A roofed roadway provided the link between the outer part of Gateway and that within the Forbidden Zone. Despite solid walls to keep out fierce winds, the supernatural nature of this storm evidenced itself by how the wagon bearing the Dack family (and its retinue) through was buffeted about. It was definitely a ride to be remembered … but at least there wasn't any sand blasted about, and there was no fear of being blown off course and lost in the storm.

Further punctuating the supernatural nature of the storm was the fact that it just abruptly stopped at a certain point on the inner side, just as suddenly as it had started. In the eye of the storm, there is a clearing with a broken stone tower in its exact center, with walkways of stone and wood radiating outward, branching off into tents and buildings and grounded sand-ships and air-ships that serve as such. Around all of this is a tall, circular wall of black, in which can be seen the seething storm, chopped off as if a storm were something solid that could be carved with a knife … or a round cookie-cutter that could leave this conspicuous hole in the center.

Over there are some embassies flying flags of major and minor powers of Sinai, though the building devoted to the interests of the Khattan Emirate looks more like a miniature version of the Emir's own palace, flaunting his wealth and influence. There are also embassies of a sort of foreign (in the interplanetary sense) powers – a few Silent-Ones missions, a fortification flying the red, white and black banner of the Kampfzengruppe, and a building with a flag that looks like a variation on the design of the Star-and-Anchor, this one having a Star with two parallel vertical lines instead of one.

Titanians and other large and muscular species find ready work moving cargo – They may not have quite the same lifting power as a Dromodon or Drokar, but they have a slightly better chance of being smart enough to follow complicated orders. Savanite refugees huddle about, waiting for the next opening to Arcadia, some of them accepting the hospitality of the rival sects of the Silent-Ones during their wait. Kampfzengruppe soldiers march about, armed with rifles that quite likely don't even work, though the sharp bayonets on the ends should still be serviceable.

Prince Sebazhan Dack glances back at the two Titanians lugging a large wooden crate. Even though it's quite hot, he shivers – the crate seems to have a knack for inspiring a case of the willies in anyone standing nearby for too long. The black Khatta, swathed in a bright white ha-clohi and kadiban – sufficient to make him pass for a local – examines his papers and nods. "We should be able to catch a journey to Abaddon today, if it hasn't gone out already. Otherwise, we can spend a couple of nights here and catch another … no, that's Arcadia. Three nights, then." He doesn't seem to be the least bit concerned about the strange surroundings as he disembarks from the wagon.

"We've got time, although I'll be eager to get the furniture moved and out of here as soon as possible." Willow squeaks. Her tone is distracted as she stares out into the sands, looking for but not quite wanting to recognize a patch where she and a Savanite once kneeled together.

There's no telling exactly where it might be. The very nature of this place seems to be highly transient, the buildings themselves made out of vehicles and tents, some which may be here for a while … some which might not be.

A Hooka waddles by, honking and hooting cheerfully to itself as it goes, pulling a little wagon with its segmented tail, laden with lumpy-looking rocks of different colors.

The Skreek peers over the Khatta's shoulder at his papers. "Do you want the job of finding out then the next trip out is, or should I handle it? I probably speak the various languages out here a tad better, but they'll treat you slightly nicer."

A small group of Kavis converge on the wagon. "Map of Arcadia! Only two hundred shekels!" "Fresh water! Pure as the sands!" "Need some help carrying anything? I work cheap!"

The Khatta gives the Kavis a distracted glance. "Ahem. Thank you … thank you … but … no, that doesn't mean I'm buying anything. I appreciate your – Excuse me!" He backs up a bit in the face of the chattering and excessively friendly Kavis. Fortunately, he's wise enough not to be wearing any obvious valuables within easy reach.

Willow's ears flatten. "Scoot, you! Go bother someone with lower pockets." She glances back behind the wagon just to make sure none of the other Kavi are trying to use the ones in front as a distraction to ransack their belongings.

Willow catches some suspicious movement, but it seems that the Kavis catch on that they're not dealing with naive tourists … especially when they notice Willow's species. There are a few "A thousand pardons!" and the Kavis scatter.

The black Khatta lets out a sigh. "I have some directions here, to go visit the office of the representative of the Emir. I hope that the formalities won't take me too long, but everything should be taken care of once I show my paperwork. Did you have any other business to tend to while you were still on this world?" He winks.

