Update - 04/30/2021 Fixed typo's and rewrote unclear passages.

Temple of Sacred Ashes - Light and Dark

Weight of Duty Versus Honor

Lysette followed her orders, slowly, very slowly she walked back down the hill toward the stables outside of Haven. The stables in haven were relatively small, just large enough for the farrier but not much more. In a meadow between Haven in the valley and the Temple higher up the mountain, they had erected more extensive makeshift stables in anticipation of the Conclave.

She found the Knight-Commander's horse. He was a beautiful chestnut Ferelden Forder, as beautiful as the Knight-Commander was ugly, as sweet and spirited as his rider was selfish and cruel.

"Stop it, Lysette!" She was angry with herself for thinking ill of her commander. "I have no right to judge him. No right."

Cassandra had been passing by the stables when she decided to check on the status of their charges. The stables were a challenge. They had tried to coax horse master Dennet out of retirement to assist, but he was having none of it. Cassandra's first impulse was to get him in a sack, but Divine Justinia had firmly said no.

The stables had been less in demand than expected since most of the participants had arrived on foot. Cassandra had understood, she could ride, rather well by all accounts. She was unsure if it was a skill she honestly had or only feigned well, but still preferred her own feet to a horse's hooves.

She was in the stables checking on fodder and straw supplies when she heard a voice. Looking around, she saw a young woman tending a magnificent stallion. She knew the horse, of course; it was the property of one of the most self-absorbed asses she had ever had the displeasure of meeting. The insignificant son of a minor noble from the hinterlands of Nevarra. A toad of a man who delighted in trying to convince others how important he was by causing as much discomfort as possible to his subordinates. Cassandra simply despised him, but she could do nothing about him now; she was no longer a member of the order. She had heard that he had selected another recruit to torture; it was times like these that she wished she was still a Seeker. This young woman must be his latest victim.

"Good afternoon, recruit, how fairs your charge?" Cassandra stepped toward the young woman while addressing her. She looked closely at the girl, seeing that mud-stained half her uniform and that she had at least one severe bruise forming on the side of her face. Probably from a fall.

"I am sorry, Seeker, I hope my words did not distress you." Lysette was certain her griping would get back to the Knight-Commander. She felt even more worthless than before.

"Fear not recruit. I am no longer a member of the order; I have no reason to betray you to the ass that sits in that saddle." Cassandra was rather proud of herself; the double entendre was not something for which she was known.

Lysette stopped in mid brushstroke, not knowing whether to groan or laugh at the Seekers horrible wordplay. She decided to simply smile.

"Thank you, Seeker. It was wrong of me to speak so of my commander." Lysette could not help but feel that being in the wrong did not preclude being wronged.

"This morning, I saw a young recruit struggling up the hill toward the Temple with an extraordinarily burdensome pack. Was that you?" Cassandra picked up the comb and began to work on the other side of the horse from Lysette. She may not be in the order, but as the Right Hand, she felt she had responsibilities - to the order and - for the order.

Lysette froze mid brush stroke. "I spoke out of turn, Knight-Commander Syclare was showing me I was wrong."

"Truly? I am impressed; your Knight-Commander Syclare is not known for his mentoring skills." Cassandra knew Syclare when he was young; she thought him cruel often for no reason and a sadist who reveled in the pain of others.

"I ventured an opinion on our present situation amongst those I thought friends, I discovered that opinions which are not widely shared could cut the ties of friendship faster than death itself." Even with Lysette's best efforts, a single tear escaped her right eye and ran down the dust left behind by her fall. Cassandra took no outward notice but noted it all the same.

"So, you spoke out of turn and were punished." Cassandra's voice was strong and even. "Tell me, what heresy did you give voice to that warranted public shaming?" She waited a moment; she was well versed in getting information from recalcitrant Templars. "Come now, I may not be in the order anymore, but I remain the Right Hand of Divine Justinia. Speak now, I wish to know what you said; you have already been punished. I will not add to that."

Lysette buried her face in the horse's warm shoulder, the magnificent animal nickered while it brushed against her, seemingly encouraging her to confess her sin. Lifting her head, she spoke deliberately and clearly. "I speculated whether we might yet be able to salvage the situation by simply being open, by sending a delegation of stature to investigate the situation in Kirkwall, that perhaps the Order had not handled things well, that perhaps a common ground could be had… Something, anything besides this ugly, unholy war." She brushed the horse with vigor, Cassandra, on the other hand, had frozen in mid-stroke.

