She recalled one thing, finally, after a night of dreamless sleep. It was a small little event when she was a child. The memory relieved her, and she was surprised by the feeling at the same time. She had not been created from the air to stand by Samah's side, which was a ridiculous notion, of course. But the knowledge made her relax still.

The old world had been filled with greenery, much like their initial designs for Pryan. She had been fond of the trees as a child, at least where the groves were free to grow away from the cities and the smoke. She had made a game with herself once, of how far she could climb up one of the tall trees, trying to reach the top, before her nerve failed her. Each day she would make a little progress, her hands scratched from the bark, her soft robes torn from the action. She would make it past her record a little more, only using her magic to float back down to safety.

She remembered the day that her parents finally made her stop, for there were Patryns lurking in the shadows that they had claimed so vigorously. It was no longer safe for such play, not when there were so many other, much more important things at hand. The branches had been rough in her small hands, the sunlight beating down on her hair. But she had felt the tugging on her arm, drawing her away from the grass.

Even so, it was the only memory of herself that she could recall. Strange, but she could not remember the details of her parent's faces. The years of stasis had done its toll, surely, but the blankness of their persons was unsettling.

She and Samah were seated at the table one morning for breakfast. Alfred was not with them this time, even though she had knocked on his bedroom door. He must have been sleeping, for she had noticed the exhaustion in his eyes the past couple of days. She might as well let him catch some rest, even though she had grown to like his company.

But it was in his absence that Orla knew what else Alfred provided. A barrier, a comforting shield that made Samah's eyes a little less imposing. Times at the table would be awkward still, but she could look to Alfred and release the tension from her shoulders. Right now, all she had was the white table set before her.

"You have not eaten much, Husband," she commented, her gaze fixed firmly on his plate of scrambled eggs, freshly-cut fruit and toasted bread. Only the bread had been consumed, and just the top of it nibbled by an inch.

"I do not have much time." Samah stood up suddenly, the folds made in his robes from his seated posture already straightening themselves into place. "The council will be convened in less than an hour. Perhaps the dog could have it."

She could not help but feel insulted that the food she had taken time to prepare was to become a dog's table scraps. But that brought to mind of another important subject; the dog that had suddenly appeared behind Alfred five days before.

"I fear that Alfred may be having trouble with his task."

"I am aware of this, Wife," Samah said briskly. "And I depend on you to help him realize that finding this man named Haplo is vital."

"Yes, I understand that." She stood up as well, the chair softly scraping against the floor, washed in the same white color of the table, the room, their household. "But perhaps we should consider other things… He has truly already been through so much-"

"And we haven't?"

She was thankful that she had folded her hands in the sleeves of her robes, for her fists clenched at his tone. She could feel her nails drag at her skin. "But he has been alone."

Samah set his mouth firmly, his eyes narrowed. Or so he claims.

The thoughts shared between husband and wife were mainly done while out in public, usually consisting of small remarks and mentions of previous arguments, in order to maintain their calm demeanor in front of the council. They would settle their matters (or in Orla's case, concede) in the privacy of their minds, for nothing could be more distracting to the council than clear division.

But she knew she wasn't meant to have heard those words. Immediately the walls surrounding Samah built up higher, blocked away the mental link before she could respond. They were at home however, and Alfred was asleep. She did not need to hold her tongue here.

"Are you suggesting that he is lying?"

"He is barely Sartan anymore, Wife. All you need to do is look at him to see it plain. This Haplo has clearly corrupted him, for why else would he have the dog to begin with? No, I believe Alfred has not been fully honest with us."

Could Alfred have concocted those images of the crystal beds, the young faces still inside? Could he have made up the image of the lake and the girl beside him? She could not believe that, yet it was true what Samah implied; Alfred would not even give them his name.

"So I remind you what your current task is." He gestured with his right hand toward the household. She then realized she had not been to a Sartan council in weeks.

"Yes, Husband. I will speak to him again."

