(Author's note: This is the longest chapter I've ever written, and I loved writing it, let me tell you.  I also have to say that I had more than a little help from another author, so if you really like this chapter you have to thank Tyler as well for his ideas and proofreading.  You can find his own work here on Fanfiction.net under the nom de plume Machine Essence.  So thank you to everyone who read, everyone who reviewed, and Tyler for helping me put out the best (IMO) chapter yet! THANK YOU!!)

Terra,

I'm here in Thamasa now, and I imagine Locke has already kept you up to date as to what has been going on.  Did he mention he went on a drinking binge and beat up a noble on the ship? It was precious; you should be upset that you missed it.  He also informed me that Relm already knew that I was her father.  That leaves me to wonder just who else knows? I would hate to think that Locke had told you something he was keeping from me, that's not a way to stay on my good side, is it?

           I wish I could say that we had a heartwarming reunion and that all is now well, but that would be a gross exaggeration.  So it wasn't great, but it wasn't bad, either.  Relm did throw a sugar bowl and a saltshaker at me.  She missed, but it was pretty close. 

           From your last letter, it sounds to me like things are as mundane and unexciting as usual around Mobliz.  As sorry as I feel that you're stuck there (by choice…) I can at least rest a little easier knowing that you aren't getting into trouble without me.  Fuck, I'm starting to sound like Locke. 

           Can you imagine how tense things are in this house? Your boyfriend has actually been a lifesaver here in Thamasa, I'm sure he's the only thing keeping Strago from trying to kill me.  The old magi seems to like him, just enough to tolerate me.  That, and the little wiseass (Relm) and I have been getting along slightly better.  She wants me to teach her how to fight, what do you think of that? Before you get that adorably dubious expression on your face, rest assured it is for self-defense only.  Come on, do you really think I would encourage the kid to seriously hurt people? 

           Now that I think about it, this is the longest letter I've ever written.  It could probably go on for a lot longer if I don't stop myself.  I actually miss you.  I wish I could say I'm going to see you soon, but it doesn't look like I will.  Relm wants me to stay for a few more days and I agreed.  She is hard to say no to, kind of reminds me of Interceptor like that.  After that we're going to be heading to Corner Stone to find this artist lady and escort Relm safely there. 

           I wasn't supposed to be going on this journey, but once again the manipulative brat has talked me into going, sparing no guilt tactic (do I speak of my daughter or my dog? You decide).  Besides, I get to spend a little more time with Interceptor this way.  Putting up with Locke is a price I'll have to pay.

           Before I close this out, I'm going to ask you to do me a favor and write to Locke for me.  I think he has some crazy idea in his head about his next career move, and I'm not exactly thrilled about it. Find out what's going on in that rock head and fill me in. Of course this means that you'll refrain from mentioning that I asked you to interrogate him.  Can you do that for me? You have my permission to use your womanly wiles, if that's what it takes.

           Good girl, I knew I could count on you.  Take care of yourself.  I am going to see you again.

Clyde

Terra was not entirely certain what to make of this letter.  With a few words, Clyde would seem like he was on the verge of being sentimental and affectionate, then with a few more he had abolished that and come across as a flippant bastard with a twisted sense of humor.  The half-Esper huffed at the last part, where the master assassin assumed that she would carry out his desires and interrogate Locke on the side.  The truly annoying part was that she was just charmed enough to do as he asked.

           Pushing up the brim of her wide sun hat, Terra scanned the letter again, quite familiar with Clyde Arrowny's distinctive handwriting by now.  Pursing her lips and letting out a faint sigh, she looked over to Katarin, who was pretending not to be trying to read the letter over the other woman's shoulder.  "Kat?"

           "Yes?"

           "Where is Corner Stone?"

           Kat patted absently at the dark plait of her hair drawn over one shoulder, finally shaking her head.  "I have no idea, I've never even heard of it."

           The two women were standing in the message office near the Mobliz town square as Terra had not been patient enough to carry her letter from Clyde all the way back to her house to read.  Whenever a letter came for her, she was in the habit of tearing into it straight way, pondering it for the rest of the day and composing a reply when she finally did make it back to her house. 

           "Pardon me," Terra said politely as she pocketed the letter in her trousers and walked up to the receiving desk, rapping on it gently for the elderly woman's attention. 

           Min, the aging clerk, smiled in an absent way that was surprisingly due to her natural flakiness and nothing to do with her age.  "Yes dear, what is it?"

           "I was wondering if I could send a message to Corner Stone?" Terra inquired politely, knowing that she had to take it slow with Min.  Everyone in Mobliz treated her like the local heroine she was, but the clerk had trouble remembering anyone from day to day. 

           "Corner Stone…" The woman frowned and squinted down at her books, holding her thick spectacles up on her nose as she dragged a fingertip up and down the list.  Finally she lifted her head again and shook it sadly. "No, I'm sorry dear, we don't have any services going that far north.  I suppose it must be a very small town.  Do you know what the next largest one is? Perhaps you can send a message there?"

