Two days after Willow's adventure in the makeshift town of Gateway, the Merryweather has arrived in the capitol of the Himaat, Abu Dhabi. Jezebel and her husband, Born-in-Shame (He hopes to earn a new name, he signed) urged Willow to come with them to Abaddon for a time. It would not be a permanent relocation by any means, Jezebel promised, for she insisted that she had responsibilities here on Sinai.

The offer was turned down, of course. Testament-Blaze insisted on leaving his hand-written Holy Book for Willow, at the very least. He explained that it belonged on Sinai, not back on Abaddon … and that he would easily enough find many replacements there. Jezebel had a gift of her own – a ring made from semi-translucent purple-black horn or stone. She signed that it might come in handy some day, that her own friends would know Willow as a friend by the ring.

It was only after departing that Willow found out – through Burr, of all people, whom Jezebel had begged to 'speak' with – just who this dancer really was: Third-Vision, Priest-Queen of the City of Hands. And her mysterious friend? A big black Vartan who had accumulated enough titles to wear out the honeyed tongue of a Khattan merchant, and had slain enough monsters to rival the trophies of a Lancer.

The trip to Abu Dhabi, by comparison, was terribly bland, with nothing in the way of weirdness at all. (Unless one counts Whitehead's pathetic advances.) Arrival in Abu Dhabi, however, is another matter.

More of those spiked-helmeted humans can be seen here and there, sometimes accompanying other humans who lack arms and armor but still dress in that same drab-colored uniform, regardless of gender. They speak an odd dialect of Bosch, and seem to have some sort of an arrangement with the Emir, for how often they seem to be hanging around his servants. They also seem to dislike just about everybody – Skreeks, Kavi, Jupani, or whatever – though apparently they've made at least a begrudging exception for the Khattas. A geeky-looking man who seems almost lost in his uniform, with eyes hidden behind thick glasses, heads down the street, scribbling down notes on a pad, flanked by a couple of spiked-helmeted and face-masked soldiers.

Kavis and Khattas vie for the attentions of passers-by, each promising better quality, better selection and lower prices than the next merchant. Silks and zolks of greatly varying quality and quantity are offered in abundance. A few merchants offer Khattan cuisine, ranging from xocholatl sweets to ripe fruits to Dromodon jerky to crumbly biscuit rations to expensive glasses of "pure, clean" water. A pretty calico poses with examples of bent-wire jewelry glittering with pieces of tinted crystal, while her plump husband haggles with a customer. A couple of Kavis sell maps and charts of routes to the Gateway Tower and, purportedly, treasure maps leading to untold riches on the other worlds. (Emphasis on untold.)

A caramel-furred Khattan sword-dancer twirls about in a flurry of flashing blades and silken streamers, bells about her ankles sounding with every step. A fennec-eared Zerda in an oversized kadiban plays a pipe before … a bucket of water? Eerily, a tendril of the "water" rises up, swaying back and forth like a poised cobra, in time with the movements of the "snake" charmer. Behind the Zerda, a large tent reads, in several languages, "Yahib's Wonders of the World – and Freak Show" Badly painted posters depict a pair of Siamese Khattas with fused bodies, a Lion Khatta breaking chains with his teeth, and another Khatta with ridiculously stretchy flaps of furred skin.

Perhaps it's not totally unlike the Bazaar after all. Just hotter, a little more magical, with a little less variety in species … and maybe with a touch more danger.

Willow pants slightly in the sunlight as she shrugs a satchel across her shoulder containing a large book and a small bottle full of black powder. She weaves carefully through the city, but not so quickly that a larger Savanite can't keep up with her pace. "Burr, if we get to the shop I want you to stay outside, understand? And keep an eye open for someone that can do earpunches worth a flip. If I'm going to get it done, I might as well get it done here, but I don't want them to come out all crooked."

Out of the corner of her eye, Willow catches a confused look on Burr's face. (Not that much of his face is visible, but… )

"See wonders of Sinai! More than have fingers to count! Unless you be Ringara, Khatta of Countless Digits!" yowls a barker just outside the freak show tent.

