Fate Guides My Steps

Chapter Seven: Mornings

Author: YoseiAmbereyes (Jade)

Basick Valley, Northern Drume Mountains

1st of the Sixth Moon Month

DREAM SEQUENCE

The blue room, and the kind woman. Those were always there, the blue room and the kind woman. Lots of books, books on magic, books on history, books on philosophy, books on farming, engineering, architecture, tons and tons of books. Slowly reading them all. Tonight is healing magic and its applications. Having trouble concentrating. Very nervous, don't want to go tomorrow, don't want to answer that question yet again.

A big map on a floor of marble. Long, slender fingers tracing lines over the map. Pointing and talking. Can't hear, can't understand. Pale finger jabbes the map, an angry voice in her ear. Pointing, poking, at the Drume Mountains. Stabbing at Basick Valley. Doesn't want to answer. Fears the day when she knows the answer.

Comforting presence never seen. Golden, comforting warmth that is constantly within reach. All day, offering silent support, just by slightly brushing her side. Grateful, never been more grateful.

Pain. Sharp. Methodical. Rhythmic. Pain. Counting inside. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. Almost over. Only ten more to go. Can hear here. The crack of a whip, pains the ears. Pains the flesh it comes in contact with. It's worth it. It's worth it. It's worth it. Anything, anything for a moment of free air, a moment of free choice. A moment of free.

Animals never question. They are more than used to this. Curl up in the stable, curl up against another warm existence. The presence of a calm heartbeat, not so alone. Never so alone. I am ready to sleep. I am coming. I am twined around you. We make a delicious heat. Always the delicious heat.

END DREAM SEQUENCE

Syaoran Li awoke with a painful start. He sat up on his pallet of furs and sheets to rub his hand over his face. Looking about dimly, he immediately recognized that it was early morning, and he had been sleeping for the past seven hours.

How he hated when he did that!

Ever since the night of the full moon, over five years ago, Syaoran couldn't sleep longer than five hours at a time. If he did, he found himself slipping into feverous nightmares and confusing dreams that only served to irritate and distract him. And it was always exponentially worse on the nights of full moons. He looked glaringly at the outside, the tell tale silver sheen of strong moonlight that covered every inch of the town.

The twenty year old heaved himself to his feet, not bothering to straighten the pallet on the floor, he'd just mindlessly fall into it later anyways. He wandered over to his mirror and stared at his reflection. The same, intense amber eyes stared back out. He filled the ceramic bowl with water from the pitcher on the floor and set about shaving the bristles that littered his face. As he did, his mind wandered to the dreams he had just awoke from. They always bothered him, usually for days after having them. With a resigned sigh, he carefully went over all in his mind, looking for any kind of clues as to their origin.

Syaoran never questioned why he woke up cold on certain nights and perfectly fine on others. He lived in the Northern Drume Mountains, despite Basick Valley's premier location. Cold was a fact of life here. Syaoran didn't want to question the coincidence of the cold mornings always falling of the first of the month. He felt for sure, if he dug to deeply into the matter, he would come to conclusions he just was not ready for.

The ex-Prince of Arcadia was in his office. Okay, office is a strong word. Eriol was in his closet. But it was the best that could be managed under the conditions when they first arrived at the tiny fur trading village. Now, after four years when the populous had grown along with the condition of the buildings, Eriol found he had grown rather attached to his closet. The villagers had crammed a large antique desk into the tiny space, something left behind by one of the many "mayors" of the village. There were two spindly chairs in front of the days that creaked ominously whenever anyone sat in them. His best friend had even hung him some shelves on two of the walls, they pretty much were the only thing standing, hanging, or sitting straight in the room. Eriol's own moth eaten wingback chair behind his slightly lopsided desk leaned to the left a bit.

Eriol was reading some dispatches brought by messenger than morning, as well as working on a new magic formula for the protective spells set up around Basick Valley. He was a master of the multi task. There was a knock at the door and a young girl brought in a wooden tray with a chipped tea pot and questionable cup. Eriol looked up from his work and froze.

Tomoyo?!

But he blinked, and the young girl had curly brown hair with light ocher colored eyes. She smiled at him, and he managed to stutter out a thank you. Eriol sat back and tried to still his trembling hands. That was happening far to often these days. He was seeing Tomoyo everywhere, in the women that brought him his meals, the girls that worked in the fields, and the maids in the kitchens of the tavern.

