On the dark sands, the lights of the trader encampment flicker like ground-bound stars beneath the glow of the Procession, the ring that surrounds Sinai like a never-ending arch overhead. The sandship creaks beneath Jarik's paws, recently scoured clean by abrasive sand wielded in the hands of Nohbakims. (Red-horn insisted on giving the bath personally, and though she succeeded in cleaning Jarik, it was at the expense of some fur. Perhaps Nohbakim hide is tougher stuff… Or perhaps worm goo solidifies excessively when caked with sand) Hours more to go before the trireme docks, hours more to watch over the railing…

For some reason however, Jarik's backside hurts. Perhaps he landed excessively hard on it earlier in his exertions; he certainly hurts in enough places.

Jarik rubs his backside while he's looking at the stars, ow.

A star glistens overhead, one that Jarik hadn't noted before… Then moves! It fades from time to time, as if twinkling, and then the increasing size of the small object allows Jarik to see that it's a flyer approaching the Nohbakim sandship, someone white-furred and with great spreading wings…

Jarik waves to the flying object… {Could it be… Wynona?}

The white wings soar and flap closer, dancing this way and that … and finally, accompanied by a desert breeze, the white bat lands on the deck. She reaches up to her nose, stifling a sneeze. "Snfph! Oh! Hello there, Jarik," Wynona smiles cheerily.

The deck near Jarik is quiet and darkened; Nohbakim merriment comes from far away like the cheerful burbling of some thick sludge, mixed with the tapping noises of primitive drums. (leather stretched over bones) Kazhir's distinctive whine insists, "No! I will not have all my skin scrubbed off with your dreadful bath… "

Jarik runs over and HUGS! Wynona. "I… I was worried you were killed." He blinks, realizing he's hugging her. He stops immediately, "Er, sorry, M'lady."

Jarik looks embarassed.

Wynona blinks. "My!" She just stands there for a bit, looking surprised. "Well, you're looking in fairly good condition. What happened? I was a bit … er … distracted."

The sails flap in the slightly changing wind currents, like great wings. Nohbakim speech rings out as the crew adjusts the lines and bring the sails in a little to compensate.

Jarik shakes his head, "It is good to see you, M'lady. Did anyone else survive? Doc Halla? Herbir? Kazhir is with me… "

Wynona says, in a quiet voice, "So … what happened, Jarik? And how did you get away?"

Jarik's ears droop, "It's my fault. All of it. They're dead because of me."

Wynona frowns. "I'm very sorry to hear that."

"Perhaps you could elaborate?" the bat adds, in the same quiet tone.

The Procession gleams in the night sky, a dagger in the horizon to the east, a curved scimitar over the west.

Far away, mysterious gurgling sounds come from the sands where the kooshkies skitter next to the ship, hidden beneath the sands. Perhaps there are Gooshurms as well, but if so, they have not yet taken this opportunity to ambush Jarik.

Jarik bows his head, "Just before I left, a Savanite friend of mine gave me a letter. I kept it, she was a good friend, I miss her. Apparently, the captain saw it and ordered me arrested for being part of some conspiracy. I really don't know what that's about. The other Savanites though, they knew apparently. And destroyed the ship." He sinks against the rail.

Jarik shakes his head, "I arrived less than a month ago to this world. I barely know anyone and I'm certainly not important. How could I be part of a conspiracy?"

The bat shrugs. "So it's not your fault at all, then? Just some crazy Savanites who didn't like some letter? It seems a terribly odd reason for everyone to die."

Jarik says, "It's funny, I felt at home on that ship. They were a good crew. Some were friends. Like Halla… "

Jarik chuckles, "Kazhir thinks I'm cursed."

"Maybe you are," the bat says. "But if it is, at least you're still alive, yes?"

Wynona walks to the rickety railing, to a part that looks as if it might have once been on the Lalee-Papu itself, or a ship much like it. She looks out across the sands, as the wind whips her gray hair – which shines silvery in the starlight.

Jarik winces and rubs his backside again, "Oh, I'm alive. In a lot of pain as usual too."

Jarik whispers, "I'm glad you're alive, Lady Wynona."

Jarik shouts back toward the bathing area, "Kazhir! You've got to come out here!"

The ship rocks slowly, its runners skimming over the dunes that make infinite undulations across the Himaat desert. The sails creak uncannily like the Lalee-Papu.

"If you could have it all to do over again, Jarik, would there be anything you would do differently?" the bat whispers on the wind. "Does it mean anything to you at all?"