He turned to leave just as she finished her sentence, his robes hanging straight from his shoulders with barely a flicker of movement. He was that controlled, never allowing a motion to happen without his consent, and grounding it down before it ever could. Nothing happens without his approval. She knew he was done speaking with her, but another question burned in her throat.

"Samah," she dared to say. "Do you remember when we were children?"

The words took her husband off guard. It was only evidenced by a raised eyebrow, along with a shift in his stance. "What do you mean?"

His tone was a warning, and with it came implications and images and other, harsher remarks. Didn't she realize she was detaining him from important business? That there were other, far more pressing concerns? There was a Patryn in Chelestra, a brother who refused to help them, and she was asking about their childhood? But she remembered how Alfred confessed to his mensch failing called curiosity, and began to understand its power.

"In the old world, there were a plentiful number of forests and rivers. You remember, don't you? Yes, you must. We couldn't have made Chelestra so beautiful without those memories." Her mind conjured the image, now so fresh and treasured. "I used to play in a grove when I was very young- I must have stayed outside for hours at a time. I think other children would join me sometimes, though none ever stayed as long as I did. The trees were very crooked, and sometimes some of the thin branches would snap off in my hands-"

"Wife," Samah interrupted. The images faded away, such as the memory of the sun taking away its warmth. "If there is something you wish to say to me, then do so."

His words left no room for movement. They were straight and proper- and dull.

"Have we never told each other stories?" Orla asked, trying so very hard to imagine this man before her as a happy child. It was intensely difficult, and did nothing but spark off a headache. "I… cannot seem to remember certain things and it is troubling me." Because the forgetfulness terrified her. What if one memory wasn't enough? What if that child she thought she could recall was really nothing but born from a forgotten dream? Was her entire person wrapped up in this room, with this man before her?

"You are tired." At the statement, Samah let his shoulders slump a little, sighing like a disappointed guardian over his ward. "The recent events and news has admittedly been hard on us all. I ask that you forgive me. Please be sure to rest throughout the day."

They were kind words, the sort of words that a devoted husband would say to his dear wife. She felt herself ease a little, wondering as to how she could doubt the man she had pledged her life to. Yes, she was tired. They all were. "Thank you, Husband. But, if you could indulge me for just a moment…"

"The Council is waiting for me. We will discuss all that you want when I return." He gave her a smile, small and strained, then marched out the door of the dining room.

The last time Orla allowed herself to dwell by the shoreline had been centuries ago, at least she supposed it had been that long. The dragon-snakes that had slid through the seawater, tainting it with their presence, had terrified the all-powerful Sartan. They had knocked the demigods aside on the sand, made their voices hoarse and their movements clumsy. Even Samah had been helpless, wilting against the serpents laughter.

Was it bravery that led her back here? Alfred had simply wanted to take the dog out for a walk, hoping that the time outside in the makeshift air and imagined sun would cheer it up. Orla could see plainly that the animal was unhappy, sometimes whining for no apparent reason and staying curled up by Alfred's feet, dejected. It must miss its master, she thought. This world is too unfamiliar for it to go through by itself.

She supposed it was indifference really, when she had tagged along with the strange Sartan brother in his shabby velvet coat and, well, to what amounted to be the ancient enemy's pet. (And she certainly would have never imagined having one, let alone two, such beings in her company). It would be the only reason as to why she didn't feel uneasy at the sight of the frothing waves.

She didn't see any other of her fellow Sartan near the edge of Surunan. The area was bare, leaving her and Alfred free to explore the white expanse of the sand before their feet. The dog was rushing across the water, legs splashing around in it, his barks high-pitched and his tail wagging. The tides kept moving in and out with force, soaking the animal completely. At one point, it seemed to keep going into the ocean, trying in vain to catch a little seagull that was perched on the surface, easily keeping itself afloat.

Alfred, wide-eyed at the dog's venture, stuttered out a protest. "W-wait! Not so far out!" He started to go after it, wringing his hands like a worried parent.

Orla grabbed his wrist suddenly, nearly making the man tumble backwards. "No, Alfred. You mustn't go out into the water. Did you already forget?"

