Title: Cocoon - Settling
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Fluff, angst, self-harm
Spoilers: Indirect spoilers for Kurogane and Fai's backstories.
Summary: Four travelers arrive in a strange town surrounded by walls, where no one is able to enter or leave. With no memory of who they are or where they're going, will they be able to find a way out - or even last long enough to try?

Author's Notes:

Cheat sheet:

Kurogane = Pyre
Syaoran = Rain
Sakura = Aught
Fai = Fall

Willow, Vivid, Frost, Bubbles = OCs

Aught sat on the stone steps of the post office, the mailbag shifting towards her hip as she tied the roller skates onto the feet. From the open door behind her drifted the old postman's voice, rising and falling as he delivered a lecture she knew quite well, having heard it every day for a month now.

"That's the last of the morning's mail except for the big deliveries," he told her. "Once you're finished delivering them, you can take off for lunch. But make sure you're back in time for the one o'clock. And for God's sake be careful that you don't trip and break your fool feathered neck!"

"I will!" Aught sang out; she tied off the last lace and pushed to her feet, balancing easily on the skates despite the heavy mailbag at her side. She pulled the straps close, keeping the extra weight tight against her body and easy to manage, and set off down the street.

Not too many other people were on the streets right now, this being midmorning on a weekday; most people had gone in to work, but the lunch hour had not yet started. Her destination was a good few blocks away - most of the people living closer to the post office had already gotten their mail for the day - so Aught took pleasure in skating along the smooth, flagstoned streets as fast as she could go.

Her legs pushed in a steady beat against the ground, one-two, one-two, as the vibration of the wheels against the ground buzzed steadily against her feet. She held her arms out for balance, and her wings rustled excitedly; flapping them in the stiff breeze of her passage probably didn't actually make her go faster, but she liked to think that it did. It was a warm day, the sun hovering hazily in the sky, but the wind of her passage as it whipped against her arms and bare legs kept her from getting too hot.

She turned a corner, her palms skimming off the metal pole of a streetlamp, and slowed down slightly as she made her way up the slight incline of the next street over. She passed the café; the baker, straightening up chairs as he swept between the tables, raised his hand to wave and call out to her. She returned his cheerful greeting, but did not slow down; if she'd stopped, no doubt the baker would have given her a fresh pastry or two from the morning's baking, but she had work to do first.

Gurie was really not a very large town; only a few blocks from the town square the buildings began to break apart, more and more space appearing between them and offering glimpses of the verdant green fields beyond them. There were only a few thousand people living here, far outnumbering the dozen or so Haibane but a small community by any other measure. They were still growing, though; the skeletal rafters of the construction site loomed above several other smaller buildings as she approached.

She slowed as she approached the construction site, coasting up to the very edge of the wooden barrier they set up to warn people away. The men and women were working hard to set up a new piece of scaffolding; she searched among them until she saw the tell-tale grey wings emerging from the shoulders of the largest one. His halo was hidden beneath the hard hat that all the workers had to wear, but his size was distinctive in any crowd.

"Pyre!" she called out, waving furiously. He turned his head to look at her, and his wingtips raised in a sort of salute, but he was carrying one end of a large beam and couldn't stop to do more. Nor could Aught get any closer to the construction site safely; she didn't have the protective boots and gear of the workers, and she had been cautioned repeatedly to stay away from the areas where falling debris was a danger. That was okay, though; even if she couldn't stay to talk, she liked to stop by and see him at work.

Still, she had a schedule to keep to, so she regretfully pushed away from the barrier and skated off down the street. Pyre was bigger and stronger than almost anyone in town - he could do twice the work of any other worker, and had soon earned the respect of the foreman. He grumbled, sometimes, about the fact that he himself would never be allowed to live in any of the buildings that he helped put up; by law the Haibane could only live in older structures that had already been abandoned, like the old churchhouse, or the abandoned factory on the other side of town.

