She was nothing but a point of view.

And that view was of the Mountain.

It could only be The Mountain. The one that all others were birthed from. A mountain so large, no world could be big enough, or grand enough, or strong enough, to serve as its base.

And so none did.

It towered so high, the sky had to rise up still higher or be torn asunder by its peak. An eagle would be hard-pressed to fit between the two.

It bristled with the power of youth.

It was older than the gods.

The view had no heart to be filled with awe. It had no brain to even try and comprehend the incomprehensible power and majesty of The Mountain.

And yet the view trembled as it approached.

Even though the view flew forward faster than thought, The Mountain grew very slowly. It would only be approached on its own terms. It could only be seen as it willed.

And only the rarest few could ever, ever reach it.

Was the view one of these few? It didn't know. It couldn't know.

And yet it flew on.

Buildings started to appear on the slopes.

They nestled on ledges. They perched on crags. They filled ravines and clung to sheer cliffs.

They were marble. Magnificent, white, pink, speckled, clear, veined, pristine, weathered marble.

Rounded columns rose tall and powerful.

And as much as the view focused on them, it wanted to be closer still.

The view wanted those buildings to fill itself with.

They were a promise of perfection not yet understood.

Slowly, they grew.

But now something else came into the view. It demanded focus.

The sky around the Mountain grew dark. Storm clouds appeared from left and right, heading towards each other.

The view trembled again, switching back and forth between the advancing fronts. If they met, they would obscure The Mountain. That would-

Lightning flashed.

Bolts of white and silver. Jagged bolts, with angles sharper than any straightedge might make.

They did not strike The Mountain but flew back and forth between the clouds on left and right. Without losing their sharpness, they whirled and writhed; glowing ropes in the sky.

And the view could not truly understand, but it knew where to focus. Somehow, it knew.

The lightning spoke.

Not to the view, and not to The Mountain (although The Mountain heard), but to itself. Bolts flew from the left. and bolts flew from the right, vanishing into the opposing cloudbank, where they vanished in a burst of light; a brief illumination of rolling, boiling gray.

And something else. There was something else- something in the clouds, but the view would not, could not focus there. It was gently but firmly turned aside. And then the lightning would be gone, and only the floating darkness remained.

This was not an argument. It was a conversation, and although the view could not understand the words, it knew what they were talking about.

They were talking about the view.

And then something new suddenly came to the view. Somehow, it understand one word of what the lightning spoke.

A name.

And then there was more. Things about the name.

The view split off a small portion of itself and brought an image of the name into focus.

The name had once meant a great deal to the view, in some impossible way it couldn't fathom. Now, it meant nothing.

No. That wasn't true. It still meant something. Not so much the name itself, but what it represented.

It represented... a choice.

A chance to regain something the view didn't even realize until that moment it had lost.

The view tried to focus on what this lost part of itself was- but it couldn't. It shook again as it realized that in order to see what this was, it was going to have to make a decision to do so.

This would not have been a concern to the view, but it knew now that if it made the decision to focus on this... this lost fragment, it might never be able to focus away from it again.

And that meant The Mountain would be lost.

The view tried to decide, but it didn't have the tools. It didn't know what this fragment was. It seemed impossible that it could offer more than The Mountain.

So why was the choice so hard?

The lightning had ceased.

The Mountain beckoned, even as the darkness closed around it .

And the view decided.

Instantly, one more lightning bolt erupted from the clouds that now covered everything.

In mid-stream, it suddenly turned and came straight at the view.

And as everything turned white again, the view realized that it was more than itself.

It was hers.

It was her point of view.

She was hurtling backwards now. It had grown so agonizingly slowly, but now The Mountain receeded with horrifying speed and was soon lost.

She could no longer alter her focus. She could not see where she was going- only where she had been.

And now she could feel things, although she couldn't sort out what they were yet.

A universe of forests, lesser mountains, deserts and oceans flashed by in an instant.

Suddenly, perspective shifted. Sky was all she could see as she suddenly felt herself being hurtled downwards. It seemed as if she must strike the ground in an instant- but she just fell and fell.

She was going even faster now.

She had no flesh to feel it, but she knew she was cold.

She had no ears to hear it, but a wind that only the mind could feel was buffeting her to and fro.

She was not sure when all of reality had turned into an infinite expanse of silvery-gray.

And like the clouds before, a darker gray was now approaching from both sides. It was nothing in the physical sense- it was the universe itself starting to contract.

She took only passing notice in this, however. Something much more important was happening.

She was being born.

No- she was being reborn.

Faster than she could absorb them, images poured into her. Places, things, people.

People!

Names came with all of them. They were coming in fast, but with an incredible rapidity, everything was being fitted into its correct slot. She felt larger somehow, as if the immensity of everything inside her was making her swell. She still had no flesh, but that didn't matter. Joy was seeping into her through all names and the feelings and the memories and impressions. Happiness, love, was the glue that held her together.