He blinked at her, confused at first, before remembering the detrimental properties of the seawater. He turned back to the dog who was now paddling over the waves. The seagull had already taken to the air.

"Well, I just don't want it to swim out so much. And I don't know what sea creatures could be out there…" He trailed off, the shadowy images of the dragon-snakes trailing after his words. No, he had not confronted them himself, but Samah and the council had shared them with him. And Orla, seeing the forms shift in and out of the water, eyes lighting up the sand, couldn't help but think that they were even more unsettling in remembrance.

Maybe some giant monster with tentacles, or a dragon that could breathe in the water like air… She kept her fingers on Alfred's wrist, watching the tide draw to them closer. "Or like people with fins and scales, and eyes like pearls?"

"I'm sorry?"

She smiled naturally. He had that confused look on his face again, an expression she had started to grow fond of. "Those stories you used to tell," she reminded.

"Oh." Alfred coughed in faint embarrassment. "I was just… really young back then."

"So you remember your youth?" she asked, careful to keep the envy out of her voice.

"Of course… Although it has been…years, I suppose. But I do."

He had slept, he had dreamed, like she had. But why did she come out of her own bed to nothing then?

"Although… I suppose it's only been recently."

"Recently?" She stared at him. "What do you mean?"

He hunched forward a little, the ocean breeze starting to pick up and flutter his coat tails. He looked away in shame. "I didn't just have to live around the mensch- I had to be one. For years, I went among them, and… I couldn't tell you how terrified it made me to hear a passing human just mutter an oath to the Sartan when they hit their foot against something. There were stories of us still, along with our magic. If they knew what I was, if they had demanded things of me, I don't know what would have happened. So…I started to forget, until I couldn't even remember my name.

"It was strange, though," he added, tilting his head to the side. "Waking up in the morning, and not knowing who you are."

She thought she could hear the dog barking again, could see the flash of dark fur in her vision. But she kept still, and waited.

Then he smiled, brightening his eyes. They were a pleasant blue, she realized, like the sky she remembered. "Haplo made me remember though. I'm not entirely sure why though. Maybe because he was a Patryn, or because of his magic. But before, all I had was bits and pieces that felt more like dreams than reality. They came back over time. It was painful… very painful actually, once I knew. But the remembering isn't so bad, once you get used to it.

When he was done, he looked at her curiously. "Why do you ask, Orla?"

Because I don't remember anything about my own youth. I only seem to recall a little girl that tried to climb the trees, and it is only the trees, the grass, the sun, the cities- it is those things I remember well enough. But I don't recall spending the day with my friends, or the day I first learned to sing the runes. I can't even remember meeting my husband. Just the world that is gone from me now, and the empty rooms in my house.

But Orla contained herself, halted her thoughts from reaching Alfred's. What would he say if he only saw white, dusty furniture in her past, in her present, compared to his days of walking through forests of crystal with laughter of all kinds?

So instead she said, "I just like to hear you speak, Alfred."

The compliment was certainly not what Alfred expected. He stuttered, looked down at his shoes, as if ready to bury himself in the sand. "O- oh…"

It was the dog that came to his rescue though, for it was trotting back toward the pair at a fast pace, it's feet now planted on the damp sand. With a joyful bark, it turned all around, dangerously getting droplets of water just a few inches from Alfred's shoes. It kept doing this, skipping around them on all four of its paws.

"What does it want?" Orla asked. She recalled the Patryn man from Alfred's words- younger, with bandages covering his hands, this very dog at his side, with apparently the power to unblock his mind from self-suppression.

"I think it wants to play," Alfred said, uncertain.

The dog barked once again and then, suddenly, grabbed his loose coat sleeve and pulled.

Orla couldn't say for sure how a grown man, even a man such as Alfred, could be so upended by a dog. But he did so, falling none too gracefully on his side just as the tide was coming in. The seawater washed over him completely, his clothes fully soaked through, the velvet coat now turned an even darker shade.

