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The voice struck her, a thunderbolt from recent events. The mannerism, the posture. It was the Gypsy queen, Tante. But, how could she know? How could Elektra hear, or see her? She was dead, wasn't she?

"No, chil" The voice utters soothingly. "Your life is young, and you have much to experience. Dis is not your time."

The visage, clad in Gypsy regalia continued to hold her hand out, beckoning her to take it. How could this be? She was dead. Logan had killed her.

"Take my hand, chil."

"I cannot move, I am dead."

The voice whispered into her mind, calm and peaceful, the image hovered before her. She remained on the ground, blood was everywhere, but she felt nothing. She was dead, yet she could see the Gypsy queen standing before her. She could hear the voice calling to her, telling her to come with her.

"You have to want to live." Tante tells her. "If you desire to live, you will be able to move."

The white light beckoned her. Within she could see the pain of existence. The agony of her life coming to an end, but there was so much she wanted to see, to experience. One more sunrise, another sunset, one more day to share with friends. Their faces, their smiles and names called out to her, but one stood out from the rest, stronger, more vibrant than the others. It called to her from the light.

Logan.

"I don't want to die, mama."

She reaches up with trembling fingers that grasp onto Tante's steady hand. Her strength fails her, but Tante holds onto her. The white light hovering overhead lowers itself towards them as the Gypsy queen clasps her hand tightly.

The embers glowed with the collective rage of the clan. Each log thrown onto the fire represented a soul lost. The blaze danced a blue song of sorrow, but quickly rose in agitation, becoming red. Seven people had died, all of them innocent.

The remainined members gather around the funeral pyre with their heads bowed in tribute, including Sir Nicholas Fury. Though remoreseful of the deaths, he remained convinced that these heroes did not die in vein.

He ran the events back over in his mind. They had been surprised by two of the most fearsome assassins in Europe. The Greek woman, Elektra Natchios and Logan the savage. Emma had cast a spell of protection over the campsite, but she neglected to take into account Logan's animal keen sense of smell. While he could not see the camp through her cloak, he was able to smell it. He layed out the scent of the perimeter and they then planned their assault. Whiskey was used to set the surrounding brush afire. A good idea, he mused, recognizing that the secnt of whiskey was prevelant in such clans and it would not be noticed by any dogs they might have had. Traps were laid to ensnare those who fled through the only opening allowed through the blaze. It was a well thought out plan and would have worked against nearly anyone, but these... kids fought hard and managed to prevail.

As the mourners revisited memories of friends lost, Fury revisited plans made for the future. Chaos was the key, not the by product. The current dictators used to it to frighten the peasant population into capitualtion. They had not the inclination nor the capacity to understand such mechanisms. He did.

Europe stood on the brink of mass hysteria, resultant of an outbreak of witchcraft accusations. The Church had convinced the general population that it was the work of the devil and those who were without God in every aspect of their lives stood at risk of damnation. He followed events in other nations closely and noted that local governments were using the hysteria to their own advantage by accusing their enemies and rigging mock trials to convict them. It was a ploy to pave the road to a pure monarchy. So complete was their plan that they had even taken advantage of a gifted young girl to aid in their cause. But they came to rely too heavily on the girl and found their citizens dependant on her findings rather than the findings of the convened court. This was what he was counting on.

He lifts his head from the pyre and glances about, taking in the faces of the mourners. The White Witch, Emma, was there, as was Remy Lebeau,Beatrice Darkholmem and the lad, Jacob, whom he had hand picked for a most important task. But the task would be dangerous and he found himself concerned that Jacob may not be entirely up to it alone. He needed reassurance. He breaks from the circle and approaches Beatirce, nudging her on the elbow to garner her attention.

"I need to speak with you."