"There's always something lower than a rat," the Skreek murmurs to herself. "See if you can get the Titanians to watch the wagon." She looks out into the sands and towards the Savanite mission. "You speak Khattan? I can tell you now that things won't go quickly. Remember that it takes those folks ten minutes to say good morning. I think there is one place I'd like to stop by, though, if you don't need me."

The Khatta winks. "I've dealt with Khattans before." He tucks his papers into his robe, then leans over and gives Willow a peck on the cheek. "Wish me luck!" And he turns to head down what passes for a main street. He glances at the Titanians as he passes, and gives them a serious nod.

The lead Titanian grins. "Me no let Kavis pilfer wagon! Me SMASH!"

Willow grins and gives one of the Titanians a slap on the back. "Good boy. Just make sure you don't smash anything that belongs to us, and for Star's sake, keep them away from the big crate." Her grin fades a little as she starts her way towards the mission, glancing curiously at the image of the stylized Star and Anchor and trying to figure out who the people associated with it might be.

There are multiple buildings over at this part, clustered together. The one with the emblem of the "double Star-and-Anchor" has a few humans in uniforms lounging about in the front, under the shade of a wide awning, joined by a slightly larger number of Jupani.

A bit over, there's a tabernacle set up, with an emblem of the Star superimposed on a stylized flame that looks like the rune for Abaddon. A couple of armored Silent-Ones warriors stand out front, their white and shiny armor gleaming in the blazing sun.

The Skreek makes her way to the tabernacle, although she's slightly cowed by the armored warriors. Hesitantly, she steps into their view, "Is there a place where one can say prayers to the Star?"

"You can sign your prayers elsewhere," signs one of the warriors in response. "This is a tabernacle for the People."

A couple of robed and masked priests shuffle across the dusty planks forming a road, approaching the tabernacle and the cluster of smaller tents ringing it.

Willow's ears flatten. "I wished to say a special prayer in the memory of a departed friend who was one of your people, and who was the one who converted me to your faith. Are you saying that the Star does not welcome me here, or do you simply not welcome me?"

The first warrior's mask identifies him as "Righteous Fury". The second warrior, heretofore still, has sigils that mark him as "Son of Thunder".

Son-of-Thunder shifts a bit in his position, but does not sign anything immediately … except when the priests arrive. Then, he signs to the approaching group, "Holy ones, this one comes claiming to be of our faith, but not of the People. She wishes to pray here."

"Must I be one to have faith? I'm not a mindless animal with no soul… and my soul should be all that matters," the Skreek signs, trying her hardest not to frown or grind her teeth. ( Testy said that talking in sign made him stop and consider his words. Don't get insulting, it won't help. Remember what Testy told you… )

One of the priests, "Ancient Day", signs, "Son-of-Thunder, your naivete and inexperience is as plain as the marks on your mask. The Holy Tabernacle is for the People. If this one is truly of the faith, then show her to the Court of the Gentiles."

There is a flicker of fingers from one of the other priests. "She is the one… " But in the movement of bodies and robes, the rest of the message can't be seen.

The Skreek arches an eyebrow. "Why is it only for your people?" She keeps the rest of her question unsigned, a question that bothers her deep down inside. Does the Star love these people more?

"We are the Keepers of the Flame," signs the priest, and the term carries with it the connotations of a proper name and not just some lofty title, due to the "grammar" of his signing. "Have you come to the faith through one of the splinter sects?"

"I don't know," Willow answers. "I was converted by one named Third-Vision and by a priest named Testament-Blaze. I've been reading the book he gave me and learning what I can of the Star. There are very few churches where I am from, which is why I wished to pray here."

The priest nods as if in recognition. "The leader of the backslidden tribe. We have heard of her fate. It is a shame, for there was so much hope for her. But Testament-Blaze is not of the Keepers of the Flame. He means well, but his teachings are heretical. He gives copies of the Holy Book to those who have not the training to interpret it properly. It is only for the Anointed to interpret the words of the Star for the masses, or confusion and rumor shall reign."

"You… you deny the Star to people? If it was not for people like the priest and Jezebel, I would not be a believer in the Star at all." Willow's eyes widen a little. Her tail-tip draws unconscious designs in the sand behind her nervously. "How is it possible for one to come to the Star at all of none bring it to them?"