"Alfred!" She rushed over to him, kneeling next to him in the water, taking the large, ungainly hands in her own. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, dear, I…" Though a little dazed, he managed to sit more upright- a bit too quickly for he almost hit his forehead against Orla's. Seeing the woman near him, he couldn't hide the blush that painted his features a light red. "I don't mean to be so much trouble. I know how clumsy I can…"

"Please, Alfred. You need to stop apologizing." She rubbed the back of his hands with her thumbs. "I suppose the dog is just excited?"

It certainly acted like it. It kept rushing across the water, splashing it at them even more. It eventually settled down, staring at the two with its characteristic grin.

Alfred seemed to realize just then where they were exactly. "Orla! You're- you're in the water!"

She paused, then looked down at her knees, at the tide circling around her body. The bottom half of her robe was completely damp, stained with salt and the remains of seaweed. The dog further helped matters by shaking itself all over, spraying her with more droplets.

"I am," she stated matter-of-factly. She could already feel the water nullify her magic, breaking down the cycle of songs and dance residing in her mind. If she tried to hum a note, she would waver. If she tried to choreograph a step, she would fall. And it should've frightened her, for now she was even less powerful than a mensch. She saw her face in the lowering tide, the ripples making strange adjustments to her face.

Still clasping onto Alfred's hands, she started to laugh, softly.

"Orla?"

She felt breathless. The sudden departure of her magic left her winded and vulnerable. But so was Alfred, and they were both sprawled on the shore like the broken seashells that littered the sand. Anything could attack them- the dreaded serpents could come upon them and there would be nothing they could do. She remembered how they had picked her up through the air and then threw her back down again, only to repeat the game until all the air had left her lungs. She could die so very easily at this moment, and her heartbeat was fluttering in a most frantic, pleasant way.

But it felt good to laugh. It felt good to let loose the ache, and she thought, dimly, that she must have laughed like this when she was a child, when she would dangle onto another, higher branch.

She heard Alfred's breath catch in his throat, realized how far she had leaned in close to him. He was very still, and so was she. His hands tightened around her own, the awkwardness that usually plagued them no longer as pronounced.

This is a strange moment to be happy, she thought. But whether it was the isolation on the shore, or the feel of the water that made it that way, she couldn't really say. It was only the thought of wondering what it would be like to hold Alfred that she finally came back to her senses.

She was not a young fool. Just an old one.

Though a tad mortified by her thoughts, she held them in well, as she always did. She moved back, sitting on her knees, and rearranged her face to its proper state. But she couldn't banish the smile. It had taken root, the feeling that had brought it forth now blossoming in her chest.

"I apologize, Alfred. Please." She got ready to stand, still holding onto his hands.

Still a little dazed and unsure about what had just happened, Alfred simply nodded, letting himself be helped to his feet. He stumbled a little, (she couldn't tell whether it was because of the water or him just being Alfred) but was able to right himself again. The dog, meanwhile, had retreated back to the shore, digging small holes in the sand.

She gestured to him. "Your clothes will need to be dried."

"Y-yes," Alfred nodded, following her out of the water. "We won't be able use our transportation spells to go back."

"That's alright," Orla said. "I enjoyed this walk. Why not a little more?"

They were both old fools, she realized. Old fools don't have the luxury. But this nervousness felt new and fresh, even when it shouldn't have. Only children acted this way. Alfred must have recognized such a feeling, from his own past with that girl. She, a married woman, had nothing to compare it to. In a way, she was grateful.

"Of… of course," Alfred finally blurted out, keeping a respectful distance from her, but just slightly. They both made their way down the shore, their bodies a little shaky and recovering from the magic-nullifying seawater, with the dog always keeping a few yards ahead of them, sniffing at the sprouts of green that dotted the surface. They had first arrived at the beach by magic- it would take them two hours at the latest to reach home, and they were drenched to the skin, chilled by the breeze.

For now, it should be alright, she thought to herself, reaching out to take hold of Alfred's hand. For warmth.