Date: November 9, 1999
Place: Infirmary - Delphic Citadel - Haven
Cast: Cassandra, Daphnea, Dara, Jana, Samein, Starsong
Scene: Magical powers are in flux, and the dreams are growing stronger. A group of Delphites are witness to the strength of a young seer's unexpected vision.

Infirmary - Delphic Citadel - Haven:
      Sharp smells immediately meet the nose inside the infirmary, mingled scents of crushed herbs and antiseptic solutions assailing the senses. One side is reserved as a work area, long tables with accompanying stools standing ready, with neat shelves ranging above holding various jars, bottles, and other assorted containers holding whatever the healers may find useful in their work. A set of windows are carefully positioned to allow bright sunlight to flood the work area by day while over toward the other side, curtains stand ready to hide a neat row of cots. The whole room is kept impeccably neat, likely the work of novices.

The Infirmary is nearly silent at this time of night... the only sounds are the hushed whisper of kaftans and feet brushing against the floor as healers move softly to and fro. One healer is still, though -- Starsong sits quietly by the bed of a small Empyrean girl, head bent over her patient as a faint cloud of aether surrounds her, moving slowly but steadily into the child.

Shuffling steps scuffle low, resounding sounds near the threshold of the infirmary, Cassandra stepping into the tower and lingering in hesitance. She lingers in the doorway, too slight to fill it even with the help of her oversized robes. A smile, small and slight seems perpetual as she whispers in humming, "Did your magic break too, mender?" Apparently addressing Starsong, she slips from the doorway and scoots closer, until her shadow borders the Sylvan's.

The thin, flickering glow of aether wavers, threatening to fade out as Starsong's attention is distracted, her mind fluttering around, struggling to keep hold of her magic as she blinks up at Cassandra. Green eyes dimmed by sleeplessness and worry take a moment before they can focus on the clairvoyant, and Starsong gives her head a tiny shake to clear it. "It's not broken," she says in a very quiet voice, hand tightening in a reflexive, protective gesture on her patient's arm. "It's not." Despite the hushed simplicity of her words, she almost seems to be trying to convince herself with them more than she is trying to convince Cassandra.

The wild mass of tangled half-braids and their respective shadows give a patchy obscurity to the details of the delicate features behind. One corner of Cassandra's mouth lifts higher than the other as the halfbreed remarks smugly, "It will break. The Wrong is too far-reaching to neglect the menders, too." Curiosity overtakes the ominous foreboding, the halfbreed's chin tilting upward as eyes flicker-flash over to the patient. Thin lips purse as she crouches down at the side of the healer, a more tentative gaze slipping back. There is a blunt edge to her question, "If you lose control of your magic when you are mending, would it kill the person?"

"No!" The word escapes frantically from Starsong's throat, echoing far too loudly in the silence of the room. Eyes of Adepts turn disapprovingly in her direction, but the girl seems unaware of it as she stares wide-eyed in fright at Cassandra. "No, it's not like that! It can't be! I--I'm not strong enough, it wouldn't do anything, I'd probably be hurt more than they would..." The stream of chatter runs on, rising one desperate note higher with each word. Her hand is still wrapped around the arm of the little Empyrean girl in the bed. And she seems completely unaware that the ever-so-faint glow of aether around her has winked out.

Teeth bite mercilessly down at Cassandra's lower lip as small shoulders hunch inward to seemingly rebuff the caducean's outburst. "...Was just a question," the halfbreed guiltily mumbles in reply, suddenly finding utter fascination with some speck of dust on the floor, or something equally obscure. One shoulder unknots enough to bob up in a crooked, wounded-bird shrug, giving a rustle to her shabby feathers. "Our magic does not touch anyone, so we risk only our own minds." Still crouched, the whole of her indigo-bundled form scoots back a step or two.

