The Words Between - part 19

The ceiling was comprised of a smoother, lighter stone, cut into smaller blocks, but otherwise, Kyn might have mistaken it for that of his room in the manse. However, the fall of the shadows was another matter, as was the smell and the feel of the air. The window was also on the wrong side - moonlight streamed in, unabashed, managing to illuminate even the farthest corners in a flat, silverine cast. Out of the corners of his eyes, Kyn could catch the bare hints of a golden complement, perhaps a candle from its limited influence.

He slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position, catching the edge of the covers before they slid down his body completely, a hand rubbing absently over the soft, tight weave of the single sheet and the rougher textures of the two blankets on top. He was clad in a sleeping shirt, and from the feel, a pair of matching leggings. Lifting his head, he saw the door a little to the left, centered in the wall. A chair had been propped underneath the latch at an angle to prevent someone from forcing the door from the other side, and the jamb itself around the lock looked oddly distorted, but he could not make out the details in the wan light.

Turning a little farther, he found Brin sitting half-slumped in another chair at a desk before the window, head propped up between his fists, listing dangerously to the side with eyes closed, saved only by the table's edge. Between the trainee's elbows lay an open book.

Kyn took two deep breaths to clear his mind and then rubbed his eyes, pressing in the heels of his hands until phantom splotches of color burst behind his lids. He could distantly recall arguing with Nadia and then running into the garden - no, that wasn't quite right. He had turned into the room instead, and then there was the garden, and then Sianni, and then...

For once, he would like to wake up in the clothes that he had dressed himself in.

He opened his eyes, fingertips trailing slowly down from his forehead and over his face, dipping and rising with the features in its path. He could feel her - had the vague impression of soft bedding underfoot, warm braziers and a full belly. It was as frightening as it was comforting; he had enjoyed her presence for a brief time, until he began to realize he depended on it and that it could be taken away. In the end, he thought he believed that she would not leave - at least, not voluntarily as his vision had shown - but there was still a small, irrational fear huddled in the far corner of his mind. And he had not Seen her in the time that comes later.

You do not See everything. Your having been Chosen without your foreknowledge only proves that beyond a doubt.

Is it really worth losing what time you have left with her for fear of that break?

I can't stand being discarded once more...

:It is alright to fear, to be uncertain. It is alright to have moments of weakness - even the most fearsome drake, the fastest gryphon, the strongest man must occasionally rest, or risk exhaustion and failure.: He flinched reflexively from the unexpected intrusion, but almost before his frustration with his own reactions could rise Sianni had soothed his thoughts into the comfortable lull that he had woken to. :See what you've been missing all this time?: she teased mercilessly as the unnoticed tension slipped out of his muscles.

:Your insufferable cheekiness?: he retorted, squinting past the half-shuttered window at the crescent moon, a slender fingernail's paring dangling precariously from the night's fabric by a corner. Despite the caustic connotation of the words themselves, their delivery contained no real spleen. His thoughts felt oddly sluggish - no, reluctant - while at the same time, his head felt clearer than he could ever remember. It was as if all the cares and worries that had so plagued him in the last few weeks had been stuffed in a lockbox in some far corner of memory - its presence was known, but distant, with no bearing on the present, and he felt not the slightest urge to remedy that. :What did you do to me?:

He could feel her shifting her weight, the skin over one rump twitching at some imagined itch - and the question of how he came about that knowledge brought only the vaguest afterthoughts of concern. :Nothing that shouldn't have occurred on its own, though I'll have to give Nadia a considerable amount of credit. If you feel like you're lying on a bed of clouds right now - actually, I know you do - it is, in large part, due to her efforts. We are a little more sensitive to each other than we'll eventually settle into, but it is not too unexpected. I think of it as a temporary overcompensation by a long-neglected bond.:

He frowned, gaze dropping back down to the covers, fingers rubbing fitfully at the fabrics as if testing their solidity and his sense of touch before thoughts of Nadia brought his attention to the door. :I remember locking the door. How did she get in?: One brow twitched upwards as he finally realized why the chair was needed as a brace - the door had been forced, and the reason why the jamb looked so odd was because someone had tried to push the splintered wood back into place. :What happened to it?: he ammended.

