Whoaa, I actually got this done! I wasn't sure if Clouse would cooperate this week, but he's just full of surprises...

I have to confess that I messed up the timeline a bit. This Peran PoV, and the one in the previous chapter, actually happen at the same time as A Priest's Confession (chapter 127). Sorry for that confusion, guys! I guess that's what I get for writing Peran's stuff after everything else. -_- I hope it doesn't confuse you too badly. And I'll try not to let it happen again.

I want to give my heartfelt thanks to my reviewers! Feedback is a lovely thing, and as a storyteller, I seem to do my best work when I can feel the pulse of my audience through their reviews. If that makes a lick of sense. It helps me shape the story when I know what my audience's thoughts are on each chapter. It's definitely much more comfortable than storytelling to a silent audience. So, thank you very much! Arigatou gozaimashita.

Truth

"Okay. So, how about melons?"

"We've already been over this, Saer," Akins said. "I don't think grafting works for anything other than trees. And maybe some bushes, though I've never experimented with that myself."

"But…apple-melon trees!"

Peran sat in the dark, empty kitchen, lit by primarily by the roaring fire through the doorway in the other room, listening to their conversation.

"No, Saer…" Akins' bruised ribs made his voice tight and pained. But, thankfully, he didn't seem to have sustained any worse injuries. He would have to rest for a few days. Despite Peran's annoyance at the boy's foolery, he could not be too angry: his entire group was forced to rest because of the blizzard, anyways. Akins would probably be well enough to travel by the time the storm let up.

"Isn't there a song about apple-melons?" Saer asked.

"I think it was actually called "Fishing for Water-Melons," Kolin said.

"I never understood that song," Li said. "Water-melons. What does that even mean?"

"Maybe it refers to the fact that melons are so soft and watery on the inside," Saer suggested. "How does that song go?"

Peran sighed, looking down into the darkness of his half-empty, lukewarm mug of herbal tea. He knew which song they spoke of: it was a children's song about a fisherman who sat out in the sun fishing all day, but instead of catching fish on his line, he caught random objects. A boot. A wagon wheel. Water-melons.

"I can't remember," Li said, sounding- to Peran's bafflement- regretful. "Um…"

"I went on down to the water-hole," Kolin sang. " 'Cause the fishing will be good!'"

"Right!" Akins said. "And there was this beat that went with it- Yeah, Li! That one."

"I let down my line," Kolin sang, "Aaand I waited.'"

"I waited," Li and Akins sang in unison, the former clapping in rhythm.

Peran raised his eyes to the ceiling, imploring. How in Mena's name had he ended up with this group of clowns?

"I waited. I waited and I waited!"

As the trio sang, Saer hooted with laughter.

"Hey, you guys," said Chari. Peran could hear him descending the stairs. "We just got the kids to bed. Please keep it down."

Their song immediately- blessedly- ceased. Saer was trying without much success to restrain his laughter.

"Ah, sorry, sir Ven'tur," Akins said.

"It's all right," Chari chuckled. "You have a nice voice, Kolin."

Peran could hear the bashfulness in Kolin's reply. "Heh. Thank you."

A shadow blocked Peran's light. He did not turn, but followed with his ears as Chari stepped through the kitchen doorway and to the table where Peran was seated.

There was silence.

But what could Peran say to this man? This estranged friend who, against all reason, had welcomed him into his home, despite the rocky way in which Peran had cut their ties.

"It's dark in here," Chari remarked at last. He pulled up a chair across the table from Peran and sat. He lit a half-used candle, standing in a cold bed of melted wax on a candlestick between them. The flame danced, small and hesitant at first. But as Peran watched, it grew, softening shadows that the hearth in the other room had been unable to reach.

Chari drew a long, curved pipe from his pocket. He took his time filling and lighting it, allowing the silence to stretch out between them.

In the other room, conversation struck up tentatively again.

"I always loved that song when I was a kid," Akins sighed. "That part at the end is the best."

"When you were a kid?" Kolin snorted. "Kid, I hate to break it to you. You're still a kid."

"Ohhh… Straight through the heart!" Akins groaned. "No mercy."

"Says the guy who actually remembered how to sing Fishing for Water-Melons," Li said to Kolin, ignoring her brother's lament.

A chuckle from the eldest soldier. "Touché."

"You've got a lively group out there," Chari remarked, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Not exactly the type of people I'd expect you to be spending your time with. If I may say so."