Aught liked living at the church - it was where she'd been born, after all - so she wasn't sure she really agreed with his complaints. But even when Pyre grumbled, she knew he didn't really mean it; he had a good heart, no matter how he tried to cover it up with brusqueness.

She turned another corner - the construction site wasn't really on her route, but it was only an extra block over - and slowed down, since some of the letters in her mailbag were for people on this street. As much as she loved skating fast, with the wind gusting the sweet smell of flowers across her face and the ground blurring by under her feet, she also loved being able to meet and talk to everyone on her route. She'd come to recognize most of the people on her route by face and name, and remembered them well enough to ask about things in their lives as she handed out letters. She felt responsible for them somehow - as though their happiness were her concern - and they were all kindly protective of her in turn.

Aught had actually been the last one of the four of them to get a job. Her three 'brothers' had all found work fairly easily; Pyre's size and strength made him a natural for construction work (as well, his height - and the added height of the halo on top of that - made him more comfortable outdoors than in the sometimes cramped town buildings.) Rain's love of old books had made his job choice easy, just as Fall's nimble fingers had assured him a place working at the tailoring shop. But although Aught had been willing enough to try every kind of work, she hadn't proved especially skilled at any of them, and hadn't particularly enjoyed any one job more than another.

What she really loved had been going from one place to another within the town, meeting all the townsfolk and hearing them talk with love and pride about their jobs. She had bounced back and forth from one workplace to the next so often that they eventually began asking her to carry messages and parcels with her; and from there, the step to postman had been the most natural thing in the world.

Truly, Aught loved being out in the free air (although she loved it less when it rained,) and loved crossing the now-familiar streets of the town and handing out messages and parcels. The townsfolk enjoyed seeing her at work, as well; many of them regarded the Haibane as a sort of lucky charm, and the sight of a friendly little Haibane girl flying back and forth across town seemed to afford them a certain comfort.

A row of shops interrupted the houses, and she sped up again as she headed for one storefront in particular. This was one of the older buildings in this part of town, built of stone and plaster instead of metal or wood, and the storefront window was a hundred smaller panes of frosted glass set into a wrought iron frame. Aught peered through the panes, and was delighted to see a tall, blond Haibane sitting at a table in the front room, stitching the collar to an embroidered shirt.

"Fall!" she called through the open doorway; he looked up from his work and smiled, whipping out a few quick stitches to hold the piece together before he set it down and stood up.

"Don't come in, my dear; you don't want to have to take off and re-lace your skates," he said laughingly. He ducked his head as he came through the archway - the doorframe was tall enough to accommodate him, but his halo tended to knock against the top frame if he didn't. He smiled down at her, his blue eyes dancing. "Now; did you have some mail for us?"

"Oh! Yes," Aught quickly dug through her mailbags to find the envelope. Fall took it from her, tucking it away in a pocket of the tailor's vest he wore, pockets bristling with measuring tape and small scissors and needle cases.

"It wouldn't be fair to take something from a pretty girl without giving something in exchange," he said, and Aught blushed slightly at his teasing. Fall grinned, and pulled something from his pocket wrapped in white lace; he presented it to her with a half-bow and a flourish.

"What is it?" Aught asked as she took it from him. It was small enough to fit in her palm, and crackled slightly. She brought it up to her face and breathed deep; a warm, savory scent of chamomile and amber flowed up to her nostrils. "Mmm!"

"I found it in the back of the storage cabinets, and Madame said I could have it," he explained. "It's for absorbing the moisture out of the air - to protect things that might be harmed by it - and freshening up the air if there's a bad smell."

Aught was pleased, but puzzled. "Well, it's nice, but why give it to me?" she asked.

Fall smiled at her, eyes twinkling. "Well, we no longer need it here at the shop," he said, "but I thought perhaps it might come in handy at the library, to protect all those old books and drive out the musty air. You were going on to the library next, weren't you?"

