WARNING: This page contains vague, read-between the lines occurances of things your mom would probably not want you to be reading. If you're under the age of 14, you should just skip this one. Really. Or if you don't like badly written awkward out-of-your-head romance scenes.

The weight of the fear on her shoulders did not alleviate when Feivel instructed them to break camp at noon, nor did it get any better as he was careful to pay attention to her as they rode across the plains. Janice knew she cringed every time she heard the whistles, but she couldn't help it. She couldn't stand to hear them any more, and she fought down the urges to be sick at the memories in the earth that those images conjured up.

When they stopped for the night, they built up the camp the same way they had been - tents in a circle around the fire, and the fire only where the grass could be beaten and yanked and cut low enough that they wouldn't start a brush fire.

Dinner was day-old smoked deer and water in a stew with roots and strange berries the girls had found and Feivel declared safe to eat. The horses roamed free nearby, their manes perpetually tangled with burrs and weeds and grains.

After dinner, Janice sat stock still a ways outside her tent, being very careful that there was always a layer of clothing or shoes between her and this blood-poisoned earth. Any time she touched it, she felt the urge to vomit kick her firmly in the gut, even before the images started.

Small wonder the Oracles had been restricted to the South. Crossing these plains would have driven any of them back, and the mountains were practically unpassable on the best of days. There was no way for them to head across the country. At least, not if they were in their right minds, which wasn't always the case.

The night air was warm, but Janice was shivering, her heart in her throat, and very much on the verge of tears just for being here. Her hands clawed at one another through the gloves, and she jumped as she heard the grasses crunch beside her.

Feivel stood before her, blinking down in the blackness of the night. She wasn't entirely certain, but she thought she saw his eyes flash green like a cat's in the darkness. She looked away, and he sat beside her.

"You're being strange," he told her calmly, evenly, as if he was avoiding certain tones for fear of startling her.

"It's this land," she breathed. "I can't, I won't touch it. It's poisoned. All of it. Any of it. It's infected with those... With Those." She glanced at Feivel to see if he was following her at all, and he nodded. She hoped it was encouraging, because her voice was quiet and shaking, and she needed to talk to someone who understood, and Kendra was sleeping on one of the horses out in the fields, much more comfortable there than anywhere near the ground.

"It's Wrong, Feivel," she breathed. "It's evil. It ... It swells and fills me any time I touch it. I don't want to touch it. I don't want to know. I've never not wanted to know before. It terrifies me and..." She shook her head and drew herself tighter.

Feivel's hand was on her shoulder. "They won't hurt you," he said quietly.

Janice swallowed hard. "I know just from brushing against It that the secrets are sacred, guarded and horded jealously. I know this. I... I don't want to cross them."

"They're not evil." His voice was firm and stable, like the stones she longed for, yearned for, ached for. She needed the stability of the earth, and without it... She would take the next best thing.

She leaned against him, trying to force her staggering breath to match his simple, calm respiration. He blinked down at her, then put his arm around her, pulled her tightly to him. "Shh," he breathed quietly. "It'll be all right. There's nothing to fear out here. There's nothing to hurt you."

His hands twined in her hair, and she could feel his restraint, his regret, his longing sweep up every strand and down her spine. She felt his guilt at those feelings, and she knew that he felt mild discomfort at feeling longing at the same time as she needed comfort.

She felt her pulse quicken again, and she tried to keep it calm, but she'd touched and been touched by many in her years, and none had ever sent even a flicker of desire in her direction. Her veiled face marked her Untouchable, Unclean, Unwanted.

But for Feivel, it didn't seem to matter.

She looked up at him, her black eyes wide in the darkness. There was a strange tingle in her tongue, a yearning in her wrists, and he looked down at her, reading something she wasn't certain whether she wanted to be sending in her look.

He freed the veil from its clip behind her ears, brushing the hair out of her face, his calloused hands stroking her skin gently, just enough to let her feel for certain his needs, his wants. She closed her eyes against his touch, her head rocking to one side, her chest heaving even under this very slight, very intimate touch.

She felt his marvel at her, felt him tense slightly, hesitate. She felt him fighting something down, someThing foreign, but not nearly so malign as the Forces on the plains. She waited, and his hand withdrew.

She reached for it, grabbing it firmly at the wrist. "Don't," she begged. "Please don't go."

She pulled his hand towards her face, brushed her cheek against it. He was stiff, still fighting. She could feel that he wanted to cave, wanted to give in to her, wanted to stay. But she could also feel that the force within him was telling him very firmly that he was not to touch her more than necessary.

She could see herself through his eyes, as her eyes were closed and she dared not probe too deeply beneath the surface. She could feel her touch through his hands. She could feel the deep, vibrant need within him to fill the void she held, the deep, vibrant lust he held for her.

She felt him balk, and then she felt him lurch forwards, one hand firmly on her shoulder, pushing her down toward the earth. Her eyes snapped closed as she touched the earth, her head rocking back, explosing her neck, which he covered in hot, wet kisses, hands fumbling at the toggles on her thick leather coat.

She couldn't begin to feel anything as she slid beneath the surfaces of the ages of everything around her - the earth, the plains, the man. She knew from each of them how she acted, how she reacted, how she bucked and arched and gasped quietly at each new touch, each caress, each sharp breath that sent shudders through his body. She dared not probe deeper, she dared not lose herself. She tried to anchor herself in the familiar dusts of her coat, her shoes, tried to keep herself in the hear, the now.

Tried to keep herself anchored in the hot, rough hands that handled her body as gently as he could, tried to kiss as he was kissing her, tried to fill as he was filling the void in her soul, killing the emptiness, the pain, the horror, the terror.

She could hear herself panting quietly, and he didn't say a word to her. He didn't need to. She heard it all in his fingertips.