They were always the outcasts, the loners, the ones in their tribes that just didn't fit in.

How could they? After all, they walked upright or they had those weird thumb-things, too many limbs, and more.

Mahno was the first to leave his tribe. He could hardly bear the differences between he and his relatives, let alone the others in the tribe. He was set apart by his colors first, being so bright and some would say jarring. But then when his ear just wouldn't 'stay on' and he lost the chunk of his upper arm, even his own family line shunned him. He could feel their tension whenever he was near. They didn't feel comfortable with his weird slightly smelly 'wound' there. It was somehow still functional, even though he had no muscle nor tendon on his arm. Perhaps that was what triggered his powers. He sensed emotion but more than that, he could control it on a basic level. What he usually wound up doing was scaring the crap out of anything that came his way. He liked that just fine.

Caiva with his brightly pink segmented skin and obnoxiously flame-patterened fringe ... not to mention the two heads... He was dumped outside his tribe's territory and told not to return, the moment he was old enough to fend for himself. Perhaps a little earlier than that, really. But... He was never alone. That was a joke, you see. Though his two heads function separately and control different parts of his body (the fringed head controls his legs, while the finned one his torso and arms), they only get along when they have a common enemy or goal. His - their - ability to confuse and confound other minds became apparent when he and the group ran amok of their first Zekirans. But that's getting ahead of the story.

CharnBat slithered her own way out of her tribe's sheltered base, leaving everyone there in a state of disarray. Her powers over physical form left many in pain, some with moults, and a few itching crazily for no apparent reason. Her powerful torso aids her when legs would hardly do: she can get into tight spaces and loves to dangle herself on improbable perches. It was on one of those that Thoihra found her, and created the first of their own tribe.

NhieuTay had powers that would really have come in handy in the savannah. It's too bad he already lived in a cold climate. And of course, he looks a little like he's wearing clothing fit for a nice chilly place. His control over cold aside, Nhieu is very smart. His four hands seem to be enabled by a much bigger brain than the rest of his old tribe could handle. His trek down from the mountains led him right past BoHam's territory.

BoHam with her weird colors and strange fin back and her ugly palpating mouth. To hear any of her tribemates say it - if they had complicated speech, which they didn't - she was simply unfit for life at all. She had to spit on her food to eat it, and what was up with that sheepy curl to her fringe anyway? What had her mother been breeding with? BoHam didn't take much to the things they did intimate about her family. She hoped that when she could summon small lizards and birds or mice to feed upon, purely by thinking it and willing the creatures to her side, that her tribe would appreciate her presence. They feared her instead. So instead she went off with Nhieu when he beckoned from the woods.

And Thoihra. Madeningly limbed and graced with impossible flight. Of course he can barely stand being out in the sunlight, his mutations are so strong. No one knows if he was a natural occurance or something that one of the old immortal Zekirans created in their long-dusty labs. He certainly looks it. He is normally very silent, even when on the wing. Yet he does have his moments of both noisy chatter and of complete clumsiness. On the ground he's a mess of limbs, and that huge tail of his doesn't help. But when he's in flight, it is the only thing tying him to gravity. That, and when he's off the ground he is more apt to produce the brilliant gouts of flame from his sensitive eyes...

"Are you sure they went this way?" BoHam asked, her patience was begining to wear thin. Caiva as always chattered to himself with both heads at once, and they turned to answer her in unison. Two voices, two minds, one statement.

"I'm sure!"

"Fine, fine," she said, her mouth parts able to speak even though they looked nothing like normal. Kind of like how Mahno's arm worked, she thought. She glumly followed the annoying pink feri'taur through the forest, and finally he stopped in front of her. He held one hand down, indicating to freeze, and she did.

If she was concentrating, she could hear him thinking to himself between his heads. She wasn't too keen on that, so she just silently padded forward until they were shoulder to shoulder. She looked over the edge of the precipice and peered down.

