Auri stood below the wide branches of the great oak, her eyes shut against the blazing sunset, her breath held in anticipation of the brief burst of something akin magic she knew came with the dying day. Wind brushed at her sweat-soaked face, washing over her body as it crested the summit like a tsunami. She held her arms out to catch the torrent of its rush, leaning forward as if to fly from her perch. For a moment Auri hung suspended over the rock wall that separated her from the treacherous bluff and a sharp plunge into surf and ocean. "Lean forward just a little more," she thought, "lean forward and let yourself fall". It was tempting, but Auri resisted the urge as she had in the many weeks since the death of her closest friends.

Today as every day before, the thought of returning to the summit made her chest tighten, her heart crushing under the powerful weight of her grief and guilt, which filled her even now. The memories of that terrible night raced through her mind; the horror-stricken faces of her dead friends, their bodies torn apart as if ravaged by animals; the screams of wraiths hungering for life; the thick, metallic smell of a blood-soaked rain storm and the taste of it upon her lips -- still fresh. Still raw. Only the brief magic of the passing day washed the memories and blood away long enough that she might forget for a time. It was a small kindness on the part of the Gods, Auri thought as the last sliver of sunlight faded from the horizon, leaving only a darkening sky in its wake.

She stood alone upon the summit wall staring out at the sea, worrying at the empty hollow within, knowing its depth was darkest at night when the dreams took her away again.

“Auri?” A voice called behind her. She turned to find Ro leaning against the great oak, his manner casual and relaxed, though his eyes betrayed a wariness she had come to expect from everyone these days. She pursed her lips, biting back a sharp retort when she realized he must have been watching her for some time. Ro'Ander had become skilled at catching her unawares as of late, no doubt due to Kemmri's tutelage, Auri thought. She hopped down from the stone wall and scooped up her training weapons, slinging them over her shoulder as she made to leave.

“You haven't said three words to me in weeks -- have I done something?” Ro'Ander said as he stepped in front of her. There was worry in his eyes mixed with something more. Frustration? After a long day of practice, Auri felt she had little strength left to decipher the workings of Ro's thoughts let alone his heart. She knew he carried a torch for her, and in a different world where her friends still lived -- a world without pain -- the knowledge of Ro's affections might have given her joy. Once upon a time she might have taken pleasure in his attention and found every excuse to seek it out. But now as she gazed up into his eyes, all she saw was Tellia staring back. Auri took no pleasure in the experience. “How can I tell him that?” she thought.

“I'm tired Ro',” Auri replied. “I'm sorry,” she said as she side-stepped him and headed down the path that led to her home. She felt his eyes chasing after her; felt the hurt he must feel at being brushed aside, but Auri pushed all of it aside as the night enveloped her.

By the time Auri reached the gates of her home, all thoughts of Ro and the fading promise of his affections, were shadows amongst her warring emotions as she spied Kittaman sitting alone on the front steps leading to the house. The methodical sound of whetstone on steel rent the stillness of the night, while the glare of lanterns left him cast in darkness -- a silhouette as keen as the blade he sharpened. If he saw her, he did not acknowledge it. A burning anger to match his seeming indifference, flared in her heart as she passed. From him, she suffered the worst betrayal. Kittaman had abandoned her the night of the wraith storm; it was he who should have stood at her side upon the summit. It was he who was sworn to protect her. His disregard for his duty, his oath, all served to highlight a glaring truth of their relationship. He was the worst kind of coward.

Inside the house was silent and still save for the gentle sway of new silk curtains separating the main room from the veranda. New cushions and other finery had replaced those destroyed by the wraiths and new doors made of Nara wood, stained dark like dried blood, stood in place of the old. Auri deposited her gear in the main room and strode down the long hall leading to her private quarters. The flickering light of oil lanterns bloomed like torches, an honour guard to chase away the darkness. Alone in her room, Auri stripped off her clothing and sponged her body clean of the grime from another day of training. She would bathe later. The sound of booted feet outside her door caught her attention and she waited as they paused for a moment as if unsure. Auri stood in a puddle of water beside her wash basin and waited for a knock that did not come. No one entered; no sound registered save the fading hint of her unknown visitor departing. Would he dare? She wondered. After so many weeks, would Kittaman dare attempt an apology or explanation now?

The thought that he might insult her in such a base manner stoked her ire; its coals smouldering and needing little excuse to blaze hot once again.

