Once Wynne had regained her strength and was able to tend to Alistair throughout the day, it did not take long for him to recover to the point where lying about doing nothing was driving him mad. Like so many things did for him, his frustration played itself out in an unending stream of sarcasm, each complaint sulkier than the last until Rhiann was more than a little tempted to gag him.

Given the way the others were strictly avoiding his company, she was sure she could round up help if he put up a fight.

"Wynne," he complained one afternoon as the healer examined the stitches across his chest. "You know I love you, but if you tell me even once more to sit still and rest I may have to toss you far away somewhere."

"As you haven't been resting, I sincerely doubt you have the strength," Wynne returned with a small frown, and rather than dabbing the cuts as she had been she upended a potion and poured it on them.

"Yeow!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Alistair. I forgot to warn you that may sting a bit."

Wynne looked rather pleased with herself as he scowled at her. "You're a wicked woman. You know that, right?"

"You inform me of it several times a day, actually," she retorted dryly.

"Alistair," Rhiann said with deliberate patience from her corner, not looking up from a map she was trying to study in the filtered sunlight. "If you could keep from driving Wynne to try to kill you, I would appreciate it."

"Have you decided where we're going?" Wynne asked her, ignoring her patient as his complaints dissolved into unintelligible grumbling.

"Northeast," she answered promptly. "To the Brecilian Forest. It's high time we sought out the elves."

"I thought you wanted to return to Redcliffe and oversee the arrival of the dwarves?" Alistair asked, apparently unable to maintain his pique long enough to stay quiet.

"I did, but I don't think we have the time. The elves may prove difficult to find and it's nearly spring."

"I wouldn't go that far," he said. "We have a couple of months yet. But you're right enough about the elves being difficult to track down. And with our luck, some catastrophe has left them unable to uphold their end of the treaty and we'll be running about for weeks trying to fix it for them." He looked pointedly at Wynne. "I certainly hope my sword arm hasn't gone all flabby by then. I'm afraid I may not be much good to you, lying about as I have been. I wonder if I can still walk?"

"Whining is not inclusive to rest, Alistair," Wynne scolded tiredly.

"Oh come on, Wynne," he said, abruptly changing tactics by giving her his most charming grin. "You know I'll heal much faster if I can move around a bit. I'll be very careful. Rhiann can keep me out of trouble, I swear it."

Rhiann snorted at that notion.

"You're not helping," he griped.

"I wasn't trying to help," she answered, and smiled at the look he gave her. She wasn't concerned. He was bound to get his way eventually. Wynne had a terrible soft spot where Alistair was concerned, and he could be ridiculously charming when he wanted something.

Sure enough, later that afternoon he was outside and basking in the sunlight, chatting amiably with Oghren and ignoring Wynne's insistence that he sit down. Rhiann refused to side with the mage's amplified precautions, not only because Alistair was so much happier than he had been, but because she needed to determine how much his strength had returned. They could not stay here until he was fully recovered, and though his arm was still in a sling and would be useless for at least a few more days they needed to move on as soon as he was up to traveling. He seemed to be recovering remarkably quickly, but as the afternoon faded into evening she found him back in the tent, snoring softly. Apparently it would still be a little while before they could leave this place.

"Sorry," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep as she gathered up the piles of clothing strewn about the tent. "I guess I overdid it a bit."

"Go back to sleep," she said softly and tossed the blanket over him before she ducked back outside with the bundle beneath her arm and headed for the river.

-oOo-

The evening shadows stretched across the landscape as the running water sparkled a myriad of colors reflected from the setting sun. Even up to her elbows in dirty laundry, Rhiann was a breathtaking sight in his eyes. The muted light complimented her exotic beauty to perfection, and he watched with appreciation as one milky white hand rose out of the water to brush a stray lock of ebony hair from her brow. He dared to step closer, careful to keep from to the shadows, his footfalls stirring not so much as a breath of sound in the snow that had yet to melt in the shadows of the trees.

"I can see you, Zevran," she said without looking up, and he chuckled to himself and stepped out of hiding. She was much more dangerous than the others gave her credit for.