Their 'tribe' held some sway over the land nearby. Nhieu occasionally would freeze blocks of ice that would last them until late summer in case their water springs dried up. Thoihra would melt them with his eyes. Each of them did something amazing. But even though they were commanders of their environment, they could never hope to command the Steeds.

The great granite outcropping where BoHam and Caiva stood - seeming very small indeed upon the vast stretch of grey rock - overlooked a valley of grand proportion. It had been carved over the course of the last fifteen thousand years, as the last of the Zekirans died off. Once the ice age ended, their story seemed to as well.

But they'd left reminders, the Steeds were among them. In fact, the Ferilons were too. Most of the little tribe's genetics would never be like they were if Zekirans hadn't interfered with them at some point in the ancient past. Adding bits of birds, or bats, or insects... Fish, whatever. They weren't picky, those Zekiran animal masters. It was a shame that all but the immortal among them were now long gone.

Their creations ruled the planet now. Sure - there were a couple hundred 'people'. But they were nothing to the Steeds. Gigantic animals, already bigger than most Earthly horses when they were brought from their homeworld some eighty five thousand years before. They stood now over 24 hands high, with wingspans getting into the ten and twelve meter range. Some of them had the big curved batwings common for lifters, others had the feathered wings that could soar for hours. Most of the show-bred ones had died out long before.

The two Feri'taurs looked down upon a herd of perhaps seventy colorful Steeds. They were grazing, this valley was their spring home. There was a dramatic blue-black one, a huge male, with scarlet wings and mane, he was clearly the leader. He had a family of perhaps fifteen females with him, all in varying states of pregnancy or suckling their young. BoHam sat down, ignoring any warning to remain frozen. She was transfixed, they were lovely.

They were dangerous, too, those Steeds had been known to rip through Ferilon territories without even noticing. Their hooves were bigger than most kits, and they were heavy beasts.

Beasts they were. BoHat could feel them all from their perch. She could hardly hope to control any of them from there, but should the desire take her, she knew that she'd be able to control one of the young ones. They weren't all that smart. Certainly not as intelligent as their ferilon tribe members. Thumbs would do that for you.

"Well, that solves the question of whether we're moving east this summer," BoHam said. She rose, stretched her limbs, and began to make her way down to the tribe's nesting area again. She heard the frantic noise between Caiva's heads, and wondered absently why he'd never taken two names. That way, when he swore at himself, he could at least distinguish between himself.

He galloped up to her, as quiet as he could be and without alerting the flying Steed lookouts. They had to be careful, because sometimes the Steeds would run the Ferilons off, and this area they'd found was somewhere that the whole group wanted to keep.

"BoHam, wait up!" One head hissed. She slowed down a little, let him catch up, but didn't stop. "Didn't you see the one weird thing down there?"

"Weird thing? No." She said, flatly.

"Then look again," Caiva said and he exerted a little of his mental willpower over her. She stopped, knowing what he'd done, and was angry. But she wasn't angry enough to fight him.

They crept back to the promontory outlook and, wary of the scouts soaring above, sorted out the big herd.

"That one there is the thing I mean," Caiva said, pointing carefully. Down by the streamlet one of the colts did stand out a little. His wings were big and leathery, unlike every other Steed in their herd.

"So where did he come from?" BoHam asked, softly. "He's obviously not of this bloodline, at least not fully."

"Or not at all," Caiva said, low. "He might have come from another Herd."

BoHam sighed in a little anger, "oh not another one."

"That's what I'm worried about, BoHam. Exactly what I think." He tapped his one head, which bit at his own fingers.

"Then we've got to find out," the female replied. "And I am not doing that alone."

Together they slipped off the rock and back into the rich forests where they made their home. This part of Curra was the higher end of what used to be Polaen, it was hardly a stretch that there were wild groups of Steeds out here. The whole plains land south of here was where some of the best show and race Steeds had been bred for the better part of fifty thousand years. What wasn't apparent was how Ferilon tribes lived here at all. They were not native, at least not originally.

