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.. . . . ]| The Ash Clouds Started Raining |[ . . . ..

Searching for a place to clean his sooty face after a particularly dirty job, Chauhn finds himself meeting a peculiar someone at the beach, who happens to know just a little bit more about the odd life that has come to his brother's ashes.

.. . . . ..

.. . . . ]| Trapped in Burlap |[ . . . ..

Awake.

All Chauhn could hear was the mad rustle of fabric. Scratchy and rough fabric was wrapped all around him, constricting him in a makeshift cocoon. He tried to breathe, but there was something in his mouth, a bundle of worn fabric that was soaked with his own saliva, that choked out any semblance of air or sound he might have been able to make. Chauhn again tired to breathe through the gag, his chest stretching with effort. Coldness bit through the fabric and it was then that he realized his clothes were gone, leaving only what undergarments he had to fend his skin from a cold breeze that whisked its way through the bag. He struggled to shift, stretch his arms or flex his legs, but he was bound, and bound tightly. He couldn’t see anything through the fabric, but he could definitely feel the overwhelming ache of his joints. Judging by what he could feel, his arms were pulled behind him and tied to the same knot that wound around his hips and ankles, an effective backwards hogtie. He was stuck, nothing he could do, but wiggle, and moan while, underneath him, a cold hard surface bumped and jostled.

Clurie.

Chuahn’s eyes widened. Oh health and living, where was his brother! With a wretched struggle, the urchin tried his best to rip himself free of his binds, or at least loosen them, but the rope held tight, rubbing red into his skin. Bucking his head, he tried to glance down at his chest, his eyes searching desperately for the woven twine that was his brother’s necklace. The familiar weight that his heart beat against was gone, missing! He couldn’t see his brother’s twine! The pouch! These thoughts raced in his head, flapping their way around his mind until it spun with madness.

The Clemmings brother threw himself as much as his binds allowed, his throat eking out muffled screams. From the shadowed hollow of his bag, he could hear voices, and shortly after, a kick to the back of his head. Chauhn stopped struggling giving a woeful groan to the pain that blossomed between his fontanel.

“He’s awake, is he?” Chauhn could hear. “Keep him silent. We’re coming close to the next town and we don’t want anyone to look in. Who knows what will happen if someone finds that we’ve kidnapped a Grimm.”

“They’re not going to find out,” said another voice, the voice closest to him, ”If anything, they’re going to see that one of us is a Grimm! Then they’ll have to let us in to the Mages Council.”

”I don’t know…” said the third voice, his words warbling with anxiety.

”Oh hush, Greggori.”

Chauhn gave another woeful grown, struggling again, ever so slightly, pushing his head against the tautness of the bag.

”What are we going to do with him? Surely, he’ll speak. He’ll let everyone know of what we’ve done, he’ll take back the Plagued Item. They say there’s a connection between them, an unwritten binding.”

”There’s a whole reason why we chose this boy other others,” said the nearest voice, ”He’s an orphan. No one will look for him. And his Plague Item hasn’t entered the second stage. It’ll be easy to make the switch. All we have to do is dispose of him.”

”Dispose of him?” echoed the voice of Greggori in fear, ”What do you mean?”

”Dump him in the river, of course.”

”He’ll freeze! He’ll drown!”

”Both. And that’s kind of the idea.”

The second voice interrupted then, his words accented with sniffs, ”Well, we’ll do it once we find the Plague Item.”

"Little b*****d hid it well, he did. Now hand me his bag. Perhaps he stowed it away in there..."

Chauhn’s heart caught in his throat, wrapped up in sudden coils of hope. They hadn’t found Clurie yet! Thank his health, they haven’t found Clurie. Yet. That word hung on his mind like a thorn. There were still chances of them finding him, and Chauhn still had no idea where he was. His little brother had probably snuck off somewhere, hidden himself. Yes! That must be it, hidden himself…Clurie was smart. Of course, he was smart! He was a Clemmings. Chauhn couldn’t help but beam in pride of his little brother.

Still, Chauhn had to figure out how to get away from these men and save himself and Clurie. But he could do little for his aid, he could barely move. Thoughts, still madly flying about in his head, organized themselves into a fitful column of questions. Was Clurie really so important that these men would drive themselves to crime and murder for the sake of his acquisition? For Chauhn, Clurie was his brother, blood that he owed everything to. But to them? To them, Clurie was a Plague item, a tool, a means to save themselves from the Plague, and garner entrance. They wouldn’t love Clurie like he would.

