The pile of ashes left over from Danke's bonfire lay for several days before anyone even suggested cleaning it up. It loomed there, a constant reminder, for those who would stray against the wills of the state. Marley wouldn't look at it, wouldn't even acknowledge it.

This wasn't the first bonfire. Not by a long shot. But this was the first of her girls she'd lost.

The General came by frequently now. "To comfort you," he said, but she knew what he wanted, and she wasn't in the mood to play this game.

"I never would have suspected," she said quietly as he held her hand across the table, even as Agnes served them tea and Lina took over the hospital in the back room, keeping it as quiet as she could. Still, every now and again, the screams would filter to the fore, and she could hear Lina struggling to keep things under control.

She knew she was under heavy scrutiny. She was the one who had taught Danke. That meant she was likely a witch herself. That meant that she was next on their list. That meant she had to watch herself. And she had to watch her girls.

She would not lose another one.

Feivel wanted nothing more than to be headed north again, across the desert, and into the plains, where the terrain was familiar, if a bit dangerous with a Those That Stayed in tow.

But noooo. That wouldn't be difficult enough.

His thoughts were curdling as the tug started again, and he sat Janice on the back of her black paint, even as Kendra was just starting to wake.

~What's going on?~ the little flying rat demanded.

"We're leaving," Feivel answered as he swung up onto the back of his horse.

~Why?~

"We have places to go. Let's go, rat."

~I'm not a rat,~ she chirped angrily.

But Feivel was really in no mood to hear for the umpteenth time that she was a dragon. As far as he was concerned, they were quite similar, and he didn't need to hear just how they were different for the ninteenth time in the last two days. Repetition didn't prove a point. It only belabored it.

"Let's go, rat."

Janice spoke up quietly, and the rat listened to her, of course. "Kendra, please." She was tired and worn out from so much time in the saddle, he knew. But there was no helping it.

The tug was too strong.

He hadn't felt it for so long, when it arrived, it was a bit of a surprise. He knew he would feel it again, but he wasn't quite to Gershwin's perceptive abilities. He couldn't quite tell whether Fate was pushing them to their deaths or to meeting yet another disfunctional personality type.

He wasn't too fond of having to wear out horses on her little fetch quests, but she kept him well enough. He knew someone had to be her voice, her eyes, her ears. She certainly didn't have enough of her own. She was his Lady, deaf and dark and silent.

He was not one to question.

As Kendra fluttered onto Janice's lap, the Oracle nodded at him, and Feivel let out a shrill whistle. The horses lept to life beneath them, and plowed down the road, pounding dust into the wind, fire into their chests, and life into Feivel's otherwise tedious existance.

He lay bleeding. Not that this was the worst thing that could happen to him, really. The arrow could not have been luckier. Camphor had felt it pierce his heart, and still he lived.

Still his limbs twitched, and he strained to rise. But he needed his blood, though a part of him wondered for how long.

He didn't eat. He didn't sleep. Why would he need blood? What use could it possibly serve?

He struggled to sit up, even as Faline hurried towards him. The remaining archers and swordsmen had been dispatched by the girl, and she cradled Camphor's head in her hands.

"I'm so sorry!" she wept.

"For what?" he croaked, grabbing hold of the arrow and yanking it backwards from his ribs. There was no head on it, only a straight shaft of wood. No wonder it buried itself so deeply.

"Camphor!" she yelped.

"Stupid girl," he muttered as his hand snapped the bolt in half.

"You'll die!"

"I can't die," he snarled.

"I can't save you!" she sobbed.

Oh for the love of the gods, he sighed. "Faline," he seethed through the pain in his chest as his body knitted itself back together. "Your stupid dragon sees it. Why can't you?"

"What?" she sobbed.

He yanked his shirt up far enough for the wound to be visible, and she caught her breath as it knitted itself together before her very eyes.

She jolted backwards, falling hard on her rear. She scrambled backwards until she sat against Quetz. "You're... You're... Oh, gods!" she shrieked. "You're not human!"

"I'm perfectly human," he snarled as he pulled himself up.

"You were shot in the heart! There's nary a wound! There's hardly blood!"

"Would you rather I was dead?" he snapped as he pulled himself up, his head finally clear. He picked up his axe, wiped the blood and gore of their enemies on the side of his pants. "Would you rather be mourning a corpse?"

"But how? Why? You should be dead! What creature are you that--" She stopped herself short. "I've heard about your kind," she breathed. "You're a Casketmaker, aren't you?"

Camphor glared at her.

"You've been stalking me, haven't you? Don't take me, please! Please, don't take me!"

The girl was hysterical, and it was easy enough to entertain the idea of making her life difficult for a few moments before he shook off the more sadistic fracture of the personality infecting him from his right arm and up into his head.

Camphor sighed. "Why," he drawled, "would I take you? Where, pray, would I take you? What, pray, would I need you for?"

She blinked at him, and Quetz sighed.

*Now,* he drawled, *may I say 'I told you so'?*

Faline stared at him for a long time. "You're not going to kill me?" she asked smally.

"Go get the cart before I change my mind," Camphor muttered, massaging his sinuses. "Or don't. I'll get it. It'll clear my head, and we can find the ... We weren't really going to a city through the woods, were we?"

He looked around, his thoughts clear for the first time in a month and a half. "We'll camp," he announced. "I need to think about this. You're welcome to leave any time you want."

"You're not going to eat me? You're not going to kill me?"

"I don't eat people, and why would I? I'm sure that's against some rule or another."

"Will you teach me?"

camphor stared hard at her. "No."

"Oh." She looked slightly crestfallen. "I'll go pitch the tent." And she left.

Quetz lingered for a moment. *I told her so,* he snarled.

"I'm sure you did."

*At least now I can barbecue you without repricussions.* And he stalked silently after his bondmate.

camphor sighed and stared around at the ambush. Just what it was awaiting, and for how long, he didn't know.

Too late now, anyway.