***

Daylight bet an assault against his eyeballs and it took all the Windwalker's energies to pry open his eyelids. He was so at ease, so peaceful. He fought against the effect of the Sereni-tree and finally managed to ease himself into a sitting position. There seemed to be something going on by the moot-front. Hope was arguing with a moderately portly young man with unmemorable features. There was something at their feet, the white remnants of Sable's late night snack.

"He doesn't understand our ways," the harpy was explaining with much gesturing.

"My father is going to have a canary at this," the young man replied, "and you know how awful it is when those birds start flying all over the house. It took us a week last time to extract the last one from the ventilation system." He sighed. "Well, I guess maybe Souffle will have to stand in."

"Roar?" A large serpentine head rose from the water, staring at them with saucer-shaped eyes.

Hope sighed again, her petite bosom heaving. The lad's eyes appeared fit to bulge. "I'm sorry for the trouble we have caused you, Hugo."

Hugo, as Sable recognised he must be, nodded. He seemed to have lost his voice somewhere along the way.

"Anyway, I best be going." She nodded in Sable's direction and Hugo watched her departing, padding across the ground on those awkward bird feet.

Easily, despite the influence of the tree, Sable dropped onto the ground, carefully arranging his wing feathers. "I am sorry to have caused you trouble," he said formally, glad he had not been forced to face the lad himself. Despite his newfound tolerance, Sable was not comfortable within a ten metre radius of humans. Whatever ten metres was.

Hope blushed, her light brown skin turning pinkish around the cheeks. "Don't worry about it," she said, unable to meet his eyes. "It seems that last night you chose to eat a basilisk, which Humphrey had ordered for his latest Querant. You have no idea how much trouble they go to for it. Anyway," she quickly brushed over the topic, as though afraid Sable might feel guilty, "the magician gave you a list, what's the first thing on it?"

Sable fossicked through his pouches, eventually extracting the rolled up scroll. It was covered in tiny scribblings, like the claws of birds, he could not make head nor tail of it. After a moment, he held it up for Hope to read. She turned visibly pale as she read through the list.

"It appears you must collect these items in order," she gulped, "and the first is 'the hair of one long lost, a reminder of home.'"

"Scrag?" He queried.

She shook her head. He noticed now that she must have groomed herself last night, for her hair was now free of its twigs and debris, and decorated instead with small, delicate butterfly clips. Occasionally they unfolded their wings, beating them gently in the sunlight. "Scrag is a raven, ravens don't have hair. Besides, he, and you, were only short lost."

"Strange," he replied, "I doubt there is anyone here from my home."

"Of course!" If Hope could have snapped her fingers, she would have. She bounced so suddenly that a couple of her butterflies flapped into the air in fright. "Jenny!"

"Jenny?"

"We're not going to get far if you repeat everything I say!" Hope scolded. "Jenny Elf, of course, she's from your world! We must go and see her straight away!"

"Well then, what are we waiting for?" Sable spread his wings and stretched them. "How far is it?"

"Well, that's the problem," Hope gulped, "We have to head first to the paradox and then wait for paras, the magic boat, who may or may not take us to the right island."

Sable was completely lost here, and so might I, the author be, since I do not own "Zombie Lover" and may misremember a few parts of it. If I do, please don't loathe me for it! I try my best. "Err, excusing my ignorance?"

"Oh, I'm sorry! I forget that Xanth ways are somewhat strange to outsiders! Jenny Elf has married Jeremy Wolf, and they live on the Isle of Wolf, which is amongst the Isles of Joey and therefore off the Gold Coast, where I met you. The only trouble is, it changes places with quite a few other islands, and the only way to get there is on a boat called Paras. We can't easily just fly over there, we have to wait for it."

Sable nodded. "Well, little bird, led on!"

"Little bird?" Hope stared at him, a little puzzled. She was blushing pinkly a little.

The Windwalker smiled, something unusual on his face, a slight shy smile barely recognisable as such. "It is a term of endearment given to fledglings," he replied. "I am sorry if I offended you."

