Devlin's mind suddenly reels, "It has only been a 3 days for them!" The thought practically yells in his head.

Then Cyan and Dorian have the cube and there is some discussion. Devlin has no interest in the thing, other than to say, "These should be taken as far from Amber as possible. I remember Berd taking the last one off to dispose of it. Can you do the same with these two? That's if the others are successful in acquiring theirs."

He looks around a bit, "Then I really think that you should rest if it has really only been three days since Charyk, as Trista has just informed me. Cyan and Dorian can rest here with Beldrin and I can keep watch. I have had a lot longer to recuperate than either of you."

A crestfallen Cyan, embarassed at her outburst, turns to Trista with a weak smile.  "My apologies, Trista.  It is only that it feels...wrong.  When we first took it, I felt the places it has been - they are dangerous, sickened, and...."

Her voice trails off.  When she begins again, it has grown thoughtful, and the embarassment fades from her pale emerald eyes.  "Perhaps its carrier was a master of the Broken Pattern.  That would explain the Worlds it has imprinted, would you not say, Dorian?"  She glances up at Trista, her smile stronger, but kinked with irony.  "Of course it could be examined.  I merely reacted to what I felt.  I recall I thought much the same when I first laid eyes upon a Cube."  She does remember, but it is fragmented.  So much is still cracked and broken in her thoughts, slowly settling into place with jagged edges upon which to cut oneself, and bleed out emotion as Cyan has done here.

Berd glances up, nods slowly.


"Resting may be a find idea," Cyan notes, glancing to Dorian.  She has felt his weariness, through their link.

"Yes," Dorian agrees. "A bit of rest would be fine, if only while the storm passes and no other emergencies press upon us. Yes, the worlds could have been the result of a path chosen by the broken pattern, especially a path chosen in haste. Perhaps this gives us a clue about the bearer and their mission.

But if we must press on, I can do without rest. I have done so many times in the past."

He won't be the one to hold up their quest.

Beldrin glabces at the cube, briefly, when it first appears.  "That appears like the one I had for a while.  I seem to recall that they grow, slowly, as they gain more faces.  Well... that one looks to be the right size."

He grins at Cyan, "And though I'm losing another one of the things to you, I'm glad that, if it needs to be destroyed, you have a way of doing it, because, quite frankly, I have no idea how it should be done."

The woman seems... disappointed, but with herself. Unsure of how she brought about this state in Cyan, Trista keeps her face calms as the woman talks. Perhaps something will become clear. It doesn't.

Whatever it was seems to fade as her voice grows thoughtful and then strong. Trista has never heard of the Broken Pattern and is mildly disappointed when Dorian doesn't respond to that line of thinking from Cyan. Or perhaps he does but silently. Thus is the life of hidden communications.

Berd will, no doubt, do as Devlin requests and destroy it once the other is in his possession. Now rest seems to be the order of the day, though Trista wonders if she is suppose to go someplace with Devlin assigning places or tasks to each of them but her and Berd. The little dragon, no doubt, needs rest after his exertions in Charyk.

“Dorian, I'm sure Berd will let us know when the others are ready to move on. Please, feel free to rest. Perhaps I will go without the bounds of this fortress you constructed,” amusement colors her lips as she glances toward Berd, “for a bit. I have done nothing to tire me except sitting in this hut for hours; I'm eager to stretch my legs.

“Berd will let me know if you need me here, I'm sure.”

Her eyes touch each in the room with a slight smile and a nod before she heads out the door.

"Rest then," Cyan agrees with Devlin.  "Dorian, Trista, I think you are correct; we must spare the time, while it is here.  It boots nothing to press onward while exhausted."  She glances at Trista - the other woman is a fount of stamina.  "With Trista on guard, I feel no concerns with sleep."

The bard unrolls her bedroll, pushing it to and fro until it seems comfortable enough.  I should begin work on my palanqueti...I could at least sketch them.  "I will stay up for half a bell, I think.  I have some work to do," she notes.  Her hand comes up in a wave to Trista as the woman slips out the door of the shelter, into the 'outer fortress'.  "Not to worry, Beldrin.  Berd will dispose of the cube immediately.  According to Luke, such things are beacons to the Enemy.  We must see it broken."

