This is something old that I thought I had gotten rid of--anyway, I don't think I'll be useing it but I put it up here for kicks--and to see if anyone wants this to continue. This is a crossover with Danny Phantom and my own characters. I'm a big fantasy fan, so it has the works, dragons, wizards, half-breeds, oracles, and stuff I made up. It's differently becasue this is normally how I write for my characters, so just let me know if anyone (anyone at all) would like to see more of this and I will happily oblige.

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The realm laid unseen in the deep recesses of the desert oasis 'Pax Alieni Generis'; which translated literally means 'Peace of a Different Kind'. The oasis was one of the most beautiful and most coveted in many of the Eight Lands. Only one bested it, but the location was not the most desired. Neither was this area, but it was far less dangerous than the icy lands of Galatia. The Cothel Desert was not pleasant where heat was concerned; the sun beat down on people and beasts alike throughout the hours of the day, only to have a short respite at night fall when the sands became ice cold and almost violet in color. Still, the oasis was a treasured paradise, having a whole community thriving within its womb.

The leader of these people was currently appraising the budding trees of the one of the five orchards in his realm. He asked one of the Dryads to coax one of the trees to lower a limb down for inspection. The Dryad was happy to do so, but he asked why his lord could not do the same thing.

"You are completely capable of doing such work yourself my lord," the Dryad was a little flustered for saying so, but he was curious by nature and couldn't help his tongue.

"It is true," the lord of the manor said, smiling at the timidity that suddenly over-came the little man, "but my place is not among the trees, unlike you young Dryad. I prefer the trees to listen to their caretakers, rather than their protectors. For the protector knows nothing of planting, seeding, and such. What if a tree was wounded? What would the protector do if he had no knowledge of such a thing as plant-healing?"

"Aye, that is true my lord," the Dryad perked up, happy with the explanation and that his lord was not angry with his lack of control over his mouth.

The Dryad spoke quickly to a willing tree and the limb came down gracefully to rest at his lord's head. The master took the limb gently in his grasp and inspected it with a careful and experienced eye. He nodded after a moment and smiled at the tree as it took its limb back to its rightful place in the air.

"Everything here is wonderful," the lord said well pleased. "The harvest will be bountiful this year, if not tasteful."

The Dryad smiled, "Thank you Lord Ananias."

Lord Ananias Peaceflame quickly said his farewells and mounted his black steed. The sleek animal snorted in excitement as his master bade him to go back to his manor. The horse didn't hesitate to jump over the smaller creatures and barrel onto the well-worn trail that he knew from so many other pleasant rides through the forest-like terrain. Ananias didn't have the heart to rein in his passionate beast, so he just let it go, letting the bit slack in its mouth. The animal saw the advantage and pushed harder towards home, just out of the freedom it felt in its large heart.

The animal had been badly injured from an attack many months before and was just now recovered. It had been his first time out in three months and keeping a high-spirited beast like Sabbath locked up was like giving a cat a bath, it just didn't work. However, Sabbath tried to be patient with his recovery. Ananias was the only being he would let ride him, and so, was the only thing he was close to. Ananias had spent the last three months helping Sabbath with his recovery, and now that it was finally healed, the stallion wouldn't be denied his freedom.

As they came up to the manor, Ananias spotted his wife under the shade of one of the weeping willows by the pond. He steered Sabbath off of the graveled path that lead to the stables and instead took him over to the gardens. Cyrus heard them, the hard pounding sounds shaking the ground as she turned around to smile at her gleeful husband. Sabbath came to a sliding stop, his haunches tucking under him as he slide to a halt right before the lady.

"He's back in full form I see," she smiled, petting the animal's muzzle.

"Yes," Ananias said, dismounting, "he's quite ready to be out again. I think I may take a long hunt within the week, it would be good to get him back on his feet."

"Perhaps you can make it a gathering," Cyrus suggested. "It's been so long since we've seen any of our friends and a hunt sounds like a splendid idea."

"I chance to say that you're right. I'll start planning right away. We can make it in celebration of the new harvest."

Ananias slipped the reins over Sabbath's head and led the animal back to the stables, Cyrus following them on the other side of the big black head. Sabbath was not happy to see his stall once again, but when he saw Cyrus's cream-colored filly who occupied the one next to his, he gladly went in without fuss.

"Well, I see a spark of a romance starting," Ananias chuckled.