"Oh!" Aught found herself blushing, again, despite her determination not to. "Well, um, I have to deliver all this mail…"

Fall laughed, and ruffled her hair affectionately. "Say hello to Rain for me," he said, "and tell him that if he stops to pick up cornflour on his way home, we can have hush puppies for dinner tonight."

"I can pick it up on my way home, too," Aught objected. "It's no trouble."

"Yes, but that much cornflour is heavy," Fall replied. "With your skates, it wouldn't be…" The older man trailed off in mid-sentence, a slight frown crossing his face as he looked past her into the distance.

"Eh?" Aught glanced behind her, but there was nothing there; there were no other buildings across the road, just an empty lot backing onto an open field. They were on a slight rise here, the source of Aught's trouble earlier, and this close to the edge of the field it was easy to look past the outskirts of town into the rolling green hills beyond. At the misty green edge of sight, the bright meadow grass gave way to the darker green of the forest. "Fall? Is something wrong?"

"Hmm?" He seemed to tear his attention away with difficulty, and focused another bright smile on her. "Nothing, nothing! Sorry to have delayed you on your route, my dear. I'll see you back at the church tonight, eh?"

At just that moment, the clock tower at the center of town struck noon. Aught gasped. "Oh, no! How'd it get so late?" she exclaimed, scrambling to seal her mostly-empty mailbag. "I'd better hurry - see you later, Fall…!"

The only things waiting in her mailbag to be delivered were a couple of books that belonged to the library; some of the older folk who lived more than walking-distance away found it easier to return the books by post than to hike all the way into town. Aught might have delivered them first, and lightened her load considerably - but by saving them for last, she made sure that she could linger at the library as long as she wished.

When she pulled up before the door to the library she did take her skates off, this time, and swung them in her hand as she crossed into the hushed library lobby. The librarian at the front desk, an older woman with dark auburn hair pulled into a neat ponytail, looked up at the sound of the door and smiled briefly at her. "Looking for Rain, dear?" she said. "He's in the back, in the far workroom."

"Uh - yes!" she exclaimed, then hastily opened her mailbag to pile the returned books on the desk. The skates went in the now-empty bag, and she bobbed her head at the librarian as she went past. "Excuse me, ma'am…"

The back of the library always had a hushed, solemn air that left Aught feeling slightly awed. Here were stored all of the oldest, most precious books that the library owned, and Aught was afraid to touch anything or even cough lest she do some permanent harm. Indeed, she held her breath as she knocked lightly and then pushed open the door of the far workroom.

The young man within was sitting at a drafting table a bit too tall for him; his feet were hooked on the rungs of the chair rather than dangling in the air above the floor. His ruffled brown hair was somewhat pushed about and disturbed by the large pair of examining glasses - almost goggles - that were pulled down over his eyes. Thin cloth gloves covered his left hand, which he used to carefully turn the pages of a book that looked to be crumbling even as he read it - but not his right, which was diligently copying onto a fresh sheet of paper.

He looked up when Aught stepped into the room, and his eyes widened comically behind the magnifying lenses before he pushed them back over his forehead. "Aught!" he exclaimed. "You're here, already? It's only…" He glanced at the clock on the wall, flustered. "Oh, I didn't realize it was so late…"

Aught couldn't help herself; she giggled. "You and me both," she told him, remembering her dismay at the noon bell. "Here, I brought you something." She pulled Fall's gift out of her pocket.

"It's not food, is it? We can't have food back here," he cautioned her, and she shook her head.

"Fall gave it to me," she told him. "He said it's good for absorbing moisture, and helping the room smell better."

Rain's expression brightened. "Well, that would be great," he said happily. "Put it on the back bench, would you? Let me just finish this page and I'll be ready to go to lunch."

"Okay." Aught sat down on the bench herself, her own feet swinging above the floor. "What have they got you working on?"

