DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Really, I don't own a darn thing, why are you still reading? You're still reading this, aren't you? You're smiling. You are. I know it. SMILE! :D

BETA: STILL ME AND MY SILLY SELF, and Word. Word, it really is spelled pegasi, because I specifically read it in-game! Quit underlining the word.

Your thoughts and correction would be greatly appreciated, even in a PM, lovely lads and ladies!

Light the Weary Way

Chapter One

Willow and Chamomile

Chire quietly rocked the little girl to sleep, running her fingers through strands as green as her own. The manor was quiet as death. She sat as silent, except for the hoarse sound reverberating from her daughter's chest with each breath, thoughts on nothing but of green tall stalks of grass and what lay hidden in them.

She could almost feel it brushing her thigh to head, her memories that vivid. The wind, too, as it travelled and parted the long grass, like it did the waves at sea. A person could get lost, in that sea of green, if one didn't know the ins and outs. Chire could boast that she did – how she knew, also, all the ways to skin a doe, to catch a fish with nothing but her hands, to eye a flying brother in the sky and know that he would lead her home if she asked and offered a bit of sacred root to his avian being – but she did not, she could not any longer.

Chire stifled a sudden choke in her throat, easily. She rocked a bit harder in the chair, as the little girl grew fussy in her sleep, and Chire relaxed when the girl did.

Chire gave the closed bedroom door a side-long glance. It was as heavy as thick oak could be and locked. Her long, slender fingers – no longer calloused by swordplay, archery or children games – left the head of hair and went to the small back, patting it.

Chire sung, quietly. Her language flowed off her tongue like water running through a previous-barren river, "Little moon, little moon, how you dream! Eyes in the Sky, reaching up high, dancing and smiling, as you please. Little moon, little moon, how you sing! Loud and stout, hear Mother's cries, open to the gusts of time, not warbling but crowing. Eyes in the Sky, ears to Mother, dance, smile, sing, as you please – be heard, be strong, be unbending… little moon, little moon, how you wake…" Chire finished off and blinked away the wetness in her eyes.

There was a knock on the heavy door, loud as a cane strike.

Chire started in surprise and looked down at her daughter's face, "Yes?" Chire saw no change in her nap and felt light seep quietly back into her soul.

"Miss Rebecca's medicine, Lady Chire." The female servant announced. There was a moment's pause, silence permeating the air. "Please open the door, milady."

With tense arms wrapped around her dear daughter, Chire stood up and unlocked the door, moving backwards to the rocker.

The woman, brown hair pulled back tight and starch cleaned charcoal uniform, swept in and abruptly paused, watching her. "Milady, Miss Rebecca needs her medicine." She repeated, firmly, when Chire did not immediately place her only child in the other's arms. The woman continued, "And the doctor wrote a script: next month's will be delivered on time. Yes, yes, and he was terribly bogged, but no wonder! Being the most sought-after, and all!"

Chire spoke up, "What she needs is filasi root, in the plains. Young Sacaen children get this sickness and – "

"We are not in Sacae, milady. And this was made by a doctor." The woman interrupted, and although her shoulders did not tense or her tone terse, her eyes said it for her to Chire. "As nurse, milady, it is my duty to, above all else, care for the manor's little lord and lady." She moved forward and beckoned to Chire like a wild animal, "Now, please: Miss Rebecca."

Chire was not ready to give up her daughter. "Filasi root works, Nurse Deidre. It does, I know personally. I just need to send out to acquire it. I don't know how else to tell any of you anything different to get you to understand! I've told you what it does and how to make it, I'll make it, and Becky will be clear as rain in a week! Her illness wouldn't be this terrible if you just let me get the root," Chire finished, nearly moaning out in abjection.

Deidre's expression nearly turned mulish, "Now, Lady Chire," she chastised, "this dry packet was made in Etruria, by a dedicated Etruscan doctor." She added, "And no one will go out into the wild to acquire some root, roots are dirty and meant for the ground not the mouth, milady."

"We clean it!" Chire snapped back, not appreciating being spoken to like an imbecile, and Rebecca moaned quietly, jostled awake. "Sleep, little moon, sleep." Chire whispered, and Rebecca settled back into a world where every breath did not ache.

