouts in darkness. Quickly reassessing the situation, he weaves a pattern of magic to call upon the aid of one of the forest-dwelling creatures.

After a short time, in which his mind quarreled over the percentage of creatures that would be in the area, and which was the most probable to answer his summons, he is joined by a very sleepy looking squirrel. "Ah, I observe that I was correct in my calculations." He says aloud, the squirrel becoming momentarily distracted not understanding his words.

Valas remembers an earlier conversation with a the same type of mammal, and recalls the need for human childlike statements. His brow furrows as he tries to simplify his question, breaking it down several times. The squirrel begins to nod off, in the very brief moments of the Drow's ponderings.

"Heh em..." the squirrel's eyes pop open, aware that the large one who called him wants to speak again. "Which tree is the female hiding in?" The squirrel looks worried for a moment not wanting to help this large one find his mate.

"Nooo... no mate." He lies to the large one, hoping he will let him go back to sleep.

The Drow momentarily confused, realizes his wording mistake and defines his question further. "No, not your mate. The female of my size." A chorus of voices is heard in the mind of Valas as all the parts of his mind focus momentarily on the conversation. <Aah, an intriguing challenge communicating with this one.>

The squirrel brightens up, finally realizing what this large one wants. "Ah... yes, here... she is this way, too big for my home, hide good, not belong though." The squirrel scampers to a tree a few feet from the base of the one Valas was hovering under and begins to climb.

Valas follows ascending cautiously upward, not wanting to surprise the volatile tiefling. As he climbs upward he hears the squirrel chattering at him, "Here, she is here, over there..." Before Valas can ask anything further of the creature, it jumps to the next tree apparently heading back to its dwelling.

His eyes scan the area where the squirrel indicated, not seeing his quarry, calculating the possibility that the squirrel misunderstood him, or misled him. He turns to scan the remaining branches in the area looking for heat signatures, when he hears a familiar voice.

"What do you want Oberon?" He turns toward the direction of the sound, and notices a shifting outline and growing pattern emerging from the shadows.

"Uh.. " His mind quickly processes the dialogue he had prepared on his journey, eliminating most of what he found appropriate earlier, finally confronted with the woman.. <Mistress, please forgive my intrusion...>

Valas suppresses his innate thoughts of fear and submission, reminding himself of his relationship with the tiefling. "I came to inquire after your well-being... physical and mental." His eyes dart upward seeking to further define the figure in front of him. He is relieved when his senses notice the muffled heat signature, an indication that she is no longer without her garments, a situation he had discovered to be most uncomfortable.

The woman shifts her position, unfolding her cloak and turning to face the hovering elf. Her fingers gesture briefly and a small 'snap' is heard followed by an eerie green illumination. It is just enough for the Drow to clearly make out her features, her face drawn and taught, unusual for Lilah.

Her hands fidget at a tie on her belt, tying and untying the knot. "I'm fine, Oberon." Lilah's tone indicates otherwise. "I just needed some space. That's all."

Valas observes the repetitive motion of her hands, piecing it together with the events of earlier, and the lack of conviction in her voice. His mind quickly assesses the situation, calculating the wisest response. "Judging from the happenings this evening, I refer to the defense mechanism which was triggered by some event in your dream- state, and your reactions immediately following this occurrence, I am led to believe otherwise." He watches the woman's hands continue their fretting, the rhythm unbroken by his words.

"REALLY? Yeah, Oberon, you're pretty hard to put one over on." He notes her underlying anger, knowing he must choose his words carefully to avoid a potentially explosive reaction from the tiefling. Valas allows the silence between them to remain, evaluating that she will continue without further prodding.

She watches Valas for a moment, then returns her stare back to the darkness. Valas senses the tension ease between them when her eyes leave him. "I'm sorry, Oberon. I didn't mean that." Lilah pauses, sighing. "It's just that, I'm feeling so trapped, bound in, oh, I don't know. Maybe I should just let you cutters go on your way, and I'll go mine. Like Nim and Ovi. That way everyone can deal with their own fates, and not worry about the rest."

His eyes study her, listening carefully to her words. Noting there is something still left unspoken, but not quite knowing what. Valas deduces that her last phrase was most telling. He lets another silence pass, allowing her to think further on her own words. When he determines that enough time has passed, he decides to relate his experiences, in order to better convince her of the need for her companions.

