The flames danced and licked up into the night air like snakes coiling and then striking, each whip of fire taking up more and more ash into the soft evening breeze. We sat across from each other, the smolder of human remains slowly dwindling between us.

He sat with his back against the thick trunk of a pine, his eyes fixed on the dancing blaze, never once moving them away. I knew that he was deep in thought; the hard manner in which his face was set and the way his brows came together made it nearly impossible to think otherwise. Therefore, I didn't want to derail any train of thought he might have started on. We seemed to be at an impasse, and any idea was a welcome idea at this point.

Of course, maybe his thoughts weren't contemplating my offer at all. Maybe he was thinking of past events, past happenings, still trying to place the pegs into their appropriate slots—still trying to make senseless things make sense.

"Jasper," I called softly.

Strangely startled, he jerked out of what thoughts he'd been having, resembling the behavior of a frightened cat.

Instinctually, I apologized for disturbing him and for giving him such a fright, to which he simply smiled, seemingly embarrassed by his fear. He took a matter of seconds to gather himself before looking me dead in the eyes

"Yes, Alice?"

I hesitated for a moment, taken off guard by his grave stare. It was not as though the previous look of wonderment had left him, but now it was heavily masked with a somber, intense and brooding gaze. Now, each time he'd met my eyes, I could somehow feel and see the pain that he had felt, the pain that he still felt.

"I just wondered if you were alright." My voice, having its usual soprano ring, was just as quiet as his had been—a mere whisper in the night.

He sort of smiled again but remained still as a Grecian statue.

"Yes," he breathed, "I'm alright. Just thinking is all."

He rose and put his hands in his pockets; he almost looked human for a moment. Tilting his head back he stared up into the night and sighed.

I felt another pang of curiosity as I watched him pace, longing to sympathize with what seemed to be such a tortured creature. I felt my mouth open to ask his thoughts but I found my place and restrained.

There wasn't a need to press him though. For once he willingly blossomed open and revealed what he had been mulling over.

"I don't like this—this monster that I am." He gestured towards the flames between us, shaking his head and looking away. "I don't even know who she was; I don't know who any of them were, all those people—innocent people." He ran his fingers through his golden locks and sighed heavily once more.

"I'm sorry," he said then. "I don't mean to bombard you with my musings. I'm just thinking out loud."

I smiled at him as a sign of my understanding, gesturing for him to proceed.

He smiled back at me slightly, and then went back to pacing.

"I hate what I am, Alice; I hate what we've been made into. But I don't know how to live any other way. And I'm not so sure I'm ready to look for a different way, either. I just…" He trailed off, resetting his eyes on the pile of remains.

"What you're saying makes sense," he continued. "I'm just scared. I'm scared to begin a different life within the one I've already begun."

But he didn't sound scared, I thought.

Nonetheless, I was touched by his vulnerability. He didn't seem like the type of fellow who would easily speak up about his internal battles, much less about the fear he'd been harboring. He was an old one—certainly not someone to be trifled with. He'd obviously seen his battles, scars of innumerable amounts carved left and right on his face and arms. He was strong and composed, mature and centered. He knew the right things to say and had clearly found an appropriate and effective way to survive up to this point.

So I valued what he had confessed, as simple as it may have been, because I didn't think it was something I'd come by on any other given day.

"I'm scared, too," I admitted, shifting my weight slightly. "But I think this might be our answer." I bit my lip. "The answer," I quickly corrected.

There was that smile again—a crooked, dashing grin, and I knew he'd caught me.

"I suppose, young Alice, that that's true. This just might be our answer." He looked me in the eyes again, the red seeming to smolder playfully within his.

I grinned shyly, looking down into my lap.

"So, does this mean we'll head for the clan?" I asked.

He nodded, sinking back into a more business like, serious manner, his arms crossing over his chest. "Yes. I think I'd like to meet them, at least."

I nodded too. "That's a good way to go about it. Let's just meet them and see where things go."

After an entire night of deliberation, we were decided. Once daylight had come and gone, night falling once more, we'd move cautiously in the direction that my visions had beckoned me, searching for answers as we went.

Now that we'd come up with what we were going to do, it was just about passing the time. Sleep wasn't an option, however appealing it may have been, so I wondered if more conversation was on the agenda or if my new friend would rather be left alone.

"Tell me," he said now, "where are you from?"

The question had taken me off guard, emotion already brewing in the back of my throat, producing no tears, only venom.

Of course I shrugged, struggling to seem indifferent to the question.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely, seeing through my false indifference and measuring my reluctance. "I shouldn't have asked so casually." It was him that now looked down into his lap, sheepish. Sheepish didn't looked right on him, not one bit.

I laughed slightly, folding my hands together to keep from fiddling anxiously.

"No, it's alright. You see…" I began hesitantly. "I'm not sure, actually. It's difficult to remember. My past life doesn't seem to come as easily to me as it does to others. I've talked to others, all who seem to know so much about their human lives. But, when I try to fight the blackness..." I stopped, trying to swallow back more emotion. "Well," I concluded, "it's just dark; there's nothing, and I haven't a clue why." I shrugged, looking back up at him.

He nodded thoughtfully with his chin in his hand, embodying Rodin's Thinker, as if he was trying to piece together the puzzle I'd been working at for countless years.

"That's curious," he said, whispering again. "How frustrating that must be for you, poor Alice. Where could you ever find the patience?"

Half smiling, my eyes rested on the flames as his had before.

"'Sweet are the uses of adversity" I recited, "which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head.'"

I looked back into his eyes then, deeply and sincerely.

His lips turned up automatically, clearly catching my reference and appreciating its origins.

"As You Like It," he breathed with a wink.