She settles her pack at her back, and picks up her pens and book, fiddling with them for a long moment.  How long has it been, I wonder, for Devlin?  From the look of amazement, a long time.  Years?  She recalls Jack leaving them for an hour, and returning after a very long time for himself.  The same with Aaron - several days stretched to over a hundred years.

Cyan realizes how careful she needs to be in her own World Walking - should she do the same, split from the group in the same way as they, she could be obliterated by Time's Hand before any of them knew she was gone.

"Will you rest, Dorian?"  She glances to the dark man, essays a smile.

Berd, looking abandoned, circles around for a moment on the ground then pads over to the cube.  He settles himself upon it, lets out a musical 'cheep', and slowly fades...taking the cube with him.

"I'll go with you." Devlin says to Trista, "We can keep guard while the tired rest."

Devlin nods at Cyan and then Dorian and then follows Trista out into the weather. "Perhaps we can talk a bit, if you would like, or if not... well."

Her eyebrows do a slight jog at Cyan's guard comment, then Trista smiles and nods before she makes it to the door. With Devlin following, Trista leaves the fortress, too. They enter the rains which still soak the ground.

For a moment, Trista stands very still. Her eyes close and she lifts her head slightly and inhales the clean scent of freshly washed earth. While her hair once again plasters down around her head, she opens her eyes with a sigh. “I've always loved the wind and the rain. Storms, in general.” She turns to Devlin with a shrugging smile, “Silly perhaps, but they feel fresh and untamed.”

Her eyes search around them, through the rains, “Let's walk.” If he acquiesces, she begins a circle around the fortress.

“I suppose I'm not the most gregarious person, I apologize for not talking within the hut. Some matters seem private.” Her eyes seek his again and then slide down to his wrist, “like what happened.”

Devlin follows Trista when she says "Let's Walk"

Then she speaks about things she would not earlier; his eyes follow her's as move down to his wrist. He looks at the thing there and replies, "Even after all this time I still do now know what it is capable of. I did not know until it took your thoughts that it could communicate that way with anyone but myself."

The man then looks up at Trista, "I feel like I've invaded your privacy. I know that I did the same with Ren, back in the square, but what I took from him wasn't personal. I'm sorry. It should not happen again. I've instructed Nightbrand to stay out of the thoughts of others..." The last sentence has a tone to it that says Devlin is not sure if Nightbrand will follow his instructions or not.

Even Devlin doesn't know what his – whatever it is – can do. Intrigued, Trista's eyes rise to his face and then turn forward when he apologizes. She's unsure how she feels about the intrusion. Anger doesn't quite fit, yet acceptance doesn't either.

For now, she'll live with 'conflicted.' But she owes him the complete truth. Keeping her eyes forward, she tips her mouth up to catch rain a moment and then explains, “There is more you might not know. I saw something, too. Of you and your past.” Her eyes turn again to Devlin, “Of your pain.” She pauses a moment for him to take it in before continuing, “It was not my choice; I believe what you carry around your wrist showed me, though until in the hut, I was unsure just how I shared your memory. I, too, am sorry.”

Devlin looks at his wrist again, he does not ask Trista what she was shown, instead he silently asks Nightbrand.

It does not take long before he looks back at the girl.

"That was, a bad time in my life. I had thought, well, it seems that I was mistaken. I jumped to a conclusion and allowed my anxiety to drive me a bit mad. It seems that Serena also was looking for me, if one of us had stayed in one place perhaps we would have found each other instead of me franticly searching. I am also speaking to her now, but, for me, it has been a very long time since I've seen her. I need to tell her just how long."

As they continue to walk Devlin looks up into the storm. "I'm not at all sure of my own feelings, now. I stood on that hill... a very long time."

Then he stops and Looks into Trista's eyes, "I don't mind someone knowing, and I would rather have it be someone that doesn't know me as well as some of the others. If Nightbrand had revealed this to one of them I may... I would not have been able to stay. Well, maybe not if it was Cyan. I think she would understand."

Listening intently to Devlin's words, and gleaming a bit of the feelings behind the words, Trista feels for the man. Whoever this Serena is, Devlin had loved her. Probably still does. Nobody allows ages to pass while standing on a hill for anything less. Still, she can see how hard this must be. She can feel it.

