In a desperate attempt to dissuade him, she sent forth the mental image of her mother and, more generally, the feeling of unconditional love-the feeling she got when she delved into her earliest memories: mother, safety, warmth, caring, all wrapped up in single-minded intent.

Searing pain. Loss. Regret.

The feelings pummeled her until she relented, and she realized that Prios had relented as well. He was gone, no trace of his energy remained, but the damage was done. Catrin had no idea where she was or how to find her way back. To make matters worse, she sensed pain from her physical body and suddenly knew she was near death. If she did not get back soon, she would never be able to return. It was not just a feeling she had; she could almost hear someone shouting the words at her, repeatedly, like a mantra.

Scanning the landscape below, she saw no snow, only brownish farmland, and she guessed she was still in the south. A glimpse of the sun gave her a bearing on direction as it set at its normal, inexorable pace. She moved north with all the speed she could muster, but the tangle of energy still connected to her body slowed her even as it grew weaker. Snow appeared on the ground below, and her hope was renewed.

When the northern coast of the Greatland loomed on the horizon, she urgently turned east. Mountains pierced the clouds ahead, and she could almost feel the closeness of her body as it called to her in its final throes of life. She felt herself begin to waver and focused all the energy that remained in her. The vibrations took on new intensity, as if the monks knew she was preparing one final attempt to return.

Soaring toward the mountains, she moved faster, now guided by the pain and tingling of her physical form. She was close, and the closer she drew, the more intensely she felt the discomfort. It was strange to seek out pain when her instinct was to avoid it, but it was preferable to the encroaching numbness. In this case, pain meant life, and she hurtled toward it. Cold stone stood before her, an impenetrable barrier, but she passed through it without the slightest lessening of speed. It granted her passage without complaint.

Solid rock gave way to a labyrinth of corridors and rooms, both natural and man-made. Catrin paid them little mind as she struggled to close the distance separating herself from her dying body. Only when she entered a vacuous hall, filled with relics and tomes from a time long past, did she even notice her surroundings, and the myriad of curious items within the hall impressed themselves upon her mind.

The next instant brought relief as she pierced the walls of the viewing chamber. Her body sat in ashen stillness upon the stone seat, and even as she drew close, it took on a bluish hue. Her consciousness slammed into her physical form with jarring impact, and she struggled to orient herself, questing for the remembrance of her form. Her body no longer seemed to fit, as if it could not contain her, but she forced herself into its confines.

She had expected great amounts of pain, but her limbs were leaden, and she was unable to move. Numbness nearly claimed her, and she made herself draw a deep breath; it became more of a choke, but she did begin to breathe again. Her vision was clouded and dark, and though she noticed shadowy forms moving around her, she could identify no one. Sounds collided with her senses, but she could make sense of none of it. The only thing that mattered in the world, at that moment, was breathing. With each breath, the tingling in her flesh grew, and the pain charged in behind it.

Catrin welcomed the pain; she embraced it. Cramps, burning agony, and sharp pangs were all wonderful and delicious. She felt them acutely and relished them. As her breathing grew to a steady rhythm, her senses returned, her eyes focused, and she was stunned to see Benjin, his head completely shaved. He knelt before her with tears in his eyes. He must have sensed her return to cognizance because he rushed forward to hug her.

"Thank the gods you've come back," he whispered, and Catrin returned his hug with her unwieldy arms. She tried to speak, but her throat was so parched that she feared it would crack apart. Mother Gwendolin appeared with a mug of water. She looked horrible, as if she were afflicted with some ghastly illness. Her eyes were sunken; her skin was nearly as ashen as Catrin's, but a weary smile crossed her face. She handed Catrin the mug and waited for her to drink.

Catrin's hands shook as she tipped the mug, and sweet water dribbled over her lips. There was only a small amount in the mug, but it was like a cup of pure life, and it rejuvenated her as it moistened her dehydrated throat. She handed the drained mug to Mother Gwendolin and wordlessly begged for more. Another mug was handed to her, and it contained little more than the first, but Catrin was glad to have it.

"You must rest now," Mother Gwendolin said, but her voice cracked and sounded raw.

Catrin realized for the first time that she was wrapped in warm blankets. Benjin scooped her up, blankets and all, as if she were little more than a fallen leaf. Mother Gwendolin guided him to a sleeping room, and he gently laid her down on the bedding. Once he was certain she was comfortable, he retrieved another mug of water from Mother Gwendolin, into which he stirred a pinch of brown powder.

"Drink this. It'll help you rest."

"Not yet. I have dire news," Catrin croaked as she sat up, but Benjin forced her back down with only a slight push of his finger. He placed the mug in her hands and crossed his arms over his chest. "Whatever it is, it can wait until morning."

Too weak to argue, Catrin drained the mug for the sake of her thirst as much as anything else. Within moments, she fell into a deep sleep, haunted by visions of a glowing face.

"You gave us quite a scare, young lady," Mother Gwendolin croaked, wagging her finger at Catrin in a good-natured way. "Please, tell me of your experience. The unknown is driving me to distraction."

"How long was I gone?" Catrin asked, her own voice still rough and grating.

"Fourteen days."

Fourteen days! Catrin was stunned. Her journey had felt like little more than an afternoon jaunt, but then she recalled the cycles of light and dark during Prios's attack, and she surmised that he had somehow affected her perception of time. She didn't hate him for it, convinced he had been coerced, but she also realized she was lucky to have survived. After weeks of fasting, her body had been in no condition to sustain her.

"We had to train every monk available to keep up the ritual chanting, and there's not a clear voice left in the hold. Benjin insisted upon being at your side, and he underwent a condensed version of the purification ritual. He never slept; he just sat with you and held your hand. We were worried beyond reason, and I fear he blames me for endangering you. He sleeps now, though he'll be wroth with me when he wakes. I slipped a bit of sedative into his tea."

Guilt stabbed at Catrin, and she resolved herself to set Benjin straight about a few things when she saw him next, but she was so weary. Her journey had taken its toll, and she wasn't certain she would ever be whole again; she felt disconnected and isolated. She seemed more of a spectator than a participant in life, tucked away in her bed, and she yearned to move about, but her body resisted her attempts.