FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The first in a continuing story line. This is something a little different from the last story I posted. Comments appreciated.

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'Beautiful,' the young woman thought as she sat on the cool stone of the window sill. 'So very beautiful.' She turned and looked at the stack of books that covered the table in the room. Shaking her head, she returned to looking out at the swirling snow. 'Not yet.' She thought. She remained there looking out for a few minutes more before turning around again to go back to work. She paused for a moment after standing up, and looked back. There was a shape out there, just emerging from the tree line, a dark shape against the dark trees, hunched against the blizzard's blinding snow. As she watched, she realized that it was a person, slogging through the snow.

'What on earth is a person doing out in this weather?' She asked herself and then watched the shape stagger and fall, halfway through the cleared area before the towering walls. Without knowing why, she felt apprehension settle in her heart. She realized that she did not want whoever it was to die out there. The feeling went deeper than just fearing a stranger's fall. It seemed instead to be as if the shape outside was somehow important to her. Even as she feared the man's death, the figure resolutely staggered to its feet and strode forward towards the doors of the school. She watched in amazement as the figure, obviously at the end of its strength, slumped against the massive iron-banded oak doors and pounded. She came to the realization that, in the blizzard's chill winds, no one could hear it.

Pulling her robes close around her, she rushed out of her chamber's door and into the hallway. No other members of the wizard's school were out this late, and she rushed through the silent halls, her silk shoes making no noise as she ran. Down the steps she went and into the entry hall. Running over to the doors, she grasped the large iron ring on the door and tugged hard. The door resisted her efforts and she heard the knocking begin to fade away.

'NO!' she shouted in her mind, 'I will not let him die.' She pulled with all her might and the door finally yielded to her pull, swinging open. As the door swung wide, the cloaked figure fell heavily to the stone of the entry way amidst a swirl of snow. Heaving against the door, she swung it shut with a hollow bang. Rushing to the man's side, she rolled him over gently. What she saw shocked her. The man beneath the cloak wasn't human. He was a feline morph; a half human, half cat, though she couldn't tell what kind because his fur was covered in mud and dried blood. Peering closer, she saw that not all of it was dried, for it was quite clear that he had been wounded badly.

As she sat back trying to decide what to do, she saw his eyelids flutter and then half open. She was instantly drawn to them, for they shone with a light that human eyes never possessed. She saw that they were a beautiful blue-green, and the pupil was only a slit in the torch light. The morph had a pleading look in his eyes as he spoke. His voice was faint and it seemed to take a lot of effort for him to speak.

"Help..." he managed to say, his voice cracking with pain and weariness, "Please help."

With that, his eyes closed. Jessica Starweaver looked around the silent hall and made her decision. She knew that the morphic races fought humanity and that they were the enemy of all that she knew, and yet she felt in her heart that she had to help this creature. Knowing full well what danger she was putting herself in, she hauled the morph onto his feet and supported him as he fell, unable to stand alone, then she began to half-carry him towards the stairwell. The Morph was heavy, and each step seemed to be the greatest of efforts for him. Walking up the stairs and along the hallway towards her chambers was pure hell. Knowing that she could be discovered aiding a non-human was enough to make the time drag out into an eternity. Every instant, the faint echoes of her footsteps could turn into the footsteps of a member of the school. Her every sense was sharper than it ever had been before and every sound, every dancing shadow from the torchlight became a person waiting to catch her.

When she finally passed the threshold of her chambers, she breathed a sigh of relief and stripped the morph of his dirty clothing before sliding him into the bed. He groaned as his torso bent and she could see three long, deep cuts across his chest that slowly oozed blood, seemingly made by some sort of claw. He was also almost covered by smaller cuts all over his body. She went over to a cupboard and took out bandages and a small bag of jade powder. Carrying these over to her charge, she set the bandages and the small pouch on the bed.

Taking the wash basin from the side table, she drew water from the enchanted tap set into the wall. Carrying the basin back over to the chair, she sat down beside him. Using a minor magic spell, she made the basin hover over her outstretched hand. Casting a second spell, flames lit in her palm, heating the water until it bubbled. Next, she took up the pouch and gently sprinkled half of the milky green powder into the basin, casting a spell. As the powder touched the water's surface, the steaming water frothed, turning an odd pale green. Next, she soaked the bandages in the glowing water, and then applied them carefully to his wounds.