           Kat was not paying as much attention to the conversation as she was to a large map that was on the office wall.  Clasping her hands behind her back, the young mother clucked her tongue for Terra's attention.  "The nearest place that can take messages is a long way off.  I see why they call it Corner Stone."

           With a soft sound of dismay, Terra joined Kat and looked to where the girl was pointing to a small island in the northernmost sea.  "It will take weeks to get there…who knows how long Clyde will be?  I may as well just face it," she sighed "I'm not going to see him again for a long time."

           "You could always take a more forward approach," Katarin suggested with a shrug, crossing her arms in front of her now as she began to walk out of the office and into a pack of children that had been waiting to pounce their caretakers.

           Taking time to thank Min, Terra followed Kat outside quickly, bending down and scooping up Katarin's toddler daughter.  "Forward? What are you talking about?"

           "Go get washed up for lunch!" The Human of the pair raised her voice rather sharply for all of the children to hear, snapping them to attention and into action without protest as she reached over to relive Terra of her baby.  "Why are you sitting here just waiting for this man?"

           "The children…" Gesturing out in front of her with a hand at the scattering kids, eager to get washed up so that they may eat.  Terra pushed the hat off of her head and it fell against her back, held in place by a string.  "They need me."

           "Terra, come on now.  The kids love you, but they don't need you like they did before.  Mobliz is recovered and thriving, Duane and I can handle things and there are plenty of other people here who not only have adopted many of the kids, but would protect any one of them." With a sigh, she looked over at Terra and smiled a bit tiredly.  "I know you love them, but don't use them as an excuse to stay."

           That caused the other to arch a brow.  "I never used them as an excuse, Kat.  I really do love it here, this is my home.  The first real home I've ever had…"

           Katarin stopped and shifted the toddler in her arms, turning to face Terra fully, and her expression quite serious.  "All right, look.  I'll level with you.  I'm insanely jealous of you, okay? I was born in this town, and I'll probably die in this town.  I have a husband and a family and I can't just up and leave to see the world or chase after a whim.  It's a terrible thing…as happy as I am, there's a part of me that regrets tying myself down so young."

           That came as a bit of a surprise, and it made Terra frown, reaching out to grasp her friend's shoulder gently.  "Kat…I'm sorry, I never knew you felt that way.  I never thought about it…"

           "Hey, it's okay," The girl shrugged, smiling when her young daughter reached to grasp at her freckled nose.  "I'm just saying that you should get out of here.  You can always come back, you'll always have a home here, but… you're young, you're in love, you're one tough-as-nails bitch when push comes to shove…get going while the going's good, you know?"

           "I'll have to think about it…"

*****

Since a guilty conscience made him stick around, Clyde was forced to busy himself as the days passed.  If he did not, he would go insane; it was as simple as that.  Although he would not admit it outright, he did take a kind of satisfaction in doing menial tasks as they kept his body active but left his mind free to wander.  It was a comfortable place to be, and he made it a point to enjoy it as much as possible.

           There were tasks and chores that needed to be done around the property.  Strago was too old to be doing this all the time even if he was in denial, and Relm was still a young girl.  Besides, there was a part of him that did not mind giving his daughter the extra time to paint now that she was not wasting her time on work. 

           The spade struck a stone in the garden, drawing the man out of his thoughts.  Releasing the handle of the shovel, Clyde inspected his hand to see that he had received a few splinters in his palm from the jarring blow of metal on stone.  Heaving the same kind of sigh Interceptor was prone to, he rested the spade against the side of the house and walked out of the garden. 

           Why was he even trying to turn over the earth in the garden, anyhow? It had been neglected so long that the earth was packed tightly and weeds had overrun the herbs and flowers that had once been growing.  Clyde remembered a time when roses bloomed around the house; white roses with just the tips of the petals kissed with red.  Lina had once told him they were passion roses.  The white ones were innocence, the red ones were romance, but these ones were passion.  It had sounded kind of stupid and girlishly whimsical at the time, but he had been more preoccupied with the flower's soft petals brushing his lips as the girl explained about the roses.

           Shaking off the memories, Clyde did wonder what happened to the rose bushes.  Perhaps they died without Lina here to take care of them, or maybe Strago had them removed.  Either way, they were gone, and he did not really care for roses anymore. 

           The day was lazy and warm without being stiflingly hot.  Was it fall or spring? No one knew for certain, and until the world was completely healed, it was anyone's guess.  Children played a respectful distance away; the citizens of Thamasa went about their chores and business.  A group of women ranging in age had gathered on the balcony of the neighboring house to play cards and chat about the local gossip, most of which included the guests Strago had staying at his house.  Clyde was pretty disgusted by their chatter and did not oblige them in the slightest when he felt their scrutinizing attention.