"You mean to tell me that you were punished and publicly humiliated for suggesting an action that is at the heart of the Conclave and Divine Justinia's plan for peace?" Cassandra's voice, although controlled was not as quiet as Lysette would have liked.

"Recruit, what is your name?" Cassandra's voice carried with it a command that few senior Templars could withstand, and none would resist for more than a few heartbeats.

"Recruit Lysette Leathrem, Lady Seeker." Lysette's voice was shaking; sure, she would be punished again.

"Lysette, you should never have been punished for seeking to do Andraste's will." Cassandra held the girl's eyes. "If you wish, you have a place here with me if you desire. Depending on the Conclave, we may well need those who put justice and mercy above rank and power."

Cassandra put the comb down and turned to go, just as a young woman entered the stables from the direction of Haven. Cassandra almost ran into the woman, who was clearly a noble, given her clothing and demeanor. She did not recognize her, but her sudden appearance caused Cassandra to wonder if she were spying on the conversation. Cassandra looked at Lysette, who also noticed the stranger's oddly timed appearance and kept brushing the stallion. Cassandra feigned the same while trying to observe the interloper.

Serrada walked through the stables from Haven toward the Temple and the Conclave. She stopped to pet the horse that had carried her for so long. "Are they treating you well?" The horse snorted and pawed the dirt of his stall. "I have no sugar for you; besides, you are getting fat." Serrada was scratching the horse's neck as its head-butted into her shoulder. "Alright, alright, if you insist."

Cassandra watched the young woman, who was now digging out an apple from the treat bin. The woman was talking to a noble but country horse; it was a beautiful Free Marches Ranger, its stall was only a few down from where Lysette was working. Cassandra could not help but notice the look of sadness and, indeed, loneliness on the young woman's face. She looked as if she had just buried her own soul. As strange as it sounded, Cassandra's heart went out to a woman she had never even met.

The bells down in Haven sounded three times. Cassandra had spent far too much time in the stables.

"You be good now, boy. If I see Lian, I will send him down for you. I don't know what will become of me, but I hope your next master will love you as much as I do." She patted the horse who was still munching on the apple, and with one last look, turned and headed up toward the Temple.

Crossed Paths

Serrada found herself at the entrance to the holiest site in all Thedas, a place where pilgrims scrimped and slaved to visit for only a few hours, and she would rather be anywhere but there.

She just had to walk through the portico, cross the outer square to the Temple itself and present her father's letter of introduction to the Templar and Chantry recruiters, then wait for them to tell her who, if either, wanted her. She was hopeful that neither would, but she knew that it was unlikely. With its advantages, being a noble had its disadvantages, but she could hope – at least until they chose.

She was about to take that step when she heard the sounds of a young man weeping to the side of the entrance. She was surprised to see that it was Lian; she went to him to see if he was injured or ill. "Lian? Are you alright?" She knelt to see if he was bleeding or otherwise injured.

"Oh, my Lady!" Lian's face was covered in dust and the tracks of tears. "Someone stole all the coins you gave me." He held up the severed leather strings that had once led to his small coin purse. "A man spoke to me, then someone bumped me, and I did not even notice until I went to the merchant to purchase mother's gift." The mention of the gift started a new wave of tears.

Serrada had coins, and they would be of little use to her. She knew that all the coins she carried would be given over to whoever chose her. Besides, it was a noble errand, and it kept her out of the Temple for a few more moments.

"Lead on my noble Ser Lian; we quest for a fair gift for your honorable mother. Lead on, lead on." Serrada pulled the boy to his feet. Even with a tear-stained face, he was a handsome young man. He would have all the village girls eating out of his hand. "Make haste good ser. Your mother's boon awaits!" With a flourish, she leaned in. "And so does my horse, you forgot to brush him."

"I am sorry, my lady, I will go now." Lian wiped his face and nose on his sleeve, looking sheepish for forgetting his chores.

"After we purchase your mother a gift." She took his hand. "Now, where are we headed?"

"There is a pretty pendant that I think she would like." He was beaming now and pulled her toward the row of stalls near the gate.

The peddler saw Lian had returned to his stall, "Be gone urchin, I told you, no coin, no silver."

"The boy is with me, peddler, please keep a civil tongue," Serrada responded without looking at the peddler but his wears.

"Forgive me, my lady!" He was suddenly apologetic and conciliatory. "I did not realize this fine young man was with you; I have to be careful; there are so many ruffians about."

