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[Eclyse Christian]

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Troubling. News these days was always troubling, it seemed. Eclyse lay in her bed, her mind fighting off sleep despite her every wish to be claimed by it. A lantern was lit on the dressing table that separated her from the small empty bed across the room. This’ll ‘ave to be remedied. I will have a huge bed, with loads of pillows, when the hall is finished.

She sighed. The hall had to be finished. One more item on her list of things to do.

But without warning, her mind went back to Rythane’s visit, and she replayed the information he’d gathered in her mind. Aurelia. Keeping company with the Dravens? It was dangerous, to say the least. They were a bit suspect, always secretive. Always quiet, and always watching the door. She knew, too, that Mei Fa Lo and Lady Avella were kept in their company. Vampires in their midst! Surely they knew!

Rather I kill ‘er myself, right ‘ere in the heart o’ Ashencrosse than have one of those fiends kill ‘er. Can on’y imagine how painful it’d be t’ be to bleed t’ death into a hungry mouth. Eclyse shuddered at the thought and forced it from her mind. She could protect Aurelia every-bit as well as the Dravens, and without such risk. Shivering a bit, she convinced herself it was the icy fingers of winter which stretched across the cabin like a shadow on the floor, and not the notion of losing her childhood friend – and Countess – to such a senseless and worthless foe, that made her shiver so. She pulled the quilts up tightly around her neck and forced her eyes to close against the visions in her head.

Softly, sleep descended, and she wasn’t even sure when it had happened. But for the peace, she was thankful. Her breathing slowed, and her head sank deeply into the pillow. Fitful dreams flitted through her mind, and in her dreaming state, she tried to make sense of the cries and whispers which permeated her visions.

Suddenly, a shriek woke her with a start. Eclyse sat bolt upright, and looked to the north window. Somewhere beyond the windowpane, the night erupted in wails, screams, whispers – the sounds of spirits clawing in vain from beyond the veil. Eclyse arose and wrapped her arms tightly around herself to stave off the chill, padding barefoot to the window to look out at the gypsy camp to the north. Still charred, desolate, and abandoned, it lay black as Drow in the pale moonlight. Lights flitted aimlessly from where had stood one tent to another. Back and forth, restless and wandering. Here a faint blue orb, and there a yellow. Cries in the night that would not be quieted, would not be consoled.

Some nights it was worse than others. For herself, and for the spirits themselves. She would see to it that Arahim’s ship was stocked and ready to go within twenty-four hours. If there was an answer out there, he and Cezanne would find it. And if it was their wish to make the journey, it was time they were on their way.