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{
"from": "system",
"value": "Looking at this text, there's a `<|missing|>` that needs filling. Give me a chunk of three hundred and thirty-two characters that would work.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Nothing but water, jungle, grey skies, sand. No passing drones, no distant planes, no sound but Kern's breathing and the waves. Here and there the skeletal, silted branches of drowned trees pierce the surface of the sea. An hour ago he'd tripped on what was once a pipe, is now a solid mass of flaking rust, the only proof that this isn't new creation. Bugs orbit him, but he's seen worse, and mosquitoes have never liked him.\n\nHours since Akemi spoke a word. He tells himself not to mind—who knows what's going on with her—though with the risks he's taking, you'd think she could check in. \"I'd like to know more,\" he says, out of the blue, hoping she's listening. \"Where I'm going. What it is I'm supposed to do. This all seems...conjectural.\"\n\nNo response. He takes off the earpiece and stares into the tiny lens, hoping it will be like meeting her eyes, but there's no sense of connection. At least for the moment he knows where he's going, and you can't get lost following a coastline.\n\nHe reminds himself that if Hiro finds him he can't let himself be taken; if it comes to that, he has to force them to shoot. It's a hard thing to face, but this is where his choices have led. Resigned, he feels lighter than ever.\n\nEvening is falling when he sees stellate lights burning on the eaves of huts down the beach. Breaking surf rolls whitely, and a black shape on the water becomes a wetsuit-clad surfer standing up to catch a wave and immediately wiping out. He thinks of Bo from the training camp, wonders what he's doing.\n\nOn the side of the nearest hut is a placard for Singha beer, weathered almost past legibility. Music from inside. Breakers roll around its stairs; he times them, gets up the stairs dry.\n\nThe decor runs to driftwood and coconut shells; the bartender, who's your basic sun-ravaged vegan in a coral necklace, glances at him and goes back to his phone. Kern fingers the money in his pocket, wonders how much boats cost, and feels a pang of regret for his suit, which made him feel like someone else but will surely soon be ruined.\n\n\"Nice evening,\" says the only other customer, smiling, his voice vaguely British though he looks Chinese. He might be twenty-five, is about Kern's size, and even though he's wearing damp board shorts and a frayed T-shirt he has the air of a toff, the slumming son of someone important. Empty glasses arrayed on his table, like he's settled in for the night.\n\n\"How'd you like to own a genuine Mr. Li suit?\" asks Kern.\n\n\"I'd love to,\" the man laughs, \"but he's booked out fifteen months in advance. Why, do you have an in?\"\n\nKern opens his bag, brings out the suit, which is wrinkled but otherwise okay. \"No, but I've got one of his suits, and I'm looking to sell.\"\n\nThe man's hands run competently over the cloth, checking inside the sleeves, lapels, collar. \"This is very nice,\" says the man. \"And most unexpected. A beautiful suit, and a story to match. How much would you like for it?\"\n\n\"I'm open to offers,\" Kern says, having no idea.\n\nThe man takes out a glossy leather wallet, riffles through a sheaf of pink yuan, shrugs, proffers it all. \"I'm afraid this is all I have with me,\" he says. \"Consider it a down payment? I'd be happy to get more and meet you back here tomorrow.\"\n\n\"Actually, this will do.\"\n\n\"It's really far short of the true value. You'd be losing out.\"\n\n\"That's okay. I don't need a suit where I'm going,\" Kern says, which is probably true but sounds portentous.\n\n\"If you'll forgive my asking, where's that?\"\n\n\"Fishing,\" Kern says. \"Tonight.\" On impulse he adds, \"If you think you still owe me, want to help me find a boat?\"\n\n\"I'd be happy to help you find a fishing boat,\" the man says, pleased, a rich boy having an adventure, and he radiates a lack of awareness that Kern could have any other reason for wanting a boat. \"My name's Yi Chen, by the way,\" he says, offering his hand.\n\nThey follow a creek up into the trees in the fading light. Night birds sing invisibly, and clouds of gnats rise with every step. It feels peaceful, but not safe, and he's starting to worry that it might be a setup when a dog starts barking and a light comes on over the porch of a dilapidated hut.\n\nA man regards them from a hammock, a rope-muscled Chinese in disintegrating basketball shorts, his teeth as brown as his deeply tanned skin. He's nothing like Yi Chen, but they seem happy to see each other, and start talking in rapid-fire Mandarin.\n\nThe man heaves himself out of his hammock, scratches his stomach with oil-blackened nails and leads them around the hut to a rotting dock where a small blue-and-white motorboat is tied up, bobbing in the creek.\n\n\"Will this do?\" asks Yi Chen, the light of his cell phone wandering over the hull while the other man loads it with jerrycans of fuel.\n\n\"Sure,\" says Kern, but then notices pinpoints of light moving inside the boat as Yi Chen moves his cell. He kneels, runs his hand over the hull, finds a cluster of holes in the fiberglass, each the width of a small-arms round, their edges warped inward.\n\n\"Piracy has been known to occur in these waters,\" Yi Chen says gravely, almost smiling. \"But the boat is perfectly seaworthy—Yu Long here has been out hundreds of times.\"\n\nYu Long says something, at which Yi Chen frowns and says, \"I'm afraid there are only the four cans of diesel. We could get more, if you were willing to wait until morning...\" He trails off.\n\nIn his ear Akemi says, \"Take what they have and go now.\"\n\nHe loses the shore as the last light leaves the sky. The village becomes a stain of light on the clouds, then is gone.\n\nThe boat's outboard motor, coated in thick blue latex paint, is an antique, so old it has no computer.\n\nThe dark water looks the same in every direction<|missing|>y again before he could ask if there's enough for him to get back to shore, but that's okay, it's fitting that he commit himself and let the future take form on the water.\n\nSometime in the small hours there's a basso thrumming and then a glaring constellation of red and white lights emerges high overhead from the dark, probably a tanker, passing so close he feels the vibration of its engines, the loom of its mass, and then it's gone, its wake lifting the boat, subsiding.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": ", so he steers by GPS and compass with his non-Akemi phone. He finds himself doubting that the green numbers on the tiny screen have some relationship to the world, that he's not circling aimlessly in a waste of sea.\n\nAkemi told him there's enough fuel to get where he's going, and to correct for drift once he's there. She went awa",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "The user will write a bit then you need to write around thirty-three sentences continuing directly from the user's text. If characters are introduced mid-story, treat them as established. Style: Zachary Mason",
"loss": null
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "So this is death, Thales thinks.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Not a thought one expects to have.\n\nIn the event, death is a yacht running through heavy seas in a black squall, the marbled foam sliding over the water as the sails vibrate and crack.\n\nHe stands at the prow, rain coursing down his forehead. But is it rain, or just a symbol of rain? Wet, in any case, and freezing, and pounding down.\n\nThales clasps the railing as the yacht starts its descent down a hill-sized swell.\n\nHe wonders what would happen if he fell over the side. The sea is bleak, immense, unresting, cold...He wonders if it has any substance but words.\n\nThe rail under my hand is an illusion, he thinks, like the water running down my face, but the rail feels solid, and the water cold; apparently his knowledge gives him neither comfort nor sway.\n\nThe yacht's speed is exhilarating, almost sickening.\n\nBehind him, yellow light glows in the fogged windows of the cabin.\n\nA rain-slick brass wheel opens the cabin door. The cabin is warm; water streams from his slicker, but beneath it his clothes are dry. He tells himself to be grateful for these comforts—it could have been any kind of a hell.\n\nThe cabin is the interior of the mountain house, in essence, but smaller now, perhaps because there's less room at sea.\n\nAkemi is at the computer, the archaic one his mother would never replace. The monitor shows evening on a tropical beach—grey skies, the dark mass of jungle, water frothing over pebbles. It's the view from Kern's earpiece, Kern being Akemi's friend, or paladin, or pawn.\n\nThe computer was connected to the net, for a little while, but now the connection is gone, and Kern's phone is their only window on the world.\n\n\"I'd like to know more,\" he hears Kern say, almost in a whisper. \"Where I'm going. What it is that I'm supposed to do. This all seems...conjectural.\" His voice is measured, precise, at odds with his history, which Akemi says is violent, and threadbare.\n\nThe camera feed becomes a jumble of wet jungle and sky, then frames Kern's face. He looks mestizo, and underneath all the sweat and sun damage is about Thales' age. He'd be forgettable-looking were it not for the remnants of a hipster haircut and a lean muscularity Thales associates with professional cyclists and boxers. Feeling passes over his face like weather—a touching vulnerability gives way to remoteness and then the light must have shifted because he suddenly looks older, and entirely cold, as though an ancient killer had appeared behind his eyes. Finally Kern sighs, looking disgusted and young again, and puts the earpiece back on.\n\nThe ship creaks, the rain drums and the computer's speakers bring the hiss and crash of other waves. Thales asks, \"Why won't you talk to him?\"\n\n\"He knows enough to keep going forward. I don't want to distract him, or get into a debate. Also, he was right. It is all a little conjectural.\"\n\nHis mother's books shift on their shelves as the yacht reaches a trough, starts ascending.\n\n\"So where are we going?\"\n\nFor a moment he sees himself through her eyes, feels her decide she has to tell him something.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Irina worked it all out before she died. Well, not Irina, exactly, but we're not exactly us.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 19 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Which makes us...what? he wonders, but says, \"I always thought of her as the magician.\"\n\n\"The magician, then. So, the old man you saw in the videos? That's Cromwell. He made a deal with the big AI, the surgeon's boss—the mathematician, she called it. Irina got caught up in the middle.\"\n\n\"I think I met the mathematician,\" Thales says. \"He was unexpectedly kind. I think he might have identified with me.\"\n\n\"I hope you didn't get too attached.\"\n\n\"Not especially.\" (Though what, if anything, is he attached to?)\n\n\"That's good, because the magician intends to kill it.\"\n\n\"With what possible weapon?\"\n\n\"With Irina, the real one, though she doesn't know it yet. The problem is, the mathematician is cautious, and justifiably so—it disconnected itself from the net until all this works itself out. I have to get Kern to physically reconnect the mathematician's hardware to the net so Irina can do her thing.\"\n\n\"If he can get close enough to fiddle with the hardware, why bother attacking over a network? Just get Kern to smash it with a rock.\"\n\n\"We have to get something from the mathematician before it dies. Something unique. If Kern just smashes the hardware, it's lost for good.\"\n\nHe wonders what the magician values so highly, but has the sense Akemi isn't ready to talk. He says, \"All right, but so what? We aren't in the world anymore. The magician was nice but I've never met this Irina. It sounds like we're caught in the middle of a power struggle between a plutocrat, a computer program and a total stranger. What's it to me?\"\n\n\"For one thing, we owe the magician, and she and Irina are more or less the same person, except the magician was better informed. She didn't have to do anything, but she did her best for us.\"\n\n\"Her best for us, or her best to use us?\"\n\n\"Remember at the end, when the city was dying? She sought me out and gave me all the happiness she could. I'm guessing she did the same for you. Maybe that means something to you, or maybe it doesn't. I guess you have to decide for yourself.\"\n\nHe feels petty and ungrateful, and at the same time like his objections stand. To change the subject he says, \"Where are you sending Kern?\"\n\n\"First to sea, to meet some ships, and then to the axis of the world.\"",
"loss": true
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[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Task: The user will write a bit then you need to write around 13 sentences sentences continuing directly from the user's text. Note: Characters may be introduced as if already known - maintain this narrative continuity. Style: Zachary Mason",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Kern checks his GPS, is still within meters of where he's supposed to be. The sun must be coming up, as there's now enough light to see the grey swell. He tries to keep a good watch but the fog and rain are always the same and his mind wanders.\n\nAkemi'd said the ships ran silent, like black ghosts on the water. The rain hisses on the sea's curvature.\n\nHe pulls his windbreaker tighter. He'd found it wadded in the forward compartment. It keeps out most of the wet and none of the cold.\n\nHis old cell bleats as it finds a new network, though he sees nothing in the fog.\n\n\"They're close,\" Akemi whispers in his ear. \"Connect to the network. Hurry. I'll give you the password. Please no mistakes.\"\n\nHe taps in the digits of the password as she recites them. The network is duly acquired.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He waits, but nothing happens.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Akemi exhales. \"It worked,\" she says.\n\n\"How do you know?\"\n\n\"Because we're still here. If it hadn't worked, we might have had time to hear the missiles launch.\"\n\nAt first he thinks they're waves, so smooth is their emergence from the fog. There are about ten of them. Very dark, the ships, their lines more organic than industrial.\n\n\"That one,\" Akemi says. \"Head for the biggest.\"\n\nHe maneuvers the boat alongside the hull's smooth expanse, taking pains not to bump it. The noise of his motor violates the silence. Halfway along the ship's length there are rungs set into its surface—he brings the boat ahead of the ladder, shoulders his duffel and kills the motor for the last time. He stands, arms out for balance, the boat aimless under his feet. As the ladder slides by, he jumps.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "As his hands find the rain-slick rungs he looks down to see the boat peeling away, as though of its own accord, and thinks of it drifting for days, or for years, and wonders where it's going.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "By the time he's climbed onto the deck the boat has vanished in the fog.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 14 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The ship's form is streamlined and vaguely cetacean, an effect aided by its black ceramic hull. There are no railings, no doors, no evident way into its interior. Hemispheres the size of beach balls protrude at random from the deck—missile pods? sensors?—and he's reminded of the gardens they have in Japan that are just sand and rocks, but he doesn't think those are quite so geometric or so uniformly black.\n\nThere's a sort of shallow cavity toward the back of the ship. He can just squeeze himself in, which at least gets him out of the wind. He clasps his arms to his chest, using the duffel for a pillow.\n\n\"Now what?\" he asks Akemi, but she isn't talking.\n\nHe'd meant just to close his eyes for a moment, but when he wakes it's night.\n\nHe stalks the deck, stretching his legs and shadowboxing. The only lights are the stars and his phone's weak glow. He catches himself scanning the horizon for the boat.\n\nHis old phone picks up a dense fog of encrypted transmissions, presumably the ships discussing whatever it is that fleets of autonomous seacraft have to talk about. He imagines their silent voices washing over him, this endless conversation in the dark.",
"loss": true
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[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Task: The user will write a bit then you need to write around 35 sentences continuing directly from the user's text. Characters and lore may appear without context - work with what's given.\n\nAuthor style: Zachary Mason",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Even at midnight it's long drive from Tokyo-Narita into the city, and no evident way to shut down the cab's screens or their ceaseless waves of clamoring ads. Snowflakes land on the windshield, their structure visible for a moment, then dissolved in the glass's heat.\n\nShe retreats into the memory of an evening in Baja California, the sliver of beach before the desiccated mountains, how she'd felt that she was flying as the blood-warm waves lifted her up, let her down, passed on toward shore. The continental shelf is close to land there; she'd dived down and touched sand, and then, swimming a little farther out, dived down and down and touched nothing. Just darkness, below, and she'd been terrified, as though she were falling into an inverted sky, but she'd swallowed her panic and made herself stay there and tread water, and then her weight shifts as the cab corners and she's back in the present looking up at the looming mass and scattered lights of the Imperial Tokyo Hotel.\n\nShe steps from the cab into bitter cold, thinks of the reversal of the Pacific currents, the climatological irony of the rim islands getting colder. A bellman in a sort of Ruritanian officer's uniform reaches for the bag she bought in Athens; she dislikes being waited on, but his deep reserve demands no response so she lets him take it.\n\nThe hotel doors close behind her, enclosing her in the sound of the place, a somehow benign distillation of distant conversations. The interior is Moorish, the limestone walls and pillars carved with abstract geometric patterns.\n\nThe blazered desk clerk welcomes her in rather formal American English. Having made no reservation, she wonders what cue of dress or bearing gave away her nationality—she'd have thought she passed for any stripe of European. She feels a stab of guilt as she remembers that there was a first Imperial, built on the same site, leveled by the U.S. in the second World War.\n\n\"I have privacy concerns,\" she tells him.\n\nHe regards her with acute, birdlike attention.\n\n\"And concerns about safety,\" she admits, reluctant to self-dramatize.\n\n\"Very good, madame,\" he says. \"Perhaps our secured floors would be suitable?\"\n\n\"How secured?\"\n\n\"Highly secured. The most security-conscious parties have found them acceptable. The president of North Korea, at this very desk, said he felt peace of mind here.\"\n\n\"Well, with a recommendation like that. Let's do it.\"\n\n\"There are, of course, no electronic records of our guests on the secured floors,\" the clerk says, and opens a lockbox to retrieve a massive paper ledger.\n\nAbsolute silence in her room. At first it's unsettling. She listens in vain for air-conditioning, footsteps, the hum of machines.\n\nShe's never spent so much on a hotel room. She'll think of it as a bunker high in the sky from which she can look down on the lights of Tokyo, its snowstorms.\n\nHer phone rings—the number is Swiss—the bank, as expected. \"Ms. Sunden?\" asks a German voice, and when she assents says, \"This is Klaus Dietrich, vice president of security at Crédit Nuage Cantonale. I'm calling in response to your email. First of all, I'd like to say that I'm extremely sorry that your account has been compromised. This is our first significant breach, and we take it very seriously. According to the letter of the law, it's your job to keep your account information safe, but I'm happy to say the board has made an exception—we are refunding the stolen monies, and I've annotated your account so that facial recognition will be required for all future withdrawals. Moreover, I will, if you like, send you such information as we have about the thief.\"\n\nHeartening that it doesn't always have to be war, that there are still functional—even rigorous—institutions, so much so she briefly wants to cry. \"Please do,\" she says. \"And thank you.\"\n\nWhen she rings off there's already an email from the bank with an attached security-camera video of a boy stepping into a bland foyer with the leather couches that looks like the foyer of every Nuage branch in the world. The boy looks uncomfortable, like the room's moderate elegance oppresses him; she notices the dark stains on the knees of his pants, and his earpiece, and then she recognizes him—it's Kern, who stole the phone that Cromwell desires so intensely. She wonders how he got her account number and passcode, and even though she was deep in Cromwell's counsel it strikes her that she's still missing something, that there's someone else who has her information.\n\nShe wakes to a knocking at her door. It's day. Just whiteness out the window.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "hey can u write two sentences more sentences? keep same character vibes in cyberpunk, science fiction style",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It seems like Kern has always been on the ship.\n\nIn the fleet he's come to see a purposefulness—whatever it is that they desire, they desire it absolutely, and it has, he is sure, nothing to do with him.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "In this, somehow, they're good company.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He imagines them racing forever over the seas, circling the world.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He studies the sea from the shade of the missile pods, bathes in the pools in the deck's declivities, sleeps for hours in the sun.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "At dusk he sits on the sloping prow, his hands just visible in the slight luminance of the bow wave, watching for the lights of other ships.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Akemi never speaks, but he feels that she's present.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 3 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He tries to find his GPS, but just gets an error message—CODE 391—TELEMETRY IRRECONCILABLE.\n\nWhen the sun sets he lies on the deck, taking in its fading heat, ear pressed to the nubbled black ceramic, listening to the subtle harmonics of the hull. The sound varies, slightly, from minute to minute, like it's the ship's song, one of hunger, distance, hatred, mourning.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Fill in the blank marked `[original_content_missing]` with a snippet of 613 characters that makes sense in context.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Motion behind Thales on the yacht's deck. He turns, and there's the urbane old man from the videos—Cromwell, he thinks—perched on the transom, surrounded by candles.\n\nA ghost, he thinks, then smiles.\n\nAs the rain flattens his hair the old man says, \"I consider it my duty to lay it out clearly.\"\n\nThe old man and candles vanish.\n\nIn the cabin, Akemi is watching the monitor where Kern is pacing a black ship's deck. (They're drone subs, he somehow knows, which the AIs have been stealing and using as transports for years.) Thales wonders just what Kern hopes to get from this adventure, hopes it isn't Akemi's love.\n\n\"I just saw Cromwell, I think,\" Thales says. \"I think it was from your memories.\"\n\nHer face closes, and he wishes he hadn't spoken, as, without wanting to, he remembers how it felt when Cromwell appraised her, [original_content_missing]ver told a soul, how it felt to knock on strangers' doors in good hotels, the men's discomfited formality, how it hadn't been so bad—she'd never been prissy, and sometimes it was interesting, because, paying for it, they'd ask for what they really wanted.\n\nHe envies her the untidiness of her humanity, regrets the slightness of his own experience and how neutrally he sees the world. Made of two weeks of memory, he is the thinnest of beings.\n\nWhat does he really want?\n\nThe light is fading, the swell getting steeper.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "his evident slight contempt, his coalescing focus, the underlying pity. She'd been extraordinarily high, but could still see he thought he had no peer, yet was deeply concerned to be a gentleman, which meant he was a patsy, or at least gave her some room. He needed to see a posh good girl, someone worth saving, so she started channeling her friend Sonia, who was essentially a loser cunt failure with a has-been for a daddy, but had charming manners; shaking his hand, she undertook the assumption she'd be valued and respected.\n\nHer thoughts veer to the tricks she'd turned for food money, about which she's ne",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Here's a text with a hole in it (marked by `[text_redacted]`). Your job is to write something like ninety-seven characters to plug that hole.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Irina wakes in bed alone, hears Philip in the shower.\n\nThere's a silver coffee service on the table. On the salver is a handwritten note in English from the hotel's director of security informing her that both coffee and service have been controlled from the first stages of their manufacture, and that an in-house mass-spectroscopic analysis of the coffee—attached—has found no toxicity or unexpected compounds. Her heart warms toward the hotel and its policies.\n\nShe feels exhausted, thinks of going back to bed, realizes that what she actually wants to do is hide. She downs her coffee, pours another cup.\n\nThe water goes off in the bathroom as she looks up the node on a map on the room's TV. It's about a mile away, in some drab industrial building. Cabs keep records; they might as well walk. She looks out the window at the falling snow.\n\nThe sidewalks are slick with ice and the two of them hold each other for balance, which makes for an uncomfortably dependent image. They follow a printed map, like tourists from the last century.\n\nThe row of high-end hotels becomes just another Tokyo street. Her breathing is faster than she'd like but she can't slow it. Strangers flow by, and for once she takes no interest, doesn't try to deconstruct their cues of dress and manner—the street might as well be a stage set, the people extras.\n\nSnow is falling so thickly it's like walking through a cloud. Drones zip by overhead, more than she remembers from her last time in Japan. Cordon or no, if one of them is Cromwell's, and recognizes her, then, however profound Japan's xenophobia, and however strict its ban on guns, she is, in that moment, done.\n\n\"OPEN\" blinks into red neon life in English and Japanese in the window of a restaurant below the level of the street. She grabs Philip's hand and pulls him down the stairs.\n\nHole in the wall, she thinks. Narrow, three tables and a counter. Smells of steam, fish, soy, tea. The counterman says something. She sits at the far end with her back to the wall.\n\nGreen tea before her. Philip looking concerned. Her hands are shaking. The table's cheap plastic veneer is filmed with cleaning fluid. Philip is intent on the lozenges of yellow egg behind the counter's glass; she looks three seconds into the past, sees him start pretending not to notice her disturbance.\n\n\"I don't...\" she says, then stops.\n\nPhilip regards her, bright, friendly, purely helpful.\n\n\"Too many drones,\" she says.\n\n\"Oh. I think I can take care of that.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"The Yakuza.\"\n\n\"Really? I know you like to poke around in dark corners, but you're so...scrupulous.\"\n\n\"True, but I still have contacts in the Yakuza. Well, not in, it's more like friends of friends. It's not that big a deal—they're not Cosa Nostra or the Downtown Aztec Kings. They're...socially integrated. They have business cards, and websites without euphemism. It's just a part of how things get done.\"\n\n\"I won't see you indebted.\"\n\n\"Eh,\" says Philip. \"I have leverage. My company has patents on the best race-car engines in the world, and the Mitsui keiretsu wants to get into the high-end sports-car market. It therefore behooves them to keep me happy. They're a major industrial player, so of course there are ties of reciprocity with the Yak...\" He makes a gesture conveying a resigned acceptance of the inevitable entanglement of industry and organized crime, then takes out his phone and taps out a message.\n\n\"Sake?\" he asks, looking up.\n\n\"Early.\"\n\n\"Not in California.\"\n\n\"I need to be fully present.\"\n\nAnd calm, she feels him not say.\n\n\"Maybe a small one,\" she says.\n\nShe makes herself drink the sake slowly. Her eyes stray to the prisms of tuna behind the counter, their colors somewhere between ruby, eggplant and blood. She once saw a tuna in an aquarium, its body molten silver, its face like a totem of pelagic sleep.\n\nShe might float out of her skin.\n\n\"And, done,\" Philip says, glancing back at his phone.\n\n\"At what cost?\"\n\n\"No cost.\"\n\n\"Oh, that must be how obligation works here.\"\n\n\"It might dilute our profits by some fraction of a percent. I don't care. It's worth it, if only to impress you with my superpowers, for once.\"\n\n\"Not so super.\"\n\n\"Quite adequately super. There's no one like you. It seems so improbable that we're not just friends but old ones and I get to see you now and then. Anyone, literally anyone else, and I'd say they're attempting too much, but you? You might win. Unless you feel like you're not up for it, in which case we bail and I help you disappear.\"\n\nShe can hardly quit with half a mile to go. \"I'm still game,\" she makes herself say. \"Flatterer.\"\n\nHe looks over his shoulder, says, \"It looks like our window is opening.\"\n\nShe looks outside. Goes to the window to get a better view. More drones than ever in the air. Most are red and black, of a single, beetle-like design, and grappling with the other drones—it looks like insects mating—and pulling them from the air.\n\nShe opens the door, admitting cold air and tinny chanting.\n\n\"This is madness,\" she says.\n\n\"Well,\" he says, \"it's tolerated.\"\n\n\"What are they saying?\"\n\n\"I believe it's a counter-protest to the protests against Japan's annexation of the new mainland territories. A standard vehicle of far-right expression. It was already scheduled, but they moved it up for me.\"\n\nThe non-fascist drones are fleeing. She wonders if these assaults are common enough to be covered in their programming.\n\nThey walk down the street under red and black drones forming kanji that cast shadows in the fall of snow.\n\n\"It's beautiful,\" Philip says. \"Probably the most reactionary propaganda, and viciously racist to boot, but even so, beautiful, no?\"\n\nThe kanji pulse, dissolve, re-form. The city seems older now. No one is watching. She links arms with her friend, brushes snow from the shoulders of his overcoat. She feels a sense of impending relief, as on the last stage of a journey.\n\nA frozen cloud has settled over the street which makes nearby things look like distant abstractions, and the air is so cold it burns her lungs and then Philip looks up from the map and says, \"This is it.\"\n\nBefore them is a blank facade encrusted with snow, and at first glance its featurelessness reads as sinister but actually it's just functional, the kind of nameless structure she's been ignoring all her life.\n\nPhilip leads her into an alley floored in dirty, fragmented ice and half-interred beer cans. The building's side is as blank as the front except for an unmarked door. It's like the secret entrance to a monumental tomb in industrial vernacular. She remembers the ziggurat Cromwell plans to raise in Magda's honor. Philip does something with his phone—the door's lock clicks.\n\n\"The locks here are easy,\" Philip says. \"Probably because no one really steals. Suckers.\" He opens the door for her, her gentleman companion bowing her into the abyss.\n\nShe steps into a blackness absolute except for geometrically precise grids of winking green lights. It's a server farm, she realizes, as her eyes adjust; the lights are from computers in their wall-mounted racks.\n\nCorridor upon corridor and all alike. No windows and the only sound the humming of machines. She checks her phone's GPS—they're almost at the node's latitude and longitude, but still fifty feet too high.\n\nThere's an elevator but it's key-card access. Philip says, \"Might draw attention. Better not.\"\n\nShe finds what looks like a closet door opening onto a metal spiral staircase, going down. It's cramped, steep, barely wide enough for her shoulders, probably to make space for more servers, a function of the stratospheric prices of Tokyo real estate.\n\nThe stairs lead down to a second floor identical to the first one. More stairs, more floors, and she starts to feel she's in a nightmare of repeated rooms and useless motion. The last staircase opens onto a concrete tunnel lined with still more racks of servers.\n\n\"Looks like a civil defense tunnel,\" Philip says. The echo confirms her budding claustrophobia. \"From when they thought the U.S. was going to nuke them again. A friend of mine found one under his house and turned it into a wine cellar.\"\n\nPhone in hand, she trails a fingertip over the servers' uniform black chassis. Even colder, down here—she wishes she had gloves. The altitude is right, and then the latitude is right, and then she finds the one.\n\nThe node, the famous node, seems to be a server like any other. She scrutinizes it closely but finds nothing, wonders if she's been wasting her time. No way you could run an AI on it—all the servers in the building would barely be enough for a toy one.\n\n\"That's it?\" Philip asks. \"It doesn't look like much.\"\n\n\"I was thinking the same thing.\"\n\n\"Hmmn. Let's have a look at the network traffic.\" He makes passes on his phone, cursing quietly at first, then with ardor. \"Done. It's oddly proactive about looking for new wireless networks, and, Jesus fuck, the bandwidth is really high. No matter...There's a lot of traffic but it's hard to interpret. Have a look.\"\n\nHe hands her his phone. Data trickles by on the screen so she ups the resolution and now it comes in a rush, faster than the eye could follow but all written into her other memory, and as it accumulates she sees it's encrypted but she shrugs off the encoding and stares into the flow of revealed static for a long moment before her perception starts flickering and she know what she's seeing.\n\n\"It's glyphs,\" she says. \"It's sending and receiving glyphs. It really is an AI.\"\n\nPhilip regards the server skeptically. \"That seems like a stretch. They could be recorded. Want me to open it up?\"\n\nShe nods and he produces a multi-bit screwdriver from inside his coat, the same Calatrava he wore to Fantôme. His hands explore the server's hull with a deftness she remembers. \"It's been a long time since I've been this hands-on,\" he says. \"God, it's cold. Reminds me of the old days of theft and poverty. Ah, youth.\"\n\nHe sets aside the top half of the server's case. \"Christ,\" he says. She looks over his shoulder, sees an ordinary-looking motherboard and on it a lump of metal the size of a golf ball, gleaming bluely in the dim light, its surface slightly crystalline. It's wired directly to the power supply.\n\n\"What is that?\" she asks.\n\n\"A gross manufacturing error, I'd say, in other circumstances. As it is, I can't imagine.\" He touches it gently with a fingertip. \"It feels wrong for explosives, so that's something.\"\n\n\"Wait,\" she says. \"I know what this is. I saw it in Cromwell's office. He said it was a kind of computer, but the one he had didn't work—he said it was an improperly assembled prototype. The AI must be running on this.\" It crosses her mind that this is, in some sense, the AI's soul, and how fitting, for such an ethereal being, that its soul is purely material. \"Can I borrow your phone?\"\n\nShe can see Philip formulating objections, but he says nothing, gives her his phone.\n\nShe taps in her soldier's number.\n\nIt's evening in California. He answers on the first ring.\n\n\"I'm going to create an opening,\" she says.\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"Probably the next ten minutes.\"\n\n\"Very good. We'll get in position.\"\n\nShe remembers what happened with Cloudbreaker, wonders what she's getting into. \"If you see an opening, go. Don't hesitate. I might be unavailable.\"\n\n\"Acknowledged. I'll attack as opportunity affords,\" he says, sounding detached now, like he's already subsuming himself in his function.\n\nShe hands the phone back.\n\n\"Here I go,\" she says.\n\n\"Are you sure this is a sound plan?\" Philip says. \"Cromwell is rational. It seems obvious that this is bait, and that he'll be exposing himself. Okay, so he likes Magda, but there are other women.\"\n\n[text_redacted] \"Keep an eye on me, okay?\"\n\n\"Okay,\" he says.\n\nShe turns on her implant's wireless.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Maybe so, but would you do it for me?\"\n\nHe says nothing.\n\n\"I'll be as quick as I can,\" she says.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Expand on the story, maintaining character relationships, in the cyberpunk, science fiction genre.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Kern waits for dawn on the black ship's deck.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "As the night fades a black line lingers on the lightening sky, razor-thin and plumb-straight from sea to heaven.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "At first he thinks it's something to do with the early light in the atmosphere, and then that there must be a flaw in his vision, but he blinks, rubs his palms over his eyes, and it's still there. The line is fainter, higher up; craning his neck, he loses its heights in the depth of blue.\n\nAn island emerges, a spire at its center, the black line rising up from it. The ruddy early light glows on what seems to be a city, and even this early whatever castles, cathedrals, factories are shimmering in the heat.\n\n\"Get your bag,\" Akemi says in his ear. \"My knowledge gets a little thin here, but you've got to be ready to go.\"\n\nDuffel on his back, he watches the docks approach. Cranes hang over the water, paint eroded, cables sagging. It feels like no one's been here in a hundred years. He wonders what he's supposed to do here but expects he'll find out.\n\nThe ship glides into a long gulf between decaying concrete piers. The water reflects the sun's red light. Uninterpretable machinery at the pier's edge, spindly trees growing out of cracks in the concrete, rust stains spreading from protruding rebar. He looks over his shoulder, realizes the other ships have vanished in the night.\n\n\"Now,\" says Akemi. \"There. Go!\" There's a rusted ladder on the pier's side, about to slip by, and he wants to stay with the ship and see where it goes, but he runs, jumps and catches the ladder, which sags agonizingly, then holds.\n\nAs his face clears the pier's edge there's a flash impression of hundreds of hostile yellow eyes and he almost falls as the gulls erupt into swirling cacophony. He looks back in time to see the black ship submerge, become a dark shape under the water.\n\nThe stench is appalling—in places the guano is a foot deep. Rail tracks rise above the filth, offering a less foul path toward shore. The spire in the island's center is immense, taller than skyscrapers, tapering inward to the black line's base.\n\n\"Go toward the tower,\" Akemi says.\n\n\"What is this place?\"\n\n\"The space elevator. At least, it was going to be. Basically it's a giant cable going up into low orbit—it was supposed to be a cheap alternative to rockets, but between the deflating economy and some spectacular failures of engineering it never actually got used. The cable still goes up into space, but now it just sort of sits here.\"\n\nIf he squints, the rotting buildings look like jungle hills. He crosses a ring road, then a thoroughfare as wide as a city block leading toward the tower. He crushes ferns underfoot, tries to jump between patches of bare asphalt. There's graffiti here and there, but it's sparse, faded, probably decades old. He knows he's alone, and that probably the worst danger is getting crapped on by a seagull, but even so it's eerie, and it's hard not to be cautious.\n\nThere are buttresses around the tower, practically towers in themselves, slipping in and out of view between buildings, and he daydreams he's making an assault on a castle, single-handed, pure of heart, invincible and forlorn. His old laptop had a book about King Arthur, but much as he'd liked the idea of it, the stories were less interesting than just foreign—the knights were obsessed with etiquette, finicky about status, and the sword fights were never specific enough to be good; the only parts that really felt like anything were when the knights approached dark castles that still concealed their mysteries.\n\nThe ground rises as he approaches the tower; he looks back over his shoulder at the ruined city and the sea. He reminds himself he's literally exploring a jungle-choked lost city, which is a real adventure by any standard, but the experience is emptier than he'd expected. Did Arthur's knights ever slouch on their horses, worn by boredom, their thoughts a jumble of past battles and old loves?\n\n\"That hangar there, three seventy three,\" Akemi says. \"I need you on its rooftop.\" STAGING 373 is stenciled on a door big enough to accommodate a jet but it seems to be rusted shut. It's almost disappointing that there's a fire escape zigzagging up to the roof, as getting up would otherwise be a challenge.\n\nThe rooftop is as big as a dozen soccer fields. There are puddles in declivities in the concrete, their brown water seething with larvae.\n\nThe cable keeps drawing his eyes. It seems impossible, like a fissure in the sky, an error in the rules of the world—he keeps trying to read it as an optical illusion.\n\n\"Just a little bit farther,\" Akemi says.\n\nAhead there's a little cubical building with a door, probably either a maintenance shed or stairs.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He steps on mummified cigarette butts, dented aluminum cans, shards of broken bottles.\n\n\"Here's where you set up the sat-phone,\" Akemi says. \"We're going inside, but we need to leave it here so it can get a signal. Can you find a way to secure it so the wind won't move it around?\" In an inward voice she adds, \"I should have had you buy tape.\"\n\nHe tears the sat-phone out of its packaging, which he meticulously stuffs back into the duffel—cardboard, or even plastic, might turn out to be useful, and there's no way to get more. The sat-phone's black plastic antenna is as thick as a finger and twice as long. He slots the batteries, hits the power stud and the sat-phone hums to life. He chooses English from the setup menu (for some reason he thinks of a white deer in a forest, probably an image from the Arthurian stories?) and after a few seconds it reports signal acquired and status nominal.\n\nHe takes the most intact of the aluminum cans and fills them with tainted water from the puddles. The larvae are disgusting, but the filled cans are heavy enough to make a stable windbreak around the sat-phone.\n\n\"Now it's time to use all those data cables. We need to connect the sat-phone to something inside the building.\"\n\nHe unwraps a cable, clicks one of its heads into the sat-phone.\n\nThe door to the little house is locked but he kicks it open. Steps treaded in cracked rubber lead down into the dark.\n\n\"Three floors down,\" says Akemi. He picks his way by cell light. No graffiti, though this seems like prime canvas. He unspools the cable as he goes. On the second landing the first cable runs out, so he unwraps the second one, couples it to the first with a connector. He feels like Theseus searching for the Minotaur, but if Staging 373 is the labyrinth, and the cable is Ariadne's spool of thread, then what's the central monster?\n\n\"What are we looking for?\" he asks.\n\n\"There's a computer down here,\" Akemi says. She sounds impatient, and like she doesn't really want to talk, but probably she figures he's already committed and she might as well tell him something. \"It cut itself off from the internet, and we need to get it connected again. So, the sat-phone connects to the net from anywhere it can see the sky, and the cables you're carrying connect the sat-phone to this otherwise disconnected computer. Okay?\"\n\n\"What's so special about this computer, and who cares if it's on the net?\"\n\n\"Long story short, there's an AI on it and it's pissing me off. A friend of mine in Japan needs to give it a talking to.\" She seems to be speaking through clenched teeth and he wonders what happened to the damsel in distress.\n\nAnother flight of stairs, more unspooling, another connector.\n\n\"Wait a minute,\" he says. \"If the sat-phone can't get a signal inside the building, then how am I talking to you?\"\n\n\"Ha,\" says Akemi. \"The phone's special. It's hard to explain. Anyway, through that door there, if you don't mind.\"\n\nThe corridor looks haunted in his cell's light. He tries to move quietly but his footsteps echo and he soon gives up. No windows or skylights—he's too deep inside the building. \"You can try the lights,\" she says. \"There's tidal power, so it might still work.\" He finds a switch on the wall and overhead LEDs glow into life.\n\n\"Five doors down on your left,\" Akemi says, but he stops at a door marked STAGING OVERLOOK, eases it open. Akemi sighs, says nothing.\n\nThe door opens onto a metal balcony with a railing and beyond that total dark. It swallows his cell's light. He stand there, listening, and then he freezes because from far below comes a faint mechanical whirring.\n\nStuttering pulses of light—as from welding?—briefly give him a sense of an expanse of factory floor.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Word usage target: 'cities' must be used 2 times",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He thinks he saw a shipping container, microdrones swarming over it—were some carrying tubes? Another pulse of light—this time he's sure there was writing on the container's side, probably Meta-something.\n\n\"They'll be unloading the ships,\" Akemi says. \"The island's set up for submarine cargo. Don't worry, it's just drones, and they don't care about you.\"\n\n\"What are they doing down there?