After they had escaped the southern capital together, they managed to catch up with the refuges that were fleeing to the Northern Mountains. However, after the fall of Cornith, the Vasan and Hummai forces moved faster than anyone thought possible. Pretty soon, everyone was struggling to stay even a day ahead of the enemy. Villages and towns the sought to stay in a night were raided, many were captured. One night in particular, they misjudged the determined nature of their pursuers, and stayed in a tiny fishing village on the banks of the Kor River. That night, Hummai forces managed to capture over half of their group, Tomoyo included.

Eriol had never forgiven himself for allowing her to be captured. He knew the kind of life she faced for the past five years...as a slave.

Eriol shot up from his chair, he needed a distraction. Luckily, one kicked open his door at that same second.

Syaoran Li walked into the room and sat in one of the spindly chairs, wincing as it creaked in protest. He looked at Eriol with a questioning glance at his ridged posture. Eriol sighed and slouched back into his chair. Syaoran reclined as much as he could in his chair as well.

"Rough night?"

Eriol asked, pouring himself some tea. Syaoran sighed.

"Those crazy dreams again. You hallucinating again?"

Eriol raised a black eyebrow. Syaoran smirked a bit in response. Their friendship was tenuous at best. However, both were loyal, and always willing to lend a hand or sympathetic ear.

"I wouldn't call them hallucinations. More like my subconscious is trying to tell me something important. Same could be said for your dreams, my friend."

Syaoran just shrugged, but he then spied the dispatches on Eriol's desk and moved to pick them up.

"Ahh, the midplains finally got back to us."

Eriol nodded and sipped his tea.

"It seems there is a good deal of unrest back in the High Lord's original lands. With the soldiers busy here, still trying to secure the High Lord's rule over everything, pirates and all around outlaws are ravaging the desert and southern beaches. People there are getting rather...annoyed."

Syaoran read over the dispatches.

"Annoyed is putting it lightly. This isn't looking like civil unrest, Eriol, this is looking like...rebellion."

Eriol met his friend's gaze over the top of the papers. They shared a conspiratorial smirk.

"While I hate to rejoice in the misfortune of others, this little tid bit of news couldn't have come at a better time."

Eriol remarked, taking the papers back and placing them in one of the drawers of the desk. Syaoran nodded in agreement and leaned back in his chair.

"I agree. The High Lord is definitely starting to find our presence here more than an inconvenience. He never expected us to last this long."

The twenty one year old magician warmed his chilled fingers by clutching his tea cup.

"I never expected us to last this long, Syaoran. It was clear, ever since the High Lord began to employ his witch, that our survival here would be temporary at best. But somehow, we have managed to defeat the odds. Now it looks like the High Lord will have to slacken his hold on us, in order to deal with the problems in the south. Which means we will have enough breathing room to get some actual work done."

"The militia has come along way from farmers and field hand. With another winter's worth of work and training, we'd be ready to start taking back some of the mountains. Maybe moving as far as the mouth of the Kor River."

Syaoran remarked. Eriol was quiet a moment, contemplating that very possibility.

"You really think that's possible?"

He asked, a small amount of wonder in his voice. Eriol did not have any tactical knowledge beyond that he had read about and his brief experience with the invasion of his country. But Syaoran had had no problem stepping up to the responsibility of leading the people in battle. The two of them somehow fell into being partners, equals at the head of a rebellious force. Eriol was the hope of a better time, the Prince that would one day re-claim his throne. He organized the supply lines, and kept tabs on the goings on in Isha, looking for anything can could be used to further their cause. Syaoran was the inspiration. He held the loyalty and hearts of everyone in Basick. He trained and lead the men of the militia; and saw to it that order was kept inside the Valley.

"I think we could do it, we have the resources, the men and the knowledge. But..."

Syaoran trailed off, glancing for a moment at the wall to his left, where a magic symbol had been drawn in charcoal. It was the anchor for the protection spells Eriol had cast over the Valley.

Eriol looked to the wall as well, the perfect circles each within a larger one till the center was reached, where the sun resided. Characters in an ancient tongue ringed around the sun. The bi-spectacled young man knew what Syaoran meant.

So long as the High Lord had his witch, much of their efforts would be in vain.

Syaoran left Eriol's office an hour later, after they spoke of the grain shipment being smuggled into the Valley later that week. They had rolled out the worn, creased map of Arcadia that they planned everything on. Eriol asked the security of several paths that the smugglers could take, and Syaoran picked out the best one. Once that was finished, Eriol returned to correspondence with the various pockets of organized slaves in Hummai.

