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THEY MADE IT THROUGH the night without further interruption, though he could feel several shadows waited deep in the woods. The pool of darkness near the door was enough to persuade them to keep their distance, at least until it dissolved into the ground. The door repaired itself within an hour, the pieces sliding across the floor and reassembling themselves. The shadow in the middle of the floor slowly faded until nothing remained and when the first birds began their tentative calls in the murky pre-dawn light, she sighed in relief and allowed herself to relax into the chair.
"We're safe?" she asked, turning her head to look at him enquiringly.
He nodded, holstering the revolver that had lain naked in his lap for the last five hours. With the sun rising they had a good chance of making it through the Ritual of Protection without interruption. The sooner he could bind her to the protection of an Elemental, the sooner he would breathe easier.
"We're safe." he agreed. "At least until tonight."
She felt her heart sag at the thought of going through another night with shadows trying to take her. Oblivious to her thoughts, he stood and moved to the fire, dropping more wood on the dimly glowing embers.
"Time for breakfast. They'll be waking up shortly and I've no doubt that they'll want to eat."
For a moment she was lost in confusion, her sleep deprived mind finally remembering that there were others in the second room. The events of the early hours had left no room in her head to spare them a thought. She watched as he moved around the room gathering the things they would need, finally standing to help. He nodded toward a low cupboard.
"Bacon is in there. Leave the grease in the pan and I'll get some cornbread frying when you're done."
The door opened as the first of the cornbread rounds came off the fire. Several men from the caravan came in, yawning and rubbing their eyes.
"Heard the noise out here and figured breakfast was up." one mumbled, fumbling his braces over his shoulders.
"Eat your fill. There's plenty and more to come." her father told them brusquely. "When you're done, move on out and give a lookout for your animals."
One of the men scowled at him, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"Something prowling out last night?"
Hearing the distrust in his voice, she turned to her father, wondering if perhaps the wards hadn't been as secure as she had been lead to believe.
Her father shook his head, not looking up from the pan.
"Nothing you need worry about. They'll be wanting breakfast as well before you hitch the wagons and move on up through the pass.
The man frowned from beneath thick eyebrows, bypassed the table and went outside, the door banging closed behind him. The other three watched him go and shook their heads, preoccupied with their cornbread and bacon.
"You got coffee to go with this?" one asked, brushing crumbs from his thick beard.
Her father took a heavy kettle from the edge of the fire and set it on the table for them. As he did the door opened again and the surly man re-entered.
"Horses are fine." he grunted, casting her father a sour glance.
"I told you,” her father said equitably. “Nothing to worry about. Now eat up. Weather is holding so if you get an early start you'll be through the pass and out the other side before nightfall."
The four men nodded in agreement, the prospect of being over the mountains and headed downhill once more urging them to focus on the food laid out on the table. While plain fare, it was still better than hardtack. The sound of knives and forks scraping across tin plates was only interrupted by grunted demands for more bacon or cornbread and the slurping of hot coffee from simple clay mugs. She frowned at the sounds and retreated to the corner, watching them with distaste. She had traveled with them for weeks without fuss, most of the time bundled into one of the wagons with the other women but now she felt that the sooner they were gone, the happier she would be. Her father joined her in the corner and watched the men eating.
"They'll be gone soon enough. But before they go, I need to talk to the matriarch of their family. Do you mind seeing if she's awake?"
She nodded quickly, glad for the excuse to escape.
Faint voices stilled when she opened the door to the sleeping quarters, the nine women in the room in various stages of dress. The women in the sleeping quarters looked at her as she entered, brief glances that almost instantly dismissed her as they returned to making themselves suitably attired for the cool weather. Closing the door quickly behind her, her eyes fell to the empty bunks closest to the door, the blankets lazily tossed to the foot of the beds. She scowled at the mess, silently finding another fault with the men in the common room. While she had traveled with them for the past month they had done nothing to help the women, spending more time foraging and hunting small game. While the supply of fresh meat had been welcome, it had been left to the women to dress and prepare it for each evening's meal. Only the Matriarch had had any sway over their behaviour but as the days had drawn on even that had begun to fade. Pushing away from the closed door, she murmured to the women as she passed them, her eyes on a small group of four clustered around a bunk in the corner of the room. "Breakfast is ready."