"No, not at all," the harpy whispered in reply. She lurched awkwardly into the air and Sable flapped after her. It was strange here, flying was so much easier – almost as though he were lighter. Perhaps it was something to do with the magic in this demented world.

*

The return journey to the Gold Coast was taken at a much more leisurely pace, and so it was, at noon, that the two of them alighted by the side of a slender, beautiful river. Small, beauteous plants adorned the banks, and there just seemed something friendly in the air.

"The Kiss Mee river," Hope said, rearranging her plumage to be more comfortable. "Lovely isn't it, such a romantic spot." Her eyes seemed shiny, but Sable could not understand why.

"Kiss Mee?" He asked, pondering the unusual name. For elves, as all us ElfQuest fans know, do not kiss, and Sable had no knowledge of such actions.

And it was then that Hope did an unusual thing. She leaned towards him, so that her chest feathers brushed up against his tunic, puckered her full lips and brought them to his lips, brushing them ever so gently. He felt dampness, but it was not entirely unpleasant. She drew away and he saw that she was a vicious red colour, blushing madly.

"Well, you did ask," she said, turning her face away.

Sable felt an odd stirring, something not as fiercesome a foe as recognition, something much simpler, much softer. He forced it down and glanced along the river bank. "Err, shouldn't we find something to eat?"

Hope nodded, still not willing to look him in the face. "I think it best if I find the food," she muttered, her voice a little shaky. Awkwardly she hopped alongside the waters. They chuckled merrily to themselves, a real babbling brook.

"I best accompany you," Sable pointed out, "for I can help you carry it."

She let out a tiny choking cry and he saw her eyes were damp with moisture again. She was upset. What had he done this time? He sighed, realising that he could not understand the wiles of the feminine mind.

After a time they sat together, sharing a lunch of crab apples, lightly roasted on a patch of fireweed. The skin of the crab apples was thick, too hard to bite through and completely indigestible, but the flesh within was sweet and succulent. You just had to watch the pincers as you cooked them.

Hope appeared to have calmed down somewhat now. "Do you recall what the Magician said?" She asked. It was hard for her to eat, since she lacked hands, but she had found a blade of speargrass and was holding that in her talons, dipping it in the crab apple shell and delicately nibbling the meat off the end.

Sable shrugged. His memories were a fragile, fleeting thing, some lost as soon as they were made, others tormenting him forever. "Not really."

"What you are doing could unmake Xanth," Hope replied, "do you not care?"

"Unmake Xanth? Oh, for goodness sake, you don't believe the lies of that human do you? He just wanted to keep me captive here. Besides, I can do it right, I've got you here to help me." He stared morosely into the middle distance.

"And some of these things are quite terrible," Hope continued, "I mean, they're all written in riddle. You'd think if it was something that could unmake Xanth the Magician would write them in plain Xanthian." She sighed, "but no. I mean, 'The shed sorrow from the protector of the great divide,' and 'A tiny pinch of nothingness.' I mean, honestly… It's a good thing I'm here to help you, or the world really would end."

Sable had forgotten to listen, his mind had returned to something that had happened before. With typical elven tact, he did not try even subtly approaching the subject. "What you did before, when I said 'Kiss mee', what was it?"

Pinkness crept across her face again, it was quite amazing really. "A kiss," she replied, looking embarrassed. "You asked and I provided. It's a way of expressing affection."

"Kiss," his tongue explored the unusual word. "It is not something I have ever done before. It was … nice."

She smiled faintly, if a little sadly. "Alas, I am not vested in the art. There is little need of a Harpy to kiss anything. Anyway, our appetite is satiated, let us continue on our way."

And so they did, although not without sadness and a certain melancholic longing, on the Harpy's behalf.

*

The sun sunk beneath the horizon, the world covered in a delightful glow that seemed to stir the waters on fire and made everything look softer. Exhausted, Sable landed on the seashore, only a few metres from a strange wooden structure. His arms throbbed, the muscles in his back singing with pain. Flight may have been easier, but it was no kinder on him. He glanced across at Hope and saw a similar expression of agony of her face. She flexed her wings a couple of times then folded her wings up, pulling a face.