"The Psyche is fascinating, we have more direct access to it than anything else, yet the more we try to understand it, the less we do. Don't you concur? Take, for instance, your predicament. Individuality and independence are motivating factors in your psychological makeup. They have served you well in the dangerous environs in which you were raised. Yet, quite suddenly, you are motivated to disobey the very directives you have lived by for so many years; Motivated, perplexingly enough, by your own emotions. You feel betrayed by your self, the one person you always believed you could count on. A terrible conundrum, one that manifests itself in violence and anger towards the exact target of your protectiveness. Of course that causes further anxiety, as your emotions collide even more convolutedly. The shelter of your mind vanishes, and you stand naked before the harsh mistress of your own thoughts and feelings."

Valas pauses, allowing Lilah to process his statements. His attention shifts briefly to a Mote that has becomed lodged on a small piece of moss attached to the tree. A different level of his mind begins calculating the probabilities of the occurrence of that mote on that piece of moss. A more surface level notices Lilah's face has attained a state of comprehension, after shifting through several other emotional states, including annoyance and confusion. Valas waits until Lilah looks at him with the pattern of facial muscles that indicate that her mind is once again receptive to more communication.

"However, just around the mental corner, lies your salvation. The only glitch is that it requires a bit of faith to make the turn. One of my strongly held, but rarely communicated, beliefs, is the belief in strength through familiar bonds. This belief was yet another part of my Psyche that was forged in Deepfire. You see, Deepfire set up quite and interesting environment for Drow Males, especially the more sensitive males that typically develop into the better mages. As you surely have concluded from some of my mannerisms, the society I was raised in was ruled under the wicked hands of the female Drow. Male Drow deserved pain and suffering simply for the insult of their existence. The only greater insult than living was dying."

He notes that Lilah is following his words intently, comprehending as he speaks and therefore there is no need to pause and allow her to process.

"Any friendship that began to develop between two males, was quickly squelched by the terrible manipulations of the females, who would soon have the two males at each other's throats. I was often tortured simply because another male did something better than I did. The desired effect of my hatred towards that male was easily achieved. Having a strong independent streak similar to yours, I often tried to develop friendships simply because I knew the women disapproved of them. My greatest achievement was my friendship with my father, which we were able to maintain for over three years. Of course once we were found out, my father was transformed into a Drider, and I was given to a group of Drow Necromancers to be vivisected daily as an accelerator for their skills. It did work well, as the three months I spent there increased their skill dramatically."

Lilah is stunned at hearing this, not realizing the extent of the torture that Valas had endured while living with the Drow, and the memories of his submissive attitude and fear upon meeting her make sense for the first time. She continues to listen, amazed at his self control as he relates his tale, knowing if it were her, the anger probably would have consumed her.

"Anyway, I digress. In Deepfire, the females could no longer watch over the males with such vigilance. A great friendship amongst the males quickly developed, as if the feelings repressed over the decades were manifesting in a compressed time scale. At times it seemed as if we were inebriated on simply being friends. Many of my comrades became homosexual to push the friendships into something greater. Happiness actually found root in all of our hearts. And in that friendship and dependency on each other, we found strength. Strength to maintain our colony for over five decades in the face of a horrible Power."

The tiefling blinks twice as she realizes she is actually seeing emotion on Valas' face other than those associated with intellectual pursuit. A dark shadow quickly forms over his face though, replacing that welcome change.

"That ended. But you are cognizant of that portion of my history. The thrust of my historical references is to demonstrate the power of friendship. Independence and distance will only get you through a few doors in life, many of which are not worth opening. In a more Planar-based metaphor, the key to the valuable portals is friendship."

Valas smiles briefly at Lilah, apparently having finished his lecture. Lilah can't help but return the smile to her friend. <He cares. That matters.> His words make sense, and although they don't directly fix her problem, they are enough to bring reason back. His eyes look to Lilah's hands, which have stopped their worrying. Thinking that his discourse calmed her fears, he asks, "Would you like to return now to the campsite?"

"Yes, I'll come back now, Oberon. How 'bout a lift?" She grins at the magma drow, the playfulness returning to her eyes.

