Kendra buzzed above the girls as they walked. There were fourteen of them in all, plus Lina, who made fifteen. And she was added to the group for a total of sixteen. What they needed was somewhere to hide so that she and Lina could go back and fix things.

Or at least save their people.

Kendra was feeling very indignant at the idea of losing Janice in such an undignified fashion. She turned to Lina.

~We have to find a place for them,~ she said, indicating the rest of the girls with a flick of her tail. ~Someplace safe. And then we have to save them.~

"But Marley said--" Lina began to protest.

Kendra gave the girl a withering glare as she headtilted until she floated upside down in the sky. ~I will not lose them to some stupid rule. We're going back. You and I. No one else.~

"But we're in the middle of the plains! There's nothing to--"

Kendra eyed her levelly. ~Then we make something.~

"Yes, but how!"

The girl's exasperation made Kendra sigh. Fine. Be that way. ~Get us far enough. I'll take care of it.~

Lina stared at her, and Kendra twisted upright to press her nose to the girl's. ~MOVE!~ she snapped, and Lina blinked before hurrying off to lead the group again, bullied once more by a dragon hardly bigger than a housecat.

Breakfast was over and done with, and the place was cleaned as much as Gleb cleaned anything. The Runners were capering about, anxious to get outside, anxious to get moving again, and Tem was only resignedly following their lead.

Gleb put his hand over the man's shoulder, holding him there even as the old historian tried to shrug his way free. "Less the frown be strikin' 'pon yer face, Tem Raithcliffe," he said warmly. "Let's our friend Gershwin be finderin'."

He guided Tem down the stairs, opened the door, and gave his apartments one last, longing look. Everything he needed he wore on him - knives, money, charms, gloves, and the tricks of his major trade. All he was leaving behind were the nonessentials, the things, the creature comforts he was more than willing to do without in search of something more, something bigger.

He was going on faith with this one, because of the dreams, but also because he wanted there to be something more to his life than the blood and the gore and the endless vacations. He wanted there to be something worth living, worth fighting for.

He escorted Tem out the building, closed and locked the door behind him. He took a head count. Tem and three Runners. That was right.

"Alright," he said. "Let's be findin' friend Gershwin."

At just that hint, the three Runners took off like a shot, following scents in the air, yipping merrily.

"And I always wondered how they got caught and tied up," Tem sighed, rubbing his temples before falling into step with Gleb.

"Ye've not yet been forgivin' of me," he told the historian matter-of-factly. "I'm not bein' expectin' of absolution."

"You're expecting of something," Tem said sharply.

"I'm bein' expectin' of a chance, plain true an' simple-most. Ye were once so inclined to be leavin' me of my manhood before ye been knowin' nigh so much as ye've got in yer head this time now."

Tem turned towards him, milk-white eyes staring blankly at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died on his lips as the streets errupted into the cacophonous din of the Runners returning already.

"Come quick!" Kodavix yelped, even as Lenarvix skidded to a halt before them.

"Something's happened to Gershwin," he reported sharply. "Come quickly!"

Gleb grabbed Tem's wrist and guided him blindly through the streets. The press of early morning crowds threatened time and time and time again to separate the two of them. "Be movin'!" he roared as they pushed their way through the streets, preceeded by the Runners, who were barely in vision, doubling back and forth to make certain that they were caught up. Murar must have stayed with Gershwin, because there was no sign of her rusty brown coat.

Then, they reached the town gates, and there she was sitting calmly by the crumpled form of the tribesman on the open plains. "Shit!" Gleb cursed as he yanked Tem's body free of the gates, then raced down the road towards the fallen man. Tem hurried down the road at a markedly slower pace, tapping his way forward and on the sides to find the inequalities in the land.

When Gleb got to Gershwin's side, he looked to Murar, who regarded him stonily. "He's not well," she reported quietly.

"I be seein' that," Gleb answered, staring down at Gershwin's sweat-drenched, ash-grey face. His breathing was labored, and his eyes were open but unfocused, and his ears were bleeding profusely from the piercings.

He looked up to Tem, forgetting immediately that the historian was blind. "What be yer thoughtsin'?" he asked quietly.

Tem laid his hands on Gershwin's face calmly, carefully, feeling them, then turned a withering glare towards Gleb. "I don't know," he said calmly. "What did he eat?"

"I didn't do this," Gleb said calmly.

"What did he eat?" Tem asked again.

"He didn't. Not so long as I could see."

Tem stared down blindly at Gershwin, the two of them kneeling beside him. "Go with Lenarvix. Find a doctor. I don't know what this is."

Gleb didn't need to be told twice. He took one look at Lenarvix and took off trotting down the road. There was little time to waste.