After his mind settled enough, the dreams began again. But this time, it was a different sense, a different type of dream. He stood on a mountainside, looking down into a valley that held a large town, a town with no roads, no carts, only grassy pathways between houses and buildings, the smallest of them large enough to be called a mansion by any definition. People in robes walked about in the town, and there was an odd sense from them, like they were ghosts of the past resurrected into the future. The sky above was utterly black, but there was plenty of light by which to see.

This is where I have to go, he told himself absently. This is where the Book of Ages is going to lead us.

With that thought, the dream dissolved, and he spent the rest of his slumber in dreamless rest.

His mind didn't race again until he woke up, until he could apply his rational mind to the memories and images he's experienced while asleep. Everything they'd concluded was right. The Sha'Kar had been there to test him, to force him into either taking the next step or being destroyed by his own power. A power he could no longer touch, he knew now. He was again a Novice, unable to use his power until he learned how, and that would not be easy. He'd become so intimately familiar with his power that the very thought of having to use some other way to access it seemed alien to him. He was tainted now, tainted by his own past experience, and he'd have to forget everything he once knew before he could learn what he had to learn to regain his powers.

Sui'kun. It was a Sha'Kar word, a word that translated as soul-fire. The Goddess had used it to refer to him, told him that the Ancients used it to describe Weavespinners. What he was now. An entirely different kind of Sorcerer, and that meant that he had to learn an entirely new way to touch the Weave. To do it all over again. He remembered how aggravating and infuriating it had been the first time, and he knew it would be even worse now. It would be worse because he could see the Weave, sense it, feel its pulse in his soul, and it felt as if it were a part of him. That sensation made him feel like the Weave was but a thought away, but something told him that that was the very reason it was going to be so difficult to find his power again.

Until then, he didn't have the power to use, didn't have it to protect him. But he could still use his Druidic magic… so that meant harassing Sarraya for more indepth lessons. He wanted to learn more of it so he could better defend himself until he managed to find his power again. She'd argue, refuse, demand, even threaten, but she'd do it in the end. Sarraya got a little mischievious thrill out of teaching him things he wasn't supposed to know. It satisfied her rebellious nature. All he had to do was appeal to her on those terms, and she'd do anything he wanted her to do.

The dreams worried him. They worried him nearly as much as the eyeless face disturbed the Human in him. He could endure what hardship came to him, but he couldn't even stomach the idea that his friends and family might be suffering, might be enduring pain. Especially if it was his fault. He'd already lost Faalken, he didn't want to lose another friend, a sister. But the dreams were short, vague, and there just wasn't much to remember other than a few images and the feelings that those images incited.

There was so much on his mind, the last thing he needed was worries for the others to distract him.

He opened his eyes and yawned, then stretched. It was a little past midday by the sun, and it shone down on him with the full fury of its heat. Heat he could feel, but could no longer affect him. He was truly sui'kun, for the heat of the sun, of the rock, of the desert, it could not touch him. He had even held a sword glowing from being immersed in lava-magma, whatever it was called-and felt no pain from it. It hadn't even put a blister on his pads. He wondered idly if he could still sweat, or if he needed to, or if alot of physical exertion would make him hot. He wondered if his body could tolerate heat generated from within as well as it could tolerate heat that came from outside.

It was so strange. It was as if the power of High Sorcery had burned away the part of him that could be hurt by it, leaving the rest of him behind. That was as good an explanation as anything. He could feel the subtle differences inside himself, for he was very attuned to his own body. He was the same, but the power had also changed him in small ways. Small ways that had impressive outward effects. He had an even more acute sense of the Weave now, able to actually see it, and he couldn't be hurt by fire. Significant changes, but the changes felt very small when he sensed them inside himself.

He rose up, stretched, then sat down on his haunches. The sword was cool now, or at least it wasn't glowing anymore. It rested close to him, close enough to feel the radiance of its heat when he was falling asleep. Sarraya was still gone, probably hovering near the rift he'd made in the earth. It felt a little frightening to wake up in this vast land and find one's self alone, but he knew that Sarraya was close by. If he called out, he had no doubt that she would come flying back. He shifted back to his humanoid form absently, then reached down and picked up the sword. He would just wait for her to come back. She wouldn't be long, and she'd watched over him for so long that he figured she deserved a little time to herself. The sword was still a little on the warm side, but it wasn't so hot that it could hurt anyone. More than likely it was hot because it was black, and had been sitting out in the sunlight since daybreak. The metal showed no crystalization, no signs that the immersion in lava had damaged it. He pressed on the sword's blade with his paws tentatively, and found that it was still strong, still razor sharp, and still virtually unbreakable.

Whatever metal was used to make the blade, he just had to get more of it. The stuff was absolutely amazing.

Sometimes it made him laugh. To think a weapon like this, a sword of legendary properties, had been sitting over a bar in Dala Yar Arak before he claimed it for his own. He liked it, in a way, but it just wasn't his staff. But that was spilled milk at any rate, because his staff was gone. Destroyed by Shiika. He was travelling west, maybe he'd find himself an Ironwood tree along the way. Then he could make a new one.

Looking up at the Skybands, Tarrin tried to touch the Weave, just to see what would happen. He reached out to what he could see, what had always been there… and it wasn't. It was like it had been moved on him, moved just outside his reach, taunting him with its proximity yet not allowing him to make contact with it. That was generally what he expected to happen. The Goddess told him that he'd have to learn how to touch the Weave all over again. It was just strange that he was so attuned to it, so close to it, and yet he could not reach out and touch it. He knew it could be done. That Sha'Kar woman had used High Sorcery, and that required her to be touching the Weave. So there was a way to do it… he just had to figure it out. Without guidance, without instruction, without support. Not that mattered much to him. He was used to doing things by himself.

"Alright then," he said quietly to himself. "If that's the way it is, then that's the way it is." He reached down and picked up the sword, felt that the leather bindings had been burned off the hilt, but that was easy to fix. He'd rebind it tonight. It wasn't like there was anything out in this rocky wasteland to fight. He pulled off his scabbard, and found that while it was burned nearly to cinders. What wood and leather that was left of the scabbard was brittle and weak. His leather clothes as well were burned, gouged, and about ready to fall apart. That, too was easy enough to fix. He reached within, reached into the All through the Cat, and formed an image of new leather clothes and a scabbard exactly like the old ones. He willed those items to appear before him, and the All saw into his intent and responded. He felt the power flow through him, much more power than was normal for regular Conjuring, felt the drain it put on him to handle that extra power. He realized that he wasn't Conjuring or Summoning, he was Creating. Sarraya said that Creation required more energy than the other two related techniques. But, it seemed that it was something that he was strong enough to do.