"Of course. We will be on our way then." Valas replies, as Lilah climbs behind him on the disk. They begin their way, weaving through the trees back to camp. Although Valas' eyes are keen, he can not see behind him as Lilah's hands resume their fret.

Lilah lets her left leg dangle over the side of Valas' disk at they head back to camp. She tries to settle things in her mind. After talking to Valas she is now convinced that she has to do something or she'll go barmy. But what? She doesn't want to lose Killraven as either a friend or companion. Valas has made that much clear to her.

She again starts to fidget with her belt knot in frustration. <I can't run him off. I don't know how, and if I did I doubt it would work.> She fantasizes for a moment about how she would feel if he got "lost." The coldness from her dream starts to frost her insides. <Besides, I don't think I want to.>

She rubs her lower lip thoughtfully. <Somehow I have to stay me. But the basher is so intense its hard to know where I stop and he starts. There has to be SOMETHING I can do>. She thinks for a while longer. As she twists a lock of her red hair around her finger she starts to get a little angry again. She is angry that she even has to worry about this. After all, Killraven is only a man and if she knows anything it is how to handle a man.

Finally, she resolves to simply lay down the law. <I gotta give him the speech>. "Let me down here," she says to Valas as they near the little clearing. "I need to get my thoughts together." Valas complies and then rides his disk straight into the center of the bonfire.

She walks slowly and half heartedly, rehearsing the speech in her mind. She knows all of the pieces well, having given it a dozen or so times when she had tired of a lover. There is the part about her need to make her own choices, and the part about what it means to be an Indep, and the part about how stifling things can get with a lover in tow all the time, and the part about dangerous errands that have to be run alone, and the part about having to have her own life. It almost always works. Her lovers can never accept all of the conditions, and they drop her. Simple. Usually guiltless. If it works with Killraven, she is pretty sure they will stay friends. It does not seem to be in his makeup to leave behind such bonds.

As she approaches the camp Killraven is throwing more logs into Valas' bonfire. She watches the play of the muscles in his shoulders as he easily heaves the heavy wood into the flames. A lump rises in her throat. <Can I do this?>

Killraven turns quickly and reaches for the sword at his back. He stops cold when he sees her. His expression is dark and his eyes are angry. <Lilah? Pike it!>

She catches his expression. <I guess I deserve it.> "Hey," she says quietly, her insides already starting to soften. <Come on, stick it out. Come on>.

He sighs deeply and rubs his face. After his hand passes his expression has softened from angry to peery. He looks at the slight twist of her hips, the cut of her thighs, and the softness of her breast -- and then into her eyes and sees the flames of the Abyss reflected in them. He tries to stifle his bitterness. <I should cut my heart out. I do love her. Yaaagh>.

Lilah swallows hard. "Can we talk?"

"Don't talk to me. Don't ever talk to me. Your words, not mine," he says.

Having her own words thrown back at her stings. She welcomes the anger it sparks because it helps her resolve return. "Don't be a sod. I had a nightmare. I didn't mean to hurt you."

He doesn't respond. But she can see from his expression exactly how much she did hurt him. Again, the lump starts to come up in her throat.

He sits down on a log near the bonfire. Lilah can just barely make out Valas in the center of the flames, lost in meditation. She bites her lip and heads for the log and sits down next to him.

His own anger dissolves quickly with her near. He senses that she is looking for words but he does not wait for her to find them.

"You don't have to explain anything," he grumbles at the ground between his legs. "Let's just forget it."

"Its not that simple. We have got to deal with what caused my - - flames to go off."

There is a pregnant silence as they both just sit there.

"Killraven? Bast! Why do you have to make this so hard."

"Life is hard. I didn't make it that way."

<Groan. Take out the speech. Get it over with.> "Right. I didn't either. I am just getting uncomfortable about us. I am not thinking straight. You see, I need to be able to make my own choices <like -- when to run away without having to worry about my heart being crushed if you get killed> and I don't have control over that anymore. And I am an Indep. That means I need . . . ."

Lilah goes on with her speech, touching on all of the things she needs from life that (without directly saying it) she doesn't need him for. He gives no reaction during the dialogue, and this allows her to disassociate, making it easier to finish properly. When it is done, she feels strangely relieved and anxious. <Now, this is where he gets angry and cuts me loose>.