"Very good, bella," he said with professional admiration. Recently he had agreed to teach her a few tricks of the trade, as they were, in return for lessons of his own in wielding two longswords. Though she preferred the use of sword and dagger, he had seen her fight with either, and her skill in using two weapons that felt ungainly and awkward in his hands was enviable to one of his trade. "I wondered if perhaps you were up to one of our lessons this evening. You must be wound tightly after so many days with so little to behead."

She gave him a small smile. "Just let me finish up here first." She wrung out the shirt she had been scrubbing and tossed it into the pile with the others – a shirt far too large to be hers. He scowled and crossed his arms over his chest.

"So the Templar has you doing his chores for him now?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "As opposed to the way he helps with mine when he has two good arms?" she countered, and her eyebrow quirked at his at his expression. "I see you hadn't realized that."

His lip curled with distaste. "A handy sort of lapdog to keep around, then."

Rhiann made a sound between a groan and a sigh and fixed him with an irritated look. "Don't start on Alistair."

"And why should I not?" he asked harshly, moving closer to her. "You deserve better. You are not a princess locked away in a tower waiting for your knight. The boy does not understand that."

She scoffed at the notion, raising his ire further. "He understands me much better than you seem to want to give him credit for."

"Is that so?" he asked in a low voice as he crouched down beside her. He leaned near enough to catch the scent of lilacs that clung to her like a fine mist. "Does he understand what it is that drives you so?" he questioned quietly, seductively. "The hatred and fury that you keep locked away?" He smiled unpleasantly and his fingers teased the end of her braid, hanging down her back to the small of her waist. "Does he understand that you hide this from him?" he continued relentlessly. She flinched at his words and his smile widened, a hunter who's spotted his prey. "You need me, my dark beauty, not that child. You need someone who knows the shadows that lurk behind your soul."

Rhiann scrambled to her feet and turned to retort, but his proximity caught her by surprise. Before she could react he slid his arms around her and captured her mouth against his. For a moment she yielded to his expertise, just a breath of a second he could taste the sweet flavor of sultry innocence before she firmly shoved him away, her hand coming up like a wall between them. Her eyes were hard and uncompromising as she regarded him, and the warning there made him backpedal a step.

"I do need you, Zevran," she said quietly, but she remained ice all over despite the warmth of the words. "So - don't make me choose between you."

She gathered up her clothes and walked away, her step sure and her back stiff with resolve. He exhaled slowly as he watched her go, resignation settling in like a bitter aftertaste. There certainly seemed no chance that she would warm his bed, now or ever. If only that blasted Warden had not gotten to her before he had. Things would have turned out differently, of that he was confident.

Yet she had admitted that she needed him, that he was more than a convenient ally and hired knife wielder, even if she had told him in the same breath that Alistair was her only choice.

Minx. Such manipulation was admirable.

Zevran laughed to himself, but it was hollow and without humor. He hadn't really expected differently, but he would be no better than the bumbling idiot back at camp if he had not at least tried. The only thing that really surprised him was the force of his disappointment. For a moment he considered leaving, cutting his losses and walking away from this entire situation, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to do that, either.

He tried to blame it on curiosity – it had killed more than one cat in its day, after all – but the excuse rang false even to him. He cared about that infuriating woman, enough that he was incapable of walking away now. He wasn't a person who concerned himself with ideas of love or lack thereof, but he could admit that she was far more important to him than a possible conquest.

Heaving a sigh, he followed her back to the camp.

One thing was for certain. She made him think entirely too much.

-oOo-

Alistair was awake when she returned to camp, still bleary eyed but trying to force down a bit of food before he would likely return to his blankets. Rhiann was still lost in her thoughts as she began to drape the freshly laundered clothes over every rock and bush within reach. She went about the task with more flourish than was necessary, nearly flinging their belongings down and stomping in sheer frustration. So many times in her youth minstrels would come to court telling tales of women being pursued by two men. The storybooks she had read as a child often carried the same theme, this idea that true love involved fighting for what you wanted, of proving yourself. All those stories managed to make it sound terribly romantic, rather than the colossal nuisance it was in reality.

Alistair glanced up just as she finished, apparently just noticing where she had been. "You didn't have to do that," he said. "I would have..." his voice trailed off as he caught the expression on her face. "What's wrong?"

She certainly wasn't going to tell him about the encounter by the river. Injured or no, Alistair would break Zevran's neck if he found out. Much as she wasn't exactly opposed to the idea right now, she had to assume she would change her mind later. "Nothing."