"That is the duty of the priesthood, yes," signs Ancient-Days, "but it is necessary for the priests to tell the people of what they read. The words of the Holy Book are ancient and pure, beyond the comprehension of sinful hearts without guidance. To give heathens the Holy Book without instruction and interpretation would be akin to giving a kitten a lit candle. Perhaps the kitten will use it to light the way … or perhaps the kitten will be burned."

"You never know until you see it. But what about those like me? I live in a distant country with my husband where there are no priests or places of worship. What if a copy of the Holy Book is all we have? Would it not be better to have a candle and risk being burned, than to have nothing at all to keep the darkness back?" the Skreek signs.

The priest's signs seem more agitated, as he turns to face one of the warriors. "Son-of-Thunder, please show this one to the Court of Gentiles. I have no time to neglect my duties." And then he pushes past, toward the tabernacle.

"So even when there is a church, I'm not allowed in it because I lack one at my home." Willow shakes her head, folding her arms. "Does the Star love me any less?"

The priest doesn't give the Skreek the courtesy of a reply.

Son-of-Thunder signs, "Please pardon my ignorance. I can show you the way."

The Skreek breathes quietly, forcing herself to calm down. "Forgive my outburst, but it just makes no sense to me," she signs to Son-of-Thunder. "What do you mean by 'ignorance'?"

The warrior starts to move off to the side. "I have never met a 'gentile' before. I have not heard the priests speak of this. But I am a young warrior, not having yet earned my blood name, and I have much to learn."

"What is a 'gentile' exactly?" Willow signs. "I'm still allowed to worship, and I believe in the same Star you do."

"I do not know," the warrior confesses. "But my duty is only to guard what I am told, and to fight the enemies pointed out to me, and to perform whatever other duties I am assigned. It is not necessary for the priests to teach me anything I do not need to know, or else I may become confused."

The Skreek blinks. "How old are you?"

"I am fifteen years on this … " He pauses mid-sign, then amends, "I am fifteen years of age." Of course, given that he's wearing a full suit of armor, and given that Silent-Ones tend to all be tall regardless, it's not easy to verify the truth of his count.

Willow frowns again, but then her expression grows a bit more thoughtful. "Son-of-Thunder, would you pray with me? I would be honored."

The warrior looks around a moment, as if expecting instruction to appear out of nowhere, but the priests are gone, and Righteous-Fury is not following him away from the post. "I … I am no good at praying. I am not a priest." He gestures to a curtained off area that rings the main tabernacle. "Here is the Court, I believe." There's nothing obvious to identify it as such. It looks like it's mostly being used as a place to stack a few extra crates off in the corner, though most of the area is empty and dusty.

"Please? If that's too much to ask, then could you simply stay with me while I pray? I do not wish to do it by myself." Willow's ears droop.

The warrior shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his armor making light whining noises with each movement. "If you wish. But I must not let Righteous-Fury think I am shirking my duty, or he will tell, and I will be flogged."

"I am probably wrong in signing this to you, but I will regret it later if I do not at least say something. But I do not think it is right for your Priests to deny you the Star, make you feel as though you are less intelligent than you are, and punish you just because someone asked you to pray with them," Willow signs sharply. "I came here to pray for the departed soul of my sister of the Star and for my marriage, but now I wonder if it would not be better for me to pray for you instead."

"Why would you want to pray for me? I am not of your people," signs the bewildered warrior.

The Skreek shrugs. "Yes you are. If you believe in the Star, then I will consider you to be part of the Star's family – and as I am part of its family as well, then we are of the same people – whether your priest teaches you that or not."

The warrior signs, "You are not a heretic, are you? The priests speak for the Star. If I doubt the signing of the priests, I will be cast into the place of eternal torment for my transgression!"

"If you doubt what exactly? This… this sounds too much like something I've seen before." Willow shudders as she remembers Bakanal. "Have you ever read the words written in the book – even a little bit – or does every word of the Star come to you through the hands of the Priests?"

"Every last word," signs the warrior, nodding. "It would be blasphemy for me to touch the Holy Book myself, let alone read from it, for I am little better than a heathen."

The Skreek walks into the dusty room and kneels, turning around to face the warrior. She chuckles despite herself. "If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing… "

"I'm sorry," Willow adds, sighing.

The warrior cocks his helmet to one side slightly, but signs nothing, looking intently at the Skreek.

The Skreek swallows, trying to remember the words. "If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away." After a pause she signs, "Are you able to understand that?"

The warrior nods. "That sounds like poetry. Where did you learn it?"