Killraven turns toward her, his dark eyes locking on hers. "Save that screed for the berks that just think they love you."

"What?" This response irks her. Killraven breaks all of the little rules of the game.

"Don't play the gully with me, Lilah. You don't really think that I haven't thought about all your "needs" before, do you? Although it hurts me sometimes -- well, maybe a lot of the time, you'll get all the rope from me you need to dangle. And you know why? I can't help it."

Now she looks at him in a different light. Her eyes are bright flames, and she punches him hard in the shoulder. "You addle-cove!" she shouts. "Your supposed to give me the laugh now. Your supposed to get mad and say that you can't live with all of these conditions. Your supposed to . . ."

Killraven grabs her shoulders so hard she winces. "Will you STOP IT! It doesn't matter what you think I am supposed to do. For some reason I am completely in love with you and I can't piking help it. Do you think I like it that you don't want to spend all of your time with me? Do you think I like it that you need to have secrets, and a faction, and friends I don't know about? Do you think I PIKING like it that you want the freedom to go fuck someone else whenever you want?"

"I didn't PICK YOU!" she shouts right back, struggling out of his grasp. "Just because you dump you barmy heart at my feet doesn't mean I have to do the same. It's not fair. It's not fair."

Killraven is quiet for a moment. The sting of this conversation wears on him and shows on his face. But he cannot let the last comment go. "You . . . DID . . . pick." <I know you did. Didn't you?>

Killraven's expression stabs Lilah right in the heart. She senses his uncertainty and knows it presents an opportunity, perhaps, to end this. She could back out now, take back the words, the touches, the kiss? Her dream however, is still fresh in her mind and she cannot wound him anymore. <I can't. Too late. Bast!>.

The realization provides immediate relief. <I really have no choice anymore. I have fallen for this man in some way I had promised myself would never happen. Well it has, and that is that. But I will not go quietly. Oh no.>

She stiffens and comes back within range of his powerful arms. He does not reach for her, looking instead for some sign of affirmance of her promises to him, both spoken and unspoken.

<Well, he doesn't need to know that I can't break it off. I need every edge I can get>. She already feels her resolve starting to wilt under his steady, suddenly vulnerable brown-eyed gaze.

"You know, Killraven, I have had lots of lovers before. Some of them turned out to be leatherheads and I gave them the laugh, or worse. Others are bloods that could have made lunch out of you. <And might still>. What in all the planes makes you think you're gonna last?" There is a challenge in Lilah's voice, but he sees something else in her eyes.

He senses the struggle has ended for now, and that he has made his case. He fights the urge to embrace her and instead flatly states his answer.

"I am tougher than the rest."

<Another unexpected answer >. "We'll see about that, won't we?" she replies, now approaching him and running her fingers up his chest. The anger that has come and gone the entire evening has sparked life into a part of her she does not often care to consult. <I'm done parrying. I'm on offense now. If I'm going to worry about you, cry about you, and maybe die over you, you can be damn sure that I'm getting mine back double.>

Their eyes meet and there is one more moment between them of surrender of her to him and him to her. Then, Lilah takes each of her hands and twists them into the dreadlocks that frame his face. She pulls them roughly until his face is lowered toward hers.

"Kiss me now," she says, "the way I like it."

A few minutes later, Lilah is sitting under the boughs of a thick pine tree growing on the side of a small ridge near the camp. It is a place which in their collective inexpert opinions seems suitable for a shelter. Killraven hacked off the lowest branches leaving clearance of a few feet on the downhill side of the tree and he is now arranging the cut branches to form a crude wall around the base of the tree's canopy of branches.

Lilah has spread out their blankets on the soft but prickly bed of pine needles. She deliberately places her pack within reach of the blankets with two of her daggers handily arranged within a side pocket.

Killraven crawls into the shelter and removes his weapons and the few pieces of armor he had left on that evening, leaving only his kilt and leather jerkin on. He noisily flops down next to her on the blanket and puts his arms under his head. He issues a deep, weary sigh.