           Squinting at the bright sun for a moment, he sought out the shade of the tool shed behind the house so he could draw a dagger and get to work on digging the splinters out of his palm.  The last thing he needed was an infection.  It only took a few moments to guide the slivers of wood out from under his skin and glistening drops of blood began to well from his broken skin.  Absently, he licked at the miniscule wound, reaching for the door of the shed. 

           Upon entering the shed, Clyde was greeted with a mild surprise.  Apparently this was no longer a tool shed, but Relm's studio.  Instead of tools and gardening implements, there were paints, brushes, canvases, charcoal, easels and other items of her trade.  That explained why the spade had been rusting outside against the house.

           Letting the door swing partially closed behind him, the sunlight filtering through a window and a hole in the tin roof made it bright enough to see.  Moving past a canvas that was covered with a cloth, Clyde inspected the shelves for a pair of gardening gloves or something else with which he could protect his hands. 

           He admittedly knew next to nothing about painting, but he supposed it was taboo to go looking through an artist's pieces without permission, and he had no desire to invade Relm's privacy in such a manner…however, as much as he tried to avert his eyes, the covered canvas kept drawing his attention.  Finally he moved towards it and circled the piece propped up on a shelf.

           It was a full sized canvas, and he imagined she had been working on it this morning and last night when the girl had announced she needed some alone time to stimulate the creative process.  Frowning, he realized he was sorely tempted and detestably curious to see what she had been up to.  Finally he shrugged and told himself that it was no matter, and reached out to draw aside the cloth that had been protecting the painting from sunlight, dust and prying eyes.

           There was a clatter at his feet, and Clyde was only dimly aware that he had dropped his dagger. 

           What was revealed could not possibly have been the work of an eleven-year-old girl.  This was brilliant, this was unnatural and Clyde could not remember having been struck like this since the first time he had seen Terra in her Esper form.  The hand that had dropped the dagger balled into a fist and pressed against his chest, and he was very aware of the unusual way his heart was pounding.

           Relm had portrayed none other than Shadow himself.

           His brows furrowed as he studied the breathtaking piece.  It was so perfect, no detail had been overlooked, each color was true to life and the masked man standing with his arms crossed looked so…alive.  It was very eerie to see, it was not like looking into a mirror, it was like seeing yourself through someone else's eyes.  How many ever had that opportunity?

           There was magic there, in that painting, Clyde could feel it so strong it was almost like a scent hanging in the air, a taste on his mouth.  The piece itself was in dark shades, but she had painted him standing in moonlight, keeping watch.  His stance was relaxed but commanding, and his clothing was exactly the same he had worn on the night this painting was portraying, right down to the designs on the sash around his narrow waist.  Against a backdrop of night and forest with a pale circle of a hazy moon, large and cold, the dark and deadly figure stared back at Clyde.  The eyes…is that what people saw when they looked at him, or had Relm only painted it that way? It was cold, but very much alive.  Too alive…he could not tear his gaze from the canvas.

           What confused him was that this looked like a portrait, but Relm had obviously just been working on it.  She seemed to be painting from the inside out, not having filled the entire canvas yet, patches of it were bare a if she had not yet decided what would go there.  Had she really done this from memory alone…?

           "I said: What do you think you're doing?!"

            Startled, afraid and confused all at once, Clyde was finally drawn out of his daze by Relm's shriek from beside him.  The shed was suddenly much darker than it had been a moment ago, and a crawling sensation swept through him when he snapped his attention to the window to see that the sun was low in the sky.  It was sunset.  That was impossible, it had not even been mid afternoon just a moment ago.  Slowly, he looked down at Relm, not so fazed by her furious expression as he was by the fact she had entered the shed and walked up to his side without him even being aware of her until now. 

           Something in his expression made Relm's shift from outrage to concern and then worry as she looked from Clyde to her painting and then back, suddenly worried that he didn't like it.  "What's the matter with you? Say something…"

           "I was looking for gloves." Remembering why he had come in here to begin with, Clyde turned his palm up and inspected it.  As he suspected, the little punctures where the splinters had pierced his skin had scabbed over.  A chill stole through him and his expression hardened.  "Fuck…how long have I been standing here?"

           "How would I know?" Relm huffed in annoyance, truly taken aback by his behavior.  She had yelled at him when she discovered him in her workspace, but he had completely ignored her.  Not until she had strode up to his side and shrieked had he even acknowledged her, and still he did not seem even slightly embarrassed that he had invaded her privacy.

           Now he had no doubt in his mind that Relm's painting had captured him for what appeared to be several hours.  Either that or he was losing his mind.  The former was the stronger possibility.  "How did you do this…?"

           When Clyde gestured to her painting, Relm shrugged in a nonchalant manner, moving to tug down the cloth that covered it.  "Well, I mix my paints, line up my brushes and I just do it.  You act like you've never seen a painting before."

           Shaking his head slowly, Clyde turned to face the girl when she covered the painting.  His body felt stiff, another indicator of how long he had stood there motionless.  "Why did you paint me?"