Auri wrapped herself in a robe and hurried from her room, nearly colliding with Kittaman as he rounded a corner at the same time she emerged from the hall. Master and student stared at each other in silence, each caught unawares. For the first time Auri took in his haggard appearance and the slack set of his cheeks that seemed to emphasize the deep hollows of his eyes. His hair was damp from a recent wash and despite his clean appearance, there seemed to be a sense of relief in his tired expression.

“I have missed you,” he said finally.

Auri continued to stare, unaware of the hot tears that stung her eyes or the quivering set of her mouth as she tried to frame the words caught on her tongue. Her hands clutched the fabric of her robe until the whites of her knuckles showed and the bite of her nails turned piercing.

“Why did you leave me?” Auri whispered.

Kittaman’s expression fell and a deeper pain replaced the uncertainty in his eyes. She watched as he reached out to her, but she slapped his hands away and rushed him with a flurry of blows that rained upon his chest.

“Is that all you have to say?” She demanded. “Where were you?” Auri shouted as her anger flared and the hum of the Blade Song reared in hungry anticipation. A look of surprise flashed across Kittaman’s features as she levelled a slap at his face. He grabbed her wrists before she could strike and in one deft movement, twisted her arms behind her back. She pulled herself free but he was the stronger and wrapped his arms about her with blinding speed, holding her close while she struggled.

Auri thrashed and screamed, cursing him with all manner of vileness, caring nothing for the pain she glimpsed in his eyes and wanting nothing more than to punish him for abandoning her.

It was some time before her strength gave out and even while gripped by the willful power of the Blade Song, the arms master retained a hold on her. His arms slackened a little as she slumped back against him, her anger played out for the moment as she struggled to hold back the sting of her tears. She breathed hard, willing the tears away, refusing to shed a single one until she found justice for her lost friends.

Kittaman was whispering in her ear. At first she did not understand but as she calmed, the litany of his words offered a strange sort of comfort. For Kittaman, with whom focus, strength and discipline were hallmarks, to utter such soft words seemed surreal.

“Still your cries my little one, the pain will pierce no more for now, the gods look down upon your beautiful face and ward your heart in its place…”

It was a lullaby; a mother’s spell to sooth a child’s pain. Unknown to her, yet familiar at once. The effect of the song was immediate.

Auri extricated herself from her arms master’s embrace, her body still shaking, forcing her to find comfort in the cushioned pillows of a nearby bench. She hid her face in her hands, pressing her palms against her eyes until her rogue tears were dried and gone before looking to Kittaman.

“I should never have left you, Auri,” he said.

Auri said nothing in response, fearful of what she might say and tapped of whatever energy she might have left to lash out at him. The lyrics of the lullaby echoed in her thoughts, eliciting memories that slipped beyond her grasp. Kittaman knelt in front of her, resting a hand on her knees as he brushed away a lock of her hair with a tenderness she had never known of the man.

“I was a coward for leaving you,” he began. “I thought perhaps it was more important to return to Kel’Amareh than remain here,” Kittaman said. “I was wrong. I will never leave you again.”

“I don’t believe you,” Auri said after a moment. “You left me when I needed you the most, and now people are dead. People I loved. People I cared about -- dead. You don‘t know what that’s like.” She saw herself reflected in his eyes; the challenge mirrored in her own.

“I know more of death than I care,” Kittaman replied. It appeared as if he wanted to say more, to find the pretty words to assuage his guilt. He hesitated, his lips pursed in frustration.

“Does it ever stop hurting?” Auri asked, her ire fleeing her as if snuffed by a gale.

The question hung between them with only the barest shake of Kittaman’s head in response.

“I wish it did,” he said. “I wish it was something I could wipe away and never remember. I’m sorry.”

Auri saw the sincerity and the pain in his eyes and knew the Arms Master wanted her to acknowledge him in some small way. She was tempted to refuse him for a moment, to leave him with the guilt and pain of abandoning her a while longer. The voice in her heart whispered as much, telling her it was his fault -- it was entirely his fault. And perhaps it is, she thought; however, the longer she stared into the depths of his grey eyes, the more she understood he was alone as much as she. His pain, while not the same as her own, was pain and none the less acute. For all of Kittaman’s faults, he was bound to her by oath and magic.