The morph moaned in pain as the purifying energy of the jade rushed into his body, killing the infection in his wounds. Jessica winced at his moaning, knowing that the purification ritual burned horribly. However, he only let out one moan during the whole ritual, proving to her without a doubt that he was quite strong willed to resist pain like that.

After the purifying fires faded, he quieted and his breathing became more regular. After a few more moments, she knew he was truly asleep, not trapped in the grey twilight between sleep and wakefulness. However, she saw his fur seeming to quiver as he lay and wondered a few moments what that meant before realizing that he was shivering. Placing a hand on his forehead, she found that he burned with fever. He was burning up inside and it almost hurt her hand to touch his forehead. 'How can anyone travel with such fire inside?' She thought and took her hand away. Taking another blanket from a cupboard, she gently covered him with it. He soon stopped shivering and lay still.

Sitting back in the chair quietly and looking at the morph, she tried to see what was so terrible about him, but she couldn't find anything about him that was fearsome or terrible. She had been taught all her life that the morphic races were evil and terrible to look upon and that they would just as soon slaughter a human as look at them. And yet, she could not bring herself to hate the creature that now lay in her bed helpless. He looked so peaceful sleeping there that she could feel no hatred when she looked at him.

She went back to her desk and went to work, studying her magic carefully. When the sun rose a few hours later, the blizzard continued unabated, but a thin line of sunlight briefly fought its way through the storm to her window, finding the young wizard adept still working at her desk. As the shaft of sunlight retreated, it passed over her bed and she caught a faint reflection of silver-white, but it faded swiftly. Her charge stirred in the bed at the other end of the room and she set her work aside and watched him for a moment. He appeared to be waking up, so she got up from her desk and strode over to his bed side. When she neared the bed, she saw his eyes half open slightly.

The fever that had been in his eyes the night before was now gone, replaced by cool, calm intelligence. His eyes closed again before he took a deep shuddering breath and his eyes opened fully. The bright eyes darted back and forth quickly, taking in the whole of the room, and she felt her eyes once more drawn to his. Yet she avoided the urge to look into his piercing gaze. She had heard that some of the morphs had strange powers that no human possessed, and not wanting to be ensnared by the creature's power, she instead pulled the covers down to get a better look at the bandages that covered his wounds.

As she began to pull the bandages off to examine his wounds, she saw his mouth open and he started to speak. His voice, hoarse from his trials, could barely be heard and it broke at the first word, making it unintelligible. The morph coughed and shook his head, swallowing. Then he tried again, this time, his voice was quiet and she could hear no sign of the pain that he must be feeling in his voice.

"Where..." he began, and then swallowed again before continuing, "Where am I?"

"You are at the Scolor Wizards academy." She answered, and when he heard that he frantically tried to rise, but she restrained him until she felt the tenseness in his muscles relax. She realized then just how weak he was. It was a miracle that he was able to walk at all. She knew that if he had been at his full strength he would have thrown her off easily. "Please!! Lie still, if you don't be quiet it will be the death of both of us."

He quieted and lay still once more, understanding registering in his eyes. He looked down at the bandages she tended and grimaced slightly as she pulled the bandage off. He remained silent as she gently probed around his wound, exploring the damage. She could feel the energy of magic in his flesh, and could readily see that he was using a form of healing magic from the way the flesh quivered around the cuts. However, she was surprised to see that the wounds were not closing, instead seeming to stubbornly remain open. She prepared more of the bandages anyway and placed them on the wounds. He grimaced once more as the jade once again flowed into his wounds, but he made no sound. However, when she was about to secure the bandages again, he raised a paw to protest.

She looked at him and he whispered "Akema." She thought back to the herb lore she had studied and recognized the herb as being a sour tasting plant found in the deep wilds. She did not recall that it was used for any medical purposes, but shrugged and went to her cabinet and took some Akema leaves out. She had them only because she had been studying herb lore and she had needed an example of the strange plant. She brought them over to the bedside and he weakly reached out and took one of the leaves. She watched in amazement as he crushed the leaf in his paw and then sprinkled it over his wound.

She was equally amazed to see an eerie blue light spread from where the leaves touched. In an instant, the wound began to close slightly. She suddenly understood. She quickly crushed the remaining leaves and sprinkled them into his remaining cuts. The blue light spread quicker and soon all the wounds were visibly closing. She then placed the bandages back on and secured them. The mysterious morph had lapsed back into unconsciousness sometime during the time the Akema leaves had been working on his wounds.

