Disclaimer: The usual fare.

Warning: Fluff ambush!!!

This time he ground the path with his bare feet, knees folding, muscles bunching, then the thrill of wind whipping through his air and rushing past his face – he could barely suck in a breath, felt his stomach drop out as the earth rose to meet him, the jolt as he hit the ground once more then pushed off again – and he loved every minute of it.

'That is freedom.'

Raven Moon: Ch. 5, Hanyou

Author: Cyan I'd

Beta: Sashi

That girl was screaming shrilly again. For now, though, he really didn't care. He stared at his hands, at the grass behind, at the lighting from the sun that he hadn't seen in years. Centuries, even.

Somewhere between sight and thought, the fact of his whereabouts got stuck. He couldn't be in the real world… that simply wasn't possible. Life was a place denied to the dead, and he was most certainly dead in every sense of the term. But the evidence was irrefutable – the feel of the wind, the smell of the woods, the colour of the grass. He was a little disturbed to realize that he couldn't remember what it was called.

"What… what colour is grass?" he asked faintly.

"…green," Kagome replied, sounding just as numb as he.

"Green," he repeated, fighting the strange urge to giggle.

Kagome worked to even her breathing, to fight her panic. This was okay… she could fix this… right?

Inuyasha shakily stood, his skin prickling at the feel of the weeds tickling his feet. A small breeze tumbled his hair over his shoulders; he was startled to find that sections of silver lined the black strands. Wait, were they growing larger?

"Are you… really here?" Kagome asked hesitantly. Inuyasha quit scrutinizing his hair in favour of shooting her a very convincing 'You are a Moron' look. Kagome scowled, but silently acknowledged that she'd deserved that one. After all, he was standing in the very same meadow she was huddled in, with the grass sticking up between his toes and the wind ruffling his red clothes. He looked much different than he had in the whitewash of the in-between. He was still very pale, but he moved so naturally, and his eyes were no longer the sunken hollows that they were moments before. On the tail end of that thought rode the phantom feel of cold and clammy fingers clamped around her ankle. Kagome shivered despite the warmth.

"I… I have to send you back," she decided out loud, ignoring the guilt that gripped her heart.

"What?"

A small pulse of energy derailed that train of thought for the both of them. Kagome's heart skipped a beat, panic welling in her chest before she realised that her other senses were warning her of youki, not death. In light of the events of the past few days, she'd nearly forgotten she was still a priestess.

The energy pulsed again, stronger this time, and she connected it almost immediately to Inuyasha himself. His hair stirred with the dark aura, bleeding silvery white, as claws lengthened on his fingers. He blinked, and eyes once dark were now golden. He stared once more at his fingers (and their razor-tipped ends) and gave a little nostalgic smile that revealed fangs.

Demon. Or rather, half demon – she could still feel the humanity in him even now, buried under layers of primal and feral youki. A hanyou dog, from the looks of it, which of course brought her focus to his ears… and her irrational urge to march right up to him and tweak them. Dog ears, furry, soft, planted right on top of his head; her fingers twitched.

Past experience told her that he would more than likely gut her if she tried it, so she shirked that idea in favour of trying to seriously handle a problematic situation. She stood as well, trying to make herself look a little more authoritative and imposing.

"You have to go back, I have to send you back," she said again. Almost lazily, he dragged his eyes away from the claws to pin her with his gaze. The corners of his lips almost twitched into a smile, but he suppressed it.

"Oh?"

"You don't belong here."

"I don't belong there, either. I don't belong anywhere."

"If you won't go, I'll make you go—"

"You'll make me?"

There was a pause after his interruption. Then, Inuyasha started laughing: harsh, rumbling and unpleasant. He flicked his claws and strode towards her, his movements completely fluid and enviably graceful, contrary to the rest of the dead that she'd met so far. She took a jolting step back, then another, her eyes flicking from his face to those murderous claws and back again. The back of her heel hit a rock and she tripped, landing unceremoniously on her rear and jarring her injured back again. She cried out, and he stopped, standing right before her. He watched her with a neutral, calm expression. She had to crane her neck just to make eye contact.

"If you try it, I'll kill you," he said.

This is the scene that Miroku was met with when he finally arrived, a trail of village men hot on his heels. Kagome, the young miko he had sworn to himself to protect, huddled on the ground not even two feet from a silver-haired demon boy. The stained shards of bones in the background testified to her defeat of the centipede.