Lian showed Serrada the pendant. It was cheaply made, with low-quality silver, but he would not know that. It had a rough figure of Andraste on one side and a cheap leather cord to complete the pendant. She looked up at the better wears and saw a rather lovely pendant of gold, with a fine representation of Andraste on one side and Justinia the V on the other side, with a delicate gold chain and good clasp. Something she might even give her mother if she had cared enough to do so. "What price this, peddler?"

"You have an excellent eye, my Lady! That is the prize of my collection, only made by one of the most excellent goldsmiths in …" He was working for every copper.

"Yes, yes, yes. How much?" She was already looking at other peddlers.

"It is my treasure; I could not forgive myself if I let it go for less than… 20 gold." He looked embarrassed as the words left his lips.

"It is truly a treasure to you then. I would not consider more than a single sovereign. It is not such a treasure to me. Come, Lian lets look around. Clearly, this is to much a treasure to this kind man." Turning to leave, she takes Lian's hand.

"Wait! Obviously, you are a woman of excellent taste. Perhaps ten gold?"

Walking away, Lian in hand, "Two."

"Five, that is my final offer." The peddler called out.

"Three." Now ten strides away.

"Done!" The peddler sounded dejected, but at least it was a sale.

Returning to the stall, she paid the man and took the pendant. She knew well that the thieves who took his purse might still be watching him. She took a small long stringed pouch that hung from the stall; the peddler looked even less pleased but kept his tongue, placed the pendant in it, and draped it around his Lian's neck.

"Go wait by the outer gate; I will send Ser Stoughton to escort you down to Haven. Hide your boon, and keep it safe. Stay by the outer gate outside; they may search you inside, then you could lose your gift. Do you understand?" Serrada had his full attention, both hands on the tall boy's shoulders. He was almost as tall as she already; he will definitely have no trouble with the girls.

"Thank you, mistress; this is so generous?" Lian was happy to have the gift and wanted her to know how much. "How can I ever repay you? I don't make three gold in a year."

"Hush, boy! Don't shout; you will attract attention you don't want." Glancing around the crowd. "I owe your mother for your company and your labor. It must have been a terrible sacrifice for her to give you up to me for even a few days. Let's get something to eat, and you will sit and wait. I will go in and send Ser Stoughton." They found a food peddler with produced that looked decent. She set him down with a bit of meat she hoped was well cooked and not rat or nug, then sat him down by the portico.

"Thank you, mam. I can not tell you how much I appreciate it." He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "I will see to your horse as soon as I can."

Serrada ruffled his hair, "You better, he was getting a little grumpy when I last saw him."

There was a small table to the left of the entrance with a squad of guards and a long rack of weapons, all bound and tagged fluttering in the wind, some helms, and armor, even some mage staves, far fewer than sword and shield. All carefully watched by several Qunari.

"Name?" The Chantry middle-level bureaucrat asked with the same tone she had for the last several days. Her inked quill hovering over one of her pile of tags.

"Serrada Trevelyan, Daughter of Ban Trevelyan of Ostwick." Serrada replied; she took her bow from her back, her quiver, and both her fighting daggers and placed them on the table.

"Everything Lady Trevelyan. We are not to allow even a penknife inside." The woman seated at the table looked like she had intoned the words repeatedly for days, but pointed to the sign above her, which was clear.

ALL WEAPONS MUST BE SURRENDERED, THAT MEANS ALL!

Serrada pulled the small dagger from her boot; she used it mostly for cheese and apples, and then reached behind her head for the long narrow blade she kept in her back scabbard 'just in case' at that moment, she felt more naked than in her bath. After all, she kept the dagger with her in the bath; a girl needs to be careful. The Sister carefully noted the list of all Serrada have given over, all carefully tagged, carefully placed in the racks, all carefully tied together with red ribbon, and a wax seal was applied to the ribbon. All very proper. She stepped back to the entrance, waved at Lian, who sat patiently like a great big dog.

Finally, without a backward glance, she took her faithful step across the threshold.

Of Darkness

The Once-Wardens made their way down the hallway through the main floor of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. They attracted a great deal of attention from the surrounding crowds and delegations. They went generally unchallenged; their demeanor and prominent Warden insignia displayed from under their cloaks were enough to dissuade most curious eyes. Ignoring this was not remarkable; it is often said, "Do not get involved in Warden business, as they were quick to anger and did not suffer curiosity." For this band of Once-Wardens, that reputation was of immeasurable value.