Attempting to continue her studying, she sat back down at the desk and started to read a spell book. However, she soon found herself completely distracted. What had distracted her, she really didn't know, until a strange thought began to grow in her mind. The thought was bizarre and at first it seemed innocent enough. She was distracted by how soft and smooth his fur had been when she had touched it, despite the crusted mud and blood. However, she soon found that she had the urge to get up and go over to the morph and stroke his fur for a while. Strangely enticed and at the same time repulsed by the idea, she shook her head. But what disturbed her, was that she was only repulsed by the idea because it would disturb the morph's sleep, not because he was a morph.

Unable to concentrate, she crept out of the room and made sure to close the door tightly behind her. As an after thought, she cast a spell of closing on the lock before leaving. She made her way into the library and into the lore section. She browsed the titles for a few minutes and finally found what she was looking for, an old tome, titled Morphs.

Taking the book back to her room, she browsed through the brown pages and quickly found what she was looking for. What she read made her wonder about her charge. The book stated that all morphs have burning red eyes and that they would kill any human they saw. Yet, this strange morph had not tried to kill her and his eyes were a beautiful blue-green, not red. Curious, she turned the page, and found that the last few pages of the chapter had been torn out.

Disappointed, she closed the book and returned it to the library. She placed it back on the shelf and considered for a moment. Suddenly, she remembered that the books in the library were all scrolls originally, and she made her way back further into the library. In the farthest corner of the library, on a high shelf, she found the scroll that she sought. The scroll itself was covered in dust and cobwebs and she carefully cleared them away. Taking the scroll down, she found that the edges had been burned as if someone had tried to destroy it. She smiled, the scrolls were protected by more than general magic.

Looking around to make sure that no one was nearby, she opened the scroll hastily and found the missing information she sought.

"...Occasionally, a xenomorph will be born with predominantly white colored fur and lightly colored eyes. Many are destroyed when they are infants, but those that survive have been recorded to be predisposed to ignore the aggressive tendencies that tend to develop during puberty. These creatures, known by the name Ka-lin in their language, are outcast from their societies and it is not known what causes them to form. Incredibly rare, these creatures have been known to have unique abilities that no other Xeno or human has. These abilities have given rise to the belief that these creatures are the next step in Xenomorphic evolution. However, they have not usually been allowed to reproduce, so it is not known if these traits are inherited. These skills make them uniquely powerful and those that reach adulthood have been known to be able to slay large numbers of their cousins when confronted. However, they should not be feared, as they usually have a kind demeanor and a highly developed sense of duty and honor, three traits that their more aggressive cousins lack. It has been estimated that these Ka-lin are only born at a rate of only one in every five hundred thousand..."

The scroll went on to describe the observed social order of the morphic peoples. She skipped it and placed the scroll carefully back on the shelf. Carefully restringing the cobwebs using her magic, she made the scroll look like it had never been moved. Satisfied, she left the library. As she made her way back to her room, she wondered why she had felt the need to take such precautions. She realized that the information had been removed for a reason, and that it was probably a forbidden secret. But why? She thought, had the information been destroyed because it said that some Xenomorphs were not aggressive?

She pondered this as she went back to her studies. The only way that could be true would be if someone wanted to breed more hatred and mistrust. That had to be it. Setting this problem aside, she went back to her studies. She was swiftly becoming frustrated because she was doing work that should have already been finished. She had been having trouble with this subject for a long time and thus had extra work to do. After a few hours, she finally finished the work she had been assigned. Exhausted from not sleeping the night before, she sat down in a chair near the fire and drifted off to sleep...

* * *

As she slept, the nightmares that plagued her awoke once more. She stood in an empty void, but she knew that the troubles would not come from out there, but from the inside. Pain began to spread through her, and she felt her blood begin to pulse with it. She moaned and started to cry out. As it had in every dream before, the pain continued, but the void filled with terrible memories. The fire and death of her village being slaughtered. The memory of another student starting to grope her and her fighting for her life against him and his friends. Only a swift kick of her's catching him in the throat saved her. His face, open in horror and gasping for breath, pleading in silence for help haunted her nightmare as she moaned in pain. Finally, the pain grew so terrible that she began to cry out in pain and terror.