Logan pushed himself up, shaking his head lightly. The fresh kill from that morning was well finsihed. Nothing left. Slowly he stood, looking around the small den under the thickest part of the forest that he and the pack he roamed with had settled on. Taking some of the remains of the deer, he went to the hill face about a quarter mile out from the den, where he could see out in the valley. Smoke curled up from the gypsie's camp that he and Elektra had torn asunder--

A wall slammed on those memories, and he looked away. That part of his life was gone. Gone to the wilds of his mind. Sitting on his haunches, he pulled the fur hide over his shoulders. He'd left his gear and all his samuri reminders and anything other than his basic clothing behind in that shelter. No point in returning to anything of honor. He would serve himself into exile out in the wilds, where he belonged.

"My dearest James... You do not belong out here, and you know it." Rosetta's form walked from the white haze of low hanging clouds, coming to rest upon a log besides him. "You know this very well."

"Dunno what yer talkin' about... This is what my worth to the world is, mind-witch..."


"Those are not the words of the man whom loved me so many years ago... Or the man who held Elektra's life above all honor and respect for himself. How about the man who prevented the settlers from burning the native village on Roanoke?" She arched a slender, firey eye brow and leaned in a bit. "And lest we forget the man who has fought in so many battles, and turned so many tides of fate..."

"Shut it! Shut your flaming mouth!" Logan leapt up, pointing his finger at the image that no one else could see. "You think because that you will walk the Earth again, as you spout, that you can tell me how I should spend my curse!"

She stared at him evenly, and shook her head, closing her green eyes. "I simply speak the truth of a man who would never give up, even to Death would be defiant to the end. So it both pains and surprises me that you, of all people, would so easily lay down yourself and let what those who assault you...win so easily over your humanity..." Standing slowly, he glanced in the distance towards the camp, then further off towards London. "I am forbidden to do this... So this may be the last time you ever see me--"

"Good, then to Hell with you."

"--But as we speak... Elektra still lives, being saved by the ones who truely betrayed you." That pulled his eyes back into her shimering image. Logan started to speak, but she cut him off. "And there is a curiour on her way to London to speak with her regarded employeer with a message. Should this message be recieved... You will be one of the top five hunted fugitives in all of British Isles..."

He regarded the woman critically, noting her actions as he approached. It was as though she had another interest in him than what he suspected. Perhaps it was a mere courtesy? Having been with the Gypsy clan for several days now, he had become accustomed to the lack of such behaviour. Style and sosphistication were considered inconsequential, and the majority of them had never been exposed to it as he had. This was a woman of breeding as it were. Her mannerism, her eloquence, her grace were all marks of higher society, suggestiong she had a consummate education as well. He nods as she approaches, not wanting to go into formal introductions, and engages her immediately.

"I will be executing a plan in the coming days, but I fear that we have not the experience, nor the training to properly accomplish our goals. I cannot be there personally to undertake this task or I gladly would. That being said, I need someone to accompany Jacob and his friends. I need someone with the ettiquette to guide them through the city in which they will be travelling. I ask you to accompany them."

I have not given him the details yet, but he will be riding to Italy. You know the land, do you not?"

He asks, casting a arched brow in her direction. She nods.

"I do."

"Good. I want you to go with them as their guide. You know the customs and how to speak on their level. These are children, they do not have your abilities."

Revenge was a powerful motive, especially with a high opinion of one self. He knew that the meticulously dressed woman before him had no interest in anyone but herself and that suited him just fine. A woman of her social standing would not bear the perceived degradation of living in the wilderness with a camp of Gypsies without strong motive. He did not know what the Count or the King had done to her in his absence, but felt comfortable that it was sufficiently strong to promote such an audacious move on her part. Still, trust was not easy to come by in this day and age. Much was at stake on all sides and there was plenty of room to either profit by it, or fall. He had fallen once, and had no intentions of doing so again.

"I will provide you with details as they are needed." He says, effectively dismissing her. "Unless a change of plan occurs, your role will be to support Jacob and his troops."

"Italy is a lovely country, plenty of excellent food and wine. It will be a wonderful opportunity to culture them. Provided we have the time to spare during the mission of course. Tell me Master Fury, have you ever had an espresso?"