The tall figure was now leading the group; he followed the Qunari leader's instructions to the Divine's offices. "Up the stairs on the right. End of the hall. You can't miss it, so much white; you will think you are in a blizzard." He laughed, neither the tall figure nor the group of Wardens joined him in the jest. "Just the same, you should leave your staffs here. It might be better if you did. We don't want to cause a problem with the Templars even for Warden Mages."

"Is that necessary? I do not require a staff to use magic; why leave it?" Once-Warden already intoned, of course, that was true, but it was merely a ploy to gain favor and access. "However, if it will make your duties easier, we will gladly leave them in your hands."

"Do you wish a receipt?" Yet another Chantry apparatchik assigned to assist the Qunari leader holding out a slip of paper.

"Do you think anyone would be foolish enough to steal a Wardens staff? I thought your security was better than that." Both the Qunari and the Chantry Sister both bristled at the remark.

"No, well, then we will continue on our way, up the stairs and straight on?" Once-Warden said, following the tall figure as it began to move in that direction.

The busy hall was crowded with enough white to be a snowdrift, save for the various splashes of blood red on sash and headdress. The group was entirely made up of senior Chantry officials and bureaucrats who milled about in a vain attempt to look like they were performing some useful task. Some simply sat on wooden benches, silently mouthing words more than likely the insipid Chant of Light. At one time, Warden had known it as well as any Chantry Sister or perhaps even the Divine herself. Those days were gone; the only a longing to know his master's desires remained in its place.

It was eerily quiet for so many people milling around, as no one wanted to disturb the Divine inside her place of refuge where she refreshed herself between sessions.

The group of Once-Wardens moved down the hall, approaching a set of double doors; the Chantry fold parted and allowed their entry until they were nearly at the double doors when a woman stepped forward.

"How may I help you, Wardens?" she asked, although her eyes were on the tall member of their group.

"All we need is for you to die." Once-Warden said, his voice was flat without emotion.

"I am sorry, what did…" the Grand Cleric never got to finish the sentence. All Once-Wardens felt the magic flow through them. What it was, they did not know or care, whether ancient or new; they were simply the conduit through which the magic flowed. The corridor, now empty save the black shrouded group; the tall creature led his beastly pets through the passage into the Divine's refuge.

And Light

The greeting Serrada Trevelyan received at the Conclave was precisely the one she had expected from either the Templars or Chantry – none.

"Listen, girl; I do not care who or what your father is. I do not have time to deal with the whelp of some inconsequential noble from the ass-end of Thedas." Knight-Commander Syclare was nastier than his usual unpleasant self. With all the mages around him, magic pulsed throughout several parts of the Temple, causing Templars to continuously suppress even minor spells as fast as it was cast. The mages insisted on annoying the Templars with simple harmless spells to light pipes, candles, heat bathwater, turn pages, open doors, and even pick noses!

When the Lord Seeker Lucius Corin's initial order had been to try and work with the mages to reach some agreement, some accommodations that could end the war, Knight-Commander Syclare was vocally opposed; however, unexpected further orders came down, drawing a harder line. Now, he was caged by conflicting orders, childish pranks, mindless hangers-on, and useless ne'er-do-wells who were looking for someplace to make a life – for example, the clueless child before him.

"I have had enough of idealistic recruits for one day, girl. Go bother the Chantry." He threw her letter of introduction at her and stalked away.

"Well, that went well." Picking up her father's last gift to her. He had hoped that it would be of value, he had made the acquaintance of one of the seekers years ago, but she could not recall who. It was unimportant now since they evidently were in no mood to take on a green recruit.

She looked through the crowded main assembly hall of the Temple; it was supposedly adjacent to where the Divine took her rest and studied; it was said she could at least hear the various arguments and childish shouting. Serrada wondered how the Divine could rest anywhere on the mountain, let alone so near the cacophony of bellowing Drufalo that surrounded her.

The only success she had found was in finding Ser Stoughton. His wife had told Serrada, "If you lose track of my husband, look for any gathering of young women, he will be there." The woman had been only half-joking; however, since leaving Ostwick, she had been correct on more than one occasion, as she was here. She found Ser Stoughton holding forth on his deeds' greatness with a group of young initiates near one of the side rooms. The young women all mouthed their thanks as she politely asked him to find Lian and escort him to Haven. He bowed and made his way toward the door; it would likely take some time, the line to leave was not short, but Lian should be safe.