           "Why not? I paint flowers and houses too, don't get a big head about it." The girl scowled, putting up one foot on a stool to roll up the cuff of her pants.  "Do I need your permission? If you don't like it, I don't care, I just paint for me anyway."

           Relm was not an easy child to speak to under any circumstances, Clyde learned.  He found her abrasiveness strangely comforting, because he could see right through it.  "I didn't say that.  I'm flattered, that's all."

           "Oh yeah?" Pausing, Relm crossed her arms and looked up at her father.  "Well…I don't know.  I just felt like painting you.  Sometimes things just come out of my mind and I don't realize it until I'm almost finished…what do you think of it?

           And don't say it's 'good' because I really hate it when people say that.  Tell me what you really think."

           There was no way Clyde could make himself say something like 'good' as a way to describe what he had just seen.  A part of him was still not quite sure what he had been looking at.  It was more than just an image on canvas that stole his breath away, wasn't it?

           Silence fell between them as he thought carefully with Relm watching expectantly and hopefully.  Finally he moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue and spoke.  "Honestly? It frightened me."

           That had not been what she'd expected to hear, but that was much better than 'good'.  "Frightened you…? Why?"

           So all the bullshit was dropped, all the acting, all the natural defenses and he was speaking with fierce honesty to his daughter now.  "I've never seen myself before.  Most people never do get to see themselves.  Most don't want to.  I wasn't expecting it."

           Relm's voice softened into something childlike and wondrous as her eyes widened at Clyde's words.  It was as if she had been waiting to hear something like that for a very long time.  "What did you see? What did it make you feel?"

           "I saw what you do.  After I had studied it, I felt…proud."

           A wraith of a smile haunted Relm's lips.  "Proud?"

           "Yes.  Proud of myself…and you…and that you seem to hold me in much higher regard than I thought." He spoke quietly but unwaveringly, folding his arms and mirroring her smile without realizing it. 

           It was Relm who looked away first, her smile widening into a grin as she blushed.  No one had ever complimented her so sincerely before with the exception of her grandfather…but even Strago treated her like a child most of the time, as if that meant she must be ignorant, too.  "Yeah…well, I'm glad you like it.  I was afraid you wouldn't."

           This was nowhere near as awkward as previous conversations with Relm, as few as those had been.  Unfolding his arms, Clyde reached out to ruffle her soft blonde hair in an affectionate gesture that surprised them both.  "You're going to scare the shit out of Corner Stone."

           That made Relm grin wider with an impish glint to her eyes as she nodded her agreement.  She did not protest the closeness, she felt more comfortable with Clyde now than she ever had before.  "Yeah, I know.  Now get the hell out of my workspace."

           Smirking at the child's way with words, Clyde waved his hand at her in a dismissive gesture, stooping to pick up his dropped dagger and walk out of the shed.  For a moment he marveled that he was quite fortunate not to have dropped the balanced blade onto his foot. 

           Relm followed a moment after, closing the shed door and tagging along after her father, having to hurry to match pace with his long-legged strides.  Hooking her thumbs into the pockets of her pants, she assumed a casual stroll once Clyde slowed down to accommodate her.  "Do you paint?"

           "Do I look like I paint?" He murmured absently, noting that they were not walking towards the house, but to the well-worn path that lead into the woods behind it.

           "Do I??"

           "No, I don't paint."

           "Sketch?"

           "No."

           "Anything remotely artistic?"

           Clyde arched a brow at the questioning, but he could not say he was displeased that Relm was speaking to him, even if most people would have been annoyed long before now.  "I consider my trade a form of art."

           Relm wrinkled her nose in distaste, watching the path as they walked.  If she was at all curious as to where they were going, she said nothing.  This was her territory anyhow, she grew up here, and all of these paths were familiar to her. "I guess I was just wondering if anyone else in my family had a knack.  I heard it was hereditary."

           "Not that I'm aware of…" Clyde's smooth voice trailed off, resuming after a few steps and accompanied by the sound of rushing water.  "Though I suspect your talent is a form of magic manifesting.  Granted, I'm not an expert on the subject."

           "I know there's some magic in it," Relm agreed, the way her brows drew together and her lips pursed when she was pensive was remarkably much like her father's.  "That would make sense.  My gramps is magi."

           "True, but I'm not sure that's where you get it from." Since they were speaking to one another, why not bring it up? The girl was not so difficult to converse with once you got past her abrasiveness and sharp tongue. 

           Hopping over a log that had fallen across the path years ago, Relm had no trouble navigating in the approaching darkness.  Nightfall was not long off, and the other children who would be playing by the creek had long since been called in for dinner.  She had few restrictions on her; her grandfather was unable to rein her in these days.  Already night sounds were starting to swell between the trees, a comfortable symphony she had fallen asleep to most of her life.

           "You think I get it from you?" Genuine curiosity touched her question when Relm came to a stop in the tall grass that flanked the shallow creek.  Sweeping her bangs out of her eyes, she looked to Clyde over her shoulder. 