The four women gathered around the corner bunk parted for her as she approached, stepping aside to reveal a wizened and grey haired woman perched on the edge of the bed. The old woman was already dressed and her hair had been brushed back from her face but not yet wound into the twin braids she wore most days. The Matriarch turned her lined face to look at her as she stepped between the four standing women and stopped before her, the chocolate brown of her eyes was almost lost in the thick milky cataracts that covered them.
"Breakfast is ready." she repeated to the Matriarch.
“Breakfast is ready.” the old woman echoed softly. "And a good morning to you Miss Rebecca. My nose tells me bacon and coffee. And cornbread too is there?"
Rebecca smiled at the old woman's accurate summation. "Yes ma'am. If you'd like me to bring you in a plate..."
The old woman waved away her offer, her gentle smile showing her thanks for Rebecca’s consideration. "I'll be there in a moment,” Her hand swept toward the four women gathered around her. “My daughters will be all the help I need."
The women around her swayed closer in preparation but the Matriarch waved her hand again, sensing that Rebecca had more to say. "Something else troubling you?"
Glancing at the women around her, Rebecca hesitated. "He'd like to see you. Before you leave with the caravan."
The Matriarch nodded in understanding, knowing who she meant without having to ask. "If it has anything to do with what the two of you dealt with last night, I'll be sure to offer our host and guide what wisdom my old head can remember." She waved her hand a third time, gently shooing her along. "Go and tell him I'm coming,"
As Rebecca turned to go, the old woman chuckled. "And tell him to save some of that bacon. I know how much those men of mine like to eat."
––––––––
RETURNING TO THE MAIN room, Rebecca silently passed the eating men to where her father still crouched by the fire. For a moment she watched him turning a fresh round of thick sliced bacon, entranced by how quickly the knife in his hand flicked each piece over with a bare twist of the tip.
"She will see me?" he asked over his shoulder without looking up from his work.
Rebecca nodded to his back. "Yes. She knows something happened last night." She frowned as she glanced back at the man who had gone outside and crouched beside her father to speak softly. "I thought you said they would never hear anything. But when I told her you wanted to speak with her she admitted that she knew we dealt with something last night,” she paused to cast another look over her shoulder to the surly man. “I think one of the men might know something too. How would they know?"
He looked up and shrugged. "Some people are more attuned to our world than others. You saw her eyes?"
She nodded again and he turned back to the bacon in the frying pan. "I guarantee you that she hasn't relied on them for years. And for all that she must be well past sixty, her ears are sharper than a fox. But..." He paused to tap the side of his head. "She knows. As you felt them approaching, I suspect so did she."
Rebecca frowned in thought. "Is she another Ancient?"
He shook his head and took the frying pan from the coals before the bacon could burn. "No. But she is likely of the blood nonetheless. She can touch our world, feel it moving. But she cannot change it." Offering her the pan, a corner of his mouth turned up in a faint smile. “You’d better have something to eat. I have a feeling this is going to be a long day.”
Rebecca was left waiting until well after breakfast before they had a moment to themselves, most of the caravan already outside readying their horses and the two wagons they were traveling with. The Matriarch had settled herself at the table with two of her daughters, picking over what was left of the food while they waited for some privacy. When the last of the men left, the old woman turned her head to her father and crooked her finger in silent beckoning. The Matriarch turned her milky eyes to Rebecca a moment later and after a hesitation she followed him to sit at the table opposite the Matriarch.
"You seek advice?" the Matriarch asked without preamble.
Her father nodded. "I do."
The old woman raised an eyebrow at him and he smiled slightly, amending his statement. "Perhaps unbiased advice is more truthful. My daughter and I spoke at length last night and discovered things that I see are quite important. That would have been enough for me to ask your wisdom but my daughter now tells me that you may know what happened last night. It makes me more certain that it is a good idea to seek your counsel."
The Matriarch chuckled softly but shook her head. "You would be the better one to ask about last night. After all, I wasn't the one to see it." She chuckled again at her own joke, reaching her hands out across the table. He took them without hesitation and she fell silent at his touch.
"That you knew anything at all happened is remarkable..." he said.
"You don't need my advice." she stated firmly, calmly cutting in over top of him. "There is no tremble in your hands, no indecision." She let him go and sat back. "You know what needs to be done."
He sighed and nodded. "I do. I had hoped you might have more to say than that."