Chauhn had to protect him!

But first Chauhn had to get out. He struggled, pushing his head at the top of the bag, where he felt the ties begin to loosen…


.. . . . ..

.. . . . ]| When All is Washed Away |[ . . . ..

Crawling into the next town, another frigid stop on his long trek back home, Chauhn seeks shelter at the only place that would take him in without the need of pretty pennies and shillings, the church.

.. . . . ..

.. . . . ]| Stranger in a Familiar Place |[ . . . ..

He could feel nothing.

The cold of the winter and the frosted lands of Shyregoed where still trapped within Chauhn's body, numbing him to every feeling save the beat of his heart against his ribs. He couldn't even feel his feet any more, which were trudging through cold mud and slop collected in between the cobblestones of the slowly forming street. As he hung his head, he could see his toes, purple and dark, poking through the torn meager fabric of his poor shoes. In the journey back home to Imisus, they had worn completely through. There was little point in wearing them, even, they were so worn, worn down to the state of rags. He tottered on already popped blisters. In the end, it was because of those open flaps of skin that convinced Chauhn to keep the rags of his boots on his feet to spare him from walking on raw flesh. That was the worst of it though. His cold limbs and digits would suffer little harm after they were warmed by the steam vents or chimneys (provided Chauhn could climb onto a roof successfully). There were aging bruises along his arms and neck, but they didn't bother him. Long ago did the frozen weight of that misplaced blood disappear from the survey of his senses.

What Chauhn did feel was the ache and worry in his heart.

Back again in Imisus he was, but, unlike before when he traversed the streets of the coastal town, he was frightened. He had expected to be happy, to be relieved upon his return to the smokey haze of his coastal city...but to his dismay, he didn't. No longer did he feel comfortable, uncaring and blind to the buildings and their inhabitants, as he scrambled underneath the market boot, searching for meager work and bread crusts. His focus was elsewhere, onto a higher level of survival, rather than the daily needs of food, shelter, and work. Now he was concerned, more than ever, about safety. There were untrustworthy faces all around now. The familiar places, like the Butcher shop, the Bakery, and the Fish Market, were no longer places of refuge and gain. They were hot spots, prime places for people to sneak in under the bustle and whisk him away into the darkness. But if those places were untrustworthy, then so were the alleys, the streets, the beach front, and the abandoned houses. They were all prime places to be kidnapped, Chauhn's paranoia, told him. They were all prime places to be mugged of his last reason to live.

Clurie...

More resolute than ever, Chauhn knew that he had to protect what he held in his soft leather pouch, carefully concealed underneath his clothing close to his breast. He had to do anything, and he would to everything, to protect and serve the little life wiggling within the pouch. There was no question in his mind. That was to become his ruling thought, his priority, the guidelines to his every action.

Once was enough for Chauhn. He did not want to risk being kidnapped and taken someplace far again. He didn't even want to risk being seen or known to have a Plague of his own. It was all too risky.

...Which meant that he had to go for help.

He was told where he should go, by Sloane, the Plague who saved him from certain and icy death at the hands of three desperate vagabonds. Chauhn had to find the Council of Sciences. There, he would seek and beg for work in exchange for food, shelter, and, most important of all, protection. Protection not only for himself but for Clurie. If he could get there, then he would have all he needed to work and provide for his little brother.

Screwing his face into a determined frown as he picked his way carefully through the bustle of the late morning streets, Chauhn surged ahead, his tired and weary eyes peering at everything, every sign, every person, for a sign of the Council.

"Don't worry, Clurie," Chauhn said, talking to no one but himself, it seemed, "Ah won't stop walkin' til Ah finds the Council. Ah 'aven't stopped walkin' since Shyregoed, 'n' ah ain't gunna stop walkin' now...Not until we're safe."

The little urchin trudged on, an unnoticed missing piece to the picture perfect portrait of the city slums.

.. . . . ..

.. . . . ]| To Find a Needle in a Sea of Pins: End |[ . . . ..

The cold hand of terror slowly flexed its fingers around Chauhn's heart the moment he realized the bag upon his chest was empty. For a moment, the urchin remained like that, patting and prodding the bag, as if the next moment he touched it he would feel the familiar wiggle and writhe of the ashes within. Still, no matter how long he waited, the bag remained empty. It was about then, that Chauhn's patience and mentality broke.

