In the early dawn hours Tully found the land most at peace. He would often times trek out beyond the Sanctuary's defenses. It was a habit that everyone, especially Fergus, disapproved of. Sometimes, though, he needed to be alone. He always felt closer to Galen in these woods. He could almost feel the druid's presence, like a cloak around their home. It was here that he practiced his magic, or what little he knew. Early morning dew blanketed the grass and shrubs and a slight chill hung in the air. Knowing the Romans were looking for them, he kept a close watch and secluded himself up in a full oak that stood within a thick grove.

He heard the noise first, and crept further back towards the trunk of the tree to hide and watch. With a crash, a figure emerged from the brush. Her long cloak was torn by branches and as she glanced over her shoulder her hood swept back to reveal a flowing mane of brown hair. She abruptly stopped, looked around momentarily and headed toward the tree in which Tully was hiding. Jumping up to swing from the lowest branch, she nimbly pulled herself up, much in the same way he had just done minutes before. Clamoring up the tree she almost fell when she saw Tully. He put his finger to his lips eliciting a smile.

Tully studied her face. She looked to be about his age. Her fair cheeks were spotted with freckles and her face was rosy from her run. Large inquisitive eyes gazed back at him, the color of the sky. Her hair was pulled back in haphazard braids by small pieces of leather. Turning his attention back to the ground, he looked in the direction she had emerged from, waiting for her pursuers. They did not come.


From her perch, Catlin had a clear view of the surrounding woods. Ever vigilant, she kept looking for signs of danger. Several paces below her Conor slept. He seemed to be dreaming, by the movements he made. Chuckling softly, she walked down toward him. He was about to kick over the kettle of stew... meatless stew he had prepared the night before, while she was fast asleep.

"No..." he spoke, from within his slumber.

Catlin stopped for a moment, afraid to wake him from, his trance-like dream. Kneeling down beside him she watched him. He was breathing heavily and sobs began to emerge from his lips.

"Please, Claire... Please..."

Catlin almost heard the shudder her heart made. Only yesterday she had the slightest hope that he cared for her. Again she chided herself for belief in things that could never be. He was still in anguish over Claire. He was still longing to be with her.

"Claire, come back! Claire!" he yelled.

Catlin bit back her disappointment and gently shook him... he was startled awake and gasped for air, as if the dream was water and he was drowning in it.

"Conor?" she said softly.

His eyes were red with tears and devastation.

"Catlin?" he questioned in amazement.

"You were dreaming," she said sitting on the edge of his blankets.

"Dreaming?" he said as if he couldn't quite believe it.

"Yes... about Claire," she hid the pain in her voice.

"Claire?"

"You called out her name..." She paused momentarily, then looked him deeply in the eyes. "This is what's been bothering you... isn't it?"

Breath caught in his throat. Did she know about the dreams? Did she know they were full of her death?

"Conor... I want you to forgive yourself..."

"Cat, I can't talk about this right now," he said starting to get up.

Taking his arm she pulled him back down to the ground.

"We need to talk about this," she said forcefully, though her heart wanted nothing to do with the conversation they were about to embark upon.

Fearing she might look into his eyes and read his mind, Conor tried to shift his gaze away from her.

"Conor," her voice was merely a whisper. "I know what it's like to feel responsible for the death of someone you love."

His heart pounded. How could she possibly know what his dreams entailed?

"You helped me," she continued. "You made me realize that my sister's death was not my fault."

"You don't understand, Catlin. It is my fault," he said taking her arms.

How could she have known? Yet she was still calm. She was still more concerned for him than for her own life.

"Conor, listen to me... Claire's death was not your fault."

"Claire?"

"I heard you cry her name in your sleep," she said softly, desperately trying to control the tremble in her voice. "You didn't kill her... Gar did."

Leaning back on his hands, Conor realized she didn't know what the dreams were about. Hearing him call out Claire's name, Catlin had mistakenly believed that it was Claire's death, not her own, that racked his dreams. Seizing the opportunity, he played along.

"I know... I know he did..." Conor got up and began to tie up his pack. "I'm going to go wash up..." he said quietly heading for the shallow waters of the nearby stream.

She caught him by the arm gently.

"Conor?"

Turning to look at her, he smiled.

"Please don't hold things in... You can trust me, ok?" she smiled, hugging him tightly.

Feeling her warm skin beneath his hands as he held her, he finally shook off the last of the dream. For the moment she was alive and safe. The portents of the dream could be escaped. He just had to figure out how.

"Thanks, Cat," he whispered, kissing her hair.

Letting her go he turned and headed to the brisk water.

Watching him leave, tears pooled up in her eyes. She fought futilely to keep them from spilling over. The grief of love's chance lost hit her in the stomach. She turned quickly and walked to a secluded spot, away from his view. Tears slid silently down her cheeks.

"Stop it!" she chided herself. "You're being a fool..."

Yet she couldn't help from feeling desolate. It wasn't until that moment that she realized how deeply she felt for him... and how deeply he still felt for Claire. Roughly wiping the tears from her face she made a silent resolution.

"I will move on..."


Tully and the stranger clung to the tree for what seemed like an eternity. Who was she hiding from? After a long silence she finally spoke.

"I must have lost them," she sighed.

Tully was intoxicated by the sound of her voice. Tones as bright as a harp, yet not abrasive. Mellow as a low wind, but not sad.

"My name is Tully," he finally managed.

"I'm Aiobhell," she smiled. "Now... where shall we go?"

"Down, I suppose," he smiled.