Suddenly, she felt her flesh split to even more pain and a shape burst from her. It became a mighty white tiger, larger than she had ever heard of. The creature turned and snarled at her, coming ever closer, advancing on her. She knew that it wanted to eat her alive, and she tried to turn and flee, but she found herself unable to move. The pain grew even more powerful, and she longed for it to end. But, she knew that her pain would not end. All these things were her memories and she knew that they would not end as long as she lived.

Suddenly, an odd light began in her dream. It illuminated her and she felt the pain lessen with the light's touch. But the bright white tiger before her still came onward. Suddenly, the light resolved into a figure that was at least six feet in height. She was disturbed to find that it was a Tigriss.

She backed away slowly from the figure, but it turned from her and faced the tiger. As if by its command, the tiger lowered its head in submission and walked towards her, and she froze. It walked right up to her and suddenly, the flesh that had been ripped open when it had left her resealed and the tiger vanished. She felt the pain lesson more, and the Tigriss walked over to her, gently holding onto her hand and the pain drifted away. At last, when the pain vanished, she began to wake.

For the briefest instant, while she was still waking up, she thought she saw the wounded morph in the bed across the room staring at her with his oddly beautiful aqua eyes. But when she looked again, he was sleeping peacefully in the bed. For some reason, she was comforted by the sight, and she wondered about that. As she gazed on him again, she realized what it was that was so comforting. His normally fierce face, before now drawn and wrinkled in pain, was relaxed and unlined. His face was calm and had an expression of simple, unworried bliss on it. Seeing that, she felt a deep calm descend over her, and she suddenly realized how warm the fire felt upon her. With the gentle crackle of the flames in her ears, she drifted away...

* * *

The next morning, the swirling snow ceased and the pale light of the winter's day peeped bravely through the clouds. As the rising sun filled the eastern sky with golden light, a thin shaft of sunshine shone down through the window of Jessica Starweaver's chamber and lit upon her face as she slept by the fire. She stirred and awoke slowly. Sitting up straight and stretching gracefully, she felt tendons pop and bones shift as she stretched. She realized that she felt good, better than she had in many a month. Since she had endured the horrors she had seen, she had had what the healers called the Sickness of the Mind.

The sickness was an inability to sleep, due to the nightmares haunting a person's sleep. It left a person pale and weak with dark rings under bloodshot eyes. Only a potion and a spell of strengthening could bring relief to the people afflicted by this strange sickness. Yet, this morning, she felt as if she did not need the potion and spell. Yet, knowing that to not use the remedy was to invite illness, she took it anyway.

She shuddered when she tasted the bitter potion and set the vial back down on the table. After she had cast the spell, she silently collected the ragged clothing that the morph had worn when she had found him from where they rested on the floor. She drew warm water into the wash basin once more and then dunked his clothing into it. As soon as the cloth touched the surface of the water, it turned the water brown and red, indicating that the stains that covered their surface were not just dirt, but dried blood as well. She wondered at the dark color of the water as she pulled the clothes out. They were still stained, even after washing them and she cast a spell of cleansing that forced the water from the now sodden garments, taking the blood and mud with it.

She then spread the garments out on the table and brushed a hand over the mighty tears in the cloth. Taking out a needle and thread to repair the tears in the silken cloth of his tunic, she looked in wonder at the size of the tears. Turning the cloth inside out, she got a surprise. Despite the unblemished surface on the outside of the clothes, the inside was covered with stitching, from great in size to small. It was apparent that the cloth had been repaired numerous times. She marveled at the wounds that he had obviously lived through and she wondered at how he had managed to carry on through all that. She began to sew, repairing the cloth once again. Once it was patched, she neatly folded the flowing silk tunic and moved onto his baggy pants that had an odd set of ties at the top and a reinforced patch on the back.

When she had finished repairing the pants, she realized that the only reason he was still alive was the fact that his clothing was very baggy. It hid the location of his body inside its many folds, deceiving any enemy that tried to hurt him. She folded the cloth neatly and placed it on top of the tunic. At last she examined the long cloak. As she did, she realized that there were no cuts in the cloth and she took it to mean that he had donned it after he had been wounded. The faint outline of a trio of pink lines on the white inside confirmed her suspicion.

