I have finally started the eighth chapter! It should be posted by the end of this week. Also, I have decided to make some minor adjustments to place this story in a medieval court like world I am making. Most of the changes will be in second chapter, but I doubt any will change the plot. I need a good name for the river. Does anyone have any ideas?

Mistress Terrow had insisted Gweneida get the place of honor in the bed, the middle. It was at least two hand lengths smaller than the one at the castle, and it held five bodies instead of one. Instead of swan down, it was filled with hay. Gweneida had never been more comfortable.

As a child Gweneida often remembered her dreams. Most were normal dreams. Short and random. But on a few occasions they had been special. Her earliest memory was one such dream. She had dreamt of the snow. Even though at her age, which could not have been more than two years old, she had never experienced it for herself, she had known what it was. Home.

Since then Gweneida had dreams she knew were more than average. A few times they came real in following days. And on two occasions she awoke to find some object from her dream a reality. Once it was a dress she had ruined the previous day in better than new condition. A year later it had been a pet bird, which was much harder to explain to her nurse. Both times she was grateful for her odd ability. The first kept her out of trouble, and the second provided her with a friend for many years.

It was not until nearly dawn that Gweneida had the dream. She had not had one since she was six or seven years old. Even so, the ten year lapse was null. Making no difference in her realization. The colors were too vivid and edges too sharp. She was in the castle, but only as an observer. Her father was a few feet off, and looked even more worried than usual. The lines across his brow were deeper than usual, and his figure more stopped. Beside him stood Micheal, whom waved away. Michael scuttled out of the room, his head down and his face ashen. I must get him out of there, Gweneida said though no one heard her voice, Once my dear step mother finds out I am alive, she will set her wrath onto him.

Gweneida stored that decision away as Faenach glided in. Although she wore nothing more than her shift and a robe, it was obvious she had not been woken. Not only was her hair free of frizz or tangles, but her robe was un wrinkled. Unlike everyone else who looked disoriented and scared, her eyes were sharp and her smile serene.

The crystalline dream became fuzzy, rearranged itself to show the forest. Even in her dream state, it comforted Gweneida and her tenseness eased. A slight movement caught her eye. She looked down to see Brendan sleeping on the forest floor.

At the sight of his exhausted form, guilt assailed her. In her relief of finding the Dwarves' home, she had forgotten about sending Michael to warn him. Amazement that he had rode to exhaustion

As if sensing her presence Brendan's eyes started to flutter open. Through sleep sated eyes he looked up at her and smiled. Gweneida opened her mouth to speak, but a loud banging stopped her. She turned around to find herself back in the cottage, sunlight just starting to enter through the window.

Gweneida rolled out of the bed, ignoring the startled grumbles of the other occupants. With out breaking stride she grabbed her cloak and ran down the stairs slipping it on as she went. "Where are you going this early?" Mistress Terrow asked from the table.

"There is someone out there that is looking for me," Gweneida skidded to a halt and did an about face. "I will be back as soon as I find him."

"You can't go out this early! You will catch your death of chill."

Despite her desperation Gweneida found herself smiling. "I assure you Madame, I will not catch a chill."

"Oh…I see," she paused and chewed on her lip. "But still, you shouldn't go without something to eat."

In reply Gweneida grabbed a loaf of bread and twirled back around.

She had just opened the door when she heard footsteps behind her. With a small groan she looked behind her to see a sleepy eyed Jason followed by Cianailill. "What were you saying about Gweneida leaving?" the elder dwarf asked.

"What?" Jason snapped awake in mid yawn. "She can't go out now. The sun isn't even out. Besides, isn't her stepmother trying to kill her? Seems like a good inclination to stay out of the woods if I ever heard one."

Gweneida twirled a lock of her hair and hesitated, but kept her hand on the door. "Even so, I can't leave him out there looking for me indefinitely."

"He who?" Jason emphasized each world, his posture deceptively relaxed.

"Brendan. He is staying at the castle and is a friend of mine."

"Ah, I see," Mistress Terrow smiled, gentling as she seeming to realize Gweneida's discomfort. "But I still think it is a bad idea."

"But I can't just…"

"You will not go out there," Cianailill spoke up.

"How…"

"You didn't let me finish," he cut in with a scowl darkening his already glum face. "You can not go, but someone else can go for you."

Mistress Terrow frowned. "I don't know if that is such a good idea. Wouldn't it be dangerous to whomever?"

"We can hardly leave the boy out there. And I doubt the queen will notice one of us in the woods," before any one could protest he turned to Jason. "You will go."

With a slight raise of one shoulder, Jason nodded. "I suppose I can comply this time. Where is he?"

"On the west side of the ??? near the Twisting Oak."

Jason bowed and sauntered to the door. "I shall return shortly. But if during the call of duty I…" Cianilill shut the door in his face, muttering under his breath as he headed toward his workroom.

Gweneida followed. It had not escaped her notice that he had known the precise location of Brendan and she wanted to find out why. Once inside Cainilill did not shut the door, proof that he knew of Gweneida's presence though he had not voiced his consent. He limped over to a chair and sat down. Instead of joining him, she leaned against the stone door, and heard it shut behind her as if in a different room. To keep herself from staring at him, Gweneida found her eyes wandering.