"They're good people," Peran answered after careful deliberation. "I have yet to see Akins and Li on the battlefield, but I trust they'll be able to hold their own well enough."

"Battlefield?" Chari repeated. "Do you really expect to find yourself in such a setting while finding this lost girl of yours?"

The others had already told the Ven'turs about their mission to find Vara. But Chari and Jana had both sadly admitted that, this far out in the country, travelers were extremely rare. They had seen no one who matched Vara's description, though they promised to keep an eye out.

"I have to be ready for every contingency," Peran replied.

"True," Chari admitted. He tapped his thumb against the bowl of his pipe, thoughtful.

The silence stretched further. Peran glanced over his shoulder, looking through the doorway: Saer and Kolin were now on a tangent, arguing about canoes.

Peran could not hide the tenseness of his shoulders, nor the quiet, nervous tapping of his heel on the floor under the table.

Chari, on the other hand, seemed at ease as he regarded Peran. Breathing in deeply. Exhaling sweet, smoky vapors.

"I could never understand how you did it," he said.

"Did…what?"

"When Analis died, you were only a captain. It takes a lot of work to become a High General. And yet you did it, all while raising Makeri."

"The first step in achieving a goal is knowing that you are capable of doing it," Peran said. "I never doubted that I could raise Makeri and still stay afloat in the murky, putrid waters of politics."

"Arrogance," Chari said.

"Confidence."

"The two are nearly interchangeable, nowadays."

Peran could not argue with that.

"And yet, despite all that… Here you are," Chari said. "Everything you've worked for, taken from you. You still have the sword and haircut, but you are not a respected man in the political world anymore, I assume. And Makeri is gone." His head tilted slightly to the side, sympathetic, amber eyes reflecting firelight. "His death must have been recent. Last I heard he was graduating from the academy, on his way to becoming a renowned soldier like yourself."

It felt odd, realizing how much Chari knew of Peran's life, while Peran himself knew nearly nothing of his old friend's. Of course, I have been living my life in the heart of our country's politics, Peran thought. It would be hard for Chari not to know about my life, even out here in the middle of nowhere.

"It was the plague," Peran said, throat growing tight in his effort to bury the images, the sounds, the smells of blood. Of death.

His boy taken from him, slowly and painfully, and there was nothing Peran could do- nothing in all the world- to save him.

All his training, all his strength, all his political prowess.

Useless.

I tried so hard, Peran thought. So, so hard. I loved and raised Makeri, though no one would have blamed me if I'd left the child to Analis' family. I disciplined and nourished a land which has been ravaged by generations of pompous politicians.

I gave up my life for this cause!

Were my efforts to better Your kingdom not good enough?

Chari lowered his pipe, sighing. "I'm very sorry, Clouse," he said. "After Analis… Losing Makeri as well must have been hard."

"It's been nineteen winters," Peran said. "Your sister's death does not weigh so heavy on my soul anymore."

"And yet you never came back."

Peran tried to read his expression. Was he angry? Bitter?

No. Peran saw only sadness. That served to make him more guilty: he looked away, sighing.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Hosts, Chari, believe me. I'm sorry."

"I forgive you," Chari answered. "And I'm sorry, too."

"What do you have to be sorry for?"

"For not having courage."

Peran looked up.

Chari pushed back his chair and stood. "What my parents did, trying to take Makeri from you- on the day of Analis' burial, no less!- was nothing short of despicable. Moons, Clouse, I understand why you walked away. You had to protect Makeri, for Analis' sake." There were tears in his eyes. "You walked away, brother. But I never chased after you. That is one of my biggest regrets in life, and I am so sorry."

Feeling dangerously close to tears himself, Peran regarded this man- this friend, this brother.

And he realized just what a mistake he had made, choosing to remain silent all these years.

"I forgive you," Peran replied, and with those words, he felt a calm in his heart such as he had not felt in many weeks. Not since Makeri's death.

It was as if a great weight had pushed Chari over. He fell back into his chair and slumped, holding his pipe on his lap in one hand, wiping his eyes with the other. Chari had always been a sensitive man- just like his sister.

Peran had not realized how much guilt Chari had been carrying all these years. It seemed odd, especially considering that Peran had never faulted him for what had happened between his parents and Peran. How much pain could I have saved him all these years, had I only come back sooner to set things right?

"That's why they cover them in pitch," Li proclaimed loudly, breaking Peran and Chari from their discussion. "So that they don't sink."

"Oh, whatever…" Saer laughed. "Geez… I apparently need to go back to school. You guys shouldn't be smarter than me."

