"You're getting sleepy… very sleepy… " The words seem to echo back and forth, blurring between themselves as Dr. Maltar swings a sparkling crystal back and forth. The candle-lights flicker, becoming glowing stars as they disappear behind the quartz edges.

Buran's eyes follow the crystal … back and forth … back and forth … the room fades into a blur.

There is a curious feeling, as though Buran's mind had passed through a curtain of many bead strings, entirely metaphysical…

Everything has turned black – not the darkness of night or even of an unlit room, but the darkness of one's closed eyelids. Buran feels swaddled in clothes, blankeys that are soft and downy against her fur.

Something ticks, no, beats. It is Buran's own heart, and her ears dimly pick up the sound of a distant chanting, the syllables completely nonsensical to her hearing.

Sphinx ears perk, turning, searching for the source of the chanting… what does it mean? Nonsense … or is it? Buran strains to hear, to somehow get closer to the sound.

"Na mho ram, na mho ram… " The sounds make no sense, and trying to move at all produces only slow, uncoordinated rustles of large paws against soft, enfolding cloth. Much nearer, someone makes 'chuck, chuck, chuck' noises, as if calling to a wayward offspring, very young. Something feels heavy on Buran's eyes, as if they were being shut together by a dab of tape.

Buran shifts her head a little, twitching her whiskers. She doesn't like blindness, not knowing what's going on. She wrinkles her nose in the hope that whatever it may be – the tape – will loosen.

It's not tape… A shaking of heads produces a thin horizontal slit of light, too bright, as if her eyelids had almost opened after a long time in the dark.

Buran closes her eyes … the light seems to be almost painful. It's certainly blinding. Slowly, she opens them again just a little, hoping for a glimpse at wherever this is … so bright…

The light is indeed harsh, forcing Buran to blink several times. Her hands move about jerkily, almost of their own accord, as if she had little to no control over them … or, for that matter, over any part of herself at all. There is a great shadow above her … which resolves itself into a truly titanic Vartan whose mass dwarfs the winged Khatta's own … who is so large that he is holding her in his arms and looking down on her with an expression like … Like he's doting on her? His eyes are half-lidded, and it sounds like he's half-scrawking some attempt at a cooing noise, though the sound is greatly garbled in Buran's ears.

Buran perks her ears forward, listening. Something tells her, somehow, that she is safe here. She cranes her neck – at least, as much as she can, anyway – trying to get a better look at the Vartan, or at her surroundings. Whatever the doctor has done, this isn't what she expected to happen… but, the rational/analytical side of her mind says, it must mean something.

The Vartan makes a sound that is much like "Awwwwww!" as Buran, with much shaking and effort, manages to turn her head just a bit in the massive hippogryph's arms. It takes what seems like so long for her eyes to focus to see anything more than a blur beyond the great big bird, but she at last sees it … a form … a humanoid figure … a spotted feline with golden fur and rosette spots, dressed in robes … it is too hard to tell the color, for some reason. Looking at her face, except for the color of the fur, is so much like looking into a mirror, except that this feline is a titan as well, towering over Buran.

Buran's mind races, trying to put all this into some kind of form that makes sense. A Vartan… and a Khatta. It can't be a coincidence, can it? Her eyes survey the spotted Khatta. (She looks so much like me. Is she… is he … ) The question is spoken out loud – or at least, vocalized in some form – before the Sphynx' conscious mind can filter it. "… Mother? Father?"

The Vartan looks positively proud. "She say MAMA!" he scrawks … but in a language that is not Rephidim Standard … nor any Buran should know. No … it's that language … the one her 'sister' used…

The distant Khatta female looks to be just that – distant. She watches Buran, but her expression is unreadable … somehow stand-offish and a little sad. She nods faintly, but says nothing.

