Author's Note: Remember me? Dust to Dust was a story I posted some time back. I've decided to rewrite it entirely, giving it more details and making Dust's tale as vivid as I can. Reviews are naturally love.

My first memory is of my own tiny hands swallowed in another's, pounding on the taut hide of a drum as flickers of magicka danced around us. Warm arms around me, the roughness of my teacher's burlap collar tickling my neck, murmuring encouragement as the flickers of light grew stronger. I remember my fists thrumming from the power of the drum's calls as his belly-laugh made bass, Nordic rhymes echoing with the scent of tobacco and mead. The wind whistled through straw-stuffed holes, delicious thrills of cold shocking me as the winds howled through cracks, warmed quickly again by the blazing fire.

"Gabby," my teacher would chuckle, capturing my hands again as I began to flail wildly. "Not so fast 'er, cub. Remember words, too, eh?"

I would giggle and concentrate, teeth sinking into my lip as the spell blossomed and bloomed again. When I began to yawn and whine he would laugh again, raising a bristly brow and hoisting me over his shoulder. 'He wouldn't have crossed the room,' mum told me, 'before you'd be sound asleep in his arms.'

Falrung Spark-Eater, my tutor and dearest friend in the hovels of old High Rock. A bear of a man, gold-maned with a wide grin and hair he would always let me braid. With a lap enough for both my sister and I, we would sit together, Anya rocking and cooing to her corn dollie while mum, papa and Falrung would talk into the night. On the coldest of nights we would stay together until dawn, because it was the warmest room in the house, because even without a bed or blankets mum's gentle whispers and papa's hand in my hair was enough to send me to sleep.

"Gabriel. Wake up, sweet."

"Mmmf." I grumbled, curling into a tight ball and shrugging away the hand on my shoulder. "Sleepy."

"Your father is here."

"Papa?" I blinked awake, lurching from the bedroll and untangling myself from the sheets as Anya yawned, mum sighed and smiled. I glanced back, my small hands fidgeting. "Mumma?"

"You had bad dreams again, Gabby?" Mum tutted, smoothing a cool hand over my brow. "Maybe Falrung can help next time. Come on, then. Anya?" Mum moved past me, giving my sister's ruffled hair a playful tug. "Up, girls, don't keep him waiting."

Our bare feet padded across the stained floor, the door bursting open just as we met it. Anya jumped into papa's arms as I watched, blinking at the potions in his arms before moving to him and clawing at his tunic. "Uppy?"

"Uppy." Pa grinned, his hair bristled and snow spotted as he hoisted us both. His smile was always bright, and I remember how smooth his cheeks were compared to Falrung's. He smelled of something distant and chemical, like tombs and old flowers, his wiry hands capturing my sister's and mine before kissing both our wrists. I went wide-eyed at the curl of rope over his shoulder, reaching for the basket and potions it held.

"Stop it, Gabby." My sister reproached, her lips in a pout as she leaned to my father's cheek for a kiss. We competed fiercely for our father's attention in the little time he was home - I still nursed a bruise on my arm from our last child-fight. I leaned in, too, kissing his other cheek and reaching again for the dangling basket.

"My, such love I get." Papa chuckled, sliding us off and turning to mum, moving the tempting potions from my little hands again. "From the chapel. Sell them in the market."

Mum only nodded, glancing up and down my father with a strange twist of a frown. "Of course. Get dressed, Anya." My sister raced off, grabbing her clogs for her daily trip into the strange, loud streets haunted with beggars and ringing of baker's calls. I stepped forward, moving to my father's leg and holding him close, smiling to myself as he rubbed my hair.

Mum watched as Anya dressed, then turned to us, her arms crossed, hair loose and dangling inky black around her shoulders. Her eyes cast onto me, then papa, not quite smiling. "Is - her tutor coming tonight?"

"Yes. When we get back from the chapel."

My neck bristled, because something didn't feel right - there was no warmness between them, no laughter. Mum's laugh had become harder and crackly, like snow crunching underfoot, since Falrung taught me how to cast a flicker of a fire spell. I held it on my tongue, hot and blistering, shielding my fears in the rough warmth of papa's leg until his hand gently moved me away. "You get dressed too. I don't have long."

I obeyed, grabbing my own clothes and changing quickly, trying to ignore the niggling itch of starchy cloth I never quite got used to. Anya skipped ahead of me, moving to mum's side and taking the basket of rolls and bread by the door as mum shouldered the potions. "Goodbye, cherie. Listen and learn well."

I waved goodbye as mum left, papa gazing after her with a snow-fall quiet sigh until he reached for my hand. I took his and frowned as I followed him down the street, a feeling worse than itchy clothes wriggling in my stomach. I fretted, whining quietly until papa glanced down at me, his warm hand tightening as the wind blew our footsteps away. "What is it?"

With a shock, I realized, and jumped with clenched fists as I realized. "You forgot. Kiss mumma goodbye, you forgot." I whimpered, gazing up at him and biting my lip at his strange, broken smile.

"It's alright, sweet." He murmured, leading me on to the stone steps of the chapel. "I'll give her an extra one tonight."

"Tonight." I frowned. "Farun?"

"Falrung? Yes, he'll be coming. With his stories." Papa grinned, truly grinned, reaching down to gather me and pressing his shoulder against the great chapel door. "And you'll pour the wine, won't you?"

I giggled, wriggling until I could close my arms around him and play with the feathery wisps of hair at the back of his neck. "Yes!"

"And make it sweeter for us. Good girl." He kissed my brow, shadows falling around us as the chapel door fell shut. The world echoed strangely within, tiles beneath my feet cold and foreign, the stained glass gods staring upon me somehow unforgiving. I followed as we moved to the healing room, our footsteps shadowed and flickering in candlelight. He paused when we reached the door, leaning his forehead against it and sighing. A moan came from within, guttural and pained, a sound I had grown used to in becoming my father's apprentice. "Ready?"

I smiled, wanting nothing more to please. "Yes!"