He raised an eyebrow at her. Rhiann could lie so convincingly and with such ease that it had become a running joke in their little band, but for some reason it never worked on him. Whether it was the taint or the fact that he simply knew her so well she wasn't sure, but at times it was damned inconvenient. His gaze automatically went to the assassin, and she could see a storm gathering there.

She sat down beside him and drew her knees to her chest. "It's nothing. I just have a headache."

He wasn't convinced, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "I'm going to have to kill somebody, aren't I?"

She crossed her arms over her knees and hid her face with a long sigh. She should have known better than to try to put him off. "Can I ask you to do something for me that may not be as easy as it sounds?"

"It's sounding dire as it is," he said slowly, unnerved by her demeanor. It would never cease to amaze her, how insecure he could be in the hold he had on her.

She looked back up, careful to meet his gaze so he could see her honesty. "Trust me," she said simply.

"I do trust you."

"Do you?" she prodded, and her mouth twisted in acerbic irony when he looked down. She wasn't the only one who couldn't get away with anything less than honesty. Still, she reminded herself that it wasn't really his fault. Zevran was at her side nearly as often as he was, and she had always put off his jealousy as a petty emotion that didn't deserve consideration. It was horribly unfair of her, in hindsight. "I realize I've never been very straightforward about this," she admitted softly. "You don't have to worry about Zevran. Ever. Can you believe that?"

He still looked wary, but his expression softened as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Then I have a confession to make as well. You're going to drive me insane, I swear it."

She grinned a little at that. "Well, it wouldn't be much of a stretch, now would it?"

"All the same, I've worked long and hard not to advertise it. Tucked that bit away with painstaking care and years of passing it off as plucky bravery. It's rather rude of you to show up and undo it all."

"Don't worry too much about it. You weren't fooling anyone, anyway."

-oOo-

The Brecilian Forest was teeming with life by the time they found a Dalish leader who could get word to the wandering tribes. New grass sprouted from the softened ground and blossoms decorated the young trees, their branches reaching to the sky as if stretching in the sun after a long winter's sleep. Leliana giggled with delight at the pleasurable warmth of the afternoon, letting her feet dangle in a stream as they stopped to catch their bearings in the dense forest.

The omens of spring were less welcome to Rhiann, much as she enjoyed shedding her winter cloak. It had been nearly a year since Ostagar. They were running out of time, and the plague that haunted the Dalish would not be cured easily or quickly before they were able to send the necessary archers to Redcliffe. She sighed and shook her head.

Werewolves.

Honestly.

She irritably wondered if anything else could possibly go wrong, then cursed herself for the mental jinx when they at last found the lair of the beasts. The ancient ruin was a rat's nest of corridors and dead ends, crumbing stone and enormous tree roots blocking many of the passages and turning the entire construct into a dark labyrinth of traps and unseen dangers.

"Did I call it or what?" Alistair groused, using his sword to clear away the cobwebs that choked their passage. "Only our luck would bring back a plague that hasn't broken out for nearly a century."

"True enough," she agreed tiredly. "But from the looks of things, this illness is spreading rapidly, and the wolves seem to be targeting the young warriors. There's no way they can fulfill their end of the treaty if this continues."

"I don't like it," he said, frowning a little. "Werewolves are the result of demonic possession, and so of great interest to the Templars. I've never heard of one able to speak before, let alone offer ultimatums."

"And we all know, the Chantry has no interest at all in altering the truth in order to further its cause," Zevran said dryly.

Alistair conceded that with a shrug. "They may embellish the truth, but it is usually the truth still. And the magic we encountered in the forest – there's something going on here that no one is telling us about."

Even Zevran couldn't argue with that assessment, and they continued in silence before they came to a break in the path. Rhiann glanced down the identical looking hallways and groaned inwardly. They could wander around this place for days, finding only cobwebs and undead and more dragons. Weren't those supposed to be rare?

"Perhaps Leliana and I could go ahead and explore," Zevran offered unexpectedly. "My apologies, but I have very little desire to explore this hole in the ground much longer. We are both skilled in avoiding detection should trouble arise."

Rhiann debated for a moment before nodding her agreement. "Don't go too far. Just enough to make sure we're not walking into another dead end."