The Skreek slows her step. "Which part are you having trouble with? If Punja's Curios is here, I don't want to involve you. And the punching, just look for a Khatta merchant with nice bangles in his ears, no tears or crooked studs or anything like that. Now that my secret's out, I might as well enjoy some of the sparklies a lady likes… " Her voice trails off as she eyes the tent, sizing up the various advertised attractions. "Wonder how much it costs to get in?"

Burr dips his head, and signs, "Sorry. Thought you want someone punch in ear. I do just fine at that."

Willow tosses her head back and laughs. "No no no… it's just a phrase I use. Punching holes and all that. Just a little needleprick. I'd do it to myself, but I get cross-eyed when I try to work on my face in a mirror. One of the reasons why my last earrings were all off kilter."

Burr nods, pointing at himself. "Not good with needles."

"It's all right, Burr. You're good enough with other things." The Skreek pauses in the crowd as she tries to remember the directions to Punja's shop.

"Just three shekels to see the amazing Living Blob!" cries the yowling Khatta.

Yes, this is the way to Punja's shop. It's just that there's a little more business today in the streets than there was the last time.

Willow quickens her step, resisting the urge to gnaw on her lip. ( Okay, Star, I'm still not sure how all of this works or if you can do anything… but if he's still here, I just plan to go in, drop off this junk and ask my questions and then leave. If you can give me any warnings besides dropping the ground out from under me, or give me half a second to jump out of the way if he tries to tear my throat out, I'll be really grateful. I really wish I knew why I was doing this… )

The din of the shouts and music of the vendors along the streets calms down to a low drone in the background, as Willow finds her way to the familiar street in front of that ramshackle old hotel. It looks like it has seen some rough times since Willow visited last – In the alley beside the hotel, it looks like a section of the wall must have been smashed, and a haphazard job has been done at boarding it over.

Tracing a line across the street … well, what do you know? It looks like a curio shop, with a sign above it, letters so faded that no name can be made out. But it looks like the place. And out in daylight, even.

The Skreek stares at the sign and swallows. "Remember Burr, stay out here. I don't want to risk you in this. If it starts to look bad and if you think you can grab me, then you're welcome to try… but you know how powerful this fellow is." She pulls the satchel from her shoulder and holds it in her hands. "If both of us get killed, then Thorn's an orphan, and I don't want to orphan your son just because I made a stupid mistake."

Burr signs, "Please forgive, but me wish ask question?" He ducks his head low.

"Go ahead, Burr. You can always ask me anything." Willow lets the satchel dangle in her arms.

Burr looks terribly uncomfortable, then signs, "If you think get killed … what you do here? Why get killed? Me no wish you get killed. You good to Thorn."

The Skreek catches Burr's hand before he drops it from his signing and holds it. "Because I don't want these dark things with me, and I want him to know that I gave them back. I don't trust what would happen if I burned that book or the powder or tossed them in a river or something else. I want him to know that I came here and gave them back." She glances over her shoulder. "He also is the only one who has the answers I want. The nursemaid who carried me was murdered… but somehow I ended up in Himar. I want to know if it's because of him and if I'm some tool in his great plan. He did something to me, and I want to know what."

Burr doesn't try signing anything more, and just nods subserviently.

An uncharacteristically cool wind whips down the street momentarily, tossing a few scraps of paper and bits of sand about. Normally, it would be refreshing.

Willow gives the cheetah's hand a squeeze. "I get the feeling he won't kill me, maybe not even if he knows what happened to me at Gateway. Either way, no more hiding." She lets Burr's hand go and walks towards the door of the shop, pushing it open lightly.

Yes, it's Punja's shop. It doesn't look like any nightmare realm. It doesn't look fuzzy or vague. It just looks like an ordinary, dusty, musty old shop, the windows intentionally left dark and dirty in hopes of helping the ramshackle store in a losing battle against the sun's heat.

"Hello? Anybody here?" the rat squeaks, peering across the shelves as she moves towards the front counter.