Deidre suddenly slapped both hands over her ears, "Ah!" she cried, looking frightened, "No, no, no! I did not get a contract for this. I came for the children," she pointed a shaking finger at Chire, "not to hear bewitching! Forked-tongues, oh…" she moaned, staring sorrowfully at the child in Chire's arms, "For you to hiss at her in her sleep, defenseless! To hear you, trying to turn her into one of you wild things.

"No wonder they spoke of this house as trying, truly trying. This house is filled with a witch!" Deidre backed out of the room, hastily. She bumped into a body, and shrieked, "Ah!" Chire hugged Rebecca and hummed, her muscles losing tension seeing the housekeeper, who must have been making her rounds around the manor rooms.

The housekeeper looked distressed, "What is going on here?" She grabbed Deidre by the shoulders and shook her, hissing, "Quiet yourself! You'll wake the little Miss Rebecca!"

Deidre moaned, "No, not any more, Marian. Not anymore! You did not see what I saw!" The nurse shook herself free, jittery, "The little girl was waking, and then she," Deidre pointed at Chire again, "she put a spell on her, whispered in that forked-tongue, and Miss Rebecca went limp, gone straight to dreams. Forced, I say, forced!"

Marian's nostrils flared, "She's her mother, you daft wench! She could whisper, 'wake up you little shite', in the most lovely tune, and the little girl would sleep. Not that she does, Deidre, quit with that look! She has a hard enough time, as is."

Deidre cried, "Do not speak to me in such a manner!"

"Quiet." Marian jutted a finger sharply at Deidre's chest and spoke in a low, cold tone, "I can speak to you however I want, when it warrants, and you are warranting it, to be sure. There will be none of your poisoned talk in this home. Lady Chire's a good woman and a fine lady to serve, and a wonderful mother – you talk to her and about her the way you do, and you're talking to me… And I don't like being talked down at." Marian loomed over Deidre's smaller stature. "Now, are you doing the packing, or am I?" Marian asked.

Deidre was speechless, staring at Marian like she had two heads, "M-me. I will." She slid around Marian, not touching her, arms raised to her chest, "Consider this contract void. My Lady Carmina of Ostia will make reparations."

Marian watched her back with hawk eyes and nodded, "See it done. And see yourself out the servant door." Marian and Chire watched Deidre disappear from sight and neither spoke until the stumbling footsteps of Deidre faded to silence.

Marian let a whoosh of breath out, "Well! There goes the fifth one this year!" Marian turned around, and shrugged, "Ah, you didn't have to take that spewed shite of hers a moment more, Lady Chire. We just have to hire a sixth, now."

Chire settled back down on the rocker, and smiled, "Maybe one not able to be bewitched?"

"Hah, Lady Chire!" Marian gave a teasing grin, "Need one in Ilia for that. And they're a stubborn bunch. I think it's the snow that's got to them! Too much ice crystals in the head that they forgot their hearts be needing warmth, too." Marian shook her head and clucked her tongue, walking out of the room.

"They aren't so bad. Sacaen and Ilia are friendly with another," Chire said.

Marian nearly closed the door, when she poked her head back in, "Ah, yes, I know, but bias is bias. Wish it didn't exist but, we've all got our differences." The door gently closed, leaving Chire to her rocking.

"I know that… very much so." Chire looked down at Rebecca and pinched a clump of green hair between her right index finger and thumb, "And you will too, more than me, little moon of two."

Chire squeezed her eyes shut and situated Rebecca on her shoulder, burying her face in her daughter's hair. She opened her eyes to stare desperately at her daughter's pale as peach skin next to her brown, hoping that through her, she would understand why the world was as it was.

"I'm so sorry."

~*~

Wil leaned on both hands, stretched out and lax on the ground, fingers gripping the earth. His eyes were wider than usual, trying to take all the stimuli in, but his skin felt funny all day since he woke, like it had another layer on it – it made it difficult to concentrate. He had tried bathing after asking in the small waterhole near his home, but the sun only dried him sparingly, being a cool spring.

Wil knew it was spring. Just like he knew when it was winter, autumn, and summer. No one told him. Wil just knew, because it had been seven moons since all the snow went away.

Before him, the object of his unwavering stare, a few leaps away, was a squirrel. He was eating a nut, pretending he couldn't see Wil, but he could. Wil knew this, too. Wil could see one beady eye staring at him, while the squirrel munched away.