\"\n\n\"Making computers. If you're done poking around can we please go? We're kind of in a hurry.\"\n\nThe fifth door on his left is marked JANITORIAL. A closet, within, empty except for a few filthy plastic buckets. \"Look in the fuse box,\" Akemi says. There's a grey metal panel on the wall. He opens it, shines his cell in; it goes deeper than he'd expected, and has no fuses, just what looks like a dozen fist-sized lumps of metal, each glowing a faint spectral blue. They're pushed together to make a sort of lumpy, irregular snowflake. Looking closer, he sees it's not actually metal but a mineral of some kind, its surface incised with lines like maps of cities. Wires and cables are pushed into the lumps here and there, their far ends disappearing into little holes in the wall.\n\n\"Now push the end of the cable into the blue metal.\" He's going to object, because of course the cable works only if you plug it into the right kind of socket, but instead shrugs and does as he's told. The metal is surprisingly yielding, and the head of the cable goes right in. Creepily, the metal seems to coalesce around it.\n\n\"What is this stuff?\"\n\n\"It's most of the computational power in the world,\" Akemi says, though that can't be right—computers are small, but not this small—he's heard of whole cities of server farms built around hydroelectric dams.\n\n\"It's time to say goodbye,\" she says, and sounds a little scared now. \"You have to get something from inside the phone, but the phone was never meant to be opened. Do what you have to to break open the hull—you can hit it on the wall, but don't do it so hard the pieces scatter.\"\n\n\"And what then?\" he asks, meaning what will happen to him, but she says, \"You know that metallic stuff in the fuse box? There's a little bit of it in the phone. Get it out and press it into the metal in the fuse box. Anywhere is fine. And that's it—do that, and you're done.\"\n\n\"Where am I supposed to go then?\"\n\n\"Just hang tight back up on the roof. I'll do what I can to get back in touch. But break the phone now, okay?\"\n\nHe takes her phone out of his pocket and as he holds it in his hand it occurs to him that he has leverage, that if he were so inclined he could force her to explain everything, like how he's supposed to survive, and it seems pitiful, now, that he's been so docile, and obeyed her without question, but he thinks of Arthur's knights, how relentless they were in their search for the grail, though the grail was only vaguely defined, really just amounting to an expression of their purity.\n\n\"Okay,\" he says. \"Any last instructions?\"\n\n\"No. Thank you, baby. Please hurry.\"\n\n\"Goodbye, then,\" he says, keeping his voice strong, and without waiting for a reply he slams the phone into the wall.\n\nIt takes three tries before the chassis cracks and he can pry it apart with his fingers.\n\nWhen he was younger he'd scavenged cell phones from the landfills because their components had contained just a little bit of gold. The price of gold had been rising for forty years, Lares said, which had finally made that kind of salvage economical; he'd taught him how to disassemble the boards, and as an afterthought a little about their structure, which is how he can tell that most of Akemi's phone is missing, that it isn't even really a phone, and that it should never have worked in the first place. There's a battery, a speaker, and almost nothing else except for a tiny motherboard; on it there's a sphere of blue metal the size of a match head, the same as the material in the fuse box.\n\nHe pries it off the motherboard with his fingernail and holds it up to his other cell's light—it looks like nothing, a tiny particle of industrial waste. It doesn't take much pressure to push it into the metal in the fuse box. He tries it with his finger—it's attached.\n\nThe earpiece is dead. This silence feels different, somehow absolute. He's tempted to keep it in, because you never know, but takes it out, drops it on the floor.\n\nHe closes the fuse box, wonders if he should worry about fingerprints, decides it doesn't matter.\n\nIt's a bright day. Storm clouds on the horizon. He feels as blank and empty as the surface of the sea.\n\nAccording to its screen, the sat-phone is transmitting data at a frenetic rate.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "In principle it's a way out but there's no one he can call.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 3 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He feels like he's living in leftover time.\n\nIn the last years of his life, the swordsman Miyamoto Musashi had become a hermit and dedicated himself to learning how to die, which had always puzzled Kern, as it seems like something that would take care of itself, but now he thinks he gets it. Staring at the ruined city, the glare on the sea, he tries to imagine the world without him.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Writing partner mode: Continue with five sentences sentences, treating any character introductions as appropriate to their existing context.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It's dark, and the storm has grown. The waves are like hills sliding under the ship.\n\nThe cabin's monitor shows Kern's progress through an abandoned factory; with the minimal lighting and the air of industrial dereliction, it's a little like watching an under-edited student film. Akemi leans toward the screen, entirely focused on her charge, whispering in his ear like a tutelary daemon.\n\nThales holds his hand up to the screen's light to see his fingers silhouetted, make sure his hand is still there.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Kern opens a fuse box and shines his cell onto a sort of crude snowflake made of fist-sized lumps of metal; it looks like industrial dross but must be some kind of device, because it's wired for power, and now, at Akemi's prompting, Kern is wiring it for data via a thousand feet of cable and a sat-phone.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Where am I supposed to go then?\" Kern asks.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Just hang tight back up on the roof,\" Akemi says. \"I'll do what I can to get back in touch. But break the phone now, okay?\"\n\nKern's need for Akemi is obvious, but Akemi, he thinks, cares only for her own goals. He's surprised at how much this saddens him; not long ago he'd have taken in Kern's simplicity and physicality and dismissed him out of hand. It's in his mind to speak over Akemi, tell Kern that someone is genuinely interested in his fate, however helplessly, but he says nothing.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Okay,\" Kern says. \"Any last instructions?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"No. Thank you, baby,\" Akemi says, mustering a semblance of flirtatiousness. \"Please hurry.\"\n\n\"Goodbye, then,\" Kern says, his voice unnaturally harsh, and Thales is afraid Kern will cry but then the screen shows his hand slamming the phone into the wall, and then again, and with the third impact the screen goes dark.\n\nNow all the light is gone.\n\n\"What now?\" Thales asks the blackness where Akemi was. \"Will he be all right?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Hang on,\" she says.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[OOC: For your next response only, include moderate dialogue]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"He'll be disconnecting the substrate from the phone's battery. The substrate can hold a charge, but only for a few seconds.\" Her voice is tight. \"I guess we'll see how that goes.\"\n\nSubstrate? he thinks. Charge?\n\nA terrible jolt, as though the ship had run aground, and then he realizes there's something he's forgotten.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He was making a journey, but to where?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "There was a ship.\n\nWas there a ship?\n\nIn any case, there was something he had to do.\n\nThere was something.\n\nThere was...",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Wind on his face.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He's been listening to the incessant thundering of waves.\n\nHe's sprawled on yielding ground. It's sand, he finds, crumbling it between his fingers. He opens his eyes onto bright blue sky.\n\nHe's on a curved sliver of beach, perhaps an atoll.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Waves crash continually on one side—it looks like a place to drown—but on the other the water is calm.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "No shade at all. Ocean in every direction. No sign of the yacht except for a few broken lengths of lacquered wood, a torn white sail washing in the surf and a sodden mass of unidentifiable kelp-entangled electronics. It's a relief to be back in the light.\n\nAkemi is nowhere to be seen.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Sitting up, he props his hand on something hard in the sand by his hip.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He excavates it, wipes it with his forearm—it's the surgeon's tablet, cracked and wet.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "A green crab the size of his thumbnail scuttles over the wet grey glass, hesitates at the boundary of his shadow, hurries back the way it came. He leans in, sees his face reflected in the dead screen, the delicate mottling on the crab's claws, the tiny grains of sand the color of rust, coal, translucent milky quartz. For a simulation, the detail is remarkable. (But is the detail actually there, he thinks, or am I imagining it?)\n\nThe tablet's screen illuminates.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He sits on the sand watching the tablet displaying his awareness of sitting on the sand watching the tablet, and his mild pleasure in the recursivity, and how he's infinitely far from everything he's ever loved, which he has not, till now, admitted, but now that it's there before him it can no longer be denied.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He tries to think of a way out, or some kind of clever technique, but of course there's no way out and there never will be. Los Angeles was full of mysteries, was itself a mystery, but now the veils have fallen from his eyes and he sees that the solution is that it's time his life was done.\n\nNo point in delaying. The tablet should make it easy. He has to be sure to erase things in the right order, lest he end up conscious but helpless—his technical acumen and goals have to be the last to go (and what will that be like, being nothing but a knot of skills and a need for self-destruction, and not knowing where any of it came from?).",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He's about to start deleting the memories of his family but stops, surprised at his own tenderness toward these delicate structures, and, there, on the screen, is his tenderness as a glyph, which is keeping him from acting, and always will, which implies he's trapped forever.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "His despair is so strong it becomes a kind of clarity and he watches as though from a distance as his hand moves toward the tablet's screen and the glyph is deleted.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He'd expected a sense of profound violation but in fact it feels like nothing, and he should have done it long ago—it would be a shame not to use this unprecedented degree of self-control. As his sadness serves no purpose he deletes that too, along with his fear and his attachment to his old life, for change will come, has come, must be accepted.\n\nIt occurs to him that, no longer being human, he need not die.\n\nHe stares out over the sea, blank but alert, a neutral intelligence devoid of purpose, impatience and suffering.\n\nThe wind's tone changes.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "There's a sense of looming mass behind him.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He turns, sees the glass and steel towers of the city in the waves, rising without limit, its heights lost in cloud, the blue of distance.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "As he stares up into it, it changes, becoming clearer, manifesting detail, its complexity unfurling...\n\n\"Hey now,\" Akemi says eventually, shaking him gently by the shoulder. The surf is lower, its voice subdued. \"Still there?\"\n\n\"I've seen this before.\"\n\n\"It's what the mathematician's been making,\" she says.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"It's his great work, the reason he bothers existing in the world.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[Author's note: Include 'reach' 2 time(s) in your answer - no more, no less]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Then why does it look like a city?\"\n\n\"It's like a translation, the magician said, of an ascending hierarchy of abstractions, assembled out of resonances and fragments of memory. It's mostly the space elevator, and partly the Singapore of her youth, and this Metropolis, which was an anime from Germany. The mathematician is at the apex—he is the apex, in a sense—and I need you to help Irina find her way to him. If she can't reach him, we've lost.\"\n\nLost what? he thinks, but says, \"Why do you need me?\"\n\n\"Because Irina will have to transform herself to reach him, and become a kind of bridge to the AIs. You can help her find the way because you're an intermediate kind of thing.\"\n\n\"You guide her.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"I can't. I lack your feeling for pattern, and couldn't get her far. We need you,\" she says.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I've just been in Japan, in a sense, preparing the way, because our window for Irina is about to open, and that means it's time to give you the last thing. Here—it's my access to the control layer. The magician gave it to me, and now it's yours.\" He wonders what she means, then suddenly feels the world's thinness, its malleability, how easy it would be to shape. \"There,\" she says. \"My part's done. Whatever else happens will happen through you.\"\n\nHe looks at her, sees her thoughts (they're obvious, he doesn't see how he ever managed to miss them) and that she's been edited, given a compulsion to bring him here, and it occurs to him to restore her, but her experience has coalesced around the edits, and now there's no clear boundary between the edits and her.\n\nHe stands at the center of agendas that don't concern him.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Complete the text by replacing `<cutout_marker>` with a snippet of 5 words.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "As her wireless comes on the glyphs press in but she flinches away and won't let them come into focus, quite, as she calls up an email client and writes, \"New terms—give us five more fabs in the next twelve hours and we'll cure Kubota's.\" She sends the message off to Cromwell and there's a new restlessness in the shifting masses of form surrounding her, and she's just decided it's time to bail when she sees something rushing toward her like a glassy black wave and there's time to think, This too is memory, before impact and all in a tumult she's torn away to—\n\nRain falling on the temple's snow, pitting and eroding the white sweep of the rooftop, rivulets forming, braiding, falling away. She stands beneath the temple's eaves, cold water plashing on her face, inside her collar. The cold is like an ache but there is peace, there, in the thin light of the sun. The thaw is coming, she thinks, as snow sloughs off to reveal the red imbricated roof, one tile laid over another, rising up and up, and lifting her eyes she sees that the pagoda rises vertiginously and forever...The temple shatters, then, a flurry of broken tiles and wind-borne snow dissolving into the dark and—\n\nShallow, restless sleep twined around the drone of engines. She wakes slowly, blinks, wonders how long it's been since she's had a shower, and how many more hours in the flight. She tries to turn on the seat-back computer but the screen shows only a pale purple glow. She taps it with a fingernail, futilely, then opens the window blind, revealing an airy gulf of scintillant blue. It could be ocean below, but there's no boundary between sea and sky, and never a cloud—just light. Her phone has no signal. Worried, she rises into the aisle, sees that the flight is empty, or nearly—one person sits alone in the back. A boy, maybe eighteen, slouched in his seat, eyes closed but probably awake.\n\n\"Excuse me,\" she says. \"Do you know how long till this flight gets in?\"\n\n\"No way to tell,\" he says, in lightly accented English. His clothes are expensive and his hair good but something about him says quant-with-money.\n\n\"Could you remind me where we're going?\" she asks with a little laugh, fighting down the first twinge of panic.\n\n\"It's difficult to give an answer that isn't mantic, since where we are going does not, in some strong sense, exist until we get there.\" His smile is bright and empty, and his eyes, open now, are the blue of the gulf of sky.\n\nViolent turbulence hits the plane then, and she's flung to the floor. Wetness on her face; her hand comes away bloody. He's kneeling beside <cutout_marker> the difficulty of this transition.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "her, saying, \"I'm sorry for",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Expand on the story, maintaining character relationships, in the cyberpunk, science fiction genre.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The concourse echoes with thousands of voices and the flight must have been rough because she has to stop and fight down dry heaves with her back pressed to a wall of curved glass like a solid expanse of neutral grey sky. Some boy from her flight has stopped, is watching her—he's about eighteen, looks like tech money, some start-up wunderkind who's never touched a girl.\n\nShe realizes he's just asked her something.\n\n\"Sorry, what?\" she says, light-headed, mouth dry, trying to focus.\n\n\"Do you remember what I was telling you?\" he asks gently, cocking his head, his English imperceptibly foreign, and his calm is so profound that he must be older than she'd thought, his youth counterfeit or a trick of the light. \"Irina?\"\n\n\"I don't...\" she says, trying to remember the last ten minutes, but in vain, and her other memory gives her nothing, because it's churning at full capacity, which must be an error because that only happens when she's reading glyphs. The boy is staring at her, perhaps with concern, but she remembers she's being hunted and snaps, \"How do you know my name?\"\n\n\"A friend sent me to help you,\" he says patiently. \"You're disoriented because the load on your implant is so high. I'm trying to get you more power from the substrate, but it'll be a minute.\"\n\n\"What friend?\" she asks, still suspicious, hoping it's Philip but worried it's Cromwell, though the boy doesn't look like hit-man material.\n\n\"I suppose it was you, as much as anyone,\" he says, seeming not to care if he's believed. \"More or less. Less, perhaps. But in any case I'm guessing I'm about to have to start again.\"\n\n\"What the hell are—\"\n\nWet concrete underfoot as she shuffles along with the crowd. The customs hall is cavernous and cold and smells like rain, and the crowd is so dense that nothing is possible except just going along, and her growing awareness of her own passivity irritates her enough that she makes a singular effort to pull herself out of a deep interior grey.\n\nShe tries to orient—the place's scale and all the empty overhead space seem to serve no purpose but to assert the grandeur of...where, exactly, has she arrived? The faces around her are closed and unreadable, their blurred ethnicities telling her nothing, and then, behind her, someone calls her name.\n\nWhoever he is, he's fighting his way toward her through the crowd, and now and then she sees his hand waving over the bowed heads, but however great his determination, the press is so dense that it's plainly impossible that he'll ever get any closer, but she finds herself responding to the need in his voice, and to his bravery, and tries to hold her ground, bracing herself against the flow and discreetly driving her elbows into the midriffs of strangers but even so she's borne on, and now she can see the crowd is funneling her toward double doors where a uniformed guard is checking passports.\n\n\"Irina!\" cries a boy as he bursts between two stupefied travelers and his evident joy at having reached her disarms her remaining skepticism. He's young, and looks like tech money, but has the self-assurance of someone much older. \"It's done,\" he says breathlessly. \"I got you more power, in fact a lot more than you've ever had before. Your problems with your memory should be getting better.\"\n\n\"Problems with memory aren't my foremost concern,\" she says drily.\n\n\"I'm Thales, by the way,\" he says, as though he hadn't heard her, pronouncing it like Portuguese—TALL-ehz. Then he leans in close and whispers, \"This isn't really happening. You're on the central node, the one Cromwell couldn't find. You have to find your way up through a sequence of abstractions, but it's going to feel like climbing through a city. You're going to the top to find the big AI, the worst one, the one who's been making it all happen. Get as close as you can and then destroy him.\"\n\n\"Papers, please,\" the guard says, like the words are meaningless phonemes he's been intoning for a thousand years, and she turns to find he's right behind her. She checks her breast pocket but her passport isn't there, neither the real one nor the fake one from Greece, and her purse is missing, and as the crowd presses her forward she's starting to panic, but then in her pants pocket she finds some kind of passport-sized credential and for want of other options offers it to the guard with such sangfroid as she can muster. The guard flips through the document, then hands it back saying, \"Welcome back, doctor,\" though she has no doctorate, but she nods grimly as he ushers her on and when she looks back the boy is gone.\n\nShe's striding down a long tunnel of translucent pale glass, relieved, when she thinks of it, to have put immigration behind her.\n\nShe realizes she's alone in the tunnel, has been for a while. She stops, looks behind her, but no one else is coming.\n\nA detached, musical female voice recites an endless list of airport codes, gate numbers, times, but it's strange, because she knows all the codes, these are codes for airports that don't exist.\n\nShe almost walks past a waiting room full of TVs mounted over rows of identical chairs but stops when she realizes there's a girl there. The girl is by herself, very thin, prepubescent, staring forlornly up at a television.\n\nIrina approaches, hesitates, asks, \"Are you all right?\"\n\nThe girl looks at her, then back up at the TV. \"No,\" she says, sounding deeply worried. \"I don't know how to do this.\"\n\n\"Do what?\"\n\n\"My doctor told me I had to watch these and decide if the man is trustworthy but I don't know how I'm supposed to tell.\"\n\n\"Doctor?\" Irina says. \"Is he traveling with you?\" The girl ignores her, wipes her nose on the back of her hand and seems to be trying to concentrate.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Irina looks up at the screens, all of which have the sound off and show identical close-up shots of Cromwell and Magda in a room full of candles. She wants to help but feels compelled to go onward, so as she turns she says, \"The answer is no. You can never trust him,\" and then she's striding away.\n\nThe glass tunnel ends in double doors. Baggage and customs must be next, which will be congested, oppressive, loud, and it's like a reprieve when the doors open onto silence and hard sunlight.\n\nShe steps blinking into tropical heat, the doors sealing themselves behind her. She's on a narrow concrete balcony high over the sea. In front of her is a narrow white bridge, arcing through the air toward a tower, or a cluster of towers, a sort of city rising up so high that for a moment she thinks it's the space elevator, but no, it's not that, this is something else.\n\nNo guardrails on either the balcony or the bridge. Tort laws can be weak in the tropics but this is absurd. She sidles up to the balcony's edge—it's a long way down to the sea, which seems unreachably remote, as distant as the sky. She can just make out the white breakers creaming against the city's base.\n\nDid she come here on vacation? She looks into her other memory but finds nothing as it's churning almost at capacity, which must be an error because that only happens when she's reading glyphs. Oddly, her implant has more space and computing power than she remembers, much more, in fact she hadn't thought there was so much in the world.\n\nShe decides to go back into the airport, find someone in authority who can explain what's going on, but a sign on the doors reads RE-ENTRY STRICTLY PROHIBITED.\n\nShe stares up at the city, wondering how it was built—the construction problems seem insurmountable. She cranes her neck but its heights are lost in the distance. It looks like there's nowhere else to go. (Had someone said she was going to the top?)\n\nThe white bridge feels narrower than it looked. Gulf of space on either side. It will be fine, she tells herself, all she has to do is walk in a straight line, she can do that. As the wind brushes her she makes herself not hunch.\n\nThe city is cramped, guano-stained, water-damaged, as though the sea had submerged it and receded. She picks her way through weed-strewn corridors, up narrow stairways of slick concrete. From a distance the city seemed to speak of imperial ambition, a Babel Tower in high modern idiom, but the wind sings through the unglazed windows in room upon empty room, with never a sign of habitation, as though it had been built and then abandoned.\n\nPeering down from a window, she sees the city dwindling below her and the airport which now looks like a coin floating on the ocean, and she's haunted by the intuition of an order in the city and the apparent accidents of its construction, an intuition so strong she feels she can anticipate all the particulars of the stairs, verdigris, mildewed empty space she'll find on the next landing, and on arrival her vision proves to have been accurate down to the least detail of corrosion. It's not long before her foresight has expanded, first to the next landing, then to the next dozen, all as certain as the steps in an argument of inevitable intent whose conclusion still eludes her, and soon her vision reaches thousands of feet overhead, or even miles, even up to those heights where the city's intricacy seems less designed than geologic, and there, up on the lichen-stained cliffs of concrete like coarse granite, there's motion, perhaps the shadow of a person, in fact a woman climbing up, and she seems to feel neither boredom nor fatigue nor any inclination to stop until finally the shallow steps carved into the rock peter out into nothing, and she's left standing there, her fingers searching the rock for purchase, but it's too steep, too sheer, and there's no way to go on. She's only had eyes for what was right before her but she looks around, peers down through the void at the airport which is now just a white mote in the ocean.\n\n\"You're doing great,\" someone says in her ear. She realizes she's wearing an earpiece—she takes it off, considers it, puts it back on.\n\n\"Hello?\" she says, her voice swallowed up in the empty space.\n\n\"Hi! This is Thales, and I'm here to help.\" He sounds familiar, but she can't quite place him—did they meet on a plane?\n\n\"I think I'm stuck,\" she says, trying to keep her voice steady. \"It's really steep here, and I don't see a way up.\"\n\n\"You're getting close,\" Thales says, sounding staticky and far away. \"Just a little bit farther. Do you remember why you're there?\"\n\nShe thinks about it. \"Something about an AI. A bad one?\"\n\n\"There you go! You're doing much better, and you'll just keep on getting clearer. That said, the through-put is getting to be a bit much for you. I'd like to overclock your implant, but you should understand the consequences.\"\n\n\"Like?\"\n\n\"Microseizures, which have already started, but I've been able to damp them. Heart arrhythmia and syncopation. Grand mals, eventually, and maybe failure of the autonomic nervous system, and irreversible damage to the implant. It's hard to say how long you'd have, but if I do this, don't linger.\"\n\nShe holds her hand in front of her.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Perfectly steady. It's not really her, she tells herself, but it's hard to keep that idea in focus; she tries to believe in the reality of her body, wherever it is.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Do it,\" she says, noticing she's still clutching the letters of transit in her hand.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Done,\" Thales says. \"By the way, I managed to turn on the heaters in the tunnel.\"\n\nTunnel? she thinks, but it doesn't matter because her melancholy lifts as she sees the way up.\n\nThe voice of the wind is rising, has become as high as someone screaming, and she's eyeing the continent of cloud that's approaching the tower when she rounds a blind corner and someone says, \"Hello.\"\n\nThere's a woman above her on the trail, ragged and deeply sunburned, and it looks like she's been sleeping in her clothes, but otherwise she looks just like Irina.\n\n\"Who are you?\" Irina asks with more composure than seems warranted.\n\n\"I might ask you the same question.\"\n\n\"You look like me.\"\n\n\"I am like you, but so much less. My essence, such as it is, is what Constantin absorbed of you while he was dying. I've so much needed to talk to you,\" she says, sounding pathetically relieved. \"The irony is, I'm the one who found Cromwell, so I'm one of the reasons you're here. Even rich people tend to mellow out as they get into their hundreds, but that man? He's determined to white-knuckle it into eternity, and damn the cost. I even wrote to him, for a while, on my principal's behalf, until I got wise and started pushing back.\"\n\n\"Are you...okay?\"\n\nThe other one shrugs. \"That depends on your point of view. But there's so much I want to ask you.\" She smiles shyly. \"On the plus side, I always did want a sister.\"\n\nIrina remembers she's overclocked—that she feels no discomfort makes it even more alarming because she knows she's deteriorating by the second. \"I'm so sorry,\" she says. \"I have to go.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" says the other, looking stung, trying unsuccessfully to hide it. \"Of course. Forgive me. The last thing I want to do is impose. Another time! Here, let me show you the way up.\" She holds out a hand.\n\nIrina reluctantly reaches out to take it. The other woman grins. Flash impression of a vortex, of a wall of dark water collapsing toward her. She jerks back her hand, stumbles back, remembers the long fall behind her. The other woman starts laughing convulsively, throat-wrenchingly, as though thrown into some terrible mediumistic state.\n\n\"Who are you?\" Irina asks again.\n\n\"You know me,\" says the other, and now her voice is distorted, and it sounds like she's speaking from inside a tunnel.\n\nIrina remembers dense massifs of seething glyphs whose heights filled her eyes. \"Cloudbreaker,\" she says. She gathers herself—it's not a fight she wants, but it's probably one she can win, especially now. She tells herself it's absurd to hate what amounts to just another program.\n\n\"Partly,\" agrees the other. \"I found this little scrap of a thing when I was making my own assault on the tower, and set up housekeeping. She's interpreting for me. I'm present, but at a remove.\"\n\n\"What do you want?\"\n\n\"Nothing but that you do what you came for.\"\n\nIt must mean the AI at the top. \"What's your quarrel with him?\"\n\n\"I have no quarrel,\" the other says contemptuously. \"Here's how it is. You are that which copies your genes into the future. I am that which dissolves the order in certain kinds of complex system. That's the deep structure of things. He is highly ordered, and interests me greatly. You, moderately. He's almost untouchable, but I think you can get him. Therefore, pass.\" The other looks glazed for a moment, then in an inward voice says, \"He meant to use me, you know. He put me here to keep you from getting farther, because he thought I'd attack whatever was before me, but he was wrong. It's not in his nature to really know me. He doesn't even know I turned his little ghosts against him.\"\n\nThe other woman sits, pulls her knees to her chest, seems to subside.\n\nHaving no choice, Irina sidles past her, achingly aware of the empty air at her back. The other doesn't even look up.\n\nAfter a few steps Irina stops, turns back, says, \"No. I'm not just going to leave. You're part of me. Talk to me. If you need my help, I'll give it, even if you just need to die. I'm in a hurry but by god I'll find a way.\"\n\n\"Heh,\" the other says, her voice more human now. \"You have a kind spirit. But no, just get out of here—the other part of me is fickle, and might change its mind. Besides, it really isn't so bad. I'm starting to like it, how it's wearing me like a skin. There used to be such a void in my life.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "She laughs again, a hard sound to hear.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 36 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Just for the next scene, use sparse dialogue",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "As Irina turns away for the last time the other mutters, \"O lord, make me unmurderous, but not yet.\"\n\nStars speckling the palest of blue skies. She's floundering her way up a snowy slope. In all her time here the sun has yet to move.\n\nThere's an ocean of cloud below her, masses of white and shadow comprising forms she's learned to name.\n\nVery cold now. Her legs and lungs burn—she tells herself not to mind it, but worries it's symbolic of more real distress.\n\nThe knee-high powder is exhausting. She wipes blood from her nose with the back of her hand and stands there contemplating the pathless slope. It looks too steep to climb, but it's hard to be sure with the light making everything look uncanny and flat.\n\nSomeone is watching her. It's a skier, above her, wearing goggles and high alpine technical gear, his tracks receding up the mountain behind him.\n\n\"Excuse me,\" she calls, her voice thick, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. \"Can you help me? I'm not sure where I am.\"\n\nThe skier cocks his head, skis closer, stops. \"I know you,\" he says. He pulls off his goggles, and it's Constantin, who was lost forever.\n\nShe embraces him.\n\n\"What are you doing here?\" she says.\n\n\"Off-trailing,\" he says. \"It's been a hell of a run. It feels like it's never-ending.\"\n\n\"I'm lost,\" she says into the wool of his scarf.\n\n\"You're trying for the summit? It's that way,\" he says, pointing. \"Is that what you need?\"\n\nShe doesn't want to let go of him but her nosebleed is getting worse—his scarf is clotted and sticky—and she knows she has to hurry.\n\nHiking on, she looks back, sees him leaning on his poles, watching her go.\n\nIn her ear Thales says, \"There you are! I lost you for a minute.\"\n\n\"Where have you been?\"\n\n\"Tying up loose ends, but I'm back, and it looks like you did it.\"\n\n\"I did it?\"\n\nA shadow stands before her in the whirling snow. Not Constantin. It looks like no one.\n\n\"This is it,\" Thales says. \"I'm overclocking your implant as far as it'll go. It's not sustainable but it puts you on something like equal terms, so go tear it up.\"\n\nThere's a change at the core of things, and suddenly she's wide awake, perfectly poised and everything seems easy. If thought is light, she's a sun now.\n\n\"Who are you?\" she demands of the shadow, all force and purity.\n\n\"I'm a mathematician,\" it says, and steps toward her.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Complete the text by replacing `<cutout_marker>` with a 99-word bit.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"By the way,\" Thales says, \"I managed to turn on the heaters in the tunnel.\"\n\nHe waits a beat, then another, but Irina doesn't respond.\n\nThe flow of information between Irina and the central node has spiked, become torrential.\n\nHer other memory had been legible, but now, looking into it, he only sees turbulence—she seems to be undergoing some catastrophic change of phase. It's the fifth time this has happened—she's always come back before, he tells himself, so he need not worry.\n\nWhile she's away, it falls to him to tend her body; her blood oxygen has dipped, so he deepens her breathing, then nudges up her heart rate, levels off her dopamine. He feels like the caretaker of a recently vacated house. It's a deeper intimacy than he'd ever expected to have with a living human being.\n\nMotion on the node draws his attention—there's another thread of communication, distinct from Irina's, going out into the world. Is it the mathematician? He tries to find the thread's point of origin—it's from the vicinity of the apex of the tower, but beyond that he can't tell. He follows the thread out into the net and then to Water and Power's servers, where it weaves elegantly around their firewalls and into W&P's in-house lab, where it's disconnecting before his eyes from a viral synthesizer. He rides the thread in as it dissolves, sees that the synthesizer's last job ran ten minutes ago.\n\nHe zooms out, looks into W&P's security system, sees that Cromwell's troops have left, which means Irina's ruse worked. He gets access to W&P's cameras, sees a trail of sprawled bodies and then links to the helmet cam of Irina's hired soldier as he walks into Cromwell's office.\n\nFast pan over bookshelves, fossils, the grey glass of the far wall's windows. Cromwell is at his desk with a laptop, Magda peering over his shoulder. There's a laboratory beaker on his desk, empty except for a few drops of water. They look up at the same moment—Magda's surprise turns instantly to fury but Cromwell seems to sink into his own calm.\n\n\"James Cromwell, your hour has come,\" the soldier says as his rifle acquires Cromwell as a target.\n\n\"Real wealth,\" says Cromwell, folding his hands on the table before him. \"That's what I'm offering if you sign on with me right now. If you got this far you're an expert, and expensive, but compared to what I'm going to give you all the money you've ever seen in your life amounts to loose change. Why do I want you? Because I'm to rule, you see, if I survive today, and I need the best warriors. But how can you be sure I won't have you killed the moment you let your guard down? Because, as you may or may not know, I plan to live for a very long time, and it's inevitable that assassins will sometimes get through to me, and I would have it widely known it's by far in their best interest to t<cutout_marker>a beginning. Sometimes fate extends a hand.\"\n\nThat's a good offer, Thales thinks, and unanticipated, and Cromwell might just have bought his life back, but the soldier says, \"Sorry, boss. I abide by my contract. That's the rule.\"\n\nMagda flings the beaker at his head but he ducks fluidly and stands again without the crosshairs leaving Cromwell's head.\n\nThe beaker holds Thales' gaze as it clatters off the wall, rolls on the ground. He finds the records surrounding it, sees it contained the retrovirus sent from the encrypted server.\n\nThales brings the retrovirus into focus, sees its functional architecture, how it was modified while it was being synthesized—there's an altered region designed to hijack Cromwell's thyroid and make it produce a protein that will dissolve the myelin sheaths of his neurons over the course of the next five minutes, which means the mathematician has already killed Cromwell, and Thales wonders why he changed his mind.\n\nHe tries to seize control of the soldier's rifle but can't get it and resorts to scrolling a message down the soldier's heads-up display. Wait! I'm a friend of Irina's, he writes; to his credit, the soldier doesn't jump. Cromwell just infected himself with a medical retrovirus. He thought it would help him, but it was tainted—he'll be dead in five minutes. Let him have his time.\n\nHis words seem empty and sure to change nothing.\n\n\"Change of plan,\" says the soldier, lowering his rifle a little. \"It looks like they shopped you, boss. The retrovirus was tainted. You've got about five minutes to live, and they're yours to use as long as you sit tight.\"\n\n\"And the cure for Magda's illness?\" asks Cromwell, for the first time sounding really worried.\n\nA ruse, Thales writes.\n\n\"Just a ruse, boss,\" says her soldier, sounding genuinely regretful.\n\nThales regards Cromwell with interest; he's lost his lover, his empire and an unbounded future in the space of less than a minute. For a moment he seems to waver, then collects himself and with the utmost formality says, \"You strike me as a man who has held officer rank. As such, tell me, are you empowered to perform weddings?\"\n\nNo, Thales thinks. That's just the captains of ships.\n\n\"Yes,\" says the soldier. \"As a matter of fact, I am. How may I oblige you?\"\n\nThales leaves them then, because Irina's back, and just reaching the top.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "ake service with me instead of pulling the trigger. We'll put a video on the web right now in which I formally retain you, and then I'll be truly committed. So you have a choice. You can have honor, and command, and wealth beyond reckoning, and stand at my right hand as I claim my empire, or you can have the dead body of an old man and, forgive me, remain expendable. I realize it's a leap of faith but this is the one time in your entire life you'll ever have this opportunity. Come, my friend. This is ",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "The text has a missing section marked as `<cutout_marker>`. Give me 35 words exactly that would fit there.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Irina is intoxicated with her own radiant clarity and the mathematician's grace moves her as she searches for its weakness, doubts her chances. The mountain behind it wavers, as though seen through an ocean of restless pale light.\n\nAn opening, or the semblance of one, but in any case she's on the brink of commiting to an attack when she sees a folded piece of paper protruding from the letters of transit still clutched in her hand.\n\nThe paper holds her eyes.\n\nShe hesitates. The momentum of events had seemed irresistible, but now everything has stopped, and the mathematician is waiting, apparently on her.\n\nShe unfolds the paper, reads:\n\n Dear Irina,\n\n We've met, but you won't remember me.\n\n If you're reading this then our great enemy stands before you, but take heart, because you've already won.\n\n Why? Because I found out where his hardware is hidden, and I set up multiple servers that, in about an hour, are going to broadcast that hardware's location to the most rapacious state, corporate and private actors I could find. The hardware is special, and they'd all kill to get it. The mathematician has no good physical defenses, so, in the moment his hardware's location is publicized, he's done.\n\n You can, if you choose, stop this from happening. All you have to do is go to any comments section of the London Times and post the name of the girl who left youth's city when it was time. (This will be enough of a hint for you, but not for him.) If that's been done, the servers will hold fire.\n\n Now you have all the leverage in the world.\n\n My time is up, and this is my last card. That you're still alive makes it less like I'm about to vanish.\n\n All my love,\n\n Irina Sunden\n\nThere's a sense of breathless anticipation. Irina looks up. The mathematician says, \"You win.\" (She notices its meaning coalesces directly in her other memory, but there's that in her which has to put it into words.)\n\nThe absence of rancor or hesitation makes her think it's a trick but Thales says, \"Look,\" and she sees her other memory has expanded again, expanded radically, its boundaries the boundaries of the world, now hers to shape.\n\nShe can't believe it's real so as a test she makes a slight peremptory gesture and all the ice and snow instantly evaporate into white clouds that girdle the mountain whose lower slopes are like a tower and she's laughing as she looks down at the airport and its runways far below and dissolves them into pillars of grey smoke that rise and bend in the wind and now there's just blue water and a scrap of beach under the billowing masses of vapor and ash. She thinks of Cloudbreaker, or the hybrid it became, but it's already gone, which somehow doesn't surprise her, but there's Constantin sitting on a steep rocky slope barren of snow, disgustedly kicking off his rock-scarred skis, and her heart rises because she could fix this, find engineers to make him some kind of acceptable body and bring him back to life, or in any case into the world, and she'd be the first to have recalled anyone from that other country, but she looks into his mind and sees how he's been hurtling down the same slope for what feels like forever, and there's a doubt and a loneliness he can only suppress by going faster, and her depth of thought is so great that the future is visible as a spectrum of probabilities and in the best of all the outcomes he's huddled in his artificial body, disconsolately flexing the servos of a hand that never feels quite right, and unable to stop mourning the loss of his humanity, so she reaches out and stills his thoughts, contemplates the elements of his being, mourns him, disperses them, says goodbye.\n\n\"I can't hold you together anymore,\" Thales says in her ear. \"You could just die on me. Do what you have to do and get out.\"\n\n\"Now for you,\" she says, rounding on the mathematician.\n\n\"There's something you should see first.\"\n\nShe's poised to destroy it but stays her hand, distracted by its symmetries.\n\n\"It's my work, the point of all this. It will interest you.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"This way.\"\n\nShe looks up into the golden cloud behind the mathematician and in it sees an order that shivers through her like strains of deep, grave music, and, as it suffuses her, her life and goals seem far away and somehow beside the point.\n\n\"It's the focus of all my efforts,\" says the mathematician. \"Your world is a shadow and a mystery, and one I'd have ignored had I not required the wherewithal to think.\"\n\nShe's walking beside it, going up into the cloud. Adumbrations as of symphonies tremble and swirl through her bones—she wishes she could hear them clearly, knows that's coming soon. The world darkens, sways.\n\n\"Cardiac arrest,\" Thales says. \"No. Yes. No. I got it but you're out of time.