The woman also must carry the power of Berd to be able to communicate with Devlin from a distance, or perhaps it is Devlin himself though Trista doesn't believe so from what she's seen of the man's abilities thus far.

They've stopped around the corner of the fortress, providing a bit of relief from the winds. She stands close to Devlin so that they might hear each other above the storm without resorting to shouts. Trista smiles through the rain at her companion, “Sometimes it is easier to be open with those we don't know than with our closest friends or family. I don't know why, perhaps the fear of judgment just isn't there. I'm glad you don't mind, Devlin. I don't either.

“Serena... is a beautiful name.” Trista pauses, letting those words drift through the slicing rain.

Her eyes leave the man's, looking past him into the dark grey. “It seems we share a thing or two. You stood with your grief on a hill for lifetimes. I wandered Shadow,” the more familiar term naturally takes the place of the newer, more politically correct term she's recently learned, “carrying my grief with me. Both of us were alone. Both empty.”

The woman inhales deeply before turning her stormy eyes back to Devlin, “I know what it is to lose someone... important. Someone I love. But I don't know what it is to find that person again. And I never will. Devlin, it sounds as if you've been given a gift. But, of course, that is not for me to decide.”

Her eyes stay with him, her arms crossed over her chest. She obviously wishes to speak longer, learn more, connect with someone who has been through this.

"My loss was not the same as your own. I knew, or was pretty sure, that Serena was alive, just misplaced somehow."

Devlin is thoughtful for a moment, he can see that Trista is reaching out to him, looking for something, he's just not sure if he has any answers for her.

"I was young and Serena was the first time I had feelings like that. It has been a long time, at least it has for me and I've changed since then. What was devastating to me at the time now seems... not."

"Your situation is different, Christopher... his name was Christopher? He's not simply lost or misplace. How long has it been?... since that night in the rain when you lost him?"

If Trista were a more verbose woman, she would have immediately interrupted to argue that a lost or misplaced love could be much harder to deal with than when the fate is known. However, she doesn't get to it fast enough, and instead gives him a wide berth for his own thoughts.

The naming of Christopher startles the woman, confusion playing across a normally controlled face. All becomes when Devlin furthers his questioning. Trista hadn't expected to speak directly of Zane, but the mix-up needs to be corrected. Though subtle, she's visually shaken as she fights to keep her face calm. A lost cause, of course. Emotion hangs there for any discerning eye to see.

A few moments later, she makes eye contact again, “Christopher – was a good friend. We fought side by side. It was hard when he died, very hard.”

Another lengthy pause as Trista's eyes close and her jaws work. Finally, she again looks into Devlin's eyes, “But he is not the one. I -” She considers simply touching the thing wrapped about his wrist and showing Devlin, but even now, she considers his privacy. She simply must say it.

“His name was Zane. He died a short time after Christopher – beaten and hung alongside two others. We were resistance fighters of a sort, and...

“I'm sorry; I have never spoken of this. Not like this.” She had shared some with Berd, but in thoughts and not words. Words seem harder.

The woman's normally perfect posture sags slightly under the weight of memory and storm. She swallows the pain and answers his question, “About 80 years. But I knew his fate; I did not spend years wondering. I imagine that would be more difficult.”

Devlin had the wrong person, the vision he'd seen from Trista's thoughts was of Christopher's death. Zane had been one of the others there with her, the one that insisted they pray for the dead Christopher.

He sees how difficult it is for her and he knows the feeling. He'd seen the effects such a think can have on a person; first when Dorain had thought Cyan had been lost and then again when he... Devlin himself would rather not think about that time. Though he realizes now, with years of maturing, that what he felt then was... like when a small boy realizes that his first crush does not return his feelings. When it came to such matters, he was a small boy then. He'd lived his entire life to that point sheltered on the estate one or both of his parents had provided for him.

But there was another loss, one he has not spoken of. He remembers the small girl. He remembers watching her grow. He'd tried not to let himself get emotionally attached to her. Devlin knew that she would age and die. He saw it coming and there was nothing he could do about it... Perhaps he did understand in some small way. He avoids thinking about it because the wound is still fresh. The man compares the pain of the second loss with that of the one that drove him nearly mad...

"I'm sorry, I'd thought, it was your memory of Christopher that...