:Brianna did,: Sianni said with more than a hint of an arch in her neck, chin nearly tapping her chest in her amusement. :From all reports, she was already in a fine temper by the time she returned from a circuit of the grounds, and welcomed the chance to vent some of her frustrations - to the detriment of the duke's decor. Thank goodness they decided to put you in a less-frequented wing of the keep. If the servants had caught her at it, I do believe they would have called the guards on her - and I would not have blamed them, considering her enthusiasm at the time.:

A corner of his mouth curled upwards irrepressibly. His curiosity over what the guardswoman's temper was like when she was well and truly riled nearly overpowered his sense of relief that he had been unconscious by the time she had made an appearance. Almost.

But thoughts of how he had managed to miss the entrance of the others also brought to mind what had just occurred before, and he drew his legs to himself, wrapping his arms around them and staring over his knees broodingly, trying to deny the shiver that crawled down his spine.

:It was a hallucination,: Sianni reiterated with a warm nicker of comfort. :Nadia would apologize for neglecting you, I think, if you were just a little less irritating.: He had grown so used to the second-hand insults that his brows barely twitched and Sianni continued blithely on without pausing a beat. :I received the distinct impression that she had been badly startled by the condition she found you in when she finally laid hands on you; there was a touch of remorse there, for letting your differences keep her from monitoring you more closely. Sleep. I will guard your dreams tonight.:

He did not refute her words - but only because he had no evidence to present beyond a hunch and paranoia. It had felt so real...in the way that the real world - or what he assumed this to be - was real, not like the way the landscapes he created in his head were real. There was a subtle difference - one on which he relied to tell future-seeing from present. It was not full-proof, but it was good enough that he felt he had not made a mistake in this case. But does it really matter, what it felt like when Master's hands - two good hands - grasped yours? No. This episode, at least, seemed to have passed without incident, and he had enough to deal with without borrowing further trouble. :Why is Bryn here?: he asked as he fastidiously tugged on the undersheet, smoothing out some wrinkles in preparation to lying back down.

:Brianna wanted to keep her appointment with the guardsmen from the gate, but didn't feel comfortable leaving you alone. Since Nadia has assured her that you were out of immediate danger from yourself and no other threat had produced itself, she left Bryn to provide watch until she gets back.:

"How thoughtful of her," he mumbled beneath his breath, narrowing his eyes at the boy, the open book, and the candle. From the length of the wax - melted nearly all the way down, slumped over and leaning, much as Brin was doing - and the lack of activity that could be observed in the other portions of the keep, the boy had been watching over him for quite some time now. It was long past the evening meal. :What excuse was made for my absence?:

Sianni, following the train of his thoughts with the occasional feather-light brush, knew immediately what he was referring to. :Simply the truth. That you were feeling poorly. May I add that the duke is truly despicable? He did not even have the grace to act surprised. Merely made some sympathetic noises and invited the others to begin eating as soon as Mennifei, her little posse of followers, and Brin arrived at the table.:

Vague feelings of appreciation for the efficiency of this type of communication was replaced by perplexity as he ran her words through his mind twice more. :Where is Mennifei right now? Brin was with her until the meal?:

:As far as Brin has been able to tell up until he dozed off, she has been sleeping peacefully in her chambers.: Sianni snorted and rubbed her nose against a foreleg to relieve an itch. :And yes, he had been. I think he's found a new appreciation for her, though the poor boy seems rather confused by it all.:

Kyn cast a perplexed look toward the boy in question, feeling his eyebrows crawl upwards. :I beg your pardon?:

:He didn't have any problems slipping himself into her good graces. In fact, from all reports, she was the one who invited him to accompany her as soon as she recognized who he was. To the irritation of several of her followers, might I add. It appears that she directed her attention at Brin to nearly the exclusion of all else.:

His eyebrows snapped back down in a frown, and he unconsciously turned his head slightly toward the left - in a direct line to where Sianni was stabled, if there had been no walls between them. :I don't understand.:

:The girl may be shallow, but she's no fool. She knows there's something more involving all of our appearances than merely her father's invitation. She had been steadily - and with remarkable subtlety - interrogating Brin for details and information all day, trying to piece it together. He found it an interesting challenge trying to fend her off, even with that wide-eyed innocent look of his.:

Kyn closed his eyes and let his head fall back with a sigh as he considered her words. :How close is she to coming to the truth of matters? And how will she react?:

:She has not figured it out yet, and I honestly don't know if she will anytime soon. She may have curiosity working for her, but she's not ready to face certain things yet. And I do not know how she will react.:

:How smart do you think she is?:

Wryly, :She is a Se'Fannouel, after all. But consider this - why do you suppose she was enrolled at the collegium?:

He grimaced, attempting to follow her line of logic - and finding to his surprise that it was actually quite easy, the subliminal murmur of half-formed thoughts as readily detected and interpreted as actual Mindspeech. Wonderingly, he tested the new discovery, stringing the suppositions together as they formed for her perusal - much as he had done in another life and time for someone else.

