* * *
Edward
* * *

Lady Thelea is gone.  It's with a pang of sadness that I realize I'm not sure when she left.  It's the first concrete feeling I've had in quite awhile, or remember having, so I latch onto it.

Why so sad, Ed'huar-schelina?

Something strokes through my hair.  I realize it's my King's taloned gauntlets.  I'm unsure, but I think that might have been concern in his voice.  If I've heard such an emotion buried in the non-words he speaks, I've never noticed it before.

* * *
Edward
* * *

I'd say everything's been a bit dark lately but that's untrue.  Grey, maybe, but that's still not quite it.  There have been colors, too, light and dark, bright and dull.  I just haven't given them any notice.  I haven't given anything any notice.  In a sort of freedom that I can't quite describe the bliss of, I've not been required to give anything that passes in front of my eyes any notice for... quite some time, I suppose.

* * *
Edward
* * *

My King is furious, and I can be thankful for two things right now: that the anger isn’t focused on me, and that he’s so very furious that I’m not sure if he’d remember to focus it on me if he could. It’s hard to tell - emotions from my King are so very cold and inscrutable... but very pure, in their own way. Crushing in their scale, so potent that they make you want to stop existing just so they’ll stop being focused upon you.

...Yes, I am very thankful my King has forgotten me in his fury.

How did we go wrong? I can’t see what we possibly missed. We had almost reached that core part of Ebre’schtullin-neh that he’d kept sealed away for so long. He’d all but given his will to live over to our King. Then he slipped out of our grasp as if he was never within our reach to begin with. Not just that core part... but all of Ebre’schtullin-neh.

* * *
Ebrelle
* * *

Mother grabs me by the hair and twists her hand in that special way that she likes to use to get my attention. I manage a hazy blink, but I really can't concentrate on her all that much. There's something looming over me, something that's dark and quiet and yet hates me so much. It'll eat me, though. I've already been enough trouble for it that it'd be more satisfied with killing me than using me.

I never knew Nul hated me so - I assumed that his actions towards me were typical of his treatment of anyone put in the position I was in. But I'm not that surprised. I can't put the effort into it to be surprised. I'm dying, after all - so whatever Mother is trying to tell me can't be all that important.

"Think you'll escape like Eistinn, will you?" Her voice hitches up at the last note, and I wonder if he was her favorite. Then I tell myself: of course he was her favorite. He's dead.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

After the first few lunges, Faun apparently tires of the sport and proceeds to lash Ebrellin-i with the chains he's been cuffed to. During the first few strikes, I don't even realize how much damage the Peacock King is taking from the blows. All I can think about is how much a parody Faun is of Ebrellin-i right now - taking a lash to him, just like the monarch had me do to Faun.

It's then that it strikes me as so very wrong - and it's then that Faun catches my eye for just a moment. He goes on lashing the King, though, and I wonder if I even imagined it.

The King, for all his power, can't rise from his kneeling position, and can do very little to block Faun's assault. The lunges from before left their cuts and scratches on the King, but the chain bites harder than Faun's claws.

* * *
Stevane
* * *

Part of me just wants to stay asleep and be aware of nothing - to blank all of the last few days out and stop thinking at all. The rest of me knows that's a stupid wish because I dream too vividly for anything to be a rest - worst of all, I never stop thinking. And, like most Poets, I tend to notice things around me even as I sleep.

So I suppose I heard a conversation between Unkie and the other Advocate from across the ocean that I probably wasn't supposed to. Except, Unkie knows I'd hear it, so I don't understand why he'd just let it happen, unless he wanted it to. That means he wanted a witness around... or someone did. It's something to think about, which I'm welcoming right now, because I'm not dreaming heavily at all and I'm starting to notice things that I wish I wouldn't.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

My heart's doing that thing where it thuds inside my throat, which tempos nicely with the burning in my lungs. I'm just lucky that Ebrellin-i is so tall and I'm so tiny - it means I can get through the tangled, dense woods more easily. The chains trailing from the manacles on his ankles and wrists and neck are also making things a bit difficult for him. I also don't have ten feet of hair to drag behind me. His mane may be a tiny bit lighter after I snipped a bit of it off not long ago, but still--

--Oh shit, is that why he's chasing me down?

Ebrellin-i is following me. Faun's voice is strange to hear in my head, but not completely unexpected. He sounds so calm... as if he expected all of this. You are something he also desires, but I am sure he does not wish to attack you.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

We don't land in front of the forest. We crash into it in an upwards shower of snapping branches. I'm on the ground by the time I register the ghost-impressions of hundreds of leaves slapping against my face. I'm scratched up, with a pretty good cut on one cheek. Lyric seems untouched - the King's face and arms are scratched. They're both breathing, thank the winds.

Patrick's still sitting straight up, holding the reins. He's oddly quiet, and when I wonder why, I realize that the bird is dead.

I don't know quite what to say or do, because he seems sad about it. I am, too - she was a nice bird, and I liked her. Patrick, though, is broken up. And maybe this is hard on him. Maybe he hasn't gotten attached to a lot of things before. But there's no time to talk about it - the commotion coming from not too far away signals that our assailants haven't given up the chase.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

I can't tell whose panic that is, leaping up in my chest. Is it mine, or Ebrellin-i's? Whose despair is plunging down through me? Whose tears are these? In the moment after I hear Edward's words, I can't tell. It's so hard to recover - it's so hard to even believe. My grip on Ebrellin-i's hand is the thing that pulls me out of it - he's clutching at me, another spasm.

I'm here. It's all I can say to comfort him.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no-- Ebrellin-i doesn't hear me. There's only despair in his head, and agony all through his heart. I was protecting him all this time, that can't be true--

I see a flash of Ebrelle hunching himself over something, cradling it, protecting it. Was that the Poet King? Was he spending all of his remaining energy protecting his brother instead of fighting off Nul?

No, no, no, no, no, no, no--

* * *
Gerald
* * *

I've got a bad feeling about this whole operation. I'm not too sure we're gonna make it.

Maybe it's the way the Peacock King looks right now, and the weird moans that are coming out of him. All I know is that I felt a weird sinking feeling just a minute ago that I almost mistook for the bird falling. Almost on top of that was a weird sense of satisfaction from my Arms that they won't explain and I don't have the time to pry out of them. I just don't feel like all is right with the world - and if I weren't soaring so far above the ground that I can see Audiva Rocale from here, I'd look into it. Now, though, I have the feeling that focusing on my job is best.

Focusing on my job is, for now, holding onto this damn bird and keeping an eye on the King in case he finally decides to kill my brother. That time may have just come. The Peacock King's eyes have been staring wide open for a minute now, and that bodes ill. I draw Wagner.