Seville did not sleep. Sheratan didn't either while Willation departed their mountain to fix the way for Seville to approach a forbidden world, where Lavwuns never went. Seville asked Sheratan questions, grew to know who she had been living with this entire time: she learned of Alshain, of how Sheratan had felt like a mother to Seville.

By morning, when Willation returned, all were in a dismal state. Seville, for the first time in her life, embraced Sheratan, somewhat afraid to leave. She had not grown to love her yet, but felt she could have.

"I love you, Seville," Sheratan said, her voice muffled in Seville's shoulder. "Be careful." Seville nodded. "I will do my best."

Willation extended a hand, and Seville departed Sheratan to take it. Willation had a pack in his other hand, and he gave it to Seville, who slipped it over her shoulders. Then he began shifting into a dragon and stepped outside of the cave to let Seville mount him. Sheratan approached them, clasping her tunic over her heart.

"I'll be back in a short while," Willation said, nodding to Sheratan. She nodded just as formally back, but Seville caught the moment of care between them. Then he turned, leaping into the air.

Soon Seville could only see sky around them. Another universal trail opened up at the top of the sky, and Willation accelerated to shoot through it. The cold of empty space met Seville's skin, and she breathed slowly, allowing the chill to sink in. It lasted far longer than when they had gone between Atansdorre and Demonsdorre; Seville suddenly realized how far away from Sheratan she would be, and how realistic her assumption—never seeing Sheratan again—had been.

She wondered if Willation could feel her spirits sink, because he turned his head slightly.

"I know it seems such now," he said, "but give life a shot. Things might become better."

"You didn't sound too hopeful back there," Seville said doubtfully.

He shrugged, and she nearly fell off his shoulders. "It isn't courteous to be optimistic when speaking about a girl's dark past, and prospect for a dark future. But Seville, I'm taking you to Middle Earth to give you a chance for change. I have but one warning for you, if you decide to stay alive."

Seville didn't dare meet his eyes for a few moments for fear of what he would say. She didn't look at him before he landed, though, in a thin, kindly forest of spring green. Seville perked up when she heard the trickle of water nearby, and could see rolling hills across the entire distance.

Then she turned back to Willation, who let her off of his shoulders and transitioned back into a humanoid form. He stepped forward and embraced her, which surprised her. She felt a little tingle as she realized she probably would have grown to love him too. If she'd ever had parents it would have been him and Sheratan; for once she didn't want to let them go, if only to have a chance to learn more, finally get out of herself.

When he backed away, he laid a hand on her shoulder. "Don't fall in love if he can't help you."

Seville's eyebrow strained not to cock. She nodded, although she had no idea why he would say anything of the sort. "I promise I will do my best."

He pecked her forehead, which only let her regret sink deeper for not accepting him as a father figure. With a final, wistful wave, Willation turned away and vanished.

Left in this beautiful place, Seville had no idea where to turn. In spite of Willation's last, hopeful statement she felt nothing long-term and hopeful here. The bright sun carved into her eyes, although the morning had only just begun, allowing her to keep her back to the light and not feel nearly as much pain.

She inhaled and exhaled slowly. She could feel the sweet air rise through her nose, fill her lungs. But she sank into somewhat of a hunched slouch when she realized the very oxygen she breathed wished her gone. Rejection of existence itself in mind, she didn't feel this experience had begun very well. Immediately she thought of going home.

"What difference would it make?" she muttered. "No one wants you there either, except for the two people not able to care anymore."

With the conviction to die set in her mind, she found a log to hide beneath. She realized said log covered a crevice in the ground, roughly five feet long, a little under three and a half feet deep, and two feet across. She whistled at the size of the thick log, probably the remnants of an extremely old tree root dug up from the hole below.

Seville slipped under the log, into the hole, and immediately began packing the loose sides into corners, hoping to be as comfortable as possible while she laid down to die. She stood and decided to walk around, pick up on the nearby life, while she waited for her blood to drain.

But moments after she got out from under the dark log, she heard a voice, and her back grew rigid.

"Frodo! Frodo, where are you?"

Seville hissed, initially frightened, and rolled back under the log, thudding against the ground floor with her need to get down. She peered up over the ground and spotted a young, dirt-covered boy with orange hair sprinting across the grass towards her. She cocked her head, caught off guard by his height. No one, not even the children of Lavwu, were her size. Usually they grew taller were they in a few hundred years of age. But this one looked young, adolescent, possibly a little younger.

"Frodo!" he called out.

"I'm over here, Sam."

