The days seemed to pass in a blur. Endless practice and study, all that she might show some progress whenever a report would be demanded. Zariel spent less and less time in the safety of the Guardian's halls, seeking only the solitude of the forests surrounding Westbridge. She hated going into town, fearing that the people there could see her marks, which she kept carefully hidden beneath long robes and tightly-closed cloaks. And there was always the danger of meeting Master or Mistress there. Her occasional visits into the city were for appointments with the guildmaster or to buy what provisions she could from a local pawn merchant, who seemed to take pity on the girl, but never asked questions. Questions were bad. They meant that someone had shown an interest in her, and that could make it hard to hide the truth. Truth was a luxury Zariel simply could not afford now. Anything that would risk the displeasure of Master or Mistress was to be avoided, even if it meant denying her dearest dreams.

It had been a long day already, but the Guildmaster had been impressed by Zariel's progress and taught her two new spells that morning. Now, she welcomed the chance to relax for a while, sitting securely in a high tree branch, meditating upon the great mysteries of Nature. A soft breeze played with the ends of her hair, twisting them about and letting them fall again.

A familiar sensation of floating told her she had been transported. Biting back a gasp of surprise, Zariel spun around trying to assess her situation. She cringed in fear as she saw Democritus, surrounded by a group of men, all talking in earnest about something that must have been very important. Even Kefka of Vector listened intently as Democritus spoke, although there was a slight hint of amusement on his face. Zariel quickly assumed posture as she had been taught, head bowed, eyes focused on a point on the ground. She tried to contain the tremors that overtook her, hoping that if she was still enough and quiet enough, he might forget about her. "Run!" The single word replayed through her mind like a refrain. Slowly, mere centimeters at a time, Zariel backed toward the edges of the crowd. Further and further until she was fairly obscured by the vegetation of the area, she compelled herself to silence. Then, unable to control herself any longer, she turned and ran, faster than even she thought she could.

Finally, some distance away, Zariel stopped to catch her breath. The tears that had been locked away flowed freely now. "Why?" she berated herself. "When he notices..." she left the thought incomplete. "Gods, please," she pleaded with any who might listen. She didn't even notice that her cloaks had parted and now revealed the ugly collar around her neck.

"What are you doing here?" voice asked from somewhere above her. Zariel cried out looking around her to find the source. A lovely pixie woman faded into view. "I'm Miri" she said simply. "Did I frighten you? I'm sorry," she comforted the young elf. "What's this?" she asked noticing the heavy band of steel around Zariel's neck. A surprised gasp escaped Zariel's throat. "Are you a slave?" she asked increduously.

Zariel tried desperately to silence her before the question could escape, but it was too late. The words had come and now hung in the air between them. "Please," Zariel began in a fearful whisper. "Ye mustnae speak of't. I be nae permitted." She stopped suddenly, watching as the indignation rose in the pixie's eyes. "Please," Zariel whispered, "donnae say anathing, m'Lady, 'twill onla be worse an ye do."

"Someone has to do something," Miri countered. Zariel just shook her head "M'Lady, please .. just.. forget me. Forget that e'er ye saw me." With that, Zariel stood and gave a shaky curtsey before gathering her cloaks to hide the collar and rushing off to find solitude, awaiting the punishment she feared would result from her encounter.

Zariel slept crouched in the hollow of an old tree that night, before making her way back to town the following day. She stopped at the pawn shop to barter off some of the items she found along the way and then returned to the Guardians for a while so that no one would miss her and come in search of her. All the while, she carefully held her cloaks closed at the neck and took special care lest her ankle peek out from under her robes. Reluctantly, Zariel left the safety of the halls to practice her combat skills, which her guildmaster had told her were sadly neglected.As Zariel wandered deeper into the forests, her spirits dropped once more, and her thoughts drifted towards escape at any cost. Then that sickening feeling of floating came over her again, and she stood in an isolated inn room before Abraxus and Democritus.

"...will not tolerate it," Abraxus was saying. "Ahhh Zariel dear. So mglad you could join us," she smiled a sacharine smile that sent shivers down Zariel's spine. Abraxus rubbed her stiff neck, beckoning Democritus over to her. With an almost tender motion, he began to massage the Drow matron's sore shoulders.

Zariel stood frozen to her spot, trembling, and trying to observe the correct posture so as not to inflame the pair further. Tears stung her eyes as small sobs escaped her throat.

