He couldn't deny that. The Weave was so much more complex than he ever imagined. Even looking at it casually, the complicated relationships between flows and strands, strands and Conduits, and the residual magical energy the produced within themselves made that abundantly clear, and they were things he could spend his entire life studying and still not fully comprehend the total workings of it. His little experience with the voices told him that there was more within the Weave than simple magical power. There were other things, like memories of past events, and there were bound to be even more mysterious aspects of the Weave that would reveal themselves to him as he came into his power.

"Mother, what were the dreams?"

Yet another aspect of what you are, she replied. Since you've already taken them seriously, then I can tell you that they were serious. I am the Weave, my kitten, and you are one of my children. All gods have the right to pass on to their followers certain information in the form of dreams, omens, and warnings. Those dreams were warnings, warnings I wasn't permitted to give to you directly.

"Why not?"

Because it would have violated the rules under which we operate, she told him.

"It, it seems strange that you would communicate with me that way when we talk all the time."

She laughed delightedly. Don't forget our basic relationship, kitten. I am the god, and you are the follower. That we happen to talk from time to time doesn't change that. I'm still going to communcate with you in the boring old mystical standard ways that other gods communicate with their followers. I have to keep my mysterious means, if only for appearances' sake, don't I? I'd probably disappoint you if I didn't act godly in at least a few ways. You'd think you had a boring goddess.

That struck Tarrin as funny in some way, so funny he actually laughed. "You don't have to impress me, Mother. I'm impressed enough. And you're never boring."

I'm happy to hear that, she replied lightly. He had the sense that she was beaming at him, for some reason.

"I don't understand two of the dreams, Mother."

I can't explain them to you, she warned. I can only confirm what I know you already know. You just have to work them out for yourself. In time, I'm sure you'll understand their meaning.

He more or less expected that. But it disturbed him. One of the dreams was about Keritanima in moral pain, and the other was about Faalken. A dead Faalken, holding a flaming sword. And Jegojah was standing behind him. That one really upset him, because he had never forgotten that it was his fault that Faalken died. If he hadn't lost control, flew into a rage, he could have protected Faalken, he could have saved him. Faalken's death was his fault, his blood was on his paws. If the dreams were a warning, then it meant that Jegojah was coming again, coming for him, and that Faalken had something to do with his return.

Jegojah was coming, when Tarrin couldn't use Sorcery.

The timing of that went beyond mere coincidence. The ki'zadun must have known that Tarrin was unable to use his magic, somehow. How was beyond him, since it happened out here in the desert, where no outsiders would dare go, but the how wasn't as important as the response. But what they didn't know was that Tarrin could use Druidic magic. He already knew exactly what he needed to do to level the playing field between himself and the Doomwalker, to turn it into a fair fight, a fight of nothing but swords, skill, sweat, and raw will.

The mere thought of Jegojah made his blood boil. Jegojah had killed Faalken, and though it had been Tarrin's fault it happened, the Doomwalker had been the one to deal the killing blow. Now it was coming again, coming for him… and he wanted it. He wanted the chance to rip the Doomwalker's head off. He was different now, larger, stronger, faster, more seasoned. He would be more than a match for the undead warrior, even without his Sorcery. This time, he had the chance to pay back Jegojah in blood for everything it had done, pay it back without fear that someone else was going to get hurt in the battle. There would be no constraints.

This time, it would be settled, one way or the other. Jegojah was not going to come after him again afterward. This time, the Doomwalker would pay for killing Faalken, for attacking his family, for trying to kill Jenna. Jegojah would be facing a much more dangerous Were-cat this time, a Were-cat that was absolutely determined to finish the nightmarish creature off for good. A Were-cat that no longer feared the Doomwalker's power.

Two would enter that last battle, but only one was going to leave.

The Goddess had withdrawn from him in his moment of fury, probably leaving him to sort things out for himself. He didn't mind that much. He stood up and stared at the sun in the east, feeling the heat of it against his face, feeling the heat welling up inside of him. The thought of finding his power again paled in comparison of the need to avenge himself against the Doomwalker. Magic could wait. This, this was personal. Tarrin had been fearing and fighting Jegojah for over a year now, and that was just about enough. It was time to finish it.

There was blood to be paid between them, and Tarrin was going to collect on that debt. Collect on it in a way that would make Allia proud of him.

Turning, Tarrin started down off the spire. He had alot to think about, alot to do, and it was best for him to sort it out as he ran. That way he wasn't wasting any effort, maximizing his time, as Allia had taught him to do.

Back on the top of the spire, in the uneven stone that made up the top of the sheared rock, rested two seared footprints, burned into the stone. They were very large, very long footprints, human-like feet that were unnaturally long and wide, almost like a cross between a human foot and an animal's paw. Gouges at the tips of the toes showed that the owner of those feet had claws, and the imprints were blackened and smoking. Three figures and an extremely small fourth could be seen racing off towards the northwest just beyond the lip of the broken spire, figures distorted a bit by smoke and heat as they passed behind the wavering heat rising up from the two seared footprints burned into the continuity of the stone, leaving behind blackened scars.

Omens of what was to come.

To: Title EoF

Chapter 12

Those two were something else.

Tarrin squatted down beside an oasis, a pool of water that had formed inside a crack in the desert floor, surrounded by large, leafy plants and a single strange tree with ridged back and a puff of green at its peak, watching Var and Denai. They had run for most of the day, and the setting sun was inching its way towards the horizon. Tarrin had spent most of that time in a silent contemplation of what was to come, but he'd spent the rest of the time watching the two Selani. He only knew one Selani, and this was the first time he'd seen two of them interacting at a social level.

It was quite entertaining.

Allia had never described this. Var and Denai were, quite simply, dead set to prove that he or she was the better of the two. They were ferociously competitive, turning absolutely everything into a challenge or competition. From running to hunting to setting up tents, even to finding the better campsite for the evening, the two of them had pitted themselves against one another. There was no animosity between them-indeed, they were very friendly and open with one another-but there was still that intense need to prove superiority over the other. Gender had nothing to do with this competition. Among the Selani, there was very little difference between males and females in size, strength, or ability. Only gender separated the two, and that was no barrier to competition.