"Poetry," Rain said absently, flipping the glasses back down as he copied the last few lines. "Some of it's really good, some of it's kind of boring. But when I finish this book, the Professor has given me permission to go looking in the archive by myself. I've found a few books about the Haibane, and I think I know where to find more by the same author. It's really amazing what sorts of things I've learned."

"Oh? What have you learned?" Aught perked up. Rain had a taste for studying, researching and learning that Aught herself did not - he was fascinated by anything as long as it was sufficiently old - but information about the Haibane was of interest to all of them. Even Willow and Vivid - the eldest of the Haibane before the four of them had appeared - didn't know all that much about themselves, and hadn't known where to go to find out more.

"Well, for one thing," Rain said, and looked up at her with a grin that caused her heart to flutter. "We were really strange. Do you remember Viv mentioning that there had never been such a thing as four Haibane appearing at once before? She was right. In all the records, the most there's ever been at a time has been two. And they were actually twins."

"Really?" Aught blinked as she absorbed the information. "Then, why were we different? You and I, maybe we could have been brother and sister -" although she wasn't really sure she liked that idea too much - "but, Pyre and Fall don't look anything like us, or anything like each other either."

Rain shrugged. "I don't know yet," he said. "But, I'll tell you something else that's strange. You know how the other two are the oldest of the Haibane? Well, apparently they're also the oldest Haibane ever to be born here. It's actually really rare even for Haibane as old as you and me to appear. Most of the time, they're much younger - as young as Frost and Bubbles, or even younger than that, like the little kids."

"But," Aught frowned uneasily. "Willow is the oldest of the Haibane that were here before us - and she can't be more than seventeen, eighteen at the most. And they do get older, Frost told us so. If all the Haibane appear as children, and there are no grown-up Haibane, then what happens to them?"

"Nobody knows." Rain's face looked grave. "They go, somehow. I've found a few references towards something called the 'Day of Flight' - I meant to ask Willow about it when we get home. What all the accounts say is that at some point in time, a Haibane starts to act strangely, and then leaves for the Western Woods and never comes back - only their haloes are ever found left behind, no bodies or possessions or anything. But no one knows exactly what happens to them there - apparently, nobody's ever actually witnessed it first-hand."

Aught shivered, although the air in the library workroom was not cold. Rain caught the involuntary motion, and hastened to reassure her. "But, this is good news!" he exclaimed. "This means that there is someplace out there, outside of the walls! Haibane do leave sometimes, and that means that we can leave, too. We just have to find out how they do it!"

"I guess so," Aught said, although her voice was still somewhat troubled. She remembered Fall's strange preoccupation, earlier, with that distant glimpse of the western woods, and it made her uneasy. All of her 'brothers' - Pyre and Fall no less than Rain - were obsessed with the idea that they could leave Gurie, travel on beyond the walls to other lands. Aught wasn't sure she could understand it herself. They were happy here, welcomed, they had jobs and lives and a home. Couldn't that be enough?

The summer evenings were long, and by the time Fall had closed up the shop and locked the doors behind him, the sky was still full of slanting golden sunlight. The air was soft and warm, with just a hint of a cool breeze coming over the moors, and Fall was expected at home.

He turned over the closed sign on the shop door, and put the key in his pocket. The Old Church had a number of bicycles, and even a rickety old motor scooter, but Fall did not ride any of them to his workplace. His legs were too long for the bicycles, and the scooter was usually saved for an emergency - and any way, the walk from the church into town was a pleasant one. It was better than usual tonight, with the soft warm glow of the sunset around him and the cicadas beginning to take up their chorus in the tall grass.

The tailoring shop was on the edge of town, more or less - within a few minutes of walking he found himself out between the buildings, on the verge of the road between two fields. Their first lush green was beginning to fade, the tips of the stalks lightly frosted with pale brown as the heads of grain began to ripen, bobbing under their own weight. A motor cart rattled past him, going along the same road, and the driver called out a laconic greeting as Fall stood aside to let him past. Fall raised his hand and smiled, the pleasant courtesy coming as second nature, long habit from lessons he no longer reminded. The man turned back, satisfied, and the smile faded away from Fall's lips as soon as there were none left to see it.