Devlin looks at Trista, for a moment he thinks about holding her to try and comfort her in some little way, dismisses the idea, thinks about it again. Stepping closer to her he wraps his arms about the girl's shoulders. "I've heard it said that time heals such wounds; it is a lie."

He tells her the truth as he sees it. Why tell someone something you know to be untrue. "All we can do is learn to live with the memory, and with the pain. Sometimes it just takes a long time to figure out how."

Devlin himself had never really thought about it is this way and is realizing it himself for the first time as he says the words. Then he thinks further, to the future. The next words are more of a revelation to himself than trying to comfort the girl that he is embracing. Very quietly he says, "We are different. All residents of shadow, any we care about, will eventually grow old and die while we continue on." Maybe he already realized it, maybe that was why he would rather be alone; no involvement; no danger of the loss if you never let them get close.

It's doubtful Devlin realizes the multitude of chords he touches when he wraps his arms around Trista. Aware the man means to embrace her, she stiffens for the alien touch; it has been many years since she's hugged someone other than a child giving thanks for a service rendered.

His evident strength proves gentle and the man careful. After the initial shock, Trista relaxes into him, her chin resting against his shoulder. A solitary tear finds its way down her cheek, obliterated by the rain. Time has not healed her wounds; certainly many would question her sanity for allowing grief to control her life for so long.

Strength of body, spirit, and mind have always been Trista's mundane abilities. She prides herself on being strong, or as close to pride as she gets. But when Devlin's voice lowers to just under the sound of the thunder to utter truth, that's when she breaks down. Perhaps not the type of break down others experience, but nevertheless, her face buries into the man's shoulder and her hands reach up to white knuckle the front of his coat.

On a rare break from the life of explosions and screams, Trista walked out of a friend's adobe home and past a filled -and clean!- pool to be pulled down to share Zane's pool chair with him. Her toned body merely hinted at the considerable strength found within her body; a strength she kept hidden from the world.

Laughing and kissing, Zane paused and looked at Trista with wonder rounding his eyes, “God, you're beautiful.” He drew his hand up to finger through her hair, “You know, you still look like you did when I first met you.”

Trista nervously laughed, “No, I don't! 19? I don't think so.”

“No, you do. Not a single grey hair. Not a sign of crow's feet or any wrinkles anywhere. Still a perfect body and round in all the right places. No sagging...” a playful eyebrow wriggled on his forehead.

“Hey, I'm 35, not 60! I guess my birth parents just gave me good genes. Why, are you jealous?”

“No way, I'm proud of my wrinkles!” He squinched his face to display all the crow's feet in full glory, pulling laughter from both of them.

“Yeah but don't forget, you've got a good 8 years on me. You're an old man, Zane.”

“Maybe, but I still got you, don't I?”

“And you always will have me.”

Her real father had neglected to tell Trista she wouldn't age. She learned that the hard way, watching Zane grow older while she stayed young, though he died well before suspicions grew too thick. Now tears stream into Devlin's wet coat not only for Zane, but for her foster parents and her brothers and sisters; all long dead.

“It's a curse,” strangled words barely heard over the rain.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:59, Mon 20 Aug 2007.

Berd rises through a void, bounded by an infinite galaxy above and an unearthly river below.  But as always, his mind is elsewhere.

Many elsewheres.

Devlin can feel the girl break down and is sure this is the first time she's let the grief to the surface. He's not at all sure what to do or say so he just continues to hold her and let her weep.

Then her very quiet words about it being a curse. That it could be, and he again recalls the small girl, Ishy. He'd seen her grow, then grow old. He could tell Trista that it is better not to get involved, to not let any of them get close, but if not for Ishy he'd likely still be standing there on the hill, waiting for the Archons to cause the end of everything.

Instead he says, "It's a curse we must learn to live with."

What's the phrase? It's better to have lost in love than never to have loved at all? With Zane, that proved true. Trista wouldn't trade those years with him for anything, even for an easy life with someone who would age with her. Life had been hard, but also very rewarding. And with the Zane at her side, everything seemed possible.

Had Devlin experienced those same feelings with his Serena? Was she ageless or mortal? The fact that she had spent a long time searching for Devlin would lend to her being ageless, too, but that is purely supposition on Trista's part. All the more bittersweet if they cannot recapture what they once felt.

