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[Adrian Bishop]

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Adrian was still unnerved from his dream. If only he could remember it. He dabbed at the blood that spilled from his mouth with a strip of cloth and read the sweat-stained letter again. The parchment was nearly rent by the creases from folding and unfolding, and now it was blood-stained too, but it was all the parchment that he had. Carefully, he turned it over to write on the reverse side.

Dear Soren,

The camp is ready. I will come for you and whoever else I can gather at the Wayside tomorrow. Please forgive me for being so long in responding. I pray that you are well and safe. If you are not there tomorrow, I will find you. Even if it means marching into Charnel Hill myself. Till then, may peace settle into the seams of your heart and mind.

Till Soon,
Adrian

He stripped a wild rose vine of its thorns and tied it around the parchment. No blooms in winter, he thought, but the secrets of beauty waiting to unfold. This will have to do.

He tied the letter to the foot of the pigeon and whispered to it in a low and ancient tongue. Then he released Pidgy into the night, and listened until the flapping of his wings disappeared into the darkness.

[Soren]

---

Soren stumbled through the Minoc Moongate, disoriented and tripping over her own feet. The trip to the Gypsy camps would normally have taken a half hour. It took her two and what greeted her was not the noise and the smell of an ever present campfire. What greeted her was silence. Every last man, woman and child had vanished. The coals that once burned bright beneath kettles and pots were cool to the touch. There was no smell of food, there was nothing. The camp had been abandoned. "Where..?" Terror gripped her. Sanctuary was gone. The only place she would have considered home now, no Adrian, no Xana, no Lady a'Dae. Every last one GONE. Her eyes moved back and forth quickly trying to keep up with the images running through her head. Something had to have happened. There had been families here. "WHERE??" It was an internal scream. Once, Twice, three times she rounded the camp looking for any sign of where they might have gone. But there was none.

It was then that she lost what little composure she had. Tears poured rained down in curtains of anguish. Alone. Just like Bryelle had said she would be. Sbs racked her body and she folded over crumpling into a hysterical mess on a nearby log. She was too lost in her despair and pain to notice the set of feathers that had come to rest beside her. Finally would the bird had had enough of her crying and whining to herself it pecked her leg.

"Pidgy!!" The shriek would have woken any sleeping body if there had still been some left. "I am so glad to see you!!" The small bird didn't seem to know quite how to take her because he stepped back and pushed the parchment toward her. Soren took the parchment her eyes riveted to the blood smears that had dried on it. It was the same letter she had sent him. Holding tight to the piece of well worn greenery she turned the letter over and over in her hands and began to read through. Adrian was coming for her, for them all. Adrian was coming for something that wasn't here.

"A quill. Pidgy I need a quill." The bird eyeballed her as if to say, "Where do you expect me to pull one from?" Frantically Soren turned over every last leaf, log and twig in search of something to both write with and write on. "Where would parchment be?" Ransacking what items had been left in the various tents she finally came upon a half ripped piece of parchment and a well of ink, but no quill. With no other options she dipped her already dirty finger into the well and started to write.

"Dear Adrian,

Things are not well. Gypsies all gone. Xana, Lady a'Dae... all gone. Nowhere to be found. Things not alright. I will wait for you here at camp. Hurry.

Soren"

Ripping off a piece of her dress, Soren tied the small piece back on Pidgy's leg. "Find him, quickly."

[Adrian Bishop]

---

Morning was near, and Adrian sat in perfect silence, meditating on the sounds of a mockingbird, crying for the dawn. From out of nowhere, a rampant and chaotic flapping circled him and landed in his lap with an ungraceful plop.

The ruffled grey pigeon looked up at Adrian, eyes wide and blinking, and the little bird expanded and contracted like a bellows as it tried to catch its breath. Adrian smoothed his palm over the puffed feathers on top of Pidgy’s head before taking the parchment from him. He held the torn letter in one hand as his free hand stroked the pigeon to soothe it. His hand stopped as he finished the brief note. Something was wrong in Minoc. Luckily, his backpack was already packed and waiting beside a stump. He poured what tea he had left in his mug over the fire and kicked dirt over the embers to douse them. With one last look around the camp, Adrian took up the pigeon and settled it atop his backpack to rest as he made the trek to Minoc. If the gypsies were gone, they would be at the Wayside. But first things first, he had a frightened blacksmith to rescue.