"Within the bowels of these elements
                Where we are tortured and remain forever
                Hell hath no limits nor is circumscribed
                In one self place, but where we are is hell.
                And where hell is there must we ever be."
                                        (Marlowe 43)

        "I swear to the dreaming the next time I see him I am going to cut
his throat open and lay it for the vultures to pick and disgorge his
innards" he thought as he turned his gaze from the foul enemy he was
forced to be bound with and turned his eyes about at the gathering of
people.  Three sidhe...one not so sidhe not included.  A satyr, two
trolls, a redcap, a pooka, and the rest .. He shrugged and sighed inwardly.
        His hair flowed back from his head like a veil of blackness as
the wind blew it about.  He perched himself upon a stone gargoyle as they
sat and discussed...watching... waiting until they would heal him enough so
he could awaken.
        It was his own innate training that allowed him to survive.  The
cursed metal plunged deep into his side writhed it's way inside him
trying to get and eventually plunge into his heart.  That is something he
did not want to happen... although he wished it many times.  He stood now
crossing about the group and he thought about the lady... the dark lady he
had conversed with moments before.  Her skin so soft and it felt like silk.
        He pushed away the thoughts.  There would be time enough for
courting her in the years to come.  As he always had.  Husband, father,
protector, and assassin.  But nothing, he thought, could stop his longing
for the adventure that death held for him.  He among all the Kithain knew
what lie beyond... especially now.
        The castle... the griffin, dragon, and unicorn would let him pass.
He knew it as surely as his name.  He would sit and he would read.  He so
longed to just sit and read.  Stop fighting and succumb to knowledge and
adventures he himself did not create.  How pompous and arrogant he must
seem.  He shrugged inwardly again.
        "it cannot be helped" he thought.
        His dark eyes focused on the form of the satyr.  Her golden glow
piercing into his darkness.  This too could not be helped.  How hard much
he wanted to be alone and care not for others.  Cattle they all had been.
Pawns for the cause.  The dreaming was all that mattered keeping the
stories and dreams alive.  And lancing the boils that would seek to
impede the other's rights.  She had shown him more.  He was not
comfortable with that.  Then again comfortable was not a word he was
comfortable with either.
         His Kithain brother began the process of removing the dagger and
the pain wracked his soul as he felt himself being pulled back into the
mortal coil.  He cried out as the glamour was again polluted by the
mundane world.
        He opened his eyes and blinked of his own accord.  His body
almost in sync with his commands again.  He coughed a throaty cough.
then sat up and whispered mainly to himself "I want to go back"