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"A dead thing can go with the stream, but only a living thing can go against it."

Emerwyn held the paper in her hand, crouched down, her knees jutting out in their deformed way. The notes on this key quote were still there, smudged, and the paper was wrinkled severely. This was one of three she'd managed to scrounge together thus far. There were nine more. Plus the letter from Jerrick, which was with them, and their photograph.

After she had gone to see Julian that night, the papers had all blown away. She left them on the floor, the door wide open. Julian had needed her.
And now, her work, all her precious work... she'd gone back to where she'd began.
For some odd reason, she could not recall what words she had written, what paths Jerrick's memories had taken her down. Without those papers, she could not complete her task.
Starting from ground zero would take long, far too long.

After reading through the paper again, swallowing back a frustrated tear, she resumed her search. Her eyes were weary, dark circles formed around them. The shadows cast by her heavy brow were accentuated even more, the sun shining overhead. Her steps trembled; they had not gotten much rest these past two days.
None of her had rested much these past two days.

It was like a cold. Being in the heat too long, released into the cold too quickly. The transistion is not healthy. Nor was this transistion at all healthy for Emerwyn.



Not too long a ways from where Emerwyn searched low on the ground, a small paper rustled in the slight breeze, already mildly damaged.

Emerwyn had spotted another page! All that mattered to her was the corner of dirtied white that was sticking up. All she noticed was that piece of her life that she had to obtain. She did not notice that there was a wheelchair parked right on top of it. At least, she did not notice, until she had come full up to its side, and was crouched down, about to grasp it.
Then, she saw the wheel. Then she looked up.
There was a man in it. A man who, despite some differences, Emerwyn was able to decide was Billy. Billy, the scowling octopus-man who had poured out his soul to her when last they'd met.
He was a man of many moods, so Emerwyn would have to be carfeul if she was going to get her paper back intact.

"Good day, Billy," she said, in her naturally soft tone. Looking up at him, she had not yet noticed his off-state.

She pushed herself up slowly to come more level with Billy.
"Emerwyn. That is my name." She was tired, too. Though not in the way that Billy was. The way she re-introduced herself, it seemed as though she were telling herself her name, as well.

Take it slow. She'd wait a bit before asking him to move. That was far too rude, and he wasn't very coherent anyway.

Good enough, Emerwyn though. What was wrong with him? Was he ill? Seeing him closer now, he certainly looked - drained. Dehydrated. And, there was an odd sort of collar around his neck. Was it some sort of monitering device? He was normally rather violent.

"...Wet?" He obviously needed moisture. "Do you need... help?" Last time she'd offered help, he threw it in her face, so she was tentative to offer. However, bringing him to water would mean her paper would be freed.

A solitary drop found it's way over Emerwyn's eyelid. She blinked it back in surprise and looked up at the clouds that had been creeping in.
"Oh... wet." Now she understood what he'd meant. The human in her was not allowing the deer to alert her to the weather.

Wet! All of her papers! They were doomed unless she found them soon. She folded up the ones she had, then realized she had no pockets. So, she clutched them in her hand, frantically wondering how she was to get the paper from under Billy's wheel, before it began to pour, which would come sooner than it seemed, and it was lost in a dirty mud.

"Um, Billy," she started. I wonder if, perhaps, you might be able to move forward a bit? There is something under your wheel..." Was this too much information for the octopus? She'd have to wait and see if he comprehended.

Larger drops started to fall more frequently onto Emerwyn's head, and she began to grow more frantic. She could not waste her time here!

"Billy," she said, trying to raise the volume of her voice. "I am going to push your wheelchair. A little bit. I need my paper."
She rose to her feet.

"Forward... a few inches."
She walked around the chair, and gripped the handles.

The rain began to pound.

"Nothing," she said. "You have done nothing wrong. I am not going to do anything to you."

"...It is I who have done wrong." The last statement was softer, an afterthought. What was she doing?

She started to push the wheelchair forward, slowly, so slowly. A crinkling noise sounded underneath as the wheel began to part from the paper.