If this is merely an illusion … if this is actually just some empty alleyway with a few crates of garbage here and there … even that knowledge doesn't allow Willow to see through the facade. It feels real. It smells real. And there are just enough tiny surprises in the way it smells or in some odd toy or dog-eared book here or there that it doesn't seem to just be something pulled from Willow's memories or dreams and presented to her eyes and other senses as reality.

Willow sniffs at the air quietly, trying not to appear like a Gallah mutt snuffing away at the entire world. ( Now I wish I'd brought Copy along. He probably could have told me if this was real or not. Well, no bolts of lightning yet, that might be a good sign… although I'm learning not to completely trust in signs either. )

Willow catches a scent of feline, and then, as she turns a corner about an over-piled table and some standing cases, she sees a hunch-backed, ragged, scraggly-furred old Khatta sits at a table of scraps of cloth, threading a needle with shaking hands, tying a knot in the other end of the thread … then stitching a tear in an old weathered cloak.

"You have a customer, Punja," the Skreek chitters as she places her satchel on the countertop.

The feline's hands shake at the sudden noise, and he pricks his finger. "Ow!" he yowls, dropping the needle and the cloak, and sucking on his finger impishly. He turns about on his stool. "Oh! Many greetings and pardons! Foolish Punja does not mean to alarm you! Having many good days in Himaat, hoping for such good customers to come in, seeking good things, yes? You may be seeking a curio or book or maybe some pretty baubles?"

"I'm seeking a trade. The last time I was here, I left with a book and a bottle of black powder in exchange for a knife. I would like to give these items back to you." Willow tries to keep her tail from lashing, fearing that she might bump one of the shelves and bring it crashing down on her. "You should remember me. My last visit was somewhat interesting."

Punja clasps his hands together. "Oh! Many thankings for such good customer to come back to trade again." He looks at the items carried by Willow. "Oh! Such a nice book and jar. You are hoping to exchange for another book, maybe? Many good books has Punja Hekl for reading, in many languages!"

"No. Just some answers." Willow taps her fingers on the countertop. "I'm wondering if you might have heard a story about a royal family in Kroz – they had six children… but only two ever lived."

Punja jabbers, "Oh! Stories! Yes, Punja has many fairy tales. Many delightful books of valor and adventure, and of magic! And some with pretty pictures! Punja will look!" He hops off his stool and starts rummaging through some old beaten-up books on a crooked-looking shelf.

"Their names were Naochi – specifically a daughter named Chiria Naochi." Willow rests her hands on her belt.

"Chiria Naochi," repeats Punja. "Such a pretty name! A one-of-a-kind name, yes?" He digs through the books.

The Skreek shakes her head. "Nope. Chiria was also the name of her twin sister that died in her place. She was sacrificed to Dagh with the help of a fellow named Abzhalom Dack."

"Oh! A tragedy!" remarks the old Khatta. "So sad, so sad!" Punja looks back at Willow. "Maybe the customer be wanting for a story with a happier ending? One where the horrible villain dies in the end?"

"This story isn't over yet. That's why I'm here. I'm Chiria, the living one." The Skreek carefully watches the Khatta, as if expecting to find him secretly mumbling cantrips or pulling out some sort of talisman to use.

Punja looks to Willow. "Oh! You confuse the mind of this humble shopkeeper! You said that this was a story, yes? Oh, you fool poor Punja!" There's a hint of a smile in the shopkeeper's otherwise self-depreciating facade.

Willow feels her bile rise a fraction, but she tamps it down. "Stories are usually based on real events. I also said that this story wasn't finished."

Punja walks toward Willow. "Oh! Punja is not so good at writing stories. But maybe the good customer is? How would Punja's customer wish for happy fairy tale to end?"

The Skreek shakes her head. "Don't. My story isn't my own to write, even you know that. What I want to know is a part of it that I'm missing. I want to know who killed the nursemaid that was supposed to bring me to Himar, and how I ended up there anyways… and I want to know if anythinghappened in between. For that information, I give you the book and the bottle back."

Punja says, "Oh! But Punja is so bad at telling stories! And why would Punja take book and bottle back for a bad story? Punja lives to give many nice things to his customers, yes! Would be so sad to only take them back?"