No answer. Perhaps he's being forcibly bathed and thus not in a mood for listening to Jarik's orders.

For some reason, Jarik's backside hurts even worse. It's as if there were something knotted inside it. Strained back?

Jarik's voice is soft, "If I could have gone back, I would have destroyed that letter. She was my friend, but, if I had known… " He looks up and speaks, his voice wavering, "They didn't deserve to die. I would have done anything to save them if it was possible… My life, I would give it to bring them back. I just wish it would end, Wynona. Why must death always follow me? Why are the people around me made to suffer?"

Jarik shakes his head, "Life has a cruel twist of fate for me. I get to see people live, but never be a part of it. I just wish others didn't suffer because of this fool of a fox."

"Maybe death is a part of life, Jarik. Maybe you shouldn't assume that it only draws around you – that it pays any special notice to you more than any other," the bat murmurs. She looks up at the sky. It is impossible to really follow her gaze precisely, but above, near the path of the Procession, is a constellation known as the Star and Anchor.

Jarik nods, "Death is a part of life… I know… I just… " His voices drops even more, "I'm still fighting against it."

Jarik looks up at the stars, "I claim to not be afraid to die… I think I'm afraid to live."

A thought comes to Jarik, something he's heard Doc Halla speak of once: the body sometimes induces pain in itself because of guilt, sorrow, stress, any number of reasons… That thought is underlined by intense pain from Jarik's rear, right about where his tail is, as he thinks back to the crew that were once living and happy on the Lalee-Papu. Now they are dead for the most part… Doc Halla with them. But the pain lives on, more than mental, threatening to rip Jarik's concentration entirely from Wynona.

"Afraid to live?" Wynona whispers. "Is that really so?"

Jarik rubs his backside again and winces, "Gah, is there a doctor on board… "

"Maybe that's why I never let someone close to me… " Jarik says, "Maybe it's why I've never found a place to call home. I don't know."

"Are Savanites just mad, do you think?" Wynona muses. "Why would they so eagerly throw away their lives? What would be so special about a letter, to make them go mad? Have you any idea? Is it all just senseless madness?"

It feels as tight and hard as metal beneath Jarik's hand, the fabric drawn tight… And the reason why becomes evident as cloth stretches and rips. A second tail explodes out beneath Jarik's hand, at first damp, quickly drying in the slight breeze to become as fluffy to the touch as his first.

Jarik feels around the top of his back where it connects to his tail…

Goodness gracious. It's not… It really IS part of his body.

"… senseless madness… " the bat whispers, leaning out over the railing.

The sandship sways more, the surface of the sand seeming to become choppier.

Jarik blinks… "What the?" He checks again. He doesn't believe it.

Still there.

Jarik ums, "Lady Wynona, could you come here for a second?"

The tail swishes just as well as the first one does, apparently both keyed to the same reflexes.

"Come here, dear Jarik? Come where? Where can I go now, Jarik?" the bat whispers, completely oblivious to what is going on with Jarik's tail.

Jarik goes over to the bat, "Could you um… look at my back? Something is wrong… "

Wynona's hair seems to glow in the preternaturally bright starlight. Her billowy garments dance in the wind, soft white, as if fashioned from clouds. "Something is always wrong, Jarik," the bat says, half-turning to face him.

Jarik turns around partially, "Something is wrong with me, physically… " He sounds worried.

A hunched figure walks across the deck, and says, in a cracked voice, "Ah. I'll take a look a that. Hmm."

The tail's fur catches the ring light, monochrome. It appears to be of a darker shade than Jarik's normal tail… Ending in a black tuft.

"Seems to me," the newcomer to the deck says, "you have two tails!" With that, he cackles to himself. "I guess that means you have a spare, in case you lose one, eh?"

Jarik says, "As for the Savanites… I don't know. One of them treated me with more kindness than I've ever known. Some seem to be very noble and gentle. I just don't understand what is happening.""

Jarik blinks at the newcomer, "How is this possible??"

Jarik shouts! "Red-horn!"

Jarik pats Wynona's hand gently, "… death is always senseless… That's why I strive to protect others from it."

The newcomer, standing in the shadow cast by one of the sails, leans over. "Hmmm. Seems to me, there could be a number of explanations – especially when you add magic to the mix. Psychosomatic diseases, you know – or perhaps a mutation of the body to reflect the spirit. Or, maybe it's something a bit less mystical, and more akin to the mutation that afflicts those desert scavengers known as the Nohbakim."

