Sean had traveled pretty much day and night, stopping only to eat and rest his horse. The weight of the sandmans hand on the back of his head making it slump forward periodically. On through the night he rode. The now grassy
plain giving way to foothills. At the top of one of the larger ones he encountered a small tree growing from its crest. It'll be light in about four or five hours, it won't hurt to stop for a bit of rest. Surely anyone who would be following is fast asleep now. So, Sean ties the reins of his steade to the tree, unrolls a blanket and lies down to catch a few winks.

Almost as soon as his head hits the sand he is out like a light. His sleep is hazy. Along with a warm dark nothing iare mixed the images of a bright golden hawk soaring over the night sky. As it passes in front of the full moon it is shot down by three arrows that all impact at about the same instant. It falls to the ground and is immeadiately ripped to shreads and eaten by a pack of wolves. The largest of the wolves raises his head to the sky and lets out a howl and is quickly joined by the rest of the pack.

The howl in the distance wakes Sean. Its echo dying in the predawn air. Was it real or just an echo from the dream. As Sean begins to move around he notices sitting on the horn of his saddle... his coscience. He rubbs his eyes to make sure that it is not part of the dream...nope, it's real alright. "So where the hell have you been?"

"SCREE  SCREE "

"Could have used you a few days ago, you goofy lookin' chicken "

"SCREE SCREE "

"If your gonna hang around you'd better make yourself usefull"

A that instant the howl of a wolf could be heard in the distance. The hawk at that moment spread its wings and flew off in the direction of the rising sun.

"Damn bird."
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The wizard is no fool.  He sees it the second the bones leave his hand.  That's the danger in looking ahead, something you don't want to see is usually looking back at you.  And there it is in the bones: death.  Not the ambiguous death of some person floating through the fates, not the sweeping death of some far-off land ravaged by plague.  The death he sees in those smooth bones, polished and inscribed metacarpals from the left hand of his master’s master’s master, the death he sees is his own.

The tangled woods seem to creep in on him in the glow of the coals pulsing in his hearth.

For the first time since he has left the crowded towns, the wizard is unsure of what to do.  He has no one to whom he may lament.  His stone sentries, carved from boredom and loneliness offer no solace from their perch above his home.  Gargoyles, no matter how crudely hewn can scare an occasional trespasser (not that many have come in the past twenty years of his self-imposed exile), but they can do nothing to beat back the inevitable creeping doom that shadows us all.

The wizard gathers the bones and tries again, not to change his fate, but try and see the lines of his own creeping shadow more clearly.  He empties his mind and threads his own bony fingers through the air as if to play the magic like a phantom harpsichord.  He enters the trance, his vision stretching far into the dark woods, life forces all around his wandering mind.

There is a sniffing sound and he is fixed.  Ears perk up, sounds of the wood fill his mind.  Smells only realized by the most sensitive of organs filter through his brain painting a bright image of the dark and misty wood around him.  A bright spot lies ahead, up a small hill, a firelight shrouded by distance and trees brought closer by the enhanced senses of the beast.  Base urges pull them forward, the wizard locked inside.

There is a stream, wide, but shallow. The water is clean and tastes of iron.  Crossing, the wizard is amazed to smell himself on the other side. And there is the rock where he scrubs his tunics, there is his fishing rod and net, and on that rock, he cools his feet.  In a snap, the wizard is aware of what is happening.  The bones begin to make sense.  The creeping shadow carries him toward himself.

The wizard is torn between two fears.  One fear is the urge to protect himself (however futile) from the horrible death at the claws of this on-coming beast and the other is the fear that keeps his mind in the essence of the beast, preventing him from having to experience his own gruesome demise first-hand.

It is too late.  The wizard sees himself sitting cross-legged on his patio, more swept-earth than porch.  The wizard sees how vulnerable he is, leaving his body to stretch his mind as the beast begins his run.  As he sees his entranced form approach the wizard knows that all is not lost.  The wizard may die, but his master’s master’s master knew a thing or two about death.

After all, the wizard is no fool.
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After a day or two of following his "Conscience" further north, Sean's surroundings give way to light forest and underbrush. At about noon he encounters a stream. The water cooler and clearer than ever he remembered water being.