"I'm not leaving here with those things, or anything else in this shop. If you don't want to meet my trade, then so be it. I'll walk out of here and you get two free additions to your collection to give to the next poor fool that walks in here." Willow pauses to take in a breath and then let it out slowly, skittering the dust on the countertop. "I've told you what I want."

Punja's self-depreciative grin seems a little too wide for what should be natural on the face of a Khatta. And the light seems a little dimmer in the shop. "Punja will take the book and jar, yes, and give you your story, then … " The store darkens, and Punja's features seem a little darker, a little more Dagh-like. His voice is deeper, too. "… but not for such curios. No … it is time to call in a favor."

The Skreek's heart almost leaps to her throat at the words and forgets to breathe… until she realizes that breath is required to be able to speak. "I was wondering when the time would come for that. All right. Will it be a message or a potion? And remember our agreement… nothing to hurt Burr or Thorn or any of my other friends."

The surroundings continue to twist and shift and darken, as does Punja's form. In mere moments, it is not Punja, but Tyrne Dagh, resplendent in fine black robes and shiny black fur, reclining on an ebon throne, at one end of an empty hall that seems vaguely reminiscent of some place that Willow has seen before … but a veil in her mind seems to frustrate an attempt to make a clear connection.

"Of course," purrs the black Kattha. "I ask you only to deliver a message for me."

Willow glances around at her surroundings. "You redecorate things amazingly well. From a shop to an empty alley to a shop again and now this." ( Give me strength… please give me strength. ) "Will I deliver your message first, or will you tell me the rest of the story first?"

The Kattha leans forward in his throne. "Before I ask my favor of you … as a matter of, shall we say, formality … I must say that you do have many possibilities that you seem to be casting aside. You have great potential. I do not wish to simply give things to you … because that is not in my nature, nor is it in yours to try to get something for nothing. However, I do think that I could offer you some employment with considerable benefits."

"I'm sorry, Tyrne. I already have a job." The Skreek folds her hands behind her back. "I will speak in complete honesty here, including the things I'd rather not admit even to myself – but I don't trust you. The people who follow you that I have met are half-mad… and my four sisters were sacrificed in your name. Whether you truly were responsible for these acts or not, they make me not completely trust you… although as angry as I've gotten with you in the past, I don't hate you either. But for now, I have a job with the airship. I want my captain's work to go on even if he's gone."

Tyrne leans back, laughing. "Ah! Such loyalty, so misplaced! Very well, then. I had to at least offer. But now that we know where we stand … " His smile abruptly fades. "… I shall have to get down to business. I wish you to deliver a message for me. It will be delivered to every stranger you find on the street corner where I put you."

Willow balls her fists up behind her back. "Are you going to make me lie?"

"Far from it," says Tyrne. "I'm going to make you tell the truth."

"I get the feeling that you plan to humiliate me. But I did agree, and I'll say whatever it is you wish me to say." The Skreek grinds her teeth. ( This is one of those "evil in the world" things, right? I'll try very hard not to curse your name if things get too boiling… but please forgive me now if I do. It's hard… it's so hard. )

Tyrne's knowing grin spreads quickly, but then his expression turns serious again. "I want you to stand up on that street corner, and tell every person that passes by that there is no such thing as the Star, no matter which 'star', and I want you to let everyone know that anyone who serves such a fable is an idiot … but I'd like you to describe just what sort of idiot – and the Star, too, while you're at it – with every colorful profanity you've ever come across during your … colorful career. And I know you can come up with some dandy curses."

Willow just stares at the Khatta, and then oddly… she smiles as well. "So you are asking me to lie."

Dagh glowers. "Call it whatever you want," he spits, "but you agreed. There was never any condition attached to the content of the message, save for that bit about hurting your friends."

The Skreek's tail swishes. "Yes, I did agree." She swallows and then takes a step forward, "Tyrne… why does the Star scare you? It hasn't stopped you from doing what you do; it hasn't snuffed you out of existence. And even with this, all you're doing is convincing me that there's more to this than a bunch of spotties mumbling under their breath. You seem determined to snuff out the words that you claim don't exist… why?"

