Disclaimer: Valdemar and concepts belong to Mercedes Lackey. Original characters and this story belong to the author.

Original Characters: Herald Sorret Gail & Companion Divya Herald Loki Singer & Companion Cria, Companion Rift, Monarchs Own Herald Renn Larkin & Grove Born Companion Gwydion, etc.

Notes: This fic takes place in the Shifted Silver universe; Heraldic Gifts have evolved into a broader spectrum than those in canon Valdemar, and Companions are not always entirely white. Shifted Silver was a roleplay community run by Kierseth that myself and a few other people played in a handful of years back.

Other fics in this universe: No Tomorrow by etcetera-cat, Yesterday by Senashenta (sequel to No Tomorrow) and Whiskers by Senashenta, as well as an upcoming one-shot by Senashenta entitled Magic.

Name Changes: Some names have been changed, since they were bothering me. Most importantly, Cahyr's name has been changed to Rift. This is because I already have a "Cahir" in another of my fics and it was too close to the same for my liking.

OUTLANDER
Prologue

Rift woke abruptly from a deep and dreamless sleep.

The night was quiet, filled with the soft whisper of the wind and the faint sound of crickets singing to the moon. In the distance the Terilee river babbled and trickled as it always did, save for the two coldest weeks around Midwinter when it froze solid and became a source of games for the Trainees.

It took a moment for the sleep-cobwebs to clear. Rift shook his head, whuffing softly, and shook his head before lifting his nose toward the spring sky and flaring his nostrils, inhaling deeply.

Something was different; something was off; something was tickling at the back of his mind, an itch between his ears, below his mane and behind his eyes that he instinctively knew he wouldn't be able to scratch away.

The moon stared back at him, a pale, pitted circle reflected in deep pools of sapphire.

His Calling. Even without being told he knew that was what it was. Rift had, of course, never experienced it before—but there was no mistaking the feeling. Anticipation tingled along his skin, pins and needles prickling up his spine. An uneasy feeling punctuated it, though—unpleasant, cold, shivering.

:A new land.:

One silver hoof shifted, lifting and then pressing down again, not quite stamping. Finally he moved, turning slowly to move toward the Stable, his steps quiet in the clover and sweet grass that covered the Field that had been his home for the past eight-and-a-bit years.

The Calling was what every Companion lived for. The Search was what they dreamed of, from the time they were old enough to understand what it was, their purpose in existing. The journey and the goal, the moment they found their Chosen, the second their eyes met—brown, green, or blue. The feeling of falling, being complete.

But this…

Rift paused by the gate to the Field, waiting for the stable hand on duty to notice him and come over to unlatch it. The same stable hand would likely help him into his formal tack and be the one to see him off.

:Rift.:

Gwydion appeared behind him as if summoned, his approach silent, though his presence was easy to feel and not so easy to mistake. Such was his magic, greater than even the best of the rest of them.

:Grove Born,: Rift acknowledged. He turned his head as Gwydion's steps paused beside him and the slightly larger stallion looked off toward the stables, where a candle flickered in the window of the stable hands room.

:I believe Roxie is on duty tonight. She is diligent but not good at night shifts. She might have fallen asleep.: Gwydion tossed his head lightly, then looked sideways at Rift. :Your Call?:

:Yes.:

:You may have to wake Roxie. Perhaps you should jump the fence.:

That was a possibility. Rift would have eventually considered it, but at the moment he had more on his mind. He looked forward again, then lowered his head until his nose nearly touched the grass, eyes dark and far away.

:My Chosen is distant. I can barely Feel him. He is far away. Certainly not in Valdemar. Nor Karse, or Hardorn, or Iftel. Not even Tolmassar. Farther even than that.: This was a quandary, a problem certainly. He knew that no Companion had traveled so far On Search before.

Gwydion was silent for a moment, thoughtful. His eyes half-focused on a place in the air between them and the stables. Distant. It was not the first time Rift had seen the Grove Born in that state; contemplative. He knew better than to interrupt when Gwydion was thinking over something that important.

:How far?: He asked finally.

Rift closed his eyes, feeling out along the vague Bond that was only just beginning to form. He traveled that faint path, mind reaching out as far as he even knew existed—and then beyond even that far.

:I'm not sure, Grove Born. Very far. Beyond the Icepack Sea.:

It was generally theorized that there was more than just ocean beyond the reaches of the Sea, but no one from Valdemar had ever traveled that far—or at least, no one had tried and then returned. The known map of countries ended there, trailing off into myth and legend, sketches of sea monsters and scribbles of here there be dragons.

There was another long silence. Then Gwydion snorted, breath sighing out of his nose and his chest heaving deeply once before flicking an ear, the motion decisive.

:Do not leave yet.: The other stallions Voice was terse, clipped—he was obviously worried, even if he didn't say as much. :I will speak with Renn. This will need to be discussed among the Council.:

:But—my Chosen!:

:Yes,: Gwydion's tail lashed and he bobbed his head, craning his neck to touch his nose lightly against Rift's shoulder. :We will not keep you from your Chosen, Rift. But this must be thought out and planned thoroughly. You cannot simply jump in with all four hooves without considering what may lie ahead of you. So please be patient.:

It was, of course, common sense. He would be traveling far, and for a very long time. There was a good chance that he would not see Valdemar again for months or even years, and he could end up far enough away that not even the Grove Born could Reach him.

And there was always the worry of him coming across a new settlement or country—diplomacy had to be considered as well.

:I—: Rift finally bowed his head downward again, feeling antsy, the urge to go now niggling at the back of his mind. If he had been human he would have been fidgeting. As it was, he shuffled, stamping, uneasy. :I will wait, Grove Born. But please hurry.:

:Of course.:

A moment later Gwydion was gone, vanishing as silently as he had appeared, leaving Rift to pace up and down the length of the fence around Companions Field for the rest of the night and long after sunup.