Of course the reason they were all "freaks" to their tribes was that every one of the Ferilons living on Curra or Zerin, or what used to be called those names, as the race that used the terms had petered out and forgotten them, had been brought by rich animal lovers from their native lands. The breeding of Ferilons went in cycles, first trendy colors, then strange mutations, and then it was not uncommon to find fighting breeds that had dangerous claws or spines or protective shells added to their genetics. Those messy genes were largely recessive now, of course, they'd never been natural in the first place, but they were present.

The Ferilon tribe here knew a little about it, when they'd run into one of the Outsiders. Plus, with CharnBat's ability to alter the biology of those around her, the Outsider was eager to instruct her on how best to use that ability.

They'd evolved Zekiran psionic powers, to match their weird appearances. They'd become Zekirans.

At first he was quiet, when they observed the tall very dark skinned Zekiran man as he paced around the ruins of a city, perhaps forty summers past. On the north edge of the Ferilon's territory was what appeared to be a very large inhabited zone, with the appropriate amounts of steel, concrete and ruins that said they had once been a thriving society. It wasn't the only city that the tribe had encountered on their way to their current home, there had been many - much smaller but in the same vein.

This place seemed to be enchanting for the Zekiran. But it held its share of ghosts. Literally - he stood still for a moment, and Mahno swore that there was a brilliant sheen of light around him for that time. Then the man who was known once as a master breeder turned and looked directly at the group.

All six of them bristled, CharnBat lay low and flat on the ground, her tail twitching; the others noticed the practical impossibility of someone 'not noticing' Thoihra... But the man merely blinked at them, and lowered his stance a little. He shrunk down, until he was crouching, still staring with those brilliant blue eyes. NhieuTay noticed that there was a white ring around his feet, in the grass. The grass had been bleached of all its color? When was this?

"I won't hurt you," the man said, softly, and in a language that was as old as the race he now represented. It was similar to the language that the Ferilons spoke, but with a heavy accent, an odd way of saying things. "Come on out," he repeated, "I will not harm you."

The two bolder males, NhieuTay and Mahno, looked at one another and began to approach. BoHam remained with CharnBat, but stood tall. Caiva began to bicker quietly between his two heads, his 'torso-head' wanted to move forward with the others. His 'body-head' didn't want anything to do with it. Eventually it was Thoihra nudging all three of the stragglers with a variety of his wings, that got them to move into the patch of sunlight and into full view of this Zekiran man.

"Well, there you are, I ... was told there were some little people here." He said. It was faintly garbled to the Ferilons, but they got the gist quickly. He smiled, bright teeth against his darkly brown skin. Since the Ferilons had been bred by these people for generations, they knew that the smile he had on his face wasn't a menacing grimace or snarl, it was a greeting. They used it on each other, most of the time, but in the Ferilon society it had a faintly mocking tone. They were the slaves of the Zekirans when they were being bred, and that stigma subconsciously traveled through the generations.

"What are you?" Asked CharnBat suddenly. Most of her still lay on the ground, only what she chose to lift, her neck and head, were really visible above the grass.

The man tilted his head, surprised at the speech, perhaps he hadn't known they could speak. But there was more to it than that, really, because in any of his incarnations, this particular man was well known for learning quickly. He adjusted his speech for them.

"I am one of the Outsiders," he said, watching their reactions for whether they understood him or not. "Sadly immortal, we cannot die, and yet we wander still..." He drew in a sigh. "And the ghosts come to me," he waved his hand as though indicating one. Only Mahno saw what he meant. A wisp of smoke, almost with a face. "So I knew you to be here because one of them saw you."

"Ghosts - pah," NhieuTay said. "No such things."

"I beg to differ," the Zekiran said, "there are millions of them. Do you know your history?"

"We know we were once pets to your sort," BoHam said. "Have you come to reclaim us now?" Defensively, she stood and her tail moved through the grass.