Alistair pulled off his helm and leaned against the wall as the rogues vanished, preparing for the wait ahead of them. He glanced at her with a hint of concern. "How are you?"

She understood what he was asking. "I think I've had enough of the underground to last me for a lifetime, but I'm not going to fall apart like I did in the Deep Roads." She idly skipped her fingers over the braid that hung over her shoulder. "Promise me when this is over and done with we'll live somewhere where I never have to walk into dank, dark caves again."

"Done. Location with an altitude – got it." He was quiet for a little while, pondering something before he offered hesitantly, "We could go to Highever." He was keeping his voice deliberately low in case Zevran and Leliana were still within earshot and Rhiann did a double take, unsure she had heard him correctly.

"What?"

He ran a hand through his hair, the words coming quickly but still quietly, as if he needed to say this before he lost the nerve. "I don't know. I imagine you never want to set eyes on the castle again, but you speak so often of the sea, and well – if this whole trying to put me on the throne thing doesn't work out, I just thought - maybe - we could go to Highever."

She wasn't sure what surprised her more, the idea that he had put some thought into what came after the Blight or the fact that he had seriously factored what she would want into his calculations. "What about rebuilding the Order?"

"We could do that," he said slowly. "But as someone pointed out to me, we don't exactly have anyone to answer to here. We could start where we wanted, couldn't we?"

She blinked. "You would go to Highever with me?"

He crossed his arms, looking abruptly shy as he studied the ground. It was almost amusing, the way words suddenly became difficult for him when they mattered. "I just want to be where you are."

She felt like a merchant who polished a copper piece one day and discovered it was gold. "Alistair, I..." She wasn't exactly sure what she wanted to say, and ridiculously she suddenly felt as awkward as he usually did. "I'd like that."

The hopeful grin he gave her made her stomach do a tiny flip. "Really?"

"Really," she said, then laughed softly with a deliberate glance around them. "Although, you really should work on waiting for a more appropriate environment to make these declarations."

"More than you know," he muttered, his eyes flicking somewhere over her shoulder. "Do me a favor and don't turn around for a second."

He stepped behind her, and Rhiann heard the scrape of metal as he drew his sword followed by a screechy hiss. There was a sickening crunch and Alistair returned, calmly sheathing the weapon just as Zevran appeared at the end of the hall, gesturing for them to follow.

She shuddered from head to toe, her back squirming with uncomfortable chills. "Was that another damn spider?" she demanded, her voice much higher than she preferred.

He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they continued down the dark corridor. "Ignorance is bliss, love."

-oOo-

The celebration in the Dalish encampment was a muted one, the pall caused by the loss of their leader felt even amidst the merriment and song. There was still much to be celebrated, and Alistair couldn't help but be warmed by the sight of those affected by the illness reunited with loved ones who had thought them lost forever. It seemed so rarely that they were actually able to help real people with problems, rather than running errands for powerful men with more powerful ambitions.

He was becoming soft and sentimental, he supposed.

Or maybe it was just the wine.

Rhiann was by the fire, dressed for the occasion in a soft white dress of simple design, her black hair braided on either side of her head and hanging over her shoulders like a priestess of the old gods. It was a suitable look for her in the wilds of their surroundings, and he felt his lips curve into a smile of appreciation as he watched her laugh and try to encourage Morrigan to sample some of the elven spirits that Oghren had managed to track down.

He winced at that. Drunk Morrigan. There was an experience he was sure they could all live without.

Leliana flopped down beside him, flushed from dancing and smelling faintly like she had already done quite a bit of sampling already.

"I see you're enjoying yourself," he grinned at her as she swayed a bit before finding her balance on the log that was serving as a bench.

"So rarely do we get a chance to be happy," Leliana's eyes sparkled at the prospect. "And your armies are gathered, against all reason. It is indeed a night for celebration, no?"

Alistair smiled at the joy Leliana managed in every situation but did not answer, swirling the wine left at the bottom of his cup. The last thing he felt like doing was celebrating, with the return to Redcliffe before them. He supposed even his talent for wishful thinking could not convince him that Arl Eamon had given up on the idea of putting him on the throne. He downed the rest of the drink in an effort to chase the unwelcome thought away.

"You have a great many admirers, you know," she continued mischievously. "How many of these women have looked in your direction tonight!"