"CLURIE!" Chauhn screamed, his voice scratching out a painful chord in the silence of the library. He moved himself back and squinted through the flickering light from his lantern at the floor around him. Patting himself down, searching for signs of his brother, the urchin repeated and called out Clurie's name along with demands for his whereabouts. "Clurie, this is n'time ta be playin'! Yer supposed t'stay wit' me! Where are ya? Clurie? Where are ya?!"

In his mad scramble and search, Chauhn's eyes finally focused on something in the dark. There was something skittering just beyond the rim of the lantern's light, scrambling and rolling. Knitting his brows together, Chauhn shifted and lurched over to the edge of the light. As he moved forward, the thing skittered away, blending into the darkness. "Dammit," Chauhn squeaked, his heart jumping with fear. Leaning back, he grasped the lantern, carefully holding it so that the melted wax didn't flip and douse his light source, and moved forward again.

For a split moment, in the darkness, Chauhn could see what it was that scrambled and teased the shadows. The flare of light landed just long enough on the skittering thing for Chauhn to see that it was, indeed, Clurie. Clurie, a rolling tumbling mess of ash and black, had little limbs with which it used to crawl and scramble across the floor boards that sometimes faded in and out, constantly reworking and reforming its shape, compacting itself, so that it could lurch forward in a mad hustle. Chauhn, upon seeing the ashes, neither felt sorrow or fear, like any sane person might have at the sight of a Plague that possessed the remains of their deceased family member. Instead, he felt only hope and relief. In his eyes, that wandering pile of ashes was his brother and no one could convince him otherwise.

"Clurie," Chauhn said, his voice stern and relieved at the same time, as he walked hurriedly after the ashes, "Y'scared the 'ealth outta me. Don't do that. Where are ye goin'?" When there came no reply, the Clemmings boy furrowed his brows and tried to harden his voice, "Clurie, ah've got no time t'be wastin'. Ah need to find a book! A very special book. It 'as documents tha' Mister Simon Rockwell needs back, Clurie, 'n' m'candle is just about melted away."

The little pile of ashes named Clurie gave a splurt, a spin, and a scamper, moving faster before him.

"Clurie," Chauhn said very firmly as he followed the ash pile around a corner and down the long stretch of book cases, "Aren't ya listenin' t'me? It's very important tha' ah find these documents! We need a safe place t'be, 'n' the Council, Mister Simon Rockwell 'n' all can provide tha' for us! Ah can't risk losin' you again. Come on. Ahm very tired, ah don't want t'be playin' hide 'n' seek right now."

Scrambling around, the little pile of ash paused at a section of books, debated, and flipped around the corner of the book shelf, moving to the other side. Chauhn, setting his mouth into a frown, followed after, trying to stoop down to pick up the pile of ashes as he rounded the corner down another aisle. Clurie was quick, however, and jumped out of his reach, skittering madly down the length of the book shelf. Trying to keep the ashes within the light of the lamp at all times, Chauhn followed afterwords, wobbling delicately on each step with his torn and blistered feet.

"Clurie, really, y'need t'get back 'n your bag, right now. Ah need t'find--" but his words choked off. The little pile of ashes, giving an energetic splutter and wiggle, clambered up the side of a bookshelf onto a shelf just within Chauhn's reach. Perching itself on a book at the end of the shelf, nestled just behind the large spine of another, Clurie's ashes spluttered again and then plastered themselves all over the spine, marking the book with black. Chauhn, knitting his brows together, shook his head, almost in disbelief. He knew what Clurie was pointing out, and a little part of him knew that his search was over, but he still couldn't believe it. Setting the lantern down on a shelf, Chauhn braced himself on the frame of the bookcase and lifted himself up onto the tip of his toes. His fingers searched for a while, feeling unsatisfactory spines, but with another reassuring glance, they grasped the tome indicated by Clurie's black self. Chauhn wrestled it out from its tight nook and pulled it down for his inspection. Clurie, lifting itself off of the book with an energetic wiggle and writhe, crawled up Chauhn's arm, seeming to purr with a job-well done, and splattered itself contentedly on Chauhn's face.

