Sparrow gripped the seal tightly in her left fist while she struggled to hold onto Reaver's now limp body with her right arm. If she weren't so close to passing out herself she'd complain about having to carry him out like a damsel in distress. Instead she gritted her teeth and limped her way to the bed on the other side of the circle. Her wounds were already healing but still every movement was filled with pain. Her whole body hurt and while no part was worse than the other anymore, it was all still a sharp, persistent ache.

It was ten steps to get to that rickety old bed that Hammer had claimed so long ago. Theresa had never slept. Not in Hammer's presence and not in the ten years that Sparrow had shared the cramped quarters of the old gypsy seer's caravan. So it was Hammer's bed that Sparrow made a small effort to not drop Reaver on, and it was in Hammer's bed that Sparrow dropped when her body decided that it had simply had enough. The hero stared up into the darkness of the Guild Cave and, for a moment, fought off her exhaustion with the humiliating thought of Reaver waking to find her next to him. In the end it wasn't enough and Sparrow's green eyes slid closed and she dreamed of Rose.

Sparrow stood in a fenced field with Rose. The field was small, a side project compared to the ones she had gawked at on her first visit to Oakfield. A scarecrow was positioned near the edge of the field which was bordered by a dirt road. Sparrow watched as traveling merchants and peasants walked past. They moved quickly, their eyes focused on the road, as if she and her sister existed outside of this moment.

"We're too early." Rose whispered. She looked the same as she had on the last night Sparrow had seen her. Her hair was darker than Sparrow's, the color of iron rust, and pulled up into pigtails. Her clothes were glorified rags, an amalgamation of colors that only Rose could pull off. Her eyes were the same shade of emerald as Sparrow's and somewhere beneath the smudges of ash and dirt was delicate cream colored skin. Rose would have been beautiful if she had lived.

Sparrow nodded unquestioningly at her sister's words and tried to bring her gaze back to the road. Something important was about to happen. The morning wore on at its accelerated pace. Merchants and villagers flitted past, swept away by time.

"Look, sis." Time slowed to its natural pace; Rose pointed toward the road. "Watch little Sparrow."

A young girl was skipping up the road. She wore a white cotton dress with a red sun and a bright smile. Her brown hair was long and unbraided as it swished against her lower back. Her eyes were blue and bright and she clutched a burlap doll in her arms. She reached the opening fence and turned into the field. She paused for a moment, blue eyes staring at Sparrow in mild surprise before turning to examine Rose. For a moment, Sparrow was sure the girl would speak to them but instead the girl blinked slowly, as if in a daze, and then hugged her doll.

"I don't know how to feel, Dolly." The little girl confided in her toy. "I love my birthday but I don't want it to happen." She kicked at the dirt, shaking her head as she did so, "Oh Dolly I've never been wrong."

"What is she talking about?" Sparrow whispered to Rose. Her sister only waved at her to be quiet.

"Like how he forgot my birthday! He always forgets it. Da'll remind him though and he'll earn three gold pieces to buy me a present from Murgo." She frowned, her thick brows furrowing in concentration, "I don't know how though and I won't get to open it."

Time sped up again and Sparrow watched silently as the girl played in the field. When the sun had reached its peak time resumed its traditional pace again. Now a boy was hurrying up the road a small blue box hidden behind his back. His features matched the girl's though his brown hair was short and untidy and he had a smattering of freckles under his blue eyes.

"Theresa!" He called once he was in sight of the field. He jogged the last stretch; his bare brown feet left little clouds on dirt in their wake.

Sparrow started, "Theresa? Not the same-"

"Shh!" Rose insisted, "You'll miss it!"

"Brother!" the little girl looked up from her playing and stood. "You forgot my birthday. I knew you would." She smiled at him and Sparrow thought she looked too sad for a little girl about to receive a present.

"No I didn't!" the boy professed, his blue eyes wide with feigned innocence.

"I know you did. I dreamed it. I've dreamed it every night for the past week. I've dreamed such horrible things, brother." Theresa's voice wavered with emotion. Her brother stepped forward the fun gone from his face as concern for his sister took hold. "Everyone was screaming and the flames were so hot, brother. I cried so hard I couldn't see but it didn't bring them back. I-I couldn't do anything!"