The twenty year old warrior trekked through the misty rain that had coated the very air he breathed. Despite the wet weather, it was warm enough to work outside, so Syaoran joined the groups of men and women preparing to climb into the mountains to their fields. What could be grown in the rocky mountains was a short list of mostly herbs, and root crops. But the original occupants of Basick Valley had been more than eager to teach the new comers the benefits of terrace farming. With the help of the refuges over a period of three years, two of the mountain sides had been transformed into terraced fields where they grew small amounts of wheat, potatoes, and rice. The groups were divided evenly into those who would go to work the fields and those who would wander the mountain paths looking for wild fruits, and edible plants.

"Syaoran!"

Said young man turned at the sound of his name being called, knowing there was only one person in the town that called him so informally. His cousin Melin made her way to him, her willowy seventeen year old form slipping easily between the large gathering of workers.

"Good morning, Melin."

Syaoran said simply as she came to a gasping halt before him. Melin since the time she stepped up that full moon night, had been a great help with the organizing of Basick Valley. Everyone knew, that when Syaoran was unavailable, Melin was more than willing to lend a helping hand. She also ran the tiny tavern, located next to the militia barracks (where else?) with no help from the older, more experienced businessmen and women. As a result, she knew of all occurrences in Basick Valley, from the main town, all the way back into far reaches of the Valley where many of the hunters and trappers lived.

"Syaoran, they need your help up on the west terrace, one of the levels is starting to slide with all this rain."

Syaoran frowned, the west terrace held one of the best rice crops they had yet to see.

"Physical help or magical help?"

He asked, Melin grinned.

"Both, probably. They need you now, so I'd suggest you take Rollo."

Rollo was Syaoran's pride and for the most part, joy. The stocky mountain pony had been saved by Syaoran four years ago, when it was just a little foal that had escaped the paddock and gone for an adventure into the mountains. A fierce blizzard set upon the Valley, taking the hunting party Syaoran had been a part of by surprise. They came across the pony, trapped up to his knees in now frozen mud; but had to leave it in order to make it back to the village before they froze. Except for Syaoran. He stayed back, and using some magic and elbow grease had freed the young pony. They made it back just in time, and Rollo became Syaoran's pony, because he would have no other owner. The mountain pony was sure footed and fast, perfect for getting Syaoran around the Valley.

Syaoran greeted his animal friend gently, with a hand of oats. He saddled up the pony as quick as he could and made sure his thick wool cloak was thrown over the back of the saddle. It was warm out, but once the misty rain had soaked him, the chill would set in. Leading Rollo out, he saw that the last of the groups were leaving, baskets and tools in hand. Melin waited for him just outside the stables, a wine skin and leather rucksack in hand. She handed both to him when he got close.

"Food and wine, don't work to hard, alright?"

She said with a wide smile. Syaoran just nodded and mounted Rollo after securing the gifts to his saddle. He waved to her, and called out a goodbye before spurring Rollo into a canter for the mountain path that would take him up to the terrace fields. Melin looked after him with a deep frown. In the five years they had been here, smiles from Syaoran were few and far in between. It hadn't just been the night of the full moon, when they lost home and many members of their family. The flight from Cornith to the Drume Mountains had hardened her cousin. It had taken just under a month to arrive at the most southern reaches of the mountains, much of that time used up in taking diverting routes to throw their pursuers. And with every raid the Hummai soldiers managed to inflict on them, they lost people.

Two of Syaoran's sister's had been captured for slavery; his mother Syaoran didn't know if she was dead or enslaved. Of the twenty seven members of their village, nine made it all the way to Basick Valley. Over four hundred people from Cornith followed the path that Syaoran forged, and by the time Eriol joined up with them about half way to the Drume Mountains, that number had tripled. As word spread that a fierce warrior, and the Prince of Arcadia were leading refuges north to the mountain strong holds, people abandoned their villages and homes to follow them.

By Eriol's best reckoning, the most they ever had following them to the Drume Mountains was around five or six thousand Arcadians. That burden had rested heavily on Syaoran's shoulders, because being the person he is, felt responsible for all of them. They hadn't come immediately to Basick Valley, which was set back far north in the mountain ranges, almost to the fridged ocean north of Isha. Eriol and Syaoran had tried to hold the villages at the front of the mountains first, but they lead untrained citizens, not soldiers. Hummai forces trampled them, forcing them farther and farther back with each attack.

