For those of you who viewed The Long Journey Begins, I present a second piece. I wasn't going to include a story with this one, but after I posted I felt it needed something. The image depicted happens sometime after this story, in those quiet, reflective moments. *** The Gifting The young Milao woman sat in a heap near the entrance to the cave they had guarded through the night. The mighty head of her lover rested in her lap, eyes closed, his breathing short and pained. She could feel his great heart beating against her body, racing, fighting against the death that crept along him. The fur on her face was eternally damp now with tears long shed. She stroked his elegant face with a cloth-wrapped hand, drawing clawed fingers down his long muzzle and up to his great, tufted ears. Finally, she buried her face in his thick, soft mane and beard and began to sing in a high, quavering voice. Though the sun shines And the sky is blue Though the day is young And the grass is green Sadness lies In my darkest heart Winter sets In my deepest soul The wind blows cold Without you here An icy day comes Without you near Your gentle eyes Soft furred face Loving laughter Deepening purr My spirit still runs The grassy fields With you in my heart And you are most beloved She felt a heavy, hot hand on her arm and looked down to see large, bloodshot golden eyes staring up at her. "Vrhanahh..." The Renhra's voice was weak, barely a sad whisper of its former commanding might. "I am sorry..." "For what, dearest sunrise?" Vrhanahh asked in surprise. "For not protecting you," he grasped her singed hands gently, burned by dragon fire. "I have failed you." "No," the Milao softly but urgently, "You have been my will to live for a very long time." They were interrupted as a bent form crested the hill before their cave. The rising sun was behind it, leaving them with only the view of a silhouette. It came closer and Vrhanahh could recognize it as another dragonman, this one carrying a large wrapped bundle. It reverently lowered its burden to the ground near them and pulled the cloth back, exposing the blackened and blistered face of yet another dragonman. The first touched the broken leaf-green scales of the other, head bowed. There was a voice to the side and the huge dragonman who had broken into their cave came to the others side, speaking softly. The blood demon was with them too, silent and observing. "Pray for them, love," Rrahnyu said. She looked back at him, surprise evident on her face. "Pray for dragonmen? Pray they all die and fall into the blackest demonpit, you mean." His hand, hot with fever, closed over her own small one. "Do truly evil souls bind the wounds of their enemy?" He looked down at her cloth-covered hands and Vrhanahh's eyes fell to the dressings on Rrahnyu's chest and back. She had been too weak to fight them when they had brought Rrahnyu from the cave and began to wrap their strange linens around him. Vrhanahh nodded. It was the way of the Renhra and so her way. They did not wish harm on any living creature but she found it hard to be so forgiving. She bent her head, closing eyes like liquid amber and sent a prayer from her heart to the One Goddess, whom is called She. Vrhanahh asked Her to quench the hate-filled fire that consumed her and bring Her blessings on the poor dragonmen and their little demon. Her hands clenched the necklace at her throat, feeling the little bone carvings that hung from it. They represented the tribe and the souls that had gone before her. Ancestors, give me strength... *** What does Vrhanahh do now? You