"Quite a flight," she said, grinning, a little fakely, in Sable's opinion.

"Quite a flight," he agreed. "And I have flown both far and wide."

Hope stalked towards him, perching on a log. "Your world must be very exciting," she said, looking rather shy, "perhaps you might like to tell me about it?"

"No," he replied, having to turn away from the expression of pain on her features. It was almost as though he had physically struck her. "I do not wish to talk about it."

Biting her lip, as though to keep from crying, Hope turned, so that she faced out across the waters. Birds roosted along the shore line, the same birds he had seen, and eaten only a couple of days before hand. Much to his surprise, one of them stalked towards him.

"Have you found the one true Lord?" It asked, in a surprisingly humanoid voice, although somewhat reedier.

"What?" Sable's hand slipped to the knife he carried in his belt. Ever so carefully he drew it, trying to keep it hidden from the bird's beady black eyes.

"The Creator of all, because, if you had, perhaps you'd like to point Him in my direction!"

Sable drew the knife carefully, readying it for the blow.

And suddenly the long legged bird squawked and flapped away, as some sort of missile whistled through the air and thudded at its feet.

Cursing, and shocked to find that no words came out, Sable turned on Hope. "What do you think you were doing?" He screeched, still brandishing the knife.

With a startled scream, the harpy stood up and backed away. "The, the godwit was bothering you, I thought," her voice was getting shrill, as it did when she was startled, its pitch starting to hurt her ears, "don't hurt me! I didn't mean to upset you!"

Sable then realised that he was aiming a knife at her. Blushing slightly he quickly stowed it away in his belt, he felt somewhat guilty, and fought back his anger. It had been a long time since he had really had company. He must remember that.

"It would have been our dinner," he snarled, before turning his back to her and crossing his arms, strolling across the beach. He could not face her right now. That look of fear on her face, it had burned him, burned him deeply. Everyone it seemed either feared him or loathed him. He was the outsider, the outcast. The silent one.

His stomach rumbled, but he ignored it. On the sand in front of him small birds, with shorter legs then the godwits and somewhat faster on their feet, skittered about. He paused for a moment, watching what they were doing. There were three of them, and they seemed to be involved in some sort of strange dance. Firstly, one bird would peck out lines of dots in the sand, forming a square about two eights by two eights (16 by 16 for those using base 10 mathematics). Then each of the birds would take turns drawing lines between the dots, and when one formed a box, it would plant its foot firmly in the middle, leaving a neat footprint. The bird's feet were different from each other too, the toes positioned differently.

"Dotterals," a voice said behind him, and he turned, despite himself, to find Hope standing there, staring at him meekly. "Please forgive me Sable. I didn't know you wished to eat them. Please, accept this by means of an apology." She drew forward a sack with one claw, and unwrapped something – some sort of food stuff from the smell of things. "It's a chicken pie," she said, "I thought you might like it, cos, well, a chicken's a bird and there are easier ways to get things to eat here then to kill the wildlife."

Sable accepted the proffered pie, sniffing at it cautiously. It smelt just like cooked meat. The Windwalker had not dined upon cooked meat in quite some time. He took a bite through the thick pastry crust. The meat inside was hot, and steam poured out into the air. It was delicious, absolutely delicious.

Suddenly the godwits took to the air, making an immense racket. Sable jumped about a foot in the air, dropping the pie into the sand. The sound, the sound absolutely terrified him. He must hide now, run for cover! Trodding on the remnants of the pastry in his haste, he bolted, flapping into the air. A few moments later, heart pounding, he alighted in a tree and sat down. Slowly his heart resumed its normal pacing.

"What the *deleted* happened there?" He asked, as Hope flapped to land beside him, looking rather shame-faced and blushing like a peach.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, staring at the ground, "I told you I'm hopeless, I did it again. I forgot that chicken pies turn one into a scaredy cat."