After one year, the last of the free Arcadians had been forced to fall back to Basick Valley. And in that year, they lost many of those that had followed them to the attacks and raids. Basick Valley was a large town of about three thousand people, two thirds of them belonging to the militia. That was all that remained of Arcadia. During the year they tried to hold the more southern mountain villages, Syaoran took each loss hard. He had stepped up to help Eriol in leading them all, and he felt he failed his first tests. It didn't matter that after only a year, Syaoran had learned enough to protect Basick Valley from invasion for four years. It didn't matter that no one blamed him for the loss of so many, and so much ground. It didn't matter that the High Lord had the help of a Seer to predict the best times of attack. It just didn't matter. He blamed himself.

Melin watched until Syaoran was well out of sight, nothing more than the occasional flash of Rollo's white spots through the leafy green foliage. She refused to stop trying to get him to smile. She was a Li after all. She was just as stubborn as he was; and she would see him content. Melin looked at her dry and cracked hands sadly, she would see him find happiness, even if it cost her hers.

3rd of the Sixth Moon Month

Velaterra, Hummai

Tomoyo rolled over and stretched on her pallet. It was very early, dawn had barely begun, no more than a lightening of the eastern skies. She knew her mistress would still be sleeping soundly, so Tomoyo didn't worry about the noise she made in stoking the fire. She had been in the palace for three days now, and she had yet to see a chance for escape. However, she had watched her mistress like a hawk, trying to learn anything that would help the rebels dispense of her and the help she gave the High Lord. So far, Tomoyo had found nothing. She wasn't allowed into the throne room with her mistress when she was called by the High Lord. Tomoyo never saw a hint of the Seer's Cards, the items that five years ago, the Prince Eriol had told her the High Lord had.

In fact, Tomoyo felt like she was being the opposite of helpful for the rebel cause, considering she was starting to like her mistress. Sakura never yelled at her, never ordered her to do anything. Sakura always asked, or requested. Tomoyo, despite being a slave, felt like she could refuse and Sakura would be fine with that. The green eyed witch was kind even, giving Tomoyo fine clothes to wear, and good foods to eat. When Sakura had discovered by accident Tomoyo's passion for sewing and creating clothes, Sakura had disappeared for an hour and then returned with a huge armful of fabrics and a sewing basket.

And there were a thousand little things that Tomoyo just couldn't see the evil witch of the High Lord doing. Like sharing herb lore with the palace healer, or visiting the stables to help tend the horses there, or go down to the kitchens and chit chat with the head cook. Tomoyo herself rather liked talking to the young woman. Sakura was smart, and insightful, and had a surprising sense of humor. And the slave just didn't understand how someone like her could willingly work for the High Lord.

So maybe it isn't willingly.

Her thoughts whispered in her mind. Tomoyo shook that thought away, not wanting to think about that possibility. The possibility that maybe, just maybe, Sakura was just as enslaved as Tomoyo, her cage just happened to be a gilded one.

Tomoyo was picking up some clothes left on the floor when she heard voices coming from behind the closed bathroom door. She glanced at the bed, only to find it vacant. The young slave hurried to the bathroom door and raised her hand to knock, when the sound of a distantly male voice stopped her.

"I shouldn't be doing this, Sakura. I'm liable to do more hurt than good."

"It's not hard Kero."

"What am I going to do? Lick it on?"

"That's a thought."

"You have got to be kidding."

"Please Kero, it's been three days since they've been changed. I'm risking infection here."

"Why not get your new servant girl to do this? She had several advantages over me, you know...like thumbs."

Sakura sighed.

"I don't want her to know about this."

"Why not? She might hate you less."

"You mean pity me, there's a difference."

"Hey, you're the one risking infection."

Tomoyo made a decision, risking her job and life, she pushed open the door without announcing herself. The two occupants of the bathroom snapped their heads in the direction of the door in surprise. They had been so intent in their conversation her presence had gone unnoticed until then. Tomoyo gaped at them both, her brain stuck processing way too much. The presence of a giant golden lion, and her mistress bare from the waist up laying on the tiled floor with her back exposed next to him.

"Well, crap."

The lion said, sitting back on his haunches. Sakura sat up, crossing one of her arms over her chest and yanking a towel down from the nearby rack to cover herself with. Her head was down, her bangs hiding her vibrant green eyes. Tomoyo, now having moved past the lion in the bathroom, recalled the bright, angry, red wounds that had crisscrossed the light tan of Sakura's back. And Sakura knew it.

"Get out, Tomoyo."

Tomoyo didn't move. Sakura looked up, her eyes flashing.