Of course ten days of force marching through the desert could make ANYTHING better upon rediscovery.

After almost a week of traveling from sun up to sun down with no sign of pursuit, Sean decides that a day or two of rest could not hurt anything.
After an hour or two a makeshift shelter and a firepit for a small fire had been set up. About the time that everything was set up, the rumbling in
Sean's stomach inspires him to venture out into he forest for food. An hour or so passes and no sign of ANYTHING. No birds, no rabbits, no dear,
NOTHING, except that damned golden chicken flying around as if it were his chaperone.

The stream opens up into a low shallow river. Its water the only nourishment available. The water slightly tasted of metal, as if the stream runs across
a vein of ore further down stream, or possibly through some kind of smelter.

The day dying and the night emerging spurrs Sean to return his camp and deal with his hunger as best he can.

That night he sleeps, his dreams again visited by visions ...
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"Sean. Sean." the voice penatrated the forest barely a whisper but it seemed to echo all around. Running as quickly as he can through the forest trying
to find the source of the voice. Only after he leaped a large fallen tree did he realize he was running on all fours.
He soon approached a clearing with a stream separating the source of the voice and him. Sean scanned the clearing for any signs of a
possible ambush. When he was satisfied it is not a trap he turns his attention to the woman across the stream. She stands there in a court dress
that suits her well he thought. The last time he had seen her in a court dress she was alot less appetizing. The copper in her hair glowed
from the light the large hawk on her shoulder radiated. She stood there as though the oversized raptor weighed nothing. Sean turned his attention back
to the hawk again breifly and realized it was his "conscience".
"I am glad to see that you are getting more comfortable with your new form."

Only then did he realize he was at the edge of the stream on two legs again and wearing light armor.

After a long silence when it was obvious he wasn't going to respond, Tanara took a deep breath and exhaled with a sigh. "I must appologize for
accusing you of not letting me know that someone was trying to kill me." As she spoke Sean's armor when from light to moderate. Tanara watched it
change, Sean also watched Tanara's court dress transform into her riding/hunting garb. "When I thought about it, McFadden would have never
told you his plans for fear of you telling me or you retalianting against him for his nerve. We said a lot of things in anger and rage. I did not ever mean to turn you, know that. I had the guidence of the pack when I was turned. You did not. I never meant to hurt you. I never got to teach you control.

Sean only stared at her, however he was now wearing his traveling clothes.

"You need to know this, the King has put a warrant out for your capture. If I understand what I was told correctly, ONLY the King's men have to bring
you in alive and unharmed. I could be wrong but I think it read that the King's guard must bring you in Alive and Unharmed. Even if they meant you
have to be handed over to the King's men unharmed, there are people in this kingdom who won't take it that way.

Also before I left for Daharahn, the Baron of MourningWood Glen issued forth an edict that basicly gives you the same rights as any MourningWood
Glen citizen except you don't get to vote. I warn you though and I give this as one friend to another so take it as you will, DO NOT let danger
follow you into the barony. If you do you will face the wrath of the Baron, the Regent, and both Champions, not to meantion the Lady Hawks, and I will
not be able to save you. I might not even be able to help you if you do."

Tanara reaches one arm out and touchs Sean's face as the gap between them closes the stream vanishing. He instictly leans into her touch. "Please
look in your heart and try and forgive me for leaving you the way I did. I do care for you," Tanara places a soft kiss on Sean's forehead.

As she turns to go she half turns and looks over her shoulder at Sean, "Sunfire will guide you as far as she can. And by the way," as a smile
crept over Tanara's lips, "She doesn't mind you calling her a chicken. She actually thinks its kind of funny, but watch your tone." She gives Sean a
big smile and walks away as the hawk looks back and watches him until Tanara vanishes into the woods.
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The light of the morning sun wakes and almost blinds Sean as it pierces his eyelids. Sitting on his chest with a small rabbit in its beak his
"conscience" looks down on him.

" 'Bout time you made yourself useful. I was thinkin' 'bout munchin on your narrow behind if I couldn't find anything else today.

The bird drops the rabbit on Seans chest, pecs him on the forehead and flies off.

"OW! Might have chicken tonight ANYWAY"

" SCREE SCREE "
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