"Scaredy cat?" Sable glanced at his hands, noticing they were covered in short black fur, which disappeared whilst he looked at them. "What the *deleted* is wrong with this place?"

It was almost a rhetorical question, but Hope answered anyway. "The land of Xanth is built around puns," she explained. "Puns and childhood innocence. As you may have noticed, you cannot emit certain words. That is due to the Censorship, a terrible ship that prevents people from speaking their mind. It is also due to a horrible thing called the Adult Conspiracy. Even though I am a Harpy, and we are taught fowl language from birth, it appears that here, far from my home roost, the conspiracy is in effect." She blushed, staring at the ground. "Until I turn eighteen, in a few weeks from now, you cannot use swear words around me, nor can we discuss," she paused, "stork summoning."

"But we discussed that yesterday!" Sable pointed out, confused. In his tribe things of an intimate nature had been common knowledge since fledglinghood, at about the age of two and a half eights of summers (20 for those who can't count, and since Windwalkers have a longer life span, this is about ten in human years). There had certainly been no attempt to hide such information from the chicks, although, thanks to his rather messed up childhood, Sable had spent most of those formative years trapped in a squalid shed, playing "pet" to a malicious human. And so the seeds of hate had been born.

"No," Hope pointed out, "we discussed stork delivery, the err, ordering process, is something else entirely."

"How you can even trust birds, with their feathery brains, with such an important task is entirely beyond me," Sable muttered. "Do you fill out order forms or something – 'I'd like a bouncy baby boy with black hair and wings and blue eyes please.'"

Again, Hope glanced away, trying to hide her scarlet cheeks. "I am sorry if I method of doing things offends you." She whispered.

Sable, once again, felt horribly guilty. He put his hand on her shoulder, marvelling at how soft and feathery her hair was – just like the down of a new chick. She was not really that displeasing to the eye, despite her strangely mutated lower body, her face and eyes were almost pretty. Sable felt a sort of desperate longing. Recognition was a wonderful thing, but it would be good, just for once, to engage in such acts, "stork summoning" as she called it, without being driven to by some strange and irresistible force. To take things slowly, tentatively. Then he remembered what she had said about being too young, and pulled his hand away, as though burned.

It would not work – could never work. He was a fool even to allow such things to cross his mind.

She turned to him, her eyes bright, wet with tears, and he realised then how close he had got to going too far. His being here was changing this world too much – he could not torment it further by breaking its rules, however bizarre they might be.

"So, where's this magic boat then?" He asked, trying to change the subject.

The duck-footed boat scampered along the seashore, chasing the godwits and dotterals as though it were some sort of dog. When Sable approached it, it backed up, almost tripping over its many feet in nervousness. Paras was bizarre, but Sable had been inflicted by many strange things here, and one more surprise did not matter too much. He accepted the fact that here was one of those float-on-water devices running around as though alive. It was just another one of the many Xanthian quirks.

"Please," he said, holding out his hands, "I'm not going to hurt you!"

The boat backed up, stopped and seemed to be eyeing him up and down, although it had no eyes and certainly no ears either.

"Would you please be so kind as to escort us to the Isle of Wolf?" Hope asked. It turned to, for want of a better word, face her, took two steps forward and backed up a little again, turning to Sable once more. "Please, he's mostly harmless!"

Sable had to crack a grin at that one. Mostly harmless indeed!

The boat swayed from side to side, plainly shaking its, well, self. Then the feet started moving and it walked away, rather swiftly, backwards, sinking back into the water.

Hope sighed, shrugging her wings in hopelessness. "Its no use, I think Paras must know what your quest could do to Xanth. Perhaps you should reconsider? Xanth is not really all that bad, and surely you could get used to being so far from your kin. There are many different species here, maybe you could even find some that you get along with."

"I must go home," Sable replied, "the world of Two Moons holds little for me, but the world of Xanth holds even less. This place is terrible, Hope, it is filled with silliness and stupid restrictions. I cannot live here."