The flesh was merely the recepticle. She had thought that mortality was the fragment for which she had pined- for which she had sacrificed, but she knew now that wasn't the case.

This was what she was. This was what she was focused on. Her inside. Her essence. Her soul.

And just as she was about to shout out with her mind and heart and soul that she was so happy to have made the right decision, something went wrong.

Even as she was going faster and faster and faster, the universe had contracted into a long, dark gray tunnel.

It was growing smaller, and although she knew the end of her journey was very near, the awful truth flowed straight into her because any defenses that might have kept it out hadn't been built yet.

She wasn't going to fit.

She slammed into the side of the universe, and began to fall apart.

A few names and faces tore loose and were lost.

She rebounded off into the other side of the universe. Some skills and experiences went flying.

Her focus began to spin, but there was nothing to see but the gray.

A lesson she had learned in battle slipped away. A childhood nickname was obliterated.

The universe closed in around her now. She screamed out for The Mountain. She screamed out for her god.

And as more and more was lost, one last thing came back.

Pain.

Then the gray turned to black.

27th Day of Flocktime, 565 CY
The Temple of Heironeous, Chendl, Furyondy

The blackness began to recede, but everything still hurt.

She heard a sound. An actual sound, that fell upon real ears and was heard and understood by a real brain.

It was a sharp intake of breath. A gasp of astonishment, followed by a small and tinny female voice.

"She lives- she has returned!"

And then there was a male voice, strong and confident. She knew it at once. It belonged to the name that the lightning has shown her.

"Praised be Heironeous, Archpaladin. Our lives are for you to use in your wisdom."

She couldn't talk- she wasn't sure if she even remembered how, so she tried to concentrate on what she could feel.

She was lying down. That much she knew. She also knew she was wrapped in something (a blanket?), but the surface underneath was still hard. Her head, however, was resting on something very soft and warm, and that felt good.

She took a deep breath, but that didn't feel very good. Her chest was hurting more than anything.

She decided she was going to try opening her eyes.

Even the light hurt, though it wasn't very bright. She squinted and waited patiently for the shapes to resolve themselves. It didn't take long.

She was happy that she recognized most of what she was looking at.

She had been afraid.

The figure bending over her was clad in a silver surplice over a white cassock with blue trim. He was not tall, and his face looked tired, and worn with fatigue. The cheeks were sunken, but the eyes were strong and clear.

And so was the smile.

Trembling slightly, he reached inside the white blanket that covered her from neck to knees, and gently came out holding her left hand in his.

"Welcome back to us, Lady Cynewine."

Nesco opened her mouth, and only then became aware of how dry and cracked her throat was. She couldn't speak.

High Priest Gareth Heldenster motioned with his eyes above and behind Nesco's head, where she couldn't see.

Suddenly, the ranger felt two hands gently raise her head and shoulders up, perhaps a third of the way towards a sitting position. They relaxed slightly. The pillow on which Nsco's head lay was now propped up on a wedge of some kind.

Another figure came around into view on Cynewine's right. This was a female priestess of Heironeous, wearing a white cassock in gold trim. She looked about Nesco's age, and had brown eyes and long dark hair that was wound into two braids down her back. In her hands she held a silver goblet with what looked like wine within.

Nesco frowned, concentrating even as she sat up further. She didn't know who this was. Was it someone she had never seen before, or someone she had forgotten? She could only remember meeting one other priestess of Heironeous before. That was back in Willip. She had seemed like a very nice person.

Nesco couldn't remember her name, though.

The cleric flicked her eyes down to the goblet, and then back to the ranger while gently offering it to her. She didn't speak, and her smile was thin and nervous.

Nesco had trouble holding onto the chalice with one hand, so the priestess aided her, tipping it back gently so that Nesco could drink. She dribbled some of it down her chin, staining the beautiful white wool purple. She couldn't have cared less. It felt wonderful going down.

"Rest now, Lady Cynewine."

Nesco had no problem at all following that order. She leaned back down on the pillow and allowed her eyes to wander over the mosaics of Heironeous that covered the ceiling, and the tapestries on the walls. She knew what this room was. When she was younger, she had seen it once, glimpsed through an open door.

It was the Room of Return.

But wait a minute.

That meant-

"My god!"

The sound tore roughly out of a sore throat as Lady Cynewine bolted upright, her eyes wide. In panic, they zoomed back in on Heldenster, who nodded slowly while squeezing her hand again.

"Yes, Lady Cynewine. You have made the ultimate journey, by the blessing of the Invincible One and the largess of his Royal Majesty and the Noble Council." The High Priest arched his eyebrows. "And I do hope that your exclamation does indeed reference the appropriate deity."