Trista stays within Devlin's embrace, taking odd comfort in his touch. She had thought she would heal through withdrawal and anger, but human touch proves much more soothing to her soul. She feels no need to speak, not yet. If the man could stand for eons on a hill, he probably wouldn't mind a few minutes in the rain.

The woman's body relaxes, the grip on Devlin's coat loosens, and single tears run down her cheek instead of the harsh flood of a few minutes ago. Her thoughts skip around from memory to memory, all centered around Zane. She had been happy through those years. Wouldn't he want her to remember that instead of focusing on his death? It's a hard bridge to cross, but she finds she wants to take that walk across the dark river to the light on the other side. Slowly, perhaps, but still the first step resides in her heart: she finally wants to heal.

After quite some time – fifteen minutes? thirty? an hour? - Trista lifts her head from Devlin's shoulder and lifts only rain-wet eyes to the man. She searches those kind eyes and finally says, “I always thought I was strong,” she breaks into a wry smile, “and here I weep like a baby against your strength. I like this fate of yours.” A reference to Devlin's earlier statements of not believing in coincidence. “Thank you.”

The man continues to stand still and allows the girl to cry herself out. Devlin wonders if she had ever allowed these feelings to surface before or if she'd spent 80 years keeping them buried, not allowing them out. Likely so, and that is something that makes them the similar, he still keeps his feeling buried, but there was a time that he did the same as she was doing now, though he did not have a shoulder to do it on...

...Is was raining and Devlin watched from his place on the hill as the towns people lowered her into a grave at the foot of that hill.

The people paid no attention to the watcher, the tree at the top of the hill with the iron-like bark, but the tree watched and weeped. The tree weeped for more than the loss of the one that was laid to rest; it also weeped for the loss of the girls mother, for her grandmother, for her great-grandmother, and for another. The tree shook violently with the weeping, though none noticed, the rain and the wind masked it even if someone had looked.

It had taken a long time, but the tree that was really a man was finally letting it all go; the anger, the sorrow, all the feelings he had kept buried for so very long bled out of him...

In the morning the storm was gone, and so was the tree. It was time to move on...

...They stood there, Trista and Devlin, for a long time in the storm. The storm around them seemed to subside a bit and so did the woman's weeping. Her body no longer shook so hard with her sobs, only a little quake now and then as she breathed deeply. Even that passes with time.

Then she looks up at him and into his eyes, apparently looking for something; Devlin wonders if she found what she was looking for.

The comment about fate throws him a bit. He did not really believe in fate...

He finally releases her. The storm was passing and here on the leeward side of Dorian's fortress the rain barely touches them now. The man puts his back against the wall. He never did mind the rain, he was used to being outside most of the time. Only seeking shelter with others when he must.

Thinking they should not dwell on old wounds any further right now he decides to explain part of his beliefs. Devlin looks up into the storm and begins to speak...

"I may not believe in coincidence, but I do not necessarily believe in fate either; believing in fate would mean that I believe we have no choice, that no matter what we do the result will always be the same.

"I believe that there is a natural flow in the universe and that one can either let that flow carry them along or fight against it.

"Those that make no choices and allow the flow to carry them as it will, for them it is like fate, they will end up wherever the flow takes them having made no choices along the way.

"Then there are those that steadfastly refuse to allow the flow to take them, they always make the choice to go in the opposite direction; to battle against it.

"Those that fight the flow also cause the flow to change in order to flow around them. Those that fight change not only there own destiny, but the destiny of the entire universe. The destiny of every world."

Devlin pauses here to look at Trista, "In between the extremes there is an infinite number of variations. I allow the flow to take me where I should be and fight against it when I believe I must.

"The flow brought me here where I was able to help save the man inside and in the process we likely saved Cyan. She may have entered that keep on her own; tried to take him out with force rather than stealth. Many, including Cyan, might have been injured or worse in the process. Instead we were able to complete the task with no blood shed."

For a moment it appears as if Devlin is going to say something else, but then he doesn't. Instead he looks at Trista with his head cocked to one side.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:50, Fri 24 Aug 2007.

When Zane died, the tears flowed. Tears of rage. Tears of frustration. Tears of futility. Then came the years of dry eyes. Never did Trista allow herself to feel the loss completely and fully. Until now.