Starsong's head bows, letting dark hair curtain her face for a moment. "Sorry," she says softly, her voice quiet now, and contrite. "I--I'm sorry," she falters, repeating the words with a little more volume to carry them to the clairvoyant's ears. "I didn't mean to... I'm scared," she admits, eyes blinking up from under dark lashes and over dark sleepless circles. "I don't want it to hurt anyone... but if my magic doesn't work at all, I can't help anyone, either." Slowly, she uncurls her fingers from the little girl's arm, giving her patient one last sorrowful glance before bending forward to reach out her hand towards Cassandra.

When the gaze lifts again, an ember of sympathy has begun to kindle within the pale, expressive eyes. Cassandra's musing frown is a comfortable settle, as her head tilts in, examining the offered hand this way and that. Finally, her own lifts and settles in the healer's, fingers stretching out until the webbing between grows taut. "Broken magic can sometimes fix again, Mender," she burbles thickly, giving the hand a weak, reassuring squeeze.

With a soft rustle of cloth against cloth, Starsong slips off the chair on which she sits to crouch next to Cassandra, her fingers circling around the other's. "Does it?" she asks softly, eyes lifting to meet Cassandra's in a hopeful, trusting gaze. "Do you think it will?"

Lashes are a rapid movement behind her hair, fluttering in blinking startlement. An uncertain look is shared with the joined hands before she peers back upward, teeth finally easing up until the gnawing is only a memory of pinkened skin. "'Pends on why it broke," Cassandra utters roughly, weight rolling evenly between heels and toes. "If it is because of The Wrong, no one knows yet. There are too many questions, and not enough answers." She seems... almost apologetic, gaze sliding out of view behind the cloud of hair.

"Oh," comes the quiet answer, the disappointment in the small word evident, but so too is the lack of surprise that comes with it. Starsong's hand tightens around Cassandra's, comforting now, as her eyes peer through the veil of hair to meet the other woman's. "We'll have to wait then," she says, her voice hardly above a whisper now, but astonishingly steady. "And pray to all the spirits to keep us safe."

Wings jolt and flutter at the halfbreed's back, before unfolding to limply lean along her spine. "Spirits?" Cassandra asks, visibly startling herself by the abrupt strength of her tone. Free hand lifting to feather her braids away from her eyes, interest flares once again. Rolling against her feet, she scuffles a hint closer, effortfully lowering her voice, "There are spirits that keep us safe? Can you see them? Are they in here?" Upper lip curling a little in absent fear, an edgy look studies every shadow before her attention returns.

Starsong's eyes pop wide open at the clairvoyant's sudden reaction, and her hand automatically reaches up to the other woman's shoulder in a quick, instinctive gesture of comfort. "Sshh...." she murmurs soothingly. "Sshh... it's all right... I'm sorry, I forget that not everyone thinks of the spirits the way my people do. It's like the spirits that the Empyreans call gods and goddesses," she explains, hand smoothing down the wrinkled cloth of Cassandra's too-big robes in a steady, gentle motion. "Grandmother Nokomis, Father Tirawa, Mother Onatha... you can't see them, but they move close to the world, and they keep us safe."

Either the words or the gestures of comfort, or perhaps both, seem to infuse traces of calm in the jittery Seer, a hand lifting to rub vigorously at her eyes. So many questions light up the gaze, hang on the partially opened mouth, until the fire of them threatens to consume her. "B...but.. but..," a childlike eagerness suddenly, impatient for the knowledge that is not yet hers. "Why do you name your gods and goddesses after relatives? How do you know they exist, if you cannot see them?" Cassandra peers at the healer with unblinkingly wide eyes, chin resting against her knees.

Starsong's hand slides around Cassandra's shoulder, circling her into a warm, comforting hug. Like a mother telling a story to her child, the Sylvan girl settles down next to the halfbreed, her voice softening as she smiles. "We know they exist because the seasons turn, and because the plants grow, and because the fish swim in the rivers and seas. The spirits keep nature in motion... we call them family names because they act like family. Our families," she corrects herself. "Grandmother Nokomis oversees everything, taking care of the whole earth, and all the people and spirits in it."

Daphnea steps into the infirmary from the courtyard.