Tyrne narrows his eyes. "Because it doesn't have to be real. You could believe in the Great Pumpkin Truffle for all it really matters. But if it led you to go on great moral crusades into matters that don't concern you … you could still be dangerous. Don't you know what magic is? It's faith. Have you ever listened to a mage casting his spells? It sounds like so much gibberish, doesn't it? That's because it is!"

Dagh' s voice raises, "One mage dances in circles because she can't speak. The other one makes a circle out of chalk and puts candles at the sides … Candles. The forces of nature are to be controlled by … globs of wax, string and a little tongue of flame, and a few random sounds uttered by some babbling idiot wearing a brightly-colored dress with strange symbols sewn into it?"

"Yet you were interested in me when I didn't believe in anything at all, or would believe in whatever god was thrown at me." Willow takes another step towards the black throne. "And you yourself claimed that your own followers were meaningless. How am I so different now than before?"

"Because you embraced that weepy clap-trap. Do you seriously think that something spiritual happened back there? No! It was emotion! Do you know who Jezebel is? She was a prostitute that seduced her way into a position of prominence amongst the slaves of Lord Titus haut Mikide in Rephidim. And when things weren't going her way, she latched on to a do-gooder crusader 'hero', and gave him this sappy sob story about her life. What choice did he have but to save a damsel in distress? She pulled his strings." Dagh glowers. "And she pulled yours, too. She made you weak. All that potential … and you've turned into a weeping willow."

The Skreek frowns and drops her head. For a moment she looks cowed and shamed… but then something clicks. "No. Just like with me you're good at leaving out parts of the story. You forget to mention that she gave up being a queen so she could find the Star, that she now goes to a world where the very powers she used to seduce and hurt people won't work. For all the riches and great men or things she might have been able to have if she had really wanted to… instead she marries a warrior with nothing to his name but shame and disgrace. Yes… quite a little trickster she is. Her plot to gain power by going to a world where she'll probably be regarded as a freak married to a bastard child is the greatest scheme I've heard of yet."

Dagh grins. "But you are leaving out part of the story, too. A 'queen'? Yes, a queen of a city that has an Exile weapon virtually dangling over its head, ready to drop at any moment. I don't think she's quite ready to become a queen of the dead. No, she catches wind of a 'lost tribe' of her people … where, due to some freak of nature, they all look like carbon copies of each other, causing such shame that they hide their faces. And she? She looks different, without need for a mask to give her an identity."

"She'll be no outcast," Dagh says, "She'll be accepted as a queen of their brethren on Sinai … and should the Nagai drop the 'boomer' on the City of Hands in her absence, she'll be a martyr in absentia. Oh … I'm quite certain she'll do quite well, really."

"Only time will tell. You speak about things that haven't happened yet as though they were facts. The City of Hands still stands, and the boomer is still wherever the snakes have it." Willow takes a deep breath. Her palms are damp after sweating out of anger and fear. "But there's still Testament-Blaze, and the Diamantes. You think I was converted by only one person?"

"Ultimately, yes, I do. Oh, sure, sure, they planted ideas in your head … all sorts of nice warm fuzzies," Dagh says mockingly, "all appealing to your softer, more feminine side. You were just so much putty. And now you're going to be guilt-stricken whenever you have to take an action that goes against this 'Star's' dictates. Oh, sure, you'll probably rationalize it and do what you need to anyway … but you'll still be wasting so much time having 'crises of faith', and all that rot. Willow, once so strong … now a touchy-feely, wet hankie."

"Actually I owe the feminine side part to you. Funny thing was that I almost fell for you… but now I suppose that you've learned that since you can't win me with affection, you can try hitting my weak points? You're missing by a mile." The Skreek rubs the silver ring on her finger. "You think that by accusing me of being weak or wobbly you're going to shake me? What about you, Tyrne? You've gone from being a demure sweet talker who almost won me over to a jealous huff because I'm not leaning in the direction he wants anymore." The Skreek shakes her head. "I never confessed to being strong… but now I'm starting to understand it all a bit more. I wondered why after killing Weatherwax that I didn't feel as good as I wanted. I wondered what exactly it was that made me respect Misty or the priest. You can accuse me of being whatever you like – I'm used to being called a rat."