He abruptly slowed and threw out a hand to ward the villagers back. His robes whispered across the grass as he cautiously approached the pair, eager to help Kagome, but weary of setting off the demon. With it so close to the girl, it could rip her to shreds before anyone even thought of intervening.

"Kagome…?" he tried cautiously. He hooked his staff under one arm and gripped the beads wrapped around his hand, watching the demon for even a mere twitch.

If she died, he'd make damn sure it died too.

A shiver swept over him, along with recognition. He'd been in too much of a rush before, and too worried moments ago, but now his second senses stretched out and met the harsh aura of youki surrounding the boy. While his abilities were nowhere near as strong as Kagome's, he could still recognize death when he felt it. Whatever this youkai-boy was, it was from beyond the grave.

"Kagome, send it back," he urged softly. One of the youkai's ears flicked in his direction, but there was no change of expression. He kept golden eyes levelled carefully on Kagome's pale features, perhaps trying to judge what she planned to do.

"Kagome, send it into death, you—"

"She can't, you fucking moron."

Miroku was so startled when the demon spoke, he nearly jumped. He frowned and felt out the aura further, making a slight adjustment in his assessment of the situation – this was no youkai, this was a hanyou. Kagome seemed equally floored, forgetting her fear for the moment in favour of shock and curiosity.

"What – why?" she asked. Inuyasha snorted indelicately.

"Don't tell me that none of you can feel it," he drawled, breaking out into a mocking grin. This only served to display his pointed fangs, setting Miroku even further on edge.

What is he talking about…? The monk wondered, singling out the energies of the hostile aura – death, humanity, demon energy, and… life?

His eyes widened in surprise. Inuyasha glanced his way, grinning wider.

"See? He gets it. You're a little slow, girl. Think about it. This whole time, you've been putting the dead back into death – and it wasn't hard, was it? After all, they belonged there. They just fought and clawed their way to the surface, broke into the land of the living, but they were still dead. They were still bound to the world beyond, and how easily you snapped their delicate hold on this plane."

Kagome's dread grew with every word, until she felt sick from the weight in the pit of her stomach. Of course; now that he'd pointed it out, it was painfully and horribly obvious.

Inuyasha was dead, but he was no longer bound to death. She'd brought him through, and she'd connected him to the living world. She couldn't send him back – not at her current skill level – she didn't know how.

Miroku tensed and dashed forward, swinging his staff in a wide arc straight at the hanyou's head. He hadn't counted on the hanyou's fast reflexes and pure speed, though, so his prey leapt beyond his reach and he stumbled slightly, over balanced. He cursed himself for such an oversight – that was the kind of mistake an amateur would make – but it was too late now. Inuyasha had already dashed forward and gripped the monk's arm, twisting it cruelly until Miroku cried out and dropped the shakujou.

With his free hand, Inuyasha swiped at the monk, intent on ripping him in two. It had been a very long time since he'd felt tearing flesh beneath his claws… too long. It was all so surreal, the sky, the scent of flowers and leaves, the whispering of trees – it fed the dream-like rush of bloodlust that pumped through his veins. That girl wanted to send him back. This monk wanted to send him back. The answer was simple: they both had to die.

Miroku did his best to avoid the deadly strike, but with his arm trapped, he could only go so far. His clothes tore, a flash of shock and pain crackled along his nerves, and a sharp agony engulfed his arm, further twisted by his evasion. The hanyou let him go, watching dispassionately as he landed hard on the ground with a soft cry.

You could say many things about Miroku, but you could not say he was a fool or a coward when it came to fighting. He wedged his bad arm between the soft earth and himself with only a small wince, raised his staff horizontally in defence, and glared defiantly at his attacker. Inuyasha just stood silently over him, a crooked smile spread across his face.

"Well. Good job," he sneered. Miroku grimaced, but could not keep his own all-knowing smile from growing. His injured, throbbing arm twitched, feeling the weight of the rosary beads.

"Don't worry, I've still got an ace or two up my sleeve," he responded smoothly. Inuyasha's expression shifted into one of confusion. He tilted his head to the side.

"A what?"

Then Kagome was behind him, furious, and more than a little rumpled – one hand held one of her arrows up high, the other was clenched into a fist. One of the hanyou's ears flicked back, catching her rustling footsteps, but she drove her arrow deep into his shoulder before he even bothered to turn. He staggered in surprise, tearing his gaze away from Miroku to settle on Kagome with a half turn.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.

"What does it look like?" Kagome countered.