Jarik experiments with the new tail a bit. *swish?*

Swish.

Wynona whispers, "Next time, strive a little harder, Jarik."

With that, the bat walks away.

Jarik coughs, "Magic? Um, I have an uncontrollable magic."

Jarik's ears droop at Wynona's words, "M'lady… I tried."

The sounds of the Nohbakims are even farther away, mixed with the sound of wind and sails to form a sussurus like the foamy tips of clouds passing the Lalee-Papu. The sands are utterly black, giving the impression that the sandship is floating in the midst of night.

The newcomer is still rattling on about various mutations and diseases, "… probably caused by latent fields found around the oases where the Nohbakim have their settlements. That is, the ones that are semi-sedentary. Trouble is, no one is brave enough to study in greater detail, afraid that something akin to THIS might happen to THEM. Oh yes. If you visit a Nohbakim settlement… "

"… don't drink the water," the hunched figure advises.

Jarik nods… "Who are you? Could you fetch Red-horn for me… I think I need to talk to her. She has some explaining to do… "

"Who am I?" the hunched figure laughs. He straightens up, drawing back the hood of his cloak. "Come now! Don't tell me you're losing your memory as well, Ensign."

Jarik tries to look at the new tail, "This is silly."

Jarik blinks, "What… ?"

Jarik says, "… ha… halla?"

"Silly? Yes, that it is. But it could be worse," the older fox nods sagely.

Jarik says, "How did you… how could you… ?"

"Now, now, boy, don't go sputtering all over me! Bah. Some greeting. Not so much as a howdydo?" the doctor frowns.

Jarik says, "It's just… I thought… the ship… I thought you were dead… "

"Pretty swift with hitching a ride with the poodle," the doctor says, rubbing his chin with one hand. "Every man for himself, I say! Wish I would have thought of that myself." He shrugs. "But then, if I had, then where'd you be, eh?"

Jarik shakes his head, "Where I deserve to be."

Jarik tests his new appendage again, "Hm, maybe it can be removed."

The ship creaks. The noises of the kooshkies merge into an eerie music that blends with the whistling of the wind.

Jarik thinks, "I ate one of their fish." He rubs his forehead, "Stupid!"

The older fox raises an eyebrow. "My. Now, boy, this is no time for pity parties. What's done is done, eh? It wasn't YOU, after all, deciding to do a little experiment with hydrogen and plasma, right? Had nothing to do with that. As for the tail … hmm … seems to work fine."

Jarik says, "It works fine, yes. Do I want it? No."

Jarik shouts back at the music, "Red-horn!!!! I need to speak with you!"

The doctor snorts. "My boy, if I had a nice red tail like that, I wouldn't be complaining! Though, mind you, I suppose it could be said that one's quite enough."

No response. Maybe she went to sleep already.

Jarik takes a breath, "How did you survive?"

Jarik feels the tail again, "This is… weird."

"Hmm," the doctor muses. "Unfortunately, I don't have proper anesthesia to offer. And severe trauma to the base of your spinal cord is no laughing matter. This may warrant further study before we do anything rash."

Even closer, the trading camp's lights appear no less like the dancing will o' the wisps than they did before. The sandship's sails continue to crack with full speed, promising that it will not be long before the encampment is reached.

"Now … which one is the one you want to get rid of?" the doctor asks.

Jarik says, "The black tipped one of course… "

Jarik tries to swing it around to the front so he can see it.

Still there. Still black tipped. It feels just as much one of Jarik's tails as the other.

Jarik says, "You think I should keep it, don't you?"

"Such a pity," the doctor says with a sigh. "Oh well. Not my decision. It's your body, after all. Isn't it?"

Jarik sighs, "I'll leave it. I'm in enough pain."

"Maybe they'll have proper facilities in the camp," the doctor says, stroking his gray chin.

Jarik swishes them both, "Well, I could get used to it."

The doctor hmms. "You know, following my previous supposition, I wonder about this. Your desire to cut off your tail … almost like a representation of a desire to reject part of yourself. Hmmm." He digs around in his black bag, and pulls out a card. It's that inkblot again. "Tell me," he says, "What do you see?"

Jarik looks at the blob.

Jarik says, "A burning village."

"Hmm." He pulls out another one. "And this one?"

Jarik looks at it.

Jarik's ears droop, "Alis."