Dagh fumes. "Sweet talker? That was my insane descendant, dear Prince Sebazhan, who seems at times to think he can split time being me and then himself again. I assure you, I have no intentions whatsoever to seduce such a weakling as you."

Willow raises an eyebrow. "Split time being you? Tell me, Tyrne… what is it precisely that makes me weak the way I am now? And none of this huffy talk about things I haven't done. Yes, I cried on Third-Eye's shoulder and made a big scene at Gateway, but the only thing different about me then and now is that I'm trying to keep a promise. How does trying to stop hating myself make me weak? How would I be stronger if I allowed myself to be ruled by the fire that still burns in my chest?"

Dagh says, "You could do all that without the crutch of some fictitious god you can't see or touch or feel, who never did a thing for you when you thought you needed it most. Me, on the other hand, I'm perfectly open about the fact that I don't love you in the least bit. But I could admire you – when you deserve it. What good is this whole faith of yours, anyway? Don't you want to earn what you get? Here, you're supposedly being given a new life … for free! No cost at all! How absurd does that sound to you?"

( Now I know how Testy felt during our arguments. ) "I'm earning it now, I think. But despite it all, I've lived by the sword and it cost me everything I had. After Rephidim I've lived by my heart, doing what I felt was right… which apparently was appealing to you up until Gateway. The only difference between me then and now is that I'll finally admit that I was doing it from my heart. You claim that now that I've accepted the Star that I'll be driven by guilt – but what drove me before? I lied to myself and wallowed in the guilt of the things I did as a pirate as my justifications. Before, my crutch was my self-hate and guilt, and I still have that. I'll probably have it until the day that I die and find out once and for all who is right and who is wrong." The Skreek glances up at the ballroom. "It also gives me a different perspective. Ariel was right about you, I think."

Dagh leans back a bit, eyeing Willow warily. "And just what insights might you have gotten from Ariel?"

"When I was sixteen, I loved Captain Weatherwax very much. It hurt that he wasn't paying attention to me… so in my anger and jealousy I almost killed a younger child, hoping in some wild attempt to earn his love back." The Skreek starts to close the gap between herself and the throne. "I'm not insane, I'm not howlingly devoted to you to the point that I'd plunge a knife into my chest, but I'm yours. I was dedicated to you as a baby… and now you feel as though I've turned your back on you. You try to cover it up by humiliating me and insulting me and trying to hurt me with every missile you have. But the truth is that you're lonely." The Skreek breathes in softly. "I can't hate you, Dagh… even now. Because even though you deny it even to yourself, I understand. Third-Eye broke through to me because she was so much like me… and I'm like you."

Dagh stares back at Willow for a long moment … and then suddenly laughs. "What has happened to you? You've snapped! You've totally lost your mind, haven't you?"

"That's exactly what I was tempted to say to Third-Eye when she first reached her hand out to me." The Skreek closes her eyes and places a hand against her left cheek. When she pulls it back, the fur on her fingertips is darkened by a single drop of liquid. "I thought Testament-Blaze was crazy as well. But they both were right. It all makes so much sense now." She extends her hand to the black Khatta. "It hurts… and the only way to numb the hurt is to bury it in lies or by lashing out to as many people and trying to numb yourself in petty thoughts of revenge. You can push me away if you want, you can even hurt me more if it will make you feel better. But it won't change how I feel. I understand, Tyrne. You're alone, and I'm sorry to have helped make you feel alone."

"You understand? Are you some sort of impudent Exile that thinks you can just walk up to a god and speak so patronizingly as if you've got all the answers, and I'm some neurotic, pathetic patient sprawled out on a couch before you while you show me blobs on paper and take notes because I think they all look like my mother?" the Kattha spits out, almost frothing at the mouth. "I am DAGH! I am a god, and I have been too kind to you, obviously, to make you forget your place, mortal!" The room quickly grows hot, as the stones of the floor begin to glow, and flames and smoke seep in through every crack.