Cyrus took his hand and led him back to the manor, her smile intrigued Ananias all the more and he willingly was lead by the hand. Before they had a chance to enter, however; they heard thumping from inside, like someone running down the stairs in a great hurry. Ananias and Cyrus shared a look before going inside to see the cause of the disturbance.

Jepeth and Joseph were just about to clear the last step of the stairway when Maraline came from upstairs and pounced on her half-flung brothers. The trio came down with a great crash onto the floor. Ananias hurriedly came over and began to pull them apart. He checked them over to make sure nothing was broken, and was pleased only to see a few bruises. Now that concern was out of the way, fatherly interest kicked in and he glared at the three.

The twins looked down at their feet, as did Maraline, but Cyrus was the one who spoke.

"What are you three doing now?" her features were stern and her arms crossed, waiting for an answer.

Fourteen year olds Jep and Joe, pointed at Maraline.

"They took my Basely!" she yelled, pouting like only a ten-year-old could pout.

"We didn't," the twins said at the same time.

"We found the dumb thing in our room," Joe said, pointing a thumb at his chest.

"We were just returning it and telling her to stay out of our things," Jep said, crossing his arms and looking very much like his mother at the moment. "Then she practically pounced on us like a tiger and screaming to give the doll back. We did and left the room."

"Maraline," Ananias said sternly, "is this true?"

"They called Basely stupid," Maraline said. "I told them she wasn't stupid and they said that she was just a baby toy."

"Well it is," Joe and Jep defended themselves.

"Hush," Ananias commanded. "I want no more of this. Boys, you're fourteen, start acting like it," the boys blushed brightly and looked at the floor. "Maraline, stop taking things so seriously. Basely is a little old, perhaps it's time to be rid of her."

"No!" Maraline yelled, running over to her mother and hugging her legs. "Don't let Daddy take Basely away!"

"Hush child," Cyrus said, smoothing Maraline's thick dark curls. "I won't let your father take anything away from you."

Cyrus glared at her husband, but he only shrugged his shoulders and looked away. As if saying it wasn't his fault.

"Boys go play outside for the rest of the day. Maraline, you and I are going to Market," Cyrus said.

Maraline squealed in delight as the boys rushed past them to find something new to do. Maraline ran back upstairs to change into something more suitable to be seen in. Ananias sighed and dragged himself into the den. This area was a bit darker than the rest of the mansion, it was more suitable for Ananias when he was in the right mood. The darkened colors and artwork reminded him of a time long forgotten and he often brooded his best thoughts in this room. It was the warmest during the cold nights and often the whole family would gather here and just stare at the fire while sharing stories and odd tales.

Ananias dropped himself on a couch and sighed heavily. He had faced menacing predators with nothing but his bare hands, had been enslaved by mad wizards and managed to survive with his sanity barely intact, he could make the most formidable beast fear him, his strength was unbound, his senses sharp, his power so great that almost none could match him, yet parenthood was the one thing that had tired him the most out of all his adventures and scrapes. Matching up against his children was different from facing a mad basilisk in a crowded arena.

"Cyrus, remind me why we decided to become parents again," he said, staring at the wall as he heard his wife's footsteps enter the room.

"Well," she began, placing her hands on his slumped shoulders and started to rub them, "you came back one day from a visit with your mother and you were flushed so red that I thought you would stay that way. You were very angry and came in here, sat in this very spot, and I came up behind you to ask what was wrong. You said something I couldn't hear so I leaned in, like this," she leaned forward near his face and turned to him, "then I asked you to repeat what you said. You didn't say anything, so I got closer," she leaned into him further and he didn't pull away, a smile placed on his face as he remembered as well, but he knew better then to interrupt her story-telling, "and I asked, very politely I might add, what was wrong. You still didn't turn to me, so I baited you," she kissed him sweetly on the cheek. "You took it like a fish to a hook. You turned to me," here he did as she said and waited for a response, but didn't get one, "you wanted more, but I wouldn't let you have it until you told me what was wrong."

"I leaned in closer," he took up the narrative, doing the actions as he spoke. "I took you delicate face in my hands, and kissed you so hard that I would have thought the sun was dying and it was our last day together."

"I understood your meaning," Cyrus said, leaning in incredibly close to him, "your need as it were," she kissed him full on the mouth and he let her do what she pleased with him, slightly disappointed when she pulled back, "and nine months later, Varel was born."

