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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Goddess FallenAngel" data-source="post: 1667817" data-attributes="member: 11434">I awaken to Sha'kar's gentle nuzzle. I have a roaring headache, and the light hurts my eyes. Still, by the position of the sun only a few minutes have passed. I raise my hand to my head reflexably, and find two startling developments. First, I am still holding Corwin's Trump - or what is left of it - a burned corner of a piece of paper. I can see the normal border of the Trump, but the illustration is pitch-black. Second, the skin of my hand is reddened and angry where it was touching the Trump. I may need to get this burn treated at some point…. As I move, Sha'kar retreats slightly to allow me to sit up.It is only as I arise that I see the slight circle of ash both on Sha'kar's back and on the ground near him. It is a fine grey powder, and is already being ruffled by the wind. And as I turn around, watching the dust swirl and puff in the mild breeze of Arden's afternoon, I see the final, most shocking change of the last few minutes.A sword stands straight up in the clearing. The point rests three or four inches into the soil, and the grass around the blade is seared away. It has a bright sheen to it, and there might be thermal ripples issuing into the air from it, but my vision is still focusing. It has a disturbingly familiar set of etchings on the blade, and the hilt is still moving slightly from side to side. I can feel the soft aura of power even from this distance.Greyswandir.I finish pulling myself to my feet, staring at the blade in the center of the clearing with shock. Using Sha'kar's tack for support as my head spins, I tuck the burned Trump into a pocket, attempting hard not to think of what it could represent.I wince as my burned hand contacts the cloth of my pocket, and feel the skin of my face tighten with a twinge of pain as well; much like bad sunburn. A short lock of hair falls before my eyes and I notice that it seems to be scorched as well, although luckily my hair is short to begin with."Sha'kar, kneel. I don't wish to attempt to mount with my vision and head as is." Sha'kar obediently kneels, whickering in concern, as I never use this method of mounting unless I am injured. I dust the ash from the saddle and swing astride, pausing for a moment to allow the pain in my mind to recede a bit and for my eyes to stop crossing. Patting Sha'kar on the neck and sending a wordless thought of comfort to him that I do not feel myself, I signal for him to rise. He quiets, being sensitive enough to catch the calming thought, and smoothly regains his feet. With my knees, I signal him to move forward towards the blade. He takes a few steps then snorts and paws the earth for a moment, reluctant to move closer. I lean low over his neck and murmur into his ear, urging him to Greyswandir. Flattening his ears against his skull, he steps forward. As we move closer, I can feel that my eyes did not deceive me - the blade had been emitting slowly cooling thermal ripples. The air in the blasted circle of grass is still warm, and the blade itself would likely still be warm as well. I move Sha'kar alongside, and consider reaching down to touch the pommel. It cannot truly be there in front of me. Corwin does not allow Greyswandir away from him... and if that is Greyswandir, then.... My thoughts were disturbed by the arrival of one of Julian's (or would it now be Orion's?) Rangers. Before he can speak, I maneuver Sha’kar and myself between him and Greyswandir; luckily, he had entered from the opposite side of the clearing. "Good day." I nod at him. "You'll have to excuse me," I gesture at the ground between us with my non-burned hand, "I had a bit of... bad luck during an experiment. I apologize for the damage this has caused Arden; it was not my intention." I reach down with my other hand and grasp Greyswandir's hilt, wincing at pain this causes my burns, and draw it from the ground. For a moment, I exalt in the feeling of the blade in my hand; but remembering the Ranger, I sheath it in the saddle-sheath I keep for a spare blade. My hand itches to regain the sword, and I clutch it into a fist and rest it on my leg to keep from reaching for Greyswandir once more."Are you... okay, milady?" the Ranger asks, eyeing my face and the bare ground with concern. "Mayhap I can escort you back to the castle?""That is quite unnecessary. I will be fine on my journey back, with Sha'kar." I lay a hand upon his neck; he is eyeing the Ranger with wariness, and I desire to calm him. "If you will excuse me, noble sir." I nod once more to him, and then turn Sha'kar with my knees and ride out of the clearing back the way I had come. I hear the Ranger turn his horse and canter off; no doubt to inform Orion of these events.Once out of view of the clearing, I lean low over Sha'kar's neck. "All speed, dearheart, back to the castle. I desire a run." He snorts in eagerness and tosses his mane as his hooves begin to pound the ground. I lose myself in the ride, recalling my old riding instructor's words. Galloping is hard work for both horse and rider, a fact that it little known among the unmounted. One must shift one's body to complement the movements of one's mount, always to make it easier for him to bear you. That is a very important lesson, Killa - your mount bears you out of willingness; make it too difficult for him and he will no longer carry you. The ride banishes thoughts of what I carried at my side for a time, but once we reach the castle grounds, I recall with awful clarity. I dismount from Sha'kar, pausing for a moment holding onto his saddle as my head spins at the foolish move. I push the pain to the back of my mind and draw Greyswandir from the saddle-sheath. I place with my current sword in the saddle-sheath, then sheath Greyswandir at my side. My hand lingers on the hilt, reluctant to release it. Corwin, Corwin, where art thee?.... I tap Sha'kar on the shoulder. "Down, great brute, I cannot enter the castle with you following like an oversized mastiff." He snorts, and nuzzles my face before shimmering and reforming as a dagger. I catch the hilt of the dagger before it can fall, and hold it close to me for a moment before I sheath it on my other hip.Facing the castle, I stride through the entrance, checking the time as I do so. Bleys should be in his study at the moment; his meeting with House Hendrake is tomorrow, and he is no doubt deciding how to handle them. I should have time.... I cradle my right hand against my side. I should have that looked at later... it may be serious.... I stride though the castle corridors unerringly, lost in thought. My feet bring me to Bleys' study in record time and I knock upon the door.A single word in a deep voice echoes from inside the room. "Come." I open the door and step within.</blockquote>

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