The early-morning hush of the infirmary is not so much a silence as a sound -- the collective sound of healers' soft footsteps, the brush of kaftan cloth against itself, and every so often, a quiet murmur of words. One murmur comes from near the section usually devoted to the youngest patients: seated on the floor near one of the beds, Starsong and Cassandra speak quietly, the Sylvan girl's arm around the other's shoulders in a warm, comforting gesture.

Unprotesting, Cassandra shifts with Starsong's guidance, even seeming to grudgingly lean against the healer. Patiently she listens, though the questions remain a perpetual flame within her regard. Feet are tugged out from beneath her, until she is likewise sitting, legs crossing beneath her robes. "But... how does everyone know who is right? If you asked a Varati why something happened, they would say it was the will of the Atar. But who knows if it was your Grandmother, or their Atar that made it so?"

Starsong shakes her head. "Only the spirits themselves know," she says softly. "Grandmother and the Atar know between them who can do what, and they must sort it out between themselves. We're only humans... we can't know the minds of the spirits."

Jana steps into the infirmary from the courtyard.

Daphnea heads into the Infirmary, seeking a few herbs to help her sleep a bit better than she has been. Seeing the pair discussing things, she smiles and offers a softly-voiced, "Chookma," before heading past the pair and to the healers in the back of the room.

Starsong's eyes lift, blinking greenly above the dark circles of a sleepless night as she focuses on the passing Sylvan. "Chookma," she says softly in return, a quick smile lighting her face.

The door opens once more to admit a warm gust of wind from the courtyard and an Empyrean. Shuffling in on sandaled feet, her indigo kaftan trailing the ground, Jana stares about with a blank and tired gaze. The door closes with a quiet, muffled thunk, and as she takes her first step forward, she stumbles. A fold of her skirt had been caught between the wooden door and the frame.

Towards the sound of movement and, more importantly, the aureate glow of familiar aether of a clairvoyant's nature, Cassandra's gaze lifts without forethought to follow at Daphnea's heels. "Kookma," she echoes roughly, flickering gaze darting over to the Sylvan nearest her. "You did not answer my questions," the halfbreed reminds almost petulantly, akin to a stubborn child were it not for that fact that it is, indeed, a forty-year-old woman sitting on the ground sulking.

Daphnea heads over to the healer and begins whispering to her. The healer raises a brow and nods slowly. "Yes...we do, but why? Problems?"

Daphnea sighs deeply, nodding once. "Yes... very big. I really need one night of normal sleep." Her hand goes to her head for a moment as she rubs her temple.

Starsong's smile turns sympathetic as she says apologetically, "Maybe it doesn't answer the question all the way, but it's the best I can do... even the sachems don't know how Grandmother Nokomis thinks. Nobody can." A small shrug stretches the white cloth of the girl's kaftan, and moves her arm up and down against Cassandra's shoulders.

Grunts and repeated tugs at her skirt drift over the stifled air from the doorway, where Jana has focused almost all of her attention in freeing herself. It doesn't even strike her to re-open the door until some time later, when the cloth threatens to rip within her fingers. A quietly mumbled curse falls from the girl's lips -- words that no girl her age should probably even know -- before she turns inwards once more.

Daphnea sways a bit on her feet, eyes still looking at the healer as she waits for the 'help' she asked for, but not really seeming to see the woman at all. "I..." she manages before her eyes open wide and her whole body shudders from head to toe.

A low sound rumbles against the base of Cassandra's slender throat, as she comments flatly, "You place a lot of faith in a Spirit you know very little of, Mender." Faith in the unseen. The concept means little to her, without racial heritage and a lifetime of monotone textbooks. Still, the halfbreed lingers in the comforting embrace of the younger Sylvan without a peep of complain, eyes that begin to lift towards the awkward entrance suddenly swiveling towards the lurching Daphnea. "If you keep standing, you are going to fall down, little Seer," she remarks plainly.

The Sylvan girl's quizzical reply is cut off by Cassandra's sudden shift of attention, and Starsong lifts her gaze towards Daphnea, eyes swiftly widening in concern as she sits up straight, raised by the growing tension of her muscles. "Oh no," she whispers. "What..." And then the words trail away, lost in her confusion at the sight.