<Don't think this evening is over yet, lover>. Lilah waits a moment and then rolls right on top of him. He looks at her with a pleased but slightly startled expression. Her hair tickles his nose and chin and he smiles. She smiles back.

"What do you love most about me?" she asks playfully, purring into his lips and then lowering kisses down his neck.

He takes his hands from under his head and lets them travel down her sides. He caresses her behind.

"I love the way these snap on the back," he says, popping loose the snap above the tail hole of her body suit.

She lets him work the leggings down as far as they will go. Then she helps the rest of the way, getting them clear of her thighs and feet. She then nuzzles into his neck, enjoying him.

He drinks in the warmth of her flesh on his stomach and pushes his hands under the back of her shirt. She fishes an earlobe into her mouth. She tongues it. Then she bites it. Hard. Very hard.

"Yeow!" He pushes her off roughly. She rolls to her pack. She waits a brief second until she sees him check his wounded ear for blood, then she launches herself back on him. She lands with most of her weight just below his ribcage, intending to wind him.

She is too light, and he too strong. It does not work completely but he is surprised and the partial exhale is good enough to give her the time she needs. With a wicked grin she puts one knife under his left arm pointing at his heart. The other she holds in her left hand on top of his adam's apple. Before he can react, she whips her tail under his kilt and circles his scrotum with it, squeezing.

<Got you, you big berk!>

"Lilah . ." he croaks. <Now what?>

"Shhhhhhhh. Only a whisper," sees says huskily. "Oh, now see, you made me cut you." She lifts the dagger in her left hand so that he can see the blood on it. Her eyes burn with the flames of the Abyss as she looks at it, then him. She licks the blood off of it and returns it to its place on his neck.

She starts to rock on him, exciting herself, while using her tail to provoke the same from him.

<What are you doing?> Killraven's face is a mixture of confusion, anger and pleasure.

She increases the tempo of her movements, then slowly slides down his torso. "Remember that night in your kip? You used me pretty hard and I was sore after. Not that that is a bad thing. But I feel I must return the favor." Again that wicked smile.

"urrrgh," he grunts. It is all he can say as she squeezes him painfully.

"No noise. That could hurt." <This feels good>. Some of the rarely used lessons her mother gave her come back, as well as some of the words. <Men have the muscle>. She gives him a gentle squeeze this time, using her tail to hold him in the right position for entry. <Women have everything else>.

Killraven continues to look at her with his confused expression. She looks deep into his eyes. <No desperation? No fear? Figures. I bet I can carve my initials on you and not draw that out of you. Maybe I will>

"Don't look so puzzled sweetie," she croons. " You said you were tougher than the rest. Let's see."

Killraven sighs and submits. <I think this is . . . going . . . to . . . hurt.>

Hours later, Killraven starts awake to the sound of distant thunder. It is a low, rumbling noise and no cause for alarm to someone used to such weather. On Athas, however, the sound of thunder heralds disaster and a body has only a few minutes to find sturdy shelter or be torn to bits. Killraven's eyes open wide with brief panic and then he settles down as he realizes where he is.

The thick dark canopy of the pine tree still encloses Lilah and him in its sweet-smelling embrace. She is sleeping next to him - in almost the same position as that first time they made love after his healing. As then, she is naked next to him, but not as then - this time she is holding a dagger.

In the growing light he notes the blood on its blade. His blood. He looks at his left biceps - at her handiwork there. It is still very sore and scabbed over. Her symbol, she had said. <What does it look like?>

He slides over so as not to disturb her and sits up. He looks more closely at the marks but he can make no meaning of its twists and turns. It has meaning to her, however, and that is enough.

The air is thick and cool with moisture. There is another distant roll of thunder.

He looks at his sleeping companion. She had inflicted pain on him last night, pain mixed with measured doses of pleasure. It was deliberate and she enjoyed it. He did not know she could be this way but he probably should have expected it considering her heredity. Well, he has been through worse. Much worse. Much, much worse. If Lilah needed to hurt him in order to love him, it was a trade he would make any time and every time. Besides, it hadn't been THAT bad.

He rolls over to grab his bastard sword and groans as pain shoots through his groin. <Right. Could've been worse>. He pulls his sword toward him and loops the drawstring for the scabbard over his shoulder. His arm is sore and his groin is tender and he smiles anyway. Whatever test Lilah had put him through he passed it. Although he would have preferred that she simply acknowledge her own heart he does not mind being his own champion to help her find the truth.