"Idiot, you can't kill me. You can't even hurt me."

"You're part of this plane, remember? Well, that means that your soul is too," she answered, and drove every ounce of spiritual energy she could muster into the cool, sleek wood of the arrow and the arrowhead buried deep in his shoulder. At first, she was afraid she'd been wrong, and her sealing spell would have no effect. But after only a second, the hanyou flinched and hissed in pain, then jerked away from her. He stumbled back and reached up for the arrow, but the shaft was gone – in her surprise, Kagome had forgotten to let go, so now she stood with part of it in her hand, the rest buried beyond reach in the flesh of his shoulder.

"You…" Inuyasha glared hatefully at her, fingers still twitching for the piece of arrow that wasn't there, trying to ignore the numbness that was all too quickly spreading. "…Kikyou," he spat, collapsing.

Kagome took one small step, then another. Inuyasha was hunched over and shaking slightly, his hair falling like a curtain over his face.

"What…? Who's Kikyou?" she asked shakily. Miroku stared at the hanyou, then painfully rose to his feet. He touched a hand to the diagonal slashes across his chest, wincing. They were long, but they weren't deep, for the most part. He might need a few stitches here or there.

"Get my wagon. Bring it here," he ordered the villagers breathlessly. No one made a sound, the men looking to one another before a couple hesitantly began to step away.

"All of you, go. Now."

Kagome's eyes were glued to the hanyou boy. Silver, red, and winter – these were the things that composed him. She'd seen him under grey, grey skies. She'd seen him in the sunlight, and she'd felt his cold grip and icy stare. She saw him now, curled in the grass, one hand clamped over a bloodless wound.

"Kikyou… you're just like her," he hissed. The very same words from anyone else would have been guided by tears, she somehow knew.

Despite it all, she didn't hate him.

It was well past midday, but far from twilight. The only sound was the wind in the trees and the occasional call of birds, all set against the rhythmic grind and bump of the wooden wagon. Kagome kept pace beside the lightened load, her bow slung over her shoulder along with a quiver. Her eyes were downcast, partially to avoid the glare of the sun, mostly to disregard the guilt she felt. Despite her best efforts, her attention was still drawn to the wagon.

Miroku was walking in front, having insisted that he really needed to stretch his legs. He'd been alternating sitting on the front of the wagon and going by foot, prone to occasional bouts of exhaustion thanks to the healing herbs and painkillers the villagers had given him. Twenty-seven stitches in all. He'd gotten quite bored and resorted to counting them while the villagers loaded up their wagon with supplies and whatever machina he hadn't managed to sell. They'd been very grateful to the pair for stopping the centipede demons, and for the purification of some of the houses and the temple, not to mention the wards they planted along the village border to help fend off further youkai attacks.

They'd even supplied horses, allowing Tanuki to hitch a ride for once rather than tug their wares along. He was, needless to say, quite pleased.

Kagome yawned, stretching slightly. The early-morning wake-up call, the escape from the centipede, and an over-use of her growing powers over death all conspired to utterly exhaust her. She needed a rest, and the wagon would likely be the best place for it – it was cool, dark, and they wouldn't have to stop. Those were her reasons. Those were her only reasons. She made sure to tell herself this before putting the suggestion to Miroku.

"If you don't mind," she said, "I'd like to rest a bit. I'll just curl up in the wagon, I don't want to be delayed any more."

"Are you sure?" he asked. He was very uncertain. After all, when her safety was in question…

But Kagome was determined. She frowned and made her 'displeased female' face, one which she had learned tended to keep the monk in line. It seemed he'd had more than enough experience with the fairer sex to learn the warning signals and consequences of Ye Wrath of Woman.

"Don't you trust my spells?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Then it's fine."

Miroku scrutinised her for a moment before reluctantly nodding to her. Kagome gave him her most encouraging, bright smile and headed to the wagon, gripping the sides and hauling the tarp up so she could climb inside. Once there, she scooted across the floor, mindful of slivers and using the thin slats of yellow light to guide herself. It seemed Miroku managed to sell off many of his goods, especially at the last village (except for the Blade Wheel – when he'd tried to peddle that off on some poor fool, he experienced the very first Ye Wrath of Woman occurrence. It was now stored in the far corner, awaiting repairs). The wagon was only half full of metal junk, now, plus one tired priestess…

And one surly hanyou.

"We can't just leave him here, who knows what would happen."

"How are we supposed to take him with us? He's wild and uncontrollable, Kagome-sama – and he can't move with that spell of yours on him."