Buran searches her memory of that dream, if that's what it was, trying to remember. She finds herself wishing for the ability to ask a coherent question, just one or two, but alas, that doesn't seem as if it will be possible. But the Khatta – why is she so sad? Something is wrong, and Buran can feel it. She concentrates on turning her head to focus on the Khatta and asks again, "Mother?" Hopefully her concern will communicate, at least.

"MAMA!" echoes the Vartan. He repeats the word again, tickling Buran's chin with a gargantuan claw-hand – surely an attempt at affection, though not the most pleasant of tactile sensations, admittedly. The vision blurs, and Buran's eyelids grow as heavy as stones.

Buran cries out involuntarily as her sight fades. "No!"

Whatever force provides the vision shows no mercy, as the moment is forceably torn away from the winged Khatta. Darkness obscures the vision, and already it takes considerable effort to cling onto those memories, lest they fade into the haze that consumes most any dream upon waking.

Buran concentrates, trying to commit the memories to a more permanent storage. (I can't forget. I can't… )

Out of the haze comes a glimmer of hope. A thin line of bright light, though not so burning as before. Perhaps there may be more to this vision … though the sensations don't feel quite so warm as before. There is a presence that is absent … and so many smells … incense? Yes, incense and perfume.

Sphinx whiskers twitch as Buran sniffs the air, trying to recognize the scent.

There is a faint remembrance of the offerings of the worshippers in Buran's earlier vision, though intermixed with several other, more confusing scents. The light flickers – provided by flame and not by the sun.

Buran slowly opens her eyes, carefully surveying the scene, much as before. But fortunately, the light doesn't hurt her eyes this time. (Somewhere else. But where?)

The sky is dark, not lit by the Procession, but moving and rolling … alive with some great storm with clouds low enough that they reflect the light of a thousand torches. About her, Buran can spy some of those torches, on tall wooden stands, or in the hands of fuzzily-outlined forms that stand as still as statues, firelight dancing in their eyes as well as the torches in their hands.

Buran is wrapped tightly in cloth, and it takes some time before she realizes that she is being held … and that she can just see the chin of the one holding her … again, the titanic female with a face that is a mirror of her own.

There's something different about the way she's held. Not coldly … but just … different. The exact meaning is frustratingly elusive.

Buran's eyes focus on the form above her, reflected in the flickering light. The thought that something is about to happen, something unusual, comes to her mind. But what? It's just a feeling …

There is a tingle in the air … and the sound of chanting. Yes, that's chanting, and the shake of rattles, and the playing of music … not cheery, celebrative music, but slow, somber … almost like a dirge in its seriousness.

Buran's ears perk up, listening. Somehow, it reminds her of the Temple, though she can't be certain.

There is a certain bit of comparison, though, of course, it is somehow – and elusively – different. But, more so, Buran can feel a presence, almost tangible, suffusing the air, suffusing her own very being, reaching into her consciousness.

"SISSSSSSTER… " whispers a voice that she hears not with her ears. Is it part of this vision … or intruding into it from elsewhere?

"Hello? Is anyone there?" Buran tries to form the words in her mind, thinking the question every bit as much as trying to call out in the physical here.

"SSSSISSSTER … AWAKE!" The voice reverberates and repeats, but then ripples and distorts as another sound – this one more audible – intrudes … the sound of great wingbeats, as by a rakhtor, and distant rumbles of thunder. The chanting becomes more dischordant, and then there are angry shouts and screams. A shape shoots across the sky, a shadow against shadow, and then blots out most of Buran's vision. She is jostled about in the arms she is held in, and hears an angry cry, a voice so much like her own: "No! Do not steal her DESTINY!"

Buran cries out involuntarily, frightened by the darkness, shouting, and the anger that seems to fill the air. The sensations, the sights, everything is all so different than the warmth and comfort that came before, and the sudden change frightens the Technopriestess.

There is a wrenching sensation … no, the wrenching is literal, as Buran is torn from the feline's arms, by a force that is irresistable, with strength capable of crushing her … but it does not.