The figure who stares doesn't hear anyone, but her face shows the image of great pain. Almost unendurable pain from the sweat which has begun to pour from her forehead. Daphnea pants a few times, eyes going wider as she sways more so on her feet.

Grey Empyrean eyes lift up to the young Sylvan Seer, widening as they behold the subtle changes in Daphnea's aura. "A vision," Jana murmurs, directed more towards herself than at the others. More steps are taken in an effort to help catch her pupil before she collapses to the ground.

Stiffly, spine cracking in quiet protest as she does so, Cassandra's weight leans away from Starsong so that she might draw herself up to a rigid sitting position. Attention is reluctant to be given in this air of distraction, but finally her legs shift, weight leaning against her feet as she prepares to stand. Wordless, her gaze clings to the aura around Daphnea, head angling this way and that.

Blind to the movements in the aether that swirls around her, blind to the mystery occurring within the other Sylvan's mind, Starsong struggles inwardly, the aether around her rippling, pushing, straining... until finally, in a rush, it bursts into her mind and under her control, as if a dam had suddenly broken. Still seated, she reels back under the onslaught of sensation, collapsing against Cassandra as her face crumples in reflected pain. As if drawing strength from the woman next to her, though, Starsong battles back against the pain, forcing her mind back to clarity and concentration even as her body still wavers, her breath coming in a hoarse, shocked gasp. "A vision can do this?"

Daphnea twitches several times, face contorting in a snarl of agony before she sways on her feet and nearly falls to the floor. Thankfully, Jana's nearness may prevent this from happening. Not that she would feel the actual fall. It would pale in comparison to what she's feeling right now. Her muscles scream out and her whole body jerks as her eyes roll back into her head. The sound that finally comes from her throat is not one for the faint hearted. It comes from deep within and passes her lips as an almost howl from the soul. Torn... ripped... agonized and then left with a hole where a piece of her used to be. Her head sags to one side and her whole body gives way.

Frail arms dart out to catch the falling Sylvan, and in the effort, Jana nearly falls over herself. Even so, she has not the strength to support the Seer for very long, and in a tangle of wings, cloth, and hair, the pair sink down to the ground. The Oracle winces as that tormented scream is launched very nearly straight into her ear, yet she does nothing to interfere with the vision.

Aureate strands tremble around Cassandra's form, pulsing, quivering, threatening in places to snap entirely. Heightened emotion and empathy seize the brightly-burning eyes, though the muscles around her face are trained to reveal little inflection of disturbance. Swallowing audibly, the slim limbs draw up to surround the Sylvan that leans against her, offering a fragile hug in some extension of comfort. A howl from the soul seems to sear beyond flesh and blood, mind and matter, muscles quivering in their own bidding for that moment... no, minute of shuddering. "A vision can do many things, Mender," her hoarse voice finally articulates, swelling louder to expel the tinny echo of Daphnea's cry that stubbornly hangs in the air.

The tortured shriek falls silent, leaving stunned quiet in its wake as the Infirmary fills and then empties of the terrible sound. And into the silence drops a sob, a tiny, helpless echo of the howl, as Starsong clings to Cassandra for a panicked moment. "We have to help..." she says in a small, shaking voice as she begins to straighten up once more, forcing overwhelmed body and mind back into the service of others.

Daphnea lies still in Jana's arms and though she probably landed on top of her, makes no move to rise. She is locked in the pain she feels and won't be moving just yet. The echoes of the vision still hang in her mind, the pain... so... unendurable... still fresh in her mind as she struggles to remain some kind of footing to wake up. Not that she will just yet. Too much. Too hard. Too... incredibly painful. The only sign that she hasn't died from the experience is the twitching of the muscles in her arms and legs which seem to have a life of their own at the moment.

Dara has arrived.