It was soon after this success that she found the kind and gracious Knight-Commander. Now she could say that she had at least presented herself to the Templars, now if the Chantry were so welcoming … not likely, but hope springs eternal. The challenge now was where in this stew of people, do I find my answer?

"Excuse me, Sister?" Serrada had noticed that several Sisters seemed to be stationed at strategic spots to direct the lost. "Where might I find the Chantry recruiter? I wish to present myself and to them to determine if the Maker needs me."

A genuine one replaced the forced smile the woman wore. "Don't worry, child; the Maker needs all of us. I am sure that he will find a proper task for you at his most Holy Temple. There is no recruiter here per se, but someone upstairs in the administration area should be able to help you find a task for which you are suited and go with Andraste's blessing, my dear."

Serrada would have asked more questions, but a rather rotund man who was clearly of some delegation or another interrupted asking for a latrine. Serrada noticed the pained look of the Sister and the reemergence of the forced smile. As she stood there, the Sister gestured toward the stairs behind them both, and Serrada climbed.

The corridor at the top of the stairs led on for some distance. But there was no one there, tables, chairs, quill and ink cast aside, papers spread all around, even scattered on the floor. She was growing very nervous; something is wrong here.

'What's happened here? This made no sense.' The thick carpeting silenced her footfalls; fear gripped her stomach; something was wrong; she as about to go back and raise the alarm when she heard a woman calling for help. Without hesitation, she ran to the end of the hall, two great doors stood in front of her; she pushed on the one that seemed ajar and entered.

"What is going on here?"

Seeker of The Truth

Remembering Lysette, "You did not see or hear any of that, do you understand Lysette?" Cassandra looked at the young woman opposite her, who acknowledged with a nod, "Good, now finish here. You undoubtedly have other duties; when you finish, come see me tomorrow. I can always find useful work for an intelligent woman."

Cassandra left, walking briskly toward Haven, seeking out Leliana. Now certain something was not right. She had tried to convince herself that it was just her imagination, but it felt exactly like it had so long ago when she was a young woman. Ignoring her intuition had cost so many lives; she would not ignore it again.

'Something about that young woman bothers me.' Cassandra quickened her step. 'But what?'

Cassandra searched for Leliana all over Haven; she had gone through the entire town several times. She checked the Chantry twice, Leliana's tent several times, even the Singing Maiden, which would have been surprising since she was sure that, as a Chantry Sister, Leliana did not approve of such places. However, she was frustrated, and to be sure she looked in the window, she knew that Flissa used the time between meals to clean and prepare for the next. She could see Flissa cleaning, both doors were bolted as she expected, and Flissa waived at her through the window.

Finally, Cassandra decided that Leliana must have disobeyed Justinia and gone back to the Temple. She started her hike back up the mountain, the trees' shadows showed that hours had passed since leaving Lysette in the stables. Cassandra passed Lysette as the recruit prepared for yet another duty; it looked like a night watch. 'I will have to do something about that; I am sure she had watch last night as well. That ass is going to kill that girl.' So preoccupied was she that she voiced her thoughts. "What use is that?"

Unfortunately, a peddler was relieving himself up the road embankment beside a nearby tree. Hearing her remark, and given his relative height advantage, he assumed Cassandra had meant her comment for him. Public urination was frowned upon, but there were not enough latrines for the number of people attending the Conclave. "Well, I have no complaints from my wife, and since I am the father of seven children, it must have some use." The man laughed as he self-consciously returned himself to a more presentable condition.

Cassandra blushed hard, "I am sorry, I was speaking to myself. Forgive me."

She was more than halfway to the Temple, beyond the Templar camp, past the stables. Only an hour's walk before she would be at the Temple steps, from this spot on the trail, the Temple was not yet visible because it was on the inside of a small bend, but up the embankment where the peddler stood - it had to be clearly visible.

"How dare you urinate in the clear view of the Temple of Sacred Ashes!" Of all the insults that she could have imagined, this was unbelievable. The Divine could look out her window and see this man, relieving himself! "What is the matter with you! Can't you see, the Divine herself might see you?"

"I am sorry, I did not think …" The man stood dumbfounded, staring at the Temple.

In an instant, everything changed.

Everything was a brilliant green.