Peran sighed, standing. "It's getting late. I should go steer those jesters toward bed…" He hesitated a moment, then rounded the table to pat Chari's shoulder. "Thank you. For everything. We can talk more, later."

Chari took a deep breath smiled at Peran. "Of course," he said. "Goodnight."

"You know, they actually soak the wood in water first, in order to shape the boat," Akins said as Peran turned and left the kitchen. "It's kind of cool that after all that, it can still…" He paused as he saw the High General. All eyes turned to him, and they stared, appearing puzzled.

"What?" Peran demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Nothing, General," Akins said hastily. "It's just, well, your face…"

"What about it?"

"I think what he's trying to say," Kolin interjected, standing from his seat on a couch beside Saer, "is that you aren't scowling."

Peran raised an eyebrow.

"It's back," Saer sighed, leaning back against his cushion. "But, for a moment there, you looked slightly less murderous."

"Still murderous," Akins assured Peran. "But just a liiittle less so."

"A teensy bit," Li agreed from her seat beside her brother. "And only for a second. Don't be too alarmed."

Peran glanced back into the kitchen, but from his angle he could not see Chari. The man must still be smoking his pipe at the table, processing their short- but so profoundly meaningful- discussion.

"You can all wonder at my behavior later," Peran said tiredly. "For now, soldiers, get some sleep. Especially you, Akins."

Looking resigned, the four rose to do as they'd been told.

Peran did not join them in their preparations. Instead, he walked to the far side of the room, hand clasping his other wrist behind his back, to look out the window into the screaming snowstorm.

If Lord Zane had not signed the treaty by dawn tomorrow, the King was supposed to march out against the South. It seemed unlikely that Zane would choose to sign that treaty.

But, with this terrible storm blowing, it seemed equally unlikely that Garmadon would hold up his end of the deal, either.

What a convenient storm, Peran mused. It gives Lord Zane time to get the South under control, and restrains the King from attacking them.

The South was safe, at least for a few days. For that, Peran was grateful. He prayed a quick prayer of thanks to Mena, then caught himself.

King Garmadon was Blessed. The blood of God Himself ran through his veins, as was made evident by his green eyes.

Was it proper to pray that one of the Blesseds would fail in their task to keep the realms united?

Can men of Mena's bloodline even be considered Blessed, anymore? Peran dared to wonder. So many generations have come and gone. The blood has been diluted a hundred times over. Perhaps…

Peran stopped that blasphemous thought dead in its tracks, closing his eyes, fresh guilt heavy on his soul.

'As long as their eyes remain the holy green,' Peran recalled a Priest telling him so long ago, 'then you know that God still walks among us.

'The Kings and Queens throughout history have been Blessed with Mena's blood. Do not doubt that, in all that they do, they have our best interests at heart.'

Peran found himself facing a terrible moral dilemma.

Either Garmadon's desire to fight, and kill, Southerners was a righteous act, reflecting the desires of the First King Himself.

Or Garmadon's desire to fight was wicked, and everything- everything- Peran knew about his religion was wrong.

But what if it is the First King's desire that the South be brought to ruin? Peran wondered. No, even more! What if us humans are so far gone that He has decided to start anew, and annihilate us all by plague and sword?

The West was destroyed years ago. Now, perhaps, Mena intends to finish the job and destroy the remaining three realms as well.

If this was true, then all of Peran's efforts had been for naught.

What was he to make of that? And where was he to go from here?

"I'm sure she's fine," said Akins, suddenly beside Peran, and the High General jumped, cursing in his head. It wasn't often that he lost track of his surroundings.

"What do you mean?" Peran asked tersely. "And you should be in bed, solider."

"Vara," Akins murmured, pointedly not addressing Peran's second comment. Behind them, Li was climbing the stairs: she would be sleeping in the spare bedroom upstairs while Akins, Saer, Kolin, and Peran slept down here in the main room. "She may be weak, physically, but she is smart. She would have to be, if she escaped the King and has his High General searching for her. And, if High General Derek's word is to be trusted, she has help. I'm sure they're safe somewhere, waiting out the storm just like us."

So Akins thought that Vara was the source of Peran's current distress. The High General smiled, though he knew the act looked forced. "Thank you, Akins," he said. "I have the same faith."

Faith. Peran looked away, grimacing. No, if anything, he had a severe deficit of faith.

"What do you do," he found himself asking, "when everything you thought you knew in life is turned upside-down?"