It is a fairly odd sight within the infirmary. Jana sits in an incredibly awkward position on the floor, half-holding Daphnea who mostly sits on top of her. Echoes of a tormented scream have only recently just faded from the stifled air, replaced by a near-tangible silence. The young Empyrean Oracle simply sighs, looking weary and sympathetic in the face of her pupil's plight, though there is little she can do but raise a scrawny hand and push back a few damp locks of the Sylvan's ebony-hued hair.

As Starsong straightens, Cassandra again attempts to climb to her feet from her seated position upon the floor. Feet press firmly as she awkwardly climbs to her knees, and then unsteadily rises from there, trembling breathes coated by the rushing stir of robes and feathers. Deceptively impassive, the halfbreed remarks to the caducean Sylvan, "The vision can be stopped, but to do so would be a disservice. Torment comes for a reason, a herald of the past or future, and to deny it would serve to but ignore its warning." Inflections of emotion are subtly woven in her words, feet scuffling over towards the two Seers until the crown of her shadow covers their ankles. Strength subsiding, she sags into a kneeling position in front of them, ever vigilant of the ebb and flow and aether.

Dara's usually calm and serene face is shattered to an expression of anguish and inner pain as she slips in quietly. Her dress is soaked by sweat -- at least partially caused by the summer heat and her pale eyes are reddened. With lowered head, she limbs slowly inside, sliding upon a near chair. She does not bother to announce her presence in any way, merely sits down and watches the others.

Daphnea shudders in Jana's arm, eyes now open but unseeing as she tries to deal with what has happens only moments before. Her mouth opens to gasp a few gulps of air, her body still twitching now and then. She does not hear anyone, locked in the pain she has gone through. Her lips slip closed after a few long moments, muttering to herself though Jana may be able to hear her words since she is so close.

Half-supporting, half-supported by the arm that remains around Cassandra, Starsong struggles towards her feet. "But -- but she hurts!" The words burst out in an almost childlike sob, and the healer struggles visibly to keep her voice and expression under control as she draws nearer to the fallen Daphnea, the waves of pain washing over her more and more strongly. "Can't we stop that?" Pain-filled eyes look frantically from Cassandra to Jana and back again as Starsong's breathing quickens.

Samein steps into the infirmary from the courtyard.

To hear the words of the Seer causes a shudder to ripple down Jana's spine. Her head bends, so that she may catch every last whisper Daphnea has to offer, and her only response is but another sigh. From where she sits on the floor, wings and legs bent into awkward angles as the Sylvan almost sits atop her, she begins to fidget. Yet her hold on her pupil tightens, unwilling to let go or relinquish her to the care of another. Again her head bends, even lower, and she murmurs the Sylvan's name.

Samein steps into the infirmary, his brisk approach mitigated by the chaos within, slowing his movements and inducing him to take a moment of observation. The aura of the old mage in this aether-laden environment is like a jarring spotlight, even if he does not seem to be doing anything in particular. He wears his characteristically faint scowl.

It takes effort to draw the regard up from Daphnea, but finally Cassandra's will yields, chin tipping up as she skims a gaze over Starsong. The rolling shrug of her shoulders is quick, resigned. "You would know of that more than any here. Are Menders capable of removing this pain?" she returns in a wispy tone, before her gaze skirts back to Daphnea.

Starsong's breath rushes out of her in a sigh that carries her whole body with it, bringing her down to her knees beside Jana and Daphnea. "I can try," she breathes, closing her eyes for a brief, grateful moment at even the promise of some relief. One small, very nearly steady hand reaches out to touch Daphnea's limp arm, and the swirls of aether around the Healer begin to move slowly towards the other Sylvan.

Daphnea stiffens slightly at the touch, but responds in the only way she can at the moment. Her mouth opens and her muscles slowly... very slowly, stop twitching. She goes limp in Jana's lap, her face the only thing which still reflects the pain she has endured. Her eyes slip open, haunted depths staring blankly toward the ceiling as she begins to moan softly.

Samein's steps begin again, quiet strides which bring him closer to the little knot of people. The old man seems very calm, a little more gaunt and weary for what he has endured with the rest, but nonetheless stubbornly intact. One hand comes up to touch Cassandra's neck as he nears here, a familiar and vaguely intimate gesture of greeting.