For all that the rolling hills of the valley seemed lush and endless, this valley simply was not that big. A day's walk could take you around the whole circumference of the walls, considerably less than that to cross the center. The sunlight was still heavy in the sky when Fall stopped at the crossroads; the road leapt a small brook with a weathered stone bridge before T-ending. The road behind him led into town; to the right was the old churchhouse and to the left, more distant farm buildings that Fall had never visited.

Ahead of him lay the woods.

He'd been warned against entering the Western Woods; all the Haibane had. The townsfolk avoided it without needing to be told, apart from the occasional teenagers urging each other to test their bravery. But the Woods were especially dangerous to the Haibane, he'd been told. No one was entirely sure why; the wall that enclosed the valley ran into the woods on one side and out the other unchanging, but Willow had been very firm on the fact that the section of the wall in the Woods was more dangerous somehow.

Somewhere in the woods lived the Touga, the mysterious figures who oversaw the dispensation of the Haibane and ensured the rules were strictly enforced. There were many things that Haibane must do, and must not do. Haibane must work, and work in one of the prescribed locations in town. Haibane must not accept charity from the townsfolk, use money, wear new clothing, or live in new buildings. There were a whole list of other rules dictating the way that Haibane and humans could - and could not - interact, but none of them had yet to impinge on Fall or his brothers or sisters, so he hadn't paid them much mind.

Nobody knew much about the Touga, not even Willow, who as the eldest was tasked with the duties of interacting with them on behalf of the other Haibane. It had been her job to report the arrival of the newcomers to the Touga, to register their names and bring back those mysterious haloes that marked them as full-fledged Haibane.

She had talked a little bit about them, so that they would know what to expect if they ever had to go there; how they all dressed in long, tan-covered robes that fully obscured their bodies, and masks that covered their faces. How they never spoke aloud, except through a single delegated spokesman called the Communicator; and how the worst possible breach of etiquette was for a Haibane to raise his or her gaze to look them directly in the eye, or speak to them uninvited.

At the time, none of them had been in any hurry to visit the distant enclave of the chill, formidable Touga; and Fall did not wish to do so now.

But there was something in the woods. Something that called to him. He could hear it clearly now, more clearly every day, a distant thumping or a vibration that was felt more than heard, silent and invisible yet as palpable as his own heartbeat. He'd mentioned it casually to the other three first, then more indirectly to the elder Haibane. None of them had seemed to have any idea what he was talking about; they only repeated that the Western Woods were dangerous, and should be avoided.

Why could none of the others hear what he heard, feel what he felt? Was he going mad?

He had to know. This doubt, this uncertainty was surely more terrifying than any truth could be.

Aught and the others wouldn't be expecting him for a while yet. Fall turned away from the sun-drenched crossroads leading back to the church, and his worn leather shoes shirred across the grass as he stepped off the path and headed for the woods.

It was cooler under the trees, the air damp and full of the damp smell of moss and rot. The going was hard. This was clearly no tree-farm, no decorative stand of vegetation planted for the benefit of the townsfolk. The trees grew thick and close, their branches crossing and twining as they battled for space and sunlight; the ground was uneven, with roots and stones and sudden precipitous drops and ridges. Generations upon generations of fallen leaves and twigs had rotted into a thick black loam underfoot, unbroken by footfall or animal track. This was an ancient woods, primeval, and he could feel the trees' breath stirring cool and disinterested on the back of his neck.