The cloak looked to be reversible, one side grey-green, the other pure, snowy white. Folding it carefully, she stacked the clothes and laid them out on the end of the bed. Her charge stirred as she neared the bed, almost as if he sensed her. His eyes opened and she could see the madness that had been in his eyes earlier was now gone. He managed to sit up, and looked around the room calmly. Spying her, he gazed at her with his odd piercing gaze as if seeing her for the first time. She still resisted meeting that hawk-like gaze, but she got the strange feeling that he saw beyond her body and into her spirit. He cleared his throat and coughed lightly before speaking.

"If I may inquire," he asked, his voice still hoarse and quiet, but ever so warm and welcoming. "But what might your name be, miss?"

"Jessica," she stated, taken aback by the mannerly tone that he used and the polite language that he spoke. "Jessica Starweaver."

"Very well then." He stated, his strange aquamarine eyes gazing at her with gratitude as he leaned back against the headboard. "Thank you so very much for your kindnesses, Miss Starweaver. I owe you a debt that I fear I will not have the chance to repay. Now that I am healed of the terrible poison I was infected with, I must take my leave. It is too dangerous for you that I remain here any longer." With that he attempted to rise to his feet.

"No," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "Stay still, you are not well enough to leave."

He settled back, seeming to accept for now that he was staying with her. It was only then she realized that she knew very little about him.

"What is your name?" she asked him, trying to be polite.

He looked pensive and seemed to consider for a time. "I don't have a name, at least none that I know." Came his answer, and she looked at him, startled.

"Of course you have a name," she said, "Everyone has a name."

"Well, my mother abandoned me when my fur started to grow and I would have died save for the aid of another like me." He explained, "We were constantly on the run, and he didn't give me a name either before he was killed. I have lived on my own ever since then."

"Hmmm," she said, thinking to herself, "Well, what do you call yourself? There must be something."

"Well, Miss Starweaver, I suppose that you could call me Cerule, if you wish." he said, voicing the word he had once called himself in a quiet moment years before.

"Alright then, Cerule." She said, carefully removing the bandages, "How did this happen?"

"I was packing up my camp when I got jumped by a group of four Morphic warriors," He stated, not even reacting when she tugged the bandages off, "I managed to fight them off, but one of them had poisoned his claws and he slashed me when I fought him."

"You are lucky to have survived such a strike," she said, examining the closed cuts.

"I've had worse," He stated dismissively; remembering his torn uniform, she could believe it. He started to continue when a cough suddenly obscured his voice.

"I'll get you some water." She said, grabbing a mug from the table and filling it at the tap. Returning with the water, she handed the mug to him and he drank deeply, emptying the cup.

"Thank you." He stated, handing the mug back to her and then licking his upper lip. He grimaced when he tasted it and stuck out his tongue in disgust. "Ick." He said, "I don't suppose you have a wash basin that I could use?"

"I can do you one better." She stated, smiling, "You wait right there."

Getting up from the chair, she walked out of the room and started the sunken tub in the next room filling with scalding water. Next, she shook the remaining jade from the small pouch over the water, casting the spell of purification once more. Finally, she went to a cupboard and took a towel out of it, but then added several more to the stack, realizing that with all the fur that covered his body, he probably needed more than one. Once the bath was filled, she returned to his bedside.

"Can you stand?" she asked.

"I think so," He answered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and accepting her help in rising. She released his arm and allowed him to stand on his own. He swayed, but he remained standing. She purposefully averted her eyes and he started to make his way into the bathroom. He seemed to sway with every step, but she noticed for the first time that his tail thrashed back and forth with each step, maintaining his balance. As he disappeared through the door and she heard him slip into the bath, she moved over to her bed, beginning to change the sheets.

As she did so, she heard Cerule's voice raised in a song over the sound of him washing the dirt and blood from his fur and skin. As she worked, she listened to the words that he sung. The language the song was crafted of was strange and she did not recognize it. Yet, the song went to her heart and she knew its meaning. It was a song of contradiction; sorrow and joy, hope and fear, filled the song in alternation and the song brought her a strange sort of comfort as she worked. Still listening to his song, she sat at her desk and began to work, slowly translating a scroll. It was tough work and she was having trouble as the language it was in was archaic, with single runes having many meanings.

Just as she was starting to get frustrated with her work, she heard the sound of water flowing down the drain, and it wasn't long before Cerule appeared in the doorway. He had a towel tied around his waist and was using another to dry out the inside of one of his ears. She felt the quill in her hand fall from her fingers when she saw him for the first time cleansed of dirt and blood. His fur was bright white with silver striping, and, though marred by the numerous red slashes of healing wounds across it, she couldn't help but think how beautiful his fur was. And even more, she noticed for the first time that his muscles were incredibly well defined, and she had no doubt that he was massively strong.

