Feivel stared out into the dust storm through the glass window. This would be more bearable with Gershwin here. Someone he could count on, at the very least.

He hadn't felt Fate since she told him to free his horse at the edge of the plains and the start of the desert. He'd walked the entire way across the desert, finding oases on his own, finding game on his own, eating what he could when he could. Then, she hit him like a ton of bricks about Janice.

He knew Janice when he saw her, but beyond that... He didn't know where to go, what to do with her. Gershwin might at least have had some vaguest of ideas.

Feivel felt like the horse who lost its running.

To top it off, he was further from home than he had ever been. And he has to trust her.

If he didn't trust her, he had nothing left.

He would do what he could do. They would stay inside this big stone house while the storm raged outside. And he would trust her.

Two weeks had passed since the Camphor decided he needed the bridge there. Faline knew it would have been quicker to have walked around the canyon. She also knew that Camphor had not eaten as far as she could tell in this time. She also knew that he rarely slept, often working well into the night.

And sometimes he left the campsite altogether, and later the woods would echo with sobs.

Faline couldn't help but notice how sensative he was about his right hand. That was the one that held the ring, she knew, but why he wouldn't let her anywhere near it, he didn't understand. He was very defensive about it, and when he caught her staring at it, he started wearing heavy gloves, even when he wasn't working.

He sometimes held this hand as if it pained him physically, though Faline could only guess, and she hated to guess, lest she be wrong.

Quetzalcoatl, on the other hand, had other opinions.

*He's older than he seems,* Quetz insisted to Faline one day while they were out hunting for dinner. Faline personally hated hunting, and she hated killing cute aniimals, but she had to knock them with an arrow, or else she'd starve to death. *And he doesn't eat anything. Have you noticed he doesn't eat anything?*

Quetz seemed very insistant. Faline was unconvinced. "Leave the poor man alone, will you?" she asked.

Quetz snorted and scared a deer that could have fed them all week. *Then I keep my opinions to myself,* he said. *You want to walk into something clearly trouble, that's your own problem, and I'll 'I told you so' when the time is right.*

"Can't you just trust someone for once?" she asked.

Quetz gave her a look that would have poisoned a well.

Faline rolled her eyes. Any day now, that damned bridge would be finished, and from there, they'd have too much walking to do to bother bickering.

Those were the days she was looking forward to.

She stood barefoot on the smooth wooden floor, watching Faivish as he watched the storm through the window. The dust was calling to her, the sand, the earth. She didn't trust it, but she felt a pull in her gut, telling her she needed to be outside. It terrified her, and she didn't want to go. The storm would consume her, drive her into the depths of the ages, and consume her before she could be any the wiser.

But she was not a strong woman. And the pull was great.

She felt tears in her eyes as she reached a trembling hand out to brush Faivish's hair ever so lightly. Please let him be awake... she thought, not sure who she was asking.

She felt the vastness of something immediately when she touched his hair, something huge and fascinating, and not unlike the pull she was feeling towards the door. She was intrigued, fascinated even, but the pull of the dust was stronger. She felt, beneath the vastness that consumed Faivish, the dreams of his sleep, catching glimpses of colors and horses and the wind on her face.

She withdrew her hand in a jerky manner and held it closely to her chest, nursing it almost. She was curious now. She wanted to know. But the pull on her feet was greater.

The dust whispered to her, called out with voices and memories stretching seconds into weeks. She shuffled backwards, through the sand that had been blown in with them earlier that day.

She went stiff as she felt the draw of ages tightening its hold. She saw flashes of sunlight, birds, animals, people, plants. It engulphed her.

She blinked her way to the here-and-now, struggling to keep a level head. Faivish was sleeping. If she was to silence the earth at her ankles, the time was now.

She shuffled backwards through the sand and backed to the door. She pushed it open, the dust and sand striking at her hands. It whipped through her hair, slid down her scarves. She fought against it, even as she slipped through the crack into the roaring behemoth that was the storm.

It terrified her, and she felt the fear strike at her as the ages of the earth rose up and swallowed her whole.

Marley awoke to a knock on the door. She opened her eyes, and saw the half-empty bottles of liquor on the table across from her. Clearly she hadn't had enough to drink. The real world was still waking her up after an intentional bender.

She shuffled to the door, her head pounding and her eyes sobbing for the sunlight.

She was surprised and a bit startled to see her girls standing, huddled together, on her doorstep. The clinic was closed for the day. She waited patiently for someone to explain.

"Ma'am," Lina said, the eldest of the lot of them. "Danke's in trouble."

Marley stared at them all with eyes that burned with fatigue. She hadn't realized before that she had no less than eight girls working under her. They got paid little, if at all, but they were learning a valuable skill and still lived with their folks.

"What did the girl do this time?" Marley sighed.

"Ma'am, the doctors. They've taken her as a witch."