Nesco couldn't believe any of this.

Dead? But I was... was-

The pain was as much mental as physical as the shock tore through her. She gasped for breath in ragged attempts as the memory came. She remembered pushing Talass down and out of the way as Blackthorn attacked- and nothing after that.

She desperately tried to connect the right thoughts together, but they wouldn't come. She gave a pleading glance at Gareth, who again nodded in understanding.

"I know little, Lady Cynewine, but I have been told that your companions are all alive. They have lead the rescued slaves out of the slavers' stockade, and have begun the long shepherding westward, towards the Principality of Ulek. You need not fear for them."

Nesco relaxed, letting out a long sigh of relief as she lay back down. They had triumphed.

Well, of course they had. Didn't they always, somehow? She smiled at the thought and closed her eyes, listening to Heldenster's voice even as fatigue began to slowly pull her away.

"Rest now. I will be back shortly to check on you, Lady Cynewine- and perhaps then we can discuss the relative merits of the gods in Heaven above."

Nesco rolled her eyes underneath her lids at that, but she didn't even care. Everything was all right now. She could afford to sleep. She barely heard the voice of the female acolyte.

"Your Grace, I told him that she has returned safely, but he states that he still wishes to see her."

"Hmmpf. Apparently patience is a virtue not preached by most other gods. Tell the paladin he will wait."

"Yes, your Grace."

Nesco fell asleep, and dreamed of a Mountain.

She awoke slowly and permitted herself the luxury of a long stretch.

Nesco almost threw the blanket off- it was almost uncomfortably warm now- but realized that she was naked underneath. The ranger considered. Probably the female acolyte had been called in to clean Nesco up prior to her- her coming back.

Her lips trembled as she examined herself. She had been given some healing, but there was still an ugly-looking wound right between and just below her breasts. it looked like there was going to be a scar there. Well, that was just something she was going to have to live with. There wasn't a one of her friends that did not now sport additional scars gained in the short time she had known them.

Cynewine looked around the room. A dressing gown (emblazoned with the holy symbol of Heironeous, of course) lay folded on a shelf built into the far wall. Trying to take it nice and easy, she slowly sat up...

She had just finished donning the robe when the door opened abruptly and Heldenster came in. There was a moment of mutual surprise, which the High Priest broke first.

"Your stamina is commendable, Lady Cynewine, but not needed at present. Do not overexert yourself- you wouldn't want to undo my reputation as a miracle worker, would you?" he asked with a wry smile.

Nesco smiled back, although she didn't really feel like it. She bowed to him. "I cannot thank you enough for what you have done, your Grace, but I feel I must make ready to depart."

Heldenster frowned. "I'm sorry- I don't understand."

She didn't like that frown. Hold up, Lady Cynewine thought. Let's start at the beginning here. "How long have I been here?" she asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice.

The cleric eyed her carefully. "You were brought in about four hours ago, Lady Cynewine."

"I was brought back by Aslan- correct?"

Gaereth nodded slowly, his expression cautious. "Yes."

Nesco relaxed slightly. "Well then, I must return with him to The Pomarj! There were over a hundred slaves imprisoned there! They'll need my skills as a ranger to help guide, feed and protect them. I know my efforts will only be a small contribution of course, but-"

"Lady Cynewine," the High Priest cut in.

She stopped.

"Yes?" Suddenly a whisper was all she could manage.

Heldenster's eyes dipped slightly. "The paladin saw you briefly, while you were asleep. He then retired for a few hours to regain the use of his Talent. He did mention that his friend Elrohir had devised a plan to supply and protect the former slaves, but-"

But what?

Even a whisper was out of reach now, but Gaereth understood. The High Priest wrung his hands together. "Lady Cynewine, Aslan has since left Chendl. He made no mention whatsoever of returning to take you back to The Pomarj."

The universe closed in on Nesco.

"What?" It wasn't a question. It was a plea.

The High Priest again raised his eyes to the ranger's face. "I am sorry, Lady Cynewine. Please- remain here until I return. I will try to find out if he spoke more in depth to anyone else before he left."

He turned and quickly left the room, too nervous to even shut the door behind him.

Nesco's knees began to go. She just barely made it back to the altar, where she sat, shaking worse and worse with every passing second.

I don't understand it- why would he leave me? Whatever plan they've come up with, surely my being there can only help! It doesn't make sense! It doesn't make-

A sound of pure grief suddenly burst out of Cynewine's lungs even as the pain closed in her mind with a sickening realization.

I died- I was slain! That's why they don't want me back- I'm a burden! I'm not the warrior that they are! I knew that from the beginning- even Sir Damoscene told me so! But I thought- I thought...

And Nesco Cynewine buried her face in her pillow and let the tears flow.

She didn't want to think about anything anymore.