Disclaimer-- Tortall is not mine. I swear it's not. And this goes for the rest of my story since I'm tired of writing a disclaimer every time.

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Skye stood on the edge of a cliff, surrounded by the groans of the wounded and dying. For a moment, she simply stood in place, eyes squeezed shut, her mind in another place. A better place. A sudden shout broke her reverie.

"Skye!"

Another healer, a woman named Anmar, was calling to her.

"Skye, I need your help with this man."

She slowly picked her way towards Anmar, avoiding stepping on fallen men, horses, or weapons. Suddenly a hand grasped her ankle. A cracked, dry voice whispered, "Please."

Skye stopped, and knelt beside the bleeding man. He spoke again, "Please, help me."

She examined him quickly with her Gift, taking note of his wounds. The worst was a stab-wound in his shoulder, bleeding fiercely, staining the ground bright red. He was bleeding to death, and there was nothing she could do. He had already lost too much blood, he was beyond saving.

She looked at his face again; he was young, barely out of boyhood. Too young. Too young to dying in the dirt on some gods-forsaken battlefield. Too young to know the horrors of war. And yet here he was.

"Please," said the young man again, and as he spoke, Skye felt her eyes fill with unbidden tears. She did not let them spill down her face, but the young man saw the sorrow in her face and knew his fate. His own bright blue eyes filled with some emotion Skye could not name, and again his broken voice spoke, this time resigned, but with a hint of tremor in it.

"I'm scared."

Skye didn't know what to say; didn't now how to comfort him. In the end, she simply placed a hand on his good shoulder, and told him, "You are not alone."

He gave her a weak smile, and then he was gone.

At that moment, a Stormwing screeched overhead. Fear clenched Skye's heart, as she stood, she fought to keep from trembling. Skye was no warrior, she carried no weapons, at times she even believed herself to be a coward, but something now gave her strength and held her in place. Anmar and the other healers, the rest of the wounded men, the other soldiers--all faded away. Her world narrowed to the dead man behind her, the Stormwing wheeling above her, and the wild thumping of her own heart.

The Stormwing cackled. "What's the matter, dearie? Lost yer fella? No worries, I'll take care of him for ya."

Fear-sweat broke out between Skye's shoulder-blades, but she stood her ground. "You'll do no such thing." She spoke firmly, refusing to let her voice betray her terror at facing the creature.

"Oh? And how are you going t' stop me?" The Stormwing stopped wheeling, and dove towards the earth, claws extended…

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She woke in bed with a gasp.

The nightmares again.

Almost every night, she was plagued with dreams of those who had slipped away, those she had not been able to save, despite her magic. The young man from that night's dream was only one among many. His face, his blond hair and blue eyes, were forever burned into her memory. She didn't know his name. She didn't even know if he had been Tortallan or Scanran. But she would never forget him.

This, these dreams, were the price she payed for being a healer. But it was her choice. She could have stayed in Corus, could have spent her life healing nobles' sniffles and aches. But she had chosen to come to the warzone. She had chosen her life, and now she had to accept the nightmares.

The dim pre-dawn light began to brighten her room. Skye rose and dressed hurried; there was no point in trying to sleep now. She couldn't usually sleep after a nightmare anyway. She might as well get an early start on her work for that day. Skye had to spend the day mixing potions and preparing bandages, for she was running low on these and could not risk a shortage of them during the next battle.

Skye was at the infirmary measuring the ingredients for a medicine when a male, middle-aged refugee approached her, twisting his hands nervously. She glanced up at him and asked, "Yes? Can I help you with something?"

"It's my son, Miss," he said. "He's got a swollen head."

"Oh? Really?" Skye was unsure what the man wanted her to do about that fact that his son was a conceited prig.

"Well, you see, he bumped his head on the stable door and now it's got a big swollen bump," he told her.

"Oh, I see. Can you bring him here?" Skye smiled inwardly. She was amused at her own mistake and decided she was not quite awake yet. Hopefully she could brew a pot of strong tea to wake her up completely before the man returned with his son.

"Actually every time we try to move him, he gets queasy and complains that we're making the beans spill out. I'm not really sure what he means by that last past."

"He must have hit his head harder than you thought. When did this happen?" Skye followed the man out of the infirmary and towards the refugee housing as he explained.

"We found him late last night in the stables tryin' to convince the straw that commoners should be allowed the use swords. Then we took him back to our barracks, but since he wasn't any better this mornin' we thought we should fetch you."

Skye healed the young man with the broken head, but before she could return to her infirmary she was beset by a mother who insisted that her children had a stomach ailment. It took Skye the better part of an hour to convince the woman that there was nothing wrong with her children and that maybe they just didn't like her cooking. Next she was approached by a young woman pregnant for the first time who beseiged Skye with questions. And her day went on from there.