Buran's struggles translate into a weak flailing of chubby, short … cub-like limbs. Hardly anything against the titanic being holding her. She is pressed against a hairy … no, feathery … chest, and suddenly she is going up … up … up into the sky!

The Khatta whimpers, still frightened but comforted somewhat. Flying is a familiar sensation to her, and far preferable to the danger that is now, hopefully, being left behind. (Where am I going now?) She can't help but wonder.

The ride is hardly a smooth one. There are many shouts, and the storm becomes more violent and angry, as if it were somehow alive and protesting something. "NOOOOOOO!!!!" is a cry that fades into the storm, in that strange tongue that Buran understands yet has never heard outside of a dream.

At least … not that she can recall.

There is an angry and frightened – yes, frightened – scrawk from the titanic Vartan, and the world goes spinning. Thunder erupts all about, echoing with screams and laughter from countless lost souls, goblins and horrors, things of nightmare, things that kittens fear lurk just around the corner at night…

Buran's mind recalls the voice, the one that spoke in that first dream, and again in this – whatever it is. Reality or not, there was some sort of connection. Even as she fights back nausea, the Khatta reaches out toward the … entity … that is somewhere out there. "Sister!" she shouts as best she can, remembering her dream. "Help me!"

The sensations subside, the winds die, and all comes to a lull. Buran becomes aware again that her eyes are closed … and that she can see light dimly through them. It is not a glaring, harsh light, nor a flickering one of flame … but one that occasionally dims or blinks … much like the fluorescents inside the Temple.

Again, Buran opens her eyes – slowly this time, lest that fear and anger return.

Buran awakens to find herself back where she started … fully herself, not a helpless cub, back in the familiar interior of the Temple.

The office is actually lit by candles. Maybe the fluorescents were, after all, just a part of the dream … some subtle symbology tied to a return to the real world…

The Technopriestess blinks several times more, disoriented by the transition.

The doctor looks dispassionately to the Technopriestess, his hand held up as if he had just snapped his fingers. It would seem the dream is over.

The Eeee doctor shakes Buran. "Wake up," he says insistently. "Are you awake? Oh dear, I hope that isn't a sign of epilepsy… "

Buran opens her eyes, carefully, glancing around the room before finally focusing on the voice. A few moments pass. " … Doctor?" she asks carefully. She feels a bit drained from her experiences.

Dr. Maltar says worried, holding a thinly furred hand in front of Buran, "How many fingers am I holding up?" There are two digits extended.

"Two." Buran takes several deep breaths, hoping that she's not shaking too much.

The Eeee psychoanalyst nods. "Ah, very good. No double vision then. Does the room look as if it is moving to you?"

A Khatta headshake is the reply.

"Well then. That was interesting… An atypical reaction, though hypnosis does affect Vartans more strongly," the Eeee doctor comments as he sits back, giving Buran time to recover her wits. "You didn't respond at all to any of my questions aside from occasional mutterings in a language with which I'm unfamiliar, and your pupils were quite dilated. I was quite concerned that this device had caused some sort of epilepsy; a small percentage of Vartans do succumb to such ailments. Fortunately that appears not to be the case."

Dr. Maltar continues, "What did you observe during this little experience? Did you hear me at all?"

A flickering candle in one corner draws Buran's gaze for a few moments, but then she says slowly and distantly, as if her mind is elsewhere, "I saw… I think I saw my parents." She shakes her head a little, trying to smooth her fur. "I was there. You weren't."

"If you can, please try and describe what you saw," Dr. Maltar says to Buran. He props his notepad up on a bony knee and prepares to write.

The Sphynx is silent for a few moments, collecting her memories. "I saw my father… a Vartan… he was so big. He was making some sort of noise… and I heard chanting. My mother, she was there too. She was worried, distant. She didn't talk, she was just … there. I called to her, and she didn't answer." She pauses. "I felt small, small and warm. And safe."

Dr. Maltar makes encouraging noises for Buran to continue.