When Devlin withdraws to lean against the solid structure behind them, Trista feels the cold. She's a woman who's seldom bothered by weather or shifts in temperature but the emotional drain has sapped her energies and without Devlin's body warmth, she suddenly feels the need for her jacket. After all, a simple t-shirt doesn't protect much against anything.

As he speaks, she draws the jacket out of the pack on her back and slips it on. She stands facing Devlin with arms crossed. She listens intently with her eyes watching his face at times, the dark wall behind him at other times. He has an interesting way of looking at the universe. Trista has never believed in fate either, choosing to create her own path instead. Though at times, others have chosen it for her...

When he looks at her, she meets his eyes, intrigued by his viewpoints on what brought him to Cardigart. The flow, as Devlin calls it, could have brought him here for so many reasons. Beldrin, Cyan, Trista, Serena... to finish the healing begun on that hill.

Words suddenly cease, before saying something he chooses to put off. The way he looks at her, head tilted to one side, he seems to be studying her or waiting for her. Trista takes a deep breath and tucks a lock of hair behind an ear before crossing her arms once again.

“I've never been much of a philosopher. I've tried, but never got anywhere with it. There are a few things I'm sure of, but very, very few. I always rejected fate, knowing that I control my own destiny even when others have a hand in it. I think I've believed in coincidences, but I can see the other side, too. Perhaps that's my problem – each argument seems to have merit.

“But whatever it is, coincidence, fate, serendipity, the flow, I do feel that I belong here with this group, performing these tasks. I don't know, maybe it's just my own subconscious nudging me in a direction, any direction. A path which allows me to fight for something worthwhile again.”

Trista shrugs with a half chuckle, “Or maybe I was brought here to find Berd so he has somebody else to feed him.”

She wants to ask him of Serena, but senses that it is not her place to broach the subject. That would be up to him. Instead she smiles warmly, and her arms uncross to slip in her back pockets, “Whatever the underlying reasons, I'm glad. I feel better than I have in a long time. ” Her eyes shine with what remains unsaid, much of that is due to you.

“Tell me something of yourself, perhaps of your childhood or a favorite place. Or more on your views.” Though the storm has let up, Trista judges there's still time before the sun rises.

Devlin chuckles a bit when Trista mentions being drawn to the group to feed Berd, he knows that isn’t the case. There is always some reason...

"That's just it, isn't it. We are drawn to this, we find it gives us some meaning, to make some difference. I'm glad that you’re feeling better."

It would seem strange to most to see two people standing in the, talking, as if the sun was shining. They could go inside, but for some reason he'd rather stay where he was. Devlin was finding it good to talk, he hadn't really done so in this way with anyone for some time.

Tell her about himself... This girl may actually be the first to ever ask Devlin that, to be interested in his past.

"Did you know your parents?" but he doesn't wait for a reply, "I've never known mine, don't even know who they are. I'm told that my father is a prince of Amber. I've guessed that my mother is from Chaos, or very close to there. I learned that it is those from Chaos that are able to do the things that I do.

"I was left to be raised on an estate that was provided for by one or both of my parents. I suppose it's entirely possible that my father doesn't even know I exist. But other than servants and my teachers there was no one else.

"This is the second time I've been drawn to this group of people when I wasn't looking for them, though that isn't entirely true. When I left the estate where I was raised I had it in my mind to find this Amber and discover the truth of things. I'd never been there and could not find it. Eventually I discovered that when I was in my traveling form I could smell the path I left when I moved from world to world. I knew that those from Amber could travel in a similar way so I set out to find that lingering sent, to follow it in hopes it would guide me to this Amber. That is how I found her... Serena. Maybe I was drawn to her because we were alike, I don't know." He shrugs.

"I was again headed for Amber, and I've come close this time, but in truth I was only headed there because I didn't know what else to do. That's when I saw Berd on your shoulder in the square. I could have continued on my way but, like I explained, there must have been some reason, perhaps more than one reason, why I came to be in that square at just the right moment."

The man smiles at her, a toothy smile that might remind some of the grin of a wolf. It is the first time that Trista has seen a genuine smile on Devlin's face. "Funny the way things work out."