"No, no," the man chuckled. "I was just walking here. This city was built to accomodate those who had to leave Rook," he stood and indicated the mountains to the east, "when an earthquake dropped Rook down the mountainside, hundreds of thousands of lives were lost. It was a terrible disaster. But," he turned back, "we recovered as we always did..." There was a tint of sadness in his voice.

"Did you have a hand in our creation?" Asked Mahno.

"Oh, no, no, I never bred Ferilons. People, Zekirans I mean, yes." He smiled. "Now this all belongs to you," he looked around and surveyed the overgrown city. A tremendous sadness moved over his long face, Mahno explained that the spirit that had been near him decided to leave.

"You just.... walk?" Asked Thoihra.

The man looked down at the collection of limbs and wings on Thoihra and almost laughed aloud. "That I do, because I cannot do anything else." He knelt again, extending his hand carefully for them to sniff if they wished. CharnBat hesitated, but Caiva finally moved forward, and finally everyone came toward him.

"I ... don't know if I should scratch you or just talk," the man said.

"It would be okay to scratch just here," NhieuTay said, tilting his head a little, and the dark skinned Zekiran obliged him. A gesture of friendship? Perhaps, or just getting an itch scratched by someone with nails just as hard as they needed to be.

Eventually, they learned that the man's name was Vanya Sengihr. He explained what he did all this time, walking from place to place and just surviving on his own. He loved being around people, but he told the Ferilons that most of his folk - the immortals among the dead Zekiran race - lived on a small continent far away and he prefered not to live there. He didn't like the climate, nor some of the people he'd have to stomach. So even though he loved being around some people, he just couldn't stand to live there like nothing happened to the rest of their beloved race.

Another odd look came upon him while night fell, and they were sitting in one of the ruins. Mahno watched this time, as a ghost shot itself into his body. The nearby stone that he sat upon changed from a dark grey-green shade to a bleached white when it did so. Vanya looked at them all oddly again, and then narrowed his eyes.

He got the very same look on his face that Caiva got when he was arguing with himself. "I do not think that is appropriate," he whispered, "and I will ask them first."

"Ask us what?" Mahno said, putting his hand up to indicate the others to be silent.

"Well," Vanya said with a grin, "one of the ghosts here would like to know if you'd want to become like me."

"We already stand upright," said Thoihra, doing so proudly.

"No," Vanya said, "he was a ... I don't know if 'healer' is the right word," he spoke to the ghost, mostly, "and he had powers to alter the genes of his patients... Clean them of things they'd been born with, engineer something new into a body. Like you can," he looked at CharnBat, who shrank again.

He had to explain what he meant by 'genes', and 'engineering' but they essentially understood shortly. By the time it was quite dark, Vanya had asked them if they in fact wanted to be immortal.

"We will have to think upon this," Mahno said.

"Think quickly," Vanya said. "The ghosts only last so long. He wants to do something important for someone before he's gone entirely."

"Gone?" Asked BoHam.

"Every time they come to me to do these things, speaking through me or performing their old powers," Vanya explained, "they lose their own existence. It's... like they only have a certain amount left in them. He wants to use his last essence on you."

"To make us immortal?" Asked Thoihra, and Vanya nodded. Thoihra glanced at the others, but then said, "I'll do it."

Of course that got the rest muttering. Why did they want this? What about how lonely this Zekiran seemed? What if they got tired of it?

In the end, they agreed to do it. They were already a good tribe, but they hadn't bred yet and there would be a good chance that the offspring they produced would also be immortal. They could guide the Ferilon community if it became large. They would be able to out think their normal four-pawed brothers. They already did that, of course, by virtue of their new body types. But this was more.

They could learn so much! They might enter this ruined city, which Vanya called Nuark, and find tomes of history and learn them.

"You are looking for a legacy," BoHam said, and Vanya tilted his head. "You are looking for your race's legacy to live on, in us?"

The ghost within Vanya forced him to nod, and grew a pleading look onto the man's face. "Please hurry your decision."

"We've decided already," she said.