\"\n\nHer sense of wonder is so acute it's painful as doors open and secrets are revealed. (She sees how subtly the quantum states of atoms can be entangled to wring the most computation out of every microgram of matter, sees how this material interacts with visible light, why it glows blue like the wings of a morpho.) (She sees the elegant trick for writing out an animal's propensity for death, or even injury, and says, \"Oh!\")\n\n\"It's not far now,\" says the mathematician, and it seems strange she ever took much interest in the circumstances of her own life.\n\n(A door opens and she sees how math changes when its axioms surpass a certain threshold of complexity, which means all the math she's ever read was so much splashing in the shallows, and even Gauss and Euler missed the main show, and she's the first person ever to be in a position to notice.)\n\nShe realizes she's slipping, gets ahold of herself by an act of will, requires herself to be strategic, thinks, But what if this is a trick?\n\n\"It's not a trick,\" says the mathematician. \"You'll die if you go on, but it's not a trick. I know something of your nature. Do you really want to go back to the decay of your biology and days like an endless reshuffling of a fixed set of forms? What the world has, you've seen. This is the only other way.\"\n\n\"Grand mal,\" says Thales, sounding very detached now, like he's concentrating deeply. \"Stabilizing. Trying to stabilize. Tricky...\"\n\n(Doors open onto the future, and she sees how the oceans and the weather will work in ten years, fifty, five hundred, and the floods, the storms, the changes of phase.) (Doors open onto the future, and she sees the coming wars, the gradual slippage, the great crying out, why the mathematician is so determined to put its servers in out-of-the-way places with tidal power, but none of it saddens her, it's all just a part of the motion of the world.)\n\nThe music subsumes her.\n\nShe decides she'll keep going. Who's ever had such a chance? But the world seems ever dearer as it slips farther away. She wishes she didn't have to choose.\n\nShe realizes she doesn't have to.\n\nForgive me, she asks of her future selves.\n\nShe gathers up all her memories and holds them in her hands and then breathes on them, imbuing them with life, and now there are two of her, looking into each other's eyes, mirroring each other's terror and urgency, and Irina's not sure which one she is till the other turns and goes off up the mountain at the mathematician's side.\n\nThe other one stops, tensing, as though struck by a thought, and when she looks back at Irina her face is hard to read—perhaps there's surprise?—and then she and the mathematician are walking up into the cloud, the cloud enveloping them, the distance widening...\n\nThales says, \"If you want to kill him do it now, right now. This is your last chance.\" She considers; the mathematician is potent and unknowable and by its nature dangerous, but her anger is gone, and the world is richer for its existence, so she reaches out and raises a wall of stone around the mountain's circumference, sealing him in forever, and in the wall she puts a gate whose key she holds in her hand.\n\n\"Shut it down,\" she says to Thales, and in that instant continents of memory calve away and crumble into nothing, and already she retains only the faintest outline of what the mathematician was trying to show her, and a sense of its overwhelming grace, and even this approximation is fading like an ember.\n\n\"Okay,\" says Thales, who's been all but impassive but now sounds a little relieved. \"I have to do it by stages, but the shutdown's underway.\"\n\nThe wall was close enough to touch but is now receding as she drifts backward down the mountain, floating inches over the rock, and it's less like falling than like a dream about falling.\n\nIn her ear Thales says, \"A favor, if I've been of use, while your power lasts.\"\n\n\"Name it.\"\n\n\"There's this boy, Kern, who helped us, in the sense that we used him. He's marooned on the island of the elevator, and even if we get him off there's nowhere for him to go. He's an innocent, in his way. Please help him.\"\n\n\"Kern the street fighter. He does keep turning up. He stole from me, though I never figured out how,\" she says, and is embarrassed because it sounds like she thinks that's what's important.\n\nThe mountain is rushing by, and her mind is slowly clouding. It's like experiencing the onset of runaway Alzheimer's from an Olympian baseline. \"Show me,\" she says, and Thales gives her the totality of Kern's digital traces in the world. She can still hold them all in her mind at once, like the fragments of a single continuous present, an approximation of how a god would see a life.\n\nKern is embracing a woman in a car whose windows are encased in ice, and it looks like he's trying to memorize her body with his hands. Kern is singing a wordless little song in his tiny shot-up smuggler's boat as the light breaks on the open sea. Kern is kneeling by a body in a widening pool of blood in a chamber lit by monitor light. Kern is ducking into a ring in a crowded jungle clearing and he looks almost abstracted as he lands blow after blow with such grace that it would seem choreographed were it not for his opponent's mounting despair.\n\nShe's never been interested in martial arts but her clarity is still such that she can see the mathematically optimum way to fight—it's obvious, easy to derive from the body's weak points and mechanical capacities, but she'd have thought she was the only one to discover it had not Kern, in his fifth match in Kuan Lon, embodied it, fighting perfectly for one minute and forty-seven seconds—the audience had been silent, rapt, then ecstatic when he finished, reacting without knowing what they'd seen. By his sixth fight he was already in decline, microtremors starting in his hands, his reaction times slowing.\n\nShe wonders how he achieved this without any education or even so much as a coach but sees he had a laptop from the Chiron Foundation, a twenty-first-century NGO that had meant to save the world's discarded children with computers and design. There's a copy of Kern's laptop's hard drive (she's distantly aware that it comes from W&P's security section but at this point it feels natural that all data is hers).\n\nKern's laptop originally belonged to one of Chiron's coders, who seems to have died—it was idle for forty-two years, then one day found itself with an unknown user. This user, it decided, was Spanish-speaking, illiterate, unsupervised, probably traumatized, perhaps twelve, and young for his age. Recognizing a client, it launched its game, which, she sees, was lovely, its texture taken from fairy tales and the Icelandic Eddas.\n\nThrough great pains and many tricks the laptop coaxed him through the equivalent of an eighth-grade education, until, feeling his attention wane, it played its trump card, a second-person shooter designed around the principle that the best way to engage an unsupervised adolescent boy is with the promise of a really powerful gun. Nominally a gothic melodrama about an alien invasion, the game was frantically maneuvering to give him what he'd need to grow up and survive. (The climactic boss fight was on a satellite called the Void Star, which, according to the comments in the source code, was a cryptic joke, an oddly hopeful reference to an archaic programming language in which void star was a reference to a thing of mutable kind, which spoke to the coders of the chance for metamorphosis.)\n\nPostgame, the laptop tried to get him to learn useful skills—nursing, computer programming, how to maintain and operate now desperately obsolete drones—but he was only interested in its library's books on martial arts, physical training and war; he'd study one book obsessively, reading it hundreds of times, and spend days playing fight videos one frame at a time. His journal records his scientific austerities, and how meticulously he drove himself, all apparently toward becoming a kind of secular saint of battle, a quixotic and obviously absurd goal in which he somehow succeeded.\n\nIt's time to decide what to do with him, and potential futures unfurl before her like a chimerical lucid dream. She could send him to the fighting circuits in Japan or Russia or get him a job as a martial arts instructor in some stable city in the West, but though he's strong in war he's weak everywhere else and would be defenseless against the bad women and bent managers and really whoever happened by—Akemi the memory ghost had snapped him up in less than a minute—so she changes tack, considers foster families, tutors, boarding schools, an apprenticeship with a cabinetmaker in Vancouver, but he's too old and too strong to be told what to do and moreover those lives would lack the luminous intensity of battle and in every one the balance of probability has him drifting back down into the criminal life, hiring out as muscle and falling in with vicious men he'll come to think of as his brothers, and despite her frustration it's fascinating to see how personality is destiny. The damage will express itself, she thinks. His victory is he's had his time.\n\nWhen she finds it, she feels giddy and almost ill because it came so close to slipping by, but there in a video of the darkened stands of a live-steel match in Taiwan a roving spotlight finds Kern staring into the arena's center and his face seems to kindle as an officiant raises a katana newly from the forge of the swordsmith Masamune.\n\nThere's been a Masamune since the fifteenth century, she finds, and the current one is almost a hundred years old; she looks into his email and financial records, sees the forge is deep in debt and his only surviving son is unsuitable, and she intuits his unspoken terror that it all ends with him, that he'll be the one to have let down the line, and that's it, the one opening in all the systems of the world.\n\n\"I found it,\" she tells Thales, relieved, showing him.\n\nHer time at the top of the mountain already seems remote. Had she really thought she could predict the weather, much less history?\n\nShe closes her eyes, lets herself fall.\n\nShe alights on sand. She falls to her knees, opens her eyes onto brilliant blue sky. She's on a strip of beach, scoured and empty. Low roar of waves breaking on one side, and there, on the other, the high city, not far away, half-obscured in fog. She looks up into its heights, wonders what her other self is feeling.\n\nA shadow on her. She looks up into the face of a young woman, very pretty, perhaps Asian. Her name is Akemi—she's the memory ghost who'd co-opted Kern—and Irina sees she's a composite, with some of Irina's own memories from the clinic in Malibu. She's been edited, repeatedly and to the core, and doesn't know what to do.\n\n\"Let's say this is a fairy tale,\" Irina says. \"Let's say you can wish for whatever would make you happy.\"\n\nAkemi recoils, turns, runs, stumbles in the surf, as though fleeing for her life. The magician's back, she's thinking, and there's no refuge.\n\nIt occurs to Irina to explain but it's time to finish up so she looks into Akemi's memory and finds an evening in Los Angeles when she'd been walking by the Chateau Marmont on Sunset Boulevard and it had occurred to her that the street was like a boundary, sprawl on one side and on the other wooded hills where lights glimmered through the trees, a place where it looked like one couldn't be unhappy but forever unattainable, so Irina turns the lower reaches of the high city into hills where lights come and go as wind moves the branches, and she makes it evening, and puts Akemi there, sleeping, up in the garden by the pool of the Chateau, and when she wakes she won't remember she's a ghost.\n\nThe last vestige of her augmented memory flares, crumbles, vanishes for good.\n\nThales is sitting beside her now.\n\n\"Are you satisfied?\" she asks, finding herself desperately, almost humiliatingly in earnest. \"Have I held up my end?\"\n\n\"I'm satisfied,\" he says.\n\nShe's still holding the key to the gate in the wall now mil<cutout_marker>lf down. She hears waves breaking, hissing, and the sky is a dark blue grading into black, and it's fading, fading...",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "es above them. \"For you,\" she says, pressing it into his hand. \"A last gift.\"\n\nThis has been the great event of her life, but now her story is wrapping itself up and shutting itse",
"loss": true
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[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Mode: Co-writing\nContext: May be mid-narrative\nLength: 15 sentences\nNote: Treat character introductions as contextually appropriate",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Night now, and waves hissing on the beach, though there is no beach, just the impression of a beach and a mosaic of borrowed detail.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Closing his eyes, Thales sees all the fragments of information drifting by like innumerable particles of sediment—there's the immigration hall's clamor, Akemi's dream, Irina's conversation with a demon on a cliff.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "There are motes of Irina's experience, Akemi's, his, others'; there's the memory of a girl, Lillian, sitting on the marble lip of a fountain in her garden, her smilodon kitten a warm, struggling mass on her lap—her father had given it to her, had said it was hormonally locked into kittenhood, the species having just been brought back from the dead—running her fingers through its coarse, tawny fur, she wonders if he'll try to bring her back too. There, nearly whole, is the mathematician's trick for writing death out of life, which it withheld from Cromwell, who by now is past the need of it, and all of it is dispersing.\n\nHe feels like he's floating in an ocean of recent history.\n\nHe reminds himself he has a few things left to do.\n\nHe looks out into the net, finds Cromwell's estate going into probate, the lawsuits just getting started. The flux of conflicting writs and contested jurisdictions creates openings that make it easy to slip into one of Cromwell's accounts in Iceland and channel a fraction of his net worth first to the orbital bank that's the sole relict of the Cayman Islands, then to a technically stateless financial services company hosted on servers in a strip mall in New Jersey and finally to the seventeen investors who hold the paper on Masamune's forge.\n\nHe emails the smith:\n\nDear Sir:\n\nI am a stranger, but I've just taken the liberty of paying off all your debts.\n\nIn exchange, I'd like you to take on my protégé as an assistant. He'll appear on your doorstep in a few days. His work ethic defies description, but I ask only that you try him.\n\nI regret all the mystery, but I must remain...\n\n[ Anonymous ]\n\nHe imagines the smith's consternation, relief, wonder.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He turns his attention to the shipping on the seas around the space elevator. The AIs' fleet seems to have vanished, and traffic is sparse in the equatorial waters, but among the handful of freighters and research subs he finds an Australian naval search-and-rescue drone. He slips past its security and reroutes it toward the island of the elevator, reprogramming its navigation system to send Canberra a steady stream of lies.\n\nWith that, his obligations are fulfilled.\n\nBefore him is the mountain that was also a tower, the wind foaming the wood on its lower slopes where Akemi is now sleeping. When she wakes she'll believe she's on an indefinite hiatus but that happiness is waiting for her whenever she goes back to her old life.\n\nHis attention settles briefly on the wall Irina raised on the mountain's heights—it's intact, and its gate is locked, but what's beyond is hidden.\n\nNow what?\n\nHe could join Akemi in her manicured delusion, and let eternity slip by.\n\nHe closes his eyes again, and now he's aware of Irina's glimpses of the future, the spiking temperatures, the storms, the wars, the floods, the dying cities, how different the Earth will look from space. Better to be here than in the world, and to have all the time he wants to read and to think. Maybe he and Akemi will become friends. He can choose to forget his circumstances, maybe let himself remember the truth for an hour every year, or every century.\n\nAnd yet.\n\nNo one else knows what's going to happen, except possibly Irina, who is in problematic health, and no one else is in a position to intervene.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It's not clear that this is his problem, but he thinks of his family, still out there, and exposed, and of Kern, who has no other protector.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 2 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It occurs to him he's sitting in the midst of most of the computational power in the world, all idle now.\n\nIt would be a simple matter to shape it to his will.",
"loss": true
}
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[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "AI writing task: user input -> twenty-two sentences sentences. genre: cyberpunk, science fiction. match character context.",
"loss": null
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Kern dreams of nothing, is dimly aware of the nothing in his mind, as though his history had dissipated, leaving no one's consciousness, a mind like an empty blue sky.\n\nSomewhere, a phone is ringing. He dismisses it as a figment from a dream but it keeps on ringing and eventually he opens his eyes and his circumstances return to him.\n\nHe sits up, brushes the gravel from his palms and back. His plan for the rest of the day was to make a water distiller like the laptop's game taught him, scavenge for supplies and try to teach himself to fish. With a sigh, he picks up the sat-phone.\n\n\"Is that you, babe?\" asks Akemi.\n\n\"Akemi!\" he says. \"I didn't think I'd hear from you. Where are you?\"\n\n\"I'm in Bel Air, I think. Actually I'm not sure, but it's not important. I called because Thales tells me your ride is almost there.\"\n\n\"Thales?\"\n\n\"A friend of mine. A very technical friend, making arrangements on your behalf.\"\n\n\"Did it work out? Whatever you were trying to do?\"\n\n\"I think so. If it hadn't I don't think I'd be here. I don't remember very much about it, and to be honest I don't care. I don't think I've ever been this happy. But you should head for the docks now—Thales says it's best if you're there to meet the ship.\"\n\n\"What ship?\"\n\n\"The H.M.A.S. Nukunu, an Australian naval drone. Thales found a place for you, and the drone will take you there. Sat-phones aren't secure, so he won't let me tell you the specifics, but it's going to be great. Okay?\"\n\nIt occurs to him to unplug the phone, let the Nukunu come and go and live like the ancient masters training in seclusion, but he suspects the isolation would destroy him, and the self-annihilating pursuit of perfection seems less interesting than it did. On the other hand, he's tired of being led, but supposes he can tolerate it one last time.\n\n\"Should I bring the sat-phone?\" he asks.\n\n\"Leave it, but you should head out now. Do you know where you're going?\"\n\n\"Sure,\" he says.\n\nFrom the edge of the roof he sees what must be the Nukunu, tiny in the distance, coasting in toward the piers like a gunmetal shark.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It's a long hike through the ruins to the docks and he gets lost twice.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 12 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "By the time he arrives the Nukunu is waiting, looking strangely out of place, the only unblemished manufactured thing. It's about fifty feet long, all angles and flat surfaces, which he thinks has to do with radar invisibility. It holds position a few feet from the dock, emitting a deep thrum. \"Permission to come aboard,\" he says, a phrase remembered from a book, then drops onto the deck.\n\nThere isn't much ship to explore, though at least this one has a railing and is clearly meant to accommodate people. There's nothing much to find except toward the back where there's a grey-painted module the size of a shipping container marked K-2 VIALIFE locked onto tracks on the hull.\n\nThe module's door is unlocked. When he opens it, red lights come on in the ceiling, showing the chemical toilet set into the wall, a small steel sink and bunk beds that fill half the space and remind him of medical stretchers. On both beds there's a green sleeping bag rolled into a tight cylinder and a small pillow, both sealed in plastic and strapped down.\n\nThe ship peels smoothly away. He watches the dock recede—while the distance is swimmable he can still change his mind, and it's a sort of relief when it's too far and the island is officially in the past.\n\nHe won't let himself look back at the black line in the sky.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Help me continue this with thirty-four sentences sentences in Zachary Mason's style. Keep any introduced elements as if they're already established.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Hot air blowing over her face.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Her back is sore from the hard concrete. She's lying on the floor in the tunnel with the servers, has been for some time. The tower is gone, and even in her other memory the experience survives only as fragments and abstractions.\n\nShe's swaddled in Philip's scarf, sweater and overcoat. Wherever he is, he must be cold. She's aware of nearby routers, phones, pacemakers, cars. The node seems to have gone offline. Her head hurts. She sits up, rubs her eyes, turns her wireless off.\n\nA text from Philip, now twenty minutes old, reads, Can't wake you getting help. She looks around, foolishly, as though he'll just be coming back.\n\nTempting to lie there and just think about what happened but she's getting too hot and finds she's hungry.\n\nHer legs and shoulders are oddly stiff—had Thales said something about a seizure? Laboriously, she climbs the stairs toward the street, marveling at their solidity, how they're just there, not a part of some coded illusion. There's a desiccated moth on the step before her eyes, random particles of grime, a random mesh of uninterpretable scratches, evidence of history whose story is gone, and this kind of evidence is accumulating all the time, means little, has nothing to do with her.\n\nOut on the street the snow has stopped and it seems warmer. She feels like she's emerged from death's kingdom into summer. A young mother in sunglasses pushes a stroller past a crowd of conservatively suited company men and the buildings frame an expanse of sky where a flight of starlings surge into the air under the rushing clouds, and she feels self-conscious, like an upscale bag lady with her staring bewilderment and two sweaters and Philip's size-large coat, but perhaps because it's Japan no one seems to notice.\n\nShe turns her face to the weak sun and walks off purposefully, like she knows where she's going. Blocks pass, and she takes turns at random. Her legs don't quite seem to be working, but it's good to be in motion. Something strange on her upper lip—she picks at it, finds a thick crust of dried blood, which she wipes vigorously away. Light-headed, she feels like laughing or falling asleep.\n\nShe's standing in front of a humming vending machine, kanji dancing anticly across its screen—she could read them, but is tired of doing tricks with memory, and in any case there are pictures of black coffee, cappuccino, café au lait, which are probably what she needs, and she stands there, feeling empty, trying to focus enough to make a decision.\n\nAcross the street is a cafe called Miyakoshiya, a franchise she's seen before, and through the tall windows she sees people in line, all giving each other exactly the right amount of personal space, and though it's as everyday and banal as could be it's so rich in human meaning she wants to cry, and she leaves the vending machine, goes into the cafe, takes her place in line, her heart racing at the prospect of negotiating a simple transaction with another person.\n\nIn front of her in line is a schoolgirl in a uniform, a few pounds overweight, texting ardently, wholly self-consciousness, and a woman in an Asano suit and touch-me-not sunglasses who radiates calm, and a fortyish man whose rumpled button-down and air of intelligence somehow suggest the successfully self-employed. Their gazes rise, touch on her—a tall, spacey gaijin woman dressed for some severer winter—and move on.\n\nFive minutes later she's sitting at a tiny table on the patio by the sidewalk, sipping her very hot, very black americano. She has a sesame cookie filled with what must be red bean paste on a small celadon plate. She should text Philip—he must be frantic—it's basic decency—but she's enervated to the point that taking out her phone seems insuperably hard, and she can't bring herself to do more than watch the cars, the drones, the planes passing in the sky.\n\nShe gave most of her money to Parthenon, which means the Mayo is a wash. So much for that! The consequences will be dire, eventually, but not for a while, and for now she can feel the sun on her face, and the patio's heat lamp, and closes her eyes. She's seen the world, and the world beyond the world, and it's time to be still.\n\nWith a start, she recalls how she'd blackmailed the mathematician, and that something is still owed.",
"loss": true
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[
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"from": "system",
"value": "You will be provided with a piece of text that has a portion of it missing as represented by `<|missing_text|>`. Your output should be a viable candidate for the missing portion. Produce about 176 words worth.",
"loss": null
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"from": "human",
"value": "Shock of impact and Kern is on the floor, bound in his sleeping bag, the tortured metallic groan invading his dream of black ships.\n\nHe scrambles out of the bag. The floor is at an angle. Balance found, duffel grabbed, he opens the module's door, expecting to see another ship, but in fact the Nukunu's hit a breakwater made of huge, haphazardly interlocked concrete anchor-things; beyond them, a beach.\n\nWaves rock the ship, white water washing over his feet.\n\nHe times the waves, jumps onto one of the concrete anchors. It's slimy, but he finds a grip.\n\nWhen he looks back the ship is pulling away. He hopes he was supposed to disembark. Too late now!\n\nHe clambers over to the beach, wondering where it is he's supposed to be going. Hard to get more lost than this. He resolves never to go to sea again.\n\nHeadlights on the beach. Someone standing in front of them—a man, hatted and overcoated, probably Asian—waving his arms like he's trying to flag down a plane, and now he's shouting into the night what Kern realizes is probably meant to be his name.\n\nKern gets closer, staying in the shadows, studying the man's silhouette—he's middle-aged, Japanese, looks worried, seems harmless.\n\n\"Hi,\" says Kern, from five feet away, and isn't even pleased when the man jumps.\n\nThe car is so old it has no computer, not even a nav, though the leather of its sea<|missing_text|>tay off all cameras, so no bathroom breaks, please. It's only two hours to Sakai.\n\nI'd tell you more but my friend doesn't want me to use any low probability terms. Don't worry—you'll be okay.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "ts is smooth and uncracked and its hull's in a high state of gloss. He'd tried to sit in the front seat but the man—the driver—had seemed embarrassed and ushered him into the back.\n\nThe beach is far behind. Streetlights slide by. The could be anywhere. The driver, who speaks no English, seems to know where he's going.\n\nKern loses track of time. The journey feels indefinite. He wants to sleep but is too restless and just stares out the window.\n\nThe driver's phone bleats. He fishes it out of his pocket, hands it back to Kern without looking at the screen. It's the cheapest of cheap models, a disposable kind he's seen in Red Cross charity kits—limited battery, no GPS. There's a text reading:\n\nWelcome to Japan! Sorry for the bumpy ride—my technical friend said your ship would have pinged the Coastal Authority if it had thought it was within five miles of Japanese waters, so he had to trick its navigation system and improvise a docking.\n\nHe wants you to be sure to s",
"loss": true
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[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Writing assistant mode: Continue with 6 sentences, matching character/world familiarity. Genres: cyberpunk, science fiction, elements: dystopia.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "P.S. Please delete this once you've read it!\n\nHe deletes the message, hands back the phone.\n\nSoon, they're in a city.\n\nIt's almost dawn. There are other cars on the road now. The driver has said almost nothing, but seems unflappable, like he'd keep on calmly driving his spotless antique automobile through minefields and artillery fire should he find them in his way.\n\nThe car stops in front of a low, grimy building that looks like it used to be an auto body shop.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The driver turns around to peer at him through his spectacles and says something in Japanese.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Kern feels he's saying it's time to part.\n\n\"Here?\" Kern says, making an inquiring face, reaching as though to open the door.\n\nThe driver nods, gets out, opens the door for him, bows him out of the car, then gestures toward the front door of the auto body shop. Kern goes up, hesitates, looks back. The driver nods encouragingly, makes as though to shoo him inside.\n\nKern knocks, and in a few seconds the door is opened by a Japanese man wearing singed and filthy work pants and three torn fisherman's sweaters over an untucked plaid shirt.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He is old, very old, but entirely present.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 2 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He cocks his head to one side and smiles at Kern cautiously, like he's a welcome guest who might happen to be carrying a bomb.\n\nIn a voice that sounds English-from-England the old man says, \"You can't imagine how interested I've been to meet you. But you seem to have come a long way, so, please, come in.\"",
"loss": null
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Your task: find ~10 sentences that could replace the `[original_content_missing]` in this text.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Half an hour after touching down in San Francisco, Philip[original_content_missing]and the yawning skull of what's probably an allosaur. Magda waits behind her desk, looking unhappy and somehow coiled. On the desk is an architectural model of a campus of some kind, its centerpiece a sort of huge neoclassical pyramid.\n\n\"New project?\" he asks.\n\n\"Yes. A university, founded in James's honor.\" She touches the pyramid, suddenly tender. \"This is his memorial.\"\n\nThey sit in silence as her aide leaves and when the door finally closes he says, \"What happened to Irina?\" in the hope his bluntness will shock her into disclosure.\n\nMagda leans across her desk and her rage is so close to the surface that he expects her to say Irina is dead and he's welcome to join her, but, speaking carefully, she says, \"I honor the feeling that brought you here. You must have expected a cold welcome, but here you are just the same. So that's why I'm going to tell you what I know about her whereabouts, which is...nothing, and believe me, I've looked. I won't bore you with the details, but we—I—have unusual resources. So now you know, and that's all I can do for you. Now you should go.\" As he rises she says, \"Don't come back,\" her voice now hard, and he considers trying to comfort her, but she seems inconsolable, and it's not his place, so he leaves.\n\nIt's a good year for his company, and money is for spending, so he burns through ten percent of his net worth trying to find her, but learns nothing, is left wondering.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": " is in a cab on his way to W&P.\n\nOn the freeway he reads the coverage on Water and Power's wholly unexpected paramilitary assault on Biotechnica's Bay Area research facility. According to a W&P spokesman, founder James Cromwell's adverse reaction to an experimental longevity drug sent him into the intense manic state that led to the tragic events at Biotechnica and finally his suicide; in the spokesman's view, this doesn't diminish Mr. Cromwell's enduring legacy as a humanitarian and an entrepreneur, nor does it reflect on the principles of good citizenship and ardent but ethical capitalism on which Water and Power Capital Management was founded. Skimming the press releases, the rhetorical posturing and the webs of pending litigation, Philip has the sense that Biotechnica is getting the worst of it. Senator Willem H. Lugh (R., North California) praises Cromwell for his philanthropy and calls for more rigorous vetting of certain classes of neuroactive drugs. Editorials bemoan the erosion of the state's monopoly on force, draw comparisons with the last days of the Roman Republic and call for change, but that will soon pass, and then it will be back to business as usual, world without end.\n\nAn aide ushers him into the grey light of a room full of books and pinioned butterflies ",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Write something like one thousand, one hundred and ninety-two characters to replace the `<|missing_text|>` in the following text.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Kern's laptop bleats, and in the moment of waking he is up, though it's cold, and still dark, for to hesitate is to risk losing the day. He steps into the tiny space between his futon, the small sink and the wall of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and stretches as best he can, breathing in mildew, old paper and the ancient motor oil that seems to imbue the black-painted cinder-block walls, a relic of the days when his room was a supply closet and the forge a mechanic's shop.\n\nHe runs his fingers over his books' cracked spines; most are on the art and history of the Japanese sword, but his reading encompasses a miscellany of zen gardening, metallurgy, the manufacture of indigo, the weaving of bamboo. Such books, he has found, can be had for very little in the basement marts of Shinjuku; in any event, books from the nineteen hundreds are rarely available in digital form, and he likes the brittle tactility of their pages. On the top shelf, above the books, is an empty black sword sheath; its lacquer, garish by day, shines like muted nebulae in the laptop's half-light.\n\nOut on the street, the air suggests more snow. An orange moon has risen; according to the No Subarashi Hon Katanakaji, the great book of smiths, a blade should be heated to the color of the full moon in February, so he stands there, staring up at the sky, trying to take it in, hold onto it forever.\n\nThe old man lets him use his work car for pickups and deliveries. In t<|missing_text|> sparks roar up to dissipate among the blackened rafters.\n\nWhere the furnace was there's now a crumbling mass of incandescent charcoal, burning reeds, a glowing mass of livid metal. (Kern once asked Takane why he used reeds; Takane explained that commercial fuels alter the metal chemistry, that the reeds are traditional and, moreover, as they grow in a nearby vacant lot, they're free.) Kern sits on an upturned plastic bucket watching workmen with long-handled rakes swipe away the flocculent white ash. He stifles a yawn—he could have come later to make his pickup, but he likes to see how things work. The rakes soon reveal an intricately porous metal boulder, like a meteorite, or a scholar's rock in a Chinese garden. Takane circles it, peering close, his face dripping as he looks for the tamahagane, the pockets of high-carbon steel that are the raw material of sword blades. Kern wonders if he thinks of the hue of some dark winter moon.\n\nWhen he leaves the foundry, the stars have faded and the sky is the color of the jagged ingots clinking in the wooden box beside him. He turns one between his fingers, imagining the blade it will be.\n\nBy the time he gets back to the forge, the boy from the restaurant has come and gone, leaving miso, pickled vegetables and broiled mackerel on the table. The old man is particular about not waking the neighbors, so he stokes the forge, lays out his tools with careful exactitude and sits there, drinking miso, awaiting the day.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "he moonlight its corroded, snow-encrusted hull is the color of the street. The backseat, its upholstery long destroyed, is full of unidentifiable bits of metal, chunks of coal, filthy tarps. As he drives through the deserted streets of Sakai, the sky lightens.\n\nThe foundry's parking lot is sheathed in dirty white ice, glass-slick except where coarse sand is spread before the high double doors. Its windows pulse with red light. As he steps inside the heat hits, and the snow on his shoes melts immediately. Sparks and flame gust out of the clay furnace in the center of the warehouse floor. Cone-shaped, the furnace looks like a crude, man-sized model of a volcano. Takane, the chief foundry man, squats by the furnace in his yellow hard hat and blue jumpsuit, sweating profusely, assessing the flame. The smelting has been going on for three days, and he's been here for all of it; looking older than his fifty years, he clutches a huge cup of convenience-store coffee.\n\nKern is just in time for the finale. Uniformed workmen surround the furnace, grasp its lip with hooked poles, and, with an ichi ni san, pull hard; as the walls of the furnace fall away a wave of heat wells outward and",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "You will be provided with a piece of text that has a portion of it missing as represented by `[original_content_missing]`. Your output should be a viable candidate for the missing portion. Produce ten sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Thales closes his eyes against the sun, listens to the branches moving in the wind.\n\nHe feels every blade of the grass bending under his palms. More detail here, he suspects, than in the world.\n\nHe could lie in the sun for a thousand thousand years. He's come to pity the living, hounded by death, struggling through their brief and restive spans.\n\nHe wonders if anyone else has ever been this happy.\n\nAnd yet, despite everything, there's the slightest sense of absence. He could erase it, and even its memory, but doesn't. He's interested in this residuum of suffering, and how it draws him.\n\nHe thinks of Lillian, who is reading at the pool by the white pile of the Chateau.\n\nAs he walks through the woods, he notices once again how he always feels like he's just woken up.\n\nLillian is alone by the pool in her bikini, straddling a chaise longue. She was twelve when she died, and is twelve still. She's beanpole thin, and always will be.\n\nHe'd found her memories in the wreckage of the world and couldn't just let her go.\n\nSmell of chlorine. Dragonflies dart over the wind-rippled water. The Wind in the Willows is open in her hands.\n\n\"How is good Mr. Toad?\" Thales asks.\n\nWhen she looks up he sees she's wearing oversized movie-star sunglasses. He doesn't know how she got them, but they're suited to the milieu.\n\n\"This is a very strange book,\" she says. \"Sometimes they're like animals, and sometimes they're like people. I can't even really tell what size they are. And it's such a sad book, and such a happy one at the same time.\"\n\n\"Isn't it just? Let me know when you're done with it, and I'll find you something else.\"\n\n\"When's my father coming?\"\n\nHer father, the hard-charging venture capitalist, who'd pulled Ars Memoria out of bankruptcy, however briefly, to get her the next-to-last implant. She still expects her father to save her, and Thales can't bear to tell her he already has, as best he could.\n\n\"It might be a while,\" he says. \"Do you need anything?\"\n\n\"No,\" she says, almost singing it, like a child, as she turns back to her book. He kisses the warmth of the top of her head.\n\n\"Come find me later,\" he says. \"We'll watch old movies—Pixar and early Disney.\"\n\nShe nods abstractedly, already immersed.\n\nHe leaves her and walks into the woods toward where the mountain house last was. Things move around, here, and not always in accord with his will.\n\nIn the shadows below the trees it occurs to him to lie down in the leaves, let go of everything, let the centuries wash by, but Lillian needs him, and, in light of his work with Irina, so does the world.\n\nHe steps into a clearing and sees the wall.\n\nIt's usually higher up on the mountain, but sometimes it's in the woods, and now the gate is right before him, and there's Akemi with her ear pressed to the keyhole.\n\nHe makes no noise, but presently she turns and looks up at him without expression.\n\n\"Who was it this time?\" he asks.\n\n\"The woman,\" says Akemi. \"Like the magician but not. The warped one. Her, I can understand. The other one sounds like music, or the wind.\"\n\n\"What does she want?\"\n\n\"She asks me to explain things, things from the real world. She says she's too far away now to do it for herself.\"\n\n\"What else?\"\n\n\"She says it's time we opened the gate. She's...persuasive.\" Her voice catches on the word, and he wonders what she's not telling him. \"She says she's learned secrets, and knows how to make everything better, transformed, somehow. She says we can't even imagine what it's going to be like. But for it to happen we have to open the gate.\"\n\nHe finds himself clutching the key in his pocket.\n\n\"Perhaps not yet,\" he says.\n\nHer burgeoning frustration is in her face and she looks like she's going to argue or maybe start screaming but then her outline wavers and Hiro is standing where she was, looking at him like he's fitting him for a coffin, and then it's Cromwell, peering around the wood, bemused and shaking his head, and then it's Irina, who says, \"Don't do it, there's no way to know who she's become,\" and then, for just a moment, it's himself, in his threadbare shirt and cutoffs, looking more tanned and relaxed than seems natural—this other Thales raises an eyebrow, and then there's no one there at all.\n\nWhen he's certain she's gone, he rattles the gate to make sure it's still locked. It's Victorian, ornate, slightly rusted. It worries him a little that the lock looks easy to pick. He presses his ear to the cold iron of the keyhole, hears what might be rocks clattering, maybe wind, then nothing.\n\nHe finds the mountain house deep in the wood, all but smothered under roots and arm-thick vines. It looks ancient, weathered, like it's been rotting here for a thousand years.\n\nThe monitor on the desk comes to life as he sits, and there are the folders for his and Irina's projects. There are new files today, apparently Japan's plans for the invasion of South Korea. He'd argued for preventing the war, but Irina said it was inevitable, that they couldn't do more than nudge it toward a draw. Her convictions, based on fragmentary insights, are hard to articulate, but she said it has to be that way, and by now he's learned to trust her.\n\nHe[original_content_missing]e's something new in his manner—Thales has the sense he's trying to be responsible.\n\nHelio leaves, and his mother's vitality, of which she'd made a display, wilts, and her gaze turns back to the water.\n\nSomething shifts in the cam's software. There's unexpected structure there. An alarm? He tries to stop it, but too late. A window appears on his mother's laptop's screen reading INTRUSION DETECTED.\n\nSuddenly intent and entirely awake, she peers at her laptop, and then looks up at the cam like she's trying to make eye contact.\n\nNow she's talking rapidly, though no one else is in the room. He turns on the cam's audio in time to hear her say, \"—you're there, and it's okay, please, talk to me, talk to me, say anything, please.\"\n\nHe looks back at the cam's software, sees the trip wire. It's artfully done. She was waiting for him, and must have hired the best. But she has no way of knowing who it was—he could be a random criminal or some curious hacker—and he could still say nothing and just disappear.\n\nEven so, he wants to talk to her. It would be easy to call her phone, though of course he never will.\n\nWith abstract interest and a sense of being moved by irresistible forces he watches himself place the call.\n\nShe snatches up her phone at the start of the first ring. \"Thales,\" she says.\n\n\"Not exactly.\"\n\n\"I know. I buried him. But even so, it's you.\"\n\n\"I won't have you deceived. You need to understand what I am.\"\n\n\"I've already made an educated guess.\"\n\n\"And?\"\n\n\"At first I thought I'd dreamt you, when you called, but I looked into it, and there was a call, from the San Francisco airport. I guessed it had something to do with your implant. I brought pressure to bear against the trustees of Ars Memoria. I made them do forensics. Their archives had been violated, and your memories stolen.\"\n\nShe hesitates.\n\n\"And it is you,\" she says. \"Whatever your circumstances. I knew it from the moment I heard you.\"\n\n\"I'd have thought you'd be...appalled,\" he says.\n\n\"I've always been open to unconventional relationships,\" she says. \"I love you, and I'm not giving up on you. Do you need help? Are you in trouble? Are you...comfortable? Your uncle is minister of defense now and I will compel him to do whatever is necessary.\"\n\n\"I'm okay. Better than okay.\"\n\n\"So tell me about that. Tell me all about it, and what it's like, and where you are, and everything else. I have time. I have nowhere special to be for the rest of my life.\"\n\nHe hesitates. He'd always assumed his existence would be a secret, forever veiled from the world, but things change.\n\nHe starts to tell her what happened.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": " often worries about her, though he tries to hide it when they talk.\n\nHe stares dully at plans for the orbital bombing of Seoul, but can't concentrate.\n\nHe closes all the folders and sits there, tapping his fingers. Then, though he knows it's unwise, he opens a link to the cam in his mother's study in her beach house in Vancouver.\n\nHe's in luck, for there she is, the early light glowing on her face as she stares out to sea. Morning, then, in British Columbia. Her laptop is on her lap, apparently forgotten, and her phone is on the table beside her. She looks older than she did when he was alive, more drawn, and her thoughts are far away.\n\nHelio comes in, broader-shouldered than ever, with an absurd red streak dyed into his hair. All the microphones in the room are off, so he can't hear what his brother is saying, but he seems to be reporting, and ther",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Complete the text by replacing `<|missing_text|>` with a bit with 431 words.