Moc flaps awkwardly among the branches, finally abandoning them and landing on the blanket near his foot. The two Athasians look at each other.

Killraven smiles again and flexes his muscles. He feels full, complete, and motivated. He has stuck to what he believes in and it has never failed him. Valas, Chakan, Rogan, Ovi, and now Lilah. He has fought hard for their trust and respect, and from Lilah, her love. Now that he has it he has no intentions of forgetting his promises. The multiverse is a big place. But at almost every turn the enemies of his friends have hurt them and undoubtedly more enemies still wait to be revealed. Let them come. Bit by bit, promise by promise, blow by blow, they will feel the unyielding force of his vows.

There is a flash of lightning. Killraven half expects the treetops to crash in around him. But this place is not Athas, and the rain, if and when it comes, is only water that rolls off his back. He takes another look at Lilah and, admiring her as she sleeps, he is again thankful that he had found the courage to confront her about his feelings that evening long ago in the Dwarven Festhall. Swan would have unquestionably been easier. But he is a mul and an Athasian and life is supposed to be hard. That is what makes it all worthwhile.

"Moc!" he whispers, as more thunder rolls in. "It is a fine morning for a run. Shake out your tail feathers and let's see what paths lie before us this day!"

The air around her has cooled somewhat and that is enough stimulus for Lilah to pop open one eye. She is instantly aware of where she is, and that she is alone. There is a momentary freezing in her heart, like her dream early last night as she realizes that Killraven is gone, but it passes. <I'll just get used to it>

She stretches her legs under the blanket and revels in feeling good for a change. <Not sore this time. Bet that poor cutter is going to think twice though before he handles me roughly>, She lays on her back and smiles to herself as she remembers last night. <I really did put my mark on him, didn't I?> She holds up the dagger to observe the proof. <I guess we're even, raven-man. You hurt me, I hurt you, you love me, I love you. As long as nobody puts you in the deadbook this could work.>

There is a low rumble of distant thunder, followed a few seconds later by a series of lightning flashes. As the thunder fades, Lilah stares up into the branches. Ordinarily she does not like sleeping out of doors like this. It leaves a body feeling - exposed. But this is not an ordinary morning. She feels invulnerable and strong and does not care if the roof under which she slept is alive.

It is uncharacteristically quiet - the animals apparently deciding to stay hidden rather than come out into the threatening weather. Lilah enjoys the peace and thinks about nothing in particular, waiting for music to drift into her head. Her reverie is interrupted by the distant caw of Moc.

Smiling, Lilah flips to her stomach and slithers under the lower branches of the pine tree until she can peek out over the little ridge. The morning is steel gray and thin tails of mist cling to the skirts of the trees that dot the hollow below. She hears Moc again, and spies the bird winging among the trees. There is another roll of thunder and then she sees Killraven. He is running with great loping strides, his dreadlocks flying behind his head like streamers. His arms pump smoothly and in rhythm with his footsteps. He leaps over a deadfall, hardly breaking stride, lit by a flash of lightning and looking like a creature born of this world to run.

Lilah's eyes narrow and she smiles at his pleasure. <You are beautiful>. She is inspired to join him and quickly slides back down to her blankets and to her clothes and pack. As she sorts through her things the music comes to her mind. It is one of the songs from the Sensate Festhall that she and Swan had danced to. Yesterday, she might have tried to change channels to avoid unhappy thoughts of a confrontation with Swan that is sure to come. But not today. As the beat ticks through her head her tail starts to bounce and she makes up some words to add to the chorus.