"I know… but this is my mess. I have to fix it, you know?"

"I understand, Kagome-sama. I think we might have one option…"

"Yes?"

"Take him with us – there's a miko in a village just slightly out of our way that might be able to help."

Kagome sighed. Miroku never elaborated on exactly how this priestess might solve their problems, but in the meantime, it was their best option, it seemed. She set aside her bow and arrow and searched the shadows for the outline of her saviour/villain, feeling that now-familiar pang of guilt.

"Hey…" she prodded, making sure to keep her distance. She was fairly sure that her spell would keep him immobile, but it was better not to tempt fate.

There was the rustle of cloth as he shifted, letting his hand drop into one of those lines of light, the rest remaining in obscurity. He said nothing, though, and after a minute of tense silence passed, Kagome decided to try again.

"Hey… are you alright?" she asked, squinting to try to make out his features. It was useless – he was propped up against a wall in the corner, drawing the dark and damp shadow of the tarp around himself like a shroud. She could almost feel the glare he sent her way, though, aiming to pierce her heart.

"I'm fine," he snapped, gruff and short. Kagome couldn't tell for sure whether or not he was telling the truth – she already knew that he couldn't feel physical pain, but her miko energy attacked the soul and energy. Surely, he could feel that?

"Are you sure? Because, you know, I'm sorry, but I had to. I just… if there's anything I can do…"

"You can go fuck yourself, bitch."

Kagome jerked as if she'd been slapped, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to say something. Then, the anger came, hot and fiery, along with righteous indignation.

"What did you say?!"

"I said, go fuck yourself. I don't need help from a clueless little twat like you," he said. Kagome resisted the urge to grab the nearest piece of machina and hurl it at the rude hanyou. She couldn't do that – it might upset Miroku. He had to live off selling this stuff, after all.

"I am not a clueless little twat, you—you jerk!"

"Uh-huh," he snorted in obvious doubt. "I can see that you don't having a fucking clue as to what you're doing, miko. I'd say that's a clear symptom of being a clueless twat."

"That's not true. I know exactly what I'm doing, or have you forgotten why you're stuck here already?" she snapped back triumphantly. If she was a clueless twat, he was the moron that was subdued because of her.

"Have you forgotten why I'm even here in the first place?" he responded coolly, and Kagome's mouth shut with an audible click. He had her on that one. She glared at the silhouette of the boy, ready and willing to lash out with her own insults, but she thought better of it. He was no more than an immature jerk. She was better than that.

"You know what? Fine. You're right. I don't know what I'm doing – when it comes to death. I'm a priestess. I've been raised as a priestess – not some sort of necromancer, or whatever. I never wanted this, but it was just dumped on me a day ago, when I first met you. However, when it comes to being a miko, I know exactly what I'm doing, and if you're done, I'm going to get some rest," she declared. She waited a few moments for an answer before settling down into a more comfortable position, pulling a blanket off the top of a nearby crate. The floor was hard and uncomfortable, but she was so tired – she hadn't even realized how much until she shut her eyes.

Dark. The wagon…?

No. Someplace else. Someplace different. A thick, damp and woodsy smell, a sweet breeze blowing cool air in from somewhere. A window.

A water basin sat in the center of the room, reflecting the strands of silver light that spilled in the window. The shadows were too dark and deep for her eyes to penetrate.

She was sad. Was she crying? Yes, she was… and she was not afraid. This was important, because she knew she was going to die now – but she wasn't afraid at all.

And then there was something in the corner, something in the inky dark, something unnatural and wicked and it thirsted for the blood in her veins.

"I hate you," both she and the thing spoke at once.

Kagome nearly woke up screaming. She sucked in a deep, frightened breath, but the scream caught in her throat. She sat bolt upright, scrabbling at the boards and blanket before finally clutching a hand over her heart in a futile attempt to slow it.

At first, she didn't know where she was. The last vestiges of her dream clung like a sticky spider's web, leaving her trapped in memories of black and sorrow and prowling, wicked things. The wood smell was slightly different here, though – drier, with more dust in the air. There was no water basin, nor any small window to let in cracks of light – just the little gaps in the tarp that illuminated the wagon enough for her to see. Judging by those, it was nearing evening now – she'd slept for a couple of hours.