Instead of venturing into the tall grass, the assassin opted for the roots of an ancient tree that had been sheltering travelers and the citizens of Thamasa for centuries.  Lowering himself to sit, he leaned back against the tree. "It's possible."

Wading back through the grass, Relm decided to catch frogs later.  Clyde seemed to have something interesting to say, and she wanted to give him her attention.  Wandering to the tree, she walked around it slowly, climbing on its roots and testing her balance.  "I didn't know you were magi."

"I'm not.  I'm not sure what I am." The confession came easily enough, and Clyde scratched at his chin, aware that he was going to have to shave soon.  "There is magic in what I do, though.  It manifests in my particular craft.  Hell, it manifests in anything I put myself to.  I seem to master talents and skills much faster and easier than people should."

Stopping to stand on a gnarl of roots, Relm reached out to rest her hand on the rough bark of the tree, her gaze averted to the darkness of the thick forest on the other side of the creek.  "I think I understand what you mean."

Reaching out one hand, the assassin plucked a blade of the sweetgrass and drew the root between his fingers to clean it of dirt before he put the end in his mouth.  There was nothing like the sweetgrass that grew on Crescent Island.  "Do you?"

Relm stepped down from the roots, circling the trunk of the tree to draw up beside her father, lowering and sitting next to him.  When she turned her face towards the man, she had a straw of grass in her mouth as well, and it bobbed when she spoke in all seriousness.

"It's like I have a fever.  When I want to paint something, I sit there and stare at the canvas.  Sometimes I know what I want to paint, sometimes images just seem to spill right out from the brush.  It's like being possessed.  Everything slows down, it's almost like I have to fight an invisible force to make my arm move.  I can't think about anything except what I'm doing, and I can't stop until I'm finished.  It's like…dreaming and being awake at the same time...but when I really do wake up, I'm usually done painting."

Clyde remained silent while Relm explained herself.  The little girl described very well what it was like for him when he battled, when he threw a shuriken, when he danced with the blade.  He had tried to explain it to other people on rare occasions, but they never seemed to understand.

"Have you ever tried to use it with something else?"

Pursing her lips, Relm shook her head.  "No…I never thought about it.  I really love to paint; I thought that was just…a flood of fiery inspiration.  Have you?"

Clearing his throat and eyeing the fireflies that were beginning their ghostly dance through the swaying grasses, Clyde nodded once.  "I have.  Everything I've ever attempted I've excelled at.  There were always one or two things that I loved the most, felt the most comfortable with, though." …Things that made me feel alive, he thought to himself. 

"Now that I think about it, I'm not really bad at anything…except maybe being patient and ladylike," The last part was muttered under her breath, though not at all inaudible to her companion.

           "I think you do just fine," Clyde chuckled faintly, trying to remain unaffected by the sunset.  It would be over soon, and he could stop marveling at its painful beauty.  The very last traces of orange and pink hues were giving away to the indigo and blue of night.

           Relm sniffled and moments of silence stretched between them, though this time it was a comfortable silence instead of the oppressive awkwardness of only yesterday.  She had more questions, but at least now she knew that her father was willing to answer them to the best of his ability, so she was in no rush to pump him for information.  "Where's Locke? I haven't seen him since this afternoon."

           "Neither have I." That was because he had been staring at the painting for the entire afternoon.  It was still strange to think about, but it was no fault of Relm's, and there was no harm done, so he let it go.

           "Kodi is Locke's puppy, isn't she?" Looking down at her hands, Relm nibbled on the roots of the grass in her mouth.  "She wasn't for me."

           Clyde smirked to himself.  Relm was definitely a sharp kid.  "Actually, she was Celes' dog.  Locke brought her along for the trip.  I don't think he intended her as a gift, but he's not unhappy that you made the assumption."

           "You're sure? I'll give her back if Locke wants her.  I wouldn't keep Celes' puppy…I shouldn't have gotten ahead of myself like that."

           Shaking his head, Clyde raised a hand to drop it onto his knee.  "It's fine.  If Locke didn't want you to have Kodi, he would have said something.  You're more Kodi's speed, anyhow, she was walking all over him."

           That made Relm grin, lifting her head again.  "We were trying to get her to sit earlier.  I took Kodi back home with me when I went to get something to eat and she was sleepy.  Hopefully she's still asleep and not driving gramps crazy." 

           "Or Interceptor," Clyde added as an afterthought.

           "Or him.  I haven't seen him much today, either, now that I think about it." Relm straightened, furrowing her brow. 

           "Don't worry about him, he's not far off.  I think he just needs some quiet time after the journey here.  He's not used to being around so many people." As of this moment he was not certain why he had not told Relm that Interceptor wanted to stay with her in Corner Stone.  That was something needing discussion with his partner, and maybe a small part of Clyde was hoping that Interceptor would change his mind. 

           With a little nod, Relm shifted and stretched in a sitting position against the tree.  "Should we go find Locke?"