Wil was studying the squirrel, just as the squirrel was him. Wil had decided just that morning, that he was going to be like a squirrel. Squirrels were interesting, Wil thought. All brown and red, and came in different sizes – some small, but most were as large as Wil's arm, from head to tail. Little heads, always, though – and they were so fast, too fast for Wil's feet, but that was why Wil wanted to be like a squirrel. He would be able to run so fast that the wind would laugh with him and he would be able to hear all the fairies and their pixie friends he knew were out there – but it was so hard to hear with his big ears. Maybe if he had a squirrel's, he would hear their tiny voices? The logic was stone-proof to Wil.

"I must look funny, huh?" Wil asked the squirrel, which then stiffened, tail straight up. Wil nodded, "Yeah, I look weird, but that's alright, 'cause you are interestin'." The nut dropped and the squirrel faced him, both eyes boring into Wil's, nose twitching. "I bet I smell, too. And that's okay, 'cause you stink." The squirrel's little feet pattered backwards, and Wil slowly tensed his arms and then legs.

"I'm gonna be like you some day. And to do that…" The squirrel bolted away and Wil shot up with a cry, "… I'm gonna have to study you, so please okay?!" Wil scanned the little clearing he had lain in, watching for any squirrels, for most of the morning. The sun's rays were more heated now, but the wind still whispered into his skin of the cold days and nights of last season.

He found no sign of the squirrel in the tree limbs he could eye, nor the ground area, and sighed.

"Lost him, again," Wil turned to look at a nearby flower and then the sky, "Could you tell me where he's at now, please?" The flower's stem shifted to the left, nearly curving into the ground, petals waving wildly with the sudden strong gust of wind that resumed its quieter touch immediately after. Wil beamed, brushing back the hair the wind caught, "Thank you, again!" He rushed further into the woods, trusting the ground beneath his feet and the sky above his head.

~*~

"There he goes." The man balanced a hatchet over his shoulder and puffed on his pipe, watching a little boy with hair as red as blood dart past. "Again." He had been rushing back and forth, even through the property, all afternoon.

"Who's going, where?" A woman's voice called from inside the house. The man noted she sounded cranky – most likely her feet had swollen again. "If it's that little hellion, from those folks down the river, you tell him to get out and stay out of our land!"

The man winced, sympathetic. "C'mon, wife. He ain't hurtin' no one or nothing, but his feet."

"He'll be hurt something, when I'm through with him, if I have to get off this rocker!" The woman grumbled audibly, "If I hear one more, "please give me one of your nuts!" I'll scream. I say, I say, that boy sure was not raised right, a'tall!"

The man shrugged, unseen. Personally, he thought the kid had more character in him than his own boys, who were as cranky as their mother on a good day.

Right on cue, like a burst of new air, the boy ran past, " – please, I just need one! Just one –!" His sentence was drowned out by his wife's sudden scream. It was most likely something about those 'nuts' he was charging on about.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!"

"Quit your hollerin'!" The man hollered, heading further away from the house and to the woodpile. "You'll wake the dead, woman!"

"I told you!" She shouted back, "I said I would, I don't tell lies! Can't do much but scream with this condition you put me in! Argh, I only wanted two, not five!"

~*~

Sarah felt worn come midday. She had woken up at this morning just fine and fresh – got the eggs from the coop with few pecks, a very good omen, and had made some bread to rise and be ready for when her boy jumped out of bed.

Yaoss had already went to greet the dawn before she rose, pressing a kiss to her lips and moving to Wil's straw bed to kiss his head; a bow gripped in one hand, a full quiver strapped securely across his back over one broad shoulder, and a bound hatchet secured on the left side of his belt with his hunting knife.

Everything had gone as well as it should. Wil jumped out of bed, hair as askew as ever – Sarah tried to tame it with a horse-tail brush, and did not succeed, as usual. Wil gobbled down his breakfast after his morning staring contest with the opened window – Sarah tried to make him eat everything neatly, and managed that. Wil scrambled into the bedroom to dress in his day clothes – Sarah watched him spring out of the house like a ball of energy.

Sarah was sure she heard him shout about squirrels and speed, and because she did hear those strange little words conjoined from her son's mouth, she felt she should have known what was to come.

Sarah had no less than eleven visits from different neighbors, and that was just in the morning. This afternoon heralded more than fourteen. The complaints had come from the residents themselves, which ranged from the harpy-like Thornber, to the laidback pipe-smoker Welton, and others who were similarly annoyed or furious. That was what created the throbbing in Sarah's head, like a never-ending drum.