"Clurie!" Chauhn coughed, blinking madly as the soot and ash flattened itself onto his face, a solid mask of black. Rubbing at his eyes, Chauhn finally got to take a look at the book in his hands. It seemed like any other book, well, at least to Chauhn. There were odd designs on its face, a title that meant little to the illiterate urchin, but aside from that, it didn't look like it held any particular importance. The worth, though, was in the little tabs of paper sticking out of the top. Chauhn's heart skipped a beat with excitement and he opened the book. Sure enough, the papers, the documents Mister Rockwell had instructed him to find, were within.

Breathing happily, Chauhn fought down the choke of tears. He pulled the papers free of their hostage tome and hopped a bit on his feet with excitement. "These are the papers!" he squeaked, "These are what Mister Rockwell lost! Clurie, how didja know where t'find them?"

The ash on his face lifted up and skittered down his arms to spaz out on his wrist in simulated reply.

Even without hearing a definite answer, Chauhn sure imagined there was one, "That's brilliant, Clurie! Well done! Y'helped y'big brother a great deal, y'did!" the Clemmings said happily. He took the papers and very carefully folded them up so he could tuck them into the front pocket of his overalls. Making sure they were secure, he patted his chest and then glanced at Clurie, who was still attached to his wrist, a seething little ball of ash. "Come on, litt'l brother," Chauhn prompted, opening the bag on his chest. The pile of ash, giving a reluctant wriggle, scampered into the bag. "Get back 'n 'ere. Ahm gunna go find Mister Simon Rockwell so we can give 'im back 'is papers. Then we can sleep. Does tha' sound good? Yes? Ah can't wait to sleep, Clurie. Ah sure 'ope we can get somewheres soft...Like a drawer or somethin'...to sleep. That would be wonderful, won't it, Clurie?"

Taking his little lantern, the Clemmings boy and the ashes, retreated back through the library. He made his way back to the fireplace, knowing full well that the doors in the front were probably locked. He replaced the candle and lantern from where he took them and made sure to mask his passage through the library. When all as complete, Chauhn gave a weary nod of success and turned to the fireplace. The only way he could escape from the library now was to do the thing that he did best, climb chimneys. So, hefting himself up into the small dusty space, Chauhn wrenched himself up the shaft, inching his way upward. It was a long shaft and took a lot longer than if he were completely healthy, but eventually, with pauses and breaks to catch his breath, the little urchin clambered out from the top of the chimney. Covered in ash and soot, weary beyond realization, Chauhn blinked in the crisp night air. In the distance, far over the stacks and rooftops of the coastal Imisus town, was the ocean and a glow that lit up the dark horizon. His search through the library had taken all night long and morning was soon to come. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Chauhn knew that he couldn't rest yet. He couldn't rest until he found Mister Rockwell again and gave over the papers, a sign of the completion of his task. Only then could he give up and sleep. Scrambling carefully down the rooftop of the library, a small shadow against the dark dome of the sky, Chauhn found his weary way back down to the floor of the city.

His priorities now was to get to an entrance of the catacombs and find the man he met before and announce to him that he had done a job good and complete.

Perhaps then he would be accepted underneath the safe wing of the Council of Sciences.

.. . . . ..

.. . . . ]| Arisen Again from Ashes |[ . . . ..



The pitter patter of bare feet against wet cobblestone chased after Chauhn as he scampered through the shadow cased alleyways. The documents he had, after long work and toil, recovered from the seemingly endless labyrinth of books that was the seaside town's library. Breathing hard through his mouth so that the chill morning air burned its way through his throat as he ran, Chauhn hobbled along and turned into a well known alleyway. His heart hiccuped a bit once he recognized the soot smeared brick and the collected crates and garbage against the heel of the wall. This alley was the same alley where he was previously kidnapped, ensnared and dragged away to the frigid reaches of Shyregoed.

Furrowing his brows and biting down on his chapped lips, Chauhn stepped within the alley. If his inner compass was correct, just a few blocks on the other side of this alleyway and down towards the surf, would be an alchemist's shop run by one of the Council. Once he descended through the hatch, he would be safe...Clurie would be safe. This meant that he had to go through the alley. His stomach twisted at the thought of it, but the Clemmings boy disregarded his nervous worry. There were more important priorities on his list...Rather, on his chest, tucked safely away in a leather bag underneath his ratty clothes. Stretching his legs forward, Chauhn steeled himself from the seed of paranoia in his gut and ducked into the long alley stretch.