She was looking at the pilgrim when something happened to his face. His eyes were gone, melted in their sockets pouring down his cheeks. Cassandra resisted the impulse to look directly at the source of the light, not that it would likely have helped. All was green, then a moment later there was a roar the likes of which she could not believe, so loud and intense it was more of a blow, trees cracked and broke, their limbs broken free of the trunk, flew by, and suddenly she was flying, for how long or far she could not say. All about her was green; her ears heard a constant pitch, more a wail, then moments later – black.

Whispers By Firelight

Both Amalia and Leliana could feel Flissa's eyes on them.

"I promised her some time together." Amalia loved Flissa and knew her well; she was sweet, loving, loyal as a mabari, but not very bright.

"I know we will be brief, and then you can relax and catch up. I will send someone to cover for Flissa tonight." Leliana knew how long absences from one's love would wear on you. She missed Ellana more than she thought possible, as much as she missed their intimacy, she missed just a gentle touch or smile.

Before she began, Amalia signaled Flissa, "My sweet would you bring us some tea?" Whispering, "I despise tea, but she will feel included." It was apparent when the now smiling Flissa brought over a pot of steaming tea and two of her own best cups and saucers, toast, and jam with honey as well. "Oh, you sweet thing, you remembered!" Amalia made sure to brush Flissa's arm with her warmed hand. "We will be just a moment, I promise."

Flissa was all smiles and humming when she returned to her polishing across the room.

"You did that well." Leliana whispered to the woman pouring out.

"I learned from the best." Came the equally hushed reply.

"Now, quickly, tell me about Ostwick and especially the Trevelyan girl, is she as bad as her sister or worse like her mother?" At the mention of Lady Katrina Trevelyan, Leliana's nose wrinkled as if she had recently discovered one of her pet nugs little gifts.

"No, certainly not. From my discussions with Serrada, she is much more like her father. Besides, I thought you had grown fond of Alissia? By all accounts, Lady Alissia is more like her mother than her father to be sure, but you said Ellana had grown to like her even so." Amalia passed a cup of Flissa's best tea, the tea she kept for Leliana alone.

Flissa watched closely, and she knew better than even to appear to be listening. She watched them speak quietly for more than minutes, nearly three hours; if they did not stop soon, Flissa would have to open the Singing Maiden! Flissa wondered what information was exchanged; her conversations with Leliana were never this long.

Well, conversation may not be the right word; Flissa always seemed to use the wrong word. It was clear to her that Amalia did most of the talking. Leliana listened, asked questions, prompted, all the same things Leliana did with Flissa to get more information, although Leliana seemed to enjoy it more with Amalia. Flissa tried not to be jealous, after all, who would not find Amalia to be more exciting and indeed more beautiful than she was. Flissa knew very well that Amalia was far smarter than her; she tried to read the same books as Amalia, but it was so hard, and none of it made any sense unless Amalia explained it. Still, it hurt a little that Amalia was spending so much of their time with Leliana.

At fifth bell, Flissa watched hopefully as Leliana and Amalia continued to huddle near the fire. Suddenly, it seemed as if the whole tavern was filled with a green flash of light.

'Strange,' Flissa thought, even Amalia and Leliana noticed, and their conversation stopped.

It was as if nature stopped; there was no sound to be heard, no birds, no conversation outside the doors. A tremendous roar followed the burst of green light. A sound so deep and powerful that one felt it more than heard it, the earth beneath their feet moved.

The Maiden's beams groaned and creaked like a ship at sea; dust fell from the rafters as the building was struck by a massive gust of wind that threatened to blow the tavern down. Bursting their latches both doors flew open, even their hinges knocked loose. The window shutters slammed open, and the curtains flew like flags. The wind dove down the chimney and scattered the embers of the fire across the floor. Leliana acted quickly and doused the flames with the pot of tea.

Poor Flissa stood between the doors; the blast of wind lifted the girl off her feet and bashed her against the wall — hard.

'Maker, I knocked over the washing tub.' Her head and work dress were wet, she mindlessly lifted her hand, 'Why is the wash water sticky?' Her eyes were blurred; everything was shades of gray. She could not see the red of the water on her hand.

Flissa vision was blurry but she saw movement as Amalia came to her; there were tears in Amalia's eyes. "Flissa! Please don't leave me alone."

'I am right here, silly.' The thought was too weak to leave Flissa's lips.

'Why is her voice so weak?' Amalia seemed to be more distant; the black tunnel grew longer, Amalia's beautiful face was so far away.

Then it was gone as Flissa's eyes closed.