He had offended her, and he knew it, for her eyes were getting that glistening effect again. Once again, the stupid Windwalker had overstepped the mark. "It is a good land," she said, her voice shrill.

"That it may be," he replied, "but it is not my land. Surely you can understand that? My home hurt me greatly, but, I feel drawn to it, a bond with it, something I cannot easily let go. How would you like to find yourself in a strange world? I mean, stranger then this."

"I would miss home," she replied, biting her lip, "for all its insults and terrors, I would miss Xanth. I understand. I think. But maybe Jenny will help you change your mind. She seems quite happy here."

"She has found love," Sable replied, as though that explained everything. "How can we convince the boat to escort us there?"

"We must find something it likes," she seemed disorientated by his sudden change of topic, but it had been getting too personal for him to continue on that train of thought any longer.

"Or we could use another method of bargaining," Sable pondered.

Hope's tanned skin paled again. "I would ask you not to bully it as you did the poor Good Magician, but I have a feeling you just wouldn't listen."

He looked at her worried expression and her dark eyes, so filled with sadness. Then he turned away. "It worked before, it will work again. It is the only way I know."

"Then do not expect me to help you," she replied. And then she slowly flew away.

Oh well, it was not as if he needed her anyway. So, he had to catch the boat. That would be easily done, judging by the fact that it was still chasing the birds up and down the beach. He left the beach and fossicked about in the undergrowth, eventually finding a strange plant that had a large fruit on it. The fruit had a thin, transparent skin, and when he peeled it back, out fell what looked, for all the world, like a roughly woven blanket. Well, Sable was not about to argue. A blanket would work sufficiently for what he had planned. Now, he had to find something to light a fire with.

After further search, a plume of smoke caught his eye, perhaps there was a fellow traveller, who would be willing to spare a brand from his fire. He approached gingerly, and was quite startled when he saw a small flowering plant, with delicate red-tinged petals, steaming gently into the early morning air.

Throwing the blanket over his shoulder, he tentatively picked the bud. It was warm to the touch and there was a small red flame buried beneath the petals. "Fireweed," he whispered, carrying it gingerly back towards the Paradox.

He could not see Hope at all, and a part of him was sad at the prospect that she had abandoned him. He did not know why it saddened him that she had vanished. He had got this far in life alone, and surely a bit more solitude would not harm him.

"Nice duck footed boat," he called, hiding the blanket and the fireweed behind his back.

Paras padded up to him curiously, cocking its "head" on one side, curiously. The feet bet against the sand, making a soft squishing noise. It would not come any closer.

"Please," Sable said, "I've been doing some thinking, and I would still really like you to escort me to the Isle of Wolf. Will you be so kind as to take me there?"

The boat paused for a long moment, then shook itself again, in denial.

"Right then, I'm sorry it had to come to this."

In one fluid motion Sable drew out the blanket and flung it over the boat. It was a big blanket, and when Para tried to walk backwards away, its feet caught on the blanket and it stumbled. Sable drew out the fireweed.

"Do you know what this is?" He did not know how the boat sensed things, but it seemed sentient, to a point. Gently he drew back one of the petals, letting a wisp of smoke straggle free. "This is fireweed, and fire is very bad to wood, isn't it?"

The poor boat was shivering now, obviously frightened.

"Right, well, take me and the young lady to the Isle of the Wolf, and I promise I won't burn you. How's that sound?"

Slowly, reluctantly, the boat tried to make its way to the water's edge, struggling with the heavy covering. It rested in the water in such a manner that Sable could have sworn it had sighed in defeat. He drew the blanket off, folding it neatly inside, and perched on the narrow seating, holding the fireweed in a prominent position.

"Hope!" He called, "Hope, we're ready to go!" He could feel the boat shaking beneath him, vibrating in a manner that was not entirely caused by water.

For the longest moment he thought the harpy was not going to join him, then he saw her, flapping towards him. She alighted in the boat, glaring at him.