As he entered it grew exponentially darker, as the light of the morning was still eating its way up the eastern hemisphere. The darkness clung to the alleyway, as if trying to escape from the sun. Chauhn blinked his eyes, trying to adjust his eyes as he moved quickly around the trash in the alleyway. His heart was pounding, burning almost, with the remembered terror of the alleyway. His mind played tricks on him, and he could see the shapes of three men hiding behind the garbage, looming up from the corners to jump at him, but it was all a trick of the shadows shifting at his passage. Hitting the halfway mark, the deepest area of shadow, Chauhn noticed something strange.

The burning of his heart was increasing.

No, it wasn't the scratch of morning air down his throat, it wasn't the effort of running...It wasn't the head of his body. There was a definite heat...A strengthening warmth, burning at his chest. The tabor of his little heart thrummed, swelling up into a crescendo the moment that Chauhn realized there was something truly burning at his chest. Pausing in his frantic navigation of the alleyway, Chauhn pressed his hands to his overalls and shirt to test the heat, trying to stabilize his worn feet against the thin puddles of grime. In moments, the heat swelled, a sharp blinding pain that laid itself on his skin like a hot hand, stealing away Chauhn's breath as he gave a great inhale of pain. He wanted to scream and yet he didn't. He couldn't make any noise in this alley for fear it would attract unwanted attention. But oh, how he wanted to scream.

Clurie was burning.

Something more than panic and natural born instincts tore at him then, commanding his body into a mad frenzied struggle. It was terror, not for his burning skin, but for his brother that drove him. As he ripped off the suspenders of his overalls and yanked down his front, Chauhn looked in climbing fear at the dull glow that bore through the fabric of his clothes. It was strengthening. What was a dim light at first, then erupted into a bright beacon, and his clothes darkened, and then burned away, little rings of heat searing through his ratty shirt. Chauhn, with a restrained yell that turned into a whimper, slapped at his chest, trying to punch out the flames while, at the same time, he tried wrenching his shirt over his head. Ripping it over his skull, successfully pulling off his hat and losing it behind his feet, he threw his shirt onto a nearby crate. He wasn't able to give much attention to the fact that it slipped off and fell into the grime because he was too busy looking at the flaming halo of fire that was attached to the necklace on his pale and skinny chest, casting his horrified gaze into sharp contrast of light and shadow.

Finally, he screamed. "Anh....Aaah...! AAAUUGH!" His voice eked out in the alleyway, rebounding about itself so Chauhn could hear the scratch and tear of his shriek hammer about the temples of his head. For a terrible brief moment, Chauhn's good intention fought with instinct. He didn't want to rip Clurie from around his neck, he never, NEVER took off Clurie willingly. It was like a pact of protection between him and the little pouch of ashes that he would always have him around his neck. ...But instinct overwhelmed Chauhn's actions. His chest was burning. He could feel his skin bursting with boils and folding back into itself from the heat the longer he let the blazing pouch hang there. Despite his brotherly pride, Chauhn, with a loud bark of pain, yanked the lanyard off his neck and dropped it before his feet. Glancing down to his chest, he could see his raw burnt skin, white with blisters and red all along his chest, a slimy and terrible wound that ate into his flesh. Gaping, Chauhn blinked his eyes terribly, unable to cry and almost disbelieving of the burn on his chest. He was struck with too much sudden pain to do more than gape and struggle for breath.

Then he remembered.

Clurie.

Casting his eyes upon the ground where the dying flame coughed and spluttered against the grime between his pointed and raw feet, Chauhn fell to his knees. With trembling hands, he cupped his hands around the pouch but sharply drew back when the flames licked back at him. He quickly brushed his hands against his pants, biting his teeth against the snap of pain, before attempting to pat out the flames...

...When the distinct sound of muffled coughing was heard.

Chauhn froze, looking down at the bag with a widening gaze. Trying to keep the moisture from gathering his eyes from the weariness, pain, and terror he was feeling, he blinked frantically and listened close again.

Again, the sound of coughing...And now movement from the burnt leather bag.

Shuffling and stretching from within, this time, with strength Chauhn hadn't seen the like of before, the burning remains of the pouch curled in upon itself, breaking open and crumbling into blackened ashes. Again, there was the sound of coughing, a pant, and a struggling moan. Unable to move, too struck with shock to do much else than watch, Chauhn watched as a little capped head pushed itself out of the ashes. Shaking, the little body wrenched itself, with great effort and weariness from the destroyed leather, crawling out of the flame.