The going was slow under the trees. Although it had been quite light out in the open, most of the daylight was blocked by the deep green leaves, and there was nothing resembling a path. It was difficult enough even to tell direction in here, out of sight of the sun and sky; he could not simply walk around a tree and continue in a straight line, but had to pick his way through a twisty maze of fallen and upright tree-trunks and slanted gullies. Fall was no woodsman; he had no idea how to track or even blaze a trail, and could easily have become hopelessly lost as soon as he was out of sight of the road.

The only thing that kept him on his course was the pulsing, the deep, steady rhythm that drew him further and further into the woods.

At least the dark and close canopy kept the forest floor clear of much underbrush - apart from twining vines and thick shaggy moss that hijacked the tree trunks to gain height and breadth over the ground, nothing else grew but the ancient trees. Fall kept a wary eye out for danger - the shaded darkness could hide any manner of wild animal - but nothing warm-blooded stirred. This was truly a domain ruled by the trees, the lords of the vegetable kingdom, and nothing short-lived was welcome here.

Fall did not know how long he had been struggling through the trees, his clothes soiled by black slime from the tree roots and bits of decaying leaves, his hands and knees skinned from scrambling over roots and out of gullies. The light faded swiftly under the trees to a confusing gloaming; it was not night yet, not quite, but it was difficult to see where he was going. When the trees opened out at last, he might have hoped to get some sunlight under the branches, but by then the sun had disappeared behind the great wall, casting the clearing into shadow.

Here.

The clearing was not large, but completely free of trees or saplings, as though the forest itself drew back appalled from what dwelt there. There at the center of the clearing sat a low, circular pile of dark stones, forming a shadowed ring in the ground. A well. The rotted traces of a wooden contraption and a rusted chain languished nearby, years uncounted having all but devoured them. A well that had been long abandoned.

The strange pulsing was louder than ever, echoing in Fall's head, in his blood like a second heartbeat. There could be absolutely no doubt that it emanated from the well, which seemed to flinch and swell slightly with every pulse. It called to him, compelled him, so that his feet carried him forward even as Fall's senses struggled to resist. What is that? What is happening to me? He could have shouted the question aloud, but there was no one around to hear; even if anyone at all could have answered him.

The mouth of the well seemed to breathe out darkness, a cold wet chill that spread over the clearing and lapped at the edges of the trees. Fall took another step forward, and then another, although his teeth chattered and his feet dragged through the sparse grass which was all that would grow in this forsaken clearing. The well called to him, attracted him even as it repulsed him; and although Fall could dig his heels in and refuse to advance any further, he could not force himself to turn around and retreat. What was down there, so unworldly and unnatural, and why did it call out to him, calling so insidiously that he could not ignore it?

As he approached the well, the air of the clearing seemed to distort around him, the color and heat draining out of the landscape. It felt unreal, like a dream. A dream? The stones of the well - black, close-set, rimed with a black moisture that rendered them too slick to climb - he had seen stones like these in his dreams, hadn't he -?

He stopped at the edge of the well, teetering on the very brink of his horror, and the dark throat of the well stretched out into darkness below him. All at once the world heaved and shifted, turned inside out, gravity itself undoing until Fall did not know whether he looked down into a round well, or up along the curved wall of a tower that loomed an endless height in the darkness above.

These stones, this wall… I saw it in my dreams… Fall remembered; and as in the dream, he was overcome with feelings of horror and fear. Something bad had happened here, something very bad, something was waiting in the darkness for him -

Movement, in the darkness below. Something stirred. Movement, and Fall shuddered with the realization - he had not dreamed of falling, the black stones rushing underneath him - something was moving towards him, with the ominous inevitability of an onrushing train -

Fall broke and ran.

He bolted like a rabbit, all rational thoughts banished from his head; only the panic remained, rebounding and echoing through him until his entire body shook with the cold, crashing waves of fright. Branches slapped his face and wings, stones bit at his feet, but he hardly felt them. A sharp wind whistled across his face and past his ears, making his eyes water furiously, and cold tears coated his cheeks and his lips drawn back over his teeth with fear.