Welton had been blunt, but his eyes shined with amusement, "Boy's been screamin' about squirrels, there, Sarah, in the area. Wife wanted to let you know." Welton had puffed a bit from his pipe, and gave her a shrug and left.

"… Thanks, Welton."

Lady Thornber had been breathing fire, hawk nose so scrunched she looked to have eaten a lemon. "Your boy is a menace! He roughshod all through my garden! Fortunately, that boy's got some acuity in that daft head of his and didn't step on any of my narcissi or nightshade!" She had stuck her nose up, and returned to her horse to side-saddle away back to her summer residence.

"… Thanks for informing me, Lady Thornber."

It hadn't been so stressful that morning – Wil did a lot of things on a daily basis, not to this degree, of course, but the people near them on the outskirts of the village knew that her little boy was very unique, and they took the antics with a grain of salt. Sarah had to admit, the Thornbers could have been a lot more venomous, but they were only in the area from spring to summer every year. It did not make her like them any better, however.

That afternoon, however, showed Sarah that maybe she and Yaoss had to sit Wil down and explain to him that the village was off-limits to go near, unless accompanied by them. It was enough that the neighbors were basked in Wil's presence, must he go into the village where the people were more uptight than an unbreakable nut?

Some parents, Sarah supposed, had the benefit of ignorance of what their child was up to, but Wil's did not. She knew her child's mind was like a fount of imagination, but really.

"I saw a little red-head, yours? He's been climbing the trees with bare hands and feet! That's dangerous, that! Those trees are taller than the spire of the St. Elimine chapel!"

"He's been eating nuts! Moving his head like he had smoke blown at it."

One, in particular, had been near tears, "He was speaking in tongues!" He looked wild-eyed.

Sarah had been unfazed by that time, and asked, "Oh? What did it sound like?"

The man paused, and cringed, "…Ah… um… like," and then he did a series of odd squeaky pips, and Sarah closed her eyes – it was a poor impression by the man, but she could connect the dots as well as anyone.

"That's a squirrel, sir."

The man had flushed red, "O-oh? Well…" he shuffled back, "Good day to you." He had bolted from the home as fast as he could, riding on his mare.

Now, Sarah stood in the open archway of the front entrance of the straw-roofed home, leaning on it, arms crossed.

Yaoss had been no help. He had returned quiver empty, and wet from a wash in the river no doubt, a few skins over one hand and a rack of meat in the other, his hatchet and bow accounted for. Sold a few kills in town, he said, and saved some skins for the family to clean and tan in the sun. He rewarded his work with a pint of ale from the tavern and was on his way home, shortly afterwards. By that time, Wil had not been causing a ruckus over there, because Yaoss had been surprised at the news.

Then, he had laughed, "Gwahaha! I'll be, the boy's a hunter, like his old man! Learnin' the way of the animal? Quite the technique. Never thought of that."

"You know that is not the reason he's doing what he is, Yaoss." Sarah had glared at her bonded.

Yaoss had grinned and shrugged, taking off his equipment, "But he's learnin', Sere, he's learnin'. Can't ask for anything more."

Sarah was more miffed at Yaoss than ever, that she came to lean where she was, stewing in her anger. Yaoss was both right and wrong, Sarah thought. They had never put any rules that he would feel strangled by, because Wil, no matter how strange, was just such a nice boy. He did the chores when asked (most of the time), he helped her cook (sometimes); he dressed himself once he learned how (all the time). It was wonderful Wil was so independent, and maybe that was the problem. Wil was just lucky that there wasn't anyone with sick tastes around their home (she could not say the same about the village proper) to take advantage of him.

Big, heavy footsteps came toward her, and Sarah glared, gaze unfocussed out into the field waving in the sun, toward the village she knew was there but could not see. Yaoss arms came around her middle and pulled her close to his hard bulk.

"How did he even get there during midday, anyway?" Sarah asked. "It took us more than half the day when we visited Lady Chire – which we haven't done yet - and we start in the dewy morning."

"We had things to do yesterday and things came up today… and you know darlin'… it only takes so long cause Wil loves goin' off trail, you know that."

Sarah resisted the urge to elbow his gut, "Still he's my baby. He should stay at home more. Not chase after fairies, or brownies, or pegasi."

"He's four, yeh… but, most of the children go on and explore at that age. 'Cept for the noble children, them parents lock those kids away until they can do nothing but rebel." Yaoss harrumphed, "Besides, pegasi are real."