The old woman reached out and put a hand on the shoulder of the daughter to her left. "My basket?"
The daughter nodded and stood, hurrying back into the bunk room, the door swinging shut behind her.
"I know what you are," the Matriarch said softly, her blind eyes turning to him unerringly. "And since we first took her in as a stray seeking the protection of a caravan for the journey west, I have had an idea what she is. You say she is your daughter?"
Her father nodded at the question but Rebecca frowned at the Matriarch. "I say I am," she stated. "On the word of my mother and what we share, I have little doubt."
The Matriarch stretched her hands out to her and Rebecca took them. The old woman’s hands were dry and calloused but warm and still firm. Rebecca held them for several seconds, feeling the Matriarch trace the lines on her palms with soft fingertips until she nodded. "Yes." she said heavily. "I would say your mother was right and so your journey with us ends here."
The door of the bunk room swung open again and the daughter returned with a basket over her arm, placing it next to the Matriarch wordlessly. Her father watched as the old woman took out a stick of charcoal and a sheet of heavy paper, her fingers finding the edges and squaring it up in front of her.
"I don't know how useful I can be." the Matriarch said to him. "It is long since I was taught anything about your kind and the world has turned since."
He touched the back of her hand gently, guiding it to the page. "I was taught to listen to my elders. They are older, wiser and have accumulated more knowledge than even they might remember." He paused to look at the two silent daughters briefly. "You are more like us than you know." he murmured. "I suspect you can show me what needs to be done."
The matriarch sighed and nodded. "Perhaps it is this place or perhaps it is you but I feel that you are right." Putting the tip of the charcoal to the paper, she turned her near-blind eyes from him to Rebecca and back as the charcoal rasped across the page. "I hope this will help you."
The caravan was disappearing through the trees when her father turned to her, his face grim. The Matriarch had left him the sheet of paper she had drawn on and now he held it tightly in his hand.
"I don't think we have much time," he said softly, moving his eyes around the trees. "Can you feel them?"
She hesitated, wondering what he meant until she felt the first prickle of disquiet work its way up her spine.
He nodded when he saw the look of distaste on her face. "They're not close," he assured her. "They’re waiting for the caravan to go."
"Why are they waiting?" she asked in confusion. "Wouldn't the caravan make a good distraction?"
He shook his head. "If the caravan had left an hour or two ago they might have risked it.” He lifted a hand to where the sun sat in the sky. “Mid-morning is too late. Too much daylight, too much iron. The sun weakens them and iron repels them. With luck we will only be disturbed by a Lesser Shadow."
He turned away, walking back to the door of the cabin. Not wanting to be left behind she hurried after him, casting a look back at the tall pine trees that surrounded them. At the door, he held an arm out to stop her.
"I just need a few things and then we'll go to a clearing not far from here. I don't want to risk breaking the wards around the cabin by doing the ritual inside."
His grey eyes flickered past her face to look over her shoulder at the forest behind her, his hand coming up to rest reassuringly on her shoulder.
"Don't worry. I'll be less than a minute."
He came out of the cabin again with his rifle and a saddlebag over his shoulder, nodding to her and pointing past the open stable toward a path through the trees. “The clearing is about a quarter mile that way.” he told her.
She followed him across the yard, almost jogging to keep up with his long legged stride. The cool morning air filled her lungs with the scent of the pine trees that surrounded them, the thin layer of snow on the path crunching softly underfoot. Darting glances through the trees on either side warily, she asked him. "What do you do for the ritual?"
He gave her the barest glance, turning his head enough for her to see the edge of an embarrassed smile.
"I want you to understand that we have all been through the Ritual of Protection. It is the final step in becoming an Ancient.” he said quickly. “Of course, most of us were little more than children when we did." He stopped suddenly and she nearly ran into him as he turned to her. "I don't think there has been anyone to ever reach your age without having gone through it, mostly because it is dangerous to be without the rituals protection but..." He stumbled to a stop and looked away.
"But?" she prompted.
"But it’s also to spare our modesty. Children have no care for nudity because they haven't yet understood the differences."
She took a step back, her eyebrows arching up. "I have to be naked?"
