The field was beyond beautiful�it was enchanting, captivating, inspiring... and almost certainly not real.

Slowly his hand found its way to his forehead where he rubbed at the wound with a grimace. Damn, he needed to work on his landings. With a wince, he pushed himself up to unsteady feet. A quick glance around told him no one was near, but that didn�t surprise him too much. His surroundings were so much like the dreams he�d been having that he assumed he was currently in the Dreamworld and would soon be waking up again.

A confused expression passed across his face. �Wait...� he said softly, looking around, completely lost. �Where...?� #Where am I? Who...?#

�Master Duane!� a voice suddenly screeched happily, followed by the sound of feet racing across the field.

Slowly he turned, blinking, wondering who was calling for �Duane� and why it seemed so familiar. #That�s not my name, is it...? I�m... Du....# but he couldn�t finish the thought anymore than he could remember why he thought this place wasn�t real. The more he looked around, the more he recognized how very hard the ground was, and how the grass tickled his knees. Obviously he had hit his head and was dreaming, and for some reason when he woke up here he thought he was still dreaming�an assumption that was clearly wrong. The question was: why was he sleeping in a field, and... �Who am I?� he whispered very, very quietly, looking up to watch the person run faster.

�Master Duane! Master Duane!� the man was yelling with a huge grin. He stumbled a few times then caught himself right before he could fall. The large man finally screeched to halt in front of him, his smile about to burn the boy�s eyes from the intensity. �I can�t...� the man was saying, looking at him with tears threatening to race down his cheeks.

The boy watched with huge, confused violet eyes. What was happening...? He wasn�t actually �Master Duane,� was he? �Wha...?� he started to ask aloud, but the man suddenly jumped forward and bear-hugged him. The boy let out a startled �Eep!� before slowly relaxing in the grip. He had no clue what was happening, but the man certainly seemed excited to see him, so maybe he could get some questions answered.

�We were so worried!� the man said mournfully, suddenly leaning forward and yanking the boy, Duane?, closer to him again. �Come! We will alert the palace of your return!� The man grabbed his hand and gently, but firmly, began leading him away. The boy looked around as he stumbled with, his expression confused, lost, and frightened.

�Am...� he began, his voice scratchy with disuse, or maybe from withheld tears of terror, �Why...?� He squeezed his eyes shut as an intense panic grew from deep within, screaming along his nerves, pushing his consciousness slightly away from his body until he felt like he was walking in a dream, his ears buzzing madly as his vision began to narrow to a tunnel. Something in him was shrieking frantically, but he didn�t know what it was and even if he did, he had no idea if he would listen. He was so confused and so lost and so afraid... and that only added to the terror.

The large man glanced back, his warm eyes peeking out from behind his brown hair. �Master Duane?� he asked softly, the tone quickly turning to worry when he saw his face. �Who�am I?� the boy whispered brokenly, stopping to hunch forward as the panic spread all through his arms and legs, resting against his rapidly beating heart and sliding intimately within his scattered thoughts.

�You are Master Duane Maccus,� the man provided with a sad, almost pitying, expression. �You are the Lord of this kingdom.�

Duane shook his head helplessly, feeling his strength slipping as he started to slide to the ground. The terror was so intense, so passionate, it was like quicksilver lava rifting through his veins and flooding his insides. He ground his teeth together, refusing to let up on his questions. �Why am I out here? Why�� he grimaced, having to catch his breath, �Why�don�t I�remember...?�

The man shook his head sadly. �We feared you were kidnapped after you ran away. Rest now, Master Duane, and I will bring you home.�

As Duane slipped into unconsciousness, a small part of him, the part that was pulsing in terror and screaming in fright, managed to whisper brokenly, #This... is not home....# before it was silenced by comforting darkness and lost within the folds of Duane�s mind.

~*MOTHER*~
~Lowe Kingdom, lower region, Eastern side~

Cold cobalt eyes slid open, regarding the room around him. The furniture was garish and disgustingly expensive�that much was obvious from a mere glance�and the ceiling was high enough to fit another level of comfortable rooms. Everything was decorated in ornate designs with overly glorified paintings that portrayed wars, famine, and desolation. If the air around him hadn�t seemed so dead and, strangely, _pale_, then he may have thought those paintings out of place and jarring.

As it was, they only reinforced the realistic tension in the air.

He stood slowly, noting how his arms and legs ached as if he�d run for days with no rest, or as if his entire body had been flipped inside out and beaten, then shoved back together again like new.

He found quite quickly that he loathed the feeling.