"So, we are parents because of my draconic impulses?" Ananias frowned. "That paints a pleasant picture."

Cyrus smiled at him and came around the couch to sit in his lap.

"Anie, no matter what your impulses are, Oracle or Dragon, I will still love you," she said, her golden eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Besides, I adore being a mother. I would never think it possible for me to have a child, much less seven of them."

"And you can still swing a sword like you could when we first met," Ananias smiled playfully and kissed her again.

"Um, uh!"

Both of them stopped their intimacy as they turned their heads to see who had snuck up on them. It was Azel, their sixteen year old daughter. Her face twitched with a smile as she saw her mother unwind herself from her father and both stood up.

"Afternoon Azel," Ananias greeted.

"Same to you Father," Azel came in and kissed her father on the cheek. "Mother, I overheard you going to Market. May I tag along?"

"Of course dear," Cyrus smiled. "It would be a pleasure. I'm going to try and get something new for Maraline, try and get her mind off of that old doll."

"Smart," Azel said, her shrewd smile brightening her features.

"Have you seen Varel or Mathis around?" Ananias asked his eldest daughter. "I wish to talk to them."

"Um, I believe they're out in the sparing field with Micah," Azel thought, "I'm not sure, but I overheard them talking about it yesterday."

"You seem to overhear a lot of things young lady," Ananias frowned.

Azel only smiled at him and took her mother by the hand to go get ready to travel the short distance into town. Ananias shook his head and went back outside to locate his eldest sons. Varel was the eldest, Mathis (he hated being called Matthias) was second. Micah was not a blood son, but he was Ananias's ward. Micah's father had been a good friend of Ananias from childhood, and when he died, Micah had nowhere else to go except to the Peaceflame residence. Even though Ananias never adopted the boy, he was still thought of as family here. He never called Cyrus or Ananias anything other than Ma'am and Sir, but Micah was a big part of the family. The elder boys thought of him as a brother, as Ananias thought of him as a son. Ananias also knew that Micah was stricken with Azel; which made Ananias glad he had never adopted the boy. He didn't oppose of the match, but Micah was two years older than Azel and so Ananias wanted his eldest daughter to come of a more appropriate age to be married.

He did indeed find the boys in the sparing field behind the manor. All of them were shirtless, sweat sliding down their bare skin as they battled in good sport. It seemed that it was two on one. Micah and Mathis were ganging up on Varel, and doing a poor job. Varel delivered a deep punch to Mathis's gut and kicked Micah in the head at the same time. Ananias only chuckled and went up to stop them.

"Boys, I find this to be hardly fair," he said, picking up the fallen Mathis.

"You're right Father," Varel panted, brushing his black locks out of his face, "I need some different competition."

"Preferably the largest basilisk we can find," Mathis grumbled, rubbing his middle and seeing the nice bruise forming there. "I'm going to feel that in the morning."

"You're going to be feeling that for a week," Micah laughed, but he stopped to rub the bump that was starting to form on his head.

"I needed to talk to you boys, but I see we need to see to the bandages and ointments first," Ananias shook his head.

He led them back to the manor and sat each one down in the kitchen. He told them to shower quickly and he would have some cooler ready when they were done. The boys finished quickly, feeling the stings of their match as the hot water hit them. When they came back to the kitchen, they found Ananias ready with a bowl of the blue goo known as cooler, and Adrian was sitting with the adult, a treat in his hands.

"Hello, Adrian," Varel acknowledged the youngest member of the family.

The blind eight-year-old looked in his direction and smiled.

"Papa told me that you were beating up Mathis and Micah."

"He did not," Mathis protested. "We were just going easy on him."

Adrian rolled his sightless eyes and shook his head, "Riiiight, whatever you say."

"You boys want some cooler or not?" Ananias asked.

"So, what did you want to tell us Father?" Varel asked after they had been patched up.

"I was planning on doing some hunting with Sabbath, you know, to get him back on his feet. Then your mother suggested making it into a gathering, and I thought that we could do a big hunt in celebration of our harvest this year," Ananias said, leaning back in his chair.

"Fantastic!" Mathis said with glee. "We haven't had a party here in a long time!"

"It sounds wonderful Sir," Micah agreed.

"Yeah, we can invite the Hounds, the local tribes of Cats, and everyone else," Adrian said, quite excited by the idea.

"Then it's decided, we'll hold a hunt at the beginning of harvest week!" Ananias declared.

