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Finn-att did not go far. He had only wanted to escape the dark press of walls; this was a frustration he could not run from, because it would follow on his heels no matter how fast he ran. It would dog every step he took.

Whether or not he understood her, whether or not she understood him, Rairne was all he had. It was a pitiful thing, and a hard thing to realize, but it was true. He had lost everything - family, friends, home, and freedom. Even his faith had been shattered. How could he be anything but bitter? There was nothing in this place for him but his end, and nothing for him to do but wait. It was all walls, all hardness beneath his feet, all desperation and loneliness. He had become very like it, he realized - hard and desperate and lonely.

He had always been hard - he had to be - but he had never been heartless. That was something he had saved for the likes of Hojj-att, but now he had been called the same, all because he had faced down an enemy the way he always had - the way you were meant to. How could Rairne be angry with him for that? And how could she be angry over the Morpa? Why did she fear for a creature that was clearly in no danger? He could think of nothing the giant animal would have to fear.

It made no sense! Why did such a thing need to be taken care of, and why was he supposed to be responsible? It was not his or Rairne's, but the dead man's. It had been his friend. Perhaps if it had been the child's friend the concern would be understandable, but she had said no such thing. All she had done was make demands of him! And now she hated him.

Now that anger had faded, hurt had set in when he wasn't paying attention. He was not supposed to hurt! Not emotionally, and not because of some silly child! But it was there. He had done nothing to earn her hate, and the wound stung all the more for it, because he did not understand. The fighter in him wanted to be stubborn, to push away and say "Let her! I do not care," but it had been overtaken by what was lonely in him. He did care.

But what could he do, when he didn't even understand?

Itztlac often ventured into the forest, seeking the quiet companionship of its nocturnal denizens (though with the lack of day versus night, they all now came out as they wished). Though he could summon a handful anywhere, he liked to go out among them, and often ended up with a good-sized contingent 'attending' him. Most of them were not considered impressive animals; in fact, they were considered pests almost to a one. Possums, raccoons, mice, feral cats...only the solitary owl who came to him on this day was considered a respectable creature. His godhood and domain may have drawn them to him, but perhaps they came in part to be recognized. Appreciated.

He lay with his legs folded, the assortment of animals surrounding him, and in some cases resting atop him. The little claws tickled his hide and set it to twitching reflexively, but he didn't mind. As long as the two cats kept their claws sheathed, all was well. Cradled in his arms was a young racoon, which he stroked like a pampered housecat.

Animals were so much easier than humans. They knew him, recognized him, and that was sufficient. They demanded no proof, no display of power to dismiss their skepticism. Not that he had yet bothered much with humans, though he knew he should. Eventually. When he felt like it.

The creaking of sudden weight on branches reached his sensitive ears, and he raised his head to look. His first impression was that more owls had come to join him, but these were far too large to be ordinary owls, and their coloring was not right; nor was the way they regarded him. Even before a piercing voice entered his mind, he knew they were sentient.

"We heard you. We felt you. Who are you?"

Looking from one to the other, he tried to determine which of the three birds had addressed him. The smallest, who was a dark brownish-black in color with fiant patterning and yellow eyes, flared and resettled its wings in answer to the silent question.

The centaur-god acknowledged the speaker with a nod. "I am Itztlac, Scion of Silent Hours. I am the God of Night. That is why you felt me, because you are of me." He raised the hand that had been rubbing the raccoon's ears to indicate the rest of the assembly. "Like the others."

Another few minutes passed as the owl-creatures conversed amongst themselves.

"So they are true, then. The stories of what has passed and why?"

Itztlac nodded.

"We wish to know more. You will tell us, yes? If we are...of you, as you say."

Another nod. "Only tell me who you are, and I will do as you ask."

"I am Neirin," answered the speaker, "And these are Lleuad and Taranu." Respectively, it indicated the dark gray individual to its left, and the one to its right - the largest and lightest in color of the three. "We are Tylluan."

Tylluan, hmm? It didn't sound familiar, though he didn't expect it to. He would have to inquire as to their nature and origins, once he'd done as promised. "Very well. From the beginning, then..."

Itztlac had talked with Neirin for hours in the privacy of the dark forest that constituted his rooms, learning all she would tell of his supposed children. What interested him most was their current situation, the position they found themselves in following the havoc that Gehenna had wreaked. They'd numbered over a thousand, but were now a mere fourteen individuals. Perhaps the Brenhines was right, and more would be found, but even then...it was a pathetically small number. Still, as she pointed out, not an impossible one.

He was impressed by her seeming capability; not all rulers were good ones, but she had sense. And, perhaps more importantly, she had hope. What worried her the most, by her own admission, was the traditional structure of Tylluan society. It was impractical to try to preserve the old bloodlines under these circumstances, but two of the three remaining Tylwyth disagreed with her - doubtlessly out of self-interest.

Not that Neirin's personal interests weren't served by her view; she disliked Taranu, who was her only option if she sided with tradition. It was a potentially sticky situation, with a cousin she suspected had an eye to her title. There had been an unspoken question in all of this: could he help? Perhaps if he openly sided with her, that would be enough.

But again, perhaps not. Perhaps it was better he not get involved in an obvious way.

Itztlac had been giving the Tylluan quite a bit of thought, in the few days since he'd first met them; in that time, the remainder had come to take up residence in the safety of his home. He'd met and spoken to them all, and had to admit he agreed with Neirin on the matter of Taranu. He was insufferably vain, and not at all as clever as he liked to think.

Night shared his observations with his lone aoide, though he didn't expect her to be helpful. She had proved surprisingly resourceful in the past, but he was rather taken aback when she offered a suggestion. Not only that, but a suggestion with quite a bit of potential.

"Maybe," Thicket ventured timidly, "If this Taranu was interested in another girl, that would take care of it?"

The god dipped his antlered head in confirmation. "Yes, but that will never happen. He only has eyes for Neirin - or rather, for her status."

"That could be changed. I'm...friendly with Love's aoidei, and they say he can make mortals fall in love with anyone he wants them to. Maybe if you asked him, he'd help? They say he really likes to help."

Itztlac considered the proposition with a frown. That would take care of things, yes, but then he'd owe this other god a favor. He didn't like owing other people favors, especially gods; there was never any telling what they'd ask for, or when. But, on the other hand, it was time he started building relationships with his fellow deities...

"You surprise me again, Ket." He patted the demoness' head fondly. "Where does this god live?"

Follow-up with Rio.