As his watery muscles struggled to keep him upright, he turned to survey the room in more detail, and was surprised to find himself staring at his reflection in a full length, ornate mirror. His torso was covered by a poofy white shirt, drawn at the wrists then fanning out over his golden, calloused hands. A vest that looked like it was perhaps made from golden string and amethystine jewels covered most of the shirt, which was tucked into snug brown pants. Large, clunky boots that seemed to be made from something close to genuine leather were laced to below his knees, the excess string flopping mildly as he moved. His hair was unruly (as always, part of him noted, though he struggled to remember how that part knew what he looked like, as he had, just moments ago, completely forgotten) and his burning cobalt-Prussian eyes were dark, dangerous, and glittering. A simple gold crown rested upon his head, much of the circlet covered by the dark brown locks.

He reached up to touch it, but before his hand even raised higher than his shoulder, there was a knock on the door. Frowning, he glanced sidelong at the garish wood and gold monstrosity, then grunted, �Enter.�

A slender servant girl crept in, her head bowed and shoulders nearly parallel to the floor as she shuffled her way inside and shut the door with her foot, her arms full of a load of what looked like freshly cleaned laundry �Good eve, Lord Lowe,� she greeted reverently, �King Lowe has requested your presence in the Chambers upon your awakening.�

The boy blinked, staring at the girl, who still refused to make any sort of eye contact. �King Lowe?� he asked her in a tone that implied he was making sure he�d heard right.

The girl nodded and bowed lower, if that was even possible. �Yes, M�Lord,� she murmured, �He wishes to see M�Lord immediately.� She winced, though the boy couldn�t see, as she realized she had accidentally referred to Lord Lowe as �you� earlier.

Lord Lowe frowned slightly, information spiraling from the depths of his mind to settle calmly into understanding. #Ahh, Odin Lowe Jr. is my name,# he realized slowly, acknowledging how the name slid through his mind comfortably, just reinforcing the information. �Very well,� he said aloud, curtly.

The servant girl slouched slightly as if relieved, but tensed when she realized he hadn�t moved immediately. Still not daring to look up, she chose to venture with her voice. �Lord Lowe...?� Odin Lowe Jr. was frowning as he stared at himself in the mirror, trying to remember where the Chambers were and how to get there. As his mind drew ablank, he chose instead to simply ask the girl for help. After all, that _was_ what she was there for, wasn�t it? �Take me to the Chambers, then finish your chores,� he replied in a calm, commanding tone.

The servant girl bobbed and carefully set the laundry on the bed. She straightened only enough to walk without tipping over forward, then bobbed again. �As M�Lord wishes. I most humbly accept your trust and wish only that I can serve the Lowe Kingdom well in any and all tasks. If My Lord will follow this humble servant, His Excellency will be found.�

Odin Lowe Jr. frowned slightly as he followed the girl, who was now shuffling reverently down the hall at a brisk enough pace that he could still stride but wouldn�t have to hurry to keep up. As they passed another mirror donning the hallway wall, Odin Lowe Jr., who was now remembering that he preferred to be called Heero, barely caught the reflection of the servant girl out of the corner of his eye. His eyes narrowed and his frown increased momentarily as he realized he vaguely recognized her, but couldn�t be sure from where. Before he had much time to dwell on it, he suddenly remembered that she was one of his many personal servants, and thus _should_ be very familiar to him. Parts of the castle caught his eye as they trekked the serpentine hallways, each new addition dredging up memories from deep within as he slowly became reacquainted with this home of his.

Perhaps anyone else would have wondered why his own home was suddenly alien to him, but Odin Lowe Jr. wasn�t worried.

Lowe Kingdom was strange and ethereal, and on more than one occasion, the very fabric of reality had changed�shifting and molding and churning and burning until the very earth under his feet seemed of another world entirely. The castle at the heart of the kingdom was the worst; any resident was used to hallways disappearing right before his or her eyes, staircases suddenly becoming mounds of random objects, and windows shattering and reforming into spirals of twisting magic that yawned and snapped at passersby.

Reality itself was constantly reformed, like a lake churning beneath the persistent wind of magic, throwing waves of Unreality against Mother�s shore.

Such was the power of the Nightwalker Homeland.

Such was the power of magic itself.

