Angry shouts broke the midnight quiet. Torchlight glinted off pitchforks. Townsfolk tramped in the dark woods and bumbled where a black stag had nimbly fled.

"Never expect gratitude for a good deed," the escaping knight whispered to her steed. She glanced back, peering at receding fires from behind her owl-mask. "Particularly when that deed involves pointing out hypocrisies."

The masked woman, with her flowing brown hair and silver sword, was known far-and-wide as the wandering knight. From village to town, and from town to kingdom, she rode, healing the sick, teaching the ignorant, and slaying their monsters.

Sometimes, monsters dwelled near towns, and she would free the people from an oppressive claw. At other times, other monsters lurked in the minds of the people, and they fought hard to keep them there.


The shouts slowly grew fainter, muffled by brambles and subdued by satisfaction. The townsfolk had made their point, and the wandering knight would never return. Still, Sceadwian, her steed, continued running.

The shape-shifting creature, at once a noble stag and a solitary she-wolf, reveled in its beating heart and panting lungs. Predator or prey, seeker or sought, it didn't matter; the pure act of running was its delight.

Rarely, however, did Sceadwian's master allow it full control; the reins were kept short, the bridle-muzzle tight, and the bladed crop at the ready. Yet, for all the restrictive gear and painful scars, Sceadwian did not resent its master. The wild beast would still be grazing in the fields at home, never seeing the wonders of the world, were it not for her strict guidance.

The forested canopy ceased abruptly, and the knight's eyes locked on her star. She hadn't seen it in so long...


Throughout her wanderings, the distant star had called to her, beckoning across cold, endless space, and its pull, soft but insistent, never ceased. In her travels perpetually toward the star above, she had chanced by many wondrous kingdoms on the ground. She had sipped of the wine of Poetry itself, and Words had kissed her parted lips.

Yet, for all their beauty, she had learned to avoid all truly sublime lands. She had explored only one such kingdom, and, searching for a bridge to the cerulean sky, she stumbled through mirage-rippled borders. There was no way back.

She accepted the loss, for her star still burned. To a follower of the timeless heavens, all lands, no matter how lovely, come to an end.


A jagged chasm opened up before her, half a mile wide, and many miles long. No light penetrated the bottom of the crevasse, and a chilling updraft whispered in her ear, transporting an echo of long-buried cries. Not a natural formation, this was a gash in the planet, cut so deep as to split the underworld. Yet still, it plummeted further, breaching the fabric of reality and leaving a door open to some vast, unknowable beyond. To fall in would not be to die shattered on humble rocks. No resurrection would await that unfortunate soul -- only sheer, perfect oblivion.

She stared into the darkness, and her mount grew increasingly fearful. It shifted from one hoof-claw to another, tossing its head violently. A pair of hard, sharpened antlers smacked her face, and she startled out of her trance. Once she had collected her senses, she peered skyward. Her star still burned, and she pulled the reins to head that direction.


And.. a warm.. golden light suddenly spread over her.

A tall, spindly lighthouse stood on the far side of the chasm, warning travelers of the treacherous fall. Why hadn't she seen it before? Perhaps she had confused it with the presently retreating torches. Despite her confusion, the animal beneath her recognized the difference, and Sceadwian basked contentedly in the new glow. Their journey was always through such cold territory... the stag-wolf couldn't help but drift toward the warmth.

"Tsk. Not that way, stupid creature. You do not jump that far." She flicked her crop, unafraid to use it on a disobedient flank. Despite its scar-calloused hide, the beast acquiesced. The light was already gone, besides; it had only lingered long enough to make the cold world feel colder. It was but a fleeting warning. Or, perhaps, a beacon... Or, incredibly, an invitation...?

An invitation she could not accept. There was no bridge, and the alluring warmth would only prove a distraction from her quest. How painfully lost would she be if she dared to delve into that hidden land? Tantalizing agony, she supposed, for the fire blazed from a lofty, guarded height; the terrain below was surely a maze of cordial ice. Best not to explore that path... even though she could never reach it to try.


Soon, claw-hooves clopped on bitter granite rocks, carrying the pair alongside the chasm and away from that singular lighthouse. Yet, despite the knight's navigational skill, the jagged slope proved a shifting labyrinth in stone.

She looked back to her star, tugging the reins without looking ahead. Sceadwian looked to the lighthouse, unmindful of its steps. A loose pebble was all it took to unbalance the pair.

Before realizing what had happened, the knight was falling, eyes still locked on faint, spinning stars. Falling.. but not to the mountainside her tense muscles expected. The cliffs were treacherous indeed; what had appeared solid was not. She slipped through the illusion of stone as if through smoke, and the deep well of the chasm pulled her down with a grasping, dead gravity.

But soon the nape of her neck was clasped in gentle teeth. Sceadwian had caught her, just barely, and dragged her to safety. Settled limply on the ground, the knight shivered like a worried pup, and the wolf-creature sat upon her chest to pin her there. A warm, wet nose rested on her forehead, a pardoning gesture from the motherly beast.


And... then... the light shone once more.

Suddenly, Sceadwian thrust its muzzle into her loose shirt, ripping a locket from her neck. The wanton beast bounded off to the lighthouse, delicate silver cradled in its fang-lined grin.

"Sceadwian! Bring that back!" The knight sprung from her supine position, chasing after the much faster animal. Like a shadow, Sceadwian glided effortlessly over the same rocks its meticulous master struggled to traverse. "Sceadwian!" She screamed, fear encroaching on her voice. "Stop!"

The stag-wolf did stop eventually, but only when it reached its destination. Directly across from the lighthouse, it eagerly awaited another glimpse of light, though it knew the warmth would be all too brief. To the beast, a joyful moment, however fleeting, was worth pursuing.

"Sceadwian," she panted, at last catching up. "Now do you see? Even if that place were on our path, this chasm is impassible. Please, my life-friend, do not attempt to fling yourself across. You will not make it, and we shall both be ended."

The knight gently grasped her necklace by the chain, but Sceadwian would not let go. They both pulled at once, inadvertently opening the locket. She feared for the contents, but it was no portrait. No silhouette. Just a mirror.

Her hands sprang to close the lid, but too late. As she felt a warmth approaching, she glanced nervously across the chasm. That lighthouse, far more hospitable from her present vantage point, stood so strikingly tall under the moonless sky. These nights were so very dark, she mused; the lighthouse would be invisible were it not for the starlight.

And her star...?

Directly above it.

Immediately, she was bathed-- embraced?-- in brilliant attention, and dazzled by a blaze more complete than day.


---

Abeline's eyelids fluttered open from her wakening pupils, stung by the morning sun. Under its indifferent glare, a sublime, fleeting light fluttered from her solid, heavy head.