"What do you see, boy?"

Kyn obediently stared at the painting, concentrating, squinted until the muscles at the corners of his eyes twitched, focused so intently on the task that when the man asked the question again, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Shaking his head sharply to cover the flinch, he reported tentatively, "I don't know."

"You do not know?" Drag-thunk. Drag-thunk. A waft of herbs and sickness heralded the sweep of Master's sleeve as the man reached around and nudged his chin. Kyn swallowed, meekly allowing Master to adjust his head so that he faced the family portrait directly, trying to ignore the dry, callused feel of rough scars brushing the sensitive skin of his neck. "A blind man would be able to tell me more than you do now," Master said scathingly. "He would explore the frame, tell me its dimensions, perhaps explain the artisan's strokes and techniques if he were particularly skilled at interpreting the texture that the paint dried into. But what can you - you, who can lay claim to the fullest extent of your faculties - what can you tell me?" A soft, derisive snort. "Only of your own ignorance."

Kyn flinched again, muscles in his arms and back and jaw tightening, before he ground out with only the thinnest veneer of control, "I see a family. Posing for a portrait. The Assani family, which you had me study two days ago."

"Better." The word was given grudgingly, a prod rather than an encouragement, and Master drew back just far enough to allow Kyn to breath once more, but not so far that the man's presence could be forgotten. "But still far less than what is expected of you. I will ask once again - what do you see, boy?"

Kyn felt his breaths shorten, the pace of his heart rise, a tremor start deep in his muscles from the rush of adrenaline, a prickle of sweat just beginning on his forehead and palms and armpits. All signs of rising anxiety that his instructor in wrestling had taught him to watch for, but which he was not quite able to control yet. At least, not when in the presence of Master. "I - " He winced at the threadiness of his own voice, and coughed to hide his nervousness and embarrassment while knowing that he fooled no one with the act. "I see..." he tried again, and though the words were firm and clear this time, he could add nothing else to them, and his voice once again languished into silence.

The disappointed sigh that sounded behind him had him dropping his head in shame, hands clenching into fists at his sides. Before he could sink completely into despair however, the presence at his back leaned close and whispered an unexpected reprieve. "One last chance, boy...what do you not see?"

He almost didn't hear the difference. The tone of the voice - smooth and coaxing, rather than the harsh remonstrance he had expected - had been surprising enough that he nearly missed the words themselves. But some remote corner of his mind that was paying more note than his consciousness was flagged his attention, and his gaze snapped back to the painting. He searched the solemn figures, and something in his demeanor made Master add with a hint of approval, "Tell me your thoughts. Explain your reasoning."

"The Assanis," he began, his voice beginning soft and weak but gaining in fervor as he began to gather the clues. "They were counted as minor nobles. The family gained more fame for their insular traditions than their status as lords and landholders. This particular generation lived almost a century before. There is Anielle, her brothers Jordin and Manniel, with their parents Kaina and Berkin. Beside them sits Seenia, the wife of Berkin's brother, Johrsh, holding her infant son, Lorn. He was her only child, her personal miracle. She had a history of miscarriages and stillborns, and had despaired of ever producing an heir for her husband." He paused, searching, and added absently, "But Johrsh himself is not there..."

"Very good. You have proven you retain what you read. Now, what do you see? Prove to me that you have a thinking mind, rather than just an empty ledger for others to put their marks on you."

"Johrsh died in a freak accident," Kyn continued with more assurance, knowing by Master's chastisement that he was on the right track. If he had been hopelessly astray, the man would have simply left in a cold, bitter silence. "A wall in the market, weakened by the spring storms that frequently pass through their area, had fallen upon him as he passed. That would mean this portrait was painted afterwards, for such a setting would have demanded his presence." He frowned, eyes flicking across the pale faces, and mumbled half to himself as his thoughts raced, "But Manniel is there. Manniel died not long after Johrsh did from the bite of a spider. That means that this was done in the - five? Six months that separated the incidents?"