Akins followed Peran's gaze out the window, eyes uncharacteristically solemn, one hand over his bandaged torso. "I fight," he said. "Until it makes sense again."

"And what if I don't know what to fight for? What am I to look to when everything I thought was right my entire life may turn out to be horribly wrong?"

Another stretch of quiet as Akins pondered this. Kolin and Saer whispered together as they got ready for sleep, oblivious to this conversation happening between a soldier serving a rebel army, and a former devout High General.

"I ask for help," Akins answered in a small voice, looking at Peran with serious, dark eyes. "If I am blind, unable to tell my right hand from my left- my conscience from my sinful heart- then I ask for someone I trust to guide me."

Peran gazed at the soldier, thoughtful, for a long time.

"I have made a number of terrible mistakes throughout my lifetime," he said, turning back to the blackness outside the cold window. "The severity- and consequences- of many of these have yet to come to fruition. But I fear that they will, soon. My storm is on the horizon."

"We all make mistakes, High General."

A rueful chuckle. "Yes, that is true. But when a mature oak tree falls to high winds, it causes much more damage than a sapling ever could."

Akins frowned. "I…think I understand."

"So you must know," Peran said. "I made many of these errors in the name of the First King. I tried to serve faithfully, even when my conscience screamed against me.

"If, after all this time, it turns out that these errors are my own fault, and not the fault of my superiors, or my religion, what am I to do when the hammer falls and my justice is meted out?"

"You forgive yourself, and others," Akins said without hesitation. "And you work hard to make restitution to those you've hurt."

An image of Vara came to Peran. The round, serious Blessed green eyes.

The distinctive, familiar blood-red hair, reminding Peran of what may very well have been his greatest sin, all those years ago. Restitution, he wondered. Is that what my goal is in chasing this child?

"I fear I may make another mistake, soon," Peran murmured. "This one, worse than any before."

"If you know what this potential mistake is," Akins said, "then why not just avoid it?"

A rueful smile. "It's not that easy, Akins."

"Life is rarely easy," Akins said. "Truth, I've found, is often a dark and convoluted path. That's why we stumble so often along its road."

Peran looked down at Akins, one brow raised. "You're much wiser than I was as a youth," he said.

Akins borrowed Peran's smile. "I don't feel that way myself. But thank you."

"I have one more question for you, soldier."

"Yes, General?"

The pair looked out the window.

"If the truth is…complicated and dark," Peran said, "then how do you know when you are following its path?"

Akins' smile took on a warmer quality as he looked up at his General. "That, at least, is easy," he said. "When you walk in truth, it makes your heart shudder with fear. But your soul is completely at peace."

He turned, and left Peran alone with his thoughts.

Peran stood at the window, pondering the boy's words, long after everyone else had fallen asleep.

"I think that's the best I can do," Josi said stiffly, withdrawing her hands from Zane's chest and packing her tools in their leather case. "I advise you to not engage in any more taxing horse rides or swords fights until we can get you to Cyrus to finish repairing your heart."

Zane, sitting in a chair beside the window in his bedroom, looked away from the bright, snowy sky outside and shut his chest panel- which still bore an ugly hole from the arrow and Lord Rector's sword. But at least the damage underneath had been mostly undone.

He still had trouble processing what had happened to him. The Lord Rector's aggression did not surprise him: that man's demeanor had always made Zane uncomfortable.

My father was killed by the plague. The Lord Rector was killed by Josi. And Kaytake was killed by the Lord Rector.

The Lord Rector, of all people, had murdered a descendant of a Patriarch! This revelation disturbed Zane nearly as much as the fact that the Priest had attempted to do the same to him.

Hosts, how am I going to break the news to Driniah?

Josi tossed his shirt at him- it wrapped itself around his face before he could catch it.

"Um…thank you," Zane murmured, freeing himself.

Josi did not reply. Her eyes were hard as she shut her tool case and strode for the door.

"Josi," Zane said, rising, slipping his shirt over his head. "Josi, wait. Please."

Josi whirled on him, a dangerous look in her eyes. Zane froze, then sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "What I did was stupid. I should not have left. Please-"

" 'Stupid' doesn't even begin to describe your imbecility," Josi snapped. "And words aren't going to cut it, you know. You need to take responsibility for- and help fix- the trouble you've put us through."

A biting retort formed on Zane's tongue, but he thought better of it and grit his teeth.

"I know," he said. "I know sorry isn't good enough. But I thought you needed to hear it anyway."