Buran does, although after another pause to collect her thoughts. "Then I saw a ceremony of some kind. I heard chanting, and I smelled incense. There were torches, so I could see. It was stormy… there were low clouds, and I'm sure I heard music. It wasn't the Temple."

"Mm. Very interesting," Dr. Maltar says, writing quickly.

Buran's eyebrows furrow as her nose wrinkles a bit in thought. "My mother was there, carrying me. Then there was a Vartan… yes, I remember. Another, or maybe the same. I don't know. But he was so big. He took me somewhere, in the storm. I heard him scream… and everything went spinning… " She shivers at the memory of the fright she felt. "So scared."

"And then?" Dr. Maltar writes furiously.

Buran blinks. "My mother said something about my destiny. 'Do not steal her destiny.' She shouted at the Vartan… but he did not listen. And there was another voice calling to me. It called me 'sister' and it was telling me to awaken. I tried to call back to it, but… " She closes her eyes, one ear drooping. "I heard no answer. Then you were there again, and I was here."

Dr. Maltar hmms. "Very interesting… Do you have any sisters, Buran?"

"No," replies Buran. "That I know of. I was a foundling, I'm told. I never knew my parents."

The Eeee nods wisely. "Well, there are many ways to interpret your dream, Buran. Many orphans make up fantasies about their parents, because they would like to believe that they are sons or daughters of princes or other powerful figures who will come and rescue them from a life they find in some way unsatisfactory. Others simply invent families for themselves, or friends, a desire for companionship reinforced by the fact that their erstwhile friends will often unconsciously look down upon them because of their parentless state." He taps a pencil against his chin.

Buran's ear perks back up and swivels toward Dr. Maltar.

"Flight is often seen as an ultimate escape from the humdrum routine as well," the Eeee continues. "However, for winged beings such as you and I, it is not as liberating as it might be for walking beings. Therefore, perhaps the fact that you were being flown about, rather than flying on your own, indicates a kind of dependence, or a hope for someone to 'take you away' from all this. Tell me, Buran, have you ever felt a need to reach out to others, perhaps seeking reassurance from them that you do not find in your work?"

"I've always enjoyed socializing in the Cafeteria, or when I'm not working," Buran answers. "I don't think there's anyone who could totally cut themselves off from others. But I can't say that I've consciously tried to escape. I've always loved what I do." She looks at the Eeeee. "You think it's just a dream, not real?" she asks him.

Dr. Maltar points out, "As a psychologist, I'm more concerned with the way that your mind works than with specifics of memory, though I must confess I do find it unlikely that a small days-old cub would remember words said to her so long ago. No, my interest is in the way that your mind works, Buran. Do you think, perhaps, this dream means that you are not happy with your job, or with working for the Temple?… "

Buran ponders. "No, I can't say that I've ever been very unhappy. I've lived in the Temple for all my days, and I've always called it my home. It cares for me, and so I care for it in return. I'd feel lost without it." The Technopriestess considers her words carefully. "A Templar is what I've always been. I belong here."

The Eeee writes. "Ah, very good. Well, we're just about… " A mechanical whining noise comes from the intercom. "Out of time here, and there's the secretary to tell me so." He smiles. "It's been a pleasure speaking with you, Buran. Please schedule another appointment in a week or so with the secretary and we'll see if we can help strengthen your confidence in the Temple and in your own job, shalln't we?"

Buran thanks the Eeee for his time, but as she returns to her quarters to at last get some much-needed rest, she can't help but remain convinced that what she saw actually happened. No matter what Dr. Maltar might say, it felt real. The Sphynx resolves to know the truth of the matter, for she knows she will never truly be at peace until she does.

Once the Technopriestess has left, Dr. Maltar stands up and starts tidying things for the next patient. "Ach," he says to himself. "An interesting case. Perhaps there'll be a monograph or two out of this one. We'll blow Dr. Armiger's regression theories out of the skies, yet."