           In all honesty, he was not too interested in sharing this moment with Locke, but he had not seen much of the thief in the last two days.  Something told him that the treasure hunter was going to get himself in trouble, even in a small town like this.  Clyde had made Celes a promise, after all.  "I guess we should."

*****

As much comfort as familiar faces and sympathetic friends were, Locke was suffering in silence, plagued with nightmares and gut-wrenching feelings of guilt and remorse.  The dull ache in his heart was a constant constricting pain that killed his appetite and made the smiles and jokes much more difficult than they had ever been. 

There was a time when he thought he would never survive losing Rachel, and he might not have.  The only thing that kept him alive during those years was the hope that something could be done to save her, that if he found the Phoenix, he could restore her.  In the end, he could not, but he had survived the loss with the help of Celes. 

Now Celes was gone, and there was no hope, even false, that she was going to return.  The end of the world had not kept them apart, but some bizarre illness had stolen her from him. 

As painful as it was, Locke did realize that it was becoming more manageable day to day.  The despair lessened so that sometimes he could smile and mean it, but he saw no end.  It was cruel and ironic that the one other person he might have turned to for comfort was in love with Shadow.  Shadow…His thoughts turned to the dark man a lot these days.  Clyde was the last person he ever thought would be there to help him through his grief with such a subtle but genuine sincerity.  Shadow understood him, and seemed to know exactly what to do, and not to do to keep Locke on his feet. 

This was a strange world, and it would get stranger just when he thought he had a grasp on it. 

The young man sat alone at a table in the Thamasa Inn.  Not many travelers ever came through here, it was not really on the way to anywhere important.  Locke had learned from Strago that students wishing to learn the art of Blue magic were just about the only outsiders that ever came.  That did not mean the Inn did not see any business.  The citizens of Thamasa used for a recreation and social hall, and there were quite a few people here tonight for the food, fighting, drink and companionship.

Maybe it was strange to want to be alone in a crowd, but Locke had wanted just that, to surround himself with people without immersing himself completely in strange company.  He was just in the mood to let the din and fragments of conversation and music wash over him as he sampled some of the local dishes and drinks.  Non-alcoholic drinks, of course, he had learned his lesson aboard the Lark.

The Inn was two stories and open in concept.  The commons was more spacious than it looked on the outside; the floors were hard wood that was so ancient it had been worn smooth just by feet constantly walking over its surface, the polish faded away many years ago.  The second floor was visible from the commons, a walkway running around the rooms that ringed the top floor so that when someone left a room at the Inn they could lean over the railing and see who was downstairs (or speak to them, as was the case with several people carrying on a loud conversation between both floors).

In the middle of the common room was a gigantic support column that went all the way up to the roof, and sweethearts of many generations had been carving their names in the wood. 

At the monstrous hearth set on the far right side, people gathered around to listen to the elders tell stories, others played instruments and sang songs from around the world.  It had the smell of pipe tobacco, cooking food and drink and the always-present spell of spice that permeated everything in Thamasa but only the outsiders seemed to notice.  It was a warm and comfortable, boisterous atmosphere. 

"Are you finished with that?"

Blinking dazedly out of his thoughts, Locke smiled politely to the waitress that had sidled up to his table and indicated his empty bowl.  She had introduced herself earlier, but he could not remember her name.  She was comely with curly dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and pretty brown eyes, the kind of shapely figure that every other man in here except Locke seemed to be interested in. 

"Yeah, I'm done, thanks."

"How about some dessert? The Inn has the best spice cake you'll ever taste…" The woman's smile widened and she spoke in a singsong voice, arching an eyebrow. 

With a polite smile, Locke shook his head.  "No thanks, I think I'm about ready to leave actually."  He was not dense.  In fact, he was well aware that the woman had been flirting with him all night, but he could not help the fact he was not interested. 

"Oh, that's too bad.  Aren't you enjoying yourself?" Reaching over the table to gather up the dishes from Locke's table, she inquired amiably.

Meadow, he remembered her name now.  She really was nice, and he was trying to express his disinterest as politely as possible without having to outright explain to her that he lost the love of his life to illness not long ago.  Hadn't the trouble on the Sea Lark been about a woman, too? Locke could not remember the details of that night, but the thought of coming onto anyone only days after Celes had died was painfully shameful. 

"It's been a long day, I should get going back." Standing from his chair, he began digging into his pockets for payment, leaving a generous tip on the table.

Surprisingly, Meadow seemed to understand that he was not here for the company tonight, and she smiled pleasantly.  "Well, stop in before you leave Thamasa, and I'll make sure you get some spice cake on the house, okay? Tell Strago to come see us, it's been two days and we miss his stories already."

With a nod, Locke started to walk away from the table and towards the door, speaking to Meadow over his shoulder.  "I will, I promise.  Thanks- hey!" A man he did not know, a burly male about his own age wearing a smirk, was suddenly shoving him roughly backward.  Flailing his arms to regain his balance, utterly confused as to why the stranger shoved him in the first place, Locke unknowingly grabbed a hold of Meadow's dress when the serving girl rushed forward to reprimand the belligerent patron.