"Must you focus on something but the topic?"

"You focus too much."

Sarah sighed, and rubbed sluggishly at her face, "How are we going to get him? The people in the village basically believe he is nothing but cursed, they watch, stare, gawk and come here to complain, but don't herd him home. They don't want to touch him." Sarah paused and said, "Maybe that's a good thing." Even sick people did not want to touch a 'cursed' child.

"By the time we do get there, he might already be on his way home! Or had found some other animal to imitate and follow! We'd never find him, then!" Sarah breathed in deep and pressed her palms to her strained eyes.

Yaoss rubbed her shoulders, "Boys follow their stomachs, too. He'll come home to eat a nice stewed meal, made by his Mama." Yaoss turned her to him, "But would it make you feel better if I borrowed a horse from Thornber there and went to the village? I'd get there in little time, then."

"Oh!" Sarah gasped and hugged her bonded, "Yes, yes, I would, I very much would!" Sarah had been such an anxious ball, that she had not even thought of that – her mind filled with images of Wil hurting himself, cold and alone, or at the hands of some vile person.

"Alrighty, then!" Yaoss gave a crooked grin, "Haven't stretched out the old muscles in awhile – it'll be fun." With a determined stride, he headed out the open door and around the house. "I'll be back with Wil in a bit!" He called out, lively.

Curious and eager to have her son back home and in her arms, Sarah ran to the back window and watched his form get swallowed by the thick forest behind their home.

It was not until later, as she prepared the thickest, hearty stew she ever had, all for the two most important people in her life that something occurred to her.

"Why into the woods like some crawler?" Sarah pondered for a moment, before returning to her fire, humming. It did not matter; she would get both back before supper was cold.

~*~

Chire had not heard of any commotion, herself, being busy with Rebecca and singing her asleep with songs, and administering the medicine to her. Medicine that would not work completely, but the filasi root would. If only she could get her hands on some, she could make Rebecca well again.

Chire did hear the dismayed cry of the head gardener, however, and once Rebecca finally settled into a semblance of sleep, walked towards one of the many windows in the children's wing that faced the well-maintained garden. Peeking out, she could see Hinkin waving his arms at the large oak tree, red-faced, sweat dotting a weathered brow.

"Get down here, ya' little pipsqueak!" Hinkin paused and glared, "Yer stuck? I'm not comin' up there! I'm too old!"

A young voice spoke up behind her, "Mother Chire? That boy's in the garden, stuck in a tree."

Chire turned around, "Daniel." She smiled gently at him, before asking, "There are many boys you know, I imagine. Which one?"

Daniel turned his attention out the window, "The one that visited last time, he laughed loudly. I remember him. He's my age."

Chire's heart quickened and she knew whom: the son, Willow, of the beautiful redhead, Lady Sarah. The one adult, in what appeared all of Lycia, who was the first to welcome her and smile without double-fanged teeth. Had congratulated her and had been happy to hear of her pregnancy, coming over again and again. Gave her a gift on the first day of announcement, and had bemoaned there was not a lot to give but good thoughts and good food. The next day, many families came to the manor door to offer well-wishes and said they would bring their gifts once done, and Chire knew it was all Lady Sarah's doing.

Lady Sarah may have thought that what she had done was not enough, but to Chire, Lady Sarah was a gift from Father Sky and Mother Earth, and irreplaceable. Her son, Willow, was just as priceless – he had the biggest doe eyes she had ever saw, all brown and honey-coloured, and he had the brightest aura about him, too. He was as special as his mother, the fair Lady Sarah, and he lit up like the sun.

Lady Sarah had placed him in her arms, "Practice," she winked, "for when the little one comes." Willow had beamed up at her and laughed, saying, "I'm Willow, I'm Willow, hi! Hi! Your hair's pretty!"

No one had even let any child look at her in the village, always pulled them away, pulled themselves away, and hissed hurtful things, but Chire always grinned – if she let them get to her, they would get to her and burrow deep, destroying her spirit.

For Lady Sarah to plop her son in her arms spoke of a lot of trust, that Chire reciprocated, gladly.

It irked Chire to know that when little Rebecca was born, strong in spirit but with a weak shell, her Lord Baker sent a courier message them to not come because they 'could carry an illness'. Rebecca continued to be ill up to her first year, much to Chire's hurting heart, but pulled through, only to get struck with the rattling chest illness – all Sacaen went through it, once, and it was supposed to last only a week. A week was all it took for the filasi root to delve into the system, healing and soothing the raw, burning ache.