He did not know what he was running from, and it didn't matter - pure instinct had taken over, driving his legs with the speed and strength of a hunted beast. He did not look behind him to see if he was being chased - dared not, when he could not spare an instant's attention in his panicked flight, lest he trip over an exposed tree root and break his neck in a ditch.

At last he slowed, out of pure exhaustion if nothing else. He staggered and wheezed, lungs laboring and heart pounding as he strove to catch his breath. He had no idea how far he'd run, how much time had passed when he was caught up in that mindless panic, only that he recognized none of his surroundings.

Nothing had pursued him. Now that he'd finally slowed down a bit, the thundering panic in his head that had screamed at him to flee settled into a more recognizable clamoring. Run - run - you are not safe - they are coming for you, his mind howled at him, but there was no sense or reason to be found in that panicked cacophony. Who or what were they? He had no idea; he did not remember. The key to understanding, the knowledge of who or what had planted that seed of terror, had been wiped from his memory as surely as his own name. All he had left was the litany of fear, which whispered to him every waking moment that he must not stay here, that he must keep running, that he would never be safe.

And then his dreams -

"This is a place of sanctuary," a hollow voice said.

Fall whirled around, his breath and voice seizing in his lungs. A figure was standing on the rocky bank above him, dressed in dark and pale browns and draped over with a light grey cloth; it blended into the background so well it took a moment for Fall's blurred eyes to focus on it.

The figure was that of a man, a little shorter than Fall and a little stooped from age, leaning on a gnarled wooden stick. But the face under the grey hood was wholly inhuman, a stark visage of yellow wood that was only just not the color of human bone. The shape was only vaguely reminiscent of a human face, with perfunctory markings indicating where the nose and mouth ought to be; but at the top of the face there was only one gaping hole, centered in the forehead like a staring Cyclops, so deep and black it swallowed all light around it.

It was a mask, Fall realized; narrow slits on either side of that staring darkness his the speaker's true eyes. And the resonant, hollow echoes of that voice when it spoke came from behind the brittle wooden mask. "A place of respite," the man went on, "a last refuge for those to whom all other doors have been closed. Here they can find shelter, here they can find healing, and here, in time, they may find redemption for their sins."

The man moved slightly; the gaping emptiness of the mask was now staring directly at Fall. Ornaments of metal, wood and bone clinked as he moved; strings of little metal bells chinked from the end of his sleeves, rang from the head of his staff. This was one of the Touga, Fall realized with a start, the frightening figures who ruled the lives of the Haibane; and Fall was not permitted to speak in his presence.

"But for you, there will be no healing here," the man went on. His voice was implacable, devoid of either censure or pity; he could as well have been remarking on the weather. "Too much remains undone for you, young one, for you to find peace or redemption within these walls. Forgetfulness will provide no cure for you, innocence will bring no grace. You do not belong here."

With that pronouncement hanging in the air like a death knell, the man turned and began walking away, leaning on his cane. Despite the hobbling gait of his legs, and the uneven surface of the rocky slide, he moved with an astonishing speed; he was receding into the distance before Fall could unlock his frozen muscles enough to move.

"Wait!" he shouted out, forgetting in his desperation that he was not allowed to speak. "If I don't belong here, where should I go? What should I do? Please, tell me!"

He scrambled up along the side of the ditch, fingers scrabbling for a hold among the loose gravel and damp roots. Rocks turned under his feet and he slid; he had to claw himself desperately upwards, reaching up to grab the underside of some tree root before he could haul himself over the lip. Dark soil, damp with fungus and flecked with shining beetles, pattered past his face; he shuddered at its touch. Then he heaved himself upwards over the bank and he was on level ground again.

The Touga was already far ahead of him, his drab-colored garments making him almost invisible against the forest ground. Fall broke into a run, stumbling over the uneven ground, chasing after him. "How do I get out of here?" he shouted desperately after the receding figure; but his voice seemed thin, torn away on the winds. He had no idea whether the Touga had heard him; he hardly heard himself.