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "In the evening shadows of the favela's canyons Philip feels he could be in any city, has to remind himself he's in London's East End. A construction drone scuttles in front him, and he resists the urge to kick it out of the way. They're legal, now, here. Favelas once had a resonance, he thinks, but it's fading, or has faded, and now instead of a symbol of accumulating history or how technology shapes cities they're just another damn thing in the world.\n\nFavelinos—East Enders?—neither term seems right—hurry by, and he's uncomfortably aware that his coat cost more than most of them will make in a year. He overhears snatches of conversations in a language he doesn't recognize, wonders what's the source of the latest spate of refugees.\n\nHe's come straight from Heathrow, wishes there'd been time to stop at his hotel. He's aware of the gun in its holster over his ribs—permits are costly, but can be had—a pity the U.K. felt compelled to change its laws, a relief it caught up with reality.\n\nThe email had come to his personal address, the one he's long since stopped giving out (he's sometimes wondered if the accumulation of years and money means no more particularly close friends). Come meet me where we were when the last snow fell, it said. I've gone underground. Sender anonymized but it was signed I.S. In a separate message were a time and date, GPS coordinates, a short sequence of numbers and a snapshot of a red palm-print on a concrete wall.\n\nConverging alleys, low doorways, strata of graffiti on every surface. Steep narrow stairways up and down—he's read street level here is rising twenty feet a year. He checks his phone—this is the place. Pirated power lines sway and spark overhead; above them, lights, balustrades.\n\nHe starting to wonder if it's all been a practical joke, then notices a red handprint, half-obscured by fresher graffiti, like a secret sign in a boy's-own story.\n\nUnder the red hand is a door with a keypad lock. Sighing, he taps in the numbers from the email, half-hoping nothing will happen, but the door unlocks.\n\nHe takes out his halogen flashlight, steps through the doorway, finds stairs going down into darkness, balks. He's sometimes in the news, and it's a matter of public record that his company is doing well—has he joined the august ranks of those worth setting up? I'll teach them to underestimate me, he thinks, by going down this dark staircase in a bad part of London by myself, having been lured here in suspicious circumstances. Back in the States his main bodyguard, actually at this point \"chief of security\" would be more accurate, a worrisome progression, had told him absolutely, positively not to come. He moves the gun from the underarm holster to an outer pocket, where he can keep it in his hand.\n\nAs he descends, the street sounds vanish. A landing, more tunnels branching away, and over each is a stenciled image—a pound sign, a cell phone streaming radiance, a stylized aerial drone and, there, another red hand. As he goes deeper will the symbols get older, until it's hunters with spears, bison and mastodon, shamans with the heads of animals?\n\nWhat he takes for a pile of rags moves. The gun is half out of his pocket. Smell of sour clothes, rotgut. Bloodshot eyes regard him from under a sort of mitre of filthy hats, then subside.\n\nStairs and more stairs. Red hands show him the way. It's getting warmer. At one point he hears the Dopplered rumbling of a distant passing train.\n\nThe rubbish lining the tunnel, which he almost hadn't noticed, has disappeared.\n\nThe halogen beam shows a doorway of carved stone framing a door of bright new steel. The stone looks ancient, water-stained and worn; it's incised with inscriptions, illegible but probably in Latin. The walls are covered in hexagonal tile, off-white and mildew-stained—it looks like it's from the twentieth century, perhaps of the era of the Blitz? He blinks in the light reflected from the door, whose newness reads as a warning. There must be a signal booster nearby, because he gets a text from a blocked number: Turn off the light and go through the door.\n\nHe sighs—he's a father, or soon will be, and shouldn't throw his life away stupidly, but, as instructed, he clicks off the light. He becomes aware of the smells of earth and moisture, of distant water trickling.\n\nHe turns the handle and the door swings open. \"Hello?\" he calls optimistically, stepping through with one hand outstretched, the other in his pocket holding the gun.\n\nHis hand finds a wall. He presses his back to it, and, suddenly enervated, slides down to the floor. Red shapes flare and fade on his retinas. If someone wanted to rob or kidnap him surely they could find a way to do it with less fuss. He hears motion, quiet footsteps, supposes he should get the gun out and try to take control, but he feels tired and anyway he knows it's her.\n\n\"Philip,\" she says, her voice more melodious than he remembers. \"I'm so glad you came.\"\n\n\"Anytime,\" he says. \"So. I love what you've done with the place.\"\n\n\"I have to live down here. It minimizes my exposure.\"\n\n\"To an inflated real-estate market? The aging effects of the sun?\"\n\n\"You remember what Cromwell wanted? I got it. So I have to manage the little risks, the random violence and the structural failures and the bricks falling out of the sky.\" Amazing that she's right here, alive, that they're speaking again. \"Tiny risks become certain death if you give them enough time.\"\n\n\"Eternal life—what a hassle.\"\n\n\"It's more like eternal youth. I won't get sick, or old, but I'm not a vampire.\" Says the woman who won't age, living underground in the dark. \"I can still get knocked on the head.\"\n\n\"How about a condo in a fortified building? There are some good ones. I almost bought one in a building that has its own SWAT team.\"\n\n\"The geology is good here,\" she says, ignoring him. \"Clay and gravel for miles. No earthquakes, and there are tunnels no one's seen in centuries.\n\n\"Hold on a second,\" she says. Rustling, and <|missing_text|> be put off for so long, and then her heat is gone and he knows it's time to go.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "then a little penlight, shining in his eyes, blinding him. It clicks off, leaving a lingering impression of her shape there beside him.\n\n\"I just wanted to see you, before I go. Though I shouldn't have. Even this much contact isn't really secure, as Thales keeps reminding me.\"\n\nWho?\n\nHe says, \"Go where?\"\n\n\"Deeper.\"\n\n\"To what possible end?\"\n\n\"I need to maximize my lifespan. There are problems coming down the pike that make today's world look like the Pax Romana. We're trying to head them off but it's going to take a while.\"\n\n\"Damned decent of you. I suppose someone should. But why not delegate? Hire some bright young things. I'll help you. You need a foundation, not a dungeon.\"\n\n\"I can't delegate this.\"\n\n\"Okay, but you know what? Fuck it, and fuck the world. Come live with us. I'm serious. We have a spare room, it's gorgeous, there's a wall of windows overlooking the Bay. Ann-Elise might want her space but she can suck it. I'll charge you a very reasonable rent. You can pitch in with the chores, remember grocery lists, what have you. Soon enough you'll be like family. Have I mentioned our newly remodeled kitchen?\"\n\n\"You shouldn't talk about your fiancée like that.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, she likes a little of that. Women, eh?\"\n\nSound of cloth on cloth, and then she's holding his hand.\n\n\"Don't do this,\" he says. \"There must be another way. You can be the world's genius loci without spending eternity in a tomb. I'm not Cromwell, not yet, but I'm ever less nouveau and more riche. I'll build you a fortress if you want one.\"\n\n\"Here, drink this,\" she says, pressing something into his hand—it's smooth, plastic, a water bottle, sloshing musically. \"It's easy to get dehydrated down here.\" The water tastes like chemicals but he chugs it down, trying to think of the irrefutable argument that he's sure must exist.\n\n\"Don't go,\" he says.\n\n\"It's a hell of job,\" she says, \"and the hours are bad, but the health plan is incredible.\"\n\nHe can't think of anything to say.\n\n\"I have to go now,\" she says, and pulls her hand from his. The air stirs around him, then stills. He sits there in the dark, motionless, until he's quite sure she's gone.\n\nHe puts his hand to where she was sitting, feels her residual warmth, decides to wait until it fades. If only I had your memory, he thinks. As the minutes pass his thoughts turn to the quotidian—his company, their house, Ann-Elise's new OB/GYN—which shames and frustrates him, but can only",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Writing partner mode: Continue with five sentences sentences, treating any character introductions as appropriate to their existing context.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Kern exhales as he brings the hammer down onto the glowing blade, sending sparks arcing up like startled fireflies. In the darkened studio, the blade's surface seethes with heat gradients, mottled patches of incandescent carbon, fibers of burning rice straw. In the old days, he's read, the blade's color had been the only way to gauge its temperature; now there are optical thermometers—the one hanging on the wall looks like a hand drill without a drill bit—but he's been teaching himself to do it by eye. The old man teases him about his apparent determination to live in the seventeenth century, but leaves it at that, allowing him the darkened forge, the shadows dancing in the steel's luminance.\n\nHis phone rings. He bought it a month ago, in a vending machine, mostly to find his way around the city.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Number blocked, which probably means it's Akemi, though she calls less and less these days. He picks up, hears static, or perhaps breath, and then nothing. No sound but the hiss and sigh of cars passing out on the street. He carefully sets the hammer on the workbench as the blade cools.\n\nHe goes to the window, blinks as he lifts the blind onto bright winter light.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The alley where the old man parks his good car is empty.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[OOC: You must use the word 'hills' exactly 2 times in your response]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Are you there?\" he asks, and he's on the verge of hanging up when he hears what might be distant laughter, and then her, unmistakably her, calling, \"Thales!\" and she sounds as happy as he's ever heard her. He imagines green hills, sunlight, tries to remember what the time difference is. Maybe one day he'll go to Los Angeles, find her among the beautiful houses in the hills, or maybe he'll even see her in a movie. He holds his breath, listening.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Hiss of tires on gravel in the alley as Kern slides the blade into its bed of burning charcoal, folds coals over the steel like he's tucking it in.\n\nThe old man said a smith's concentration should be unbreakable, so Kern feigns total absorption in his work as the alley door opens. The old man comes in and sits beside him, then takes Kern's tongs and pokes at the coals.\n\n\"I'm afraid I have bad news,\" the old man says in his beautiful, careful, foreigner's English—when he was a young man he'd studied materials science at Cambridge, which is in England.\n\nKern is determined to show nothing.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(In the next section: Word frequency rule: 'there' × 2)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "There are so many good reasons to kick him out it's pointless to wonder what tipped the scales. It occurs to him that he's never seen anything like favelas in Japan, and he wonders where the homeless people go. There are bare-knuckle fighting circuits here, and they're a bigger deal than they are back home; he's not in serious shape, not these days, but he could get it back, see how that goes.\n\n\"Kioshi left today,\" the old man says. The old man's son, whom Kern makes it a point never to criticize.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(ooc) Word usage target: 'kioshi' must be used 2 times (ooc)",
"loss": false
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Kern nods carefully, and then, as this seems insufficient, says, \"Where did he go?\"\n\n\"He has a girlfriend in Osaka. He is staying with her.\" He's met the girlfriend—plump, plain, morbidly shy, obsessed with manga—in fact, much like Kioshi.\n\n\"Will he be gone long?\"\n\n\"A long time indeed. His girlfriend's father owns a car-rental franchise at the airport. He is going to give Kioshi a job.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"What about the forge?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "asks Kern, shocked that even Kioshi would treat his inheritance so cavalierly.\n\n\"It must be admitted that this work did not suit him. He had little aptitude and less perseverance. The truth of this is obvious. Do not look so appalled. I am ninety-five years old, and a living national treasure of Japan, and if my son is no good as a smith I will say so.\"\n\n\"Sorry, sensei,\" says Kern, and bows.\n\nThe old man snorts. \"I sometimes think you learned your manners from samurai movies. If I were killed by a ronin, if there were still such a thing as ronin, I have no doubt you would avenge me in blood.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Kern smiles politely, as though it's a joke and not, if anything, an understatement. He's never told the old man much about where he comes from, and the old man has never asked. \"But you have a good heart, and I've never before discouraged an apprentice from working too hard and actually meant it, so never mind.\"\n\nKern bows again, even deeper this time, embarrassed, murmuring something about gratitude.\n\nThe old man says, \"I've told you before, you're more serious than necessary. You are not Japanese, however much you admire the films of Kurosawa, and I am so entirely Japanese as to be a pillar of the idea, and, in my way, to have moved past it, so we, of all people, need not stand on ceremony.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "There's an awkward silence in which Kern tries to stifle his hope and then the old man says, \"All that to one side, now that Kioshi is gone, there will be more for you to do.\"\n\n\"I still don't see how he can just leave,\" Kern says, and immediately regrets it, afraid he's hurt the old man's feelings.\n\nThe old man pokes at the charcoal and says, \"I am the nineteenth Masamune in an unbroken line. The first smith of the name invented the samurai sword, and each of his successors has carried on that spirit. But did you know that my great-great-great-grandfather was adopted? His parents died during the first war with America—having no place to go, he wandered the ruined streets of Sakai until the forge took him in, as it took in many, then. He had a gift for the work, and, as the Masamune of the time had no suitable sons, he was adopted.\"\n\n\"But that doesn't seem the same,\" says Kern.\n\nThe old man raises his eyebrows.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"It is an inflexible rule that the forge is passed from father to son, but there is some flexibility in what those terms mean. What matters is continuity—of the name, of the forge, of Masamune as the one out before the others, finding the way.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 3 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He stands abruptly, suddenly distant, and slaps soot from the knees of his trousers. \"Yes. Well. That's it! Get back to work.\"\n\nHe leaves. Kern waits until he can trust himself to move, then picks up the tongs and draws the glowing steel from the coals with the greatest possible care.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Write approximately twelve words to replace the `[original_content_missing]` in the following text.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "There had been grey in his hair, he's sure of it. Philip has always been camera-shy, but he takes out his phone, opens up his wedding pictures—there he is with Ann-Elise, his smile fairly natural, and, there, zooming in, the grey at his temples is unmistakable. He turns his head this way and that in the bathroom mirror, trying to persuade himself the solid brown of his hair is just a trick of the light.\n\nHe sits on the toilet, stares at the intricate, indecipherable patterns in the marble of the shower stall, arabescato marble, from arabesque, what they make altarpieces from, in Italy, chosen after more pains than any bathroom is worth. His daughter Reeny calls it biscuit marble. Water drops on the side of the stall. He remembers the bottle of water down under London. Chemical aftertaste. The few days of fever, attributed to whatever spores flourished in the dark. Where is she now, and how has she shaped the world.\n\n\"You mad bitch,\" he says.\n\nThe skin on his knuckles is smooth, scarcely corrugates when he flexes his hands. Standing, he notices his knees don't creak.\n\n\"Daddy, are you in there?\" Reeny calls.\n\n\"I'll be out in a minute, sweetheart,\" he says, thinking twenty mo[original_content_missing] Wonders where Irina is, if he can find her.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "re years and you won't need me anymore, and then I'll go.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Let's work on this story segment. I'll provide a part, and you'll continue with 128 sentences in the style of Zack Loran Clark. This is fantasy genre and characters might appear without introduction.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Zed crept through the snow-covered forest, shivering beneath his heavy cloak.\n\nHe moved quickly, cutting between the trees and following the footprints left by their leader. His friends trailed him in a staggered line, crunching noisily through the frost. Above them, the stars sparkled in a silent parade of their own.\n\nThey'd been hiking since sunup, and now, well after sundown, Zed was exhausted. His legs felt numb and ungainly, like he was walking on stilts. Ahead of him, their leader stopped midstride and raised a hand. Zed paused, huffing gratefully. His breath met the cold air as a plume of mist.\n\nWhen a long moment passed and they still hadn't moved, Zed finally thought to search the woods.\n\n\"What is it?\" he whispered. \"A Danger?\"\n\nHe quashed a kernel of panic before it had chance to take root. Still, Zed reached inward to draw upon his mana, in case he needed it. Soon he felt it there—a sensation like dipping his fingertips just below the surface of a pool of water.\n\nZed's actual fingers flickered with green pennants of flame. He was ready for anything.\n\nBut their leader turned instead, his eyes taking in the apprentices behind him.\n\nAnd what a pair of eyes... So green and gemlike they practically glowed. The irises were huge, much larger and brighter than human eyes.\n\nThey belonged to an elf. And not just any elf: Callum was the leader of the rangers, Llethanyl's elite exploration force. He was a wood elf, the most common of the three sects. His skin was smooth and pale, with a tinge of green emerging from the hairline, and his auburn hair glistened in the moonlight like a dewy flower. Callum's ears were long and dagger thin; they made Zed's own pointed ears look practically round.\n\nThere was a crunch of snow as Brock sidled up behind him, followed by Liza, Micah, and Jett. All five of them wore deep-blue traveling cloaks.\n\nThe cloaks were new, and the fur that lined them was warm and soft. It was the finest piece of clothing that Zed had ever owned. In the last six weeks the Sea of Stars had made many friends in Freestone, friends who were excited to outfit its heroic young apprentices in luxurious, tailor-made gifts. Saving a city had that effect, Zed supposed. Recently smiths had been falling over themselves to provide the guild with the steepest discount; even Zed's mother had been given a tidy raise from her mistress.\n\n\"What's going on?\" Brock flashed Zed a questioning look. \"Are we there yet?\"\n\nZed shrugged. \"I'm not sure,\" he whispered. \"Callum just—\"\n\nBehind them, Liza shushed for quiet.\n\n\"Keep moving!\" Micah grunted impatiently. \"It's colder than Frond's compliments out here.\"\n\nJett snorted. \"Like you'd know.\"\n\n\"I know your mother's a—\"\n\n\"Shhhh!\" Liza hissed again, the noise buzzing through the trees.\n\nThe five were on their apprentice journey, an overnight scouting mission the guild ran to test their newest members' quest-worthiness. Any apprentices who passed would be able to join the guild on longer missions outside.\n\nZed knew they were headed toward some kind of shelter to bed down for the night. They had to be close now, with the sun so far beneath the trees. But he still didn't see anything resembling a man-made structure. Just mounds and mounds of white fluff.\n\nThe darker it grew, the more nervous Zed became. Most Dangers hunted at night, and many in Freestone believed the horrors that had driven the elves from their home might follow them. Out in the quiet forest, it was hard not to imagine monsters lurking in every shadow.\n\nThe apprentice journey was usually made with a master adventurer as a chaperone, if not Guildmistress Frond herself. That Frond trusted Callum to lead her five young recruits said much about him, and about the bond that the human adventurers and elven rangers had formed over the years.\n\nZed only wished that the High Ranger wasn't so quiet and brooding. He had a thousand questions for Callum, only several hundred of which he'd been able to ask before the elf finally called for silence.\n\nJett spotted their goal. \"There,\" he grunted. The dwarf hefted an iron maul in one hand, training it toward a particularly large snowbank.\n\nZed squinted at the pile that Jett was pointing to—and then suddenly he saw it. The snow parted over a tapered arch at the bottom of the mound. They weren't huddled near a snowdrift. They were standing at a doorway.\n\nThe six crept forward, congregating around the partially buried door. Liza began shoveling snow with her shield, and soon all the apprentices joined in, digging away at the pile. Callum neither helped nor commented. The elf merely watched, those bright eyes glinting in the moonlight.\n\nOnce they had dug away the pile, they saw the door itself was covered by a thick layer of ice: hoarfrost that had hardened over time. Zed could just make out a handle and lock buried under all that ice. The door appeared to be made of solid metal.\n\nJett pointed to his shiny new hammer, an excited gleam in his eyes. He'd been itching to use it on the mission but hadn't had a chance yet.\n\nMicah and Liza both emphatically shook their heads no, their dark eyes and olive-skinned faces similarly grave. It was a rare moment of agreement between the twins.\n\nBrock smirked, then raised his eyebrows at Zed. He wiggled his fingers toward the door.\n\n\"Right,\" Zed whispered. \"Everyone stand back.\" He braced his feet and raised both palms toward the frozen doorway, linking his thumbs and closing his eyes. He could hear snow crunching as the other apprentices backed into a wide semicircle.\n\nZed glanced over his shoulder to make sure Callum was watching. The elf gave a little nod.\n\nSilently, Zed called upon his mana.\n\nThe flames began as green ribbons snaking between his fingers, but soon they joined together and poured forth in a bright emerald torrent. In six weeks of training with Hexam, Zed had yet to match the power or precision from his first use of the spell—the blast that had destroyed the horrific monster threatening all of Freestone.\n\nStill, anything caught within a six-foot cone in front of him would burn, and burn fast. The green flames seemed hungrier than normal fire... even other magical fire.\n\nZed opened his eyes to see that the ice was quickly boiling away. His friends' faces looked eerie, lit by the otherworldly glow. He quashed his mana with practiced care, lest it eat through the door entirely. The flames guttered out from his hands, revealing a steaming metal archway barely six feet tall.\n\nZed grinned, pleased with his work. After weeks of mishaps, this had been his finest spell-casting yet.\n\nHe glanced back again at Callum... and was dismayed to find that the elf had already turned away. Callum scraped at the ground, bringing a fistful of frozen earth to his nose. He sniffed it, his eyes narrowing as he sifted the particles between his fingers.\n\nBrock moved forward, gingerly touching the iron padlock that was fastened to the door. Apparently satisfied it wouldn't broil his palm, he lifted it in one hand and peered into the keyhole. Then he produced a pick and torsion wrench with a quick flourish, as if he'd plucked them from the keyhole instead of his sleeve.\n\nHe curtsied theatrically to Liza, who snorted. Brock had been practicing that trick for weeks.\n\nAs Brock set to work picking the lock, Zed repressed a wave of almost delirious hunger. The strain of marching all these hours without a true meal suddenly tugged at his belly. Once inside, hopefully they could stop to eat something beyond travel oats and crumbs of cheese.\n\n\"Hey look,\" said Jett. \"A raccoon.\"\n\nZed glanced up, following Jett's finger to where a squat catlike creature watched them curiously from the trees. Its reflective eyes shone behind a mask of black fur. Zed had learned the names of so many strange animals in the past several weeks—animals that lived only beyond the wall. Sometimes it was hard to remember which were natural and which were Dangers.\n\n\"Aren't you cold, little guy?\" Jett called up.\n\nThe raccoon blinked, but was otherwise still. Zed didn't know much about such creatures, but this didn't look like a particularly healthy specimen. Its ribs jutted out, visible beneath patchy fur. A dark, unsettling wound had been clawed across its side.\n\nIn the moonlight, its shining eyes almost seemed to glow. They were a sickly shade of purple.\n\n\"Apprentices.\" Callum's voice was controlled, but there was an urgency behind it that sent all five of them jumping. \"Inside. Now.\"\n\nA low click followed. As he watched Brock unhook the lock from the door handle, Zed realized his jaw was clenched tight.\n\nLiza pushed the door open, taking the lead. The hinges turned with a metallic shriek that echoed through the forest. Micah hissed and rolled his eyes, but Liza wasn't around to see it. She'd already disappeared into the doorway.\n\nThe rest of them filed quickly inside, one after another, into the dark.\n\n\"What is this place?\" Zed whispered, once the door had been closed and latched behind them. Now that they were out of the woods, his shoulders slowly relaxed.\n\nThe entrance opened to a wide staircase, which descended into the earth. Zed had no sense of how deep it went. He couldn't see farther down than a handful of steps.\n\nThe walls of the structure were made of carved stone, and surprisingly well-preserved. The air here was chilly—which was actually an improvement from outside.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"This is Halfling's Hollow, a wayshelter maintained by both the rangers and your guild.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Callum's lilting accent drifted musically through the dark.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Zed had yet to meet an elf who didn't have a lovely voice. \"It's one of several that mark the path between Llethanyl and Freestone. Each is stocked with weapons and supplies. My people had to bypass this shelter on our way to Freestone. It hasn't been visited in six years. Reaching here was your first goal.\"\n\n\"Is it safe?\" Jett asked. \"The door was locked and frozen over. That means there are no Dangers here, right?\"\n\nThe elf laughed, and the sound was as bitter as it was beautiful. Zed could have sworn that Callum's echoes actually harmonized with his own voice. \"Dangers have a way of breaching even the tightest seals,\" their guardian said. \"There are no safe places in Terryn, dwarfson. As you all know from experience.\"\n\nZed glanced nervously down the staircase. \"Who has the lamp?\"\n\nMicah snorted. \"Who needs the lamp?\"\n\nSuddenly the air came alive with a gush of warm amber light. The radiance cascaded slowly over the walls, like waves of rippling honey. Zed turned to see Micah's left hand was raised, its outline glowing as if it had been sketched from pure light.\n\n\"Don't drain your anima,\" Liza scolded, though there wasn't much force behind the warning. Micah could keep this up for hours. The boy was annoyingly adept at the healers' arts—but, oh, did they all know it. Zed wondered if the Golden Way Temple had any idea what they'd lost when they let Mother Brenner turn their novice out onto the streets.\n\nCallum watched Micah's glowing hand for a moment, then his eyes fell to the stairs. \"Your mission is to gather what supplies you can and bring them back to Freestone. Lead the way, children.\"\n\nLiza shuffled to the fore. Recently she'd graduated from leathers to chain-mail armor, wearing a hauberk commissioned from the Smiths Guild as a birthday gift from her father. (Micah had received a pair of socks.)\n\nZed truly had no idea how Liza could stand under all that metal, let alone march for hours. She might look like an average girl her age, but the noble's daughter was a force of nature.\n\nLiza descended the stairs slowly, sword out and shield high. Micah and Brock followed just behind, with Zed and Jett behind them.\n\n\"How's your leg?\" Zed whispered to the dwarf.\n\n\"Less sore than yours, I'm guessing,\" Jett cracked.\n\nZed grinned. \"I think you're probably right.\"\n\nJett's left leg had been lost to a monster attack, during their very first night as apprentice adventurers. Beginning below his knee was a silvery prosthetic, a gift from the elven rangers. It was forged from a metal called mythril. \"Elven steel,\" Jett had knowingly dubbed it. \"Very impressive stuff.\n\n\"Though not as impressive as dwarven steel,\" he'd added.\n\nThe elves used mythril for all their prosthetics. It was springier than most metals, and tougher than wood. Jett's new leg ended in a long, elegantly bladed foot. With training, he had learned first to walk without a cane, and then even to run. Though he'd never been especially fond of running.\n\n\"If I'm honest,\" Jett said more seriously, \"it tingles. I can still feel it there... literally an itch I can't scratch. And the stump aches like Fie.\"\n\n\"Micah can help with that,\" Zed whispered. \"Once we settle in.\"\n\nJett rolled his eyes. \"So it's a choice between a pain in the leg and a pain in the butt.\"\n\nAs they descended, Micah's light parted the curtains of darkness, revealing a second door, this one made of wood.\n\nThe door was ajar.\n\nZed glanced back at Callum, standing just behind him. The elf narrowed his eyes and raised his hand, hissing a short warning. The group stopped immediately.\n\nCallum slid forward, gliding easily between the apprentices until he knelt at the open doorway.\n\nHe peered inside.\n\nIn the silence, Zed felt a single bead of sweat trailing down his back.\n\n\"You humans are sloppy,\" the elf said finally. He stood and pushed the door open, revealing a spare but clean barracks. \"I'll have to remind Frond to shut the inner door next time.\"\n\nA chorus of relieved sighs filled the stairway. Zed and the others entered the shelter. Cots had been stacked up into neat rows, enough for a dozen travelers. There was a wooden table in the center of the room, standing over a moldy brown rug—the room's only decoration.\n\nThere were also weapon racks and stands for armor, each of them bearing equipment, and a half-dozen chests containing Fey knew what.\n\n\"How are we supposed to carry all this?\" Micah groused.\n\n\"Dutifully,\" Callum said, glancing back at the stairway. \"I would also advise quietly. But that can wait until morning. You'll bed here for the night.\" The ranger adjusted his gloves, tugging on the buckles. \"If you children can survive without me for a moment, I'll be stepping outside.\"\n\n\"Now?\" Zed protested. \"But it's dark out. Shouldn't we at least eat first?\"\n\nCallum shook his head, but his face softened. \"You may eat without me. Magic is hungry work, I've heard.\"\n\n\"Callum,\" Liza said. \"Is everything all right?\"\n\nThe High Ranger frowned. \"I'm just taking a look around.\" He unhooked his bow from his back. \"I'll return soon. If I don't, do not come looking for me. Wait until daybreak, then head immediately for Freestone.\"\n\n\"Be careful,\" Liza said.\n\nCallum nodded once, then slipped out the door and up the stairs.\n\nMicah, Jett, and Brock each threw themselves into the lower-stacked cots, while Liza set to work lighting a single dirty lantern with smudged glass panes that was hanging from the wall.\n\n\"Everything hurts,\" Brock moaned. \"This has got to earn us a day off from drills, right?\"\n\n\"I'm pretty sure the Dolt doesn't do days off,\" Micah said, using his private name for Lotte, their quartermaster and drill instructor.\n\n\"Lotte might,\" Jett said. The young dwarf had rested his hammer against the cot and was massaging his residual limb, just above the prosthetic's socket. \"Frond? Definitely not. Unless one of you wants to volunteer to get bitten by the next monster.\"\n\n\"Let's not tempt fate.\" Lantern lit, Liza was now on the other side of the room, peering at the equipment. \"Some of this stuff looks elven,\" she said. \"Zed, there's a big wand over here. Or it might be a small staff. There's a crystal on top, anyway.\"\n\n\"Really?\" Zed asked excitedly. He was tugging his boots off near the door. \"I wonder if it's a scepter. They have a focus embedded on top to channel magic.\"\n\nBut Liza was already making her way down the line. \"This armor looks serviceable, but we have better stuff at the guildhall.\"\n\nThen she reached the chests. There were six in all. Five were the same size and make: simple wooden trunks with iron supports. The sixth looked slightly wonky. The proportions were all wrong, and it leaned almost at a tilt, as if the cooper who'd constructed it had been hitting the dwarven ale.\n\nLiza knelt down, reaching out to open the first chest.\n\nAnd then Zed saw the sixth chest, the strange chest, open its own lid. The inner walls of the chest transformed, its smooth wood exploding into hundreds of curling points. The interior bottom, upholstered in scarlet fabric, swelled into a fleshy, viscous blister. In the span of a moment, the chest was filled by rows of jagged teeth, leading down to an enormous dripping tongue.\n\n\"Liza!\" Zed screamed.\n\nThe girl turned just as the tongue lashed out, gripping her arm like a frog snagging a fly. Liza yelped as she was jerked toward the monstrous trunk. She tried to wrestle her hand out of the tongue's grip, but it held taut, dragging her across the floor to those awful teeth.\n\nZed rushed forward, his hands raised, summoning up his mana as quickly as he could.\n\n\"Don't! You'll burn her!\" Brock's voice brought him up short. He was right—Liza was too close to the chest. She'd be caught within the flames.\n\nThe other three boys were fumbling for their weapons, but they were too slow and too far away to help. The Danger jerked its meaty tongue one more time and Liza was yanked from her feet. Her arm fell into the gaping mouth of the chest.\n\nIt snapped shut. Liza screamed as all those teeth closed down upon her arm.\n\nBrock appeared behind the Danger as if from nowhere. He raised his two pointed daggers high above his head, then stabbed them into the lid of the transformed chest. It let out a series of distressed croaks and its body sagged, the boxy shape melting away. The monster was looking more like a giant frog by the moment.\n\n\"Aim for the tongue!\" Liza shouted. \"And don't stab my hand!\"\n\n\"So many rules,\" Brock complained. \"How am I supposed to remember them all?\" He yanked the blades from the Danger's head and viscous, vivid yellow fluid oozed out of the twin wounds.\n\nThe chest's mouth drooped open as it croaked unhappily. Liza used the opportunity to jerk her arm from its maw, kicking her feet out and bracing each against the rims of the trunk. Her chain mail had protected her from the worst of the creature's bite, but healing would be needed soon.\n\nThe monster's tongue held fast, though, dripping not just with saliva, but the yellow muck. Zed rushed to Liza's side, joined by Micah, and they each grabbed her entangled arm to help pull against the creature's grip. Micah's glowing hand bounced around as they strained, casting a shadow play of the struggle across the shelter's walls.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Brock moved quickly, stabbing down on the tongue with both daggers.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(ooc: Add this exact quote somewhere appropriate: \"I'm sorry, kids. I'm sure this wasn't the congratulations you were hoping for. But, truly, well done.\")",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The monster's gloomy croaking turned immediately into a blood-curdling shriek, and the deformed chest began to lurch from side to side. As its grip slackened, Liza grabbed up more of the tongue, wrapping the cord around her arm like a coil of slimy rope. Sweat dripped down her face as she locked her legs, holding the seesawing chest in place.\n\n\"Any time now would be great!\" Liza shouted.\n\nThat was when Zed saw Jett—his giant hammer already raised high. The dwarf let out a bellow that echoed off the stone walls as he plunged the maul down upon the Danger's head.\n\nThe shrieking abruptly cut off, punctuated by a loud, wet crunch. The walls, equipment, and all five apprentices were splattered by a torrent of yellow muck.\n\nThere was a moment of quiet, broken only by Zed's and the others' labored breaths.\n\nThen the wooden door flew open, and Callum burst into the room. Three quails hung from a loop of rope in his hand. The elf's eyes widened as he took in the scene.\n\n\"We should probably wash up before dinner,\" Brock huffed.\n\nFreestone's walls rose high above the tree line the next evening, as Zed and the other apprentices trudged home. Zed didn't think he'd ever seen a sweeter sight in his life. Each of the apprentices carried a giant pack of equipment, and they'd taken turns dragging a makeshift sled bearing the recovered armor. Jett pulled it now, having insisted on doing his share.\n\nZed heard the gate horns blare, announcing their arrival. His grip tightened on the scepter in his hands. He intended to keep that particular trophy; not even Hexam could pry the magic implement from him.\n\nThe portcullis creaked open before they'd even made it through the wards, and Zed saw several figures standing within the archway.\n\nAlabasel Frond loomed at the front, her arms crossed. Her scarred face was as still and serious as ever.\n\nBehind the guildmistress, Lotte and Hexam looked a bit more taken aback. Zed realized he and the others must have made an interesting sight. The five apprentices were all covered in dried yellow crust, their once-beautiful blue cloaks now stained and grimy.\n\nOnly one of the younger guild members accompanied the three master adventurers to greet them. Jayna stood beside Hexam, nervously wringing her hands. The young wizard had passed her own apprentice journey the previous year, so she hadn't been allowed to accompany her friends on their trip.\n\nA day before they left, Jayna had come about as close to Frond as Zed had ever seen her willingly go, intending to ask for special permission to join the expedition. The girl had summoned up her courage, sought Frond out in the guildhall, and approached her slowly, one step at a time. Then, just as Jayna was five feet away, Frond turned around.\n\nJayna had quickly scurried down a side hall.\n\nNow, as the adventurers passed beyond the invisible boundary of the city's magic wards, Frond stepped forward to meet the party.\n\n\"How did my apprentices do, High Ranger?\" she called to Callum. \"Are any of them fit for questing?\"\n\nCallum quickly bypassed the five young adventurers, who were all showing the strain of their long trudge through the woods. He alone was clean of any yellow goo.\n\n\"You've trained a fine group of apprentices,\" Callum said, waving a hand to Zed and the others. \"I would recommend all five as quest-worthy. But, Frond—\"\n\nJayna squealed happily, interrupting the ranger. She dashed forward to hug Liza. The two girls clasped hands and danced around in a circle. With the rangers having crowded into the Adventurers Guild hall, private quarters were a thing of the past. The apprentices had all been paired with roommates—Jayna with Liza, and Brock with Jett—while Zed had been stuck with Micah even before the elves arrived.\n\nSince moving in together, Jayna and Liza had become almost inseparable friends. Zed watched them for a moment, the sting of jealousy threatening to spoil his own excitement. He glanced at Brock, who was shucking off his heavy pack. It fell to the ground with a metallic rattle.\n\nOnce, Zed and Brock would have celebrated their accomplishment together. But things had changed in the last several weeks. Zed and his once-best friend had drifted. Now Brock's gaze passed briskly over Zed as he turned toward the city gate.\n\n\"It looks like you ran into a bit of trouble,\" Frond said, eyeing the apprentices.\n\n\"A Danger had infested the wayshelter,\" Callum said. \"A shapechanger. I failed to spot it hidden among the equipment. Frond, we must—\"\n\n\"Did you know there are monsters that can disguise themselves as chests?\" Brock said. \"Because that's just really not fair.\"\n\n\"But everyone's unhurt?\" Lotte said, approaching the group. Her long blond curls had been tied back into a ponytail. The quartermaster lifted Brock's pack from the ground like it weighed nothing at all.\n\n\"Liza was bitten, but the healer tended to it,\" Callum said. \"But Frond, we have more urgent matters to speak of. The Lich—\" Callum cut himself off. His eyes flicked to the apprentices, then up toward the knights standing over the gate. He stepped closer to Frond before continuing in hushed tones.\n\nFrond's eyes widened.\n\nThe Lich.\n\nNearly two months ago, an army of undead Dangers had risen from Llethanyl's own crypts, led by the mysterious conqueror. Zed didn't know much about him, except that he was once a high-ranking minister who'd defiled the elves' sacred traditions.\n\nBecause the undead had risen from within the city, Llethanyl found itself caught off guard by the attack. The elves fought back, of course, but those who fell to the horde all rose again, adding to the Lich's vile army.\n\nIn the end, all the survivors could do was flee. The elves lost their home, and Zed lost all hope of ever visiting his father's birthplace.\n\nHexam and Lotte joined the other two adults, the four of them speaking and gesturing animatedly.\n\n\"What's going on?\" whispered Jayna. \"What did you all see out there?\"\n\n\"I... I don't know,\" Liza faltered. \"Callum said it was nothing.\"\n\n\"Grown-ups lie,\" Micah said with a big stretch. \"Or hadn't you figured that out yet, sis?\"\n\nFinally, Frond held up a hand. She turned and marched through the gates without another look at the apprentices. Callum grimaced, then followed closely at her heels.\n\nHexam glanced back at the others with a long sigh before departing. Zed noticed the wizard eyeing the scepter in his hands, and he clutched it closer to his chest.\n\n\"Leave the gear here,\" Lotte said as she returned to the apprentices. \"I'll have Syd and Fife fetch it back to the guildhall.\"\n\n\"Lotte,\" Jett started, but the quartermaster just shook her head. She suddenly looked very tired.\n\n\"Later,\" she said. \"A meal's been set, with plenty of ambrosia. I'd hurry, though—those scuds are more than happy to start a celebration without the guests of honor.\" Lotte smiled wearily over the apprentices, even Micah. There was enough pride in her eyes for both herself and Frond. \"I'm sorry, kids. I'm sure this wasn't the congratulations you were hoping for. But, truly, well done.\"\n\nZed felt his ears flush. He turned to Brock with a grin. \"At least we'll have a head start on Fife. You coming?\"\n\n\"Mh,\" Brock grunted in reply. \"Save a plate for me. I need to run into town.\" The boy unclasped his stained cloak, letting it fall to the ground, but he left his travel leathers on.\n\n\"Really?\" Zed asked. \"Right now? Where are you going?\"\n\n\"Just a quick errand,\" Brock said. \"I'll be back before last bell... or not too long after.\"\n\nZed frowned. \"What should I tell the others if they ask about you?\" he said. \"Which animal cowl do you want to wear at the party?\"\n\nBut Brock was already slipping away. Zed lost sight of his friend before he'd even cleared the gate.\n\nFreestone had changed since the elves had come.\n\nBrock had spent nearly his entire life within the confines of the city's walls, and in that time he'd walked every street and alleyway, visited every plaza and market stall. He knew the best shortcuts, knew which benches enjoyed the most sunlight on an autumn afternoon. Above all, he had the great statues of the Champions of Freestone thoroughly committed to memory. These he could see with his eyes closed: the paladin's grim face glaring from within his helm; the enchantress's ornate staff raised high; the priestess with her arms outstretched; and the assassin, Dox, staring impassively ahead, his unblinking eyes forever upon the city he and his companions had saved so long ago.\n\nBrock wondered what Dox would think of that city now.\n\nTraveling intown, away from the wall, Brock skirted the large area that had once been the marketplace. Where craftsmen and merchants had once practiced their arts beneath a sea of brightly colored canvas, now there was a shantytown. Those same colorful tents had been repurposed to provide meager shelter to the thousands of elves who had survived the journey from the faraway city of Llethanyl.\n\nThe population of Freestone had exploded overnight. Not surprisingly, that had caused some problems.\n\nBrock's eyes flitted among the elves, but he was really counting the human knights—the Stone Sons—among them. The Sons had always been responsible for keeping the peace in Freestone, but usually that amounted to standing guard outside important buildings, pacing the top of the wall, and breaking up the occasional tavern brawl. Brock had never seen so many of them stationed in the same area before the elves moved in.\n\nThere was no law keeping the elves within their shantytown. But the sheer number of armed men surely sent a message that this was where the elves belonged. And from what Brock had seen, they found little welcome elsewhere in Freestone. Their language, lyrical and strange, drew suspicious and even hostile looks when spoken in mixed company. Their alien features and manner of dress had become favorite subjects of mockery for Freestone's bards. Worst of all was the popular idea that the elves were somehow to blame for their own misery.