Their celebratory time was shattered with the sound of many pounding feet and shouts for Ananias's name. The atmosphere became dark and fragile as tense emotion flooded the mansion. Someone or something was in danger; Ananias could feel it in his blood. He shouted to whoever was calling him and started to run towards the sounds, his sons following him.

Sala, a jackal breed of the Hound race, almost collided with him as Ananias came around a corner to see what the disturbance was. Ananias felt Varel bump into him, followed by the other three. Sala's stared for a moment as he tried to realize what he was seeing. It took only a second.

"You must come at once," the jackal said, grabbing Ananias by the arm and dragging him forward. "We found him in the middle of nowhere. He was dehydrated, extremely sunburned, not to mention battered like he had been through a war, and it looks to me like the enemy won."

"Bandits?" Ananias heard Varel address the Hound.

"We don't think so. He smells not of this world."

Amity Park was the central hub of ghost activity. This had been proven three days ago with the explosion of a local fast-food joint; completely destroying the life of fourteen-year-old Daniel Fenton. The media outlined the story clearly and as painlessly as possible, but it was almost impossible to keep emotions out of the tragic tale.

The Fentons and friends had decided to go out for dinner the night. It had been like any other normal night, the only odd thing was how late it was, but it really wasn't questioned. Somehow, the concoctions in the back of the building somehow exploded, taking everything else with it; the only survivor left behind was the young boy. Phantom had been reported around the area of the time of the explosion and it was deduced that he had save Daniel, but the teen was still in shock and wasn't responding to any human contact as of yet. His whole family had been taken in one fell swoop of fate's wrinkled and deformed hand.

Of course, that's not what really happened. Young Daniel knew better because he was Phantom; he was a half-dead teenager who had failed to save his family. He thought he had taken care of this problem, but obviously, he had only delayed it, like in Terminator. It still came, a fatal point in his life that was doomed to follow him until it saw its advantage. At least he knew his evil-self was not responsible. He was still locked up in a thermos with Clockwork, the ghost master of time.

Vlad had been by to see him, but Danny didn't respond to any of his questions. He wanted to; at least he thought he did. His mind wasn't his own any more, it was simply free, but had no idea what to do with itself. Until it came back, Danny was just an empty shell, wallowing in sorrow for his lost friends and family, not even able to cry over them.

"Daniel, please talk to me," Vlad had said, but Danny didn't even turn to look at him.

The ceiling of the hospital had been interesting for the past couple of days, even in sleep since he didn't get any. He just stared, staring as if there was infinite space to do so.

Vlad sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. Now that Maddie and that idiot Jack were dead, Daniel had been placed in his hands. Vlad wasn't sure if this was really what he had wanted in the first place. To see Jack out of the picture yes, to have Danny yes, but to lose Maddie like this and to see Daniel reduced to this state, no. He never wanted this.

"I'll be back tomorrow Daniel," Vlad said after looking at the clock on the wall.

It was nearly midnight and he did need his sleep. He could start the procedures for taking the boy tomorrow and start on finding a really good doctor to help him.

The nurse came in a few times and the doctor checked his charts, but he didn't acknowledge any of that. Finally, somewhere around four in the morning, Danny blinked and the first sign of emotion showed on his face. It was confusion.

"What am I doing here," he asked himself, not even noticing how hoarse he sounded. "I need to get home, Mom and Dad are going to kill me if I don't get there soon."

He got up, tearing his IV out and finding some clothes in the closet. He changed into Phantom and phased through the wall of the building, heading in the direction of Fenton Works.

The first thing he saw that was wrong was that the giant neon sign wasn't on. His father left it on day and night incase people couldn't find them during a ghost attack. Of course they could just find the giant ops center on the roof, but Jack didn't think it was big enough. Danny came into the living room and looked around, still baffled as to why it was quiet. His father would normally snore like an elephant.

He went upstairs and found each room empty. That was strange. Maybe his parents were out hunting ghosts, the GAV wasn't in the driveway, but that didn't explain why Jazz wasn't home.

He phased out of the house and flew over to Sam's house; she usually knew what was going on. When he got there, he found the room neat, the bed made and candles burning everywhere, like a shrine. He found Sam's picture surrounded by red roses and some of her favorite books—a memorial. His chest tightened as he remembered that horrible dream. He began to think that it wasn't a dream. He rushed out and went to Tucker's house, but he found only more evidence of it there. Tucker's entire house was cleared out. The Foleys must have moved out after the death of their only child.