"I said GET OUT!"

Sakura cried, one hand holding the towel around her shoulders, the other supporting her, resting against the floor. Her legs were drawn up close to her, and she was shaking. Tomoyo swallowed, trying to encourage moisture in her dry mouth.

"No."

She said simply. Sakura glared, clenching her jaw in anger and embarrassment. Tomoyo looked to the lion with a questioning gaze.

"Will you hurt me?"

The lion actually smiled at her, and went from sitting to laying down, a clear non-threatening position.

"No, I will not. And I doubt Sakura would order me to."

Sakura gave him a withering stare over her shoulder. Tomoyo only nodded and walked into the bathroom. Her eyes rested on the opened jar of some sort of cream and the new strips of white bandages. The old ones lay in a grimy, bloodied heap, banishing any doubts Tomoyo might have had about those wounds she saw. Sakura watched stiffly as Tomoyo knelt next to her on the tiled floor, and picked up the jar of cream and gave it a delicate whiff.

"Tea tree oil, aloe and...something else..."

Sakura clenched her hands, and lowered her head again, hiding her eyes.

"It's willow bark."

"Pain killer." The slave remarked, keeping her voice neutral, "Why don't you lay down?"

Sakura was still for several long seconds, but then slowly uncurled her form and returned to her prone position on the floor, laying on the other towel she had put down before. Tomoyo looked over the marks on the young woman's back, going over them with a critical eye. With gentle fingers, she pressed here and there, looking for any kind of drainage that was evidence of infection.

"No infection. But I think the bandages were done too tight last time, you have bruises on your rib cage."

She said softly, getting up and gathering a washcloth and basin of clean water. Tomoyo worked silently, under the watchful golden gaze of a lion. She focused, cleaning the whip marks carefully, then applying the cream evenly. She examined the healed whip marks as well, mostly faint white lines, occasionaly a rough gash that had healed with a lump of scar tissue. She did so to keep her thoughts from racing and jumping to conclusions and speculations that would just distract and confuse her. She didn't even realize she was humming quietly in the silence until Sakura asked what song it was.

"A love song the girls in the kitchens would sing. They taught it to me when I was very young, and told me that if I sang it once everyday, it would lead my true love to me."

"It's pretty."

Tomoyo smiled, wiping her fingers off and then securing the cap on the jar.

"Thank you."

Sakura was struggling to not cry. The overwhelming sense of embarrassment was clouding her mind. She felt ashamed, and even more naked than she was. And Tomoyo was being so nice, the thought of her pitying her tortured Sakura. She felt words of explanation welling up in her throat, like the tears in her eyes. The want to confide in someone, to tell all to, even the things she had never told Kero, was near overwhelming. Could she trust Tomoyo? She wasn't like Elena, she didn't work for the High Lord, in fact, Tomoyo had ever reason to hate the High Lord as much as Sakura did. But Tomoyo had every reason to hate Sakura too. Tomoyo was getting up to dispose of the dirty water and bandages when Sakura reached out and grasped her wrist in an iron grip.

"Tomoyo?"

Sakura whispered, the girl in question, returned to kneeling next to the auburn haired girl.

"Yes?"

Sakura took a deep breath.

"Do you hate me?"

There was a long pause of silence, in which Sakura didn't blink or breathe.

"No, Sakura. I do not hate you."

Tears slipped past Sakura's closed eyes and trickled down her cheeks to the towel her face rested on. Waves of relief and gratitude flooded her thin body, and that only made her cry harder. Tomoyo placed a hand on her hair, and turned her hand in Sakura's grasp so that she now grasped the crying girl's hand. Sakura quieted after a few minutes, letting go of Tomoyo's hand and sitting up. She kept her back to Tomoyo and Kero, holding the towel to her chest and using its corner to wipe her eyes. Tomoyo picked up the new bandages and with deft fingers began to re-bind Sakura's torso. Sakura sat there, sniffing every so often, but remaining perfectly still while Tomoyo worked. The job was done quickly, and the trio exited the bathroom silently.

The lion, Kero, Tomoyo finally identified, putting the conversation she had overheard together; leaped up onto the bed and laid down once more. Sakura pulled a pale green servants dress from the depths of her wardrobe and began dressing. Tomoyo helped her with the buttons of the high back, now understanding why Sakura chose never to wear the dresses in the wardrobe. Some of them had very low backs. Clearly the High Lord didn't care what anyone thought of him and how he treated his precious Seer.

