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Marissa looked slightly stricken. "You mean... I can't go with you?" She asked anxiously, clutching Kale a little tighter. She had been so protective of him since his transformation, it was hard to imagine letting him out of her sight. "But, you said you need an earth..." Her voice dropped, as if off of a cliff, as she paused in thought.

"Rojiza...?" She began, sounding pensive and obviously uncomfortable with the thought. Still...it seemed the only way.

"Rojiza, you take Kale with the Filors? So he can be cured? Your earth element can help him." She looked at her mother. "Caroline?"

[GEH, sorry. xD]

Caroline looks at Rojiza, then at the mer-swifts, then at Missa. Then back to Rojiza. "I....I don' rightly know what t'decide. I'll leave it up to Ro, then."

Silent Rojiza stands up. She'd never really been around the ocean before, but its mighty roar cows her. She trembles for a while. Why is it always up to me to decide? she thinks angrily. Are you sure you even want me to decide? Look what happened last time I chose something! Her gaze flicks to candle-Kale, and her mind is abruptly made up. She nods once. There's no turning back.

Tamlin finished off her melody with a flourish and lowered her flute.

"why thank you very much stranger. it is always nice to hear ones talents are appreciated. what can i do for you?"

Lorelei peered at the bubble boat, then back at Rojiza, smiling reassuringly at the girl. "Take Kale and get him help, okay? We'll all be here, waiting for you."

Fire needs water, hm? Lorelei was getting the odd feeling that she'd misinterpretted Aleysius' fortunes. She had, in passing, thought that they might need her help... but they seemed to have it under control.

Withdrawing a little, she stepped back a little along the dock, watching them all. Vanna squirmed, and she loosened her grip a little.

A figure farther down on the beach- though he was surely too far away for Lorelei to see... was searching. He had heard from Kidra, who he'd seen in the brush-by of the crowd- that Valelldia's caravan was here. That must mean that... she was here.

And he had something important to tell her.

Rojiza was just hitching up her skirts to jump into the boat, when the figure from the end of the dock came forward.

It was Amkia. He came near enough, and his feet padded along the dock- not quietly, for the boards were old and rickety, and the boy made no move to tiptoe- that they might be able to do more than hear him. Had the gypsies wished, they could turn to see him, as well.

The boy lifted his arms, and through them, a pink stream almost gorgeous in its hue and whispery flight, came coursing through, and ended- in Lorelei, where she held her little girl... tightly. There was a sweetness, there: so much concentration of magic was in the stream, that Vanna was as she had been before- the white, pale skin of the nullification dripped free in an instant, and the fae-like child returned to full glory.

However, in that brief moment of righteousness, also came a terrible price- for that effect of the magic... had not been intentional. It was never intended to spread joy. Not this curse. It was strong.. for it came through a gypsy. And not only a gypsy- but a Fortunette- a direct creature of the meij. Imagine... curses as a hot flame. For most, all they can muster is the secondhand magic... that is akin to placing your hand upon something else that has been heated- a piece of ceramic, or a bit of boiling water. They are burned- but not nearly as strongly as they might have, had their hand been submersed in pure flames.

Kale's curse, that was in the process of being righted... was akin to this sort of curse- a secondhand sort of effect of the magic's twist, coming through one who did not have a direct path to the meij. But the one that was being inflicted upon Lorelei and Vanna... it was the sort of curse that, if flame is still being used to describe... as being covered from head to toe in red flames. This was a direct pathway to the meij, and so... it burned brightly.

It was done in an instant, and then, Amkia turned and ran away- the very picture of a young boy escaping trouble. In his wake, he left- invisible devastation.

For whenever Lorelei would turn to look down at her daughter, she would feel in her eyes... a blinding stab of pain, and instant blindness. When she looked away... her sight would return. This would repeat every single time she tried to look on the smallest part of her beloved daughter- whether it be the beauty of her face... or the smallest finger on her delicate hand.

Amkia ran down the dock, and into the crowd- headed back for the caravan. The woman who had stood at his side... she watched him go... hungrily. Insatiably. But she had bigger things to do, and it would only be a matter of time before she was satisfied. She nodded at the man who had hired her.

"It is done."

He grunted. "Good." He was not giving the woman praise, but rather, himself for thinking on it. "Now she will... forget this gypsy nonsense. And come home." Only then did he look down at the woman at his side, a snarl on his lips as if he'd only just remembered she was there. "The payment is at the house. Come." And then, with a swirl of the woman's black cloak... they were gone.

As soon as the pink light covered the two women, one of the Filor gasped- the other screamed.

The Filor who had screamed cried out- the two were gripping both sides of the boat with their arms.

"We... we can't wait any longer! We either go NOW... or we don't go at all!" They were terrified, and surprised... and didn't know what to do. But if they tarried much longer, the magic would fade- and then there was virtually no way to reach the Northern King in time.

The girl was startled out of the bulk of her sobs, though tears still trickled from the corners of her eyes, particularly when she winced them against the bright sun. "No, no nothing. It's too late now." She sniffed, and looked down again. She couldn't be more than 17 years old, and the white marks on her face were few- but intricate, consisting mostly of a webwork coming from the corner of her right eye and spiralling down into a sort of vine-like tendril along her jaw, along which, a few white buds seemed to sprout. She was delicate in the way that ice sculptures are delicate- made to be beautiful for such a short time, and made of a material already so sparkling and raw that so few real artistries and talent were needed in its making. An ice sculpture need not be half as intricate or well-made as any other, more lasting piece of art, thanks to its glowing, sadly impermanent visage. When you look at an ice sculpture, you do not think, "Ah, but that angel is not nearly so detailed and fine as other angels I have seen", but instead, marvel at its transluscent beauty, and think 'How sad. It will be gone in only a few hours'- and so, it leaves a mark on your memory, as beautiful and shapeless a smear as the wet remains of such a thing- only hours after its making. So was this priestess- a beautiful girl- but not as beautiful as many- who, at any moment- may melt away.