He strode over to the desk side without stumbling and leaned against its surface, looking over her shoulder at what she was studying. As he looked at what she was working on, she snuck a glance at his eyes and she felt something stir inside her as she gazed at him. They were brilliant aquamarine, the perfect hue of the rare stone from the lands far to the south. Edged in brilliant silver fur, they seemed almost to have a bright metallic sheen. The feline slit of the pupil added mystery and seemed to attract her eye. She looked away when he began to turn his gaze towards her again, still fearing hidden powers.

"Is that Antarian?" He asked, pointing to the still un-translated scroll with a hand that still trembled slightly with weakness. She nodded and picked up her quill again.

"I have to translate it to common." She stated, opening a book full of runes and their definitions.

"I can help." Cerule stated, reaching out to take the scroll. "I know Antarian pretty well."

"How do you know that?" She asked incredulously.

"You didn't think that I spent all my time fighting and hiding did you?" he asked simply, and she allowed him to take the scroll. However, she noticed that his limbs still trembled with weakness.

"Alright, you can help," she said, rising out of her chair and taking him by the arm. "But you have to go back to bed. You are not yet strong enough to be up and about for a long time."

He started to protest but she shushed him and guided him to the bed. Once he was again under the blankets, she handed him an ink well and parchment and then walked back to the desk. She tried to go back to work on something else, but she found strange thoughts bubbling to the surface in her mind once more. She tried to silence them, but she found that to be an impossible task. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get the voice to shut up. 'His fur is very beautiful isn't it?' The voice inquired, and she was forced to agree, and his eyes...and suddenly she found a thought rising unbidden into her mind 'Oh to hell with trying to hide it, he is gorgeous.' She shook her head at that thought, a little scared that she had even begun to think that.

That thought was so wrong, she thought. It was bad enough that she had aided him, and even worse that she was still hiding him. Now she was thinking that!? It had been made quite clear since she had been old enough to understand it. To associate with a Morph at all was to commit treason to the human race, but to start thinking things like that was just...Unthinkable. And yet, she couldn't shake the feelings that she had. She knew rationally that she shouldn't even be capable of thinking such things about a morph, but it felt so incredibly right some how.

While she fought her internal struggle, she heard the quiet scratch of the quill on parchment coming from the bed pause. She looked up at him unobtrusively to see him pause in thought, biting the feathered end of the quill in his front teeth. She watched him for a moment and he took the quill from his mouth and scrawled a sentence on the parchment. Smiling to herself, she went back to her own writings, the struggle in her mind continuing as she did so. After an hour of struggling with herself, she realized that the only sound in the room was the crackle of the enchanted fire.

Looking around, she saw that Cerule's head had slumped to his chest in sleep, the quill resting on the piece of parchment that was more than half filled. Getting up and walking quietly over to the bed, she capped the ink well and collected the parchment sheets. Looking at them in wonder, she found the page that had her distinctive, sharp writing at the top in three lines. Filling the page beneath it, in flowing strokes, were thin lines of writing that seemed to twist like vines, over, under and inside one another. The strange, flowing script filled three other parchment pages and half of another. While she marveled at this incredible feat, she looked closer at the thin lines, and she saw that they seemed to be moving, dancing almost.

She shook her head and the script stopped moving. She decided then and there that she needed to get more sleep. She placed the half translated scroll work on the desk and slumped down in the chair by the fire. Even though the sun had not yet reached its peak, she felt sleep beginning to take her. She looked at the sleeping Tigriss in the bed and the sunlight glinting from the silver striping of his fur. Then grey fog obscured her sight and, with an unnoticed smile on her face, she slept again...

* * *

In the void world of dreams, she felt the pain begin again. She moaned in her sleep and the images began to wake around her once more. She could feel her blood pulsing with the pain once more. She moaned as the pain built inside her, but this time, she felt an odd warmth touch her right hand, and then grip both of them gently. She looked around and she could not tell what was grasping her hands. A voice began to sing a beautiful song into her ears, a song she did not know. Yet, in the dream, the pain lessened, and then vanished altogether. She heard the music continue, sung by many voices and she began to drift into a place she had not been in many a month. She saw the images drift away, dissolving into wisps of mist as the voice chanted. At last, she slept in peace...