"It was Johrsh's death in part that convinced the Assanis to have this portrait made. They wanted to be sure that kinsmen would recognize their own blood, even if they never met, such as Lorn and his father," Master agreed, the readiness with which he volunteered the information indicating that he was well pleased with what Kyn had managed to deduce thus far. But still, he pushed for more. "It was five months that separated the two deaths. This painting was made during that time. You have told me what you do not see - now, what is it that you can see?" he demanded.

Kyn pondered, worrying at his lower lip until the nervous habit registered and he forced himself to recompose his expression, allowing some of the elation from his earlier success to buoy his thoughts just enough to keep them from focusing on possible failure. And, eventually, he ventured, "Lorn is there. While Manniel was still alive. While Johrsh was not. Didn't Seenia retreat into mourning for a short period, and then abruptly reemerge to announce that she was with child? She claimed that she had not known until after his death..." He sucked in a deep breath, staring at the tiny infant, its eyes half-shuttered drowsily as it lay cradled peacefully in its mother's arms. "She claimed that it had been a difficult pregnancy, and that is why virtually no one saw her for the entire term as she was confined to her chambers. Even if she had given birth just before this painting, just before Manniel's death, she should have been at least four months pregnant by the time of her husband's death if Lorn is here in this painting. If she carried Lorn to full term, it would have been obvious to others that she was pregnant by the time Johrsh died - "

"Some babies can be born up to a month premature and still survive. She claimed that he came early and that he had been fragile, and so they nursed him carefully for a month before presenting him officially as the heir to Johrsh's estate."

"Even so, she would have been three months pregnant by the time of Johrsh's death. Three months..." he began with a perplexed frown. "Do women show that much at three months...?" Silence followed his half-rhetorical question, and he took it as a sign that he should know the answer already, and continued picking at the facts presented before finishing wonderingly, "But it doesn't matter what other people might or might not have seen, because she should have known, and well before her husband died. And as soon as she had known, she should have declared it - as she had, but only later, after Johrsh's death. Lorn...was Lorn really his son?" A short pause, and he added with absent-minded wonder as he began to grasp the depth of the deception, "Was Lorn even her son?"

Master turned away, his bad leg dragging as he prepared to depart. "Some of the deductions you made were less than polished, but what you have managed to discern thus far is, for now, satisfactory."

Kyn's shoulders slumped with a soundless sigh as he continued gazing upon the painting, feeling relief sweep through him like the exhaustion of a hard day's training. "But..." he asked tentatively, presuming from the passed test that Master was in a reasonably good mood, but not quite so confident with the conclusion as he would like, "...am I right? Was Lorn the son of either of them?"

It seemed the lesson had gone well enough, for he received a response promptly. "As a woman who had never managed to produce a living child before, it was understandable if she was hesitant to make known that she was pregnant once again. What if it ended in yet another failure? Her declaration of her condition just after her husband's death might indicate otherwise however, as she was not at all shy about the announcement and some seemed to think she had a strange confidence in her ability to carry the child to term this time. Some called it desperation, for if she did not manage to produce a viable heir, her husband's properties would have defaulted to his brother, and she would have been forced to live out the rest of her days upon Berkin's good graces unless she remarried - somewhat doubtful, as no landed lord would have wanted a wife that had proved so unlucky in child bearing."

Kyn frowned and turned away, gazing after Master as the man began to limp away. "But, am I right?" he insisted, become bolder with the lengthy explication. "If he wasn't...nobody said anything. Lorn grew up to inherit Johrsh's properties when he came of age, and there was never even a hint of protest, even against his appearance. Not even from Berkin, who could have laid claim to his brother's assets."

"Oh, there were no concerns over his appearance," Master unexpectedly assured, a hint of humor threading through his voice as the shadows of a corridor began to claim him. "He looked very much like Johrsh. It was only his supposed mother that he seemed to take very little after. And just because you did not read any documentation concerning the matter does not mean that people did not have their suspicions. I was very selective in the material I had given you two days ago."

Kyn shook his head, the setup he had been subjected to passing almost without conscious notice. He had long ago grown used to the man's methods. "I don't understand. How did they manage to find a baby that they were sure would grow to take after Johrsh's appearance?"