"Okay," the doctor says, raising one eyebrow. He pulls out another. "How about this?"

Jarik looks at it… "The hall of the shadowed mountain"

The doctor raises both eyebrows. "Hmmmmm." He puts the blots away.

Jarik shakes his head, "I see bits of my past in them." *shrug*

Halla stands for a while, pondering. "You know … psychology isn't my strongest area of expertise, but just for a quick shot-in-the-dark analysis … I'd say that perhaps this would be a sign of one who is focusing too much on the sins of the past and doesn't live in the present."

Jarik tilts his head, "I live the present to correct the past. T'Aris once told me I needed to let go. I don't know."

The doc thrusts his finger at Jarik, and says, "Then why don't you understand what was in the letter?" Without pausing to explain himself further, he turns around, grabs his black bag, and stalks across the deck, disappearing into the shadows.

The lights of the trading camp bloom larger, dromadon beasts raising their hooded heads to regard the sandship. They are torches, blazing on long posts dug deep into firm-packed sand, and between them are spaced billowing tents.

Jarik's brow furrows.

The sandship slows to a stop, sails falling like curtains upon a performance. A Nohbakim trots to the railing to cast a ladder over the side to where a hooded figure waits to receive Jarik.

The Nohbakim gestures for Jarik to go down.

Jarik climbs down the ladder…

Jarik looks to the hooded figure, "Hello… ?"

The fox's wary paws test the sand first, find stable footing. No quicksand, this.

The cowled figure raises a gloved hand to mid-chest, then down … tracing the sign of the star and anchor … and then the star again.

Jarik's eyes widen. This he remembers. Understanding finally hits him. He dedicated his life to insuring that people would have a better future. That's what the Savanites are doing… of course! They're trying to make themselves a better future. They're trying to get their freedom. Jarik nods to the figure and makes the motion in return. The star, the anchor, and the star.

Twin glints of green reflect in the light cast by the Procession – almost the glow of a full moon, plus the flickering of the flames as well. The cowled head bows, and then the stranger turns, walking toward the encampment.

Jarik realizes THAT'S why they destroyed the ship.

Jarik follows the stranger, saying nothing.

A cool night's breeze stirs up clouds of sand and dust, which dance about in tight eddies, obscuring the black-robed figure before Jarik for just an instant, before passing on into the darkness.

The hooded figure stops by a tent and taps on the fabric. A soft voice answers, strangely familiar to Jarik's ears, but too indistinct to make out. At this, she lifts the flap, tying it into place with little straps, and steps into the tent.

Jarik looks into the tent…

The tent's interior bely the plain silk of the outside, the floor formed from cloths died all colors which gleam richly in the light of braziers. It is divided into two parts, the access to the inner part hidden by a curtain of gold upon which has been drawn a tree of green spreading its branches, beneath an arch of blue. Cushions sit strewn all about, either square or long fat sausages stuffed with softness, and a table with an eight-by-eight grid of black squares sits between some of these. Precious jewels adorn a golden hookah-like construction to the other side.

Jarik enters the tent and remains quiet.

The hooded stranger unties the straps holding the flap open, closing the tent once more to the night.

Jarik swishes his ta… er tails.

The black-tipped tail swishes in perfect time with the normal tail.

"Do you seek freedom?" comes a voice like the wind itself, from the shadows to one side, or maybe the other.

Jarik says, "I seek to make the world a better place for all who live in it. I seek to protect and aid those who can't protect themselves. I seek, justice, honor, peace, and freedom for all life."

The hooded stranger moves along, a little more into the light. She turns to face again. Her hands sign and dance, while a voice whispers from the shadows, "Freedom. Such an elusive thing. Who is slave, and who is free? Which are you?"

The desert winds sigh outside the tent.

Jarik tilts his head, "You ask a difficult question. I am not 'free'. My destiny is set. I surrendered my freedom to protect others. I gave up my life to try to make others' lives better. I simply want to give a chance to those who had it removed from them. I give my life to this cause." Jarik speaks with conviction, "People think I'm crazy for what I do. Why would someone choose to never have a home, never know companionship, never know love… Well, I know love, I've seen it in the eyes of small children whom I've rescued. I've seen it in the smiles of those who have a chance because I was willing to help. It's hard to explain, but, those simple things make all the difference to me. Even here, the smile of a friend reminded me that it was all worth it. So, no, I am not free, but that is my choice."