As the fates would have it, there was the sound of tearing cloth as Locke's grip on the front of it tore the bodice open.  Both of them fell to the Inn's floor as the dishes on Meadow's dropped tray crashed loudly, drawing much attention.

Sitting up quickly, Locke pulled back his hand and got off of the girl, his face quite red when he realized he had torn open her dress.  With a squeal of embarrassment, Meadow pulled the dress closed over her breasts, her face as crimson as Locke's and her eyes wide.

Locke realized what must have happened.  Some citizens of Thamasa were leery of outsiders, and when the leery ones noticed a lovely young local girl flirting with an outsider instead of them, they tended to get angry.  Biting his lip, he started to apologize to Meadow but before he could say anything, the man who had shoved him spoke up.

"That fuckin' outsider grabbed Meadow! Didja see that?!"

No one seemed to have seen what had really happened; they had only noticed Locke when Meadow's tray had crashed onto the floor.  His eyes widening, Locke and Meadow both tried to deny what the man was saying, but the rising volume of anger inside the Thamasa Inn drown them out.

When Locke got to his feet, a boot connected solidly with the small of his back in a jarring blow that rattled his teeth and sent him crashing into a table.  His chin thwacked hard on its edge as the thief went down a second time, stunned by the sudden and vicious attack.  He was quick to recover, but not fast enough to avoid the rough hands grasping his arms and back of his shirt, hauling him to his feet and dragging him towards the exit.

Just when he was regaining his senses, tasting the coppery tang of blood in his mouth, he was pushed down the short staircase that lead up to the Inn's main entrance.  On instinct he tucked in his head and drew up his knees to roll and take as little damage as possible.  His attackers were surprised when he came up on his feet, the back of his hand pressed to his mouth and eyes trying to focus on the direction of the assault.

His attackers numbered in a group of eight, but Locke was focused on one in particular, the one who had started it.  The others were just followers, and usually when you confronted the leader, the sheep dispersed.  Unfortunately these were strapping youths with just enough alcohol in them to make them violent at the perceived insult he had visited upon Thamasa with his presence. 

The leader strode towards Locke purposefully, putting on a show for his audience as he swung a solid fist into the thief's stomach.  He had pulled off his shirt to reveal a tanned body that looked defined with physical labor, but he was an ox compared to Locke Cole.  Unfortunately, taking Locke by surprise had given the assailants the upper hand.

For a short, sweet moment, anyway.

Now it was Locke's turn to be angry, and he was far more justified.  He felt a hand gripping his hair, lifting his head for a punch and he immediately responded with a fist snapping outward, knuckles crashing onto the bridge of his attacker's nose with a satisfying crunch and spatter of blood. 

Howling with pain, the youth staggered back, holding his bloodied nose and giving Locke all the time he needed to recover and find his feet again.  "You son of a bitch!" What would have been a fistfight became much more serious when the attacker groped at the small of his back to unsheathe the curved skinning knife he had been hiding there.  Tossing the sheath to the dirt, the young man readied himself with a bloody snarl, lunging and taking a powerful swipe at Locke.

Mentally cursing, he wondered just how this had turned so bad so fast as he threw back his arms and agilely avoided the clumsy swing.  One on one, he could have disarmed the boy and been on his way, but the attack had spurred the rage and bloodlust of the other seven, who were ringed around Locke.  The thief noticed more than one blade to his zero.  One he could stop, but eight? Why wasn't anyone stopping this instead of watching from the windows of the Inn with mixed expressions of secret glee and fear? 

It was happening so fast.  Dust was kicked up as Locke began a dance to save his life as the enraged youth kept advancing with that knife, his swipes becoming more precise and vicious with each passing second.  When Locke moved too close to one of the seven that were closing in on the battle like a pack of jackals, one bold observer shoved him from behind, right into the maniac with the knife.  Grunting, Locke spun away, but not before he felt the serrated edge of the skinning knife slice into the meat of his upper arm to the bone, making him cry out at the burning pain. 

This had to stop now.

Locke went from defensive to offensive even before blood began to spill down his bare arm, gritting his teeth.  All he could think about was stopping this asshole, and hard.  Like a lion moving in for the kill on a wounded animal, Locke displayed his prowess.  The same skill he would have used to lift gold from an unsuspecting target served him well as he punished his opponent's clumsiness with two lightning punches to the already broken nose.  While the pain blinded the youth, Locke jumped and twisted his body, his knee connecting with the sweet spot on the side of the body, just under the ribcage.  Something cracked.

That should have been his signal to stop, but some greater instinct told him that stopping would mean death from the others waiting to move in on Locke when he showed signs of weakening. 

Ignoring the words of encouragement and threats from the other seven, Locke did not relent in his attack as long as his enemy was still standing.  He did not realize the extent of the damage done until the youth began to gasp for breath, coughing up blood.  One lung was lost to the three broken ribs that punctured it from the inside with splinters of bone doing even worse with each passing second.  The cries died down and realization slammed hard into Locke.

