I.

Raw avoided riding horses whenever possible. It was impossible to be a Viewer and remain oblivious to how angry it often made the horse, clambering onto its back and pulling its head around painfully with a metal bit. But when the messenger came to him on the Papé Plains with DG's request, Raw immediately left his apprentice in charge and borrowed a spare palace roan.

But he removed the tack and introduced himself first. And when Greyfell bore him amenably and safely to the palace at Finaqua, Raw bought him on the spot. This made Raw the only Viewer in the entire realm to own twenty-seven equines, none of whom worked unless they became bored and wanted to.

At leaving the Papé, Raw discovered how content he had become among them in this latest tenure undertaken at friend-princess DG's request. They were creatures of great spirit, the Papé, who had in their tongue a hundred and thirty-six words to describe the fruit groves in blossom-living vessels of reverence for the balance of the world around them. At least they had been, until the Witch wearing Princess Azkadelia blasted balance and world into stick and ash, leaving the Papé to become bitter ruthless hunters as outraged as they were starving, or die.

As the effects of the sorceress' destruction were reversed and the lush balance of the Plains was being restored, the Papé's wounds were healing-literally and figuratively. That he had once been hours away from being killed and eaten by the Papé himself was inconsequential to Raw now; it was the gift and curse of the Viewer that one could not experience the fear and suffering of another and remain aloof. Besides-if they had not caught him, he would not know his friends DG, Ambrose-Called-Glitch and Wyatt Cain, for whom he would not now surrender his love for fear or fire. Instead, Raw considered himself well-blessed by fortune and worked happily with his team of Viewers and volunteers to heal the land and the injured or sick Papé as well.

It felt more than a little odd to be walking in this palace again, marble floors cool and smooth through the thin leather soles of his shoes more familiar with sand and rough-worn stone.

Raw walked fast and kept his head down; he did not wish to tarry if DG needed him urgently enough to send riders for him. Also, and Raw still worked to accept that it was likely to always be so, moving through the unfamiliar world of crowds and glib conversation and incomprehensible customs was uncomfortable, confusing, intimidating. He preferred finding his way quickly and with as much stealth as could be had in Finaqua Palace at the nooning time, missing dearly the great empty plains and the serene green forests of his homelands.

To prevent accidental intrusion into the lives of the people he passed on his way to the receiving room, Raw focused his awareness upon DG's summons which, played for him in a small globe of crystal, was rather vague at first view. DG needed his help; that information was enough to bring Raw at a run under any circumstances, and both Raw and DG knew it. She would not call him thus without a compelling reason.

Her sister needed him as well. There was a wealth of possibilities there, ranging from troublesome to worrisome. Unlike some of the peoples of the realm, Raw's folk had welcomed Azkadelia home once the truth of her possession by the Ancient Witch was known and over; how could they not, knowing the nature of every living creature's spirit unless it was shielded from them by strong magic? But even after a year and a half, Azkadelia faced a rough road with some of the tribes and peoples who had lived longest and closest with the atrocities that came to them wearing her face. While they celebrated DG as everything from an avenging demigoddess returned from legend to right the world, to a recovered priceless national treasure-both of which, Raw agreed, DG certainly was-they regarded her older sister with open silence and suspicion and upon occasion, Raw had seen, the hand-fork sign against bad fortune made at the speaking of her name.

And DG had looked weary, apparent even within the watery confines of the crystal globe; more weary than Raw had ever seen her, even at the darkest times of the fight for the realm. Weary in body, Raw thought to himself, weary in spirit. And that frightened him.

"Well. It really is you. Had to see for myself."

The dry, wry words spoken at his left shoulder cut through Raw's concentration and he looked over to see that a tall icy-eyed man in a battered fedora and a dusty coat had fallen silently and perfectly into step beside him. Raw stopped in his tracks and grinned at him, inordinately pleased at the source of distraction. "Cain," he said, "You are well." It was not a question; the former tin man was still made of tough lines and angles, but his tread was less grim and there was a spring to it Raw had not seen before except in Cain's own memories.

Wyatt Cain nodded. "I am." His mouth quirked slightly. Raw knew it for the former tin man's version of a smile. "Is it always this easy to sneak up on you?"

Raw chuckled. "What is to fear? Raw is strong and among friends."

The former tin man's gaze, cool even within the shadow of his hat brim, fell upon Raw, swept him for a long assessing moment. Then Cain smiled again-his true smile this time, as unrestrained as it was rare. "Can't argue with that."

He offered a hand and only then did Raw reach out to greet him; Wyatt Cain's unease with touch was still palpable. Raw knew that, while part of Cain's reservation was the man's reluctance to be Viewed even accidentally, the majority was rooted in the 8 years of isolation and sensory deprivation he'd spent in a sealed iron suit watching the endless torment of his wife and son. Raw knew it as well as his own name.

So after Cain clasped Raw's hand briefly and let go they fell easily back into walking. "Going to see DG?" He asked.

"Yes. She called Raw. From the Plains of the Papé."

"I heard."

"DG is well?"

The tin-man hesitated in mid-stride, oh so briefly, and lowered his head slightly so the brim of his hat further shaded his eyes. "Last I saw her she was."

Raw waited to see if Cain would elaborate, but was not surprised when Wyatt did not; the man was both discreet and taciturn with subjects much less close to his heart than the younger princess of the realm-something Raw didn't need to View to be very aware of.

"Azkadelia?" He ventured.

Wyatt sighed. It told Raw volumes even though the former tin man changed the subject without answering. "So we could have provided an escort to meet you when you got here, you know. You didn't have to do this alone."

"Raw knows." Raw felt his brow, his nose wrinkle in distaste for formalities he simply could not fathom.

Wyatt chuckled and Raw smiled; the tin man knew him well. "I'm just saying."

Keeping his eyes on the hall ahead of them, Raw said, "Raw likes walking with Cain. Like old times. Without longcoats." He expected no reply, but when he glanced sidelong at his friend, Wyatt was hiding another true smile in the shadow of his hat. Raw considered himself fortunate to see it twice in one visit; it was good to be with friends.

They walked on, sharing the silence between them like a favorite old story.