She surprised herself by reaching out to the man to wrap her arms about him, burying her face in the soft fabric of his collared tunic. She refused to cry, but the reassuring weight of his presence and the warmth she felt as he embraced her once more was a salve on the wounds she carried. It would never fill the hollow in her heart, but it took the edge from her pain if only for the moment. Tellia had been her rock, a touch stone she might seek in times of turmoil. And now Kittaman had offered himself in her place it seemed. He would be her rock. How much faith should I put in that sentiment, she thought.

After a time she pulled away and hugged the loose folds of her robe closer, too drained to speak and wanting nothing more than her bed. Kittaman lingered, resting his hand upon Auri’s shoulder before he slipped away as silent as a shadow. Exhausted and empty, Auri crawled into bed and succumbed to a dreamless sleep.

The next morning echoed the weariness Auri felt inside as heavy clouds hung in the horizon leaving the sky a dull grey. The smell of rain was heavy in the air, and it would not be long before the pregnant clouds loosed their burden upon Tir’Aryuna. Auri lay tangled in the folds of her bedding, wishing for the cooler climes of her northern home for a chance. The thin sheets clung to her sweat-dampened skin where they had not been flung from the warm bed. She closed her eyes as the first, fat drops of rain burst upon her window sill, their erratic patter turning to a thunderous roar in moments.

With the rains came a welcome cool she hoped would last through the day or at least the morning. It took a great effort to drag herself from the bed and into the bath where she lay soaking until her fingers were shriveled as old grapes. There would be no early run for her this morning with the rainfall turning the cobbled walkways and gravel roads up and down the island to mud and shallow rivers. Any travel was treacherous at best.

The brief respite from her training did little to improve upon Auri’s mood and she fell deeper into a slump as the morning progressed. The other girls kept to themselves playing games or talking quietly in sheltered nooks as they waited out the rain. As Auri slipped from room to room, few met her gaze; some were wary of Auri’s mercurial moods, while others -- even those who had stood with her on the fateful night -- remained distant. Perhaps they feel the same, she thought; the moment of empathy was fleeting. Not wishing to dwell further, Auri slipped away through the kitchen to a less visited part of the house. She found her way to a landing overlooking the eastern corner of the market, which Maaka used as a work space, and wandered silently onto the adjoining veranda.

Auri was glad for the lack of company as her thoughts turned on occasion to darker memories and the unsettling dreams that plagued her sleep. Her nights were a thing of torment, she thought; especially where Fiana’s incessant presence stood chief amongst her growing list of nocturnal aggravations. The memory tree, as if responding to Auri’s fugue, had grown twisted and dark, its autumn leaves turning molted and grey. Each night Fiana appeared bearing some new secret, some obscure memory that felt more illusion than insight. At the moment Auri was glad she had little recollection of Fiana’s conjurings; the feelings that remained with each morning served only to punctuate her sullen mood.

“You did not eat much this morning,” Reka said as she joined Auri on the veranda. Maaka had constructed an oil-skin awning that stretched over the better part of the narrow veranda overlooking the market place, leaving the floor dry enough to spend a little time outdoors without concern for rain or weather. The silk curtains billowed in the winds, damp now from the heavy rain. Auri nodded, but offered nothing in response, content for the moment to listen to the steady cadence of rain striking stone. The weather worked well to isolate the island from its neighbours, and in many ways completed Auri’s own isolation, she thought. Were it not for Reka’s presence, it would be a perfect moment without reminder of loss or grief. Of all those affected by the events upon the summit, only Reka remained outwardly positive.

“Has Kittaman come this morning?” Auri asked, her words almost lost in the downpour.

“He has been here all night,” Reka replied. Auri sensed a moments hesitation as if the woman were unsure of what more to say. After a breath, Reka too Auri’s hand. The sudden, unexpected contact jarred her from her fugue and she glanced up to witness an all too familiar concern in the Sansha’s eyes. “Kittaman has a good heart, but he is like any other man -- imperfect, flawed as much as you or I. He makes mistakes and bad decisions,, but he loves you as any man like him could love a daughter,” she said.

“You overheard us last night?” Auri asked. She watched Reka nod in answer, her lips drawn across her dark face refusing to say more than she had already. There was no need, Auri thought. The woman’s thoughts were evident in her eyes, the gentle set of her jaw and the soft brush of her fingers along Auri’s forearm before she disappeared into the house.

“Should I forgive him so easily?” Auri asked. This time the rain swallowed her words.

Auri remained in Maaka’s workshop until the downpour relented, turning to little more than a light mist and fog that clung to the island like a shroud.