The multi-colored tapers lighting the room were spread about the tables and desks at even intervals. High above, darkness awaited the eyes of any who dared stray their gaze toward the distant ceiling. More battle scenes decorated the sparse walls, with small golden plaques beneath each that presumably told the tale depicted. The room itself was not overly large, though the ceiling could have been the sky for as tall as it was, but what was visible was strangely curt and efficient. Gone was the disgustingly expensive furniture and decorations, leaving only the coldness behind. The only thing of import in the room was a large, sturdy throne at the opposite wall, and a smaller desk to the side where a man was currently perched.

Heero�s boots resounded across the tiled floor, announcing his arrival well before he came within view. The man glanced up briefly then waved absently for Heero to come closer even as he turned back to the papers covering his desk.

The servant girl bobbed once then disappeared down the hallway, off to do the laundry now that she was no longer needed. Odin Lowe Jr. stood obediently before the desk, glancing around the room now and then as if to reacquaint himself. The more he saw the more he realized, yes, he DID remember this.

The thought, oddly, wasn�t comforting in the least.

�Jr, my boy,� came the man�s absent voice as he poured over a new report with a frown, �Where have you been?�

Heero stared at the man for a moment. #My father,# he remembered, and nodded to himself at the rightness of the feeling. �Asleep,� was his reply, though he wondered how Odin could have missed him in his chambers.

Odin looked up, sharp blue eyes calculating his son. He leaned back in the padded chair and cocked his head the slightest bit. �And now you develop a sense of humor,� was his even comment, without enough lilt to make it a question but lighter than a statement. His blue eyes narrowed slightly as he motioned for Heero to sit. �Be seated, son. I would have you tell me the truth now.� His ice blue gaze continued to stare weightily at Heero, who frowned as he sat.

�I was asleep,� he said again, meaning every word. How much clearer could he get...?

King Lowe laced his hands before his stomach as he stared his progeny down.

The room was completely still and silent and, were this on Earth, the only sound that would have been heard was a distant clock ticking away. As it was, Heero unconsciously imagined the noise, for there was nothing else to stir the cold tension that had slowly settled. After a moment, the Nightwalker King�s gaze took a decidedly sharper turn. �I don�t know where you have developed this.. infuriating� tendency to lie to your superiors, Jr, but it will _stop_, and it will stop *now*. I would like to assume this didn�t come from Duane, but I can�t be certain of that right now.�

Heero frowned. �Duane...?� he started to ask, vaguely remembering his friend but not much more.

King Lowe leaned forward abruptly, his elbows on the desk as he glared at his son. �*Don�t* play fool with me, boy. I received confirmation days ago that you were seen together at the border(1). Whether or not Duane has returned is irrelevant. You are the heir to this kingdom, Odin Jr., and I *don�t* appreciate your attempts to avoid your duties.� He looked down at his papers, dismissing Heero with a curt, �And if you can�t find it in yourself to uphold the Lowe honor, then I will be forced to triple your training.�

�But...� Heero began, truly unsure of where his mouth wanted to lead him. Where were the reassurances of his memories? How could he be expected to explain actions he didn�t even realize he�d taken...?

�I will have none of this... this *act*, Jr,� King Lowe hissed, leaning forward as if to intimidate his son better. �Leave me, before I lose my patience. And I don�t wish to see you again until you can be a mature adult, not some... _child_ playing a game.� His voice, curled in contempt, sparking with the anger seen in his eyes, dwindled into the heavy silence that followed his command. Heero sat, stunned, for he was fairly certain his father usually didn�t get so upset so quickly. And, if he could trust the wisps taunting him with transparent memories, *never* had King Lowe been so angry with Heero for spending time with Duane!

The Nightwalker King turned to his papers, chillingly ignoring his one and only child. Heero blinked, staying before his father�s desk, the failure of his existence only grinding farther into his soul with each imaginary tick of the clock. After moments of confusion, of fear, of regret and mounting annoyance, Heero finally stepped back and, pivoting, strode from the room.

His legs brought him through the twisting, turning halls of the Nightwalker castle, past the grand but foreboding front entrance, through the giant courtyard littered with laughing Nightwalkers and visitors from other realms of Mother. His feet, quick to bring him from the pain of the situation, traveled beyond the mammoth iron gates separating the Kingdom of Lowe�s palace from the rest of the world. Heero was carried by his body through the whispering grasses brushing at his thighs, past the landscape dotted with gently rolling hills and solitary trees searching for a heaven greater than their lone existences. He was dazed, perplexed, possibly lost to the torrent of confusion weighing down his mind.

...His memories� so precious a gift, so heavy a burden.

His memories�where were they?