The Skreek jolts, trying to keep her feet away from the flames. "You weren't always a god, Tyrne. You were as mortal as me, with mortal feelings, except you've had countless years to let it all build up. To think how angry I became in fifteen years… I can't imagine what became of you." She keeps her hand out, although she holds herself braced for the firebrand she's expected to have thrust into her palm. "Why do you want me to hate you, Dagh? Because you feel as though you deserve it? It's your place to make everyone hate and fear you?" ( Oh Star… I'm doing what my heart says. But I don't want to die. Please help… please help Tyrne to understand. I think… I think I finally understand now. Thank you. ) "Tyrne… if you feel it makes me weak, then so be it. I forgive you. I forgive you for my sisters, for Gallis, and for everything else. I've sworn to the Star that I will try not to hate myself, and you are more me than even Third-Eye was."

"You FORGIVE me?! ME?!" shouts the Kattha, rising from his throne. "That's quite enough! This ends NOW!" The room rumbles, and the stones crack, lines of red light tracing across their surfaces.

Willow tumbles. Her free palm presses against the floor while her other hand remains outstretched. "I forgive you of what you're doing right now, and if you choose to kill me right now then I'll die hoping that someday you'll be able to feel the love that I finally did, and I forgive you for killing me. It's all true, Tyrne. The Star loves you just like it loves me… and it takes more strength for me to utter those words than it ever took for me to fight any enemy." Her palm starts to burn under the hot tile and Willow's fur grows damp from the heat.

The Kattha's roar fills the chamber, which begins to break apart as fire rushes in, consuming all in a flash.

A flash of sunlight. A blazing sun searing down from the Himaatian sky on a trash-strewn alleyway.

A wind howls through the alleyway, sending dust devils in its wake, pelting the sprawled rat with grains of sand and grit. Rapid footsteps can be heard approaching.

The Skreek uncurls herself slowly. "I'm sorry, Tyrne." She holds up her scorched palm and looks at it.

The fur is black there, and Willow's hand throbs painfully. No delusion, no matter how powerful, should account for that.

Burr rushes up at that instant, and skids to a stop as he drops to his knees, looking at Willow in alarm.

Willow pulls herself up to her knees and pulls out a bottle of alcohol. She carefully dumps some of the liquid into a rag and begins cleaning her hand, trying to see how bad the burns are. "Burr. That bright fiery orb over our heads, isn't it supposed to be a star?"

Burr looks up, shielding his eyes, then looks back to Willow. He shrugs. Obviously not his area of expertise. As for the hand, though … it could use some attention, but no severe damage. No worse than accidentally putting one's hand down on a hot stove. (Well, that can be pretty bad, of course… )

As Willow moves about, checking on her hand, something crunches lightly under one leg.

The Skreek ties the bandage over her hand. "Take my word for it, it's a star… and I'm supposed to tell you that it doesn't exist. Considering all the names I've called you in the past, I can probably forego all the insults I'm supposed to throw at you as well. But you're the one who can decide. You can feel the heat on the shoulders and see the light all around you. Star forgive me for lying, and you have a pretty good idea if the sun exists or not on your own without me telling you it doesn't." The Skreek pulls herself up and checks to see what produced the crunching noise.

It looks like Willow broke off a petal of a candy flower lying on the ground.

Burr slowly gets up, just giving Willow his typical 'totally clueless' look.

Willow carefully picks up the remaining section of the flower. She twirls it around in her hand. "You're welcome, and thank you. He may not know it… but he made me understand myself all the more. I hated my parents because I thought they rejected me. He claims to want faith… but all he really wants is love." She carefully grasps Burr's arm until she's sure her own legs support her. "How long was I in there?"

Burr points at the position of the sun, then signs with his free hand, "Think maybe hour?"

"I don't owe Dagh a favor anymore… but I'll probably end up talking to him again. The whole thing is a very long story which I should probably talk to you about later. For now, since Dagh didn't do the job… how about we go find that hole-puncher? I think I'll forego the freak show. The Visible Shiga was all the freakery I wanted to see." She tucks the flower in her hair, mindless of the fact that as soon as her crown starts sweating she'll start to have a sticky mess in there.