Her world was one of metal and pain. One bound her, while the other encompassed her. Sometimes the first brought the second into being, other times it was there, waiting for any movement, any thought to summon it back in force. Her captors would not let either kill her, however. Not yet. But neither the consuming pain nor the binding metal ever truly left her.

Her breaths were slow, of necessity. Any quickening of motion brought the rods of molten pain, so she lay still. There was little light, flickering orange of the distant lamps, the passing fluttering of the guard's torches. Occasionally, there was the small blue wisps of light, that came and went as they pleased, but they were a recent addition. She did not know what to think of them.

She did not dare think much at all, in fact, as that brought pain of a different nature. Thoughts of who she was, of what she had come to do… who she had sought. All such things, she forbade herself. The utter torment of her failure poisoned any such thought.

So instead, she listened. Memories of what she had once listened to, the wind, sky, his voice, the sun, they were all fading, and she did not think of them for fear of the pain of remembering. But here, there was plenty to listen to. The crunch of gravel under feet. The crackle of burning torches. The stirrings of the stones beneath her.

The cries of her tormented neighbor. Those were dull, and had become more and more infrequent. His pain was far different than hers, but she knew its cause regardless. The red-eyed, smoldering hate that burrowed and infected. That tortured and corrupted, sending her betrothed far from her…

The pain overcame those thoughts and she continued listening. A plink of water, dutifully making its way deeper into the earth. The grumpy clang of a far-off gate. The slight cracking that accompanied her every movement.

But what had really surprised her, truly, was when she realized that the metal was her favorite thing to listen to. Its creaking complaints, the reluctant bearing of her weight, and the cold, stoic hardness, all had become somehow endearing to her. The change had begun when she realized that it did not want to hurt her. The hands and machines that bore it, that had lashed and stabbed and sliced, were under a constant, silent resentment. Even now, the chains burrowing into the flesh of her wrists reviled at their use, and longed for the days when their purpose was to lift the old gate in the guardhouse upstairs. That had been honest, painless work, and they were proud of it.

She had forgiven them easily. They had not choice in how they were used, she told them, and they had seemed surprised at first. But they had accepted her, just as she had accepted them. Just a part of her new life, of cage, stone, and metal.

She heard a vague sense of questioning come from the right chain. What did they want this time? She listened for several more seconds—their words were slow, and quite deliberate—but finally realized what it was. A smile touched her cracked lips, drawing pain through the entire right side of her face.

Mentally preparing herself, she sucked in a breath and released it in a quavering hum. It rose and fell, faltering and halting, but the chains were easily satisfied. She continued to maintain the soft tones, and she could feel the metal joining her, in its' own way. Footsteps approached, light accompanying them.

"—haven't seen my friends in almost a week."

"You think that's something? I've been here for a month."

"Really? You know anything about the rumors of mobilization, then?"

She opened her mouth and let the words emerge. Raspy and dry as her voice was, the words in her gasping song were still recognizable. It was in the human tongue, of course. That was why the metal enjoyed it. "Beyond the trails of the stones we know,"

"What was that?"

"Quiet."

Their words passed through her. She did not raise her head, nor did she pause in her song. The voices of others in this prison had once held meaning to her. She had long since stopped regarding the presence of her captors. Besides, this song was not for them.

"Past the mountains that slowly grow."

The firelight stopped in front of her cell, the shadows of the cage cast onto the ground like reaching fingers.

"By the gods, why is she still strung up like that? They already got what they wanted."

"Beats me… wait, what are you doing? We don't have authority for that!"

"Beyond the reach of any foe,"

"She's singing…" The metal of the door protested as it was opened. She heard the grumbling of the gravel as the guard knelt upon them.

"Live those in peace whose words we know."

Something touched her face, and she flinched back as raw pain surged through her cheek and eyes. But she looked up anyway, confused at the gentleness of the hand. A samurai, backlit by his companions' torch. A spike of hope shot through her. Was it the blonde samurai? The one that had showed her kindness? Had he delivered her message? Was Ashitaka with him—

No. It was not that samurai.

He released her and begun to unlatch the chains from her hands. Her bare flesh stuck to the manacles, too dry to be slippery. The metal clinked in surprise, and their voiced reached out to her again. They didn't want to leave her, but they could no more stop the samurai from releasing her than she could. Without their support, she fell.

The samurai caught her, holding her broken form gently for moments. Eventually, she looked up, into the sadness of his eyes, and smiled. "They listen and guide and cause to grow"

He choked, and a drop of water fell into the pain on her cheeks. It burned like the salt that they had used, but this burn was also sweeter, somehow. "I'm… so sorry." He lowered her to the ground, to the bare stone, covering her as best he could with the rag that passed for her blanket.

"The fields of flame and golden snow."

She stared sightlessly ahead, inching herself towards the wall. Every movement brought new old pain, but she continued forward. The world already was pain, so what was a little more? She reached out and took the end of the chain in one hand. They welcomed her touch, relief in their voices. She smiled at their greetings. "Why must we watch, to follow where they go?"

The metal of the door cried out again, uncertainty in its' tones.

"Tell no one, you understand?"

"Yes, Captain Izame."

They began to walk away, and she drew a sudden breath, hearing them pause. "Thank you."

There was a silence. It was almost a true silence, as nothing dared speak, save the ever-rebellious flames. She smiled at nothing in particular and clutched the red-stained manacle closer.

"Why must we watch, follow where they go? The voice of earth and sky they know."