"I first saw part of it signed from one of the People who was being tried as a heathen in Gallis, but was set free either by divine power or something else. Later he repeated the words to me in signs… and finally I read them myself in the book he gave me. I say the words to myself over and over whenever I get angry or hateful," Willow signs.

The warrior nods. "I do not read much. And I am a warrior, so love is of little use to me. Only courage, honor, obedience, fortitude, and skill."

"What about love?" The Skreek pulls herself up again.

"Love of the Star is paramount," signs the warrior, "but love for anything below the Star only makes us weak, does it not? And for the enemies of the Star, there is to be only righteous hatred."

"My signs were words from the Book of the Star. I can point you to the chapter and verse if you doubt me. The Star made us and said we were good. It told us to love one another… not a few people, not just our fellow believers, but everybody. Even our enemies. I can show you where it says that as well." Willow digs the toe of her boot into the sand. "To deny that love is to deny the Star itself, because the book said that the Star IS love. Not hate, not courage, not any of that… just love."

The warrior signs, "That is preposterous! How can we love our enemies?"

"Because the Star tells us to," Willow signs and closes her eyes as she tries to remember. "You have heard that it was said, `Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you."

"You are confusing me," signs the warrior. "I should return to my post."

"You are not stupid," the Skreek signs. "If your masters threaten to flog you for listening to me, then tell them I ask to be flogged in your place."

The warrior seems quite at a lack of signs in response to this.

"You understood my words, you feel them in your heart. The thing you call confusion isn't confusion at all… it's what it feels like to have your heart touched. It can be a frightening feeling and one that makes you want to run away, but the power of the Star is in the heart. It does not anger, it does not avenge, it does not shed blood… it loves. It was through the Star that my husband was cured of a demon and my life was saved. It was because of the Star that I am alive and what I am now at all. I used to own slaves, but I set them free and they forgave me. I forgave those that tried to kill me and hate me and the feeling of love only grew stronger." Willow holds her hands out. "Why does this make me a heathen? Why when the Holy Book says, 'The Star is love, love one another, love your enemies, forgive all sins,' am I a heretic for doing as I am told?"

The warrior shifts from one foot, then to the other, then signs, "I'm sorry… " and abruptly trots away, his armor whining and clicking, as fast as he can move without overtly running.

The Skreek falls to her knees again and places her palms against the sand. This time she really does pray, except now she has a great deal more to pray for than what she had intended.

There's a brief pause in the whining and clicking … but then it resumes once more, growing more faint, until Willow is alone in the Court.

A gust of wind tousles the tarps forming the boundaries of the Court and the Tabernacle.

( I hope I did that right. I'm sorry if I didn't. You know what I want to ask of you, to bring light to these people, to take the anger from them. Also to bless my marriage – don't let me mess this one up. And tell Jezebel I miss her… but now another question comes to mind. Why me? I'm just a rat. So many other people would have made better impressions than me. Third-Eye could have moved these people. If I could have died in her place and let her save these people, it almost sounds like a better plan. But thank you for Sebazhan. I wouldn't have been able to stay strong as I have without him. If there's anything else I should ask for, it's a safe trip to Abaddon so we can get rid of that chair. Thank you, Star. Amen. ) Slowly the Skreek pulls herself up from the sands and steps out of the tent.

The prince works his way up and down the street, clutching some more papers in his hands, looking this way and that, obviously searching.

Willow waves her arm and tiredly makes her way towards Sebazhan, glancing in the direction of the tabernacle one last time.

Righteous-Fury follows Willow's movement intently, though Son-of-Thunder seems to be watching for any possible dangers that might come down from the clear, empty sky.

The Khatta sees Willow and smiles. "There you are! I really have to learn conversational wiggle-finger. I managed to get everything approved. We can head to Abaddon today, unless you care to stay and sight-see some more."

"No, I think I'd like to get going on the trip. I think what's here are little slices of what we'll see on Abaddon eventually anyway." She leans against the Khatta's shoulder. "Maybe during the trip I can start teaching you hand-sign. Depending on where we go and how we're treated, you might end up getting a crash course."

A few hours later, the wagon carrying the Dacks and their entourage rolls up toward the tall, broken tower, part of a caravan of wagons carrying other cargoes – most of them bearing produce and … dirt … though there are also some textiles as well. Most of the wagons are tended to by Khattan merchants, and Sebazhan looks to blend in just fine, even if he weren't bundled up in typical Himaatian style to fend off blown sand and the sun's rays.