He nodded, the faintest of red blushes staining his tanned face. "Very much so." Holding his hand out so the tattoo on his wrist was visible, he managed to look her in the eye. "This is the only mark the world might see but there are others that differ from person to person, marks that the other world will take notice of." Reaching into his pocket, he drew out the slightly crumpled sheet of paper and passed it to her. "I told you the Matriarch was able to touch our world. I had a feeling she could help and she did." He nodded to the folded page in her hand, watching her stare at it blankly. "She could feel you, feel what pattern would best suit you. During the ritual I will be painting a very old and very powerful motif on your body. It is mostly the same for us all with some minor variations. Except one thing. The centrepiece upon your chest is unique to you."
Rebecca shook her head in an attempt to dislodge the thought that she would be naked in front of a man who was essentially a stranger. She had joined the caravan in the hope that she would find her father and in that she had been successful. She had hoped that they would have had the time to get to know each other, to catch up on missing years. The appearance of the Shadows in the moment she had found him had taken that time away from them. To now be faced with the prospect of baring all to him, she realised how little she actually knew of him. Her mother’s stories had felt more like a fantasy than reality. She unfolded the page and looked at the stark black charcoal design the Matriarch had drawn on the coarse sheet of paper.
Her father chuckled at the confused look on her face. "She certainly saw something important in you. She's drawn one of our most revered symbols."
She frowned and looked at him.
"This is a circle with a few lines running from it." she protested.
He nodded calmly. "It may look like a simple circle, but a circle has no beginning and no ending. The Path may have many twists and turns, many branches that lead off but eventually it always leads back to where it started."
A hiss brought their conversation to an end and he drew his revolver far faster than her eyes could follow.
"You have brought her to us, Brother?"
The whisper came from all around them and she shivered at an icy touch across her shoulders, whirling to find nothing behind her. Her borrowed revolver snagged briefly in her belt and she almost dropped it, her fingers tightening on the grip frantically a moment before it could slip from her grasp.
"Leave!"
Her father’s single barking command stilled the whisper, the forest seeming to pause as it held its breath. In the silence she heard the harsh scrape of his revolver sliding back into its holster and she glanced at him in disbelief. The rifle now rested in his hands, a quick jerk of the lever action racking a round into the chamber. A wafted smell of old blood permeated the air and he glowered at the Shadow
"I give no more warning," he said softly. "You know what I carry."
A dim Shadow detached from a tree sliding across a patch of snow toward them. "We do not forget Brother. And we do not forgive," it hissed.
He brought the rifle to his shoulder, sighting on the Shadow. "You will forget all if you come for her again. Tell them that."
The Shadow paused, wavering between them before it settled on her father. "We do not forget," it whispered. "We are many and time runs out Brother. Will you be ready?"
She lifted the revolver he had loaned her, aiming for the Shadow’s middle.
"I don't forget either," she growled. "And I don't take threats lightly."
The shadow moved away from him, edging closer to her. "Of the blood?" it mused. "Power without guard..."
The revolver roared and the Shadow whined. Before she could begin the binding ritual, her father muttered something that burned her ears, his rifle barked and the shadow blew apart. She stared at the dissipating flecks of darkness in mute surprise.
"We don't have time for this," her father sighed. "Waste of a cartridge but I suppose they might now understand I mean business."
She clumsily tucked her revolver back into her belt and stared at him. "What was that?"
He looked at the rifle in his hands, a distant look crossing his face before he laid it back over his shoulder. "Some things are better not explained," he told her quietly. "That it can destroy them is enough for you to know right now."
His attempt to sidestep her question only drew her eyes to the rifle and he sighed. "Old magic. Old and dangerous."
Turning back to the path, he lifted his chin. "We need to keep going. We're not alone out here and there's likely to be something far worse than that Shadow waiting for us."
Following in his wake, she heard him growl once more over his shoulder.
"Perhaps one day you might earn the right to it."
Standing in the clearing, she watched him drop the saddlebag on the ground and lean the rifle against it. With the knowledge that her father was only moments away from performing the ritual on her, she found herself nervous and dreaded the thought that she would have to take her clothes off in front of him. Her eyes followed his every movement as he crouched before the saddlebag. He glanced up at her, a ghost of a smile on his face.
"No need for you to get cold yet. There are still a few things I need to do before you need to undress." Rummaging in the bag, he took out several small clay pots, laying them aside to reach under the bag and pull out a set of blankets. He half turned to wave her closer.
"I'll need your help to make up the ink I'll be using."