Sakura, once dressed, quietly slipped out onto the balcony. The sun was coming up now, showing the top curve of its crown over illuminated hills. Tomoyo took a deep breath and followed her mistress outside. Kero just reclined and watched them go. He sensed they needed to speak alone.

Tomoyo came and stood next to Sakura at the railing. The older girl had leaned forward to rest her arms on the white marble railing, gazing at the sun rise intently. Once she was sure Tomoyo was comfortable where she stood, Sakura spoke.

"It was the third time he'd ordered me to be whipped."

She confessed softly, looking at Tomoyo out of the corner of her eye. Tomoyo for her part, kept her face neutral, understanding there would be much more in coming.

"The first time was for my one and only escape attempt, when I was thirteen. The second was when he caught me lying to him about a prediction about a year and a half ago. And this past time was when I told him, well...yelled at him, that I would die before I became his concubine. He had just ordered me to wear this...reveling dress to a gala event. It just screamed 'I'm a whore!'"

Sakura chuckled sardonically and continued.

"He didn't even blink. He just summoned the slave headman with his nine tailed whip. This one was the worst. Twenty strokes, across the bare back, in front of his Generals and advisors in the throne room. Was worth it though, they were all worth it."

Tomoyo tilted her head to the side.

"Why?"

Sakura looked to her, fixing her wide green eyes on Tomoyo. In that moment, Tomoyo thought Sakura was a witch, her gaze was strong, unbreakable, magic.

"It's proof I'm still here, that he hasn't broken me yet. It's proof that choice is still there."

Tomoyo held Sakura's unblinking gaze.

"What hold does he have over you, Sakura?"

Tomoyo asked, once again dropping formalities for the sake of keeping this young woman open with her. Sakura turned away, once again looking at the rising sun. It had gone from deep ruby red to a bright and eye-catching orange.

"He has my brother, Tomoyo."

Tomoyo froze. Her brother? Sakura looked and smiled at her shocked expression.

"The General Asagawa captured us both in the western forests of Arcadia five years ago. My brother, he struck across the back of the head and knocked him unconscious. It made him loose his memory. He doesn't remember me, or the fact that the army he now serves in was the army that destroyed our home."

It suddenly came together in Tomoyo's mind. The promotion ceremony that Sakura had run out on. The High Lord pointing someone out to her, making her look to the battlements.

"That new Colonel, Asagawa...Toya right?"

Tomoyo said, Sakura nodded mutely, and then explained further.

"Toya is his real name, but our last name is Kinomoto. And the High Lord offered me a deal, I do readings for him, and he lets my brother live his life within the army."

Tomoyo said nothing, but leaned against the railing, and stared out at the rolling hills, painted by the brightness of dawn. Sakura began talking quickly now, rushing to explain.

"I agreed knowing what he's use me for, Tomoyo. I don't expect to ever be forgiven for my hand in the fall of Arcadia...but I tried to protect as many as I could. I gave the High Lord scenarios that would save the most life. I convinced him that taking slaves would be better than killing everyone he came across. I've...I've...even gone as far as continuingly lying to him. Trying to protect that little valley in the Drume Mountains, hoping that one day they can lead a rebellion against him."

Tomoyo swallowed, realizing for the first time Sakura was no enemy of Arcadia, she was perhaps its most valued asset. She had the High Lord's ear, she knew his strategies, his plans, his ideas, all of it. Tomoyo clung to the railing as the full weight of all that Sakura could do...if she was free to do it. Tomoyo reached out and put a hand on Sakura's shoulder. She was thinking back to the promotion ceremony, and the conversation she had had with the other servant.

"Sakura..."

The green eyed girl looked from the morning light show to her new found friend. The raven haired girl had a shine of hope in her eyes. Sakura frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion at Tomoyo's response to her confession.

"Sakura, I think we can get you out of here."

A/N: I do not own the characters used in this fictional piece, nor do I stake any claim on them with the publishing of this work.

Forgive mistakes missed by my brain dead self, finals are slowly killing me.

Okay, we are moving along rather nicely. But I'm afraid I have to warn you guys, this was the last of the chapters that I planned out in an outline. I'll be winging the next few. Please review! It really does make my day!

Song tracks listened to while writing: "Lay Your Armor Down" Dashboard Confessional and "Sonata No.1" from Bach's Sonatas and Partistas for the Solo Violin and "Extreme Ways" by Moby.

I have no idea what the next chapter will be called. But we are coming up on Sakura's and Tomoyo's escape.