Aware now of the others in the infirmary with her, Jana's head cranes about to peer up at the myriad of faces. She gives no verbal acknowledgment, nor even the slightest nod of her head as she resettles her attention upon Daphnea. Her hand falls away so that Starsong may administer her Healing freely, without obstruction, but by the way she watches the girl, she holds her own doubts that anything good may come of it.

Webbed hands fold against each other and perch on the crest of her lap, Cassandra tumbling into a brooding silence that seems a comfortable mantle throughout the young Seer's suffering. Questions surface within the chaotic sea of her eyes, unspoken and set aside from the time being. In this reverie, a visible startle shoots across her shoulders at the touch, chin flinging upward to allow her a hasty look behind. The greeting is returned by way of the thin weavings of a lopsided smile before she glances away, hand stretching over her shoulder to pat the Varati's lightly.

Dara merely crouches silently on her chair, slightly apart from the rest of the gathering. Her eyes are wide open, focused on Daphnea, expressing worry and concern, yet at the same time, a muted strain, an incapability to grasp the emotions around her.

Slowly, slowly, Starsong's head bows, and her hand slides down Daphnea's arm. The aether around her ripples once more, weakly, then falls silent, and her eyes close. Her shoulders droop, betraying the exhaustion that even the slight exertion on Daphnea's behalf has caused her.

Samein seems a trifle perplexed, truly, as his gaze flicks towards Starsong, then Daphnea. Such exertion for no exact injury. The old man steps forward to stand next to Cassandra, his hand falling to rest comfortably on her shoulder. Still, he remains silent, watching as if remaining to make sure he is not truly needed in this situation.

Daphnea begins to mouth a few words, voice growing stronger from Starsong's efforts. Her eyes begin to tear up, tears flowing freely now as she begins to become aware of what's happened to her. "Earth... Mother...no..." She begins to sob, hands gripping onto Jana as though she were a lifeline. "No...please...." Her eyes close and she shivers terribly.

Although not entirely certain as to what the Seer has seen, Jana nonetheless can venture a guess. She lowers her head once more, shifting her limbs in an attempt to keep them from going numb beneath the Sylvan's weight. Whispered words tumble from her lips, for Daphnea's benefit, but still... it's uncertain that they'll even be heard with the girl locked in her own little world as she is.

Jana mutters, " it... yet...."

The cry from Daphnea pulls Starsong's head upright, and her hand reaches out once more to touch the Seer's arm. "Sshh..." she murmurs, the soft, indistinct words coming instinctively even through her exhaustion. "Sshh... you're safe...."

Strength bred in Daphnea's voice seems infectious, and when Cassandra rocks back against her feet and moves to rise again, there is more steadiness in the rolling motion. Attentions drift towards Jana as the sea of robes ripple and resettle about her slight form, head cocking as a lighting strike of sadness tugs at her facial muscles. "She will be all right?" she questions, flat and lifeless, leaning back against her heels, and more subtly, towards Samein.

Samein squints down at Daphnea for a moment, his gaze intent, and then he nods slowly to himself, his silence thus far unbroken. He seems to think so, in any case. And amongst this sea of sympathy, he and Cassandra must seem jaded and old. Samein's glance finally flicks amongst the helpers once more, taking in their expressions. He finally speaks, his own tone flat, distant, "This seems to be coming to a head. These changes."

Daphnea manages to glance up to Jana, moving off of her teacher as well as she can, sighing deeply. Her eyes hold an haunted appearance and her face is deeply lined with the pain she has only recently experienced. "What... does it mean? When...?" She sighs deeply, pulling away from Jana as she huddles over her own lap and sighs deeply, rocking back and forth.

Pushing her way laboriously through the aether, fighting its resistance with every bit of her strength, Starsong struggles to sense Daphnea's condition, struggles to send some more of the soothing magic into the other Sylvan even as her arms reach out to encircle her in a comforting embrace -- but the resistance is too strong for her, and the glowing strands fly away from her, leaving her slumped and gasping, shaking on the edge of consciousness. Wordlessly, an Adept swoops in, scooping up the girl's slight form in his arms and turning towards a bed.