"Shh, Theresa. It's just a dream." Her brother pulled her into a hug. "Da says they're just dreams. See your present? I didn't forget." He pushed the little blue box into her hands.

"Promise me you'll hide."

"Theresa-"

"Bandits! Bandits! Bandits on the road! Guards! Help!" a merchant, blood streaming down his face and into his eyes screamed his warning as he bolted down the road. He gasped for air, preparing himself for another attempt to raise the alarm when he was cut short by a crossbow bolt through his throat.

"Hide!" Theresa shoved at her brother as hard as she could. He was caught off balance and fell backwards hitting his head on a half-buried stone concealed by the tall blades of wheat. The blue box rolled into the grass, forgotten.

A man walked calmly into view. He was dressed in leathers and he had bones mounted to his armor, framing his head in skulls in feathers. He carried an ebony crossbow with both hands.

Sparrow knew him for the bandit chief immediately. It seemed that even in this vision they dressed the same.

The Bandit Chief strode over to the slain merchant, kicking the poor man's body roughly before kneeling and ripping the bloody bolt from his throat. The action brought him eye level with the little Theresa.

The girl was frozen in place clutching her doll to her chest tightly.

The Bandit Chief looked up, sensing that someone was watching him, and his gaze locked on the girl. He grinned. "Get the girl!"

Bandits appeared on the road slipping out from the trees that shadowed it from the sun. Sparrow watched them, her anger growing, as a scarred bandit in stripped pants and tall leather boots darted forward. He grabbed Theresa and tossed her over his shoulder before the girl had even let out a scream. He went to stand next to his Chief.

Sparrow took a step forward, will lines already beginning to burn brightly on her forearms. She hated bandits

"No, sis." Rose placed her hand on Sparrow's wrist and gripped it tightly, desperately. "No, sis, that's not why I brought us here. Watch and learn."

Sparrow stepped back, sinking down onto her haunches next to her sister. She watched, her hands clenched into tight fists, as the bandits ripped the doll from Theresa's hands and carried Theresa away. The girl's sobs echoing in her ears.

But they never noticed the boy hidden in the wheat.

Sparrow jolted awake to find she was alone in Hammer's rickety, old bed. Her heart hammered in her chest and she slowly laid back down on the scratchy mattress. She had dreamed of Rose and that always left her heart feeling leaden and wrong. Killing Lucian hadn't changed that. There had been someone else in the dream too…. Sparrow frowned, an uncomfortable hum creeping into her bones.

"Well, when the good lady wakes up I may mention it to her. Depends on my mood. I am not her manservant you know." Reaver's voiced drifted into range. His tone dry and bored but Sparrow was starting to get better at detecting his real mood. The slight, low edge to his voice suggested that he was actually frustrated about something.

Sparrow sat up and took quick stock of her current situation, pushing the memory of the dream out of her mind as best she could for the moment. The hum disappeared.

The Guild Cave was as she remembered it. Dark, damp, and deserted. Some of the furniture that Theresa had moved into it still survived. It had been two years since Sparrow had been here. She would have liked to keep it that way. Old memories rose to the surface of her mind. The first time she had ever stepped out as a hero had been to clear this cave for Theresa. She had been so sure then, so trusting of the old Seer's heart. Naïve is what she was. Naïve and stupid. Nothing was free. Not food or clothes or healing and certainly not Theresa's help.

The globe still stood by Theresa's old desk. Sparrow's eyes warmed at the sight of the sturdy old thing. She and Hammer had traced over every inch of that globe and dreamed of traveling the world together after their quest was done. That had been before Reaver's betrayal and before Sparrow had learned what Theresa really wanted.

"Give her this, tell her that, ask the 'Great Hero' to bless my bloody cat. Shadows this is why I shoot people." Sparrow shook off her reverie at the sound of Reaver's voice. He was much closer now to the main cave. She glanced down at herself, realizing belatedly that she should probably make sure he hadn't man handled her while she was asleep. Her clothes had been changed and her body washed. The smell of smoke was gone from her hair, which fell loose to her tail bone, and she wore a loose lavender colored linen dress with tiny flowers embroidered on the hem and the cuffs of the bell sleeves and around the collar. She doubted Reaver had cleaned her and changed her clothes. It was too kind of a gesture for the rogue, but she would question him about it. She stood, her knees wobbling for a moment, and braced herself for Reaver. Light knew it was likely to be a whirlwind of accusations and annoyances for the next hour until he petered out. Or she knocked him out. Whichever came first.