...Just like Chauhn wished his brother would when they first set fire to his body in the family hearth.

Coughing up clouds of soot and ash, inhaling with deep scratchy breaths, the little body finally yanked himself free and lifted himself from his knees to stand amidst the dying flame. With little fingerless gloved hands of black, he pounded at his chest, and windmilled his other arm for balance. The small body, a little larger than the length of Chauhn's finger, was covered with soot. Giving a quick tug to his feet, he lifted up his little legs and kicked the burnt leather from his shoes before he leaned down and patted determinedly at his overalls, ridding them from clouds of ash and the potentially dangerous burning embers that still clung to his form like glowing fireflies on his clothes. Leaning up, he gave another great series of coughs that offset his hat so that it fell down over his face, obscuring his seemingly sewn cheeks, and when he had calmed his breathing, he pushed up the rim of his hat and glanced upwards with a blackened face, eyeless and little mouth lopsided in a haggard draw for breath.

"Uh..." the little being mumbled, its voice a painful sounding rasp. "...huh?"

He was looking up at at a dark shadowed shape that hunched before him, half dressed and torn, battered, dirty and bruised, a perfect picture of a boy heeled underneath the stress of day to day life as an urchin of a coastal town. His chest was branded with a newly made burn, and his fingers were red and worn, fingernails cracked and broken. Around his face was a knotted tangle of hair, tucked and wrapped into itself with dirt and sweat, framing an honest pair of eyes that leaked tears onto his soot streaked face. He looked...shocked...almost terrified...And yet, almost relieved, all at the same time.

Lifting his head up even more, peering into the boy's face, the newborn Plague rubbed at it's cheeks with his sleeve, coughed into his elbow, and fell back into the ashes.

"...C-clurie?"

The word came from Chauhn's lips, hesitant and quiet, in an exhale. It felt like he hadn't ever said the name before, not like this, not with meaning actually attached to it. To Chauhn, it felt like he were saying the name for the first time. And for some reason it hurt him. The moment he strained the muscles in his throat and mouth to form the name of his deceased brother he felt like he were breaking himself to pieces. His gut wrenched within him and the force pulled his face into a terrible frown, forcing up wells of water to spill from his eyes. The hot tears burned lines down the soot on his face, and Chauhn found himself sniveling in order to just keep himself breathing.

But...There...Before him, was a small body. Not quite yet his brother...But it was someone. He wouldn't have to be alone now, talk to himself or talk to strangers simply to hear another voice acknowledge him. Instead of a bag of ashes, Chauhn had a Plague-- No. Chauhn had his brother. It was his brother, Chauhn convinced himself of it. There was no one else this could be.

"...Clurie..." Chauhn managed to say, choking the word free from the knot of emotions strangling his heart within him.

"...Huh?" said the Plague again.

Swallowing, Chauhn leaned forward and moved his hands near the little being's body, careful as he plucked him up by his arm back onto his feet. With his fingers, he carefully dusted off his little shoulders and righted his hat on his head. He gave him only the fondest of smiles, sniveling and blinking past the moisture in his eyes.

"Clurie...You're Clurie," Chauhn said softly, "Your name is Clurie."

Haphazardly hanging onto his balance, Clurie coughed out little clouds of ash again as he was partly dusted off. Moving his hands up near his hat again, straightening it out, he mused wonderingly at the urchin before him.

"I am?" he asked, "It is?"

Chauhn nodded his head energetically, lifting up his hands to wipe his palms across his face as he gave a twitching smile. He winced as he moved, the pain his chest distracting and sharp, but nothing compared to the pain he felt deep within his heart.

"You are. Don'tcha remember? You're m'brother, m'little brother," Chauhn said helpfully. Behind him, the sky was slowly lighting up, blushing a morning's rosy hue.

The Plague stared up at him, seemingly unconvinced. "I am?" he asked again. Screwing his little mouth into a thoughtful purse, he shrugged his shoulders and gestured at Chauhn with his open hands, "Who are you?"

The question hit him like a brick in the face. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, the Clemmings boy swallowed past the lump of fear in his throat. There was no way that Clurie couldn't remember him...No way. He was his brother. Perhaps...Being ashes for long just fogged up his memory. That had to be it. He was still remembering everything. It might be a while yet until he remembered anything at all! That must be it. When he opened his eyes again, he let loose of new tears and tried again to give his most humble and hopeful smile. "Ahm Chauhn, your older brother. You are Clurie 'n' ahm Chauhn. We're the last of the Clemmings family."

