Disclaimer: On chapter 1.

She was terrified, and she didn't know why at first. She was so afraid she couldn't think, and then, through the fear, she saw a picture. She was a child again, about ten, and she was walking through a dirty, smoky taproom, dodging drunken bodies and serving wine.

Someone snatched her arm in a grip that hurt. She tried to struggle away, but couldn't free herself. "Come here, little boy, pretty boy," he said. "I only want to give you something..."

It ended suddenly, and she was in darkness, and only the fear remained. She tried to scream, but no sound came out.

"Ralca! Ralca, wake up!"

She did, with a shriek and a punch that caught Neave in the shoulder. He fell to the ground, as she had so many times that day. "Ow!"

"What happened? What—what—" In her haste and fear, Ralca forgot herself and began babbling in Karsite. She calmed down enough to repeat her questions in Valdemaran as Neave, rubbing his shoulder, sat at the foot of the bed.

"I told you I projected," Neave told her. "That was my dream-memory you were experiencing."

"That was—what?"

"My dream. My memory. After lessons today, I was so tired I forgot to rebuild my shields, and you didn't have any, and I projected my nightmare into your dreams. The same thing happened when I first arrived at the Collegium. I won't let it leak through again. I'm sorry."

"Sor—wha—that was a memory?" Ralca stuttered.

Neave shrugged and looked away. "It was a long time ago."

"Matter that does not. A memory…" She shuddered. "Something I could say I wish there was, but nothing there is."

Neave didn't reply for a long moment. "I don't usually have that dream anymore," he said finally. "Some times are worse than others."

"How do you mean?"

"Last night I slept in the stable with Kyldathar. It was the first time I'd had it in…I don't know; a long time. Tonight, as soon as I woke up, I knew you were picking it up also, and it kept me from collapsing in terror."

"Glad am I that it served a purpose," Ralca muttered dryly. "I need help not when it comes to having nightmares."

He looked sharply at her. "You don't?"

She gave a hollow parody of a laugh. "I rejected my country, my life, my family, and my friends. I was almost burned alive. I was bound to a Hellhorse. I rode half-conscious for Vkandis knows how long, then fell at your feet. I woke up looking straight at a Demonrider. I have fodder aplenty for nightmares." Neave thought he saw the beginnings of tears in her eyes. "Jarin's face I keep seeing..."

"Who's Jarin?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"He is—he was my partner and my lover, before...just before."

"Daeor didn't mention him."

"And wish I do that I had not." This time it was Ralca who looked away. "Distract me, your teaching does, from all the pain, and for that I am grateful. What I saw, even Daeor cannot erase the pain of."

Neave knew better than to ask what had happened. At least, not now. Maybe in a few days, or weeks, Ralca could say it, but not yet. He nodded. "Even Companions have their limits, as much as they would like us to believe otherwise."

:Thanks ever so,: Kyldathar muttered dryly.

:Hush, please,: Neave replied. :I can't have two conversations at once.: "Good night, then. I'll try not to give you anymore nightmares."

She gave a tearful smile. "My thanks you have."

By the end of the next day, Ralca could shield well enough to satisfy Neave's demands. The day after that, she learned Truth Spell. On her fourth day awake, Neave showed her how to link and began teaching her the many uses even her minor Gift could have, as well as the capabilities of other Gifts. "Why do you teach me all this?" she asked once.

"It'll give you a head start at the Collegium," he replied. "And it'll be at least three days before you'll be well enough for us to ride."

"I rode here," she protested.

"And look at the state you were in when you arrived," Neave was quick to point out. "We'll leave in three days."

Ralca shrugged and continued practicing.

The next morning when Neave woke up, his sword was missing. His first thought was that Skif had taken it, as  joke, and his second was remembering that he wasn't in the Collegium, and Skif was away with Princess Elspeth. But what Ralca was doing with his sword, he didn't know.

He dressed hurriedly and went to find her. He didn't have to look for long. She was outside practicing, weaving the sword in complex patterns. The blade flickered in the early morning light as she ducked under and imaginary opponent's stroke and drove her sword home. Continuing her spin, she back-kicked and gave a turned-about lunge.

The moment was broken as she dropped her sword. Breathing hard and clutching her wounded side, stretched by strenuous movement, Ralca fell to her knees. She felt hands on her shoulders and opened her tightly shut eyes, looking up into Neave's concerned face.

"Are you alright?" he asked anxiously.

"Fine," she managed.

"You're sure?"

Ralca nodded and stood slowly. Halfway up, she collapsed against Neave, gasping in pain. "No," she choked. "Reopened the wound, I have. Badly."

"Come inside," Neave ordered her. He helped her back into the Waystation, scolding her all the way. "You should know better than to try sword-dancing when you've got as many unhealed wounds as you do! What possessed you to do that?"

She smiled wryly. "Out of practice I did not want to get, Mother," she teased. "Alright, I am, Neave. Really."

He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. I just thought you'd really hurt yourself."

"Hurt it does, but alright I will be." She sat down and lifted the hem of her shirt, watching blood soak through her bandage. She sighed. "A longer wait I have made to heal. Ah, well. Today you teach me shielding?"

"Yes, after breakfast."

Not the greatest ending, I know, but I'm lucky to have gotten this far. Keep reviewing and I'll keep writing.