He had killed the boy.  The single, seemingly effortless strike was intended to do no less than what it accomplished, and Locke wondered why he had not known that when he attacked; he had seen Shadow execute the same maneuver once or twice in the past, had he not? Was the outcome ever anything less than a quick-but-not-painless death? Had that been necessary?

These thoughts flit through his mind like embers stirred by a violent wind as he watched the life draining from the enemy's body as he drowned in his own blood.  Silence fell for an undeterminable amount of time as the youth collapsed to his knees, then forward onto his face, still writhing faintly and then twitching in the final throes of a gruesome death. 

The fight was draining out of Locke as well, and the pause cost him dearly, he soon realized as one of the seven remaining stirred behind him.  There was time enough to turn his head and see a boy who was obviously the fallen's brother lunging at him with a face contorted into a mask of rage and a blade glinting with vengeance arcing down towards Locke's exposed back.  He would not move in time to avoid it.

The shuriken sang through the night air with a hiss and found its final destination in the boy's neck with a soft sound so powerfully that only black points protruding from the skin before the vital artery sprayed its vitae in a hot lash that stunned the thief.  The only one more stunned than Locke was the would-be killer who dropped his knife and let his hands fly to the choking itch at his throat that was killing him by the second. 

Victim number two pitched into the dirt in front of the Inn.

Confidence among the remaining six went from raging to waning in less time than it took for Clyde to reveal himself with all the grace and poise of a cat lazily strolling through its territory and clearing a path for itself with nothing more than a glance.  No one had seen him throw the projectile with such deadly accuracy and power, but nor did anyone have to see it to know. 

Breathing hard, Locke clutched at his wounded arm as he looked around slowly.  No one moved.  It was as if someone had cast a spell and frozen them in place.  The people of Thamasa did not want to go to war with these two men.  Apparently no one felt strongly enough for the two dead to speak up and invite the wrath.

Swallowing hard, the thief whipped his head around and felt himself mentally floundering as he tried to comprehend what he had just done.  What had happened? Were they going to be hanged for this? Shadow seemed unnervingly calm, catching his eye and holding it for a brief second before he made a very slight, jerking motion with his head, indicating for Locke to get moving. 

 His face may as well have been a mask for all it betrayed of the man who wore it.  Clyde said nothing, he only briefly scanned the onlookers for any signs of bravado, but it would seem that he had effectively quenched that.  When Locke started to walk towards him in a labored manner, the crowd parted to make him a path, some stares were horrified, some angry, but no one tried to stop him.

When Locke reached Shadow, the assassin spoke volumes with just another one of those slight, near-imperceptible motions that told him to keep walking.  The master assassin walked with him, backwards, keeping his eye on the crowd for a few lingering moments before he spun on his heel with the air of a lord, dismissing them all.  As they walked farther away, the thief was dismayed to see a pale-faced Relm waiting for them by a tree.  She must have seen everything.  Locke hung his head in shame.

Glancing back over his shoulder, Clyde confirmed there was no one following them as his hand dropped onto Relm's shoulder, turning her away from the scene as people began to move and talk again.  His voice was smooth, quiet and bespoke of his unshakable composure.  "We leave now.  We're going straight to the stables and getting those birds.  It would not be wise to stop for our belongings."

"I'm coming with you…" Relm's eyes were wide as she looked up to her father, her voice distant and plaintiff rather than demanding. 

"Go home.  Interceptor will see you there safely," Even though he could not see his partner, Clyde knew that the creature was close by and keeping watch for them in case someone did get zealous. 

"I won't!" The girl found some of her usual strength, her expression turning into one of anger.  "You promised you'd take me to Corner Stone, you can't do that if you make me go home! Gramps would never let me speak to you again, you just killed two people!"

"One.  Locke killed the other."

Hearing his name, the thief lifted his head.  He was weak from loss of blood and his arm throbbed hotly with agony where he had been cut.  "I did…?" he croaked softly.

This was getting complicated.  Mr. Cole seemed to be going into shock, Relm was calling him on a promise, and he was going to have to make a snap decision, there was no time to weigh everything.  Strago would forgive him eventually.  Possibly.  He hoped. 

"This is a lot of shit, partner."  Clyde addressed the mind of Interceptor, feeling the settling presence agreeing with him.  Out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of fluid motion and the canine was padding alongside them with his head lowered, on full alert. 

"That it is.  Sort it out later, you have to get out of here and Locke is seriously injured."

"I know."

Act first, sort out the details later.  Hell, they had to get out of Thamasa and on their way to Corner Stone anyway, didn't they? No time like the present.  With a single nod, Clyde guided Relm and Locke towards the Chocobo stables.  As of now, the thief could walk on his own, but that may change very quickly. 

"Fine," This said to Relm, but he was not about to make any more promises.