The small sound from the far side of the wagon welled panic in her once more, reinforcing a few of the last remnants of those dream-images – I hate you – but she scolded herself silently. It wasn't some ravenous shadow-thing ready to tear her heart out. It was only Inuyasha, which wasn't that much of a comfort, but at least he wasn't about to swoop down on her and do away with her. Well, not with that arrow still in him, anyway.

Speaking of whom… why was his breathing so very harsh?

Quietly, so as to avoid making a sound, Kagome freed her legs of the blanket and half-turned to where the hanyou remained. From the thin slats of light she could see he was hunched over, his shoulders shaking and falling with each gasping breath. One hand was clutched over his shoulder once more.

Kagome frowned. He was hurting, that much was obvious, but why? Was it because of her spell, the arrowhead? He claimed before that it didn't hurt, that he was the mighty and invincible undead manly hanyou (although not in so many words) and she was only the foolish little priestess girl that happened to get a lucky break. Arrogant idiot. Maybe he just wanted her to think that she was weak and pitiful, and that her spell didn't affect him that much. Or maybe… the other way? Perhaps he didn't want to appear weak and pitiful?

Whatever reason, Kagome's gnawing guilt was back full force – double, even. She chewed her lip and frowned, debating inwardly. On one hand, he was a bloodthirsty demon; he deserved everything he got. He was egotistical and a jerk, and he claimed that the arrow didn't hurt and he didn't need her help. So, why should she offer it once more?

Then again…

Kagome sighed to herself and moved to her hands and knees, berating her foolishness. She was sure he hadn't already heard her, and maybe if she was quiet, she could make it over there before he noticed her actions and told her off.

He was a hanyou. He had demon blood in him. But he also had human blood, and regardless of race, Kagome couldn't stand to see others in pain. Despite the fact that he'd tried to kill her, and mostly likely would go through with it if she ever freed him. She tried to bring those memories to the forefront, really, she did – cold fingers clamped around her ankle, a menacing snarl, hollow and black eyes – but behind it all stretched a cold and lonely landscape of grey.

She was at his side, and he still didn't notice.

Well, too late to turn back… she told herself, and took a steadying breath. Hopefully her spell worked just as well as she claimed.

She reached out pale, trembling fingers, and lightly touched his ghostly cheek. The reaction was instantaneous – a stiffening, a jerk, and his eyes snapped up to hers in shock and slight trepidation. She gave a small, comforting smile and raised her other hand, spreading her fingers across the smooth and cool flesh. She bowed her head and closed her eyes, focusing on the vibrant violet energy she'd come to recognize as her own handiwork over the years. Every spell she cast against a youkai had more than one function: it bound the body, it sealed the aura, and it purified the spirit. It was the purification part that was the problem. She could see now that her own magic burned and lashed at his. It should be easy enough to stop that, and then maybe he'd see that she wasn't as bad a priestess as he thought.

Not that what he thought was important or anything.

She pulled and twisted the spell to her will, all the while soothing the hurts her spell had caused. She heard his breathing slow into something more regular, felt the warmth in her fingers seep into his skin, and marvelled at his silence and his compliance. He was likely more shell-shocked than trusting, but it worked in her favour, so she hardly cared.

Inuyasha couldn't take his eyes off this strange girl. She looked so much like Kikyou… the resemblance was uncanny, he saw it from the very first – but this, this – it was so un-Kikyou-like. His hand was frozen above the wound.

"What…?" he finally managed, feeling that horrible burning that once shot through his whole being begin to fade away.

"Sh, I'm trying to concentrate," she murmured back, and he snapped his mouth shut. Thoughts and realizations were still trapped in the moment that her fingertips met his flesh.

With a deep breath, Kagome pulled her hands away and sat up fully, brushing the hair out of her eyes. Inuyasha was staring at her like she'd grown another head or two, but that was alright. At least he wasn't trying to gouge her eyes out, and that horrible, awkward gasping was finished.

In the dim light, it was all too easy to ignore his pallor and instead focus on the planes of his face. He'd been very handsome in life. He'd probably been striking, with golden eyes and silver hair and a slender yet strong figure. Even as a blush coloured her cheeks (both because of her thoughts and what she'd just done) she felt an equal and numbing sadness wash over her.

"You died young," she whispered, and this seemed to snap his stupor.

"What—what were you…?" he stuttered. Funny. He'd always seemed rough, cocky and obnoxious. Seeing him all flustered was interesting.

"I stopped the more malicious side of the spell, stupid. What do you think?" she snorted, a little miffed at his lack of gratitude. He blinked at her for a couple of moments before turning away with a scowl and snort. Experimentally, he tried to roll his shoulder. He couldn't do it, but that didn't really surprise him – what did, however, was the lack of agony with the action.