The new voice—behind Seville—shocked her into slowly turning around. A pair of ice blue eyes stared back at her own. They matched the younger, gentler voice she had heard relative to "Sam", if the name indeed applied to the orange-haired one. Seville hesitated, shaking her head to clear the muddle building within it. She got a good look at the rest of him: he held a book in his hands, large but gentle hands. Generally the boy seemed rather slender relative to the other. He had dark, curly hair grown almost to his shoulders, as well as huge feet and Elvish ears.

Seville blinked. Having only ever seen men significantly older than herself, it struck her as odd to suddenly be attracted to another being. She shook her head, surveying those eyes. Those eyes . . . blue like the flowers back home. Only these were alive. Unburdened, not yet pained. Very beautiful eyes.

She shook her head, trying to vault the ridiculous notion out of her mind. Frodo, Sam had called him.

Frodo didn't entirely know what to think. Sam had called him, and he knew it probably had something to do with Rosie Cotton: "Frodo! Frodo, where are you?" But he gathered Sam wouldn't hear his response from so far away, and so he kept reading the book in his hands. The blade of grass in his mouth twisted at the climax. As he had forgotten, a kissing scene lay sandwiched between exciting moments; his eyes skimmed past it. He did not care for them. They served little purpose to the story.

Finally Frodo could see Sam approaching in his peripheral vision, and he glanced up to see Sam bounding over the grass, ready to leap over a huge log in the ground. But even as Frodo turned to watch, a movement beneath the log caught his eye. He cocked his head, staring a little as his vision adjusted to the shadows. Soon another movement flickered, and Frodo looked back to see a pair of curious, dangerous eyes staring back at him.

He blinked uncertainly, setting the book aside. Just then Sam approached, looking one direction to another for Frodo. "Frodo!"

Frodo tore his eyes from the strange sight under the log only for a second. "I'm over here, Sam." He set down the blade of grass as well, peering back at what he had seen. Soon he could see the face of a girl watching him. His eyes widened slightly, but he turned away when Sam spotted him and approached.

Seville recoiled when Sam's feet appeared in front of her log, as he had just leaped over. But the sight of this Frodo intrigued her enough, so she did not bury herself in the ground.

"Frodo, I've finished the flowers!" he exclaimed, racing towards the other boy. "I thought you might want to come and see."

As Frodo had assumed, this had everything to do with Rosie and nothing at all to do with the actual state of the Baggins yard. He smiled at Sam regardless, then stood and walked with him . . . close to the log on the way back to the main paths of West Farthing. The girl's gaze followed them; she looked as though she could and would bite if either got too close. And she seemed afraid they would bite too.

Seville glared at them as they neared. Frodo's smile seemed too much, just as no one had ever really smiled at her before, particularly not a stranger. She didn't understand what he could see in her, and she didn't feel ready to jump into some random hobbit. Willation had called them hobbits; she wondered how old Frodo and Sam were, if they had reached 33. They didn't look adult, not quite yet.

When Frodo and Sam were a short distance away, Seville leaped out from beneath the log and rolled over to where Frodo had abandoned his book. Something familiar at last. She didn't need to flip to the earliest page; she knew this novel, likely the contents of which extracted from this world to be added to the Lavwun library. She flipped through the first few pages, fascinated and ecstatic to see a little bit of home. If she could ever call anywhere or anyone home.

Frodo couldn't help but look back, and he noticed her nose excitedly buried in his book. He cocked his head. Most hobbits didn't read, and certainly no hobbits to his knowledge would be so hungry about a book. She interested him. He noticed her hair, long and bushy as it cascaded off of her head.

She interested him.

She turned, spotting him, and her eyes narrowed, as though daring him to come back and claim the book. He had no intention of doing so, particularly when he thought he heard a growl from her. So he abandoned the idea of watching her further, deciding simply to follow Sam back to Bag End. Frodo shivered, realizing her eyes—even from a distance—seemed to bear black veins.

Seville finished the book before Frodo returned, and she put it back in its place. He didn't come back that day. Regardless, once she set it down under the tree and retreated to her log she sighed. She just wanted to die now.

But what of Frodo? Would anything come for it? She pondered it for a moment. Perhaps she could stay live just to watch him for a little while until she realized he wouldn't be worth her time. Then she could explore the rest of the Shire and be done with it all.

Seville slept under her log, but she didn't get much rest. Mostly she thought about Frodo. She'd never found anyone attractive before, and she wondered what this meant. His eyes, she thought. The eyes made it all. He had nothing to worry about, or so it seemed. She would find out what life she had to live to have that light in her own eyes, in her own mind forever.

A quest. Perfect reason to live and be curious.