"Children over-reaching themselves..." comes his grumble, but with a strange undercurrent running through it... concern? Fear? No matter -- he is gone, once Starsong's white-clad body is tucked securely into a cot.

The sigh of relief is audible, though Jana makes an effort to suppress it. As she mulls over the answer, her fingers are already quick at work to rub circulation back into her legs. A subtle, dark glance goes to the Oneiromancer and the Arch-Magus, though she says nothing in reply to either them. Instead, she returns her attention to the Seer. "Who knows when... but when, and it will, there will be a tearing." Her words are mumbled softly, hardly given enough enunciation to be intelligible. She glances up at the Adept and at Starsong, brow furrowing with a deepening sorrow of her own. And terror.

Cassandra's gaze tips down to the hem of her robes, silvery hair shifting with the nod that is given. "The Wrong is not so distant now," she murmurs thickly, in some chord of agreement with Samein. "Barely does the aftertaste of our last sight fade when there is one to replace it, it seems. There is... little time left." Unspoken questions that possess no answers haunt her eyes as they sneak a look towards Daphnea, then quickly skirt away.

Deciding that whatever is happening here is going way above her head, Dara pushes herself up from the seat. Even without testing her empathic ability, she can feel the pain hanging over the room, but she also knows that they are tied to visions only she can not see. So, with a long glance back at Daphnea and Jana, she tears herself away and slinks back to the door, leaving without a sound to disturb whatever is happening in here.

Dara leaves the infirmary and heads back into the main courtyard of the citadel.

Daphnea sighs deeply, slipping deeply under into sleep since her body is incapable of strength at the moment. All she can do is nod vaguely, knowing Jana is near as well as concerned healers and knowing too, that when she is to know... she will. Regardless if she wants to or not. "Must... rest... so tired..." Her eyes slip closed quickly, now that she has found some measure of peace. Even though her questions have been put off for another time.

Samein gives a faint scoffing sound in the back of his throat, his slim form straightening. He takes a single step forward now, his shoulders parallel with Cassandra's, his hand sliding down her arm. "It is a shift, a change. Not an end or a destruction. I shall take what comes. Already, my own visions lessen. I think..." He pauses a moment, frowning down towards the floor. "I think that the power will be different. Mine, at least. Every so often, the aether segments itself in this way, so I have heard. Centuries ago, there were men who could manipulate vast swathes of what we now know to be sharply disparate powers."

Although Jana slinks forward to catch Daphnea before she hits the ground again, she is beaten to the punch by the presence of another Healer. A large, dark-skinned Varati in a white kaftan and apron scoops up the tired Seer, shuffling away to place her in an empty cot. A look down at the Empyrean suggests she find her own place to sleep before she too collapses and must be carried away. Wings and cloth rustle against the wooden floor as she rises, moving stiffly and reaching out to use the post of a cot for aid. But once on her feet, tottering, she looks towards Cassandra and Samein. For the span of a heartbeat she stares, and then wordlessly begins to walk towards the door.

Though attention had begun to stray towards Daphnea again, Samein's words draw Cassandra's regard up sharply. "You think that the visions of pain and destruction are merely casualties for a simple change?" she asks in startlement. "Certainly not the end of our existence, but I do not think we are moving headlong into metamorphosizing like butterflies." The argumentative bite is soothed by the sight of a weary Jana dragging past, a frown brimming with a sympathetic cast. "I was about to give you some stern caution or warning to rest well, or gather your strength for what is soon to come, but eventually you'll outgrow such glaring truths, Teacher. Perhaps you have already." Retiring her head in a bow, she finishes lamely with, "Hopefully, we shall speak soon."

Jana momentarily pauses so that she may listen to Cassandra's words. She stares at the halfbreed woman with blank, grey eyes, as if she were forced to peer through fog just to even see her. Fine lines appear at her eyes and brow, evidence of distress that she cannot see the woman's aura so clearly anymore. "I... I would like to speak with you soon, Cassandra. Yes, please... I..." She lets her words trail off in a sigh and hopeless shrug, and with a muttered farewell, forces herself to open the door. Mechanical steps carry her away to the courtyard.

