Sarraya fanned herself with her wings, pulling on the neck of her gossamer gown repeatedly to circulate fresh air under her clothes. She had done well in the desert heat, never complaining about it, but today she seemed to be affected by it. "Is it just me, or is it really hot today?" she asked in a breathless voice.

"It feels pretty hot," Tarrin agreed. The midday sun was fully up, and that meant that it was blasting the rocky flat with its full fury. It was the hottest part of the day. "I've been wondering, how are you dealing with the heat?"

"Faeries aren't as fragile as we look, Tarrin," she said primly. "We're almost as rugged as you Were-kin."

"And how much do you cheat?"

Sarraya gave him a hot look. "I don't cheat!" she flared, then she gave him a sly grin. "Well, not much, anyway. About noon, I'm starting to shield myself from the heat with Druidic magic, but I can take it most of the rest of the day."

"It's strange, Sarraya, I'm totally used to it now. I don't even sweat anymore."

"You sweat, trust me," she said. "It just evaporates so fast that you don't notice. Anyway, you're a Were-cat. Were-cats have that damned regeneration. It adapts you to anything from this blasted wasteland to arctic tundra."

"I already figured that out," he grunted. "You want to ride for a while?"

"I think I'd better," she replied. "It's so hot, I'm even feeling it through my little magical shield. I don't want to give myself a heat stroke by flying."

"I wonder how far away those rock spires are. The sun bends things, makes the distance-"

Come to me.

Tarrin's ears picked up, and he stood up and turned towards wherever that came from, towards the northeast. He hadn't heard it with his ears, he'd sensed it some other way. Almost like a whispering. And the voice was unknown to him.

Come to me, it repeated, that same inaudible whisper, yet it was plain to him.

"Tarrin? What's wrong?" Sarraya asked.

"Someone's… calling me," he replied uncertainly. "Can't you hear it?"

"No, I don't hear anything but the wind," she replied.

I know you can hear me. It is time. Come.

There was a… rippling. He couldn't describe the sensation. Like ripples in the very air itself, shivering over him. They came from the northeast, the same as the voice. The sense of static in the air returned, more oppressive now, feeling like it was weighing down on him.

Something deep inside him reacted to that sensation. Before he realized what he was doing, he was walking towards the northeast, towards a cluster of rock spires that seemed to be separate from the others, sitting just before the horizon.

"Tarrin? Tarrin, what are you doing?" Sarraya called, flitting up from the desert floor and flying up to him. She landed on his shoulder, then switched shoulders so the sun was blocked by his head a little better. "What's going on?"

"I can hear it, Sarraya," he replied. "It's calling to me."

"It could be a trick," she warned. "I don't hear it."

"I don't really hear it either. At least not with my ears."

"It could be a trap, Tarrin."

"Then let's go spring it," he said calmly. He was wildly curious about this. It seemed to cause something within to respond to it, almost like an irresistable call, like the singing of a Siren. He could not deny the power of the summons.

"What did it say?"

"Only to come," he told her. "And it said that it's time."

"Time for what?"

"I guess we'll find out when we get there."

He picked up into a trot, then that ground-eating loping run that allowed him to run all day without rest, a pace that covered a great deal of ground. He ran in the direction that the calls had originated, his curiosity running wild. He had no idea what he'd find when he got wherever he was going, but the irrepressible need to go there and seek out this strange voice did not fade in the slightest. The thought of it absolutely consumed him all afternoon, even smothering over the eyeless face behind his eyes, dominating his thoughts. The cluster of rock spires grew closer and closer as the afternoon progressed, and he seemed to sense that that was the destination. That was from where the call had issued, that was where the answer to this mystery would be found. He didn't ponder much on the manner of the call, only its substance, only its effect. Sarraya rode along in relative silence, fretting and frowning just about the entire time, but she grew quiet when she realized that no amount of arguing, shouting, cajoling, wheedling, or even begging was going to turn him from his course. Tarrin was dead-set to his path, and she could not cause him to drift from it.

He reached the first rock spire about an hour before sunset. The spires were clustered together loosely, a good distance between each one, and as he passed by the first, he slowed to a walking pace. This was the place. What had called out to him? What was it that had incited such a powerful reaction? The static charge that had been in the air was gone now, but there was something else. It was a sense of… presence. There was someone here, a someone whose very presence weighed down on the air itself. The Weave itself seemed to oscillate, to shimmer, to vibrate in response to this presence, and the strands were actively leaning towards some focal point.

As if the presence had the power to affect the Weave, just by its presence alone.

Would he find Fara'Nae here? Was this a place holy to her? The only beings he could think of that could do such things were gods. Was this collection of rock spires like the courtyard in the hedge maze back in the Tower? It wasn't the Goddess. He'd feel it if she was the one that was here. Her sense of presence was completely different from this.

At least that sense of presence acted as a beacon. He could follow it right to its source.

Sarraya began to get fidgety as Tarrin walked towards that sense of presence, slowly, calmly, more curious than worried. "Tarrin? I feel…"

"I know. I feel it too."

"Is this what you heard?"

"No, but this is what called me," he said. He didn't know how he knew that, but he did. "It's over there," he said, pointing.

"That's not the only thing here," Sarraya said. "I just saw a Selani."

"Where?" he asked.

"To your right," she replied. "Just behind that rock spire over there."

Tarrin turned and looked. It was a smaller rock spire, as thick around as most large trees, and only about twenty spans high. He couldn't see a Selani, but Selani were experts at hiding and stealth. If Sarraya saw one, she saw one, and she was lucky to see the Selani in the first place.

"I'll go see what else is around. I'll be right back."

"Be careful," he called as her wings began to buzz, and she faded from sight as she started towards the rock spire.

Tarrin continued walking towards that sense of presence alone. He wasn't really afraid. There had been nothing in the call that invoked fear. Even his feral suspicion seemed to be overwhelmed by the wild curiosity behind the strange, voiceless call. All of him wanted to find out who this strange presence was, and why it called to him.

For another ten minutes he moved towards that sensation, until he came around a small rock spire and got his first look at it.

It was a humanoid, or at least he thought it was. It was tall, and was totally garbed in a strange black cloak, a cloak so black that it consumed any sense of dimension the figure held. It was as if the cloak had been cut from the most impenetrable darkness, and the figure he saw was nothing but a cut out sheet of paper held up to the sun. It stood upon one of the rock spires, one of the smaller ones, and he couldn't tell if it faced him or not. All he could see was a black shadow between him and the sun. The only reason he could tell it was a cloak was because the afternoon winds pulled and tugged at it, making the dimensionless form before him waver and ripple like a reflection on dark water.