A soft, amused chuckle floated out of the hallway as Master paused briefly to explain, "Because Lorn was Berkin's son, born out of wedlock. Berkin, as the younger brother to Johrsh, would ordinarily never have inherited anything, but he had been lucky in his marriage. So he too became a landed noble - but only under very strict agreements. Discovery of a bastard would have led to complications that neither he or his wife wanted to acknowledge, and so the child was given to Seenia to raise as her own." The shadow of a hand rose, forestalling the next barrage of questions. "I will not go into details when you can peruse them yourself. The papers and letters will be made available to you tomorrow. All you need to concern yourself with today is that you remember: sometimes what is not present is just as important as what is, and that even something as innocuous as a single painting can give away entire fortunes."

Kyn shut his eyes abruptly, trembling. Ignore it. Just ignore it. You can't smell him, can't feel him, can't see him, he's not here, he's not here... Clutching the post-Healing haze about himself like an old blanket, he took refuge in the flow of words, allowing them to spill unhindered and keep his mind from wandering. :With the duke's resources at her disposal, Mennifei could have been privately tutored - was privately tutored before her move to Haven, most likely - and been just as well educated as if she had been schooled at the collegium. I hazard she was not there for her personal enlightenment. What were her marks like?:

:Fair, Brin says. He knows she did just enough to pass, and not one heartbeat's effort more.:

:Was her presence in Haven her idea, or the duke's?:

Uncertainty caused Sianni to hesitate, and finally she said, :None of us know. However, one thing that is clear though - or as clear as something gets without outright confirmation from the proverbial horse's mouth - : there was a little snicker at her own joke, and Kyn couldn't find enough presence of mind to do more than blink as he tried to absorb the full depths of the pun, which he had learned only relatively recently during his stay at the collegium, : - she was most likely in Haven hunting for alliances.:

He was still somewhat distracted by the thought of Sianni cracking such a tasteless joke with all the earmarks of true enjoyment when he determinedly refocused his attention on the matter under discussion. :Alliances?:

:Alliances through marriage, possibly. She is certainly of age; has been for some time now, depending on which region of Valdemar you were raised in. She has certainly not wasted any time gathering a flock of acquaintances and admirers wherever she goes - :

:She is naturally gregarious and overweening.:

:Granted. But consider her behavior - both what you have heard and what you have noted yourself - and tell me if you believe that she simply allows them to follow her around like a gaggle of ducklings instead of actively herding them around to where it pleases her.:

He fell silent for a moment, even as he reflexively gathered unneeded breath for another inaudible rebuttal, and carefully considered the facts and rumors as Sianni had asked him to. Finally, he continued quietly, :It is not evidence of her manipulation I contend, it is her motivation - I think she is merely trying to camouflage her actions.:

Sianni paused in surprise. :Why do you say that?:

He shrugged, running a hand through his hair and tugging fitfully at the strands. :She accepted Stefahn's advances for a time, and when his advances became too bold, she distracted him, deflected his attention. Perhaps, now that she has discarded him completely, she will find herself someone else soon.:

:Are you proposing, then, that her move to Haven was her idea? In order to escape Lynxfinn?:

:It is one of many possibilities.:

:But you believe it to be the possibility. What would she have to fear in Lynxfinn? And why bother with surrounding herself with sycophants and suitors at all? Why not remain aloof and undisturbed?:

:Do you not wonder who she maintains appearances for?:

Sianni thoughtfully scraped a hoof through the straw in her open stall. :I do not think it is as simple as that.:

He nodded. :I agree. But there is a dissonance between the man she wants her father to be, and the man that the duke really is. She can feel it - perhaps subconsciously, but it is enough for her to try and put distance between them. Enough to convince him that she can find far better prospects in the capital than in neighboring provinces. She managed to get herself sent to Haven when she's the last and essential key to his plans.: And after she reached Haven? After that, she continued to drift from beau to beau, keeping up the appearance that she was searching for better prospects while never allowing anything to proceed beyond the opening stages. She did just enough...and no more.

:That is a lot to attribute to a girl whom you considered little more than a ninny.:

:A...ninny?:

:The way she was acting in that alley. That's a ninny. Kind of.:

He mouthed the unfamiliar and ridiculous-sounding term with a small snort of bemusement. :It was only that once. Otherwise, she has displayed an alarming ability to manipulate a situation to her own needs. I am not making the mistake of considering her less of a threat simply because she is female. In fact, quite the opposite on multiple levels.:

:Oh really?: Sianni asked archly.