With his chest tight and tears starting to build up in his eyes, he flew over the Nasty Burger. He fell to the earth when he saw that it was no longer there. The lot was cleared of the debris and some of the machines were still there, ready to ship out in the morning.

"No," Danny shook his head.

He just couldn't believe it, but it had happened.

His senses didn't pick up the sound of the sled or the hum of the gun as it fired at his exposed back. He yelled as it hit him, but he didn't need to turn around to see who it was. The only one still around with ecto weapons was Valerie, and she would be blaming him for the deaths of the Fentons and their friends.

"Leave me alone Valerie," he said weakly as he felt the heat of another blast getting ready to bolt at his head.

"Why should I you murdering spook?" Valerie demanded out of her prey.

"I didn't murder them, it was an accident, that doesn't lessen the guilt though," Danny said, still looking at the ground. "I should have saved them, but there just wasn't enough time."

"Stop lying to me!!"

Valerie shot her gun at him, but he phased through the ground, shocked and fearful from her scream. The ground was the only safe place for him now, six feet under like the rest of them. Danny shot back up from the ground and raced off, back home. Valerie caught him through and in a rush of madness, sped off after him. She blasted down the Fentons' front door just seconds after Danny had phased through it. Valerie saw the last part of his mocking tail disappear into the lab and she followed, firing madly when she made it to the top of the stairway.

Danny yelped as one of the stray shots hit his arm, but he also failed to notice things in his rush to dodge the bullets. Like how things were beginning to catch fire in the old basement and how the ghost portal began to act strangely after one of Valerie's shots hit the main panel. Danny saw the portal as his only escape. He would fare better in the Ghost Zone then he could in the human world ever again. Ignorant of the fact that the portal was no longer calibrated to the Ghost Zone, he flew in. Valerie saw him escape and smiled evilly. She shut the portal down, locking it tight and making sure no ghost, especially Phantom could get back to earth.

Danny came back to himself, spitting out sand from between his teeth. He lifted his head, feeling the headache coming on and feeling the large bump on the front of his head. His whole body felt sore from Valerie's onslaught along with his emotional baggage of his family's death. Well, maybe Clockwork or Frostbite could help him.

He took in his surroundings and froze. The sun was blazing hot, cooking him like a Thanksgiving turkey in an oven. He already felt his exposed skin feel red from sunburn and his mouth dry from the sand and heat combined. He looked around himself, seeing nothing but miles and miles of hot, prickly sand. With the combined light of the sun and the reflection of the land, it nearly blinded the teen, making him squeeze his blue eyes into very narrow slits.

"This isn't the Ghost Zone," he told himself, trying to get to his feet. "Where am I?"

He couldn't think clearly. He must have been out for hours under this heat. Once he got back on his feet, he was forced back onto his knees and palms as he puked onto the unknown desert sands. The world became unbalanced as his head began to spin. He was severely dehydrated. He had to find water, but he knew he was in the middle of nowhere.

He lay back on his stomach, feeling the sun burn him even through his clothing. He was going to die out here, and somehow, he felt oddly at peace with death. He had no family to live for anymore, so as far as he was concerned, there was no need to live.

It was a little while before he found sleep again, but before he did, he saw a faint outline of three figures approach him. He was aware that he should be frightened, but he didn't care and simply passed into oblivion.

Azel landed back in the court yard of Cothel, folding her wings back from where they came, watching the elder dragon land beside her. Azel was the only one that inherited actual dragon features from her father, and when she did use them, she looked more like what a half-breed was depicted. A lithe creature with large bat wings sticking from her shoulders, a spaded tail, and her skin tone was slightly blue in color. The rest of her still showed the form of a young woman. The dragon beside her was a full blooded dragon, her own grandmother to be exact.

Neva Warclaw slowly shifted her form to that of a human woman, long blond hair pulled back in a braid and flowing lilac dress that matched the color of her scales in dragon form.

"Come Grandmother, they took him into the coolest room that we could find," Azel said, coxing the elder into the mansion.

Neva followed her granddaughter into the house and saw her son waiting for them outside the door.

"What's going on dear?" Neva asked Ananias as she brushed past him and into the room beyond.

"He's developed fever," Ananias said walking back into the room after his mother, "I can't bring the heat down at all."