King Lowe had said he knew his son to be by the border, which Odin Jr. could only assume meant the boundary between the Nightwalker Lowe Kingdom and Dreamer Maccus Kingdom. Perhaps his legs knew this, and chose not to inform his mind, or perhaps somewhere within his body there still yearned the soul of Pilot 01, suddenly ripped from his utopia to be thrown in another world so familiar, but still so wrong.

In any case, were he to have been watching his surroundings, Heero would have realized where he was headed, and possibly his mind would have stopped his body�s twisted journey in an attempt to appease his father.

But he was lost to his thoughts, to his memories or lack thereof, and to the very world that surrounded him so convincingly. He was lost, except to Fate.

For she was bringing him home.

~*EARTH*~
~Somewhere en route to New York~

�What happened?� Quatre asked softly, sidestepping a growing puddle of blood leaking from one of the many shattered houses.

�Mass destruction,� Wufei spoke in his ethereal voice, and hardly glanced back to see if his companions were keeping up.

�But why?� Quatre demanded, walking a bit faster, hoping a bit harder that this was all a very realistic, very morbid dream. Hoping, perhaps, to wake immediately.

Wufei didn�t reply, and Quatre couldn�t bring himself to ask again. He wanted to know�no, *needed* to know�but there was something sacred in this twisted battleground they strode through. Something ancient, something powerful, and he needed to pass through undisturbed more than he needed an answer.

Trowa was quiet in the back of the line, fluid steps passing through the broken city as if walking through a grassy field in spring. But the grace only extended to his body, for his eyes were haunted with the pain he desperately fought to hide.

The irony of the situation�that there were three ex-terrorists, humbled by a battlefield in the midst of peace, immersed in thoughts that hurt them more than physical wounds ever could, passing through more death than they had likely ever seen, even during the war when they constantly threw themselves at enemies with only their deaths in mind... the irony went unnoticed, for those same ex-terrorists, now teenagers wishing only for a first chance at the normal life they could never quite grasp, were too sickened to see how darkly amusing the day would otherwise have been.

The city was shadowed by a sky heavy with the burden of humanity. Clouds hovered seemingly barely off the ground, pregnant with doubt, overflowing with disgust. There were no birds to suddenly scream to the heavens, pitting themselves against unseen air currents, simply trusting that they will fly with their wings extended and muscles pumping. There were no children laughing 4 streets down, or traffic gathering like a building storm in the rush hour of citylife. There was no random person to stare distrustfully at them as they passed, or even a prostitute waiting for money to pay the mounting bills.

There was silence, and blood.

Silence, and death.

Silence.

After leaving their home, there had been no more people running around, lost to the intense insanity swarming through their minds. There were no unfortunate souls coughing and hacking their life away in drops of blood-tinged spit dripping to the grime-stained sidewalk. There were no animals stumbling along, growling and frothing rabidly, whimpering and running randomly.

There was just the silence.

The silence, and the ex-pilots.

As they neared the outer edge of the city, minds racing with thoughts and impressions, Wufei suddenly veered off course and headed toward a parking lot with only a few vehicles glinting in the overcast sunlight. The scene was macabre; a van, a truck, and 3 cars calmly sat in the spaces their owners had parked them, waiting patiently for the laughing passengers to return, expecting their radios to be turned on high and steering wheels to be tapped to a beat. Like a fully automatic house still making toast for the family and pouring food for the dog, ignoring the craters from bombs littered around the yard and the ashes of the very family it expected burned violently into the pristine white siding, the cars were, on their own, absolutely frightening.

Mobile suits and dolls, computers, cars, planes, tvs�what did the world of technology need with humanity? What did the Earth need from those that would kill Her slowly�what did She need but their death?

What did existence care if each and every human was to die right then, rotting like the food slowly dying in the humming fridges and scattered fruit baskets of the world?

Who would remember, and who would care?

�Here,� Wufei murmured, as unaffected by the humbling scene as he was by the very world that existed around him. His steady hands broke a side window in the van, reaching in and forcefully unlocking the door.

Quatre stood back beside Trowa, beside the only one he could fully trust to be sane and normal in a very unbelievable situation. He opened his mouth, but no words would come forth, as if the epiphany of his true uselessness had finally burned the very voice from his throat. Trowa brushed his hand against Quatre�s arm as he stepped forward, silently helping Wufei break into the van and wire it to start.

A moment passed, with Wufei slipping into the driver�s seat and Trowa turning to gesture Quatre forward. For that desperate, terrifying moment, Quatre was no longer standing in the desolation of humanity, watching with a mournful gaze as everything he thought he could trust was thrown to the dirt and spit upon before his very eyes. Instead, he was in a forest, quiet and haunted with the memories of long ago lost travelers, pleading with the hope of a revived life. Murmurs surrounded him, reverent and supplicating, demanding and forgiving.