"They're drunk, Leliana."

She gave a tiny and utterly deliberate sigh. "I suppose your eyes have only caught the attentions of one, yes?" She seemed extremely pleased with herself, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

"So you had something to do with that, did you?" he asked, nodding towards Rhiann.

"Of course I did. You didn't think she would come out of that horrible armor without a great deal of persuasion, did you? Well, maybe it takes less persuasion when you are asking, but-"

"Leliana!"

She laughed brightly at his mortified expression. "I'm sorry. You are simply too easy to tease."

She watched the others for a while, and her smile faltered, much to his chagrin. He didn't want her to be unhappy.

"I will admit to having an ulterior motive," she said wistfully. "So many things will happen now. I feel it catching up to us, this Blight we have only managed to outrun through luck and Rhiann's leadership. I wanted an evening to celebrate with my friends, to find some joy before we must continue. Is that wrong of me?"

Alistair sighed and put a friendly arm around her shoulders. "No, that's not wrong of you at all." He grinned and added, "Do me a favor, though. If Oghren offers you anything else tonight, say no. I think you've had enough."

She smiled, the cloud that had begun to gather over her breaking away, and she playfully shoved him off of their perch.

-oOo-

It was on unsteady feet that the party began the walk back to their own camp. The music and laughter still rang loudly behind them – the elves apparently had much more of a constitution for all night celebrations than they had realized. Rhiann was feeling pleasantly warm and slightly drowsy, both of her arms around Alistair as she used him to secure her trek through the dark woods. Leliana was leaning heavily on Zevran and even Wynne stumbled a bit. Alistair reached out and grabbed her elbow to steady her. "Something tells me we'll be spending a day in camp tomorrow," he said humorously.

"I'm fine," Wynne objected with perfect clarity. "Not all of us turn into imbeciles when there's a bit of drink to be had." Yet she rested her hand on Aiden with some pretense of patting his head as she righted herself.

Alistair didn't answer, just laughed beneath his breath and bent down slightly to kiss Rhiann's hair.

They came across Morrigan just outside the camp, sitting on the ground with her back braced against a tree and snoring.

Oghren grunted in disappointment. "She only took a couple of belts, too. No head for it."

Rhiann was just tipsy enough to find this extremely funny, and she choked off her giggles as Oghren nudged the witches' hand with his boot. Although he stayed silent she could feel Alistair laughing as well, apparently unwilling to be caught in his mirth should Morrigan wake up.

"Truly, Rhiann, your use of persuasion is nothing short of frightening at times," Zevran chuckled, and he passed the dozing bard to a startled Sten and bent down to pull one of Morrigan's arms around his neck before hauling her to her feet. She mumbled in protest but did not stir otherwise. The assassin shook his head in sadly. "What a different place the world would be if only you used your powers for good instead of evil."

Rhiann laughed as Alistair began to guide her away from the others, more than ready for a few moments alone after the crowded company of the past week. "Just dump her in her tent."

"That is easy for you to say," Zevran called, but he was grinning as he swung Morrigan up into his arms. "If she freezes off any part of my anatomy I shall be very, very displeased."

"I would be very careful about waking her up, then," Sten muttered, and looked confused when the group burst into laughter.

-oOo-

It was a triumphantly weary party that reached Redcliffe two weeks later. The courtyard was crowded with dwarves and mages, the elves having promised to be there before they returned from Denerim. Rhiann felt slightly dizzy as she looked over the crowds that filled the castle and yard, still amazed that they had managed to accomplish the hopeless task they had taken on in what seemed like an eternity ago.

She would have liked to rest, to enjoy their success for at least a few days before being pressed into the meeting with Arl Eamon, but realistically she knew that she had kept the man waiting long enough as it was. The Landsmeet had been called and the nobility of Ferelden would be traveling to Denerim within days. It was a testament to Eamon's popularity that he had accomplished that much without a single word said about his alternative solution to the current leadership. She took only long enough to make herself at least halfway presentable before joining him in the great hall, her ragtag group of adventurers in tow. She didn't think she would have been able to keep them away, not with such a decision hanging in the balance.

She didn't see much point in hedging, as there was only one thing the Arl would really be interested in hearing. Besides, if she didn't say it quickly, she may never get the words out.