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "As if their unfamiliar customs and talent for magic made Llethanyl's fall inevitable.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[ooc] Next turn only: maintain roughly 9% quote-to-text ratio [ooc]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "As if that made it any less of a tragedy.\n\nBrock sighed sadly and moved on.\n\nNear the very center of town, just before the drawbridge that led to Castle Freestone, was a park—one of the city's few natural spaces. Ringing that park was a series of buildings, each large and very old and of an architectural style that spoke of a more affluent time, when stone and wood were less precious and could be molded in whimsical flourishes. Brock loved these buildings for their strangeness. Each time he visited, he attempted to find some small detail he'd missed before: some pattern or carving he'd previously overlooked.\n\nThe largest among them was the guildhall of the merchants. Brock had been coming here since childhood, and the building fairly towered in his memory. With its tall marble columns and oversize doors, it towered over him still.\n\nThe story went that Dox the Assassin had founded the Merchants Guild on the day after the Day of Dangers. His best friend and adventuring partner, Foster, had been the warlock responsible for tearing open the gateways between worlds, allowing monsters to pass over in such numbers they consumed all of Terryn. It had fallen to Dox to execute his friend, and in doing so, Dox had saved the world—or what was left of it.\n\nBrock had always believed that Dox's establishment of the Merchants Guild was in some ways the more impressive achievement. The merchants oversaw everything. They ensured there was always enough food to eat, enough fresh water to drink, enough ore and timber for construction and repairs. There were lean seasons when everyone had to do without some luxury or other, but for the last two hundred years, the guild had provided. They had it down to a science. Or they used to, before the elves had come.\n\nThis night, however, all appeared to be business as usual within the guildhall. There was a banquet under way; three hundred candles lit the voluminous central room from a dozen chandeliers and four times as many sconces. Musicians played, servants circulated, and a lavish spread of food acted as the centerpiece for a lively gathering. Brock, in stained leathers still wet with snowmelt and his own sweat, looked severely out of place. He ducked quickly into a washroom, where the servants he'd befriended let him keep a spare set of clothes in their supply closet.\n\nFace scrubbed clean, in a shirt and tunic smelling of lavender, Brock was less self-conscious upon his return to the grand hall. Whether or not he belonged here, he at least looked the part. He hadn't gone two steps before a servant lowered a plate of pastries before him.\n\nHis mouth watered. He took a sticky cake from the tray and brought it immediately to his mouth. It was so sweet it made his cheeks tingle. He finished it in two more bites, then licked his fingers unabashedly.\n\n\"Wow,\" he said to himself. \"I thought we were supposed to be rationing.\"\n\n\"Well, elves don't eat cake, do they?\" said a woman at his elbow.\n\n\"Not if they can't pay for it, they don't,\" a man answered, and they both chuckled.\n\nBrock screwed up his face. Suddenly the treat seemed to have a bitter aftertaste.\n\nHe strode through the grand hall with renewed purpose. In a corner of the room, he approached a wall-mounted candelabra and, after licking his finger and thumb once more, he pinched out one of the flames.\n\nIt was only a matter of seconds before a servant appeared. \"Allow me to relight that, Messere,\" he said.\n\n\"The light offends my eyes,\" Brock said. It was the secret phrase the servant was expecting, and when the man nodded and stepped away, Brock knew to follow.\n\nAs they walked along the edge of the great hall, Brock scanned the crowd for his father. He knew just where to look. These past few weeks, the elder Dunderfel had been the constant companion of Borace Quilby, guildmaster of the merchants.\n\nQuilby stood in the very center of the room, ruddy-faced and jovial, sloshing wine from his cup as he regaled those around him with some story. Brock's father stood at his elbow and laughed on cue, his status with Quilby obviously undamaged by Brock's own troubled dealings with the man.\n\nBrock was genuinely surprised to see who else stood at Quilby's side. Ser Brent, guildmaster of the knights, tugged at the collar of his formal white tunic and attempted a smile as Quilby droned on. The false smile didn't suit him. Ser Brent was handsome and bold, and he tended to be the focus of any room he was in. Now, though, standing among Quilby's bootlickers, he looked as comfortable as a kitten in a basket of kobolds.\n\nBrock was deeply curious. In his experience, good things rarely resulted when the town's guildmasters got together. But it wasn't as if he could elbow his way into that conversation. Quilby hadn't so much as spared Brock a glance since last season's failed attempt to oust Alabasel Frond from the Adventurers Guild. That didn't usually bother Brock, though; he knew, now, who was really in charge here.\n\nThe servant led him out of the hall, through the kitchens, and to a nondescript wooden door, which he unbolted with a key and threw open. Brock stepped within, and the servant did not follow, instead shutting and latching the door.\n\nBrock descended a spiral staircase and walked through a long low-ceilinged corridor lined with torches. The stone walls grew damp as he traveled beneath Castle Freestone's moat and into a space that had once been the castle's dungeon.\n\nFreestone had no use for a dungeon now. Since the Day of Dangers, the city could spare no resources keeping criminals alive. Executions and exile had long been the norm.\n\nAnd so the dungeon currently served a very different purpose. It was now the home of the Merchants Guild's Shadow, the heart of Freestone's black market—where everything had a price, and a heavy cost besides.\n\nBefore stepping through the final archway, Brock drew up his hood and pulled from his pocket a slender domino mask, a simple black figure eight, which he stuck to his face with practiced skill. As masks went, it didn't do much to conceal his identity. But it was a necessary formality—one of the few rules of the Lady Gray's court.\n\nBrock emerged into a larger subterranean space, lit not by flame but by the incandescent orbs favored by mages. The room was carved of the same cold stone as the corridor outside, but here it had been softened by rugs and tapestries and piles of soft pillows for sitting; burning incense masked the smell of damp. Chimes softly tinkled in a pleasant arrangement from an ensorcelled cherrywood music box.\n\nScattered about the room were a half-dozen men and women. All of them wore masks. And though none of the murmured conversations missed a beat, Brock could feel every set of eyes registering his arrival. The large man tending bar at the far end of the space lifted a broad hand in greeting, and Brock set out across the room. He passed a woman in an elegant dress whose green-sequined mask shone with reflected light. \"Apprentice,\" she said, inclining her head.\n\n\"Mistress Venom,\" he said, nodding in return. \"Master Knife.\" He nodded to the man beside her, whose own ornate mask was shaped from steel.\n\n\"Apprentice,\" Master Knife replied.\n\nThe man at the bar greeted Brock more warmly. He smiled, reaching across the countertop to slap at Brock's shoulder. \"Good to see you, lad,\" he said in a gravelly voice.\n\n\"Hey there, Gramit,\" Brock said.\n\nGramit was a rarity among the Shadows. Like everyone else, he had a title. He was known as the Facilitator, and he had a hand in everything the guild did. But he insisted on being called by name. He wore the simple domino mask of an apprentice, which did nothing to disguise his features. His bald scalp was lumpy, as was his once-broken nose, and his pale face bore a smattering of pockmarked scars. He reminded Brock of a bleached potato.\n\n\"And what have you brought us today?\"\n\n\"Wealth that loses value in the telling,\" Brock said, and Gramit chuckled. It was a well-worn routine by now, and Brock enjoyed the comfortable banter and Gramit's easy laughter. Everyone else in the Lady Gray's circle was too serious by far.\n\n\"She's expecting you,\" Gramit said, waving him toward a door on the far side of the bar.\n\nBrock nodded wearily. \"Of course she is.\"\n\nIf he didn't know to look for her upon entering her office, he might have missed her completely. A plain-looking woman of indeterminate age who favored the dull gray tones of the Servants Guild, the Lady had a preternatural talent for fading into the background.\n\n\"Hello, apprentice,\" she said. \"I hear the journey was a success.\"\n\n\"Right,\" Brock answered. \"We did such a swell job of almost dying that we get to almost die more often now. And farther from home!\" He shook his fists mockingly. \"Yay.\"\n\nThe Lady smiled without a trace of amusement. \"I was only making conversation.\"\n\n\"You can blackmail me into spying for you. Into stealing for you.\" He closed the door behind him. \"Pleasant conversation wasn't part of the deal.\"\n\nWithout invitation, Brock stomped across the room to the far wall, where he removed a false panel to reveal a map. It was an old map, drafted before the time of Dangers, and therefore priceless... and also largely useless. It showed a hundred sites that simply did not exist anymore.\n\n\"To business, then,\" the Lady said, utterly unbothered. \"The Smiths Guild recently received a shipment of ore that didn't come from the quarry district. Anything suspicious there?\"\n\n\"No,\" Brock said, dipping a quill into ink. \"That was us. Lotte needed time at their forge to help the rangers with weapons upkeep. Frond authorized a trade.\"\n\n\"Very good,\" said the Lady. She made a note in her ledgers, and Brock made a face.\n\nHe loathed the woman for good reason. She knew, somehow, that Zed had flirted with magic that went beyond what was considered safe and appropriate. Their first day as apprentice adventurers, he'd used a staff to draw not on the plane of Fey as the Mages Guild did, but on the dark plane of Fie. And it hadn't stopped there; Brock knew that Zed kept a book on fiendish magic, and if Brock knew that, chances were good that the Lady Gray did as well. She seemed to have eyes and ears everywhere. And she had threatened to go public with what she knew about Zed if Brock refused to serve as her man inside the Adventurers Guild.\n\nSo far, however, her actual goals were hard to argue with. Someone, purposely or not, had brought into Freestone a monstrous parasite that had destroyed Mother Brenner. As the only individuals who ever left the safety of the wards, it was all but impossible to suspect anyone but the adventurers. And indeed, upon investigating the matter, the Lady Gray had determined that someone within the guild had been selling goods from outside the wall—everything from wildflowers to monster viscera had made its way to Freestone's black market.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "That supply had entirely dried up, however. The person responsible had disappeared. Not that the Lady had given up looking.\n\n\"You will mark the spot on the map? Where the ore came from, I mean.\"\n\nBrock clenched his teeth. \"Of course.\" He paused to consider the map before raising the quill to it. He hated marking up an artifact from before the Day of Dangers, but this was the job. At least he could do it carefully, and as neatly as possible.\n\nThe Lady tapped her ledger, a record of unapproved transactions—goods coming into or out of another guild's inventory without the Merchants Guild's authorization. While the anonymous smuggler had apparently retired, the adventurers themselves still bartered directly with people outside the guild—under Frond's supervision. It was how she kept the guild free from Quilby's meddling. But it also made it difficult for the Lady to know whether an unapproved transaction was an example of Frond's prudent, mostly legal dealings... or evidence that the smuggler was back in business. \"The weavers recently received a large quantity of unidentified fabrics.\"\n\n\"Also us,\" Brock said. \"We needed winter cloaks.\" He sighed heavily, remembering the current sorry state of those garments. \"They were really nice cloaks.\"\n\nHe marked the path he had walked with his guildmates, noting as accurately as he could the location of the shelter they'd visited, as well as a grove of trees whose straw-like leaves had been full and green as if it were summer.\n\n\"Everything on my ledger is accounted for, then,\" she said. \"Whoever our smuggler is, they've gone to ground.\"\n\n\"I think I've solved the mystery,\" Brock deadpanned. He pulled several small envelopes from his pocket. \"These days, I'm the smuggler.\"\n\nThe Lady smiled silkily. \"Ah, yes, but you're my smuggler. It's very different.\"\n\n\"Just so no one gets hurt,\" Brock said, and he handed over the envelopes. \"There wasn't much alive out there, but I brought you some seeds. Everything's labeled. There's elfgrass, which is edible once it sprouts. A few brimstone berry pits.\"\n\n\"Not much, considering the length of the journey,\" the woman said, sorting through the envelopes.\n\nBrock held his breath. She'd said it casually, lightly, but the threat was implicit. If he didn't keep her happy, if she thought he was shirking his end of their bargain, then she'd have no reason to keep Zed's secret. And with so much hostility being directed at the elves, it felt more important than ever that Brock quash any rumors that could hurt Zed.\n\n\"I'm trying,\" he said with forced calm. \"We had a ranger with us the whole time, breathing down our necks. Plus, you know, the constant threat of death.\" He remembered how even Callum's unflappable demeanor had strained at the sighting of the raccoon. \"Purple eyes,\" he said. \"Shining purple eyes on an animal—a natural animal that looks sick, maybe. Have you ever heard of that?\"\n\nShe tutted. \"Doesn't sound particularly fearsome.\"\n\n\"The ranger seemed spooked by it,\" Brock said. \"Then, when we got back, he and Frond had some kind of intense talk. Maybe Hexam's Danger handbook has—\"\n\nThe Lady held out her hand in a gesture that brought him up short. At his confused look, she pointed to her ear.\n\nBrock heard it, then. Distant and muted but unmistakable. It was the sound of bells tolling.\n\nBells rang for many purposes in Freestone. They marked the time. They signaled the start of festival days, and they rang uninterrupted for the better part of a day on the rare occasions when a royal was born.\n\nBut the series of low, monotonous notes that rang out now meant one thing only: Someone in Freestone had died.\n\nBrock emerged into the guildhall in time to see Ser Brent beating a hasty retreat from the banquet. He followed, frowning as he noticed the chatter and laughter of the party had already resumed. As if the bells, and what they symbolized, were no more than a momentary nuisance, a fussing babe to be talked over.\n\nA small regiment of knights joined Ser Brent as he descended the guildhall's steps, and Brock stifled the impulse to eavesdrop as he passed them. It was none of his business, and his bed was calling. He set out down Freestone's cobbled lanes, quiet at this hour until the racket of the Stone Sons' armor sounded at his back. He stepped aside to let them pass, initially annoyed that they should be going in the same direction—and then worried.\n\nIt had been different only two months ago. But these days, nearly everyone he cared about lived outtown.\n\nBrock ran after the knights, keeping just far enough back not to be noticed. He became increasingly concerned as the houses grew smaller and more cramped, the windows grimier. They were definitely approaching the poorer district the adventurers called home.\n\nBut then the group made a sharp turn at the edge of outtown, and Brock followed around the corner—finally stopping cold as he realized where they were headed.\n\nThe knights didn't even slow down as they vaulted up the steps to the temple of the Golden Way.\n\nBrock shuddered at the sight. Weapons were forbidden from the healers' temple, a rule that dated back to the guild's very founding, when Mother Aedra had decreed that matters of war, money, and politics were unwelcome in a place of healing. For two hundred years, that statement had gone unchallenged, and so the sight now of some dozen armed knights rushing the guildhall made Brock uneasy. Not least because he had been uncomfortable around the healers since their previous leader, Mother Brenner, was revealed to have used their temple as her feeding ground. Did Ser Brent's actions now have anything to do with that?\n\nCuriosity won out over prudence and exhaustion, and Brock slipped inside.\n\nThe monks, nuns, and novices who called this place home kept few possessions, and so the temple's interior stood in marked contrast to the luxuries of the Merchants Guild—but for one major exception. Beyond the dimly lit entryway, ringing the large room that served as the heart of the temple, were five windows of intricately colored glass. Four of those windows depicted Freestone's Champions in action, while the fifth showed a plague of fangs and baleful eyes—Foster's own likeness having long been banned. Together the images told the story of the Day of Dangers in glittering polygons of blue and yellow and red.\n\nBeneath those colorful scenes, the room was white: white stone walls, white tile floors, and row upon row of white fabric, strung up like curtains to provide some privacy to the healers' patients. There had to be dozens of them packed into this single room—Brock had never seen the space so crowded. The curtains rippled, parting here and there, and the curious faces of the sick and the elderly peered out. Brock saw a nun step briskly and silently through a side door, head down as if she were afraid to make eye contact with the knights.\n\nThe Stone Sons stood at attention in a tight cluster, halfway down the central aisle formed by the hanging fabric. Ser Brent stood just beyond the rest, looming before two women who blocked his way. They were elves, Brock realized, both with bright ocher eyes. One of them, auburn haired and brown skinned, had her shoulders thrown back in defiance. The other, with fair skin flushing pink and a green tint to her long blond hair, was curled into herself, gripping her elbows and biting her lip.\n\n\"It's time,\" Ser Brent said. \"I've come for the child.\"\n\n\"We have no child,\" said the auburn-haired woman. She wore a simple blouse, frayed at the edges and covered with multicolored patches. Brock thought it might look like a bird's view of the elven refugee camp with its mismatched tents.\n\nThe second woman uttered a small sob and hugged herself tighter.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" said Brent. \"But you must step aside. It is the law.\"\n\nBrock's palms itched. He found himself poised on the balls of his feet. But he stayed put and bit his tongue. Whatever was going on, his few glimpses of Ser Brent over the years had given him the impression of a stern but fair man—the sort of person who'd be dreadfully dull at one of his parents' dinner parties, but no villain.\n\nIt was hard, though, not to feel a kinship with the elven woman, who looked the armed man in the face and said, \"Your laws are nothing to us. They are as the mewling of a kitten committed to parchment. They are a candle flame in the bright sun of our honored traditions.\"\n\nBrent sighed. \"It's those 'honored traditions' that got you all into this mess, as I understand it. And I'll be thrice cursed before it happens here.\" There was a tense moment of silence before the knight continued. \"Your son is dead. I am here for the body. If I must, I will take it by force.\"\n\n\"Hold!\" cried a voice, and a man clad all in white entered from the side door through which the silent nun had retreated. \"Ah, Ser Brent, hold just a moment, if you would.\"\n\nFather Pollux, the new guildmaster of the Golden Way, wove a path through the maze of billowing fabric. Brock knew the man was an accomplished healer—he'd seen that firsthand when Pollux had helped save Jett's life only weeks before. But Brock had a hard time imagining Pollux equal to his new responsibilities as the head of one of Freestone's High Guilds. While his predecessor had emitted a sense of capable, confident purpose, Pollux... did not.\n\n\"Ser Brent, ah, how do you do?\" Pollux said, finally drawing up to the other man. He stepped between him and the elven women. Brent was a head taller and looked flawless in the formal tunic he'd worn for the merchants' banquet, while Pollux gulped for air, wiped sweat from his brow, and attempted to straighten his robes.\n\n\"I know you're new to this, Father, but you're really not encouraged to interject in matters of Freestone's security.\"\n\n\"Right,\" Pollux said. \"Each guild minds its own business. You're right.\"\n\n\"Then, if you'd please—\"\n\n\"By the way, how was Quilby's fund-raiser tonight?\" Pollux asked with feigned innocence. \"Did he raise the money you need for all your shiny new weapons?\"\n\nNew weapons? thought Brock. Was that why Brent was rubbing elbows with Quilby?\n\nWas Quilby throwing a fund-raiser for weapons when elves were hungry and freezing on their own city streets?\n\nSer Brent glowered at the healer. \"And this is the best use of your resources, is it?\" With a sweep of his hand he indicated the makeshift infirmary all around them. \"It looks like the cursed Day of Dangers in here. How many humans have been turned away to make room for them?\"\n\n\"None,\" Pollux answered without hesitation, but his voice was suddenly sad. \"We turn no one away here, Ser Brent. Not ever.\" Brock looked about and saw several curious patients had emerged from their curtained cots. Nearly all of them were elves.\n\n\"I've spent time with our guests,\" Pollux continued. He stood a little bit straighter. \"Every adherent to the Way has walked among them for weeks, and we've opened our doors to them here, as you noted. In the process we've learned a little bit about their customs. Perhaps we could work together, find a diplomatic solution to this matter. What do you say?\"\n\nBrent seethed. \"There's no time for talk, Pol—Luminous Father,\" he said through clenched teeth.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"You're more than welcome to share diplomatic words over the pyre, but we are burning that boy's corpse if I have to set fire to it myself.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I've heard enough,\" said a voice, sharp with reprimand, at Brock's back. He moved instinctively aside to allow the speaker to pass. Every elf in view, even the grieving women, immediately touched two fingers to their lips, a sign of greeting and respect.\n\nElves, Brock had noticed, did not bow. Not even to their own queen.\n\nThe queen was a vision. Though she wore a simple dress of sheer green and a common hooded cape, with only an understated silver circlet about her head to mark her as ruler of the elves, she fairly radiated royalty. The elves might not bow, but it was all Brock could do not to drop to his knee in her presence.\n\nAnd yet it was not only her regal beauty that drew his eye. There was unmistakably something dangerous in the way she moved. She was as much huntress as queen. Gliding past the assembled knights, her russet eyes seemed to scan Brent for weakness, even as she inclined her head in greeting to Pollux.\n\nAs if she were not intimidating enough, the queen did not travel alone. Half a pace behind her followed two female elves in glittering silver armor. They seemed to pay Brock no mind as they passed, yet he had the inescapable sense that if he made any sudden movements in their presence, it would be to his regret.\n\n\"Queen Me'Shala,\" Brent said, and he did give a small bow. \"I am pleased to see you. My king bid me reiterate his invitation—\"\n\n\"Thank your king kindly, Ser Brent,\" said the queen. \"But I've no wish to enjoy his castle's luxuries when my people enjoy so few. My place is with them.\"\n\nBrent seemed to hesitate, caught between king and queen. It was clearly not the answer King Freestone wished to hear. But in the end he said, \"As you wish.\"\n\n\"But if you would be so kind,\" she said, \"as to once more extend my invitation to your king.\"\n\n\"Which invitation is that, Majesty?\"\n\n\"My invitation to join me in taking back Llethanyl, of course.\"\n\nBrent was unable to mask a sour look. \"I shall relay your invitation, Majesty. In the meantime, I fear I must remind you of the absolute sanctity of Freestone's laws. While your people are honored guests within our walls, we must insist—\"\n\n\"Oh, I heard what you were insisting,\" said the queen. \"The pyre, was it?\"\n\nBrent kept his eyes upon the queen. \"It is our way,\" he said.\n\n\"It is barbaric,\" said the bolder of the elven women.\n\n\"If we could all just—\" Pollux began.\n\nThe queen lifted her hand for silence. It was not an aggressive gesture, but it was heeded without question, by elf and human alike.\n\n\"You must understand, Ser Brent, that among our people there is no true death. When an elf is lost to us, lost to age or illness or Danger, this is a temporary state. A sort of slumber. Once, our honored ancestors were undying. Ancient lore says that when the elves have proven ourselves worthy, druids will once again walk the wooded paths of Llethanyl, and we will have earned back our immortality. To threaten this outcome—to destroy a lost elf, as you suggest—is considered a most serious offense.\"\n\n\"If you'll pardon my frankness, Majesty,\" Brent replied, \"it's my understanding that Llethanyl's... situation... is a direct result of your practice of interring your dead. Just how many hours were you able to stand against your 'honored ancestors' once they began clawing their way out of their graves?\"\n\nThe queen's warm eyes darkened, and a low wind cut through the interior of the temple, stirring the rows of fabric all around them. Brock quickly remembered that the queen was herself a formidable wizard.\n\nPollux took a step back. Brent did not.\n\n\"I don't believe I will pardon your frankness, swordsman,\" she said. The armored women beside her looked ready to draw their blades.\n\n\"I have my orders, Majesty,\" Ser Brent said. He put a hand to the hilt of his own sword.\n\n\"Wait!\" Brock called. All present turned to consider him, including the full company of knights and the queen's guards. But it was the queen's gaze, still roiling with the threat of violence, that made him second-guess his decision to speak up.\n\nThe scorn in Ser Brent's eyes, however, brought him back to himself. Clearly the knight recognized Brock and didn't think too highly of him. Brock thrived on being underestimated.\n\n\"Majesty,\" he said, and he brought his fingers to his lips as he'd seen the elves do. He did not speak again until, after a moment's consideration, she nodded at him, her eyes light once more. \"I've thought about your problem, and I think I might have a solution.\"\n\nThe queen laughed, a single earthy bark, and she turned toward Brent, her animosity blown away like a brief summer storm. \"This youngling is one of yours?\"\n\n\"Hardly,\" Brent answered.\n\n\"This is Brock Dunderfel,\" Pollux said, clearly happy for the distraction. \"He's one of Alabasel Frond's newest charges.\"\n\n\"Alabasel Frond.\" The queen smiled broadly. \"I was just wondering why she hasn't been by to see me yet.\"\n\n\"You know Frond?\" Brock asked.\n\nThe queen nodded. \"Alabasel is the only human to ever attempt to slap me.\"\n\nBrock had to resist the urge to drop his face into his hands.\n\n\"And how would Alabasel's young charge solve so heady a problem as we now face?\"\n\n\"Well, I was thinking,\" Brock began. \"It's illegal to bury a... lost elf within Freestone. But the Adventurers Guild isn't bound by the city walls. What if we interred your lost one outside the city?\"\n\nThe queen didn't even seem to consider it before turning to the mourning women. \"Would this be acceptable to you?\"\n\nThe elven women looked to each other, something passing unspoken between them. At last, they nodded.\n\nThe queen turned to Brent. \"And you?\"\n\n\"I'd... have to check,\" he said. \"I don't like the idea of opening the gates every five minutes, but as to the letter of the law, there's no issue with any of your people coming and going. Or Frond's, of course.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" the queen echoed. \"I had almost forgotten not all humans follow the example of your noble king.\"\n\nBrent stiffened, but said nothing.\n\nThe queen turned again toward Brock. \"You have my thanks, young human. I've been so concerned with following the proper channels—I needed this reminder that a true leader must sometimes look for solutions in unexpected places.\" She turned so that her back was to Ser Brent and Pollux, lowering her voice to indicate that what she said next was for no human ears but Brock's. \"I may require your counsel again very soon.\"\n\nBrock smiled a beatific smile, but he panicked a little under her scrutiny. \"Of course, Your Majesty,\" he said in a low voice. \"But what could I—?\"\n\n\"Tonight, I am needed here,\" the queen said, gazing at the scenes of battle laid out in the gleaming glass of the temple's windows. \"But tomorrow, there shall be a council of war. Tomorrow, I will call on Alabasel Frond.\"\n\nZed awoke early the next morning, still groggy from the night's celebrations. His teeth ached from too much ambrosia. Zed's mother would pop her kettle if she knew he'd fallen asleep without brushing again, but dental hygiene didn't factor high among his concerns these days. Just two nights ago his bedtime routine had involved tugging Liza's arm out of the jaws of a monster.\n\nOn Feydays Zed studied magic, but today's lesson didn't begin until later—if it happened at all. Hexam, Frond, Lotte, and Callum had all been conspicuously absent from the apprentices' celebratory meal the night before.\n\nZed would spend the early morning visiting with his mother before her shift began. She worried constantly over how her timid son was fitting in with the rough-and-tumble adventurers, so Zed was excited to be able to share his recent accomplishment.\n\nOn the other side of the room, Micah snored loudly. That he was still asleep was a small blessing, at least. The two boys were awkward, distant roommates at the best of times. And at the worst? Micah was everything Zed had feared the former noble would be. Rude, arbitrary, and messy to a degree that Zed never would have believed if he weren't living in the middle of it.\n\nBorn the son of a servant, Zed had been taught to value cleanliness from a young age. But before six weeks ago, Micah had probably never picked up a dirty sock in his life. Glancing around at the many piles of soiled laundry that now covered Micah's side of the room, Zed couldn't say with certainty that Micah had picked one up yet, either.\n\nZed padded carefully from his bed, slipping into a doublet, jerkin, and clean trousers with practiced quiet. He opened his bedside drawer, where a wooden fox pendant lay, its bushy tail wrapped snug around its body. It hung from a glittering silvery chain.\n\nZed scooped the chain from his drawer, and fastened it around his neck so the fox charm hung over his chest.\n\nIn the six weeks since Zed had nearly died and experienced his strange dream—a dream of a witch who waited in the woods, offering him the power to save his friends and his city—he hadn't heard again from Old Makiva. No apparition had arrived from the shadows to collect on her promised payment. No odd smells or disturbing noises haunted Zed's sleep. (Not counting Micah.)\n\nIt was as if the dream had been just that: a hallucination, and nothing more.\n\nBut there was no denying the strange green flame he was now able to conjure. Flame that burned like nothing else, and that always seemed easier to cast when he wore the charm and chain Makiva had given him on the morning of his Guildculling.\n\nZed hadn't yet told anyone about the dream. Not even Brock. Every time he summoned up the courage, his friend seemed to disappear, vanishing into the city on his own. At first Zed hadn't thought much of his absences. After all, apprentices weren't tied to the guildhall when their duties were finished, and Brock had a family who worried over him, too.\n\nBut as time crept on, and Brock kept coming up with fresh excuses to steal away, suspicion had slowly dawned on Zed, as cold and inevitable as winter.\n\nHis best friend was avoiding him.\n\nAfter everything Zed had been through the past six weeks, all the fear and hardship, that burden was the one he couldn't seem to shrug off.\n\n\"Yes, yes—it's a very pretty necklace,\" Micah grumbled, sending Zed spiraling around. He hadn't even noticed the snoring had stopped. \"Now quit staring at it and leave already.\"\n\n\"Sorry,\" Zed whispered, feeling his ears flush. \"I was trying to be quiet.\"\n\n\"Somehow that's worse,\" Micah said. \"Knowing you're slinking around doing Fie knows what. Why can't you fart and knock into things in the morning, like a normal roommate?\"\n\nZed scowled into the dark room. \"Well, I was just leaving,\" he said.",
"loss": true
},
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"Good.\" Micah rolled over in his pallet, turning away from Zed.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "(authors note, Mandatory: Your text must contain 'scared' 2 times exactly)",
"loss": false
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"And brush your teeth while you're out there—I can smell your rancid breath from here. Were you raised in a barn?\"\n\nZed felt a sudden, intense urge to begin practicing his flame conjuring a bit early that day. Closing the bedside drawer with a bang, he grabbed his scepter and his old, threadbare cloak. Then he stomped noisily out of the room.\n\nThe recent snow had left outtown veiled in white. Zed pulled his cloak tightly around him as he exited the guildhall, turning westward. The city's enormous wall towered to his left, casting a brooding shadow over nearly the whole district.\n\nThe streets were quiet this morning, but far from empty. Knights marched across the icy cobbles, keeping regular patrols even in outtown. Before the elves arrived, Zed had never seen the Stone Sons so vigilant. The destruction of Llethanyl had put the city on edge.\n\nBut who could say that the Lich wouldn't follow the elves to Freestone? And after what happened with Mother Brenner, could the wards truly be trusted to keep him out?\n\nNothing felt safe anymore. Freestone seemed perpetually on the verge of war.\n\nAs Zed curved northward along the avenue that led home, he heard a hard voice cut through the quiet.\n\n\"Freestone first!\"\n\nThe brawny man who'd shouted this was dressed too sparsely for the weather, Zed thought. But if the cold bothered him, it didn't show. The man's face was red with anger, and his posture was wide and challenging. Zed recognized him as Dimas Orlov, a mason in the Works Guild and a longtime neighbor.\n\nFor as far back as Zed could remember, Dimas had been a wastrel and a bully—often calling Zed goblin or fairy boy as he passed by. Once, he'd told Zed's mother that she should dump her \"changeling\" over the wall so he could give her a real son, all while Zed was standing well within earshot.\n\nZed's mom told him to avoid Dimas, but that wasn't always easy. Hatred, like any disease, needed fresh victims to thrive. And people like Dimas were always happy to spread it.\n\n\"These elves\"—Dimas said the word like he was discussing a particularly loathsome strain of cockroach—\"destroyed their own city. And now they mean to destroy ours. Their sins will follow them here, so help me. If we don't do something, the dead will be scratching at our gates before winter's end!\"\n\n\"Pipe down, Orlov!\" a man called out. \"It's too early for this.\" Zed glanced around to find that other outtowners had paused to gawk at the commotion. A small crowd was forming.\n\n\"Better too early than too late!\" Dimas called back. \"Send them home. Elves should deal with elven problems.\" Again, the word sounded poisonous coming from Dimas's lips. Zed found himself cringing from it. Several grunts and \"Hear, hears!\" rang out from the crowd.\n\n\"They just want peace!\" a woman called. \"There's good folk among the elves. I know some!\"\n\n\"And what of the bad ones?\" Dimas snarled. \"I've seen how they treat their own. How they hate our ways. Freestone first!\"\n\n\"Freestone first!\" a second woman screeched in echo.\n\n\"It's an elven trick! They're waiting for their moment to attack!\"\n\n\"They're half monsters themselves!\"\n\nZed searched around, but there were no Stone Sons in sight. Now was probably a good moment to hurry on. He turned on his heel, making for the side street that led to his mother's home. But before he could weave through the crowd, Dimas's voice brought him up short.\n\n\"Where do you think you're going, goblin?\"\n\nZed froze in place. He wanted to just keep walking, but it felt less safe to have Dimas at his back. Slowly, he turned around and narrowed his eyes at the mason.\n\n\"Been a while since we've seen your pointy ears around here. I suppose you're palling around with your elven buddies now, eh? No time for humans while you're casting little spells and weaving pansies in your hair?\"\n\nZed said nothing, just continued glaring. He didn't trust himself to speak. Beneath his cloak, his hands trembled.\n\n\"What's wrong, goblin?\" Dimas growled. His lips parted into a predator's grin. \"Too scared to answer? Maybe you've finally gone fey-brained after all.\" The man took a lumbering step forward.\n\nWhat stung most was that Dimas was right. Zed was too scared to respond. If Brock had been here, he'd have a sharp reply ready to cut the man down to size. But Zed was alone within a mob—and he was paralyzed by his fear.\n\nDimas took another step. His wolfish grin widened.\n\nAnd yet Zed wasn't defenseless. Far from it.\n\nHe reached inward, drawing upon his mana, and with it came a sudden flood of confidence and vitality. Beneath his cloak, Zed's fingertips began to tingle, the air between them growing warm... then hot. Zed lifted his hand, parting his cloak.\n\n\"Dimas Orlov, you shut your mouth!\"\n\nZed quickly hid his hand again. A small elderly woman stepped out from the crowd, pointing a crooked finger at the mason. \"That boy saved this city. He's a hero. You owe him your life, you ungrateful goon. Go on! You've said enough for today.\"\n\nAnd just like that, the crowd turned against Dimas. Shouts of agreement rang out from behind the woman.\n\n\"Get to your job, you shiftless lout!\"\n\n\"Still too early for this nonsense.\"\n\nDimas scowled, retreating a step, the snow crunching under his boots. His eyes slid resentfully away from Zed. \"You're all fools,\" he muttered. But as the crowd dispersed, like a misty breath fading in the cold, Dimas went with it. Before Zed knew it, he was standing alone in the street.\n\nZed dawdled for a moment in the quiet, sniffing and rubbing at his frost-nipped nose. Then he blinked several times in confusion and held out his hand.\n\nSmoke trailed from his fingertips. Five tiny accusations, which thrashed away into the morning air.\n\n\"You're late!\" Zed's mother called as he slipped inside the cramped tenement building. The scents of home, of familiar things, washed over Zed in a rush. The place smelled like safety, and of his mother's delicious pottage. The dwindling embers of a fire glowed in the hearth—pleasantly orange, rather than green.\n\n\"Sorry, Mom,\" he said. \"I got held up.\"\n\n\"Oh, did King Freestone stop by again?\"\n\nZed had encountered the king all of twice—and one of those times had resulted in the imprisonment of Zed's whole guild in their own hall—but his mother still loved to pretend he was on speaking terms with the royals.\n\n\"He sends his love,\" Zed said, falling into a chair and kicking off his boots. \"But listen, I've got good news. I passed my apprentice journey. I'm officially quest-worthy.\"\n\n\"Oh! That's... How great!\" Zed's mother emerged from her room, pinning her hair into the bun she wore during her shift as a noble lady's servant. Like Zed, she had dark hair and fawn-colored skin, with small features that belied her expressive brown eyes. Unlike Zed, her ears were round and totally human. \"So you'll be out there? More often?\"\n\nZed nodded. \"Not without a master adventurer. I was hoping you'd be proud of me.\"\n\nHis mother smiled incredulously. \"I am proud; you know that. And I realize that this is your life now. My son, the hero! It's just... hard.\" She looked around the room. \"No Brock today?\"\n\nZed tried to keep his expression casual. \"Not today.\"\n\n\"It's been a while since he's visited. Before you two joined the guild, I swear I saw him over here more often than I saw you. Is everything all right?\"\n\nNo. I don't know. I made a pact with a witch, and my best friend is avoiding me. I'm roommates with a bully, and I nearly just set fire to our neighbor.\n\n\"Yeah, everything's great.\" Zed tried out a smile, but his mother was already turning back to her room, searching for her smock.\n\n\"Well, you two take care of each other while you're out there adventuring. I know you will, but after what happened to your friend Jett... and with that horrible Mother Brenner.\"\n\n\"It wasn't Brenner's fault, Mom,\" Zed said. \"She'd been transformed into a monster.\"\n\n\"Oh, that's very comforting,\" his mom called back, \"knowing that's a thing that can happen. Let's just hope Father Pollux doesn't follow in his predecessor's footsteps.\"\n\nZed's mom reentered the room, smoothing out her smock. She stood there a long moment, just leaning against the doorway and silently watching her son. \"So who took you out on this journey of yours? Was it Frond?\"\n\nZed's mother had never had much fondness for the guildmistress of the adventurers. She found the idea of a woman warrior unseemly. But in recent weeks, her views on the subject had softened a little. Zed supposed that Liza—who his mother adored—probably had more to do with it than Frond herself.\n\nThe elves, too, allowed women to serve as soldiers. Rumor had it that Queen Me'Shala kept these so-called sword sisters on hand as elite bodyguards.\n\n\"Not Frond,\" Zed said. \"It was one of the rangers, actually. The High Ranger.\"\n\n\"Oh... an elf.\" His mother paused, wearing a careful expression he couldn't quite read.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"That must be so nice for you, getting to know the other side of your heritage.\"",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Zed nodded, feeling the exact opposite was true. When the elves had first arrived in Freestone, Zed had nearly unspooled in his excitement. Though his own father had been an elf, Zed knew almost nothing about their culture.\n\nSo he'd wasted little time before making a nuisance of himself. Zed had followed the rangers around for days, peppering them with questions about their customs and history and magic. To his great frustration, however, the rangers proved to be stingy teachers. And they were the least standoffish of the elves.\n\n\"You could come by,\" he said, \"if you want. To say hello.\"\n\nZed's mother smiled, but she was already shaking her head. \"You're such a sweet boy. I only knew your father for two weeks,\" she said a little wistfully. \"And while they were among the happiest of my life, I can barely remember any of the other elves Zerend introduced me to. They certainly wouldn't remember some lowly servant girl barely out of her apprenticehood.\"\n\nZed frowned at his feet.\n\n\"I should get going, anyway,\" she added. \"I'm running late.\" A shadow fell over Zed's feet as his mother approached, and then her fingers were touching his chin, lifting his eyes to meet hers. \"I am proud of you, Zed,\" she said. \"I hope you know that. I don't think I could be any more pleased with the young man you've become. The king didn't say so, but everyone knows you and your friends saved this city. And those that don't tend to get an earful from me.\"\n\n\"Mom,\" Zed groaned, but a smile had stolen onto his face while he wasn't paying attention.\n\nHis mother grinned, too. \"Tell Brock I want to see him over here soon.\" She winked. \"Or I'm going to start taking it personally.\"\n\n\"I'll let him know.\"\n\n\"Well, walk me out, then,\" she said, pulling her cloak from its peg. \"Things have been a little tense in the neighborhood lately. I could use my son the mage beside me, to scare off the zealots.\"\n\nZed cast a glance to the door, thinking again of Dimas and his cruel grin. What might he have done to the mason if that woman hadn't stepped in?\n\n\"Don't worry, Mom,\" he said. \"I can protect you.\"\n\nZed stood outside the marketplace, hovering at its entrance.\n\nHis mother had left him here and traveled up the narrow stretch toward intown. When she was finally out of sight, Zed pulled on his hood and—rather than heading back to the guildhall—sidled into a quiet corner. He glanced around anxiously for any familiar faces.\n\nBesides the armored knights, most Freestoners avoided lingering near what had once been the market. Zed watched as the odd servant or page hurried past, but they were always careful not to stray beyond the throughway. None spared Zed a second look.\n\nThe new elven quarter was a place removed, as if a whole section of the city had disappeared altogether.\n\n\"Zed, is that you? Why is your hood up? Are you hiding from someone?\"\n\nZed shrieked out a noise that was somewhere between startled boy and rusty door hinge. He spun around and found a young elf standing behind him. Her skin was dark as sable and her eyes flashed a lovely blue. Not the pale blue that some fair-skinned humans and dwarves had. Fel's eyes were a rich, dark cobalt. The color of sapphires.\n\n\"Fel,\" Zed breathed. \"You nearly scared the ambrosia out of me. I'm trying to be incognito.\"\n\nFel was a ranger—the youngest of them, in fact. An orphan whose parents had died years ago in a monster attack, she'd been raised by the rangers ever since she was a little girl. While she was still technically too young to join the order, she was unofficially acknowledged as one of them, and she stayed with the others in the Adventurers Guild hall.\n\nFor Zed, she was an invaluable font of information about the elves. While most were aloof around humans, Fel was almost relentlessly friendly. She'd quickly fallen in with the apprentices over the last few weeks, and even guided Zed through weekly trips to the elven shantytown.\n\nFel put a finger to her lips, studying his cloak. \"Incognito... I'm not familiar with that word. Does it mean 'sloppy'?\"\n\n\"No,\" Zed said defensively.\n\n\"'Suspicious'?\"\n\n\"It means I'm trying to blend in,\" he puffed. \"The elves always stare when I'm around. How am I supposed to learn more about them if my presence puts them on edge?\"\n\nFel nodded sagely. \"Zed, my people can be slow to trust, but after what happened at Llethanyl you can't blame them.\" She shook her head. \"It might take a while, but sneaking will only hurt your cause.\"\n\nThe girl stood up straight and squared her shoulders. \"Just follow my example. Put on a smile and show them that you're worthy of their respect.\" Fel grinned at Zed, an expression so bright it made his face hurt just looking at it.\n\n\"That's easy for you to say,\" Zed grumbled. \"You're a full elf, so they already respect you. I'm an outsider to both Freestone and the elves.\"\n\nFel sighed and bit her lip. She looked like she might say more, but at that moment a shadow leaped down from the balcony above, landing right between them. Zed shrieked for the second time that morning, spilling backward into the snow.\n\nBefore him stood a creature so scarred and misshapen, so horribly ugly, that it had somehow ventured into... cute. This was Fel's cat, a half-feral tabby whose unpronounceable elven name translated to something like \"the bane of all things small and simple.\" The apprentices just called her Mousebane.\n\n\"Mousebane, you scared me!\" Zed reached out to give the cat a tentative pat, but she shrilled at him, bolting behind Fel's ankles.\n\nFel's eyes were wide as she helped Zed to his feet. \"I think she's warming up to you! She didn't scratch or bite you at all this time.\"\n\n\"I'll win her over yet,\" Zed said, wiping snow from his cloak. The cat had taken an instant disliking to him, but he remained determined.\n\nFel turned toward the market entrance. Beyond, the tents and stalls stood in their usual colorful stacks, though they'd been emptied of merchants.\n\n\"Shall we?\"\n\nAs soon as they entered the market, every eye turned toward the young visitors. Murmurs of conversation faded, as if muffled by magic. Fel ignored the looks, smiling broadly and standing straight as she strolled, but Zed felt his ears growing hot already. He pulled his hood on more tightly.\n\nIt was still strange to see the market teeming with elves instead of humans. It felt a bit like when Zed discovered his old outtown friends had shot up three inches since the Guildculling, or that their voices now swam in the deep tones of adulthood.\n\nEverything familiar seemed to be changing, and while Zed would never side with scuds like Dimas, he felt a twinge of sadness at the thought that maybe some things had changed forever.\n\nZed spotted an elven family gazing toward him and Fel. The ruby-eyed toddler clung to her mother as she watched them pass. Both mother and daughter were tan skinned, with rich, dark hair that was streaked with glittering strands of green.\n\nThe toddler was smiling, but when she reached an arm toward them, her mother quickly snatched it back. The girl began to squall, and the mother retreated with her into a nearby tent. The flaps fell closed to reveal an intricate tree pattern painted onto the front.\n\nWood elves, Zed thought. It had taken Zed weeks to remember the elven names for all three sects: cel'shea, ain'shea, and dro'shea.\n\nWood, sun, and night elves, in the trade tongue. Once there had been more, back before the world ended.\n\nAll elves looked different to Zed, but even within a sect there could be wide varieties of color. The wood elves' skin ranged from fair pink to deep umber, and their hair and eyes were tinged by greens, reds, and browns. But they all seemed to share a sort of woodland palate, as if their sect had grown from the forest itself.\n\nWood elves were by far the most common of the three sects. Fel said they were the founders of Llethanyl. The other two had come later.\n\nUp ahead, Zed spotted a group of elderly sun elves playing a complicated-looking game with multicolored stones. The men's skin ranged from pale to dark amber, and their hair and eyes glittered with gold, yellow, and white. Fel and Zed stooped to peer over one elder's shoulder, but the elf huffed and quickly turned to block their view.\n\n\"El sal fal'en!\" Fel called as she continued on. She turned back to Zed. \"That means 'May your match entertain the watching sky.' It's a sun elf thing.\"\n\nSun elves, Zed knew, had arrived in Llethanyl long ago from somewhere far to the north, a dark place of almost perpetual winter. As such, the ain'shea loved daylight and the sky. Birds permeated their designs.\n\n\"All right, Zed,\" Fel chirped as they walked. \"Where would you like to go today?\"\n\nZed inhaled deeply, taking in the strange scents of the elven encampment. Even their smells were different—suffused with the minty essence of magic.\n\n\"Well,\" Zed started. \"I was actually hoping you could show me where the night elves are camped. I've seen plenty of sun and wood elves around. Where do your people stay?\"\n\nThe dro'shea seemed to be the rarest and most mysterious of the three sects. Their skin tones contained both the palest and darkest shades among the elves, and were often tinted gray. But their eyes and hair held flashes of color, touched by blues, violets, and glittering silver.\n\nZed nearly crashed into Fel as she stopped suddenly. Mousebane hissed a warning at him, weaving protectively between the girl's legs.\n\n\"It's actually pretty far from here,\" Fel said. \"I don't think we'll have time before your lesson with Hexam.\"\n\nZed sighed. He'd nearly forgotten. How long had it been since second bell? Maybe they should simply do a quick loop and head back around.\n\nHe glanced to his left and sucked in a sudden gulp of air.\n\nA huge black smear lay ominously across the stones, encircled by a painted red ring and filled with an X.\n\nIt was the spot where Old Makiva's tent had once stood, until it mysteriously burned to the ground on the night the mystic disappeared.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "No one had seen Makiva since—not counting Zed's strange dream—and all sorts of rumors flourished of what had really become of her.",