"I hope you realise I do not approve of this one bit," she snarled, "but you need me along, lest you cause even more mischief." Softly she caressed Para's side, her wing gentle on the varnished surface. Sable felt his heart lurch once more. He really was a terrible person.

But he was not about to admit to anything. "Boat, take us to the Isle of Wolf," he commanded.

Still shivering, the boat began paddling out across the waters. The waves were gentle, lapping against the sides, and Sable felt some of the tension draining. How long had he spent, sitting by the water's edge, wishing he had something to say to the Wavedancers, something to do with his Recognised, Skimmer. He had hardly even known his own daughter. Seaswallow, elf of the air and the waves, a beautiful chick and one he could well be proud of.

Hope stared out across the waters, watching the shore disappear behind them, saying not a word, and Sable knew she had not forgiven him, would never forgive him. She came only to stop him doing greater harm to her beloved world. And look at what he had done upon entering here… He had threatened the beloved (if grumpy) Good Magician, eating a basilisk intended for a challenge, attacked the black-skinned human, bullied a boat into serving him… Truly, he was black of heart. And it was all Torturer's fault. But could he really continue to blame that human for all the evils in his life? It had been many hands of seasons, more then two eights and a half human lifespans. Torturer was long dead, lying in the ground, nothing more then skin and bones. Could he really hold a grudge quite that long?

But he had.

He allowed his eyes to study Hope for a moment – her small, strange figure, half bird, half humanoid, with her large nose and huge, dark eyes, so huge and innocent. Her wings, folded across her back, like tiny sails, and he felt a drawing on his heart. He had dragged her into this, dragged her into something that could, ultimately, destroy everything she held dear.

But he had to go home. This world was strange, and terrible, and quite nauseating. As much as his memories tortured him, he could not escape them by fleeing the world he knew.

Across the waters the dark shape of an island could be seen.

Sable gulped. "Hope?" He asked tentatively.

She grunted, barely audible above the waves. It was an acknowledgement of a sort, but she was not about to talk to him.

"I'm sorry."

She muttered something again, something fowl that he could not hear, but that had not been censored either. Maybe this far from shore they had escaped the influence of the censorship. Several of the butterflies, which still clung to her hair, curled up their wings and fell to the bottom of the boat, so it must have been a very powerful curse. They twitched slightly, slowly recovering once the effect had passed.

Glumly he sighed, and turned his attention back across the water. He would have to find a way to make her forgive him. He stroked Para's wooden finish. "I'm sorry," he whispered to the boat. A tremor passed beneath his hand, as though the boat were adding I'm sorry too.

A dock rose out from the waters before them, completing the pair-o'-docks. Para slid gently against it and Sable scrambled off, tossing the fireweed into the water as he left, in a manner that was sure to let both Hope and the boat see (if Para could indeed see). The island was small, and dark, and everything about it reeked of boding. Dark trees, bare of leaves, rose from the sides, from earth that was black and sterile. The ground was littered with fragile leaf skeletons. Thick black moss, moss that oozed, dribbled down the trunks of the trees. There were no wolves in sight.

Sable ran back to the dock, but Para had retreated out into the water, and was bobbing on the waves, as though laughing at him. His fireweed was gone – and the boat would not return to the dock. It had successfully tricked him. He glanced at Hope, who had not moved from the dock and was staring across the waters, still pointedly ignoring him. Her shoulders were high, her wings obscuring the more human parts of her anatomy. No one could look anymore dejected.

"We can always fly back," Sable remarked.

"It's not that easy," she sighed, and motioned upwards with one wing. Floating in the sky was a small, harmless, grey cloud. Otherwise, the sky was a crystalline blue.

"What, it's only one cloud?! I can fly with one cloud above me!"

She shook her head. "It's Cumulo Fracto Nimbus," she replied, "the worst of all clouds. Do not *expletive* him off, or he'll give you a dousing you'll never forget. He followed us here."