�...Speak to us, our Savior...� they breathed, �...We beseech thee... Speak....�

�...Save us, our Enemy...� they hissed, �...Condemn us... Damn us.... Save....�

�Who�s there?� Quatre demanded, voice strong despite the fluttering of his heart and the way his stomach trilled at the words. �What do you want?�

�...Maya Mari Na Man Mara, Mar Mar Gaye Shareer...� A new voice breathed, already fading but so maddeningly familiar, for one crystalline clear moment Quatre forgot to breathe and his heart forgot to beat. His deep aqua-blue eyes searched his surroundings, but the forest was becoming as translucent as heat waves in the desert, and just as misleading. He reached out, mouth open to beg, to plead, to fearfully command more reason out of his life, but all that escaped was the barest of whispers, the softest of breaths, and the quietest of longing.

The voice spoke again, and the words sounded like a farewell. �...Asha Trishna Na Mari, Keh Gaye Das Kabir....� (2)

�Quatre!�

Quatre started, the world coming back to him in a heartbeat, the words of his vision already receding into confused and muddled memory.

�What?� he asked, and ventured a quick glance around the parking lot. Wufei sat calmly in the driver�s seat, seemingly unaware of the rest of the world puttering slowly by.

Trowa, however, was standing directly beside Quatre, his hands reaching out but afraid to touch, his eyes so full of hesitant terror he looked like a wounded animal caught in a corner and prepared to sacrifice its own soul just to survive.

�Are you there?� Trowa murmured, and it was as if his words freed Quatre from the stasis he�d been in.

�Barely,� Quatre answered with the slightest hint of humor in his faintly trembling voice.

Trowa stared hard at his friend, his lover, his soulmate, then nodded curtly when he saw what he needed to find. �We need to leave,� was his reply, but his voice was soft with unchecked concern and lilted with a question. �...What happened...?� he seemed to ask without opening his mouth or eyes to the words, �Where were you...?�

�Later,� Quatre promised the unvoiced worry, �For now, let�s just get out of here.�

Trowa nodded, slipping away to disappear gracefully into the confines of the van, like smoke to the wind or ash to the sea. Quatre paused for one moment, glancing around the parking lot, maybe searching for that elusive forest, or pleading for an answer.

All he received was his own thoughts, crashing together chaotically, unable to form anything more coherent than #Later... later... later....# He stepped into the van just as Wufei shifted into drive and pressed the gas pedal. The haunting scene disappeared behind them as the three ex-Gundam pilots rode through a desolate town to a destination they could no more see than ignore. Quatre was silent in his seat, thinking of the time he�d spent with Trowa, remembering his life before the war, before the death, before the fear. He thought of happiness, and of mortality, and of the strange things such gross representations of helplessness inspired. He wished for a miracle to save him from this uncertainty, and wondered at the hopelessness that seeded in his Heart and took root in his soul.

Behind them, Quatre thought he heard a voice, that same voice, so familiar and frighteningly right, so true and yet wrong that it was sacrilegious spouting in a hallowed place of beauty.

�Dukh Mein Simran Sab Kare, Sukh Mein Kare Na Koye... Jo Sukh Mein Simran Kare, Tau Dukh Kahe Ko Hoye....�

Though he did not recognize the words, they were familiar, and they seemed to speak of an Understanding Quatre had yet to find.

~*MOTHER*~
~Maccus Kingdom, within the Palace~

Satin.

He groaned so very softly, the sound was swallowed by the silky folds of the massive bed. He tossed and turned, the fabric sliding intimately across his skin, pushing him deeper and deeper into his fitful sleep.

�Is he going to be alright?� a young woman�s voice wondered softly, her amber-blue eyes watching Duane carefully.

�He should be,� the Healer sighed, pushing her long flaming hair from intense pale blue eyes. �But I�m going to watch him, just to be sure.�

�Good,� she sighed thankfully, and turned her twilight gaze to her friend. �Thank you.�

Maggi only grinned brightly. �No prob, Danni. He was overdue for a checkup anyway.� She winked jovially, but her smile turned tentative and brittle, belying her fear for the young Lord.

Dana� smiled. �I suppose. Damn idiot never knew what was good for him anyway....� Her voice was harsh, perhaps with withheld tears, almost certainly aching with fear.