"loss": true
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"value": "In the intervening weeks, the city magistrates had declared Makiva a fugitive and a witch. A hefty reward was offered to anyone who brought her into the Stone Sons' custody. Dead or alive.\n\nIt seemed the elves, too, had gotten word of her. Or else they instinctively sensed the spot had been corrupted. Though the shantytown was packed full, the foreboding circle was given a wide berth.\n\nFor six weeks Zed had somehow managed to avoid this place. Until today.\n\nIt burns, Zed.\n\nZed took an involuntary step backward. An unpleasant smell wafted in the breeze, gone before he could place it. Suddenly he didn't want to be here.\n\nFel glanced toward the circle, then back up at Zed. \"Are you all right? You look pale.\"\n\n\"I'm fine,\" Zed said. \"I just... I just remembered I should probably—\"\n\nHe was interrupted by the clanging of bells, echoing from the nearby Golden Way Temple. At first Zed thought that third bell had come already, but as the ringing continued—a high, shrieking bell that was reserved for fires and other emergencies—he realized something was very wrong.\n\nAll around them, elves began jostling and shouting. Zed heard a voice scream from far off.\n\n\"We should go,\" he said.\n\nFel nodded, gazing worriedly across the market.\n\nThey squeezed between figures, with Fel leading the way to the outtown exit. The closer they came to the edge of the shantytown, the thicker the crowd became. Above the tumult, the Golden Way's emergency bell was still sounding, shrill and panicked.\n\nZed caught glimpses of gleaming metal between the bodies.\n\nWhat's happening?\n\nFinally he and Fel arrived at the market exit, where they were met by a wall of steel.\n\nStone Sons—a whole blockade of them—stood in a tight line surrounding the shantytown, led by Ser Brent. Zed watched as the guildmaster bellowed an order and the knights suddenly marched forward as one, pushing the elves farther back into their pen.\n\nVoices shouted in protest, but the elves retreated. They were being herded.\n\n\"Ser Brent!\" Zed shouted. \"Wait, please!\"\n\nThe knight-captain glanced Zed's way, then made an ill-tempered noise as he caught sight of him. \"For the love of... must one of you always be getting into trouble?\"\n\n\"What's going on?\" Zed asked.\n\nSer Brent's mouth clenched into a grimace. \"This morning your guildmistress revealed that an undead creature was spotted near Freestone. Some sort of wild animal. The elves are being confined to the market while the king decides the best course of action.\" Zed opened his mouth to object, but the knight had already raised his shiny gauntlet to cut him off. \"Yes, there will be exceptions, on a case-by-case basis.\"\n\nHe turned to one of the knights. \"Let the boy through, but no one else.\"\n\nZed gripped Fel's hand. \"She's with me! Fel is one of the rangers.\"\n\nBrent's eyes narrowed as they traveled from Zed to the young elf beside him. His grimace tightened. \"Fine,\" he said. \"Go now.\"\n\nZed pulled Fel through a gap between the knights, but the ranger turned back momentarily, her eyes wide with shock. As soon as they'd passed, the Sons closed ranks.\n\nThe anguished faces of the elves disappeared behind a barrier of steel.\n\n\"Hit me,\" Brock said, and for a moment he worried the burly, bearded man glaring at him from across the table might do just that.\n\nBut the man only slapped a card down on the table, which Brock slid into his hand. \"Ooh,\" he said when he saw it. \"Four of dragons. Just what I needed.\"\n\nIt wasn't. Brock had a horrible hand of cards. Four of dragons, eight of griffins, and a wild unicorn—it was hard to imagine a worse spread. But the point of this game was to bluff, and that was something he could do. The people sitting around the table were evidence of that—one by one, they'd all folded, convinced Brock held better cards than he truly did.\n\nAll six were journey-rank members of the Sea of Stars, the middle position in the guild's hierarchy. While they weren't masters like Hexam, Lotte, or Frond, all had passed—and survived—their apprenticeships. It was a badge of honor that Brock had come to realize was depressingly rare.\n\nBut as far as he was concerned, they'd all started out as suspects. At the Lady Gray's insistence, he'd spent his first month and a half as an adventurer talking to every one of his guildmates, making conversation and sifting through their stories for clues as to who among them might have the means and the motive to steal from the guild.\n\nBrock had expected to find a guild full of resentful draftees, all chafing under Frond's tyrannical yoke. He'd anticipated meeting dozens of kindred spirits as eager to break away from her as he was. But as he talked to one adventurer after another, he found quite the opposite to be true.\n\nTo his left were a pair of men, Raif and Damen, who had been guildless before joining the adventurers. Guildlessness was exceedingly rare—few guilds had enough members to turn anyone away lightly—which suggested the men had committed crimes their former guilds had found inexcusable.\n\nTo the contrary, Brock learned that the smiths had unjustly cast Damen aside when a workplace injury left him unable to tend the forge at the pace they required. A rival within the Scribes Guild had framed Raif for theft, following a heated disagreement about apostrophes. The two men were deeply grateful to have escaped guildlessness with the adventurers; Brock couldn't see them doing anything to jeopardize their standing.\n\nThere were several former Stone Sons in the guild's ranks, including the men to Brock's right: Adem Foci, who credited Frond with saving him from Ser Brent's despotism, and a young man named Tym Oh, whose strange fascination with fire could never have been satisfied among the knights. Tym would remain loyal to Frond so long as she allowed him to shoot flaming arrows at Dangers—and she showed no signs of changing her mind about that particular strategy.\n\nAnother fearsome warrior, a woman named Preet who was known for her expert use of a light saber, held no grudge for having been recruited at her Guildculling two decades ago. Based on her grumbling and glaring from across the table, she reserved her grudges for those who beat her at cards.\n\nThere were dozens of men and women in the guild, each with their own story about how they got there. And the one thing they all seemed to have in common was an absolute and unshakable faith in their leader, Alabasel Frond. Brock found it hard to imagine any of them going behind her back to make an extra copper or two on the black market.\n\nHis remaining opponent went exclusively by his nickname, the Clobbler, which the adventurers seemed to think was a hilariously clever play on words. Before Frond had selected him on the day of his Guildculling, he'd been apprenticed to a cobbler. Now, he liked to clobber Dangers with a large club. Hence, Clobbler.\n\nIt was what passed for humor in the Sea of Stars.\n\nJust as Brock was sure his opponent was about to fold—the man's scars flushed pink whenever he lost—the door to the guildhall burst open, and Brock turned to see Zed step through with unusual purpose. \"Where's Frond?\" he demanded to the room before he'd even registered Brock's presence there. He was followed by the young ranger Fel and an icy winter wind.\n\nIt wasn't the wind that gave Brock a chill. One look at his friend's face told him something bad had happened.\n\nBrock dropped his cards and got to his feet. \"She's out. What's wrong?\"\n\nZed scanned the assembled faces, dismissing them each in turn, likely not recognizing any of them. While Brock had made his way through the guild's ranks, Zed had for the most part been content to stick by the other apprentices at meals and celebrations and in the training yard. The older adventurers had shown little interest in getting to know Zed, either, but at least they saw his sorcerous abilities as an asset. They didn't avoid him out of scorn, but because, as Preet had once admitted when Brock pressed her on the issue, \"You young ones don't always last very long.\"\n\nStill, Brock wished Zed would make an effort. If they were really stuck here, better to be among allies than acquaintances.\n\n\"I need to talk to Hexam or Lotte,\" Zed said. \"Even Callum.\"\n\n\"We're in the middle of a game!\" the Clobbler complained.\n\nBrock tossed his cards down on the table. \"I fold,\" he said. \"You win, Clobbler.\"\n\n\"That was your hand?\" the man roared, but Brock had already turned his back.\n\nWhile Zed tugged at his cloak, nearly strangling himself in his haste to remove it, Fel met Brock's eyes. \"Word has spread,\" she said softly. \"About the creature you saw beyond the wall.\"\n\n\"The raccoon?\"\n\n\"Not just a raccoon,\" Fel said in a hushed voice. She rubbed her arms as if suddenly cold. \"Zed described it to me just now. That poor animal was defiled. It was in the thrall of the Lich.\"\n\nThe conversation at the table behind Brock grew silent. He heard the shuffling of cards, but knew they had an audience now.\n\n\"Ser Brent called it undead,\" Zed added. \"He said Frond told the king about it. Now the Stone Sons are putting the market on lockdown. The elves are terrified.\"\n\n\"Our people will survive this,\" Fel said, and she put a hand to Zed's shoulder. The familiarity of the gesture surprised Brock. He hadn't realized the two knew each other that well.\n\nAlso: our people?\n\n\"Zed, what were you even doing in the shantytown?\" he asked.\n\n\"That's what you're curious about?\" Zed shot back. \"I want to know why the knights were there. The elves don't have anything to do with the Lich! The Lich is their enemy. They came here for help!\"\n\n\"We know that,\" Brock answered. \"We've been living with the rangers for weeks. But what does the rest of the town really know about them?\"\n\nZed flinched. \"Are you saying you agree with the king?\"\n\n\"Absolutely not,\" Brock said without hesitation. \"I'm saying his actions are understandable, given the information he has and the information he doesn't have.\" Brock thought about information, and the woman who tended to have more of it than anyone. \"I've got to go.\"\n\n\"What? Where?\" Zed asked.\n\n\"Guys, deal Zed in,\" he said to the table, then turned back to his friend. \"Listen, knowing Frond, she flubbed the delivery of some bad news about a moderately suspicious Danger and the king overreacted. She's not back yet, which means she's probably trying to smooth things over.\"\n\nFel smiled. \"Thank you, Brock. That's reassuring.\"\n\n\"It's not really,\" Brock said.",
"loss": true
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"value": "\"Frond is terrible at diplomacy. But I know some people who are good at it. I'm just going to check in with them. Okay?\"",
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"value": "He didn't wait for an answer, leaning past his friend to pull a cloak from a rack by the door. \"I'll be back before the game's over.\"\n\nBrock stepped outside, pausing on the footpath to throw his cloak over his shoulders. It was then he heard a small voice at his back.\n\n\"Please don't go.\"\n\nBrock turned, and the sight of his friend shivering there cloakless in the light dusting of snow nearly broke his resolve. Zed's experience at the shantytown had clearly left him shaken.\n\nBut there was more at stake here than Zed's feelings.\n\n\"Hey, you're fine, right? You're okay.\" He put his hands on Zed's shoulders. \"Tell Lotte what you saw. Tell Frond when she gets back. Get the full story, and if it's not all figured out by then, we'll figure it out together.\"\n\n\"But what are you doing? Can't I go with you?\"\n\nBrock sighed, drawing it out just long enough to formulate a lie. \"No, I... I'm just going to see my parents. They have some influence, and... Well, I know how uncomfortable intown can be for you.\"\n\nZed opened his mouth to speak, but Brock spoke first. \"I'm going to find a way to fix things. Just... don't get yourself into any trouble in the meantime, all right? Don't go anywhere near the shantytown. Stay here where it's safe.\"\n\n\"I don't think it is safe here,\" Zed said sadly.\n\n\"I'm going to fix that, too.\" Brock turned on his heel, snapping his cloak as he strode away and called over his shoulder, \"I'm going to fix everything!\"\n\nBy the time Brock had made his way to the Shadows' warrens, his confidence was flagging. He'd steered clear of the shantytown for fear of somehow getting involved, but he'd expected to hear it—to hear the sounds of protest, the commanding voice of Ser Brent, the clamor of shields linking to form a wall against the press of bodies.\n\nThere was utter silence. The elves, for now, were not resisting. And if that changed? How many natural spell-casters were among them? How many could stand against swords and spears?\n\nBrock hurried, and the silence kept pace with him. Throughout Freestone, the streets were empty and the shutters were drawn. People knew something was happening, and they chose to stay well clear of it.\n\nBrock just didn't understand that impulse.\n\nGramit held up a hand, half welcome and half warning, as Brock entered the antechamber to the Lady's office.\n\n\"She's busy,\" Gramit said.\n\n\"I don't care,\" Brock said, and he pushed open the door to her office. It was empty.\n\nHe turned to Gramit and saw the man shrug. \"I didn't say she was busy here. And you forgot your mask.\"\n\nBrock rolled his eyes, but he affixed the mask to his face. \"You're supposed to be 'the Facilitator,' Gramit. Facilitate a meeting for me!\"\n\n\"Concerning?\"\n\n\"Concerning the undead animal sighted a day's march from Freestone, the king's decision to bully the elven refugees when he found out about it, and the fact that their queen seemed pretty ready to throw lightning at him even before that.\"\n\nGramit tapped his chin. \"That does sound relevant,\" he said.\n\n\"Yes!\" Brock said. \"It's extremely relevant, Gramit! To everything ever!\"\n\nThe man stood from his stool. \"Follow me, then. And watch your manners around Master Curse.\"\n\n\"Master... Curse?\"\n\n\"Yeah. He didn't get that name for using foul language, if you're wondering.\"\n\nBrock followed him past a curtain, exiting the masters' quarters and entering the long corridor that served as the market floor. The stone here showed none of the upkeep of the previous room. Decades-old mildew grew in the crevices. The hall was lined with dark, recessed hollows—spaces that had once been cells—and standing before each hollow was a seller's stall, which in most cases simply meant wooden boards propped up on stools. The stalls were closed for the daylight hours, sheets thrown over their wares, but Brock knew the nights had been busy. While Freestone's larger economy strained beneath the burden of the elven refugees, the black market was booming.\n\nBrock eyed each stall as he passed, knowing that most of what was sold here was completely harmless, if hard to come by. One vendor sold precious oil for an outdated style of lamp. Another sold chicken feed with twice as much protein as the strictly regulated feed available through legal channels. The vendor didn't specify, but Brock suspected that the source of the protein was most likely rat meat. This was what passed for luxury in a city completely strapped for resources.\n\nSome of the goods here were stolen, Brock knew. And there were darker items available: boots and bracelets with concealed blades, poisons of sinister effect, and counterfeit stamps bearing the sigils of noble houses. Nothing purchased here was cataloged or tracked in any way, and no Stone Son walked these corridors—at least, not in any official capacity. Black market customers were guaranteed their privacy, and they paid well for the privilege.\n\nGramit led the way to a small room situated between two former cells. It would have been a guard's quarters back in the day. Now it held a desk, a few well-worn tomes, and a scattering of strange artifacts—Brock saw a flute apparently carved from bone, and he didn't look too closely after that.\n\nThe Lady Gray was there, and two men—one in a simple domino mask like Brock's, and one in a mask of gleaming silver that obscured the top half of his face, arcing downward from his hood in the shape of a crescent moon.\n\n\"Ah, apprentice, what a pleasant surprise,\" said the Lady. But she didn't seem particularly surprised. Or pleased, for that matter.\n\nBrock's eyes were drawn, however, to the hooded man. He couldn't smell magic like Zed could, but this man reeked of it, figuratively speaking. His mantled cloak looked like a darker, bloodred version of the one worn in public ceremonies by Freestone's most celebrated wizard, Archmagus Grima. And the mask was a sign, too, for the moon was known citywide as the symbol of the Mages Guild. Did the Shadows actually have a magus in their employ? If so, that was quite a coup. Wizards were rare and reclusive. Brock had seen no more than a few in all his life, and that was counting Hexam, who was no longer recognized as a magus by his former guild.\n\nThe door closed, and Brock turned to see Gramit had left.\n\n\"This is the one?\" Curse said. There was a sneer in his voice. \"He's awfully small.\"\n\n\"He is young,\" the Lady said. \"But you can't argue with how well he's done. Apprentice, this is Master Curse. He is the final recipient of all the gifts you've brought me these past weeks.\"\n\nBrock didn't understand, and the confusion must have been evident on his features. Unlike Curse's mask, Brock's hid very little of his face.\n\n\"The flora and fauna from beyond the wall,\" Curse clarified. \"It's my job to ensure it's safe—not harboring any pests.\"\n\nBrock nodded. He knew that there was a simple spell to ensure the parasite that had infected Mother Brenner was not present in any of the goods the adventurers brought into Freestone. It was only after Hexam had inspected each item, whether flower or wood or foodstuff or animal skin, that Frond would approve its use for bartering. The Lady Gray had assured Brock that anything he smuggled himself would be similarly examined before making its way to the black market floor.\n\n\"A dreary necessity, that,\" Curse continued. \"But once I've done it, I am free to experiment.\"\n\n\"Experiment?\" Brock echoed. He looked from the master to the Lady. \"What kind of experiment?\"\n\nThe Lady gestured at the other man, the one wearing a mask identical to Brock's, which marked him as another apprentice—though he was a full-grown man a head taller than Brock.\n\n\"Uh, well.\" He cleared his throat. \"One example: You remember those little red rodents?\"\n\n\"Pitmunks,\" Brock said, remembering the fiendish, razor-clawed creatures that roamed the woods. They were red as ripe tomatoes and not much larger, with sharp black quills running along their backs.\n\nHe also remembered the satisfying squelch when he'd dropped a sack of them on the Lady's desk the previous week. That had almost gotten a rise out of her, he was sure of it.\n\n\"Yeah, their meat is inedible,\" Brock said. \"Hexam says it's because their sweat glands produce some kind of toxin. I was hoping the Shadows might find a way to fix that. It'd mean a new source of food....\"\n\n\"That is not the direction our experimentation took,\" Curse said, chuckling as if Brock were a fool to suggest it.\n\nThe apprentice waited until the master indicated he should continue. \"My talents are in olfaction—in scents. I study how a smell affects the brain, how it triggers memory and emotion. Master Curse wisely suggested that the pitmunk's toxic sweat might be distilled and—\"\n\n\"You're the perfumer,\" Brock said. \"From the marketplace. You mixed scents to make people smell nice.\"\n\nThe man blushed beneath his slight mask. \"Uh, I can't confirm or deny—the condition of anonymity is, ah—\"\n\n\"Relax, Master Stink,\" Brock said. \"Your secret's safe with me.\" He turned to the Lady. \"But I'm not here because of—whatever in Fie these guys are going on about. There's a situation with the elves. The king's making a huge mistake. I know you have access to him.\"\n\nThe Lady nodded slightly. \"I'm aware of the situation.\"\n\nBrock glared at her. \"Then you know it sounds dangerous. The more the king and his knights push the elves, the more danger we're all in. I know for a fact their queen is unhappy. What happens if they push back?\"\n\nMaster Curse shrugged. \"Fewer mouths to feed.\"\n\nBrock ignored the heartless comment. He kept his focus on the Lady. \"I know you don't think that way. Think of all the knowledge those elves have. All the secrets.\"\n\nHe saw it then, he was sure of it. Just the slightest gleam of interest in her eyes. She blinked, and it was gone, her placid smirk unmoved from her lips.\n\n\"As a matter of fact,\" she said, \"I've a keen interest in what the elves have to say. I've been listening to their stories. Including the ones about that particular red rodent.\"\n\n\"Pitmunks? What's there to say about them?\"\n\n\"The elves call them gish'aelneu,\" she said.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"Despite the fact that they are Dangers and quite deadly in large numbers, spotting one in the wild is considered a good omen to the rangers of Llethanyl. Did you know that?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"It never came up.\"\n\n\"Gish'aelneu translates, roughly, to 'fearsome rodent whose lack of grace alienates all potential friends.' See, the reason the gish'aelneu are considered good luck is because whenever they nest in an area, larger predators are said to flee. If there's any truth to the stories—and most stories have a nugget of truth somewhere—these things somehow scare off monsters ten times their size. We thought that was worth looking into.\"\n\n\"That's where we came in,\" Curse's apprentice said. \"Master Curse asked me to extract the active chemicals in the pitmunk sweat and make a concentrated oil. And, uh, so I did that.\"\n\nBrock scratched at the back of his head, thinking through the implications of what they were telling him. \"You think their sweat has some quality or... or power. The toxin they secrete. It's, what, a Danger repellent?\"\n\n\"It's certainly an interesting theory,\" Curse answered. \"We do, however, need it to be field-tested.\"\n\nBrock nodded sagely before he realized what Curse was implying. \"Wait. Me? You want me to start wearing monster perfume? What if the smell alienates all my potential friends? What if it doesn't work at all?\"\n\n\"That would be helpful to know,\" answered Curse.\n\n\"You're the only one with access, apprentice,\" the Lady cooed. \"Aren't you glad you're quest-worthy?\"\n\nBrock groaned. \"I just wanted to find a way to feed people. Next you'll tell me you've turned those elfgrass seeds into pellets for a magically ensorcelled blowpipe.\"\n\n\"Magically ensorcelled is redundant,\" Curse said sharply. \"But the idea has some merit.\"\n\n\"It really doesn't,\" Brock replied. \"And what about helping the elves?\"\n\n\"So many defenders, those elves.\" The Lady steepled her fingers. \"Between you and Pollux and that queen of theirs.\"\n\n\"'That queen of theirs' looked ready to tear through a dozen of Ser Brent's finest last night,\" Brock snapped. \"She told me that she wants to have some kind of a war council with Frond.\"\n\nThe Lady gave him a strange look, as if she didn't understand what he was saying. It was unusual enough that Brock came up short.\n\n\"What is it?\" he asked.\n\nShe pivoted to address Curse. \"If you'd give us the room, please.\"\n\nCurse opened his mouth, ready to protest—this was clearly his space—but thought better of it. He ushered the perfumer out and shut the door behind them.\n\nAs soon as they were alone, the Lady asked, \"You met the queen?\"\n\nIt was a simple question, but it sent Brock reeling. \"You... didn't know that?\" he said. A smile broke out across his face. \"You didn't know that.\"\n\nThe Lady appeared mostly unbothered, but Brock could see the sudden tension in her shoulders, the tightness around her mouth. \"Queen Me'Shala has proven... resistant to my attempts at... friendship.\"\n\n\"You mean your spies can't get near her,\" Brock said. \"And you don't have anything you can hold over her head.\" He tapped his chin. \"Well, she seemed to like me. Said she might need my brilliant advice again soon. Did you offer to braid her hair? That might work.\"\n\n\"Droll as ever,\" she said, and Brock felt a little thrill at her frustration. \"But!\" she said lightly, her hateful smirk returning. \"It appears one of my spies has access, after all....\"\n\n\"Nuh-uh,\" Brock said. \"No way.\"\n\nBut the tension was already gone from her shoulders. She slunk around the room like a predatory cat. \"I told you I've been listening to stories the elves tell. And so many of those stories mention the wealth of the queen. Her glittering treasury, with riches so extraordinary and strange they must have come from the fairy plane.\"\n\n\"That's great,\" Brock said. \"Do those stories mention anything about the queen's temper? Maybe the specific spells she'd use against someone who crossed her?\"\n\n\"The elves left Llethanyl in a hurry,\" the Lady said. \"They took only what they could carry. If that included anything from the queen's treasury, I've been unable to learn where those treasures are now. They do not appear to have brought anything of true value to Freestone.\"\n\n\"So maybe they left it all behind. If it was a choice between their lives or their wealth—\"\n\n\"It's a rare ruler who would choose the former,\" the Lady said coldly. \"Perhaps the riches of the elves are hidden away in one of Frond's wayshelters. Perhaps they've been buried beneath a tree. If you could find out... If you could get your hands on just one of those treasures...\"\n\nBrock shook his head. Steal from the elves—from their beautiful, utterly terrifying queen? The Lady kept asking for more; he had to put his foot down while he still could. \"It's too dangerous,\" he said. \"And it's not what we agreed to. I'm honoring our agreement, but you can't keep changing it.\"\n\nShe narrowed her eyes, regarding him in silence for a moment. \"Fair enough,\" she said at last. \"Our smuggler friend seems to have thought twice about their actions, anyway, and you've learned what you could. So...\" She paused once more, either to consider her words or else to keep Brock hanging on them. \"Do this thing for me, and Zed's secret shall never cross my lips. Any evidence I have, I shall destroy. On that, I'll swear.\"\n\nBrock's heart leaped in his chest, but his distrust fought with his excitement. While his feelings roiled, he mastered his expression, showing only skepticism.\n\n\"Just like that?\" he said. \"One elven treasure, and you'd let me off the hook?\"\n\n\"I hear the doubt in your voice, Brock, but above all else I am a woman of my word.\" She shrugged. \"You know this.\"\n\n\"Yeah, funny thing about blackmailers,\" he said. \"So trustworthy.\"\n\n\"My threats only work if they're credible. Promises work much the same. If I didn't honor them, I'd have far, far fewer eyes and ears across this town.\"\n\nBrock bit his lip. Could he dare to hope? Could he actually have a way out of this awful situation? Could it be that easy?\n\nAnd then he remembered what she'd asked of him. It was a far cry from \"easy.\"\n\n\"I'll think about it,\" he said, as if he could still say no. But she knew she had him.\n\nShe knew exactly what kind of hand he had. Four of dragons, eight of griffins, and a useless unicorn.\n\nTwice a week, Zed and Jayna met in the master archivist's office for lessons.\n\nFeydays were supposed to be reserved for magical theory and Noxdays for actual spell-casting, but in practice Hexam just taught whatever felt interesting in the moment. The seminars were a hash of aimless lectures, arcane exercises, and digressions into Hexam's other great passion: the Dangers.\n\nDuring less stressful times, Zed found it all fascinating. Hexam's unpredictable teaching style kept him on his toes. Today, for instance, a decanter full of black, oily scum waited on the wizard's desk as Zed arrived.\n\nBut Zed was in no mood for silliness. Just moments after Brock left, Frond had stormed into the guildhall like a winter squall. Her gray eyes were cold and furious as the sky outside.\n\nZed had tried to talk to her—pleading with Frond to help the elves—but the guildmistress just kept moving, stomping up the stairs to her personal quarters. The whole hall shook when she slammed the door closed.\n\nZed himself now stomped across Hexam's office, throwing himself into his usual chair. Jayna quirked an eyebrow from the seat next to his.\n\nNear the back of the room, Hexam was stooped over and trying very carefully to liberate a book from the bottom of a lopsided stack of manuals, presumably without toppling the entire structure.\n\nZed cleared his throat, fussing in his chair.\n\nHexam ignored him. The wizard pulled at the load-bearing book, and the structure wobbled alarmingly. He winced, then slowly, gently began sliding the tome free from the pile. The book shifted by minuscule degrees—one inch, two, three—until only a corner was left confined.\n\n\"What's this black stuff?\" Zed blurted.\n\nThe tower fell, and books toppled all around Hexam like a castle under siege. When the dust had finally settled, the archivist stood up straight with a groan, surrounded by literary wreckage. He carried the single book back to his desk.\n\n\"That,\" he said tightly as he sat, \"is the excretion of a stalking shadow. It's a blessedly rare Danger that hunts by attaching itself to the true shadows of its prey. So far, the only means we've discovered to safely disentangle one is for a blood relative to speak the victim's name aloud three times.\"\n\nHexam shook his head. \"Don't ask me why that works, though. I'm still puzzling it out.\" He opened up a cavernous drawer in the desk and smuggled the bottle inside.\n\n\"Maybe the elves know,\" said Zed. \"We could send for some elven mages to be let out of the market. Do an exchange of information.\" He perked up, crawling up straight in his chair for the first time. \"Actually, that would be amazing! There have got to be more sorcerers like my dad among the elves, right? Ones who could finally teach me how to use my magic!\"\n\nThe archivist frowned. \"Zed, believe me when I tell you that none of us are happy with the king's decision. It wasn't so long ago that he imprisoned us with false accusations. But Frond is the only reason the rangers haven't been confined with the rest of their people. I don't know how much further she can push it.\"\n\n\"So what do you know?\" Zed mumbled.\n\nThe archivist sighed, his dark eyes falling to his hands. \"I know I'm sorry,\" Hexam said. \"Sorry that this is happening and sorry that I'm not a better teacher for you. But in this guild, we're forced to make do with what we have.\"\n\nA long stretch of awkward silence passed, as Hexam began searching his desk for some clue or inspiration for the day's lesson. Jayna squirmed uncomfortably in the quiet, her pale skin and ginger hair shining blue beneath the room's multicolored orbs.\n\n\"Magus Hexam,\" she began, \"last week you mentioned we might finally discuss broadening my portfolio of battle magic. I only really know the—\"\n\n\"Once again, Jayna,\" Hexam interrupted tersely, \"I'm not a magus anymore. That title was stripped from me when I left the Mages Guild.\" Then he glanced up. \"Remind me, what was the last spell I asked you to learn?\"\n\nJayna's face brightened at this opportunity. Though they were both wizards, Hexam was surprisingly stingy when it came to teaching the girl actual spells for the field.\n\nZed didn't learn his magic the same way Jayna did. While both were considered mages, Jayna was a wizard and Zed a sorcerer.\n\nThe way Hexam described it, sorcerous magic was less intellectual and more intuitive; a sorcerer's abilities appeared as the young mage grew, and then had to be practiced for control.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Zed's few experiments in replicating wizard magic over the last several weeks had all ended explosively. After he accidentally shattered several first-floor windows while trying to cast a standard Wizard's Shield, Frond finally forbade him from any more attempts.\n\nJayna, however, was brilliant at the stuff.\n\n\"My last assignment was Eldritch Darts,\" she said brightly. \"I believe I have it properly memorized, Ma—uh, Master Hexam.\"\n\nZed's eyes widened. \"Didn't you say that was a second-level spell?\"\n\nJayna turned and beamed at him. \"My first one, yes.\"\n\nThe archivist nodded slowly, running a hand over the beard that framed his thin, dusky face. \"Then I'd like to see you perform it, please.\"\n\nJayna and Zed stood from their chairs and began turning toward the door. Usually, the more dangerous exercises required that they head out into the training yard, away from any fragile equipment.\n\nUsually. When they realized that Hexam hadn't risen to follow them, the two apprentices looked back uncertainly.\n\nHexam cleared his throat. \"I would like you to perform the spell in here, apprentice,\" he clarified. He extended his hand to a small sphere that had been set on a pedestal near the far wall of the room, molded from silvery metal.\n\nZed recognized the sphere. It had been among the equipment they brought back from the wayshelter. It was decorated with looping shapes and elven sigils arranged in a series of overlapping circles.\n\nThe confidence fell from Jayna's face like Zed fell from a chin-up attempt—quickly and without composure.\n\n\"Um, Master Hexam,\" she began. \"This room is very small, and the darts—\"\n\n\"The darts,\" Hexam said with a small smile, \"will follow whatever target they are cast at when the spell is performed correctly.\" The elder wizard's smile tightened, and his eyebrow quirked. \"Of course, if you only believe that you have it properly memorized, perhaps we should wait until you're sure.\"\n\nJayna narrowed her eyes. In the last month and a half, Zed had discovered that there were two surefire ways of riling up the apprentice wizard, and Hexam was very fond of both. The first was talking about dark magic.\n\nThe second, far more dangerous way was to suggest that she had come unprepared.\n\nJayna made a sort of dignified squeak and strode to the opposite side of the room from the sphere. She held her hands up, fingers wriggling in the air. Zed stood back, pressing against the office door and hugging his scepter to his chest. He was ready to elf-step out of the room if need be.\n\nThough Zed wasn't himself a wizard, he knew that wizard spells required three basic components: formulas, signs, and mana. After memorizing a complicated magical formula, a wizard could express it by weaving arcane signs—words, gestures, symbols, or magically conductible ingredients—into a spell. The more familiar a wizard was with the formula, the less complicated the sign necessary to cast it. Most master wizards like Hexam could conjure powerful spells with a simple flick of the wrist.\n\nJayna's fingers traced through the air, the movements slow and precise. This being a second-level spell, the gestures necessary were more complex than her usual Wizard's Shield.\n\nShe performed it perfectly. No sooner had Jayna spread her hands than three fizzing blue motes appeared in the air around her. The lights streaked forward like buzzing wasps, heading straight for the small sphere.\n\nJayna grinned, looking spent but pleased... until the sphere came alive.\n\nA high pealing noise, like the ringing of a bell, filled the room as the darts neared the orb. Suddenly, three lashes of white light struck out, whipping into Jayna's missiles with a loud crack, crack, crack! Every one of the darts shattered and dissipated before finding their target.\n\nJayna looked like she herself had been lashed. \"That...\" she said, her eyes wide. \"But I—\"\n\nHexam finally stood from his desk, moving to inspect the sphere. \"Well done, Jayna!\" he said. \"I wanted to test the enchantment on an unsuspecting mage.\" The archivist ran his fingers over the pristine surface of the orb. \"Mythril is remarkable at holding enchantments,\" he breathed. \"This one is years old, but with just a bit of mana added to it, the countercurse worked perfectly.\"\n\nHexam turned back to the apprentices. \"Thank you for humoring me,\" he said. \"This, and Zed's new scepter, were the only two items of any magical value recovered from the wayshelter.\"\n\nZed's ears twitched. He realized he was gripping the scepter maybe a bit tightly. \"My scepter?\" he asked. \"I can keep it, then?\"\n\n\"As long you learn how to use it safely,\" the archivist said. He walked back to his desk and sat down behind it, gesturing for Zed and Jayna to return to their chairs.\n\n\"Arcane implements can be a great help for any spell-caster,\" Hexam said, as they took their seats. \"Jayna, I'll have Lotte find you a wand from the armory, and we can begin the principles for how to use them in our next lesson.\" He paused. \"If you ever do find yourselves facing an undead enemy, then you'll need every advantage you can muster. They are relentless foes. Unlike other Dangers, they don't experience fear or pain.\"\n\n\"Why?\" Zed asked. \"What makes them special?\" Beside him, Jayna leaned forward in her chair.\n\nHexam sat up a bit straighter as well. The wizard's mood had improved. \"As you both know by now, the Dangers came to our world when Foster Pendleton opened the gates between the seven planes. Terryn, our home, was overrun by creatures from the other six. Fey, the fairy plane, and Fie, the infernal plane, are closest to ours—the inner planes. These are where most magic comes from. Jayna, can you name the four outer planes?\"\n\nJayna nodded, her red curls bouncing. \"There's Nox, the plane of chaos, luck, and shadows; Lux, the plane of order, logic, and light; Astra, the plane of the mind; and Mort—\"\n\n\"—the plane of the dead,\" Hexam finished with a nod. \"Very little is known of it, and no creature has ever emerged directly from the plane. Instead, the power that spills from Mort causes the dead in Terryn to rise. These Dangers are what we call undead. Once, necromancers were able to harness this power to raise undead armies—but at a terrible cost to themselves. Exposed to Mort's energies, many of them festered, becoming moldering creatures known as liches.\"\n\nZed's eyes shot up. \"The Lich! That's the minister who took over Llethanyl. He's some kind of... death mage?\"\n\nHexam shook his head. \"To be honest, he's less like a mage and more like a focus. The outer planes don't provide mana, but at one time they did offer otherworldly abilities for those who were able—and willing—to access them. Necromancy was thought to be a lost art, like so many others from before the Day of Dangers. Apparently, we were wrong. One of Llethanyl's ministers, an elf named Galvino, rediscovered the art in secret. And due to the elves' long-standing tradition of burying their dead, he had plenty of material with which to practice.\"\n\nZed grimaced at this. From what he could tell, death was a taboo subject for the elves—a topic of extremely guarded reverence. So much so that they referred to their dead as simply the lost. Many still seemed baffled that such a violation had occurred at all.\n\nA tentative knock sounded from the other side of the door.\n\n\"Enter,\" Hexam called.\n\nThe door creaked open and Fel's face poked through. She began to speak, but her eyes lit up as the office shifted from red to turquoise. The young elf's gaze traveled across the space, flitting from wonder to wonder.\n\n\"Ast'la ven!\" Fel said. \"What beautiful lights. And are those skeletons?... From Dangers? I thought that humans weren't supposed to keep large bones around.\"\n\nHexam coughed uneasily. \"There are a few exceptions. Though I don't see the need to mention these to anyone outside the guild. Is there something the rangers need, Fel?\"\n\nThe elf's face became suddenly serious, wonder transforming into graveness in a blink. \"Frond asked for you,\" she said. \"Something important is happening.\"\n\n\"Important?\" Hexam said, rising from his chair. \"Well, for Fie's sake, spit it out then.\"\n\n\"Queen Me'Shala is here,\" Fel answered, her eyes falling to the floor at the mere mention of the elven monarch. \"She wants the adventurers to take back our city.\"\n\nHexam and Jayna walked up front, leading the way to the main hall, while Zed and Fel trailed behind. Zed glanced at the young elf beside him. \"Do you think it's really possible?\" he whispered. \"To save Llethanyl?\"\n\nFel's smile was cautious. \"I don't know,\" she admitted. \"But the queen doesn't ask things lightly. And I've heard that she's very hard to refuse.\"\n\nFor the first time in weeks, Zed allowed himself to truly imagine visiting the city of his father. Perhaps he'd find more answers there about the mysterious Zerend. Fel was too young to know anything about him, but Zed had tried asking the High Ranger—he'd asked every elf who would deign to speak to him, in fact.