* * *

She awoke hours later to find cold stone beneath her legs. She seemed to be kneeling on the floor and she vaguely felt the legs of her chair behind her. She still felt the odd, comforting warmth grasping her hands gently, and she heard voices that seemed to echo infinitely in the confines of the room, at times soft, at others loud; sometimes low and resonating, sometimes high and melodious. Every voice was chanting what she half recognized as a calming sutra, but it seemed to be infinitely more complex than any she had heard before. Opening her eyes, she found herself facing Cerule, who knelt in front of her. She realized that he held her hands in his paws gently and it was his voice she heard.

She saw his lips moving in tune with the song, and she realized that somehow, he had many voices at that moment. His brow was furrowed with stress that she recognized now as the stress of seeing horrors. She relished the touch of his soft hands on hers and she felt her heart and his beat in time. With a shock, she realized that he had taken away the horrors that troubled her sleep, taking them into himself and lending her peace through his song and his touch. As she watched him, the voices died away slowly and his eyes opened.

Gratitude for what he had done welled in her heart and she didn't avoid his gaze this time. Their eyes locked and she gazed into the depths of those exotic aquamarine orbs for the first time. In their depths she found not hidden power waiting to ensnare her, instead she found a deep, seemingly never ending sorrow. She seemed to push past it and found honor, courage and unquestioning good at the core of his being. As she touched the heart of his spirit, an electric shock sped through her like lightening and she felt something answer his silent call from deep inside her. The moment passed and he released her hands, and she felt strangely reluctant for him to cease his grasp.

He smiled in wordless understanding at her and went back to the bed, lying beneath the covers. She stood up and went to a cupboard against the wall, taking out some food. She walked to the chair next to the bed and set the food out, intending to share a meal with the powerful Cerule. They ate in silence for a time and she felt a strange sense of guilt for suspecting that he would ensnare her for some evil purpose. The feeling was so strong at the end of the meal that she spoke up.

"I hope you will forgive me for not meeting your eyes earlier." She said, "But we have been taught that to look in a morph's eyes is lethal because they have strange powers that will enslave our spirits, should we look into their eyes."

"I wondered about that." He said, sipping a glass of water, "I forgive you. We don't have the power to enslave spirits, at least I don't, but I do have some powers of healing."

"I felt that you might have had some sort of healing powers when I was treating your wounds," she said, taking another bite of food. "Though I have never seen the like of your skills. I have never heard a calming sutra like the one you were using. Where on earth did you learn to do that?"

"I didn't," Cerule replied, "I have always had these abilities, it is just a matter of concentration to use the power."

"You're talking about instinctual spell cognition, I thought that was impossible." She stated, thinking of a proposed type of magic that had been experimented with for a century before being abandoned as impossible.

"Perhaps, but I have always used magic, even when I was little." Cerule began, "It is sometimes only that that has kept me alive. I am constantly being hunted by my people, so, though I thank you very much for your kindnesses, I cannot risk having them come here. I have to leave."

He started to rise once more and she started to protest, but she allowed him to rise slowly to his feet and saw that there was no weakness in his limbs this time. Yet, she felt the strange need for him to stay. Trying in vain to find a way, she stood as well and spoke.

"I don't suppose that there is anyway I could get you to stay any longer is there?" She said, relenting and averting her eyes as he dressed. She found herself having the odd urge to look at him without his clothes. Savagely suppressing that thought, she kept her eyes averted until she sensed him turning around. She looked over at him dressed once again in the strange clothing he wore. When he donned the white cloak he wore to hide in the snow, he took a step over to her and took her hand once more.

"No, there is nothing that could make me stay," he said, brushing his furred thumb across the top of her hand, eliciting a slight shudder through her body. His face fell slightly when he saw this and she felt his healing energy flow once more into her. "Though, should you need my aid again, all you need do is ask."

She stared into his eyes and saw the sorrow grow a little in him. 'He thinks I shuddered in revulsion.' She thought, starting to say something, but, deciding that he might think it strange for her to feel pleasure at his touch, she reconsidered. For that was what she had felt, and she longed for him to do it again. But then he smiled slightly and released her hand, turning from her and walking into the corridors of the school. She sadly watched his outline disappear in the lightly falling snow...