"I want to know how she found out about you," Abraxus said quietly, her voice betraying the anger that boiled just below the surface. Zariel's thoughts instantly recalled the pixie in the forest the previous evening. "I donnae know, Misstress," the girl sobbed. "She...she found me in the forest yesterday, Misstress, a..after I..I snuck away from th..the meeting," Zariel finished in a frightened whisper, not daring to look up at the two Drow.

"Why does she want you?" the next question rang out like a shot. "I...I donnae know, M..Misstress," Zariel began timidly. "The whys and whos no longer matter. Everything is under control," Democritus broke in, "even with Miri." He turned a steel glance upon the elf. "So even if you honestly were looking for help, it would not matter."

"I donnae understand," Zariel cried. "Ye donnae want anaone to know, but ye bind me w' collar and anklet." She bit her lower lip wishing she could take the words back, but it was too late. Abraxus' knuckles grew white as she clenched her fists, and Zariel took a step tremulous step backward, trying to distance herself from the angry Matron. "Did I tell you to move!" she screamed. Zariel stopped instantly, trembling and trying to brace herself for the blows she realized were inevitable now.

Abraxus shrugged Democritus' hands off her shoulders and circled around behind the small elf. "That," she hissed, "was the wrong answer." Zariel cried out as the first lash ripped through her thin robes, cutting the tender flesh of her back. She flinched as Abraxus' arm rose to deliever another blow, falling to her knees with the impact of the blow. Tears blinded her as she screamed for mercy, feeling the bite of another strike. Abraxus slapped Zariel's face stingingly. "Shut up," she growled. Democritus methodically flicked a larger whip where he stood across the room, and Zariel cowered, curling into a tiny ball on the floor, shaking her head and pleading. "Please" she whispered, "nay m..more, Misstress."

"You know, she has a valid point, Abraxus," Democritus thought aloud. "If she so much as walks into town like that, she will attract attention." Zariel trembled violently on the floor, forcing herself to concentrate on breathing. Abraxus looked first to Democritus then back to Zariel, an accusatory gleam in her eyes. "Master and slave," she sneered. "You don't want me anymore, Democritus?" "What makes you think that, Abraxus?" Zariel sobbed hysterically, squirming further toward the corner. "Quit crying before I give you something to cry about!" she snapped at the elf. Zariel bit her lip hard, trying to contain the tears, but not quite managing to stop them altogether. Abraxus addressed Democritus in a Drow dialect that Zariel had never managed to master in her training. She half-listened to the exchange, fretting about what they might be planning. He crossed the room to the Drow Matron and wrapped his arms gently around Abraxus, holding her closely. "There is nothing to be done about it now. The items are necessary for us to monitor her properly," he reasoned.

Zariel winced and stifled a small cry at the fire that burned through her back as she tried to sit up a little in her corner. Abraxus softened somewhat at the child's pain, disengaging herself from Democritus' embrace. Zariel cried and cowered in complete terror as Abraxus approached her. "Misstress, n..nay more! Please!" Zariel begged fervently. Calmly, without a word, Abraxus helped the trembling girl to stand and led her to a soft bed on the far side of the room, instructing her to lie on her stomach. The Drow woman then tore the tattered remains of Zariel's bloody robe beginning to gently cleanse the lash marks. "I get angry sometimes," she stated unapologetically, "and you would be wise to just cooperate. I am never nice when I am angry. Miri wants to buy you. I am determined to find out why. This is where you come in." Zariel's voice cracked, choking on sobs. "Why d'ye nae k..kill m..me, Misstress? I..I be nae much good at spells or anathing else. Y..Ye hate me and 'twould be one less faerie i' the Realms." Zariel pleaded for the only end she could imagine. "P..Please, Misstress, k..kill me." Abraxus thought for a moment before answering. "No." Zariel flinched as the damp rag passed over a different wound.

Abraxus stopped her ministrations and stood. "They always interfere in my plans," she muttered. Then addressing Zariel, "Go about your business for a time, girl, and do not let me down." With a motion for Democritus to follow her, the two Drow prayed for transportation. Zariel lie there for a while, frightened that they might change their minds and come back for her, but not being able to move without extreme pain. Finally, fear won over pain, and she slowly made her way back to Westbridge and the relative safety of the Guardian clan hall.