Reaver rounded the corner and entered the Guild Cave proper without noticing that Sparrow was awake. It had been three days since the Bowerstone Clock Tower blew up in their faces. Sparrow hadn't stirred once in that entire time. He had awoken to the leathery hands of an old gypsy woman who was poking and prodding at him. At the time, he was certain she was trying to kill him when she forced him to drink from a white bottle. Instead, the sweet tasting potion had strengthened him enough that he had pulled Sparrow's limp body protectively into his arms and demanded the woman explain herself. Demand was all he could do. The potion had revived him, but he could only just keep himself upright. The woman knew Sparrow from her time growing up in the Bowerlake Gypsy camp. She was the only one who came into the cave over the next few days and Reaver was pretty sure at this point that she had some ideas as to his relationship with Sparrow that were not at all aligned with reality. He didn't correct the old healer when she gave him wholly unsolicited advice to, well, he actually wasn't sure what the old bat was saying but whatever it was Sparrow would likely kill him for it. Try to. He was immortal after all.

Reaver's grey eyes immediately wandered to the rickety bed as he approached the table in the center of the room. He set the bags of food that had been left for them at the mouth of the cave on the table and then stopped. Instead of laying prone and pale on what was likely the world's worst mattress, Sparrow stood calmly before it. She still was a little paler then her usual self, but her legs seemed sturdy and her eyes alert.

"So the hero awakens at last." His mouth was dry. He let his eyes linger on her. It was almost a crime how well the color complimented her copper hair and bright green eyes. "Better late than never I suppose. You owe me five gold pieces by the way. That was the only dress I could find at that gypsy's stall that did not make me want to die when I looked at it." The pirate busied himself with sorting the food. Some wine (probably better suited for vinegar), several warm loves of seed bread, a small jar of honey, a white block of soft cheese (was that mold?), a bottle of white liquid that smelled, and some sort of cured meat.

Sparrow scoffed and wandered over to the globe. He could see her hand trace the outline of Albion out of the corner of his eye.

"I saved your life. Three times now, pirate. You owe me."

Reaver turned to face her, his lips turning upwards into a seductive grin. Oh it was too easy. "And what price would you have me pay?"

Her response was a fireball aimed at his head.

He dodged it, "You can hardly blame me for that. It's in my nature, Hero."

She was at his side in a moment, the curving azure lines that signaled her use of will glowing brightly, he could even see them glowing beneath the lavender linen of her dress. "Yes, I wonder what isn't in your nature, Reaver, as sometimes it seems that you are all that is rotten in the world and then…." She trailed off and leaned her hip against the table, facing him. "How long was I asleep?"

And then what? Reaver wondered where her words would have ended. And then he didn't. "Oh asleep isn't the word I would use. It implies a lifelike state where one is peacefully, willfully unconscious." He tapped his chin. "No, I would say your condition for the past three days, that is 72 hours trapped in this musty hellhole," he coughed as Sparrow continued to stare at him. He tried to mask the action as part of his theatrics. "Is better described as comatose or mostly dead."

"Three days?"

Reaver arched an eyebrow and nodded.

Sparrow pursed her lips, thinking. Her eyes were unreadable. "Any news from town? Where did you get this food?"

"Your gypsy compatriots have been very," he eyed the moldy cheese, "generous. An old crone has been the only one who would come in here though. L-something, flowery name. Must be older than your foster-mother."

"Lotus." Sparrow warmed, "She's the best healer in Albion."

"A few letters did come, left with the food, but I haven't gotten to them yet." He waved his hand at the pile of papers on the floor on the other side of the desk. "Things to do and such."

Sparrow rolled her eyes and pushed off the table with her hip. "I can't imagine that you've had much to do here." She moved to the pile and began gathering it in her arms. She glanced at the address of one, To the Lady Sparrow, Hero of Bowerstone, Hero of the Spire, Defender of Albion, and Champion of the Light. Light above, was that her current catalog of titles? That was more than a mouthful.