"What all have you tried?" Neva asked, taking the sickly boy's head into her hands.

"Everything I could think of that's short of forcing a funnel down his throat," Ananias looked ready to pull his hair out.

Neva smiled at her son and shook her finger at him.

"That's not pleasant dear," she admonished.

Ananias could have cared less. It had been three days of this fever and he seemed to only make it worse. His mother was a healer and he learned everything from Neva since boyhood, but she could still amaze him, and that's why he had called on her now.

"If you've done everything you could, then it must be a mind problem," Neva said with her logical air.

"Then he doesn't want to live?" Ananias asked, somber as he knew the feeling all too well. "We can't let that happen."

"Nor shall we," Neva pried open one of the boy's eyes and saw icy-blue orbs stare blankly back at her. "He's in a dream-state. Probably from the heat."

"That's what I deduced," Ananias nodded.

"We'll have to get the funnel and tube, we must get some coolant down his throat and into his stomach, and make sure he doesn't throw it back up. Also, I want to clean these bandages, they look bad."

"His skin was badly burned," Ananias said, bringing out the dreaded device, "We have to change it every three hours to make sure it doesn't get infected or worse. He's going to have many scars from the burns to add to the ones he already has."

Neva pried the mouth open while Ananias worked swiftly to shove the pipe down the throat. They didn't get a reaction from the prone body, but they did get movement as they poured the coolant down the funnel. The boy twitched and his eyes started to roll around behind his eyelids.

"He's coming back around," Neva said, watching intently. "Take the funnel out."

Ananias was quick and pulled it right out. The boy coughed and winced at the raw feeling from this throat. Neva felt the hot skin and smiled as the heat came down quickly. She suspected the boy could control his own body temperature just from the power that came from him. Dragons were sensitive to that sort of thing, even Ananias felt it, thus why he had taken the boy into his house. No one else could have figured out how to help him.

Danny came back to himself, groaning as his brain kick started back on automatically. He blinked a few times to clear the haze from his vision and bring his hands up to wipe the grain from the corners of his eyes. He felt his arms were stiff and looked blearily at the bandages that covered them. He felt the rough fabric wrap around his torso as well and his knees from where the holes in his jeans had let his skin burn and scrape on the desert sands.

His vision came back clearly with that last thought. He remembered he wasn't in Amity Park or the Ghost Zone—and he didn't recognize the two figures hovering above him.

One was a woman, she looked young yet old at the same time—if that was even possible. Her hair was as golden as the sun, her eyes bright emerald green, and her smile was a warm one, inviting him to feel welcomed and unafraid. The man was tall, looking like he could hit the ceiling with his head. His hair was raven black, his eyes the same intense green as the woman's—they must be related in some way—and his look was kind as well, but his face was scarred making his smile a little stiff and less animated then the woman's.

He tried to speak—to ask questions—but he couldn't find his voice.

"Hush child," the woman said, putting a warm hand on the side of his face as if to comfort him. "You won't be able to speak for a while; you need to let your throat heal."

"Do you want water?" the man asked quietly, his voice deep and calm—reminding Danny of his own father in an odd way. "Just blink once for yes—twice for no."

Danny blinked once. The man nodded and went to the side table to pour a glass of crystal clear liquid. The woman came to the side of the bed and lifted Danny's head up for him. Danny took the cup from the man, but his shaking palms could barely hold onto it. The woman brought her free hand up and supported the bottom of the cup so he could sip from it.

One sip, and Danny pulled the cup back. The water irritated his already raw and inflamed throat, making it sting like a thousand hornets were buzzing in there and were trying to peck their way out of the tissues that lined the inside of his neck.

"It's alright," the woman encouraged in that same soft voice his mother would use on him when he was sick. "You need to drink something child. It's very important; you've been unconscious for many days and you need to drink something before you die of dehydration."

Danny understood her words, but he didn't like them. Still, what little water had made its way past his throat settled in his empty stomach and relieved the uneasiness he had been feeling since he woke up. The woman put the cups to his lips again and he reluctantly sipped, taking tiny helpings as she coaxed him to continue and finish the cup.

"There," the woman said, setting him back down and watching his eyes flutter shut, "just rest now, you'll be fine when you wake up in the morning."

Her voice was quiet as he drifted off again, a small comforting thing in the back of his mind. He knew he was protected, but he also knew he would never be well again.