He frowned suspiciously at her tone. :Was that a comment or a question?:

A snort. :I suppose the former, since I cannot think of any sort of satisfactory answer you would be able to give if it were the latter.:

Utterly confused, he tried briefly to puzzle through her response, but in the end had to give up with a shake of his head when Sianni shifted her weight, cocked a hind foot, lowered her head, and busily radiated all the signs of falling into a doze. Deciding that he would heed Nadia's advice this once and follow Sianni's example, he took one last glance toward the keep's courtyard as he contemplated sleep, and recalled the one member of their band still wandering about. :Why was Brianna so insistent on meeting the guards?:

A mental shrug, and Sianni responded hazily with an aloof air, :I suppose she missed the company of fellow guards.:

Considering who had assigned that specific guardswoman to him, Kyn thought that highly unlikely. But then again, considering Brianna's character, it also seemed to be just the sort of thing she would do. Sighing in frustration and deciding that trying to untangle a noble's plots was nothing next to untangling certain female psyches, he began to slide beneath the covers - only to pause with the blankets half-drawn up over his shoulders when there was a soft thump from the table.

Bryn's head had finally slipped past the ability of his slack hands to recover, and had come to rest against the book's pages with only a brief mumble of protest. The boy's breaths then started coming in soft, nasal wheezes as they snaked their way through an obstructed passageway.

Kyn stared at the scene for a moment, conscious of an odd impression of expectation and waiting from Sianni's direction, and finally asked, :What?:

:Aren't you going to help make him more comfortable?:

While he had been taught to take a certain amount of initiative - he would not have been able to operate independently otherwise - to do so on someone else's behalf purely out of...out of...what does one call it? 'Thoughtfulness'? It would be as if he had been asked why a dog turns three times in place before settling down for a nap - he didn't think 'dog'.

Nevertheless, his mind poked and prodded at the idea until he finally asked with a blend of deliberate obstinacy and genuine curiosity, :Why?:

:Because he would do the same for you.:

It was not the answer he had expected. But then again, he had to admit with some afterthought that he had not really expected her to answer at all. Considering the promptness of her reply, he had to wonder if she had manipulated the entire exchange merely to trounce him with that particular conclusion, but finally decided with a sigh that it didn't really matter as he slipped out of bed, wincing as bare feet came in contact with the chill stones of the floor. She had unerringly hit upon a point that he was growing increasingly uncomfortable about - he had been abusing the boy's generosity shamefully, and one of the things that Master had been adamant about was balance. Balance, not only in life, but in actions. Too much water drowned a man, while too little killed him through thirst. Any dealings with demons, spirits - even the smallest of elementals that can barely support a consciousness - required a balance between request and payment, sealed by a formal contract. And in one's relations and associations with others - there too, must there be balance. Kyn was beginning to owe the young trainee more and more in that last respect, and half of his frustration arose simply out of confusion as to how he should repay it. After all, it was not as if the boy required anything from him; at least, nothing that only he would be able to provide.

:That is where you are wrong,: Sianni butted in while he dragged his and Brianna's cloaks from their packs and draped them over Brin's shoulders, eyeing the boy's posture briefly before carefully readjusting the blond head to lie more comfortably across the pillow of folded arms. :Is it not obvious by now that he simply wishes for your companionship? And you are the only one in the world who can provide him that.:

:I thought you were going to sleep,: he informed tightly, waiting to see if the boy's breaths sounded easier before returning to his bed.

Sianni promptly began blowing soundless snores down the bond until he threatened her with scissors, razors, and shaving cream.

Eep! I just realized the other day that I totally missed the Words Between one year anniversary. o.O* I can't believe this thing's been going on for more than a year now...

And yes, it appears we're going to be playing the numbering-lettering game again. I honestly had planned this chapter to be longer (actually, this little part here I had planned on appending to the interlude at first) but I decided I was too lazy. Hope this part turned out all right; honestly, I'm not quite as content with it as most of the other sections, but I haven't been able to figure out why yet. Let me know what you think.

Magdellin - Eep! Congratulations!! Pictures are always good, but I can wait. =P Glad to hear that you're all good now. Keep me updated! =)

melissa - Thank you. ^_^ With such encouragement, how can I not try to rush out the next section? =P