A/N: As you will realise shortly, this takes place after they enter the Song Portal for the first time, and end up in West Harbor. I was always really dissatisfied with everyone's reactions to it, and so here we go. Reviews would be appreciated!:)
"Where are we?" Casavir's voice was very quiet.
"I think… I think we're in West Harbor."
Shandra whispered, "Oh Gods…"
We were in front of the bridge, facing the village with the stream and my father's house to our backs. From here, I could see that every house had been torched, with some embers still flaring up from time to time. I could make out crumpled forms in the twilight, and my stomach lurched.
I turned around very slowly, the shard burning in my chest. The waters of the stream were black like pitch now, its smell of rot mingling with the miasma of smoke and death. I looked at the house and saw that all that was left of the place where I had grown up was a few charred beams. I couldn't breath. As I approached, I left my eyes roam over the area despite my nausea, desperately hoping that I wouldn't see anything of my father. He would have known to leave! The land would have told him.
There was nothing.
A heavy hand gripped my shoulder, and Casavir's deep blue eyes met my own dark ones when I turned. Shandra came to put her arms around me.
"We've got to search for survivors." Even as I said it, I saw the hopelessness in their eyes, but they nodded their assent. Bishop frowned slightly, but trailed behind us anyway.
I recognized the pile of robes from afar, and swallowed hard, then walked towards it. It was Brother Merring, as I had expected, and I knew from the angle of neck that he was dead. I knew it, but I had to make sure, feeling for a pulse, watching for a breath that would never come.
I've been here before. This nightmare of smoke and death, checking the limp bodies for life, always, always, finding none. Georg, Web, Wyl, and so many more. The coldness of death radiated up my hands, striking deep into my core. I saw a familiar red dress, and couldn't force back the strangled sound that escaped my throat.
Aunt Retta lay with arms thrown wide, summoning magic that would not come in time to save her. The hounds lay by her side, faces twisted into rigid snarls. I knelt by her, brushing graying hair away. Her face was contorted with fear and pain, and there were parallel gashes where a shadow's claws must have raked her face, burning her flesh away to the bone. Within the smell of sick death, a musty aroma of herbs wafted up from her hair…
"Remember this root, Yun?"
"That's the one that can protect us from disease! It's called Meade's root, right?"
"That's my girl. Now you run along and play with Bevil. It ain't right for a girl to be in this musty hole on such a fine day."
"But I like the smell of all your herbs, Aunt Retta. And Bevil doesn't want to play with me anymore. He likes Amie now."
She chuckled, and tousled my hair. "If you say sorry for telling him that tadpoles are magic, then he'll play with you again."
"But I don't want to."
"You just have to do some things, dear. That's life."
"No!"
"No!" The floodgates of memory opened wide, and children's voices came crowding in as we skipped and ran and caught shrimp. Their dying screams layered over that wall of sound, followed by Georg's tales of the swamp elf, Brother Merring's sermons, Aunt Retta's voice…
"I heard that you're back. And it's not for good. If you'll excuse me, I have some errands to run." She walked away, and I pretended I didn't hear the coldness in her voice.
"I'm sorry!" I was running now, anywhere, just away from here. "I'm so sorry!"