These people, outside of her homeland, knew nothing. Lady Sarah would not have scoffed at her words, or barred her from leaving the manor, restricted her from writing on pen or paper, or sending for help. Chire would have stole away, given the chance and horse, gathered the root herself to make Rebecca well again and allow her baby to finally open unglazed eyes. Lady Sarah would have done her utmost best to help her, and that man, Yasoo? He seemed a good warrior if a bit rough around the edges; he would have taken care to help, as well. And Willow, too, had he been old enough, he was Lady Sarah's only child and just like her. Why, he was outside in the garden right now…

Chire turned slowly to Daniel and spoke, with a calm she did not feel, "Daniel, do you think you can get Willow inside?"

Daniel frowned, "Mother Chire, he is a peasant, unwashed. He could give Rebecca something."

Chire kneeled down and shook her head, "No, no, Willow is a good boy. He washes himself, eats nice and neat, and is very intelligent for his age, just like you, Daniel!" Daniel's frown replaced itself with a proud smile – a first that she noticed. The boy was so serious.

"Like me?" Daniel asked. "He is my age, too," he repeated, whispering, eyes lighting up.

Chire leaned in close, as if she was parting with a secret, "And you know what?"

Daniel grinned and ducked his head closer, "What?"

Chire slowly sounded out the words, "When you become friends, Willow will always play with you." Chire chest pinged in pain, when Daniel's face looked starved, hanging on to her every word, "He doesn't have many kids his own age, and he is very special, just like you, Danny." Chire tried out the nickname, and found she liked the way it rolled out, and Daniel looked nothing short of tearful, smiling at her.

"I go out there, and he'll be friends with me? Really?" He asked.

Chire smiled, softly, "You have to introduce yourself first - Willow can be forgetful. He might not remember you as you him." Chire did not know if this was true, but Daniel did not need Willow saying, "Who are you?" and Daniel wondering if he remembered Willow, why not Willow likewise, and crushing Daniel's eagerness.

"Okay," Daniel said, running down the hall, before correcting himself to a walk.

"You can run," Chire called to him, "You will get to him quicker and your leg muscles will strengthen."

Daniel paused in the hallway, before he charged down and around the corner.

He was a four year old, going on twelve, but his heart was still as young and able to mend, Chire knew.

From this day, Chire would get the help for Rebecca that she had always needed, and Daniel would gain a wonderful boy for a friend.

~*~

Daniel thought Willow sounded like a strange name, like a tree, but Mother Chire had a strange name, too, and she was the loveliest person who had ever smiled at him. Mother Chire was busy tending to his little ill sister to pay him much a thought, but Daniel understood. Mother Chire was his mother, too. She always gave him a greeting and answered any questions whenever he would come to her and Rebecca, and the door to Rebecca's room was always open when he was free from his lessons with Governess.

He was nearing the garden when Head Gardener suddenly began shouting, "Now you've done it, boy! Lookit! Ruined the chamomile, little Lord's favoured flower!"

Daniel's heart stopped, and then restarted with a fiery heat. Chamomiles were Rebecca's flowers. Daniel made sure to pick them fresh every morning before his lessons, and place them at her bedside. He had been running before, but now he ran for a different reason.

Rebecca had looked at him, once, when he had been placing them down in a crystal cup, and for a moment her eyes were clear, and she smiled at him with Mother Chire's smile.

Daniel never forgot that memory, just as he remembered a lot of instances in his mind, especially the smiling ones.

He was going to make Willow weep.

A.N.: In the language of flowers, chamomile means: energy in adversity. I thought it was sweet, to make Dan's character so young yet caring for his sister, enough to learn the language of flowers and place them by her bedside to give her strength when she was ailing.

If you notice any difference between this chapter and the last, you're pretty sharp! I was actually trying out a 'Mostly Dialogue' tactic in the last one. Very little description, or tried, anyway. But it's pretty frustrating, for me, personally, because as you can see from this chapter, I enjoy writing descriptions, but I hope I blended dialogue, characterization and description pretty evenly in this one. AND I CLIFFHANGERED… sort of? XD Anyway, enjoy!

Review, PM, or even just hit that hit counter, it is all good! :)

Edited: 05/27/2009