"You have my support," she said clearly. "I'll add my voice to yours in putting Alistair on the throne."

"What?"

Eamon looked only relieved, ignoring the outburst behind her. "Take your rest, Warden. We leave for Denerim in three days."

She nodded and tried to escape, but Alistair caught her arm, pushed too far beyond human endurance to wait until they were alone. "Are you really agreeing to this?" he asked incredulously, and Rhiann saw a look of pure terror behind his eyes. "What about the Wardens staying neutral? What about us?"

"This country needs a king," she said, careful to keep her voice level. "We're out of time, Alistair. We need unification now."

"Then let Anora do it. She's done splendidly as queen thus far. Maker knows she wants it so badly she can taste it. Those people don't even know me. Why on earth would you pick me?"

Rhiann knew the answer, though she was hesitant to say it in front of their audience. Anora was capable, there was no doubt. But she was also calculating and ambitious and even ruthless when she saw fit. Rhiann was too familiar with the intricacies of court to deny that these were valuable traits to a woman in her position, but the country was in a different state than it had been when Cailan ruled. Alistair was capable of making those decisions, intelligent enough to learn the skills Anora excelled in. But at the same time, he had the compassion that Anora glaringly lacked. Loghain's daughter loved her country, but as an abstract, symbolic thing. Alistair's devotion was to its people, its farmers and peasants and soldiers. They would need such a ruler to heal them from this Blight.

She couldn't do it, couldn't perform that act of selfishness that would keep him from it.

Not even when it was all she wanted.

"They don't need Anora," she said simply, steadying her voice against the painful knot building in the back of her throat. "They need you, Alistair Theirin."

-oOo-

Their course decided, Arl Eamon felt it prudent to play the proper role for the return to Denerim. It wouldn't do for a claimant to the throne to arrive at the Landsmeet covered in filth from walking the roads. Much to Alistair's annoyance, Rhiann agreed to this bit of political strategy. Those who knew how to ride were given horses for the journey, while Oghren and Wynne bounced around in a carriage with Aiden. The dog did not take to traveling this way very well and howled miserably at the uncomfortable accommodations until Rhiann's gentle voice calmed him. Even then he sulked, ears and tail drooping as he flopped on the floor of the contraption with a depressed sigh.

Alistair wasn't much happier with his arrangement. They traveled in a group with Arl Eamon, Bann Teagan, and a dozen armed guards who insisted on surrounding them.

"I'm never going to get used to this," he lamented, glaring at Rhiann as if the entire display was her fault.

Which, admittedly, it mostly was.

"Think of it this way," she offered, "We don't have to take turns on watch."

Zevran perked up from his place directly behind them. "That's true, no?"

"And," Leliana added brightly, "Carts and provisions! No more stale bread and cold stew for our supper."

"I like cold stew," he grumbled stubbornly.

Eamon gave him a small smile. "It's only for the benefit of appearance, Alistair. Once we reach Denerim you'll be free again."

Until the Landsmeet, after which he'll be dealing with this for the rest of his life, Rhiann thought sourly, thinking this a rather cold comfort to offer. From the look on Alistair's face, he agreed with her.

They traveled the Northern Road, skirting around Lake Calenhad towards the Circle Tower. Although the crowd was a nuisance she could have done without, she had to admit it was pleasant to sleep the night through for the first time in nearly a year, leaving the concerns for the safety of others in the hands of capable warriors.

The fortress of the mages came into view the following morning. She her friends lingered at the crest of the hill to admire the view. The Circle had been on its way to being rebuilt on her last visit, healing from its terrifying ordeal under the wise guidance of Irving.

"I wonder if Dagna ever made it there," Alistair wondered aloud, glancing over at Rhiann with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

"I don't know," she answered innocently. "But I don't think I'll feel right about it until we check."

"Me, either."

She grinned at him, and decided that becoming nobility was really a process better eased into, when you thought about it. "Race you."

Without looking back she kicked the horse into a gallop, Alistair right behind her, and Zevran and Leliana quickly followed suit. They raced ahead of the others, laughing as the guards grumbled and swore and tried to keep up, reveling in the feel of the wind and the sun while the fields of grass passed in a blur behind them. Trying, for this brief space of time, to outrun the unknown future that loomed before them.