'It's been so long,' the words flowed from his pen before he knew he was writing them. 'I don't think I can wait anymore.'

He twirled the quill slowly in his hand, watching the candle light dance across the incandescent green feather. Everything had gone so beautifully since their sudden departure, he knew that fact alone should have settled him. Yet there was a small, longing flame deep in his chest that refused to be snuffed out. He knew he no longer had a choice, not if he wanted to stay sane.

I have to go, he decided. I have to see them again.

He set the hummingbird feather back in his small inkwell, a handmade gift from one of his many admirers. He waited until the words had dried on the page, shutting the large book carefully, running his hand slowly along the worn leather cover. As always, the final night at the farm played vividly in his mind, almost too vividly.

He could feel the fear when the lines had snapped, the sadness when he had discovered Nicodemus' shattered body under the wreckage. Then came the anger once he'd learned what had really caused the 'accident', the pain when that monster's sword had sliced into his flesh. The scar was still there, burning whenever he thought about it.

But what he remembered the most was another kind of fear, when he'd heard Mrs. Brisby calling for him after the battle. Every piece of rope they could find had been used to secure the quickly-sinking cinder block, only for the weakened lines to snap from the weight. Eventually, he had lost all hope, grabbing the young mother to prevent losing her as well.

Of course, that was when everything had changed. The Stone had awoken then, allowing her to single-handedly save her children and move the same home they had failed to. It was the same jewel she had given him that night, claiming they needed it far more than she. The same jewel that now gleamed so proudly around his own neck. He cupped it in his palm, bringing it up so he could gaze into the curved, blood-red surface. A light still lived at the center, fading in and out like the pulse of a living heart.

Even asleep, it's still so beautiful…

After what felt like a short eternity, he let the gem slip, the simple gold backing thumping softly against his chest. He had felt so different since that night, the change coming on the moment she'd draped that golden chain around his neck. Like the fire in his heart, this feeling refused to die, instead growing day by day.

What could it mean, though, he wondered. What could the Stone be trying to tell me?

He shook his head, looking up to see the last vestiges of sunlight sinking against the jagged face of Thorn Mountain. If he wished to make an early start, he would have to rest now. He sighed deeply, turning from the view in his small window. He went to the door that connected his office to that of his secretary, seeing the young woman hard at work on her new typewriter, Arthur's latest achievement.

She looked up, her pretty face taking on a sweet blush.

"Is there something I can help you with, Sir?" she asked.

"Tell Odin to prepare two ravens," he said, a bit more firmly than he had intended. Was he really that affected? "I'm leaving for the farm at dawn."

"Yes, Sir," she hurried off. He ducked back into his office, going to the far door that led to his extra sleeping quarters. The small room held little more than a simple bed and trunk, but it had proved to be a godsend on several occasions. Once he'd undressed, he fairly collapsed on the mattress, clutching the Stone one last time before laying it on the nightstand. As he waited for mental exhaustion to pull him into the realm of sleep, he imagined what the following day might bring. If, for once, things would actually go the way he had planned.