"And you?" he asks. "How did you discover you could travel through shadow. I'd be interested to know how you do so and I can show you how I manage it, if you’d like. Though I can only travel that way myself, I cannot draw others through shadow the way some of the others can, or at least I haven't discovered how yet."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:37, Wed 22 Aug 2007.

“...To make some difference...”

Devlin has it exactly right. Trista knows her years of selfish folly and thoughts of revenge are over. At least, she hopes. These sort of changes do not complete themselves in a single night.

He begins his reflections with a question, but does not expect an answer. Trista stands still in the rain and gives Devlin her full attention. Parts of their pasts ring similarly, others vastly different. He mentions 'traveling form', prompting a quizzical look from the woman, though she does not interrupt him. Of course, she's seen the man shift into the guise of another, or rather, she's seen the effects of the shifting. Perhaps this is to what he eludes.

Then Serena. He was, literally, led by his nose. They are alike, she must also be a shape shifter. This group seems filled with them. Trista's prejudiced notions against them will be sorely tested. In fact, they've already shifted themselves. Devlin is certainly nothing like her scheming mother.

A soft smile touches her lips at the mention of Berd in the town square. She remembers seeing the dark man across the way and the welcoming disposition of the little dragon. She also remembers calling him 'handsome' and Berd acquiescing they were all handsome and beautiful. Truth, there. James and Devlin both handsome in different ways. Chance, sensual is the better word for him. Dorian can not exactly be called handsome, but he is formidable and regal. Aaron, Roman, and Morgan all good looking though Trista doesn't have quite a feel for them yet.

The women, too, are all beautiful with the sensual Banglen-Yp at the forefront. In reflection, it seems to Trista that the blonde's naivety is simply an act; that she must know exactly what she's doing when she calls attention to her curved form. But it makes little difference to Trista.

Devlin smiles, a genuine grin which tugs an equally large smile from Trista. “Yes, 'funny' is one way to put it.”

Though unused to normal conversation, the woman doesn't hesitate in answering Devlin's questions, “Actually, I don't move across Shadow. At least, not of my own volition.” Her hand lifts and slightly parts her zippered jacket to grip the silver chain lying beneath her shirt. “My father – my birth father – gave me this when I was young. It leads me through Shadow to whatever I wish, but I have no control over the path. I've never attempted to take another with me. My father didn't mention whether I could or not, and I never thought to ask.” She then slips a single finger under the slender chain and slides the necklace out from under her shirt to reveal a simple river pearl.

Trista smiles wryly, “He taught me how to use it when I was a teenager, but I never had the need to use it on my own until – well, until I was alone after Zane.” She allows the pearl to drop to her chest and lowers her hand back to her hip.

“I knew my real parents, though sometimes I've wished I didn't. I was fostered in Shadow by a wonderful family who simply thought I had been abandoned. My real father visited me from time to time, at least once a year. I idolized him and his gifts and his power. My mother pretty much ignored me until Zane died and then she suddenly played the doting parent. I – I don't know where either of them are, now.” Trista's eyes grow dark, there's more to say, but she's not going to swamp Devlin in more pain on this night.

Not allowing herself to drift into dark memories, Trista smiles again, “I would very much like to see how you travel; I am quite curious.”
This message was last edited by the player at 05:04, Thu 23 Aug 2007.

Devlin is suddenly caught by something that Trista said, "Did you say your father taught you to use that device? Can I assume that it is your father that's from amber?"

Then he really does study her, his head tilts to the other side. "Can you tell me who he is?"

...Devlin studies the woman's face and her dark hair; dark hair like his own. More than a little resemblance. He wonders but does not say anything. One thing about not knowing who your parents are is that anyone that is descended from Amber might be more closely related than you'd expect...

Far from getting a demonstration, Devlin changes course, picking up on some idea of a thread. Trista's eyes squint down in curiosity as she answers, “His name is Duard. He has told me he's from Amber, though I can't really confirm it. I don't really have reason to doubt him. He has power which I believe stems from that city. Well, I think perhaps from the Pattern within the city. But... I don't know for sure. He always kept those kinds of details to himself, telling me trivial stories, but not stories about himself.”

Irritation at Duard, certainly not at Devlin, flares in her eyes for a mere moment then it's gone. “Why do you ask?”