Beatrice shifted her weight to lean in closer to Fury, to truly size him up, delicately brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She was rather interested in the fact that even though she was in her natural form of azure skin, sulfur yellow eyes, and blood red hair Fury didn't seem fazed in the least. She wasn't quite sure if she should take it as a complement or if he was simply jaded. However Beatrice did take more than a small amount of private pleasure in the fact that Fury likely had no idea that she was several years his senior.

Logan continued his march through the snow, and darkness had set in. Soon enough through, the the course of the afternoon and evening, he finally made it to his shelter...and found his gear. The animal robes were left, and he picked up the brown and white samuri robes, along with his sword and cloak and satchel.

--edits post for later use--

That night, he would stay at the shelter and gather his thoughts and feelings. He was the most dangerous assassin active in the region. You don't waltz into your enemy's camp after devestating a portion of it, killing many of the people living there. Or do you? He would find out the following day.

I can see my body lying on the blood stained cot in the makeshift tent. People are hovering around me. I can make out the form of the White Witch, the one who caused me to betray my heart, huddled over Tante, who is kneeling at my bedside. Another hands her water which she uses to pat down my face.

I do not blink.

My eyes are closed. The old gypsy woman Tante, wipes my face down with a cloth handed her by another gypsy, but I bare no reaction, though I can feel the cloth against my skin. The cold, spongy feel irritates me now as it always has, yet I do nothing.

I do not flinch.

The sounds around me are also clear. I can hear the jostling of limbs as they attend to either me or the gypsy woman. Outside of the tent I can hear footsteps milling about, heavy and plodding, like a sentry. Off into the distance I hear the cries of a lone wolf, but it is not a wolf. It is a man...

... in pain.

Logan!

I do not heed.

I can smell the burning campfire just outside of the tent. The sulfur clutches my nostrils and forces them to withdraw. I never did like that smell. Inside the tent, the odor of alcohol is strong and plentiful in the rags tending my wounds.

I do not recoil.

I can see everything going on around me, including myself lying on the cot, unmoving. I can hear my environment, and I can smell it, but I do nothing.

Why?

"She's dead."

The voice is that of the White Witch, hovering over her queen, sneering at my body as she applies a moist towel to my chest. Tante does not look up however, her attention is focused squarely on me, but she does answer.

"No, Emma. She is resting."

But I can see my body. My chest is still. It does not rise and fall with my breath, which I cannot see in the cold morning air. Am I looking in a mirror? How can that be if my eyes are closed? I reach out with my hand, but my hand does not move.

What has happened to me?

Tante presses her palms against my chest. Her head slowly begins to sway from left to right and she starts to chant. her voice is hushed, but I can hear it clearly. She speaks in some dialect which I have never before heard. It is sharp and pointed, yet strangely soothing.

I am suddenly blinded by a white flash. It bursts into the room and hovers over my body. Suddenly, everything becomes silhouetted. The White Witch and the others disappear. Only Tante remains, but she appears more as a ghost than an old woman. I blink and reopening my eyes, I can see her face, She is still kneeling over me. Her expression is determined, but also concerned. her eyes are closed and she continues her chant.

I am back in my body.

Other faces appear. Faces from the past. I see Sir Fury, snarling and unconcerned. Emma watches blankly. But I can see other faces, faces from my past. I can see my sensei from Japan, Tanaka, encouraging me to try. I see my father, smiling at me. My mother looks concerned, but the love in her eyes shines through. I see friends from my school days, enemies, and a burly shadow of a man, behind the rest. He is knelt before a wild flower, his head bowed solemnly. It is Logan, and he is... crying.

Darkness ensues. The faces vanish and I am alone once more. I can see nothing now.

"Live, chil!"

The voice strikes me as a thunderclap, and my eyes open. Emma watches on, hovering over Tante once more. The others look on in amazement, their eyes as wide as mine. Tante smiles and places the palm of her hand on my forehead. It is warm against my skin, though I can feel the chill of beading sweat pressed between it. I can feel my heart leap within my chest with an invigorating thump and I can hear the crackle of campfire once more. My breath appears before me as vapor.

"I'm alive!"