Josi's eyes softened slightly. Her jaw flexed, and she sighed. "I know you regret abandoning the South," she said. "But the thing is, at this moment, none of us know if that regret is founded on a true remorse for your actions, or if you're just embarrassed that you got caught. You need to prove that you're actually sorry- for the right reason- before I can trust you again."

Zane lowered his head. "Fair enough."

Josi nodded and left the bedroom. Zane considered following her out, but quickly discarded the idea. He was not certain how much of the truth the servants and soldiers in the keep knew. Did they realize that, after visiting the temple, Zane had been planning to leave them, possibly for good? Or had they come to the conclusion that their Lord had gone to the Southern Temple simply to pray?

Until he had a better idea of the Keep's current feelings toward him, it was probably wise to stay out of the way. He resumed his seat by the window, feeling a pain in his chest that had little to do with his physical damage.

A knock came at his door, and he leaped back onto his feet and ran to open it.

"My Queen," he said hesitantly, glancing between Misako's solemn face, and the face of the younger woman behind her. "Lady Driniah. Hello."

"We passed Josi in the hall," Misako said. "She told us you were repaired."

"Not…not entirely," Zane said. "But yes." An uncomfortable, quiet moment. Zane pulled the door open completely and gestured for the women to enter. They did. Zane offered them chairs. Driniah sat, but Misako remained on her feet.

"We need to talk," the Queen said.

"About what?" Zane asked, though he already knew where the conversation was headed. He willed himself to maintain her gaze.

"Everything," Driniah said. "About Garmadon, and how he has not kept his promise to invade the South by this morning- the fifth of Ara. About Lord Julien's death." A pause. "About your actions last night."

"I understand," Zane said. "But before we continue, I have something to say, too." Taking their silence to mean consent, he continued. "I know my behavior last night- and for many days leading up to then- was completely unacceptable. I don't know why I thought it was okay to all but ignore the South's plight, put off my decision regarding Garmadon's treaty, and mistreat not only my staff, but my closest advisors. I was selfish, and though Josi has made it clear that a verbal apology won't be sufficient, I am truly sorry for what I have put you all through."

Misako nodded approvingly. "I believe you," she said. "But know that my trust, once lost, is very hard to regain. You betrayed not only the South, but all of Ninjago by fleeing last night. In light of that, Driniah and I have come to a conclusion that you may not like."

"I know," Zane said. "I am not competent enough to lead. I froze when I was supposed to make a quick decision, and I fled when the South needed me to be strong. I'm not cut out to be a leader. Which is to be expected, I suppose: I am not human enough to make decisions regarding the fate of the human race." He bowed, first to Driniah, and then to Misako. "I give authority over the South back to you, Lady Driniah."

Driniah dipped her head: she seemed to have expected this. "What will you do now?" she asked.

"I will stay here, if you will have me, and help the South in any way you see fit," Zane said.

Driniah nodded again, appearing satisfied with this answer. "You will write a formal apology this afternoon, and give it to the entire staff of this keep."

Zane nodded, cringing internally. That was to be expected. Still, he balked at the thought of apologizing before the entire keep. "Fair enough," he said.

"Thank you," Driniah said. "After you've apologized, I will have you work with Iam."

"To prepare the troops for war?" Zane guessed.

"No, Driniah answered. "To prepare for the evacuation of Borg's people."

Evacuation? Zane glanced at Misako. "Does that mean…"

"Driniah signed the King's treaty," Misako confirmed solemnly. "The South will be safe now, we hope. But Borg's people have to be smuggled back to the North on boat as quickly as possible, despite the blizzard. And you and Driniah will go to the Dark Island."

Zane sank into his chair, at a loss for words.

He had known from the start that signing the treaty was the most realistic option, but now that it had truly happened…

"I'm sorry, Zane," Driniah said. "I had no choice."

"I understand," Zane murmured. "How long do we have to get Borg's people out?"

"I sent a messenger with the treaty about eight hours ago," Driniah answered. "It has probably reached the King by now. Though, I don't think he will come to the South for us until the weather has cleared. Which could happen in twelve hours, or a week."

Zane looked outside at the raging blizzard. How odd, he thought. Last night, the sky was clear. Where did this storm come from?

"Are you all right, Zane?" Driniah asked.

Zane turned his attention back to her, frowning slightly at her sympathetic expression. He recalled their altercation the night before, at Nya's tree.

Why was she expressing concern for him after the way he'd disrespected her, her daughter, and her husband?