"I needed to rest. A face like mine is maintained by blowing up clock towers and saving heroes, you know. I must rest between acts of daring do."

"We're even, Reaver." Sparrow reminded him brusquely as she lifted a colorful flyer out of the stacks of letters now collected in her arm. Murgo's Marvelous Trading Post was inked across the top in bright red. Beneath it was a sketch of a yellow, red, and green wagon and a portly man with a large mustache and large top hat. She scanned the rest of the flyer, Wonderful and rare Old Kingdom Artifacts that will change your life! All prices are negotiable and all sales are final. Could it be the same Murgo that sold her and Rose the music box? Sparrow felt a tug in her gut like she was forgetting something. Murgo, she repeated the name to herself. It was right there, something important that she was missing. A dream…Rose was there….

"Sparrow?" Reaver's voice broke through her thoughts.

"Hmm?" She looked over at him, tucking the flyer into the dress's hidden pocket for later. He looked annoyed which, she had learned, was his default expression. To her surprise, he still looked injured from their narrow escape from the clock tower. An angry red line peaked out from his hairline, just above his temple. A fresh scar, something that should have been impossible. His breathing had a wheeze to it that she could hear clearly now that she was standing closer to him and he stood slightly hunched as if his full height was too painful. Normal behavior for anyone who wasn't Reaver. Odd. No, it was more than odd. Reaver had made a deal with the Shadow Court for immortality. Sparrow knew little of the Court but she knew what Reaver's deal with them had done to him. Agelessness, no sickness, and while he could be harmed he healed flawlessly. He shouldn't have that scar, he shouldn't be wheezing, and he should be swaggering back and forth across the cave chittering away with 'I told you so' in regards to Alex. Something was wrong.

"Did you ignore everything I said or is your vapid intellect showing again." Reaver remarked dryly.

Sparrow ignored the jab, dropping her letters carefully onto the table, and returned to her previous position on Reaver's side. She reached out to push a lock of the pirate's dark hair out of the way of the scar. He stiffened, his eyes narrowing in on her, his expression guarded but he didn't stop her. Another change in him. Once he had never let his foppish, serial killer persona drop away. As Sparrow examined first his forehead she noticed other imperfections. Cuts, bruises, all well along the healing process but still lingering on what should have been flawless ivory skin.

She pulled at his collar, curious as to the extent of a bruise that just peeked out from beneath the faded brown linen. Sparrow hadn't noticed it before, but Reaver was clad in much the same fashion as her. Simple linen clothes donated from the Bowerlake gypsies. His shirt was open at the collar and finished with colorful embroidery of flowers. Somehow he had managed to get a pair of proper breeches and dark leather boots but they were obviously third hand at best. His breeches were a dark blue and patched at the knees. The boots were scuffed and she could see the fine lines were repairs had been carefully made.

"You're hurt."

He said nothing.

Sparrow released him and stretched herself to her full height. A few days ago they had stood almost shoulder to shoulder with Reaver holding only a few inches on her. Now she was the taller.

"Why did you really return to Albion, Reaver?" She knew why. Sparrow could feel it in her bones. It had everything to do with the Shadow Court. Pestering her had been a moment's distraction or the beginnings of another plot to trick her into paying his debt. Anger filled her, blinding her for a full heartbeat before she could stomp it back down. Why should she be mad? I expected this from him? I've hardly been tricked. Sparrow reminded herself.

Reaver looked away, silent and stone faced.

"You will tell me what is happening to you." Sparrow folded her arms beneath her breasts. "Why you returned to Albion. Why you sought me out because I no longer believe that it was mere coincidence that I found you in the cemetery that day. And I think you are going to explain to me in excruciating detail who you saw on the balcony three nights ago when I saved you from bein' pulverized by a clock."

Finally he looked at her and she could see the shadows that haunted his eyes and how thin his face seemed in comparison to her last memory. Had he even eaten while she had been unconscious? Reaver's mask was falling away and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"That's not a story I wish to tell." His voice had a razor edge.

Sparrow poked him quickly in the side. Reaver flinched, a small grunt of pain slipping from his mouth.

"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride." She quipped, repeating the same saying Lotus had thrown at her as a child. "You are going to tell me, Reaver, because we are not leaving this cave until you have explained everything."