The figure pauses silently during Jarik's speech, then the hands dance again, and the voice whispers, "Perhaps it is more than that. Are you prisoner to someone else's expectations? Are you a slave to your preconceptions?"

Jarik is silent for a time… "I used to be. I was, for a long time, prisoner to the expectations of Sir T'Aris. I also used to be a prisoner to my past. I lost all I loved a long time ago. I was a slave to what happened. Even when I arrived here, I was still bound to that." He swallows, "Gentle Lady Azhtar, she… " He stops… "She opened me up to a part of myself I had forgotten. She reminded me of who I was inside. My past still haunts me, but it no longer dominates my life."

The hooded stranger reaches up, slowly, drawing back her cowl.

Two emerald eyes gaze at Jarik, framed by a golden, spotted face, amidst dark brown tresses which spill down to her shoulders.

"Did I really?" Azhtar signs, and the voice whispers. "Do you even know who – or what – I am?"

Jarik stands there, eyes wide. "Lady… Lady… " He chokes, "Yes… You were the first in a long time who treated me so kindly. In spite of everything my past tried to do. I, er… part of me… " His head bows, "Part of me loves you dearly. That's what was written on the bottom of the letter I left you." He swallows again, "After I met you, it was the first time I didn't feel the weight on my shoulders. I felt alive."

Suddenly, the tent flap is yanked open, and someone barges in, yapping, "Aha! Proof! A CONSPIRACY!"

Jarik speaks to the ground, "You are my friend. That's what you are to me."

"Don't say that too loudly," the poodle yaps, "or you might end up with the same fate!"

Jarik's hand whips around and grabs at the poodle's throat.

"URK!" says the poodle, but he still glares fiercely at Jarik.

The hand whips out… But is blocked by a chitinous limb! An entirely black Zelak steps in between the poodle and Jarik, while another moves to protect Kazhir's other side.

The poodle gulps, then recovers his composure and smiles triumphantly.

The Zelak warriors hiss. "Do not interfere, fox. This is a Temple matter."

Jarik snarls and moves in front of Lady Azhtar, "No, this is MY matter."

Jarik draws his sword, "I've let you get away with much… You've tested my patience. No longer. You want Lady Azhtar? Over my dead body." He grins, "And trust me, I don't die that easily."

For some reason, it feels as if Jarik's moving through tar. Everything's slower than it should be, even the sputtering of a brazier as it spits into the air…

The Zelaks move like sleek and honed machines, as they brush Jarik aside and the other black insectoid captures Azhtar for Kazhir. They're so fast, so strong…

"Interference with a Temple arrest," the first Zelak clacks, "is punishable by… Death."

Jarik snarls, "Without Lady Azhtar, I am already dead. You want me? Come, let us end it." He prepares for a fight…

Kazhir laughs mockingly, gloating over his prize. "Stupid fox! Oh, shining 'knight', where are you now? What – You think 'Right makes Might'?" With that he throws his head back, laughing again, as he drags Azhtar out of the tent.

The Zelak reaches back with its gutting claw, then lunges for Jarik. The fox lifts his sword to parry – too slow, too weak. There's a feeling of intense coldness, and then a vacuum right through Jarik's heart –

And he wakens with a surprised yelp on the hard deck of the sandship. The cries of the Nohbakims are as loud as ever, as they whoop it up watching the poodle run about the lower deck trying to avoid his sandbathing.

There's an intense pain from Jarik's back side…

Jarik reaches to feel his backside, hoping that too, was a dream.

Jarik's hand encounters a protrusion from the ship's deck. One of the many bony ends that make up its construction. It's sticking right into Jarik's tailbone.

Jarik yows and rolls off the sharp object

Jarik's tummy hurts. It doesn't seem that the fish is agreeing with him… In fact it's threatening to come right back up.

Jarik urps… He gets up and makes his way to the railing…

A minor nuisance done with, the fox looks up to see… The brilliant torches of the trading camp. They are close by, and Nohbakim crewmen move quickly from rigging to deck and back, taking in the sails. It won't be long before they arrive at the camp after all.

Jarik looks over the edge, "Look out below… ugh." His eyes return to the camp. He's thankful it was just a dream, but, he finds it disturbing… Does he truly fear failing the person he cares so much for? Wherever he's headed to after the camp… destiny seems to have a plan for him. He just hopes it's not what he dreamed.

And above, in the sky where the Procession is shadowed, a little star twinkles. Twinkle twinkle, little bat, how I wonder where you're at…