Loose rocks and gnarled tree roots grabbed at his feet, tripping and slowing him. His ankle turned under him, and he had to grab sideways at a low-hanging branch to keep from throwing his whole weight onto it and twisting it painfully. By the time he managed to right himself, limping forward and looking up from the tree, the old man was gone.

Fall slowed in the space under the trees, and then stopped. There was no clear path among the sun-pierced gloom; it was impossible to say which way the Touga had gone. Fall wasn't even sure at this point which way he could go back to get back to the old church.

You do not belong here…

Fall's breath caught raggedly in his chest; his calves cramped painfully from the desperate uneven chase. The world swam about him, the patches and flickers of sunlight sliding along the ground like a viscous golden-brown liquid. The rustle of leaves and twigs in the wind grew to a cacophony that filled his ears, threatening to deafen him.

You do not belong here…

"How do I get out?" he said hoarsely, to no one listening at all. "How?"

Getting out of the woods, at least, proved simple. In his panicked thrashing he had actually brought himself to a lighter part of the woods, with gaps in the tree cover showing patches of pale sky and green fields in the distance and a lighter, more open ground to cross. He managed to make his way out of the woods at last, and at the top of a small bald hill he glimpsed the distant rooftops of the town, reflecting the last of the setting sun. Between that landmark and the brighter glow of sunset above the western wall, he was able to orient himself at last.

Through the growing darkness he walked, first over grass-grown meadows and then on the verges between fields. Although his halo shed enough light that he could just barely make out where to put his feet, the plants themselves were colorless masses in the dusk, their bright green extinguished. At last, he found the road - he had come out on the wrong side of the intersection, somehow, and passed the bridge on his right as he walked back towards the church.

It was full night by the time he got back, and only the glow of the lights in the church windows guided him through the last half-mile. Someone had set a lantern out in the courtyard, which they didn't normally do at night; they had noticed his absence, then, and had put it out for him.

You do not belong here…

Voices drifted through the night air, from the kitchen in the side wing. For a moment Fall wavered, tempted by the promise of light, food, and human company. But at the last moment he veered aside, and headed instead for the far wing which housed all their sleeping quarters.

The hallway was dark, the rooms empty. No doubt everyone else was at dinner. Fall turned on the lights in his room, then in the bathroom, and he set himself in front of the bathroom mirror with a washcloth and attempted to clean himself up after this afternoon's excursion.

You do not belong here…

Neither the familiar walls of the bathroom, the hollow splashing of water against the copper basin, nor the sting of soapy water against his bruises and scrapes were enough to keep Fall's mind from wandering. Willow and the others were right; the woods were dangerous to Haibane. He should never have followed his mad impulse to go to into them alone, and he knew that he could never gather the nerve to go back.

He had learned nothing. He still did not know what lurked at the bottom of the well, save that it was evil, and unnatural, and that he must stay away from it for his very life. He still knew nothing more about himself; whether he was truly mad, or somehow sick, or something else entirely.

But there was one thing he knew now, that he hadn't known when he'd set off for town this morning - so ignorant, so innocent. In that terrible moment at the mouth of the well, he had briefly relieved his dream from the cocoon - and he remembered something from it that he had forgotten, before. Why he was so driven, every waking moment, with such a helpless dread. Why he was so sure that someone, some nameless, terrible forces, were coming after him. To catch him, to punish him.

Because I deserve it.

He had done something wrong. Something terrible. He couldn't remember what, but of this much he was sure. And no matter how far he ran, he could never outrun his own sin.

He'd gotten most of the dirt off by now, the mud and tree bark that had coated his hands and face and wings after that wild sprint through the forest. But there were a few black spots on his wings - on the feathers towards the lower edges, towards the tips - that he could not seem to get rid of.

He scrubbed harder.

~to be continued...