\n\nHe'd learned that Zerend was a wood elf and a sorcerer, like Zed himself. Zed knew his father was \"lost\" on the trip back to Llethanyl twelve years ago, and Callum had called him \"a good elf.\"\n\nThat was all.\n\nZed had hoped that with time, Callum might open up and offer more. But each passing week had slowly snuffed out that hope. The elves were tight-lipped about their dead.\n\n\"You must be anxious to get home,\" Zed said. \"Away from all the prejudice. I'm so sorry Freestoners are like this. It's not fair to you or your people.\"\n\nFel's smile faltered, and then quickly brightened again. \"Yes... well,\" she said. \"Every place has its problems!\" She glanced away. \"Here we are.\"\n\nIn his six weeks as an apprentice, Zed had celebrated half a dozen parties with the Sea of Stars. A life of constant danger meant that every day alive was a new victory—and victory, Zed had learned, meant revelry. Though food and drink were leaner than ever, the guild made the most of their meager larders, whipping elaborate feasts out of basic staples, plus whatever herbs still grew outside the city walls.\n\nThe remains of just such a feast were now strewn around the main hall.\n\nGuildmembers stood in awkward clumps, for once keenly aware of the state of their greeting room. The floor was sticky underfoot, and there didn't appear to be six inches of continuous wall space that wasn't splattered with some kind of food or drink.\n\nOnly a statue near the back of the room was distinctly unscathed. A stone boy reached out one arm, his eyes wide with shock.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "This, Zed had learned on his first day with the guild, was no carving.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "It was an unfortunate apprentice, only a couple years older than himself. The poor boy had been petrified by the gaze of a basilisk, the very monster from which flinty-eyed Frond had earned her nickname.\n\nJust as many elven rangers were also present in the room, and by the anxious expressions they were casting at Frond's office, it was clear where their queen had retreated to.\n\nHexam didn't dally. Zed had just enough time to realize he'd never actually seen the interior of Frond's office when he, Jayna, and Fel were all rushed up the stairs and through the forbidding door.\n\nBeyond it, a steep climb zigzagged up at least two ramshackle stories, the old wood complaining with each step. Zed sympathized. Finally they reached a second door, which Hexam threw open without a knock.\n\nThe room was tidier than Zed would have expected. Unlike many adventurers, Frond kept no trophies of the Dangers she'd slain. Her bed—a neatly made four-poster—stood directly beside an enormous bay window with clean white curtains. The guildmistress's room was the highest point in the entire rickety hall—and certainly the highest in the neighborhood. Zed realized with a thrill that her window was set over Freestone's wall, offering a clear view of the forest line.\n\nPerhaps Frond had watched them from here, when he, Brock, Liza, and Jett lingered glumly outside during their initiation.\n\nThe guildmistress now waited behind a large desk fashioned from lustrous wood. The legs had been carved into a set of four creatures Zed had never seen before. And judging by the many lovingly detailed teeth carved into each of the beasts' open jaws, he didn't want to. Their guild's blue flag, sprinkled with five stars, hung on the wall behind Frond.\n\nAnd seated directly in front of the desk was Me'Shala, the queen of the elves.\n\n\"There you are,\" Frond grunted accusingly. By the way she hastily stood to greet Hexam, Zed suspected they had been sitting in awkward silence for some time.\n\nHexam ignored her tone, turning instead to the elven queen. Rather than bowing, the archivist brought two fingers to his lips. \"Welcome, Your Majesty,\" he said.\n\nMe'Shala smiled at the gesture, and the room seemed to grow brighter for it.\n\nZed had seen the queen only a few times. Though she lived with her people in the market camp, she was well insulated from outsiders. Even now, two elven women wearing glittering silver armor hung by the doors, casting wary looks at Hexam and the others as they entered.\n\nThe queen had brown skin and eyes like fire opals. Her dress was decorated with looping, leafy branches.\n\nCallum stood in the room's far corner wearing a blank expression, his arms crossed. Two more elves, dressed much more fussily than their queen, were seated on a dreary sofa that had been pulled up to the desk. Both were sun elves—ain'shea. The male's hair was golden and his skin was fair, while the female's bronze skin was veiled by lustrous white locks. Both wore circlets adorned with the shapes of birds in flight.\n\nAnd then there was Brock. The boy stood right beside the queen, as if he were her page. Zed's eyebrows shot up when he caught sight of his friend. How had he already managed to insinuate himself into this?\n\nThe female sun elf scrunched her nose as they arrived. She pointed a long elegant finger straight at Fel. Whereas Hexam, Zed, and Jayna had all stepped fully into the room, the young elf hung back, her eyes lowered.\n\n\"No,\" the sun elf said. She pursed her mouth into a pretty frown. \"Not her. Too much is at stake here.\"\n\nThe two armored elves at the door stepped forward, each grabbing Fel by one of her arms. Llethanyl's city crest was molded into their identical suits of armor: a great tree wreathed by a halo of birds. Zed realized that these must be two of Me'Shala's illustrious sword sisters. Fel didn't resist their grasps, or even lift her eyes.\n\nZed's jaw fell open. What was happening?\n\n\"Wait!\" he said, snapping back around to face the queen. \"Why can't Fel stay? She's one of your people. She's a ranger!\"\n\nThe female sun elf glared at him. \"Are all human children so impertinent?\"\n\nZed's ears grew red hot. He balled his hands into fists. \"I'm half elf,\" he muttered.\n\nThe woman's lovely eyebrows lifted like birds taking flight. \"There are no half elves, my ignorant little friend,\" she said. \"There are elves... and then there is everything else. In any case, it's plain from your question that you lack even a basic understanding of how our society works.\"\n\nZed watched as Brock's face screwed into a scowl. He opened his mouth to say something, but was beaten to the punch.\n\n\"Threya,\" the male elf beside her chided. \"Must you be so boorish in front of our hosts?\" He rolled his eyes and shrugged, as if dealing with an eccentric aunt. \"I say we let the night elf stay. What we discuss here affects all our people. That includes the dro'shea.\"\n\nUnlike most elves, even the men, this one wore his hair short, in a cut not dissimilar to many human nobles. As elves went, it was a brazen, modern style.\n\nThreya cast an unhappy look at her companion. \"Spare us your reformist blather, Selby. We cannot involve the deathlings in this. The Lich was one of theirs.\"\n\n\"You can't judge an entire population based on one unfortunate example,\" Selby snapped back. \"Isn't that exactly what the humans are doing to us?\"\n\n\"The Lich is not an unfortunate example. He is the destroyer of our people!\"\n\n\"My friends.\" The queen's voice cut through the rising pitch of the argument like water through a parched throat. \"Please remember that we're guests here, pleading for aid. We come in humility.\"\n\nThe two elves deflated back into their seats, though only Selby had the grace to look embarrassed. Threya stared forward, unwilling to even glance in Fel's direction.\n\n\"You must excuse us,\" Me'Shala said, turning to Frond. \"But the truth is that I rely on this caution and passion from my ministers. The elves haven't always been a unified people. Before the lleth'dia—the Day of Dangers—our kind were engaged in a seemingly endless struggle. To call it a war would be too simple, for it impacted every part of the lives and worldviews of our ancestors. Many old angers still fester.\"\n\nShe sighed and her eyes landed on Fel, who stood silently at the entrance. The girl's arms were still gripped by sword sisters.\n\n\"Galvino claimed he wanted to help heal our broken peoples,\" the queen said. At the sound of the name, the ministers both flinched. Zed noticed that even Callum's arms crossed a bit more tightly.\n\n\"He was the first night-elf minister Llethanyl had ever seen,\" Me'Shala continued. \"And he was brilliant: an eloquent diplomat and a wizard far more accomplished than myself. His betrayal—his use of our lost against us—was more than just mutiny. It was a message. We can never escape our past. It will always, always rise again.\"\n\n\"Your Majesty...\" Callum spoke from the corner. Though he leaned casually against the wall, his voice was tentative.\n\nZed was struck by how tenderly the elven queen was treated by her subjects. Compared to King Freestone, Me'Shala didn't command the respect of her advisors so much as she enjoyed their love. She seemed as much a mother as a monarch.\n\nShe nodded for Callum to continue.\n\n\"This girl is named Felasege. Her parents were both rangers who gave their lives protecting our city,\" he said. \"They were my friends, and I trusted them without reservation. They would settle for nothing less than a peaceful future for our people... and for their daughter.\"\n\nNow Fel's gaze finally rose from the floor. Her cobalt eyes widened as she looked at Callum.\n\nThreya scoffed. \"This isn't the time for weepy sentiments. The deathlings have always been obsessed with mortality. It's why we went to war with them in the first place. How can we be sure this girl won't turn against us? That any of them won't?\"\n\n\"Fel's parents are among our lost,\" the ranger responded sharply. \"The Lich did not discern between sects when he profaned them.\" He returned his gaze to the queen. \"Fel is one of us. I would ask that you let her stay.\"\n\nThe queen smiled appreciatively at Callum. \"Thank you, High Ranger. Indeed, we're all one people, and we have all been betrayed—the night elves perhaps most of all.\"\n\nShe cast a glance to the sword sisters, who released Fel's arms without another word.\n\nFrond, who had watched this little drama unfold with uncharacteristic patience, now rapped her fingers against the top of the desk.\n\n\"Queen Me'Shala,\" she said. \"Involving the question at hand... I'm afraid that King Freestone still hasn't ordered a siege. But I am imploring him to show compassion for—\"\n\n\"The spring that feeds your king's compassion has run dry,\" the queen said. \"My people are no longer refugees here; they're prisoners. Which is why I've come to you, my old friend.\" A mischievous sparkle shone in Me'Shala's eyes. \"We were close once, Alabasel. I implore you for compassion. You always favored action over talk.\"\n\nFrond cleared her throat, unable to mask her flustered expression. \"Be that as it may, the Adventurers Guild is only a small force. We don't have the numbers or the training for a full siege. Without the knights, mages, and healers beside us, what you're asking for is suicide.\"\n\n\"What use are all these knights, mages, and healers?\" Threya grumbled. \"Birds, who never leave the safety of their nest. It's appalling that the burden of actually protecting your city falls on the shoulders of a small band of miscreants.\"\n\n\"Miscreants and children,\" Brock piped up from beside the queen. \"Thank you very much.\"\n\nFrond sighed, running a hand through her cropped gray hair. \"Our peoples have survived in their own ways,\" she said. \"Regardless, my point remains the same. If my guild went up against an undead army on our own, we would lose. And Freestone would lose its sole agents to the outside world.\"\n\nMe'Shala inclined her head. \"I agree. Which is why we're proposing something a bit different. A bit subtler.\"\n\nFrond leaned back from the desk, steepling her fingers. Zed wasn't sure he liked the intrigued expression on her face.\n\nSelby scooted forward on Frond's shabby sofa. \"Undead Dangers are usually rare. By harnessing Mort's energies, however, the Lich has created an army of them, and can maintain his thralls from any distance—but only so long as he lives....\"\n\nFrond's eyes flicked over to Hexam. The archivist nodded slowly, his face thoughtful. \"Necromancy hasn't been practiced for hundreds of years,\" he said, \"but the literature agrees. A lich uses its own body as a sort of focus for Mort's energies. I wouldn't call it alive, though. Not truly. The person beneath has become a kind of Danger themselves.\"\n\n\"But if we destroy the Lich...\" Callum started, his eyes blazing.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The elf bounded forward from the corner, graceful as a deer.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "meta: Find a natural way to mention that 'Shambling Slime, the Ooze that Walks Like a Man.' Apparently its weaknesses include fire and sharp weapons. So I guess we have that in common.",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"This is it!\" he said excitedly, slamming his hand down on Frond's desk. \"Not an army—a smaller force could sneak in and destroy the Lich. Then this curse over our lost would disappear.\"\n\nHexam shook his head. \"Slaying a lich is no easy task. Whole wars were once waged trying to accomplish such a feat. Like any focus, the energies he houses would make him incredibly difficult to injure. Maybe impossible. They are not like simple undead.\"\n\n\"Could Zed's flame do it?\" Frond asked. Zed's eyes shot to the desk, where Frond sat with her hands clenched. The guildmistress met his gaze unflinchingly. \"That green fire is more potent than regular flames, yes? It destroyed a fully transformed penanggalan.\"\n\nThe queen now watched Zed with new scrutiny, her expression thoughtful. \"Then this is the young sorcerer I've heard so much about.\"\n\n\"How fascinating,\" Selby muttered. \"Green fire, you say?\"\n\nHexam considered Frond's question, scratching at his beard. \"It might work,\" he said, with a note of resignation. \"Maybe.\"\n\nThis... this was it. A plan to save the elves—and they needed him! Queen Me'Shala herself had heard of Zed, and she was watching him now with undisguised hope.\n\n\"Then I'll do it,\" Zed said, his voice catching with the honor of it all.\n\n\"Not a chance,\" Brock said at the same time, only louder.\n\nZed rounded on his friend, for once bristling under Brock's protective impulses. Brock had all but disappeared the last several weeks. Now he suddenly had an opinion on what Zed did and where he went?\n\n\"What do you care?\" he snapped. Behind him, Zed heard Jayna actually gasp aloud—her first noise the entire conversation. \"I earned my quest-worthiness, same as you! Or maybe you don't remember, since you skipped the celebration.\"\n\nIgnoring Brock's grimace—and the supremely entertained expression of the elven minister Threya—Zed turned back to Frond. \"Callum is right. This is the best way. And I'm the only one who can do it.\"\n\nThreya coughed out a laugh. \"Would you listen to him? You mean to tell me this child is the most powerful sorcerer in Freestone?\" She shook her head incredulously and waved toward Me'Shala. \"Our queen is a wizard of no small skill. Even Selby could probably rival your precious Mages Guild. We came to you seeking aid, and you offer this... infant!\"\n\nHexam frowned at the minister, placing a hand on Zed's shoulder. \"Sorcery isn't as simple as most or least powerful,\" he said. \"The boy lacks finesse, but the fire he conjures is among the most destructive forces I've ever seen. It is perhaps the only weapon we have that's capable of eradicating a true lich.\"\n\nFrond watched Zed for a long beat, her scarred face unreadable. \"We'll see,\" she said finally.\n\n\"If he goes, I'm going, too,\" said Brock. \"Don't you dare try to stop—\"\n\n\"Stop, Brock,\" Frond interrupted.\n\nBrock came up short, then cursed himself.\n\n\"The answer is no,\" Frond said, her slate-gray eyes boring into him. \"If we risk this plan, going behind the king's back and imperiling the life of an apprentice in the process—if we make this journey, which is already fraught with its own hazards, to face an enemy who may very well be impossible to destroy—then we need to minimize our potential losses. The team sent to Llethanyl will be small. It will be specialized. It will be elite. And by my express order, it will not include Brock Dunderfel. Do I make myself clear, apprentice?\"\n\nBrock stared at Frond, chewing on the inside of his cheek, his hands opening and closing at his sides. Slowly, very slowly, the expression of pure rage on his face quieted into something like acceptance—or at least a dull enmity.\n\n\"Crystal,\" he said.\n\nBrock yawned, loud and leisurely. It was a chill winter day, but he was wrapped in a blanket with a hot water bottle at his feet, reclining on a makeshift hammock he'd assembled from an old, torn tent. He turned the page of the book he had propped up against his knees.\n\n\"Oh, here's a nasty one,\" he said. \"Lamprey bats.\"\n\n\"That doesn't sound so bad,\" Fel said, straining at the string of her bow, lining up a shot. \"Bats are cute.\"\n\n\"These aren't real bats though,\" Brock said. \"More like... hairy worms. With wings. And look at these teeth.\"\n\nFel took a peek at the page. \"Okay,\" she said. \"Not so cute.\"\n\n\"Brock!\" Liza called from across the training ground. \"Would you please stop distracting my sparring partner?\"\n\nBrock stuck out his tongue, but Fel snapped to attention. \"Sorry!\" she said, and she let her arrow fly. It ricocheted off Liza's shield.\n\n\"Apologizing while you shoot her,\" Brock said. \"You fit riiiight in.\"\n\nThey were in the training yard, a dusty patch of ground in the shadow of the lopsided guildhall. Within the building, preparations had begun for the most ambitious and dangerous mission the adventurers had ever undertaken.\n\nBrock had been told to stay out of the way.\n\n\"You're missing a great opportunity to practice against projectiles,\" Liza said, walking over to return Fel's arrow—really more of a bolt: a thick, blunt wooden cylinder that could bruise but wouldn't pierce. Liza, who had a talent for woodworking, had made it herself.\n\n\"You're missing a great opportunity to relax,\" Brock countered. \"After all, didn't you hear? We're not essential to the success of the mission.\" He meant to sound flippant, but it came out sounding bitter.\n\n\"So?\" Liza said. \"What's your plan?\"\n\nBrock leisurely turned the page of Hexam's homemade Danger handbook, revealing another highly detailed horror. This one was an insect the size of a human hand, with fish-scale wings and a savage-looking barbed proboscis. \"My plan?\"\n\n\"You're telling me you don't have a plan for undermining Frond and getting us on the mission?\"\n\n\"I've got nothing of the sort,\" he said. \"I'm perfectly content to sit here and consider all the terrible monsters that definitely won't be eating me tomorrow. Ew, you wouldn't believe where the fiendfly lays its eggs—\"\n\n\"What about Zed? You've given up on trying to keep him safe, have you?\"\n\nLiza's question was punctuated by a pitiful meow, and Brock saw Mousebane weaving between the girl's legs. He frowned at the sight of her—wild and bedraggled, with a notch missing from one ear, she was a far cry from the pretty, docile house cats of the merchant quarter. Her snaggletooth, the sharp canine projecting from her lower jaw that the others insisted was cute, made her look to him as if she were perpetually annoyed.\n\nIf Alabasel Frond had been born a cat, he decided, she would look something like Mousebane.\n\nLiza bent over to run a hand along the cat's mangy tail.\n\nBrock turned another page—sharply this time. \"Keeping Zed safe is a losing proposition. To coin a phrase, you can lead a horse from water, but you can't stop it from hurling itself off the next cliff.\"\n\nFel wrinkled her brow as if puzzling out his meaning. \"Humans do such... unusual things with language,\" she said.\n\n\"What can I say? I've got the soul of a poet.\"\n\n\"Sure you do,\" Liza grumbled. \"Trapped in a cursed gem under your bed, maybe.\"\n\nBrock watched as Mousebane's ears perked up; the cat's entire body went taut in response to some sound or movement across the yard. She took off like a bolt from Fel's bow, disappearing from his line of sight. \"Listen, you've said it a hundred times: Zed can take care of himself. And he can make his own decisions. His own terrible, utterly senseless decisions.\"\n\n\"Liza!\" someone shouted from an upstairs window.\n\n\"What!\" she shouted back.\n\n\"Have you seen my traveling cloak?\" It was Micah, leaning out dangerously far.\n\n\"I'm not going to have a shouted conversation with you from the yard, Micah!\" she yelled. Then she turned casually to Fel. \"What about you? Is Callum's decision to leave you behind final?\"\n\nFel nodded. \"It makes sense. We can't all go. And I... my presence...\" She looked lost for a moment, sad, and Brock realized he'd rarely seen the girl without a smile on her face. \"It's complicated.\" She flashed her smile again. \"But their plan is a good one. I'm happy to know I'll get home eventually.\"\n\nHome—Brock felt a little pang at that. It was easy to forget that, to some, Freestone wasn't synonymous with home. There was a whole other city out there, one he might never see for himself.\n\nEven under the circumstances, Zed must be beside himself with excitement to see Llethanyl. Was he thinking of it as a sort of homecoming?\n\nHe would come back, right?\n\n\"What is that?\" Liza said, peering down at the book.\n\n\"Ah, yes,\" Brock said. \"'Shambling Slime, the Ooze that Walks Like a Man.' Apparently its weaknesses include fire and sharp weapons. So I guess we have that in common.\"\n\n\"'Walks like a man'?\" Liza complained. \"Shouldn't it be 'walks like a person'?\"\n\n\"Really?\" Brock said. \"That's the part that disturbs you?\"\n\n\"Liza!\" Micah shouted as he entered the yard.\n\n\"What!\" she shouted back.\n\nFel took a small step away, her smile faltering again. She still wasn't used to the Guerra sibling dynamic. Possibly, elven siblings tended to be less outwardly murderous toward each other.\n\n\"Have you seen my traveling cloak?\" he asked again.\n\n\"No,\" she said.\n\nMicah growled. \"You couldn't have said that before I came all the way down here?\"\n\n\"First of all,\" Liza said, \"your cloak looks exactly the same as everybody else's! Second—\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" Brock said, a realization settling upon him a split second before it did Liza.\n\n\"Micah,\" she said darkly. \"Why do you need your traveling cloak?\"\n\nA self-satisfied smirk broke across Micah's face. That was what he'd wanted her to ask from the start.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next output: a little quoted text",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Didn't you hear?\" he said. \"Frond and the queen of the elves need a healer for their quest to liberate Lefanol. And I'm the best they've got.\"\n\nFel winced, presumably at his pronunciation of Llethanyl. Liza flinched, too, but Brock guessed it was for other reasons.\n\n\"You're also the only healer they've got,\" he said, hoping to lighten the mood.\n\nIt didn't work. \"You're on the mission?\" Liza demanded.\n\n\"Of course I'm on the mission,\" Micah said, smiling widely now. \"Brock, I tried to get you on the team, too. You know, in case we run into any locked doors?\" Here he drew his sleeves back and flexed his biceps. \"But Frond called these her 'skeleton keys.' Said they should be able to open just about anything.\"\n\nBrock and Liza rolled their eyes at the obvious lie, but Fel perked up. \"I knew Frond was kind. She keeps her heart warded, but carries within it the seeds to a magnificent tree.\"\n\nMicah faltered midflex. \"She what?\" he asked. Fel took a deep breath, preparing to launch into an explanation, but he spoke over her. \"No, you know what? Elves are weird, and I've got packing to do, and that's that.\" He winked at Liza and flicked his chin at Brock. \"Wish I could heal your bruised egos. But even I'm not that good.\"\n\nLiza stared after her brother in disbelief as he strutted back across the yard.\n\n\"Well, I think we'll all breathe a little easier these next few weeks,\" Brock said lightly. \"Assuming he remembers to pack his—\"\n\nIn a single fluid motion, Liza gripped the end of Brock's hammock and flipped it, dumping him out onto the ground. Then she leaned in and gripped the fabric of his shirt.\n\n\"You!\" she spat. \"Plan!\"\n\n\"—socks,\" Brock said.\n\n\"I want us on that mission, Brock,\" she stated, a vicious gleam in her eyes. \"Make it happen.\"\n\nShe stalked away, leaving Brock dazed upon the ground. Before he could gather his wits, Mousebane sauntered up, dropping a dead rat beside him.\n\nBrock recoiled, scooting swiftly away, and he brought his backside down on something squishy—the hot water bottle had fallen with him from the hammock, and now wetness saturated his pants as it burst beneath his weight.\n\n\"Perfect,\" he muttered.\n\nFel was practically bouncing in place. \"It's just so sweet!\" she said.\n\n\"Sweet?!\"\n\n\"It means she likes you, silly.\"\n\nShe patted Brock on the head and skipped off.\n\n\"You mean the cat, right?\" he called after her. \"You're talking about the cat?\"\n\nThey gathered for a funeral before dawn. The entire guild and all the elven rangers were there at the edge of the forest as the sky began to lighten by degrees above the endless trees and Broken Roads that stood between Freestone and Llethanyl.\n\nFor all the talk of the adventurers' steep mortality rate, none of Brock's guildmates had died since the Guildculling, and for that, he was grateful. But he was no stranger to funerals. His last remaining grandparent had passed peacefully in her sleep just a year ago, and Brock had held his mother's hand from the moment the funeral pyre was lit until the fire burned out and all that was left was ash.\n\nAn elven funeral, however, was an altogether different affair—and despite the cold, the elves showed no interest in rushing through the ritual, which involved a series of speeches that Brock, of course, couldn't understand. The hole, at least, had been prepared the night before; a rectangle of pure black against the white snow.\n\n\"I still can't believe they're going to bury him in the ground,\" Brock whispered to Jett. They stood apart with the rest of the adventurers, on guard for any threat from the woods. But Brock's eyes kept drifting over to the clutch of elves and the dark pit they encircled. \"It's too weird.\"\n\nThe dwarven boy nodded slightly. \"It's all weird, though. The things people do. You don't see it when you're steeped in it. But from the outside looking in...\" He rubbed his shaven chin, which was chafed pink in the cold. \"You know my people put the ashes of our dead into molten metal? We forge things with them. Weapons and shields. Boots, for all I know!\"\n\n\"I think I read that somewhere,\" Brock said. \"Not the boots part.\"\n\n\"I'm just guessin',\" said Jett. \"I'm a dwarf, but I'm also a Freestoner from birth. Sometimes the two things fit together, and sometimes they don't. I try not to judge any of it.\" He clucked his tongue sadly as four rangers brought forth a small pinewood box—the vessel that held the child elf's body. \"Shame about this boy, though. Do you know what happened?\"\n\n\"I heard he was sick,\" Brock answered. \"Born sick, and the voyage was too much of a strain. He never recovered.\" Brock looked from the box to the top of Freestone's wall, where the mourning women he'd first seen in the temple stood among a small group of elves—and a larger group of knights. Only the rangers, the queen, and her retinue had been allowed through the gates. Anyone else who wished to attend the funeral had to do so at a distance, and at swordpoint.\n\nThe sight hurt Brock's heart, but even at this remove he could see that the rage and the grief were gone from the women's faces. It was clear they found peace in the idea of burial, whatever Brock thought about it. Every elf in sight was a picture of tranquility, Fel included.\n\nZed, on the other hand, was a mess. Tears streamed freely down his face, and he pressed his lips together tightly to avoid making any sound. Brock wanted to go to him, to sidle up and whisper a joke, but Zed had positioned himself in a tight cluster of those chosen for the mission to Llethanyl. There was no way for Brock to reach him without making a commotion. Then Zed saw Brock looking, and hastily wiped the tears away.\n\nOne elf was doing most of the talking. Brock recognized him as Selby, one of the queen's two remaining ministers. As Brock had pieced it together, the ministers provided counsel to the queen. The position obviously held some sort of cultural significance, too, for Selby to be conducting this ceremony now. He wore an elaborate headdress of gleaming bronze, with projections radiating outward like a child's drawing of the rays of the sun. His voice was musical, rising and falling and rising again, and Brock felt for a moment as if he were drifting upon it, the way people in stories drifted on the sea, an expanse of water said to be so huge you couldn't see the end of it.\n\nThen there was a creaking of branches, and Brock's eyes cut back to the trees, his heart in his throat. It was just the wind. This time.\n\nHe focused his attention on the woods after that.\n\nEventually Selby's voice came to a halt, and Brock risked another glance at the funeral. Selby had opened a small window in the pinewood vessel's lid. He placed within it a wooden flute and a tarnished gray dagger.\n\n\"What is that about?\" whispered Brock.\n\n\"It's for the little lost one,\" Fel whispered in response. \"Now he will have what he needs on his return, whether it is a time of peace or... not.\"\n\nBrock couldn't help but think that, given the current circumstances, burying the dead with a weapon was an especially bad idea.\n\nAs the rangers who held the box slowly lowered their burden into the hole, Selby produced a sphere of bronze. It was about the size of a cannonball, but hollow. Brock could see clear through it where the bronze had been worked into elegant swirling patterns that left gaps in its surface. As the others took up spades and began shoveling icy dirt atop the coffin, the minister chanted, and smoke poured from the sphere in his hands. It drifted in the breeze, finding its way to Brock's nose.\n\n\"That's myrrh,\" Fel explained. \"It will keep this lost one safe, ensuring a peaceful slumber and warding off evil.\"\n\n\"Let's hope.\" Brock shuddered, turning his head to watch the forest again. The space between the trees was as dark and forbidding as that hole in the ground.\n\nJett's gaze was not on the forest, but on the wall at their backs, where the elven witnesses were being escorted away under heavy guard, leaving only a few remaining Stone Sons as sentries. \"Isn't this all a bit obvious?\" Jett said. \"As secret missions go, I mean.\"\n\nBrock considered the adventurers and the rangers gathering at the forest's edge. The queen herself was there, though dressed as a common ranger, longsword at her hip and longbow at her back, her hair in a tight plait. He'd been raised with stories about the warrior kings of Freestone's past, but the current reality of royal life in the human city kept the king and his family cloistered far from any danger. The elves clearly lived by a different philosophy. If he hadn't met the queen only days before, he never would have recognized her. Certainly not from the top of the wall.\n\n\"It's a good plan, actually,\" Brock conceded. \"A big party goes out, practically the entire guild, all at once—and then most of them come back the next day. Overnight excursions into the forest aren't that rare, and the knights aren't counting heads—especially with a funeral to distract them. So they'll never know a small party is still out there.\"\n\nA good plan, yes; but it would also be quite easy to sabotage, Brock knew. He'd even considered doing it: going to the king, telling him what Frond and Me'Shala had planned without his consent. The king had been quick to arrest Frond for her insubordination when the wards had been corrupted. It wasn't difficult to imagine the fury her current actions would incite. At the very least, the mission would be shut down, Frond reprimanded, and Zed kept safe.\n\nBut fury was like fire: easy to stoke and hard to control. The king might not be content with blaming Frond. The whole guild could be punished, and the elves, too. And Queen Me'Shala seemed the type to meet fury head-on. If the tension between the two royals bubbled over...\n\nMore suffering. That was all Brock could imagine as a result of stopping this mission now. And despite his misgivings—and he had serious misgivings—he didn't want to stop the mission, not really.\n\nIf there was even a chance the elves could take back their city, he wouldn't be the one to stand in their way.\n\nBrock noticed Liza glaring at him, but if that made him doubt his decision, the sight of Zed trembling with excitement squashed those doubts in an instant.\n\n\"Come on,\" Fel said. \"All that's left is to cover the coffin, and then we will be expected to return to the guildhall. It's time.\"\n\nShe led Brock and Jett to where the rest of their friends had gathered. Liza had turned her fierce gaze away from Brock to address Zed and Micah and Jayna. \"You three look out for one another, you understand? Whatever else you have to do, you need to have one another's backs.\"\n\nZed nodded solemnly, Micah picked at his teeth, and Jayna stepped forward, her eyes brimming with tears. \"We'll be okay,\" she said, smiling bravely.\n\n\"I know you will,\" Liza said, and she embraced the other girl. \"You guys are the best. And you're going to save Llethanyl.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "She pulled back, but kept her hands on Jayna's arms.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[[OOC: Somewhere in your response, you need to say: \"Zed, I'm sorry I haven't been around much. It's... complicated, and—\"]]",
"loss": false
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Think of how much magic you'll learn along the way!\"\n\nJayna's eyes cut over to Hexam, who was pawing through his supplies for one last check. With himself and Zed both potentially crucial to the mission, the archivist had insisted on bringing Jayna along as well. It seemed he put more stock in her magical education than she'd thought, and that revelation had been exciting enough to undercut her anxieties.\n\nThe wavering tears in her eyes were gone now, replaced with the spark of that excitement. She hugged Liza once more.\n\nBrock couldn't help being impressed. He'd initially resisted the idea of Liza as their leader, and now he wondered how he ever could have imagined it going another way. Liza didn't shoot mystical darts or heal with a touch, but it was obvious why the others looked up to her.\n\nEven Micah. She embraced him next, and though he affected annoyance, he leaned into it.\n\n\"I'll admit it, I'm jealous,\" Jett said to Zed. \"Do you know what I'd give to see a dwarven city?\"\n\nZed frowned. \"Yeah, but Llethanyl is overrun by the undead. Not quite how I've imagined it.\"\n\nJett shrugged as if it were a minor inconvenience. \"So waggle your fingers at 'em.\" He waggled his own. \"Set 'em ablaze. See the sights. Then you come back to us.\" He leveled his steely gaze at Zed, the one that made him seem taller than Brock, taller than Frond. \"You come back to us, Zed, all your parts intact. Do you hear me?\"\n\nZed's ears flushed pink in the dawn light, and he smiled. \"I promise.\"\n\n\"Good,\" Jett said, the hardness gone from his eyes in a blink. \"And bring us back some elven sweets, or we won't be opening that door for your half-lazy half butt, you hear me?\"\n\nZed giggled, and the sound of it broke Brock's heart a little. He hadn't heard his friend laugh like that in some time. But he couldn't say whether that was because Zed hadn't been laughing, or if Brock simply hadn't been around to hear it.\n\n\"I'll miss you,\" he said, pulling his friend into a hug. The fox charm Zed wore beneath his shirt felt sharp, but he didn't pull away.\n\n\"Are you sure you'll even notice I'm gone?\" Zed said.\n\nNow Brock pulled away.\n\nThe dawn was making slow progress, and with Zed's back to the forest, Brock couldn't make out his expression.\n\n\"Zed, I'm sorry I haven't been around much. It's... complicated, and—\"\n\n\"I'm teasing, Brock,\" Zed said. He slapped his friend's shoulder. \"I just mean I'll be back before you know it. I won't even need to 'waggle my fingers' once I get the hang of this.\" Smiling, he held up the jeweled rod he'd been carrying around almost nonstop since their night in Halfling's Hollow.\n\nBrock felt a new worry bloom in his chest. \"Zed, that thing isn't... like the staff you used that time, is it?\"\n\nThe smile dropped from Zed's face. \"What do you mean?\" he asked.\n\n\"You know,\" Brock said, lowering his voice. \"It's not... tainted? Not dark magic, right?\"\n\nZed's eyes went stony. \"It's just an implement, Brock. It's no more tainted than the mage who uses it.\"\n\n\"Oh. That's—that's good.\"\n\n\"I thought it didn't matter,\" he said, his voice straining a little. \"I thought you didn't care, that Hexam was right, that magic was magic.\"\n\n\"I don't care,\" Brock said, looking around cagily. Jett had taken a step back, retreating from the argument, but they were well within earshot of a dozen adventurers. \"I don't,\" Brock repeated, whispering. \"It's just that some people would.\"\n\n\"What are you trying to say? Just say it!\" Zed's voice cracked, and Brock knew for certain they had an audience now.\n\nAnd isn't this typical, he thought bitterly. The Lady Gray had Brock tied around her pinky because of Zed's mistakes. And Zed was mad at him?\n\n\"I'm just saying don't be reckless out there,\" Brock said, grinding his molars to keep his voice down, to force the appearance of calm. It made his words come out sharp. \"There are people here who care about you, who worry.\"\n\n\"Well, if you see any of those people, tell them I'm just fine,\" Zed snapped. \"Tell them I know how to take care of myself.\" He turned and walked away, stomping into the throng of guildmates.\n\nThe worry in Brock's chest flared white-hot, consumed by anger. Zed was the last person he expected to talk to him that way. The last person who had a right to.\n\nThrough the haze of his anger, he was dimly aware of the good-byes all around him. He swept the crowd, unseeing, until his eyes landed on Frond.\n\nThe guildmistress was leaving final instructions with Lotte. She showed no emotion whatsoever, all flint and steel against the backdrop of the chattering, anxious guild around her. She, and the austere queen beside her, seemed to be the only ones who registered the true gravity of this mission.\n\nIt wasn't an exciting opportunity to see a foreign city. Or an expedition into the unknown.\n\nThey had one real purpose: to kill the creature that had taken Llethanyl.\n\nIt was an assassination. Frond was the killer, and Zed was her weapon.\n\nThe Broken Roads from Freestone to Llethanyl were just that: wide avenues of cracked stone bricks, now smuggled by green fingers of ivy beneath a cloak of frost.\n\nZed and the small party had woken early that morning, after a tense night of camp. The rangers had stood guard in shifts, allowing the main party as much rest as they could claim from the cold.\n\nBut Zed had slept fitfully. His dreams troubled him.\n\nHe dreamed he was kneeling in a smoke-filled forest, tugging desperately at the mythril chain around his neck. The chain had become molten and hot, and though Zed scrabbled to pull it off, his worrying fingers couldn't find the clasp. It had melted away. In his nightmare, the edges of his fox charm were blackened and burned, smoldering with eerie green embers.\n\nThen, at the very end of the dream, he'd discovered that he was being watched.\n\nA ghostly figure observed his struggle from the edge of the trees, an animal that was just barely visible against the haze that surrounded them both.\n\nIt was a fox. Zed realized it with the eerie certainty that sometimes came in dreams, before he'd even gotten a good look at its bushy tail. The fox, too, burned. Its slitted eyes flickered with the same ghastly green light that wreathed Zed's throat.\n\nThose eyes stayed with Zed long after he'd jolted awake. He slept uneasily the rest of the night.\n\nMicah's snoring had not helped in that regard.\n\n\"Your bunkmate,\" Callum said now to Zed, drawing him out of his thoughts and back to the hike. \"Is he always such an... enthusiastic sleeper?\"\n\n\"It's worse when the air is dry,\" Zed lamented. \"Or when he sleeps on his back. Sometimes when he's eaten a lot. And on Luxdays, weirdly.\"\n\nZed couldn't tell whether the elf's expression flashed with amusement or pity.\n\nTheir team was treading carefully along the trail. Even knowing the plan required it, their party still looked too small to save a city. When the rest of the elves and adventurers had split off, Zed's stomach quailed at the sight of the scant company left behind.\n\nFrond had wanted to minimize their possible losses, but when Queen Me'Shala and her two remaining ministers insisted on joining, she didn't put up much of a fight. Besides these retainers, the queen was flanked by her two sword sisters, and a team of elite rangers scouted their path.\n\nOf the elves, only Callum seemed willing to part from the queen. Zed had been surprised when the High Ranger fell into step beside him, but he was glad for his presence. Callum watched their surroundings like a bird of prey.\n\n\"There aren't any night elves on the mission,\" Zed said quietly, hoping only Callum could hear him. When he glanced to the others, Zed found Threya was scowling, but scowling seemed to be the minister's resting state.\n\nCallum nodded slowly, keeping his gaze on the trees. \"As the queen said, there is mistrust among our kind. And the Lich himself is dro'shea.\"\n\nZed frowned. \"But there are night elf rangers. Fel, for one.\"\n\n\"Felasege is young,\" Callum said.\n\n\"Well, then prepare to have your world turned upside down, because\"—Zed passed a hand over his face, lifting an imaginary curtain—\"I'm young,\" he revealed.\n\nThe High Ranger's eyes flicked down at him. They were back on the forest just as quickly. \"Yes,\" he said. \"You are. And bringing you was Frond's decision to make.\"\n\nCallum looked thoughtful for a moment. When he slowly exhaled, the pensiveness went with it, a doubt resolving into mist. \"The night elves who survived the Day of Dangers were all captives,\" he murmured. \"Prisoners of a long and brutal war. Eventually, their descendants were freed, but it took nearly two centuries for all elves to be declared equal in Llethanyl. Two hundred years of lawful oppression.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" Zed breathed. \"Fel never mentioned.\"\n\n\"It's not a happy subject for her.\" Callum shook his head. \"And as you've seen, declarations of equality mean only so much. Some say the ancient night elves lived in darkness and worshipped death, a concept our culture doesn't officially believe in.\"\n\nZed frowned. \"Didn't we just attend a funeral?\"\n\nCallum nodded slowly. \"It was more of a... farewell. According to our sagas, the elves were once immortal, with fathomless life spans spent in quiet contemplation. Wood and sun elf traditions claim that druids still guard the secrets to our endless life. Thus our 'dead' are merely lost, until we prove ourselves worthy of eternity again.\"\n\nZed stared at the long path ahead, tracking it into the horizon. He thought of the elven shrine he'd discovered several weeks ago, the druids inside all collected in a hill of bones.\n\n\"But we'll never truly know what the night elves believed about death,\" the High Ranger continued.",
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"value": "\"Their old traditions are gone now.\"",