Her husband! He stood sharply. If he was going to tell Driniah what had truly happened to Kaytake, this was as good a time as ever.

"Driniah," he said, "I learned something last night that I think you should know…"

"I have some interesting news for you, Princess," the Middle's Lord Rector said.

Varasach looked to her left, where the Lord Rector sat in a plush chair by her bed. There was a sparkle in his blue eyes.

"What?"

"A messenger arrived from the South. They have surrendered."

Varasach's heart jolted in her chest. "Why?" she asked. "Why would they surrender?" After all the work Zane put into separating from the North-Middle…

"It appears that the treaty was signed by Lady Kaytake. We don't know why young Lord Julien's name isn't on the treaty- our spies tell us that he is the de facto leader of the South. Perhaps Lady Kaytake signed it without Lord Julien's knowledge, and sent it to us secretly?" He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Ah, well. What's done is done. And it's not that it matters, since our King plans to purge the South once this blizzard has let up. But I thought you should know the current predicament of your…former captors."

Varasach looked down at her hands, bandaged on her lap, throbbing despite the medicine she'd been given earlier today to ease the pain.

Zane wasn't supposed to surrender, she thought, dismayed. They were supposed to fight, so Cyrus' men would not be killed! Now what will they do? She imagined all of the men and women that Cyrus had sent to the South to help Zane's cause, trapped and unable to escape back North to Cyrus' secret fortress. They wouldn't realize the danger they were in until it was too late. If only I had been able to warn them!

But because she had trusted in- and been betrayed by- Zak, the South knew nothing of their impending doom. They intended to lay down their arms and await the King's mercy, but instead they would be met by the King's sword.

"Please don't be troubled by the King's decision," the Lord Rector said, placing a gentle hand on the blankets over Varasach's leg. "And don't be bitter at your father, either. One day you'll understand. Hard decisions like this come with the territory of being a King or Queen."

"I don't want to make these decisions," Varasach said through clenched teeth.

"That's good," the Lord Rector said with a sympathetic smile, crinkling the skin around his eyes and mouth. "Nobody who finds these decisions easy deserves to rule." He sighed and sat back in his chair. "To be chosen by the First King for his holy work is a terrible burden. But there is no greater honor, Varasach. Remember that, when you are Queen."

When I am Queen, Varasach thought bitterly. Why can't they understand, I do not want to be their Queen! I just want to go back to the North with Josi, and Kyle, and Cole, and…

She suppressed her thoughts before they could bring her to tears.

"I will never understand your compassion for the South, after all that they did to you." The Lord Rector stood, shaking his head. "You have a sensitive heart, Princess, and I admire that. But please, do not extend your mercy to those who do not deserve it."

Varasach did not grace him with a reply. She turned her head to the side, to where Senai sat in her usual chair by the wardrobe, knitting with fine threat of blue, and purple, and red.

A knock came at the door. The Guard opened it, and Varasach's doctor, an elderly man named Tomas, walked in.

"Good evening, Princess," Doctor Tomas said, smiling pleasantly.

Varasach groaned. Senai shot her a sharp look from across the room.

"It's getting late, Princess," the Lord Rector chuckled. "I'm going to take my leave now. Goodnight. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes," Varasach said reluctantly. She didn't want the Priest to leave: she much preferred his company to the doctor's.

Blind to Varasach's sentiments, the Lord Rector left the room. Senai left her knitting and came up beside Varasach's bed, pulling back her bedsheets, helping her sit upright.

"Why do we do this every night?" Varasach whispered.

"Because your burned skin needs special care right now," Senai said firmly. There were times when she could lenient. Bath time was not one of those times.

"Let's get started, shall we?" Doctor Tomas said, withdrawing a pair of gloves from his bag. "Senai, child, help the Princess to the washroom. Then we can get started…"

The more I write Clouse, the more I like him. His PoV this time took many days to write, since it delves so deeply into his thoughts and fears. I'm surprised that he finally let me through his thick shell and delve into all these hard questions of his. I guess he's finally warming up to me. Or maybe he just wants me to think that, so that I can let my guard down and he can kill me in my sleep... Heh. Only time will tell.

Zane! Finally decided to cooperate, eh? I told him. I told him so many times that he had to behave, or this would happen. He didn't listen, so guess what? I'm a woman of my word, you silly nindroid!

All right! I'm gonna pry myself away from the computer now. Thank you all for reading, and for your lovely reviews! I'll see you next week.