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Late that evening, Skye stood on the walkway of the wall surrounding New Hope. She came up here sometimes to have a peaceful moment to herself. Up here, there was no one to tell her they had pains in their back or complain that their children had lice. She had volunteered to come north in order to help people suffering from the war, but everyone had limits, and she swore if she heard one more complaint that day she would burn the infirmary to the ground. Then they would need those burn salves Neal had been so worried about.

Neal. It had been several months since their broccoli fight, and he could still make her laugh, even on her darkest days. Neal had occupied her thoughts for much of the time recently. However, for someone who was constantly in her mind, she was very confused about what she thought of him. Or what she felt for him. After seeing him for the first time in over nine years, she had noticed many differences in him. He was older, taller, of course, but there were other, less noticeable changes.

These were subtler changes, but they were there nonetheless. He still acted as world-weary as ever, but beneath that, she detected a sensitivity she hadn't noticed before. He had always acted very cynical when she knew him before, but now he seemed to posess a kind if compassion besides that. He had seen war, had seen real suffering, and that seemed to have given him a more sympathetic view towards his fellow human beings, though it was still partially concealed behind sarcasm and poetry.

They had been friends at the University, but he had been one among many, a circle of young mages who would laugh and tease and debate with each other. Neal had always been particularly fond of the debates; it seemed he had retained that over the years.

But they hadn't been the closest of friends, not until the very end. Right before he had left, something had happened that had intensified their friendship.

It was the day a messenger interrupted their herb-lore class, and after a brief, whispered conversation with the instructor, called Neal out of the classroom. Later that day, upset at being kept in the dark and wondering at Neal's absence from the rest of their lessons, Skye and some other friends had read the lips of several Masters' conversations and managed to piece together the news of the deaths of Neal's elder brothers.

Refusing to be discouraged when a red-eyed Neal told the group to go away, Skye had returned to his room alone, and convinced him to let her in. They had ended up talking long into the night. She could sympathize with him; she knew how it felt to lose a loved one-she had lost both parents to a plague when she was seven. She had even made him smile, amusing him with stories of her own brothers and their numerous escapades while trying to raise her, their littlest sibling and only sister.

She had been the first to know he planned on leaving the University to become a knight. She had helped him pack his things. And she had been the only one who received a good-bye kiss, or so she hoped.

And then she had been the one who lost touch with him. She had been the one who stopped writing weekly. And she still wasn't sure why. She supposed she had been frustrated with reading his letters but never seeing him. And there were other…distractions at the University. There were other boys who had expressed interest in her. So she let her involvement with Neal die off.

But here he was again. He had resurfaced in her life and she wasn't sure what she wanted to do about it.

"Skye?"

"Ah!" Skye jumped and whirled around to see Kel. "Oh, it's you. I'm sorry, you just startled me."

"My apologies. It's nice up here, isn't it?" Kel leaned against the railing. They stood on the walkway of New Hope's walls as the last rays of the sun faded behind them.

"It's beautiful," Skye agreed. "Everything's so peaceful at night."

"Skye, I've been wanting to talk to you about something," Kel told her. "You've noticed, I'm sure, how Neal has been slightly…temperamental recently."

"Isn't he usually temperamental?"

"More melancholy," Kel amended.

"Yes, now that you mention it, I have noticed," Skye said thoughtfully. "Did something happen?"

"He was engaged…" Kel stopped momentarily, not sure how to continue.

"Oh. Was?"

"Yes, was. He--they--broke it off during that trip he took to Corus," Kel explained.

Skye shook her head. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because he obviously won't tell you himself, and I thought you should know." Kel sighed.

"Well, thank you," Skye said quietly. "I wouldn't want you to--"

"Now what are you two ladies talking about?" Neal spoke up from behind them.

Skye jumped again and dropped the spyglass she had been holding. It tumbled over the edge of the walkway. Seconds later, they heard a loud exclamation as it struck an unfortunate man's head beneath them.

"Ow! What in the blazes--where'd that bloody spyglass come from?" shouted Merric from below. Kel peered over the edge to see if he was alright just when he looked up and saw her. "Kel, why did you do that?"

Kel tried to explain what had happened as Neal pulled Skye away.

A/N--I'm not quite happy with the way this chapter turned out. I guess it's my first attempt at drama, which is my sub-category. Although, anything with Neal in it is going to have drama. I hope to have Dom in the next chapter for all my fellow Dom-lovers. Also, please tell me your thoughts. I'm a bit of a review junkie and I need my fix!

oceanspike-- Glad to know you think my writing is classic and fabulous. It's reviewers like you who make me want to keep writing. And thank you for your repeated reviews of my story. I love it when my reviewers keep coming back! Like I said, I'm a junkie!

fantasyfan-- I'm not sure what I want to do about beta-ing. I decided to go ahead and post this chapter because, well, I was feeling rash. I'll probably email you my next chappie, though, just so you can give it a look-see.

Gwen Lyon-- I believe I said it was NOT a Kel/Neal because, well, it's not. I was trying to write their friendship and not a romance between them. I'm pretty sure that's what I said anyways. Darn, now I have to go check…anyways, sorry you got the wrong idea. Hope you still like it !