Rune say by her window, tapping a slow little rhythm on the sill with her fingers. No matter what she had told Murtagh, she wasn't ready to go to sleep yet. The sunset cast red shadows on her face, coloring the city in shades of yellow and orange. It all looked so peaceful from up here.

Ilian, her cat, snoozed on the made bed behind her. The tortoiseshell tabby stretched, opening her mouth in a wide, sleepy yawn.

"Suppose I did leave, Ilian," Rune said to the cat. "Suppose I ran away in the dead of night. Where would I go?"

The cat didn't respond, other than rolling over and flicking her tail. If there was a message in this, Rune didn't understand it. She sighed and picked up the cat, moving to sit cross-legged on her bed. Ilian squirmed, slipping out of Rune's grasp and hiding under the bed.

"There would be no where for me to go," Rune answered her own question sadly. "After all, I have no relatives. Perhaps I could go to the elves—"

"Or perhaps you could stay here," Murtagh interrupted her, peeking around the door.

"Murtagh!" Rune cried, jumping. "You startled me."

He raised his eyebrows. "May I come in?"

Rune nodded, silent. Murtagh came to sit next to her, shutting the door before a frantic Ilian could escape. For the first time since he had met her, Rune's eyes were sad. They didn't glitter.

She stood up, moving closer to the window again. She brushed her fingers along the wood, looking down at the city. "Murtagh, you don't understand what it's like," she said. Her voice was different. Solemn, cheerless. Not so bubbly. "You've felt the wind in your hair, the sun's rays on your skin." A breeze blew her auburn tresses away from her face. Rune reached out her hand, letting the sun's last light play along her arm. "This is the closest I will ever get to being free."

She didn't turn to face him, but in that moment, Murtagh saw the woman Rune would someday become. Beneath the happiness and joy of everyday, there was something deeper. Who would have known the little girl who begged to fly with him, asked him if he loved her, could be so serious? So sad.

Longing was written plainly on her face. "I don't know what's out there, Murtagh," she said softly. "I've never seen anything but this castle." She kicked the wall angrily. "This stupid prison."

She collapsed into his arms and sobbed. "I hate this," she cried, burying her face deeper in his chest. "I hate it."

She stayed there for a long time, sobbing into his tunic. Murtagh stroked her hair softly, murmuring an old lullaby he had heard somewhere:

"There is a ballad in Carvahall, that heals the wounded soul

There is a ballad in Carvahall, that makes the hurting whole

There is a ballad in Carvahall, that stops the worried sighs

There is a ballad in Carvahall, that mends the pained one's cries…"

He wrapped a strand of her hair around a finger, rocking her slowly back and forth.

Rune stopped crying, but she was still shaking. Murtagh stood her up in front of him, lifting her chin with a single finger to meet his eyes. "Hate is a strong word, dove. Would you rather be dead then live in this palace?"

She shook her head, eyes wide. Her trembling lessened.

"Then make the best of it. Live today, for tomorrow may not come."

Rune pressed her lips into a tight line. "I'm being silly, of course," she said, wiping away a tear. The old Rune was back. "I really only want to see outside once, after all. I can live without it."

Murtagh frowned. How she switched from tears to happy composure in seconds was beyond him. "Rune?"

"Yes, Murtagh?"

"Get your cloak."

"What? Why?" Rune asked, her face contorting in confusion.

Mutagh smiled. "You'll see."

"Rune blinked up at him, before fetching her red velvet cloak. "Murtagh, what's going on?" she asked, flinging it over her shoulders.

"It's about time you had a fresh breath of air."

Ancient Language:

Ilian: happiness