She flops onto her back and pulls on her underpants. She notices for the first time that her lower abdomen is sticky with blood, pine sap, and other fluids. She makes a mental note to clean up after she has dressed, and then the song comes back. < "I tried to get to sleep early last night, didn't get much rest, got into a fight - unh unh, it ain't no big thing. . . .">. She shrugs into her undershirt and tugs the bottom over her breasts and lets it hang above her pierced naval. <"Blew off my watch, had trouble with my man, had to borrow a few lessons from my grandmam - unh unh, it ain't no big thing">

The music floods her. She grabs the rest of her stuff and pushes out of the makeshift shelter of branches. She spins into the top of her body suit, one arm at a time, twirling with the music. <"We had a little party under a tree last night, still don't know what I'm doing but that's all right - unh unh, it ain't no big thing">. She picks up her leggings and dances into them . . . <"Cause I know what I like" . . .> . . . poke right leg through, step, step . . . <"and I know I like dancing with you . . ."> . . . left leg, step, step, tug . . . <"And I know what you like . . .">. . . reach behind, snap, grin < . . . "and I know you like dancing with me. . .."> jump, jump, twist, grab some daggers . . . <"Kiss me once . . . kiss me twice . . . come on pretty baby kiss me DEADLY . . ."> slip daggers into place.

She stops in mid dance/song/dress. <Someone is watching me?> She looks back toward camp and sees Chakan strolling up the side of the little ridge. The Doomguard gives her a little wave and a big grin.

<How long has that piker been watching? Hmm> Lilah stops her little game, but not the music in her head. She focuses on a cantrip and lets her tail twitch in time with her voice and the music as she casts the spell to clean herself up. By the time Chakan reaches her she is clean, and except for her cloak and pack, fully dressed.

He slows his pace a few feet away from her. "We are in for more weather today, I think. I want to get going." He is still smiling. She notices that he has brought her a mug of coffee.

Lilah gives him a close look. He is very hard to read and she cannot discern from his expression whether he saw her dressing and if so, whether he was interested. <Only idle curiosity >. She returns his smile, finds the zipper on her leather body suit, and tugs it down another two inches. <Feeling sexxxxy today.>

Chakan says nothing about it nor does his expression change. "Where is Killraven? As I said, I want to get going. We might be able to ride out of the weather before we get too wet."

Lilah's eyes sparkle. "He's down on the other side of the ridge," she answers, walking with Chakan to the crest.

"You two were busy last night," Chakan says, unable to avoid at least a passing comment, "I took your watch. I didn't think you needed to be bothered with such duties"

From the crest they can see Killraven still running around in the hollow, Moc in tow. Lilah turns to Chakan to answer him. Her tail is bobbing to the song and she decides to add some lyrics for the Doomguard. <"Could use a few beers to get me high, gotta give the laugh somehow to this guy . . ."> "Thanks. I'll do double next time if you like. Sorry I missed it."

She says it in a tone that distinctly suggests that she is grateful but not particularly contrite. Moreover, there is something different about her - the way she is standing, and the way she does not look away. "We were making." Her remark is punctuated by more distant thunder and an accompanying flash of lightning.

"Making? From what I could hear of your argument and untender reconciliation it did not sound like you were doing any making." He holds out the mug of coffee for her. She refuses it.

"Making," she says. "Making up, making it work, making out, making it hurt, making love." She looks back down into the hollow. <I wouldn't expect you to understand it. Doomguard don't know much about 'making' anything>

"Although some of the tasks you mention sound enjoyable, for the most part, making things is a waste of time." Chakan eyes the distant gladiator, then sighs. "Take our friend for example. He will be running all day. He does not need this extra exercise. It will not reverse his personal entropy . . . in fact, just the opposite."

"Oh really, Chakan," Lilah chides, "as if Killraven is thinking about reversing his personal entropy."

Chakan takes a pull of the coffee. "So, what do you think he is doing?"

"Oh," she says over her shoulder as she starts to trot down the ridge on a course to intercept Killraven, her tail still bobbing to the song, "nothing important I'm certain." <Yeah, he's doing something else Doomguard don't know much about.>

She breaks into a run, then a sprint as she spies a likely tree branch. Flashes of lightning punctuate her cadence and illimune her smiling face. She leaps at the branch in full stride, catches it with both hands, does two giant swings around the limb, piking her legs to avoid the other branches, and then launches into a one and a half reverse somersault and lands, still running.

< . . . . having fun !>

Chakan watches Lilah tear off down the hill. At the end of her gymnastics she has intercepted Killraven and jumps onto him, wrapping her legs around his torso and dragging him to the ground. Chakan tosses the rest of the coffee into the grass.

"We are all going to get wet." He turns back toward the camp and his duties.