"How can a cloud be a 'he'? It's just a small, harmless cloud…" His voice faltered as he saw the small grey cloud transform into a not-so small grey cloud, gradually increasing in mass. "Oh."

"Yes. I suggest you don't anger him. Or we'll have to retreat into the spooky forest."

"Where are we anyway?"

Hope gulped, she was scared, he noted, fear had made her talk to him once more. "We appear to have reached the Haunted Isle. A place none dare go."

There was no response to that. Sable realised it had not been him doing the tricking – the boat had been in control all along. "Is there anywhere safe?"

"I do not know – none who have been here dare speak of it. It is more terrifying then any of the other haunted places in Xanth, even the Gourd. For there the evils are skeletons, and ghouls – here they are things you never see."

"That doesn't sound so bad. What's the Gourd?"

"It is easier to be frightened of what you cannot see then what you can," Hope replied, her voice shaking and cracking. "I hate you," she added, very quietly.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Sable replied, but there was nothing more he could say. He had hurt her, upset her, and now the two of them were trapped on this horrible, maleficant isle. It seemed an inappropriate time to beg for forgiveness. "Is there anywhere safe?"

"There are legends," she replied, "but I do not know much of them – I never went to Centaur school, and harpies have little concern for geography, except for a place to decorate with their droppings." She shuddered. "But once, a bard did come to our flock, a Harpy bard, with her feathers dyed in brilliant colours and a banana about her head."

"Don't you mean bandana?" Sable asked.

"No," Hope replied, then continued, "she told us a story about the Haunted Isle, an Isle that would drive you mad, and how she had met a human that had been there once, and his mind had been shattered by all he had seen and heard. He spoke of a great labyrinth, called the Singhe, for the noise the wind made as it moved through the rocks, and at its centre was a beautiful paradise. But the paradise was protected by lemures, spirits of the dead, who would allow now to reach its centre. He had been stranded on this Isle, whilst seeking the Isle of Woman, having displeased Para, much as we were today. So he sought out the sanctuary of the centre, but become lost in the singing rocks and the lemures got him, and broke his mind."

"Should we just stay on the shore then?"

Hope glanced across the barren shore, and nodded, "I think we should."

As if in response to her words, the sky above crackled, and both pairs of eyes turned upwards, staring at Cumulo Fracto Nimbus, king of clouds. He had expanded in size so that now he covered the whole of the beach in darkness. As they watched, lightning danced across his surface, and Sable imagined he could see a face, grinning evilly down on them.

Suddenly the cloud broken open, and a wall of rain fell on them. Luckily, like all birds, Sable had oil in his feathers, to stop them sticking in the rain, so he did not become an immediate bedraggled mess, but the rain was so thick that one could not hope to fly in it – it would be like flying through a river.

"We'll have to take shelter in the forest!" Hope shrieked, dashing for the skeletal trees. Sable darted after her, and behind them came a roll of thunder as the evil cloud laughed heartily at their misfortune.

"Schadenfreude," Hope muttered.

"That's quite a swear word!" Sable commented, shaking the water from his hair. His feathers were not too badly off, but his hair was matted and drenched thoroughly.

"Its not a swear word, its an old word the harpies use – it means seeing humour in another's misfortune. Harpies are rather skilled at that."

Skeletal leaves crackled beneath his feet, and he picked one up. It was so delicate and fragile it appeared to be made of lace. Indeed, it was almost beautiful. The leaves were the only thing of beauty in this dying forest. The black bark of the trees was oily to the touch. "I guess we go in search of this paradise then?" Sable suggested. He certainly did not want to linger here, in this decaying forest.

Hope shrugged. "I don't care," she replied, "I just want to get out of here as soon as possible." She was moving closer to the Windwalker, probably more from fear then that she had forgiven him. He doubted she would forgive him for a long time. If ever. And he had to confess, he had been rather ruthless. Of course, the boat had not been quite as gullible as he had thought – depositing them here.

He placed his hand on Hope's shoulder, and she did not shrug it off, or push him away.

Together they walked deeper into the dark forest…