The room was sparsely furnished. A large stone table was it's prominent feature, large and ornate. Atop it was a mirror, though it was not nearly as decorative as the ones Gweneida was used to at the castle. Behind the table was a wooden bookcase, turned gray with age. There were not many more than a dozen books, but all seemed ancient and fascinating with their worn covers and fading titles. On one side of the table there were two chairs. One was tall and made of the same stone as the table, atop it sat Cainilill. Beside its stateliness the wooden chair seemed shabby, though on it's own it was a work of art.

Overall the small chamber had a feeling of familiar coolness that soon soothed Gweneida enough to take the other chair beside Cainaillil. "How did you know" she said in a clear tone that seemed to echo against the crystal walls.

"Last night I saw him in the glass," he glanced toward the table where the mirror lay.

Gweneida decided to question how he did so, but put that off for later." Alright, but you just left him out in the woods unprotected?

"I couldn't go out into the woods in the idle of the night. Some things out there can harm even me,"

An unfamiliar heat settled in Gweneida's stomach. Momentarily it unsettled her enough to withhold a response, but she pushed it aside for more pressing matters. "Which explains why you left someone much more helpless than you out there."

"I did what I could from here. Besides the protection given by the ??? river, I sent several wards to keep him safe."

Although Gweneida still felt unsatisfied, she could find no fault with his argument. She stood and started to pace the floor, each time she came to the window looking out.

On the fifteenth or sixteenth lap she turned out of the room and back into the kitchen, decided action would pass the time more satisfactorily.

When Brendan awoke he had the vague feeling of being watched, but not in the typical uneasy way which makes the back of your neck prickle and your hearing get acute. Rather, it was the feeling of your mother watching over you while you were asleep, or otherwise occupied.

Consequently, Brendan washed with a soft smile on his face and much more confidence than when he fell asleep the previous night. Given his sense of hope, when footsteps sounded behind him Brendan's smile turned from soft to bright. But as the sound increased, the smile slipped. The rhythmic fall of feet did not match Gweneida's fleet but grounded walk, instead it was a much faster hitch kick.

Brendan put his hand on his sword as the stranger walked out from behind a tree. "Well, I am sure glad I rushed over," said a smug masculine voice with a faint musical lilt of a Lanorian. When the man came close enough to reveal his face, Brendan loosened his grip. Although he was uncommonly beautiful, he was not threatening.

"I apologize if I seem uncivil, but after the day I suffered, I can act no differently."

"Apology accepted, I imagine you have been surely tried."

While he was scrutinized by a pair of blue eyes Brendan dismounted. After a pat on Sunshine's shoulder he turned to the other man. When he saw no one he frowned in confusion, looking from side to side. A small cough drew his attention down. Much farther down than Brendan thought was his face.

"Before you temp yourself to ask," he said with slight mockery. "My name is Jason."

"Brendan," he answered. "May I enquire why you are here?"

"I was sent to retrieve you."

The feeling he woke with returned with a vengeance and with it a bright smile split his face. "Gweneida?"

"In a roundabout way," although Jason did not twitch his entire form stiffened. His eyes looked Brendan up and down. After a timeless second he loosened, apparently accepting or approving.

"Retrieve away," Brendan took Sunshine's bridle in hand and started in the direction Jason came from. When footsteps failed to sound behind him he turned back. "Which way?"

At first Brendan feared Jason would refuse, but he nodded instead. Soon they were in the maze of trees with only the memory of the ??? left. The journey was silent and somewhat awkward. While Jason looked ahead, Brendan would sometimes observe him. He felt he was likewise watched. Although he could find no fault with him, and in many ways found him likable, Brendan could not shake off the feeling of slight unease.

Although he knew their journey could not have taken more than an hour, it seemed and endless path of identical black trees. Finally, they arrived at a clearing, which had a cottage inside it. Two steps in a loud crash sounded from inside. It was followed by running footsteps, a door banging, and Gweneida flying out. Brendan met her halfway, scooping her up into a big hug.

"You're here! I was so worried!" she managed to get out between gasps. "Are you alright?" stepping back she started to look him over.

"Fine, I am fine Gweneida," he laughed.

"Good," she smiled, and Brendan got his first good look at her. She was wearing a wrinkled and dirty dress, her hair was loose, and on her nose there was a smudge of flour. By the rules of court she should have been a disgrace, but she looked beautiful. A blush graced her cheeks where before they had been pale, while her eyes sparkled with newfound happiness.

Before Brendan could comment on her changed appearance she ran over to Jason to give him a hug as well. A twinge of jealousy pierced him, but it receded when she stepped back much sooner than she had done with him. "Thank you so much for bringing him to me safe Jason!"

"It was my pleasure," was his answer. It was said with practiced charm, and with a flawless bow to go with it. Seeing Jason look and act so much like a courtier made Brendan aware of his bedraggled appearance. He shifted, trying to hide the grass stain on his shirt from where he had slept.

"Come inside, you must meet my rescuers," Gweneida grabbed Brendan's hand and headed back towards the cottage. Grateful for the distraction he nodded, eager for a warm meal and bed.