She cautiously stepped toward him, crouching to kneel on the other side of the saddlebag. He handed her one of the pots and drew his knife, holding it out to her hilt first. "Cut the cord off that and open it. Make sure you don't spill what's inside."
Taking the offered knife, she was surprised when he picked up another jar and stood, moving away from her to the edge of the clearing.
"While you're doing that, I'll put some wards up around us so we won't be bothered."
While he moved around the edge of the clearing, she cut the cord holding the leather cover over the jar. A bitterly pungent aroma rose from it as she took the cover away, one that reminded her of decaying walnuts. She looked inside apprehensively, her nose crinkling in disgust at the smell. "I hope you aren't going to be putting this on me." she called.
He looked back at her and nodded. "It will smell better once it has been mixed properly."
She looked at the black powder inside doubtfully. "I don't know," she muttered. "I don't think there is anything that can make this smell better."
She put the jar aside and watched him set the wards. Every few steps he stopped and took a pinch of powder from his jar, sprinkling it on the ground while murmuring softly to himself.
When he had completed his circle, she was disappointed to see nothing remarkable happen. She had hoped to see something magical, perhaps a ring of fire surrounding them or a flash of light. Instead he simply covered his jar and came back to her. "We should be safe enough now.” he told her. “Only one of the Greater Ones will be powerful enough to break through an Elemental barrier during daylight."
He stowed his jar away in the saddlebag and retrieved a bowl. Laying it into a thin patch of snow, he picked up the jar she had opened and carefully poured a generous amount of the powder into the bowl. Digging into a coat pocket, he pulled out a flask.
"The powder is the ground bean of a tree that grows far to the south. It's hard to come by so I don't want to waste it.” Gently shaking the flask, he frowned at the splashing from within. “The oil is even more precious and I have little of it left."
Pulling the cork stopper from the flask, he tipped a thin stream of oil from the flask into the powder and began stirring it with a twig. "There are two more ingredients I need, one of which is why I need your help." He looked up at her and nodded to the knife in her hand. "I need about a thimbleful of your blood."
She scowled and looked at the knife. "Everything is about blood, isn't it?"
He nodded and returned his attention to the paste in the bowl, making sure the oil and powder mixed smoothly. "Elementals and sacrifice. I told you about them last night."
She sighed and nodded. Laying the tip of the knife against a vein in her wrist, she pricked it hard enough to draw a thin rill of blood.
Taking her hand he pulled her closer to the bowl and let the blood drip into the paste, quickly wiping her wrist clean with a square of cloth he retrieved from his saddle bag when he had enough.
Reaching into his bag once more he took a final bottle out, pulling the cork stopper with his teeth. A floral scent rose from it and he added several drops to the bowl. "Essence of jasmine," he told her with a smile. "It has no great power in and of itself but I admit it smells much better than the ground beans."
Tapping the twig on the edge of the bowl, he gave her an apologetic smile. "I am ready when you are."
The first button of her jacket was the hardest for her and reaching up to undo it took more effort than she could ever have imagined. It somehow felt wrong undressing in front of him.
He read her reluctance and turned away, taking the bowl of ink with him. With trembling fingers, she loosened the rest of the buttons and stripped her jacket off. Her dress quickly followed and after a long breath, her underclothes. Counting to ten to calm her nerves, she coughed softly. "I wish I'd come on a warmer day," she muttered.
He chuckled at her sour tone and as she stared at his back, she frowned. "It's cold," she snapped. "Let's just get this done before I freeze."
He nodded and turned to face her. Without lifting his eyes from the ground, he gave her a final chance to change her mind pausing before asking, "Are you ready?"
She nodded, more to herself than him since he still hadn’t lifted his eyes. "They will never leave me alone otherwise."
He hesitated a moment longer then looked up, dipping his fingers into the ink and stepping forward. "The Path guide us both," he murmured as he knelt at her feet to begin.
She stood patiently before him, naked and shivering in the cool air. She felt his fingers run over her skin, drawing patterns that left tingles in their wake. It took her an effort of will to remain still as his fingers ran up her calves, tracing out spirals and lines that wound and intersected from calf to shin and onward up her thighs. As he worked higher and higher, covering her in a mosaic of dark ink on pale skin, his fingers and concentration never faltered. She closed her eyes when he drew in places that caused her to visibly shake, her breath faltering though his touch was neither intimate nor rough.