It's a tight fit, but the wagon takes its turn rolling into the interior of the tower, coming through one of twelve archways, the others showing blank, dull stone … with the exception of another that shows a somewhat different landscape – another desert, it seems, but one where the ground is red, not yellow sand, and where smoke rises into the air. It looks to be just as hot as here.

The Skreek sticks out like a sore thumb alongside the prince. She looks more like his servant than his wife, as she's opted to dress in her old work clothes in her "cold" colors. Her hair flies free though, instead of being bound across her back. The black unruly curls hide her eyes well enough to suit her. "That must be Abaddon… "

The prince swallows hard as he sees it. "That wasn't the first place to spring to mind, truth be told… "

The wagon before them rolls right up to the archway … then passes through the window, which ripples as if made of water … and the wagon vanishes. A human soldier holds up his hand to halt the wagon, and turns to look at the window.

Willow shakily scoots herself to the front of the wagon. "Is everything all right?" she chitters in Bosch.

The guard just holds his position … and then, through the window, a wagon can be seen, rolling across the red ground. A flag is waved within view of the window, and the soldier steps aside, then waves the wagon to the window.

The prince lets out a sigh of relief. The wagon rolls forward, and toward the window. "All right … I understand that this is the hard part. I skipped lunch for a reason… "

The Skreek relaxes and settles down in her seat again. "Hard part? Um… should I be clinging to your arm for all I'm worth in a moment?"

The wagon passes through the window … and then the whole world twists and stretches in a most disorienting fashion.

Fortunately, it is over fairly quickly, though it takes a few moments for the realization to sink in at the other end just what has transpired … and that the wagon is now on another world. The wagon beasts make a few grunts and whines, but they stumble forward and out of the Crystal Chamber … now kicking up red dust instead of yellow.

Willow lets out a sigh of relief and then peers over the edge of the wagon. "I wonder if there's a Kavi with a bucket, offering folks something besides the ground to spew their stomach contents into after that ride? Maybe a shekel a shot. He could be rich eventually." She grins and flicks her tail.

The black Khatta lets out a moan, and does his best to stay upright in the wagon seat. The Titanians lean out and consecrate the Abaddonian earth with offerings from their innermost being.

"A very, very big bucket… ," Willow squeaks, pinching her nose.

The tour across Abaddon takes the group through a small settlement that is in some ways a mirror of that on the Sinai side, only with a great deal more metal involved, and with a tower that doesn't look quite so cracked up. They pass over an uneven road, passing natural springs and geysers and open rifts in the soil that belch smoke. It's enough to make one queasy. But at last the air clears and the ground evens out.

The further they get from the tower, the more often they pass wrecks of twisted metal … some of them quite large, in fact. Some of them look like pieces of giant suits of armor with machinery inside. Another looks like a temple of some sort, though built at an odd angle, as if its foundation were knocked askew.

"Where exactly are we headed for tonight? And do any of these crevices look nice enough to dump our package down?" The Skreek eyes the odd looking temple building, tilting her head as she compares it to the one she's familiar with.

It has some superficial resemblance, but it's hard to place. For one thing, it is tall, whereas the Temple of Rephidim is low and long – at least, proportionally speaking.

"Well," says the Khatta, "the map here claims that there's the 'Bottomless Abyss' over that way, past that ridge. And there are more than enough fire pits to choose from. My, but these have colorful names, and I don't think the Abaddonians chose all of them. 'Dagh's … Dentures?'" The Khatta stares at the map incredulously.

"'Bottomless Abyss' sounds good." She laughs. "Although I'd rather not chuck the chair in a place named after his teeth. For all we know, he'll choke on it and spit it back at us."

The Khatta coughs into his fist, turning away to hide a grin. "Ahem. All right. The Bottomless Abyss it is, then!"

A great gash has been cut into the red rock of Abaddon, diving deep under the ground, the bottom obscured somewhere below by hanging mists. A faint flickering glow suggests that the bottom is quite inhospitable.

The ground all around is broken and jagged, and it takes careful steps to find safe footing. The Titanians don't seem to be overly concerned, though, and haul their burden up the slope to the edge of the ravine.

"Well!" says the Khatta. "I'll take their word for it being bottomless." He peers tentatively over the edge, then steps back, shaking the vertigo out of his head.

Willow puts her hand on the box holding the throne for support. "Before we throw it in, I want the box to be opened. I want to actually see the throne fall." She shivers despite the heat.