Mulling over the information for a few seconds, listening as the crackle of the flames around him chuckled down into silence, the newly-dubbed Clurie scratched thoughtfully at his cheek. After letting the information sink in, Clurie let a small smile creep onto his shadowed face. "Brother," he said, matter-of-factly. He liked the way the word rolled off his tongue. Stretching his arms up towards the boy's face, Clurie repeated himself, "Brother!"

Chauhn nodded, his heart near to bursting with joy. He couldn't help himself but cry harder at this point, laughing pitifully amidst the hiccups for breath and grunts of pain. Leaning forward carefully with one hand while the other hand pulled up his overalls as best he could, Chauhn realized that he was missing his shirt. Twisting around, he found the article of clothing in a crumpled mess where he had thrown it and he quickly yanked it's dirty cloth back over his arms and chest, wincing and gasping with hurt every time he stretched his new wound. Without bothering to tend to his burn, or even try and keep it from getting dirty to stuck his shirt, Chauhn pieced himself together as best he could before he reached down to scoop Clurie's nearly weightless body into his hands.

Smiling down at him, blinking with his hot and strained eyes, Chauhn carefully cupped him close to his face.

"Ah promise you, Clurie, no matter what, ahm not gunna let anythin' 'appen t'you. Ahm your big brother 'n' ahm gunna protect you no matter what, Clurie. It's a Clemming's promise. A brother's promise...Ah...Ah love you, Clurie." Chauhn sniffed, his shoulders shaking about his neck. "Thank you for coming back t'me."

Kneeling in Chauhn's worn hands, the little Plague watched his face, eying each of the far tears that rolled down his cheeks. He didn't really know what to do. He didn't really know what to say. But, deep within him Clurie felt like he belonged here, with this sobbing urchin boy. He knew that he belonged to him. Smiling again, admiring the face that looked so warmly upon him despite the layers of dirt and wear and emotion, Clurie resigned himself to his young Grimm. Even before the promise was spoken, Clurie knew that they were bound with something words weren't strong enough to say.

"Promise," Clurie said again, repeating Chauhn's words for lack of better vocabulary.

Chauhn nodded, his brows tightly knitted above his eyes. Thinking quickly, he moved his brother towards his chest to the overall pocket that was sewn there. "Clurie," he said, finally regaining his voice, "You 'ave to stay hidden, okay? 'Ntil we get t'a safe place, 'ntil we get to the Council. You 'ave t'stay 'n this pocket."

Moving into the pocket, Clurie, with Chauhn's help, clambered inside, giving little coughs as he shifted about. It was a spacious pocket, considering Chauhn's overalls were three sizes too big, so Clurie could sit comfortably within it. Positing himself so he could peer out the top of the pocket, Clurie eagerly gripped the edge of the fabric. "To the Council," he mumbled again in echo.

Making sure that Clurie was taken care of, despite the terrible burn upon his chest, Chauhn nodded his head, "Yea, t'the Council. They'll keep us safe, 'n' ah...we...found Simon's documents. For sure they'll keep us safe..."

Wobbling as he lifted himself up to his feet, the Clemmings boy hissed and bit his lip as he strained his weak and weary body. He had to keep moving, now more than ever, did he have to get to the safety of the underground chambers. Placing his hand on his side pocket, making sure that the documents he needed were still within the pocket, Chauhn sighed. Everything was in order. Sucking in a few breaths, trying to convince his body to move forward, he took a few uncertain steps. Once he started moving forward, though, it was easy to forget about his feet, and just go. At this rate, he would reach the Council, and before he knew it, he would be within their safe domain.

"Brother?"

"Yeah? Hush, now, not so loud."

"...What's your name again?"

There was a restrained sigh. "...Chauhn. Ahm Chauhn."

"...Okay."

Two brothers, finally reunited, made their way out of the long stretch of dark alleyway. The morning light was spilling into the city now, lighting up the corridors ad windows of buildings with an increasing golden glow. As Chauhn turned the corner, he stepped into the light, and hobbled after his shadow, traveling his presupposed path to the Council of Sciences, his precious newborn Plague hidden within his clothes.

His brother was returned to him.

.. . . . ..