After what felt like hours, he stood back surveying his work critically. "It is done." he murmured.
She breathed a sigh of relief and opened her eyes. She watched him as his eyes roved up and down her ink covered body critically, goose pimples standing over every inch of her skin.
"There is one thing left to do to tie the marks together." he finally said, nodding in satisfaction.
Fighting the urge to cross her arms over her chest, her eyebrow rose at his statement. "I hope it's not what I think it is," she said, firmly.
His lip turned up and he shook his head. "Two drops of blood. One of yours and one of mine on the centre of your forehead."
Rolling her eyes, she held out her hand. "More blood?"
Her sour reply brought a smile to his lips as he shook his head. "The other one, with the tattoo."
She switched hands and he grasped it firmly, drawing his knife and gently pricking the centre of the tattoo.
Blood welled up onto the tip of the knife and he released her, bringing the knife to his own wrist and drawing more from his own tattoo. Dipping his finger into the mixed blood, he held his hand up so she could see it. "Born of blood. Sealed by blood."
He reached out carefully, placing his bloody finger against her forehead.
The moment he touched her a feeling of euphoria flooded through her. She breathed in sharply, wanting the feeling to last forever. As quickly as it had come, the feeling vanished and her limbs twitched uncontrollably. "What...?" she gasped.
He snaked his arm around her waist to help keep her upright. "It's alright. Remember I told you that we all went through this. Relax and let it work its way through you."
She surrendered to his soothing tone, the comfort of his arm holding her up. She forgot everything around her, the cold air biting at her skin lost in a rising heat that began in her feet and quickly flushed through her to the top of her head. For a few seconds she believed her hair was standing straight up and a warm breeze surrounded her before she collapsed, saved from hitting the ground only by his arms circling her and supporting her weight.
"Relax, breathe. It's over," he murmured into her ear. "Take a moment to get yourself together."
"Is it always like this?" she whispered. "Is this the Path?"
He chuckled. "This is just the beginning of it. It won't always feel like this but when the power needs you, you won't know anything greater."
Adjusting his arms around her, he helped her to lay down on the blankets. "Rest. I'll start a fire and bring you something to eat. We can talk when you're ready."
Pulling another blanket over her, he smiled down at her. "I was right, in case you were wondering." he told her, his gravelly voice sounding amused. "You're not a rock."
Gazing up at him as the high gradually subsided, she slowly raised her eyebrow questioningly.
He shook his head and moved away. "I'll tell you when I come back."
The smell of a fire woke her and she gingerly opened an eye. The warmth from the fire bathing her face felt good and she heard him chuckle, her open eye drifting to where he sat against a nearby stump.
"Have a good rest?" he asked.
She nodded and sat up. The sudden flood of cool air across her chest made her gasp, an unwelcome reminder that she was still completely naked. She snatched the blanket back up to cover herself. "When did I fall asleep?"
He glanced up at the sun through the trees and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "An hour ago, maybe a little more." he answered. "Not surprised. The rush leaves all of us drained. You passed out right after I put that blanket over you."
Clutching the blanket to her neck, she looked around the clearing and saw her clothes neatly folded on top of his saddlebag.
He followed her gaze and nodded. "Probably best to get dressed," he agreed. "Not the dress though. Can't ride in that."
She frowned at him and he shrugged. "Only pointing out a fact."
He stood and picked up her shirt, tossing it to her and pulling a well-worn pair of pants from under the dress. "Can’t guarantee the trousers will fit but you can belt them in. We've got some miles to do before dark and they will be far more comfortable. Skirts aren't really made for hard riding." He turned his back to give her a modicum of privacy, despite the open forest around them.
When she was dressed, she dropped the folded blanket on top of the saddlebag and turned to him. "You said I wasn't a rock."
He nodded, turning at her question to face her. "When the ritual is completed, we are surrounded by the aura of our sign for a few seconds. It's a physical manifestation of our element accepting us. Grey for earth, blue water, green wind and red fire."
He fell silent and she waited nervously for him to continue.
"What was I?" she finally prompted.
Looking at his hands, he grimaced at the trembling he saw in them. "There are very few of you in the world.” he said softly. “But the Path has called you for a reason and though I hate to admit it, perhaps it is right."
She scowled at his evasion, her voice hardening as she asked again. "What am I?"
He sighed and looked up at her. "Fire. Destruction and rebirth incarnate."