She… really had helped.

But why?

"Why did you do that?" he asked, refusing eye contact. Kagome shifted beside him uneasily. He expected an answer to that question when she didn't even have one for herself.

"I don't know… I guess… I didn't like the idea that I was hurting you, that you were hurting at all. For my own peace of mind, you know?" she offered. He snorted softly again, but it seemed he accepted her answer, although he didn't necessarily like it. She knew that she should leave now, maybe go outside and see how Miroku was doing… but…

"Why do you breathe?" she asked.

"What?"

"Why do you breathe?"

He turned to look at her again, calm and distant. "What a stupid question," he said.

"But are you going to answer it?" she pressed. He sighed, shifted slightly, but no wince accompanied the movement. Moving was difficult, like things just wouldn't listen when he told them to do something.

"I don't know… habit, I guess?" he scoffed. The wagon went over a small bump, rattling the boxes inside the cart. The light was dimming, but still Kagome remained, fingering her skirt and resisting the urge to brush her fingers along the clothes that he wore. She remembered the feel of them from death… would they feel the same in life? Not to mention those oh-so-tweakable ears – they were a recent addition.

"You'd be surprised," he murmured. "No matter what sort, the dead almost always go through the motions of living."

"Wait, 'what sort'? There're more than just… those things I fought?" she squeaked, a little alarmed. He gave her a dry look.

"Do I look like those things?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Then obviously there're different kinds of dead things. Now if you don't mind, go away. Shockingly, I don't enjoy wasting my time explaining things to morons," he snapped, glaring. Kagome did her best impression of a fish by flapping her mouth open and closed, before giving him a heated glare.

"Oh, you! Why do I even bother? Why?" she asked, throwing up her hands as she climbed to her feet, stooping so she wouldn't hit the tarp.

"Because you're a fucking idiot, that's why. Now fuck off," he replied. Kagome tried to fry him with just her thoughts alone, but when that failed, she stomped off, intending to leave the wagon and check up on Miroku. Inuyasha watched her go, right up until she landed on the packed ground outside with a small grunt. He rolled his shoulder once more, still faintly surprised by the lack of pain.

"Strange girl," he muttered dispassionately. He could still feel the ghost of her touch on his face, feel her warmth, aware of the space that had been between their bodies when she leaned close to heal him.

You died young.

She really did look like Kikyou.

Why do you breathe?

But she didn't act like the long-dead priestess.

The dead almost always go through the motions of living.

He hated her anyway.

Review Responses:

Ixchen: You're welcome. And here (was) another .

Aoi EkO: Well, so far he's tried to kill them… both. Which happens in the canon too, so I hope I'm alright on characterisation still…?

Jezzibelle: Good thing this chapter was a bit of a break from all that .

Midoriko-sama: I… uh… still yummy?

…

I promise I will not talk ill of this work. Then I will not get thwacked, as I understand the arrangement goes? And yes, you were right after all – Inu is in this chapter, in all his sort-of dead glory. Yaaay!

call me k: You know, every time I write your name, I have to fight with Word to keep the capital off 'call'. Excuse me while I throw MS Word out the window… as for your questions, well, you'll just have to wait and see. It's very mysterious, you know. :P

Numisma: Thank you very muchly, for the compliments and the pointing out of the typos. Although I hope you understand when I deny the existence of any typos, in the past, present and future. Ku ku ku… no one will no… I am so very sneaky.

Kerri: Thanks!

Scherezade7: Eh… thank you so much! I didn't mean to trick you with that mediaminer thing… I honestly just fell behind updating there. And I'm still behind, but that's not important. I'm very sorry about your poor eyes. Maybe I should just stop writing, in order to spare them, ne?

Crimsondemon: Uhm… ahem… yes. 'Waste' is Canadian spelling, I swear.

Varethane: Yes, and I stress, loosely based. But she does get the role of 'Abhorsen', or at least the RM equivalent. Thank you very much for your comments, though – especially about the characterisation. Because it's AU, I'm trying to be really careful about that – I don't want them to be completely different characters with new names.

HMPrune: Thank you very much! And, seeing as I've heard this a couple of times, I think I'll direct this at everyone.

Don't worry if you haven't read the Sabriel series. Some concepts from this story are inspired by the series – such as the notion of travelling into death. However, the story stands alone, it's not based on that series.