Maggi chuckled, reluctantly brushing the dirt from her robes. �I�m sorry... I�d love to stay but I have to get back to my studies. If he wakes up, ring me, would ya?� She nervously gathered her long, bright red hair in one hand and stared hopefully at Dana�, who nodded immediately.

�Of course I will, Maggi,� she assured the Healer, stepping to the side so the diminutive redhead could pass by. �I�ll even let him know you were concerned.� Her smile barely touched her eyes, and Maggi realized just then how hard the stress must have hit her.

�He�ll be fine, Danni,� she assured the Dreamweaver, pressing her hands into her friend�s palms, �I promise. He has a fever, but it�ll pass.�

Dana� nodded with a distant look in her eyes. �That�s what we always tell ourselves, isn�t it?�

Maggi only smiled enigmatically, shrugging helplessly and backing away. �I�ll see you later tonight,� she offered, turning on her heel and striding out the door.

Dana� was too soon left alone with her cousin and the thoughts that constantly plagued her. How much time passed before any interruption was impossible to tell, but it was enough for her to realize just how close the Kingdom had come to losing Duane Brennan Blake Maccus.

The knock was swift, and loud. Dana� turned slightly to the door, her head cocked to the side. �Come in,� she called, stepping away from the bed so the visitor could see Duane clearly.

A tall dark-skinned man entered immediately, slipping into the room and quietly shutting the door behind him. He turned, his gaze catching fitfully on Duane then turning to Dana� with a definite desperate air.

�I came as soon as I heard. Has he been injured?� His voice was smooth, calming, and very concerned.

�No,� Dana� shook her head, gesturing with her right hand to her cousin. �He�s fine. Maggi was just in.�

�Magdalene?� the man questioned, taking a tentative step toward the bed, as if he feared what he would see.

Dana� only nodded, her expression blank, her golden brown and midnight blue eyes watchful. As the man approached the bed, her sharp gaze tracking his every movement as if protecting her cousin, she spoke. �Ambassador, may I ask how the Lowe Kingdom is?�

The man looked at her abruptly, with a startled expression that belied the fact he had been so lost to worry he forgot his manners. �Dreamweaver! I apologize for the slip, I will not allow it to happen again.�

Dana� shook her head as if to dispel the thought. �No matter. The news?�

The Ambassador glanced briefly at Duane then nodded professionally. �King Lowe has recovered his son Odin Lowe Jr. and wished to speak with him alone. He was sleeping when I left, and I imagine he still would be. Apparently he was found near the border, as Rashid reports Duane to have been as well.�

�Odin...� Dana� murmured to herself, looking away with distant, narrowed eyes as happened when she was thinking hard. The Ambassador nodded, awaiting further instruction. After a moment, she seemed to shake herself from thought. �Very well, Ambassador. The Kingdom thanks you for your time and effort... you may return to your post when you see fit. In the meantime, I will be leaving the room so you can spend some time with Duane if you wish so he won�t be alone.�

The man grinned, his teeth glinting like brilliant stars in his night-sky face.

�I appreciate the thought, Dreamweaver. I will stay with Lord Duane for awhile.�

She nodded and raised a hand in silent farewell, pausing only as she left the room. She glanced back, her mouth softening into a smile. �Thank you from me too, Bakari.�

Bakari�s grin remained, though it was perhaps a shade brighter. The door was shut and the Dreamweaver long gone before he murmured to the room, �You are welcome, Cressida....� (3)

He turned and, with a heavy, concerned sigh, sat himself heavily beside the bed. �Please return to us, my friend,� he said softly to the unconscious Duane, Bakari�s hands resting protectively on the side of the bed. �Your mother would have wanted only your health, and I do as well. You _must_ be alright!�

Duane only shuddered in his sleep, twitching as if trying desperately to return from some distant, consuming nightmare.

As the day wore on, Bakari faithfully sat beside Duane�s bed, watchful and concerned. But the silence in the room only enhanced the fact that Duane�s eyes were closed, he wasn�t smiling, he wasn�t laughing. And his hair�when had it gotten so short? Where did the strange red colors come from? As Bakari stared at his friend, he saw only differences from what should have been long chestnut hair caught in an ever-present braid.

He couldn�t rid the disturbing feeling that, though his friend lay in the bed before him, sweating and twisting desperately from his dreams, this was not the Duane he knew.

Something had happened, and Bakari intended to find the answer the moment his friend awoke.

The silence continued, and it only strengthened Bakari�s sudden feeling of being desperately, achingly alone.

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