The Khatta nods, and calls to the Titanians, over the rumbling from the ravine, "Open it up! We want to see it when it falls!" The Titanians immediately drop the crate and eagerly set to tearing apart the crate. The Khatta shakes his head, as that wasn't quite what he meant … but he decides not to rob the Titanians of their destructive fun.

The Skreek steps back and hugs her arms around the Prince. This is the first time's she's really seen the throne… and she hopes that the stories about magic not working on Abaddon are true.

The Khatta lets out a sigh as he sees the throne being hauled to the edge, and his body relaxes a bit. "Well … there it is."

The throne is a sturdy-looking construction of dark crystal, multi-faceted, with strange cuts and fissures and imperfections that form runic signs in its depths.

It does not, however, radiate tangible sensations of evil, or any such thing. It looks quite valuable, yet at the same time dirty and filthy and tainted … but it seems … empty somehow.

"I hope I never see it again." Willow keeps her arms around Sebazhan. "Goodbye, great great great grandfather. You'll not rule this family anymore." She swallows. "Kick it in."

The Titanians wag their tails at the order, and they are so gleeful in their execution of the order that Sebazhan suddenly reaches forward shouting, "For goodness' sake, don't throw yourselves in!" But the warning is unnecessary, as it is only the throne that goes hurtling end over end over the edge of the ravine.

"That was the throne, right? No scruddy way someone could make a copy of something like that" She peers over the edge as it tumbles down.

Sebazhan sinks down to the ground, on his hands and knees as he peers over the edge. He groans. "Yes … that is the throne," he says, barely audible over the rumbling coming from the ravine. The throne disappears into the mists, stirring them up in its wake.

There's then an audible crash that reaches the Skreek's keen ears, and the mists stir again.

Willow closes her eyes and hugs her husband, kissing him gently on the forehead. "Are you all right?"

Sebazhan nods. "Forgive me. I know why we're doing this … but it still … " He sighs again, leaning into the hug just a little.

"You don't need him, and he only wanted to destroy you. I'm sure this isn't the last we've heard of your ancestor, but next time he won't be the one in absolute control. You know that if you ever feel weak, I'll be here for you. I think you're the strongest and most bravest man in the world." She keeps her ears pricked to the noises in the ravine but doesn't move from her spot.

The Titanians, tails wagging, walk over. "We do good?" one barks.

The Khatta nods. "Yes. You did good. Check the wagon for us, would you? We'll be along in just a moment."

"How do you feel? And be honest, because you know I'll be able to tell if you're fibbing to me," Willow squeaks, brushing some of the red dirt from the Khatta's clothing.

The Khatta says, "I feel like one little voice in my head is screaming, 'Are you crazy?' and another is saying, 'Don't worry. It would have killed you anyway.' My mind is telling me what's right. I've just got … my whole life's worth of emotions making me feel like I was the one who just went off the edge." He lets out another breath, and turns to look at Willow, a smile returning to his lips. "I'll get over it. I've got a new life, anyway."

"Durn right you do, and so do I. Although you're going to have quite a time domesticating me, but if you can handle Dagh you should be able to handle me." Willow grins back at the prince.

The prince nods, and slowly gets up. "I suppose. Well … I guess we're all done here."

"Not quite yet," the Skreek says, moving to a much smaller package amidst the bits of broken rock and wood. She carefully opens the folds of protective cloth and pulls out a jiggling melon which she carefully places into Prince Dack's hands. "I shouldn't hog up all of the goodies we got for the wedding. Let's see how far you can lob that thing, and you'll have to do it without popping it with your claws."

The Khatta struggles not to drop the squirming melon. "I … " His eyes widen. "All right … here it goes!" He winds up … then pitches the melon down into the ravine.

The quivering melon flips and spins, disappearing into the mist.

Willow whistles. "Such a throwing arm!" Her ears perk at the ravine below to check for any sound.

*splat*

The Khatta raises an eyebrow as he gives Willow a sidelong glance. "Do you … have to grin so widely like that?"

"Beautiful." The Skreek grins and offers her arm to the prince. "Now, shall we away to our beautiful off-world honeymoon suite? I hear they have the most interesting tasting bugs out here, not to mention bugs that do other weird things. I wonder if there's a little buggy playground for tourists?"

The Khatta shakes his head, grinning despite himself, and takes the offered arm. "Yes, let's."