Samein gives a soft, wry chuckle, murmuring in quiet repetition, "Metamorphosize like butterflies... no, I suppose we shall not. But this change seems inexorable. I think..." He pauses a moment, and then seems to make a slightly different decision, giving a delicate shrug. "I am a poor case. I have shut out my visions, and have some capacity to do so. Perhaps I am impartial. Perhaps the behavior of each individual in response to their visions will determine the future." And quite out of context, he leans to the side, brushing his lips against Cassandra's cheek in a very chaste kiss.

Hands flutter at Cassandra's face before one lifts, touching lightly to Samein's cheek in amiable affection. Thoughtful the smile turns, reflecting a fleeting clarity within her gaze. "I was speaking with a Seer the other evening and I saw within him a memory. Of someone who still ached with hunger for the answers to their questions, and thought that the future was a circumstance to be understood at the very least, if not changed." She turns towards him, though looks beyond for a moment, towards the entrance that Jana just departed from. "And I wondered then, when had I lost that fire? Would I ever gain it back?" She gives a quick but violent shake to her head. "Foolish questions, my old and very dear friend. Apologies."

Samein purses his lips, appearing quite serious as he considers these questions for a moment himself. "Quest for answers? I think that you still possess that fire, if you were to ask me. Indeed, you have almost seemed overwhelmed by it... not lacking at all. Perhaps you merely need a time of rest and introspection. Focus." He is silent for another moment, and then continues, "I feel myself turning in a different direction, however. What you taught me has become internalized into something far more... utilitarian. I still see the aether, clear strands of it everywhere. But the images are fading, all of them, even as I push away only the ones forced upon me." He frowns softly, and then continues, a bit more tentatively. "I can... find no sense of loss, within myself."

Rue tinges the smile, and hints of weariness weigh the words, as Cassandra murmurs mirthfully, "I fear that the day I see you in panic or distress will be a day I will have truly lost what is left of my mind, Samein. No matter the situation or circumstance, you seem to bear it well." Daphnea's reactions seemed to bring her out of her earlier air of absentmindedness, and the former Sibyl seems colored only by the shadow of the Seer she once was. But it weighs upon her, tearing at her, a strength that she was not yet meant to possess. Wanly, she adds, "But I should probably go rest, endlessly strong one."

Daphnea sighs softly and turns on the cot as she tries to get comfortable. Her eyes open only fractionally to see who may still be around before she sighs deeply again and slips her eyes closed. She doesn't even know how to talk about what she's recently felt.

Samein inclines his head slightly. "As you will." He squints at you for a moment then, his gaze briefly intent, and then his voice continues, calm and consistent. "However, I do not think you have eaten, so recently. You will be in your chambers? I shall bring something from the kitchen and accompany you shortly." It is a statement, not a question. Samein's nurturing instincts are much more subtle, but nonetheless there. "Then, sleep. I could use some myself. Defenses are tiresome."

Cassandra leans on the bare edges of her toes to reach for Samein's hand and pats it, a wordless gratitude. "I will be in my chambers," she murmurs quietly in reply, drawing back with dragging, slow movements. Beyond the form of Samein, against his sleeve in a fuzzy blur, Daphnea is a haze that gradually clarifies as she looks beyond in concern. "Rest well, little Seer," she offers softly, then turns awkwardly against her heels to close the distance to the doorway.

Samein stands there for a long moment, his head tilted to the side. His lips bear a faint smile as he watches her walk away. As the moment draws onwards, the old man finally stirs, reaching up to rub at his temples wearily. He, too, prepares to make for the exit.

Daphnea sighs softly, falling into sleep once again. At least, until her teacher returns and she may be able to ask some much-needed questions. Inwardly, she thanks all for having been able to ease her pain a bit. Though she still suffers the after-effects from it, at least she is no longer in agony.

FIN  

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