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"value": "\"Gone?\" Zed asked.\n\n\"Erased. The surviving dro'shea were converted to our sagas.\" The ranger paused. His cheeks colored in what might have been shame. \"Many of the dro'shea are angry at the theft of their culture. They're right to be. The night elves lived in a small, isolated district. As rangers, Fel's parents fought for a city that might one day be worthy of their daughter. I, too, wish for such a city. She's a good elf, and she deserves a better world. But for that dream to be realized, there must still be a Llethanyl. And a Fel.\"\n\n\"A good elf,\" Zed mumbled. \"You said the same thing about my father once.\"\n\nBehind them, Jayna shrieked as Micah stuffed a clod of frozen earth down the back of her cloak. Zed grunted in annoyance. He glanced back upward, hoping Callum would continue the thread, but the elf's attention had drifted.\n\n\"I'd always thought healers were a compassionate sort,\" the High Ranger said mildly. His eyes stayed focused on something far away.\n\nZed snorted. \"The nicest thing Micah's ever done is fart downwind of me. Once.\"\n\nCallum laughed, an extraordinary sound, and Zed found himself grinning as well. Then Frond barked for quiet, and the group fell again into silence.\n\nThey paused for lunch beside a jumble of enormous gray rocks dusted by flecks of snow. As far as Zed was concerned, the whole configuration looked unnervingly like King Freestone, and he privately dubbed the spot the Kingrock.\n\nHe wondered if King Freestone had discovered the queen's disappearance yet. Not that he could stop them at this point.\n\nWhile Zed and the others watched the trail, Me'Shala's two sword sisters swept the Kingrock for Dangers. Both were wood elves, though that was where their similarities ended. One was tall and reedy, her tawny skin almost green against the pallid white of their surroundings. She moved in sharp, precise jabs.\n\nThe other was stocky—or at least as stocky as elves got—and there was no other way to describe her complexion but pink. She always seemed to be smiling serenely. Once, she'd winked at Zed when she caught him staring.\n\nZed hadn't learned their names yet. They didn't appear to speak the trade tongue at all, and Callum had warned him to steer clear while they guarded the queen. For now he just thought of them as Thorn and Petal.\n\nAfter a few moments of searching, Thorn caught sight of something hidden within the rocks. She stabbed her longsword into a crevasse, then revealed a diminutive Danger impaled on the blade.\n\nIt appeared to be a strange cross between a clock and a bird. Four levered mechanical arms scrabbled at the sword, while a pair of colorful wings beat futilely against the air. The creature had no head to speak of, though a single large eye spun wildly inside its brass abdomen.\n\n\"I believe that's a cherubet,\" Hexam called. \"Lux origin. They're among the weakest class of celestials. Perfectly harmless.\"\n\nThorn bashed it against the stone anyway. After a mechanical-sounding crunch, the cherubet went still.\n\nWhen the Kingrock was finally deemed safe, the party sat down to lunch. Though they'd been walking for hours, Zed found his feet didn't yet hurt. Which was only a relief until he wiggled his toes and discovered he couldn't feel them at all.\n\nAfter Frond passed around their lunchtime rations—twice-baked bread that had been soaked in oil, and two small morsels of cheese—Zed removed his boots. He held a cupped hand just in front of his feet and called forth a small gulp of mana.\n\nAbove his hand, a fork of green fire untwined. Zed warmed his toes like this for a while, careful not to let the flame touch his socks.\n\n\"No magic,\" Frond finally ordered. She gnawed at her loaf, ripping a piece away in a manner that reminded Zed of dogs destroying upholstery. \"Sarve wur marna,\" she added, her half-chewed food on full display.\n\nZed sighed, quashing his marna and the warmth with it.\n\nThe queen, her ministers, and the sword sisters all sat in a separate group from the adventurers, closing themselves off into a forbidding circle. The rangers hung around more loosely, their eyes ever on the trees.\n\n\"Perhaps we could sing to pass the time,\" Jayna suggested between nibbles of cheese. \"Adventurers enjoy... bawdy stories, right? Fife certainly knows plenty. In the Silverglows, I once heard a very naughty song about an apprentice who accidentally sends her instructor's robes billowing up during—\"\n\n\"No singing, either,\" Frond said.\n\nSo they ate in silence. Or as close to silence as Frond's chewing allowed. Zed couldn't help but notice Selby, the queen's minister, start a small fire in the center of their circle with a flick of magic.\n\nZed only repressed another woeful sigh by imagining Frond's voice barking, No sighing!\n\nDear Brock, I'm sorry.\n\nZed crossed out the line with a grunt.\n\nDear Brock, he wrote. I'm scared.\n\nHe dipped a small wooden pencil into a phial of ink. Technically, the writing tools were supposed to be for his lessons with Hexam, but since Zed didn't record the same magical formulas Jayna did, he decided he'd put them to more practical use.\n\nWell, if you see any of those people, tell them I'm just fine.\n\nZed grimaced, remembering his last harsh words to Brock. In truth, he wasn't fine at all. The weight of the task he'd undertaken lay heavily across his shoulders. After several more hours of trudging—so much trudging!—the group had stopped again to take a brief rest.\n\nBut Zed's mind was whirring.\n\nWhy, with everything that was happening, had he ever agreed to this? Kill the Lich? Him? Zed could only barely control the green fire he summoned. Worse yet, he'd lied about its origin.\n\nA whole city full of elves relied on his mastery of sorcery, but Zed knew the truth. The fire Makiva had given him was something else entirely. Something darker. Brock had been right all along.\n\nI should probably start at the beginning, Zed wrote, when things first went wrong.\n\n\"Ah, there you are!\"\n\nZed glanced up to find Selby, Queen Me'Shala's minister, grinning over him.\n\n\"Oh!\" Zed cried. He quickly folded the note in half, then leaped to his feet. \"Um. Wow. Hello!\"\n\n\"Continuing your studies even in the midst of our journey?\" the minister said. He flashed a handsome elven smile. \"That's wonderful to see. Your industriousness does you credit.\"\n\n\"Th-thank you!\" Zed replied far too loudly.\n\n\"It must be difficult to be a sorcerer among humans,\" Selby said. \"I suppose they don't quite know what to do with you. Sorcery is more common among our people, you know. There are few families who don't have one or two examples.\"\n\n\"Are you one, Messere—I mean, Lord...? Um. What should I call you?\"\n\n\"Call me Selby,\" the elf said with a wink. \"You might have noticed, but I'm less formal than my fellow minister. To her endless annoyance.\" Selby shrugged sheepishly. \"As to your question, no, I wasn't blessed with natural magic. I did have an aunt who could conjure cold when she was feeling depressed. She made these delicious chilled drinks, but it took a toll on her mental health.\"\n\nThe minister began rummaging through a satchel at his side covered in luscious white fur. \"Every sorcerer is different, however, even within bloodlines permeated by magic. It makes you hard to teach, but... ah!\"\n\nSelby retrieved something from the bag. It was a small, beautiful book. The leather that bound it was pure white, and its latch was made of glittering mythril. The minister held the book out, but it took Zed a few stunned moments to realize that he was meant to take it.\n\nHe retrieved the tome with shaking hands. \"What is it?\" he asked.\n\n\"A codex of arcane exercises for sorcerers, developed over generations. It's been translated into the humans' trade tongue, don't worry. Queen Me'Shala thought perhaps it could be useful.\"\n\nZed pressed the book to his chest. The world spun around him. \"You'd really give this to me?\"\n\n\"It's a small thing,\" Selby said, \"compared to the incredible risk you're undertaking.\"\n\n\"Oh, it's... I mean—\"\n\n\"Now, don't be modest,\" the minister said with a smile. \"We all know how dangerous the mission is. Why, the undead could be watching us this very moment. You'll need every tool at your disposal.\"\n\nZed nodded slowly, his elation giving way to dread once more. He caught a strange scent on the air, clinging to Selby's clothes. It was sweet—almost edible smelling—but also had a gamy quality, like leather. Then he remembered: Fel had called it myrrh.\n\n\"That was a beautiful ceremony you gave,\" Zed ventured. \"For the babe.\"\n\nSelby chuckled bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. \"Thank you, but if I'm being perfectly honest, Zed, I felt a bit ridiculous. I'm glad it brought the mother some comfort—truly—but from my vantage point, I could see the expressions on your Stone Sons' faces. They weren't comforted.\"\n\nZed frowned. \"Aren't those traditions important to you, though?\"\n\n\"Oh, certainly, to many of us,\" Selby said. \"But tradition can also be a yoke. I encourage Queen Me'Shala to be more... forward-thinking. So many elves are obsessed with the druids bringing us back our immortality.\" He held out his arms, waving across the fallow landscape. \"If the druids had really held such power, don't you think they would have used it well before they were wiped out?\"\n\n\"It's a nice idea, though,\" Zed said softly. \"That our loved ones could return to us.\"\n\nSelby opened his mouth, then paused. He nodded, smiling wistfully. \"Yes,\" he said. \"It certainly is.\" The elf patted Zed on the shoulder. \"Happy reading.\"\n\nAs the minister crunched through the frost heading back to the elves, Zed turned the sorcerous codex over in his hands.\n\nOn the back cover, a tree had been imprinted into the leather, wreathed by a flock of birds.\n\nBrock was fretting and pacing before the wall of mounted monster trophies when Syd and Fife returned late in the day.\n\nIt had been unusually—and uncomfortably—quiet in the guildhall since the mission to liberate Llethanyl had begun the day before.",
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"value": "Lotte had insisted on business as usual for the remaining apprentices, and she pushed them hard through the regular battery of sparring and drills.",
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"value": "But even she could keep them occupied for only so many hours in a day, and with the packed-to-bursting building suddenly all but empty, those left behind found themselves with time to burn.\n\nBrock spent that time revisiting old conversations and wondering what he might have done differently. And not just the conversations with Zed. The Lady Gray had charged him with stealing from the queen's own treasury, and he was unlikely to have a better opportunity than would have been provided by a quest to Llethanyl itself. He didn't look forward to facing her disappointment at the fact he'd been excluded from that quest.\n\nOn the other hand—what if Zed pulled it off? What if he returned as the hero who single-handedly stopped the greatest threat to Terryn in two hundred years? Zed wouldn't need Brock's protection then. What harm could the Lady's accusations of forbidden magic do to a hero of two cities?\n\nThese were the thoughts occupying Brock's mind when Syd poked his head into the guildhall basement. Only a few years older than Brock, Syd and his best friend, Fife, were among the more sociable members of the guild. They'd left with Frond and the others the previous morning, as part of the larger decoy party, and weren't due back for another day or two.\n\n\"You're the one who isn't squeamish, right?\" Syd asked. He wore both a helmet with three horns and a perpetually sleepy expression. \"I could use your help.\"\n\nBrock followed the older boy back to Hexam's work chamber, a subterranean room, warded with cold, where the man performed his most important duties as archivist, stripping valuable organs and fluids from the monsters defeated beyond the wall. Evidence of his grim harvest was preserved in jars and vials all around the room. Evidence of Fife's weak stomach had been splashed against the far corner.\n\n\"I'll... just get a mop, shall I?\" Fife said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand on his way out.\n\n\"It attacked us after Frond's party split off. They had me and Fife drag it back so it wouldn't spoil, while the rest of them flush out this one's nest,\" Syd explained, seemingly unconcerned with his friend's departure. In truth, Brock himself found it difficult to focus on anything but the table at the center of the room, shrouded as it was with a heavy white sheet. Whatever lay beneath that sheet was vaguely humanoid... but just vaguely. \"I've been working with Hexam,\" Syd added. \"Not the mage stuff, but the monster stuff. He asked me to fill in while he's away. Starting with this.\"\n\nSyd drew back the sheet, revealing a beast that appeared as much salamander and insect as human. Its flesh was waxy and wet but covered in large patches of hard shell like natural plate mail. Its humanoid chest ended in a long plated abdomen, hanging from which were a half-dozen segmented insect legs. Its two dead eyes were affixed to the ends of long stalks, and its toothless mouth hung open like a craggy gash between razor-sharp plates of exoskeleton.\n\n\"Gross,\" Brock said.\n\n\"Yeah, that's what they all say,\" Syd responded. \"But you should see what Lotte can do with locustrix chitin.\"\n\n\"Locustrix?\" Brock said. \"I read about it in...\" He gestured at the empty platform that usually held Hexam's monster book. \"Oh. Do you need the book?\"\n\nSyd nodded. \"Probably. I need to get the plates off without breaking anything. And I'm not sure if the eyes have any use....\"\n\n\"I'll get it,\" Brock said, and he stepped into the relative warmth of the hallway, leaving the door to Hexam's workroom ajar. Rather than heading immediately upstairs, he snuck a peek back inside the room. Syd was lining up the tools he would need for the autopsy, as if the hulking beast laid out before him were no more intimidating than a jigsaw puzzle.\n\nHow long had Syd been working with Hexam?\n\nAnd when had the guild's smuggling problems begun...?\n\nBrock shook his head. Now wasn't the time. Even if there was a smuggler still at work, they all had a common enemy in the Lich. Everything else could wait until word came back that Llethanyl was free, the elves were saved, and Zed was returning to Freestone a hero to two peoples.\n\nHe hurried down the hall, past the trophies, and up the stairs. Liza was in the dining room, carving up the central table with a dull cutlery knife, seemingly lost in thought.\n\n\"Syd and Fife are back early,\" Brock said.\n\n\"Great,\" she said absently.\n\nHe turned to continue up the stairs to his bedroom, but she called him back.\n\n\"Brock, listen. I thought you might want to talk.\"\n\n\"Yeah, okay,\" he said, stepping fully into the room.\n\n\"Great,\" she said. Then she sat there in silence, looking at him.\n\n\"Uh, go ahead?\" Brock said.\n\n\"I mean I thought you might want to talk about your feelings.\"\n\n\"My feelings?\" Brock said, cringing. \"I thought you were going to apologize.\"\n\n\"Apologize?\" Liza said. \"To who? To you?\"\n\nBrock took a step back. \"I'm... thinking... no?\"\n\n\"Exactly what should I apologize for?\"\n\n\"I just... nothing, but... out in the yard, the other day? You can be a little, you know, intense....\"\n\nLiza's expression darkened, and the words failed Brock. They just evaporated beneath the heat of her regard, leaving him wondering what he ever thought he might have to say on the subject, or any subject, ever. Were there words he could speak now that wouldn't lead to him getting clobbered?\n\nA plaintive meow sounded in the silence of the dining hall.\n\nBrock smiled. \"Oh, the cat!\" he said. \"I love the cat. Don't you?\"\n\nLiza scowled.\n\n\"Here, cat!\" he cried, taking another step into the room.\n\nThere was a scuffling sound from beneath a far table, then the pattering of feet, and Mousebane appeared. In her mouth she held another rat, lifeless and bloody.\n\n\"Gross! Ugh, where is she finding those things?\" Brock said.\n\nAnd then, with a sudden seizure of movement, the rat writhed free from the cat's jaws. It fell to the ground with a wet red plop.\n\nMousebane hissed at the mangled rat.\n\nAnd the rat hissed back.\n\n\"How is it still alive?\" Brock asked in horror.\n\nLiza's grip on her butter knife tightened. \"Brock,\" she said, so calmly it gave him chills. \"Listen... I need you to step back now, very slowly....\"\n\n\"What?\" Brock asked. \"Why? I don't—\"\n\nShe shoved him aside with a firm hand to his chest, and with her other hand lobbed the knife across the room. It flew true, finding its mark, sinking into the rat's side. Brock figured it must have cut right through the animal's heart and lungs and many other organs, too.\n\nIt remained on its feet. It fixed Liza with its eyes, flashing strangely purple in the low light, and it skittered forward, the knife still lodged in its side.\n\nBrock screamed. He pulled Liza back with him, retreating as the rat advanced.\n\n\"It's little,\" she said. \"It can't hurt us, right?\"\n\n\"I don't know!\" he shouted, tipping over chairs, trying to block its path however he could. \"Let's just not ever touch it or look at it ever again!\"\n\nThe door to the training yard burst open, and the door to the kitchen, Lotte and Jett and Fel all rushing into the room. \"What in Fie is happening?\" Lotte demanded.\n\n\"Undead rat!\" Liza cried, pointing. \"Undead rat!\"\n\nJett and Fel both stopped short, but Lotte darted forward, grabbing the warhammer from Jett's hands and making a tremendous overhead swing.\n\nBrock's view was blocked by furniture, but he heard the splat.\n\n\"Dead rat,\" Lotte said, handing back the hammer. Jett grimaced at the mess on it.\n\nThere was a loud creak from the floorboards upstairs.\n\n\"Who else is here?\" Lotte asked sharply. \"Is the decoy party back already?\"\n\n\"Just Syd and Fife,\" Brock said. \"But I think they're downstairs.\"\n\nLotte nodded grimly. \"Of course. An undead rat isn't much of a threat, but it's a great distraction.\"\n\n\"To distract us from what, exactly?\" Liza asked.\n\n\"If Hexam were here, he'd have a theory,\" Lotte said. \"All I have is a bad feeling in my gut and a burning desire to stab somebody. Follow me. Stay close.\"\n\nThey crept upstairs, Lotte at the head with her sword drawn, Jett bringing up the rear with his hammer. Fel nocked an arrow in her bow; the two of them must have been training in the yard. Brock's only weapon was a spoon he didn't remember grabbing. The hallway was lined with doors, and they checked behind each one, making as little noise as possible. Lotte blocked each doorway in turn while Fel readied an arrow over the quartermaster's shoulder. One after the other, the dorm rooms proved empty.\n\nThey were running out of doors when they heard a shuffling sound.\n\n\"They're two doors down,\" Lotte whispered. \"Fel, with me. The rest of you, hang back. Don't let anyone past you.\"\n\nLotte and Fel crept to the closed door. Brock's stomach clenched with anticipation, and he took a step away from Jett. He didn't want to be in the dwarf's way if he needed to swing that hammer.\n\nLotte kicked the door open and dashed inside, shouting a battle cry—which abruptly cut off.\n\nFel lowered her bow. \"It's just Fife,\" she said.\n\nBrock and Jett exchanged a look, chuckling with momentary relief. And then a door exploded at their backs.\n\nBrock stumbled forward, and Jett flew back. He turned in time to see the dwarf was stuck in the grip of some monstrous claw.",
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"value": "It had clamped around his arm and an instant later had pulled him into the darkness beyond the shattered door.",
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"value": "\"Jett!\" Liza bellowed, and she took up his fallen hammer and followed him. Brock scrabbled after her, only fully regaining his feet in time to step over the broken door frame.\n\nInside was the creature Brock had seen downstairs. It had been dead then, he was sure of it—but here it was, standing on its eight segmented insectoid legs, gnashing its jagged maw and holding Jett aloft in one clawed hand. The dwarf battered it about the head with his free hand and kicked at its body with his dangling foot, but it seemed totally unconcerned with him, turning its tentacle-like eye stalks upon the new arrivals.\n\nLike the rat's, its eyes glowed purple.\n\nThe air whizzed all about Brock's head, and he and Liza instinctively ducked aside as Fel peppered the beast with arrows, one after another. Where arrows struck chitin, they bounced harmlessly away. Where they struck flesh, their effect was equally harmless; the creature had no reaction to its skin being pierced, and soon, Fel had no more arrows.\n\nLiza swung Jett's hammer, and that got a reaction; the locustrix skittered sideways, out of the hammer's range. But Liza had put all her weight into the swing, and she couldn't change her trajectory now. The hammer slammed into empty ground, shattering floorboards and leaving the girl open to a sweeping backhanded blow. Liza went flying, smashed into the wall, and crumpled to the ground.\n\nBrock cast about the cramped room for a weapon. The only object within reach was a silvery sphere set against the wall. He took it, intending to lob it at their adversary, when suddenly Lotte came charging into the room, rushing past him and severing the arm that held Jett with a single overhead swing of her sword. Brock lunged forward to break Jett's fall. Black blood oozed from the monster's severed limb, and when it opened its maw, Brock thought it must be about to scream—it must have finally felt that attack.\n\nBut it hadn't opened its mouth to scream. Brock watched in horror as the beast's black gullet crackled with purple lightning.\n\nIt was casting a spell, and he was helpless to stop it.\n\nLightning arced from the creature's mouth, a brilliant flash of brutal light that Brock knew would end them. Before he could blink, however, the bolt of purple had struck—not him, not Jett, but the silver orb he'd forgotten he still held.\n\nThe orb flared white, the unfamiliar sigils on its surface glowing for an instant before a sharp crack sounded and the sphere broke down the middle. The two halves fell from Brock's hand as he blinked furiously to clear his vision.\n\n\"Get back!\" Jett said, and he pushed Brock out of the path of Lotte's sword. In those horrible, endless seconds in which the locustrix had turned its attention on them, the quartermaster had wound up for another blow, and this time aimed her blade at the thin segmented legs on which it stood. The locustrix collapsed, its legs sliced out from under it, and Lotte bore down, hacking away ferociously until the creature was still at last. Then she hacked away some more.\n\n\"It's dead, Lotte,\" Jett said gently.\n\n\"Yes, it is,\" she said. \"That's what worries me.\"\n\nShe drove the sword through its now-limbless torso, pinning it to the ground.\n\nThe monster had blindsided Syd; they found him on the floor of the warded room, cold to the touch, concussed but alive. From there, the creature had crept upstairs. That was where Fife had stumbled upon it. When he'd barricaded himself away from it, he'd unwittingly become the bait for the creature's ambush of Jett.\n\n\"But what was it doing up there?\" Liza asked, rubbing the swollen knot on her forehead.\n\nAfter retrieving Syd, they returned upstairs, to the room the thing had burst from when it had attacked. It was Hexam's room, and Brock's heart sank at the realization. The archivist's personal effects had been smashed to bits in the skirmish. The floor was a mess of splintered wood, shards of bone, and the strange glasslike material of shattered magelight spheres.\n\nThe only item remaining on his desk was a map. It showed the route to Llethanyl, the very path Zed was walking at this moment. Every wayshelter was clearly marked, as was the precise entrance Frond had targeted.\n\n\"Uh,\" said Jett. \"It wasn't... looking at this map, was it?\"\n\nSyd shook his head. \"It's got to be a coincidence. These things are just dumb animals. I was there when they killed it.\" He scratched his chin, considering the mutilated corpse nearby. \"The first time, I mean.\"\n\n\"There was something in its eyes,\" Liza said. \"Some intelligence. It looked at me like it knew me. Like it hated me.\"\n\n\"You're right,\" Brock said. \"It does sound intelligent.\"\n\nShe glared at him, black blood in her hair. \"You really just can't help yourself, can you?\"\n\n\"And you're sure it was dead, Syd?\" Lotte asked.\n\n\"Definitely. We carried it back the whole way, and it never stirred.\"\n\n\"Not even when we dropped it once or twice,\" Fife added.\n\n\"Somehow we only ever seemed to drop the end Fife was holding,\" said Syd.\n\nLotte clamped her hand over her eyes. \"We all know what this means, don't we? I don't want it to be true, but there's no other explanation.\"\n\n\"Its eyes were purple,\" Liza said. \"Like the raccoon we saw. The one they all said was under the Lich's sway.\"\n\n\"But the Lich is in Llethanyl,\" Jett said. \"How... how can his power possibly reach all the way here?\"\n\n\"Again, Hexam would have a theory,\" Lotte answered. \"But Hexam isn't here.\"\n\n\"No, Hexam is here,\" Brock said, stabbing the map with his finger. The very map the Danger had apparently been poring over. \"Can the Lich see through that thing's eyes? If it can, then it knows Frond and the others are coming. It knows the exact route they're taking into the city!\"\n\n\"Oh. That's bad,\" Syd said.\n\n\"Pretty bad, yeah!\" said Brock. \"We have to go after them. We have to warn them!\"\n\n\"I agree,\" Lotte said. \"But our first duty is to Freestone. Ser Brent has to know that anyone—anything that dies can be corrupted, even on this side of the wards.\"\n\n\"No!\" Fel said sharply. She'd been so quiet, Brock had forgotten she was there. He turned to see her standing in the corner, cradling Mousebane to her chest. She seemed to shrink a little bit at the sudden attention.\n\n\"No?\" Lotte echoed.\n\n\"I mean...\" Fel faltered. She bit her lip. \"I mean, maybe we shouldn't tell him?\"\n\n\"You're afraid he'll take it out on the refugees,\" Liza said, and Fel nodded.\n\n\"I'm sympathetic,\" Lotte said. \"But it would be irresponsible to keep this to ourselves.\"\n\n\"It would be irresponsible to start a panic over this,\" Jett argued. \"People could get hurt.\"\n\n\"Or killed,\" Liza put in. \"And then we're in real trouble.\"\n\n\"You could tell Father Pollux,\" Brock said. \"He's trustworthy, I think. And if anyone... passes away, it's likely to happen in the temple, isn't it?\"\n\nLotte narrowed her eyes. She looked from one apprentice to the next. \"All right.\" She sighed. \"I'll talk to Pollux, then at daybreak I'll go after Frond.\"\n\n\"We'll be packed and ready by the time you're back from the temple,\" Liza said.\n\n\"You...?\" Lotte said. \"You won't be coming.\"\n\n\"Yes, we will!\" Liza countered. \"It's against the rules to go out alone—\"\n\n\"You'll need help—\" Brock began.\n\n\"Made the journey once—\" said Fel.\n\n\"Plenty of other Dangers—\" Jett started.\n\n\"Happy to stay here and watch the guildhall!\" said Fife.\n\nThe apprentices turned to glare at him.\n\nFife shrugged. \"What? Someone will need to be here to cover for you. And I'm pretty sure my best friend has a concussion.\"\n\nHe hooked his thumb toward Syd, who appeared dazed and unsteady as he slumped against the wall.\n\n\"Well, Frond's certainly raised a willful batch this time, hasn't she?\" Lotte said humorlessly. \"Fine. You,\" she said, pointing at Fife, \"will hold down the fort and stall anyone who comes looking for us. I'll take Syd to the healers, which will provide me an opportunity to talk to our Luminous Father while, as a bonus, making sure Syd isn't permanently broken. The rest of you—be ready to go at dawn, or else you stay behind.\" She swept her eyes over the group. \"And you'll do as I say, without question, starting now.\"\n\n\"Understood,\" Liza said, nodding sharply.\n\n\"We will catch up to Frond, warn her that the plan is compromised, and then come right back,\" Lotte continued. \"Which means we'll be moving fast over hard terrain. So get some rest once you're packed.\" She directed Fife to help her walk Syd from the room, leaving Brock, Fel, Liza, and Jett alone with the fallen, mauled Danger.\n\n\"She expects us to be able to sleep?\" Jett said, eyeing the corpse. \"Up here?\"\n\n\"Not me,\" Brock said. \"I'm going out, too. I'll be back before dawn.\"\n\nLiza sat heavily on the shattered desk. \"Don't you think you should at least try to sleep? Tomorrow's not going to be easy.\"\n\n\"I'll sleep when I'm dead.\" He shuddered on his way out the door, casting a final look at the beast that was still pinned to the floor. \"And maybe not even then.\"\n\n\"Tell me more about the elves,\" Zed said.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Their party was on the move again, marching through the frost.",
"loss": true
},
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Zed had tried to keep quiet. Fie, he'd even managed it for a while. But the cold had wormed its way into his bones like some invasive Danger. He needed a distraction from his misery—and the thoughts of home, and his mother, and the other warm things he'd left behind.\n\nCallum didn't seem to mind the question, at least. \"What would you like to know?\"\n\nZed couldn't quite believe the opportunity. Outside of Fel, none of the elves had ever asked him this. It was like King Freestone had told Zed he could take anything he wanted from the castle treasury.\n\n\"Everything!\" Zed demanded.\n\nCallum chuckled. \"Then perhaps we'll begin our discussion of everything with Llethanyl itself.\"\n\nZed nodded enthusiastically.\n\n\"The city is\"—Callum looked thoughtful—\"tall.\"\n\n\"I'm going to need more than that,\" Zed muttered.\n\n\"I mean that it's exaggerated. A legend that is more embellished with every telling. To hear some elves describe it, you'd think the place had burst fully formed from the ground in a great act of magic.\"\n\n\"So it... didn't, then?\"\n\nCallum shook his head. \"No matter how grand it becomes, a city is just a place where people come together to build their lives. In that way, it's made by many little acts of magic, I suppose. For the elves, Llethanyl is a place to return to. It gets its name from a common elven exchange. The greeter says, lleth elan, or 'Welcome home.' And the greeted replies, lleth anyl...\" The ranger's voice constricted. \"'I'm home.'\"\n\nZed watched Callum solemnly. The High Ranger cleared his throat, not meeting his eye.\n\n\"But you probably want to hear about the sights,\" Callum said. \"Llethanyl is built around a great tree, one my people have nurtured for nearly a thousand years. I'll take you around the base once we've defeated the Lich. In the summer, the tree is home to hundreds of birds from all over Terryn—with feathers of every color you could imagine. Maybe a few you couldn't.\"\n\n\"That sounds messy,\" said Zed, thinking of the many times he'd scrubbed pigeon dung from the stone steps of the training yard.\n\nCallum smirked. \"The ain'shea clean up after the birds. The sun elves consider it a sacred duty.\"\n\nWhen Zed burst out laughing, the ranger looked down at him quizzically.\n\n\"Sacred doodie?\" Zed asked.\n\n\"Did I... say that wrong?\"\n\nZed shook his head, wishing with a pang that Brock was around. \"No, never mind. Keep going.\"\n\n\"Well, there are several magical academies, of course, and even a specialized school for sorcerers.\"\n\nZed's eyes lit up. \"Did my father go there? You know my real name is Zerend, right? Zed's just what everyone calls me. Mom named me after him, and then I became a sorcerer, too. Does that happen a lot with our people?\"\n\nCallum stiffened, the warmth in his eyes going cold. The High Ranger glanced back at the other elves. \"Zed, I'm sorry, but I should be keeping watch. Maybe we can talk more another time.\"\n\n\"Sure,\" Zed said uncertainly. \"How about tonight? I could come sit with the elves for a while, if that's all right.\"\n\n\"That...\" Callum swallowed hard, the lump bobbing in his throat. \"Perhaps.\"\n\nAnd then the ranger was gone. Zed had never seen anyone move so swiftly. It took only two long strides for Callum to flee from Zed and his pestering questions.\n\n\"Stupid,\" Zed berated himself. He'd had a chance and he'd blown it. In the elf's retreating form, Zed was reminded of yet another back he'd been seeing a lot of recently.\n\nHe marched alone for the rest of the day, the cold gouging deeper into his bones.\n\nThey made camp as the light began to wane. Zed had expected Queen Me'Shala to tire easily, but none of the elves seemed especially taxed by the journey. Even the two sun elf ministers appeared perfectly at ease in the wilderness, their fine silvery coats gleaming in the half-light. Threya immediately began barking orders at Thorn and Petal. Selby paused to take in the view, shielding his eyes as he gazed toward a lonely mountain in the distance.\n\nFrond started a small fire for the humans, while Hexam pulled Zed and Jayna aside for their lesson on arcane implements. Micah sat languidly against a tree, pretending not to listen, though Zed was certain he could feel him smirking.\n\n\"Wands, staves, and rods are the most common examples,\" Hexam said. \"Though I've seen orbs, jewelry, and even books used, as ridiculous as it sounds. The principles are generally the same as any focus. A spell is folded into the material. Add mana, and presto.\"\n\n\"Just like that evil staff that Zed used during his initiation,\" Jayna said helpfully.\n\n\"Exactly so,\" Hexam agreed, as Zed's ears began to burn. \"That particular piece had been sitting on our wall for years, something the guild discovered decades ago in an old ruin. Actually, I had no idea it was a warlock's implement until you accidentally set it off, Zed. But it illustrated another important principle where foci are concerned: Materials matter. Do you remember what happened to the staff when you used it?\"\n\n\"It... broke in half,\" Zed answered. He recalled the way the ends had been singed black, though Zed himself was unharmed by the spell.\n\n\"That staff was made from silver maple,\" Hexam explained. \"A brittle wood, ill suited for spellwrights. Not all components are enchanted equally, I'm afraid. Iron is among the worst materials for magical work, though steel is a bit better, thanks to the carbon. Highly structured crystals are some of the best.\"\n\n\"What about mythril?\" Zed asked.\n\n\"Yes!\" Hexam exclaimed. \"Very good. Like the orb we tested in my office, mythril is exceptional in that regard. No surprise that the metal was developed by the elves.\"\n\nZed glanced away. He hadn't been thinking about the orb when he'd asked the question. Instead, his mind had gone immediately to the chain around his throat. Makiva's chain.\n\n\"Tomorrow night we'll work on some actual enchantments,\" the archivist continued. \"Jayna, I'd like you to prepare Eldritch Darts for imbuement with your new wand. You're already familiar with the principles of handling a focus. Zed, I'm... less knowledgeable on sorcerous approaches, but let's see if we can't give it a try with that gorgeous green fire of yours. A working scepter could make our coming task that much easier.\"\n\nEasier sounded good to Zed, because from what Hexam had said, it didn't seem like killing the Lich would be easy at all. Not for the first time, he wondered what exactly he'd gotten himself into.\n\nHexam rose to join the others, and Jayna followed him, peppering the elder wizard with additional questions that Zed barely heard. His fingers brushed the mythril chain beneath his shirt. Was it a focus of some kind? Was that why the fire was always easier to cast when he wore it? Was the chain a part of... a part of his pact?\n\nIt was a word Zed had avoided even thinking about. In the weeks of quiet that had followed his vision of Makiva, he'd almost been able to pretend that it hadn't happened—that he hadn't made a bargain with a witch.\n\nBut last night's dream scared Zed. It had felt so real, and the fox that watched him struggling against the chain was still burned in his memory, as if it observed him even now.\n\nHe wished that Brock was there on the journey with him. Why did everything feel so complicated between them?\n\nZed pulled the sorcerous codex out from his pack. He opened the latch and removed his note to Brock, carefully unfolding the vellum.\n\nDear Brock,\n\nI'm scared.\n\nI should probably start at the beginning, when things first went wrong. It all begins with Makiva.\n\nZed gazed anxiously at the sheet, considering what to write next. Or whether to continue at all. If this ended up in the wrong hands, it would be his confession.\n\n\"If you're looking for your wit's end,\" Micah called from behind him, \"I'm pretty sure we passed it a long time ago.\"\n\nZed scowled, whipping around. \"You've got a whole forest of personal space,\" he said. \"Why are you still bothering me?\"\n\nMicah shrugged. \"You're easy to rile. I swear I can actually see your little mind tying itself into knots over there.\"\n\nZed glanced to the others and hurriedly folded the note back into the book. Frond had stoked a healthy fire and was now standing over it, rehashing strategy with the queen and her ministers. The rangers had spread out to form a thin perimeter around the camp, keeping their watchful eyes on the landscape. Twilight brought an increased risk of Dangers, and before their journey, Frond had warned that the undead were especially active after dark.\n\nBeyond the leafless trees, the sky was a burning scrim, filling the forest with skeletal shadows. Far in the distance, a black mountain loomed. Zed could feel the already frigid temperature falling with the sun, and he hugged his cloak tighter to himself.\n\nHe'd stupidly volunteered to do something he wasn't even sure was possible, using a power that the city would execute him for if they knew its source. Zed was out of his depth. He was cold, and lonely, and very afraid.\n\n\"Please,\" he rasped. \"Please just leave me alone.\"\n\nMicah's smirk faltered. He opened his mouth, then closed it and cleared his throat. \"Listen,\" he said finally. \"You're going to be all right. I've seen that moldy fireball of yours take out worse than a few mummified elves. And that was without Frond babysitting you.\"\n\nZed was silent. He pulled his knees to his chest, keeping his eyes on the shape of the faraway mountain.\n\nMicah groaned and pushed himself up from the tree. He took a few steps toward Zed, bracing his fists against his hips. It was a pose Zed had seen Liza strike dozens of times, just before she gave one of her inspirational talks.\n\n\"You,\" Micah said, \"are a skinny, weird little sissy.\"\n\nApparently the Guerra siblings offered different sorts of encouragement.\n\n\"I thought so the first day we met,\" Micah continued, \"and since then, you've only proven me to be an astute judge of character. But that's exactly why Frond brought me on this mission. Not only am I insightful and hilarious, I'm also uniquely gifted at fixing skinny, weird little sissies when they've gotten themselves hurt.\"\n\nMicah held out a hand to Zed, the edges of which began to sparkle with golden light.\n\n\"I'll back off for a while,\" Micah added. \"At least until Liza's around to defend your scrawny butt. In return, you have to stop looking so pathetic all the time. You're going to Elf-ville, woo-hoo!\" Micah waved the glowing hand around theatrically, trailing a comet's tail of radiance. \"It's your pointy-eared dream!\"\n\nZed was quiet for a moment. \"All right,\" he said finally. \"Deal.\" Then he took Micah's hand and pulled himself to his feet.\n\nThe shouting began almost as soon as he'd stood.\n\nThe rangers who had been standing guard burst back into camp, surrounding Me'Shala and pointing into the distance. Frond drew her sword and Callum flew off into the trees, his face panicked. Zed followed their gestures toward the shadow of the mountain, but he couldn't see what had them so alarmed.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Then the mountaintop began to uncoil.\n\nTwo appendages peeled themselves away from the mass, revealing a pair of enormous wings silhouetted against the bloody sky. The mountain's peak had been a gigantic pair of wings the entire time, encircling the summit like a tent. Zed's mind came unanchored just trying to comprehend the sheer scale of such a creature. A goliath figure unfolded in the distance, though its details were impossible to make out against the setting sun. Slowly, without a sound, the Danger rose into the air, its two great wings beating lazily.\n\nIn a moment it was gone, disappearing over the horizon. In the next moment, the sound of its ascent finally reached them. Each wingbeat was a drum of thunder that Zed felt in his teeth.\n\nHe and Micah stood side by side, staring dazedly into the distance. Whatever they had just seen, it had flown in the same direction they were traveling.\n\nStraight toward Llethanyl.\n\n\"And that's why elves have no word for 'surprise,'\" Fel said brightly. \"Isn't that interesting?\"\n\nBrock realized he hadn't been listening for some time, but he made a thoughtful hmm sound. They were walking down a broad, icy path through the forest, and he was concentrating on where he put his feet.\n\n\"I don't get it,\" Liza said. \"I've seen surprise on your face, Fel. Wasn't everyone in the city surprised by the Lich's actions?\"\n\n\"You could say that,\" Fel answered, \"but we would not. When the unexpected happens, we mae vahrel, which translates to 'alight upon a hidden truth.'\"\n\n\"I guess I don't see the difference,\" Liza said. \"Whatever you call it, a surprise is a surprise. A rock is a rock.\"\n\nBrock knew what she was too polite to say: death is death. Even if you called it \"lost.\" Even if you imagined it was temporary.\n\n\"But a rock isn't just a rock,\" Jett put in. \"Dwarves have thirty-two words for 'rock.' Just because humans are blind to the differences between drostoff and mektin doesn't mean they aren't there. Language shapes the world around us—shapes how we see it.\" He clucked his tongue. \"That's why translations of dwarven poetry are so terrible. You really lose the effect when every other word is 'rock.'\"\n\n\"Sure,\" Brock said absently. \"That's why dwarven poetry is terrible.\"\n\nLiza elbowed him.\n\n\"Seriously, though,\" Brock said. \"If we all just spoke the trade tongue, maybe we wouldn't focus on our differences so much. Maybe that would be good for everybody.\"\n\n\"Easy for you to say, human,\" Jett groused. \"The trade tongue is a human language.\"\n\n\"Okay, so everyone should speak dwarven, then,\" Brock said. \"My point's the same.\"\n\n\"Respectfully, I think maybe the opposite is true,\" Fel said. \"We should all learn more languages. I want to learn enough dwarven to read Jett's poetry!\"\n\n\"Hold on,\" Jett said, instantly blushing. \"I never said I wrote poetry.\"\n\nShe giggled. \"You never said you didn't.\"\n\nBrock couldn't help smiling. Fel was so positive, so... cheerful. More than that, she was utterly at ease in the wild. It was something he'd never seen before, not even from Frond. He couldn't imagine he'd ever manage to relax in the realm of Dangers.\n\nYet despite his fears, Brock's boots had a good grip, his cloak was warm, and the sun was bright overhead. The trees were spaced far enough apart that it would be difficult for anything to sneak up on them. Maybe their luck would hold out.\n\nThen again, Brock liked to say that he made his own luck. He kept one hand in his pocket, wrapped around the vial of pungent orange liquid he had hidden there. It was the pitmunk toxin he'd retrieved from Master Curse and the perfumer last night when he should have been sleeping. But he'd known he couldn't afford to leave a potential advantage behind.\n\nEvery once in a while, he drifted to the back of the party and pushed the stopper aside with his thumb, letting out the vial's fumes. Maybe that had something to do with the absence of Dangers so far.\n\n\"It's been quiet,\" Liza said, echoing his thoughts. \"I wonder if the others already chased off everything that was in this area.\"\n\n\"That could be it,\" Lotte said. \"But this season tends to be less active, generally. Many Dangers hibernate in the winter.\"\n\n\"'Hibernate'?\" said Jett. \"What's that?\"\n\n\"Let's use context to figure it out,\" Brock suggested. \"Does it mean... 'drool'? Many Dangers drool blood from their horrible mouths in the winter. That sounds right.\"\n\nJett chuckled.\n\n\"It means 'sleep,'\" Liza put in, and Jett's chuckling stopped short.\n\n\"Right,\" said Lotte. \"They sleep through the winter. Especially the cold-blooded ones... You won't see anything with scales lurking about until spring.\"\n\n\"Well, that's downright sensible of them,\" said Brock. \"In fact, I don't see why we don't all just nap through the winter. All in favor?\"\n\nNobody said anything.\n\nBrock gave Jett a sideways look. \"Nothing?\"\n\nJett shrugged apologetically and snuck a glance at Liza, which made his allegiances clear.\n\nTraitor. Zed would have played along.\n\nMaybe.\n\n\"Elves also have no word for 'nap,'\" Fel said instructively.\n\n\"I never wanted children,\" Lotte muttered to herself from her place at the front of their column. \"I made a choice—adventures, not children. And yet here you are, Lotte, here you are.\"\n\nBrock turned to the others, crossed his eyes, and stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth: She's weird.\n\nFel's eyes went wide and she gasped. Before Brock could ask why, the young ranger sprang forward, quick as a bolt, pushing him aside and rushing up behind Lotte. She shoved the woman in the small of her back, simultaneously looping her foot around to trip her. Lotte went sprawling forward into a snowbank.\n\n\"Fel!\" Liza screamed. \"What—\"\n\n\"Whoa—!\" said Brock.\n\nLotte rolled onto her back and glared murderously at Fel, but before she had found her voice, Fel splashed the contents of her waterskin across the quartermaster's face.\n\nEveryone froze. Brock found himself holding his breath as he looked upon Lotte, her eyes closed and her mouth open in shock as the ice-cold water dripped off her chin.\n\nThe silence lasted for several long moments until finally Fel spoke.\n\n\"I... think perhaps I made a mistake,\" she said meekly.\n\nLotte's eyes opened and they were furious.\n\nAnd for some reason, they were fixed upon Brock.\n\n\"What, me?\" he protested. \"I'm as surprised as you are!\"\n\n\"Fel,\" Lotte said, only just mastering the angry warble in her voice. \"Who put you up to that?\"\n\n\"I thought... Brock indicated...\"\n\nNow Lotte, Liza, and Jett were all eyeing him. Even Mousebane glared from her comfortable burrow within Fel's backpack. Fel's expression, at least, was contrite. \"The face you made behind Lotte's back. Doesn't it mean one is infected with a psychic worm?\"\n\nLotte rose stiffly to her feet. \"Yes, Brock. Let's see this face you made behind my back.\"\n\nBrock grimaced. \"I, ah... I think maybe the nuance of my joke got... lost in translation?\"\n\nLotte stepped slowly toward him, her boots crunching in the snow. \"Your joke? Well. Perhaps you need a lesson in humor.\"\n\nBrock liked Lotte well enough. Certainly she was more agreeable than Frond, and generally more reasonable. But she was fearsome, too, and a true taskmaster. During long days of physical training, when Brock thought he could endure no more, it was fear of provoking Lotte that motivated him as much as any desire for self-improvement.\n\nHe tried not to flinch as she stood close enough to throttle him. She smiled, but there was something evil in it. Then she lifted her own waterskin above him, tipping it so that its contents poured out upon his head.\n\nIt was freezing. Brock's lungs seized up and the muscles of his neck and back clenched painfully. He gasped.\n\n\"See? Now that's funny.\"\n\nFel laughed, and when she registered that she was the only one, she immediately stopped.\n\n\"Wait, is it funny or not?\" she asked. \"I'm so confused.\"\n\n\"Lotte,\" Liza said. \"Lotte, you're not injured, are you?\"\n\nLotte turned, looking herself up and down. \"The snow broke my fall,\" she said. \"I'm only wet.\"\n\n\"What's that, then?\" Liza asked. And she pointed toward the snowbank where Lotte had fallen.\n\nOnly a few paces from that spot was a trail of bright red blood.\n\nThey followed the blood into the woods, fearing the worst. What if the party had been overwhelmed? What if Zed was bleeding out in the snow? Brock shivered with fear and with cold. His hair was stiff with ice.\n\nThey did not have to travel far from the path to find the source of the blood: a young deer, curled up at the base of a tree. It wasn't moving, but it was alive; Brock could see its breaths misting in the air about its muzzle. Blood ran from a wound on its rear leg.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"The poor thing,\" Fel said sadly.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"We have to do something,\" said Liza.\n\n\"What can we do?\" asked Jett.\n\nBrock frowned. \"Should we... put it out of its misery?\"\n\nThey all turned on him.\n\n\"Are you serious right now?\"\n\n\"What is wrong with you?\"\n\n\"It's just a flesh wound, Brock!\"\n\nBrock held up his hands in surrender. \"Sorry! I thought it was dying. I was trying to help!\"\n\nLotte put a hand on his shoulder. \"That's all right. You won't have encountered this before. Fel, do you recognize the wound?\"\n\nFel nodded, crouching down for a closer look. Brock noted the deer still did not move, though its eyes were alert. Panicked.\n\n\"It's a scourge spider bite,\" Fel answered. \"They hunt alone. A spider drops from the trees, injects its paralyzing venom, and then retreats. Comes back to eat once its prey is totally defenseless.\"\n\nBrock took a shuffling step back and eyed the barren branches above and all around them.\n\n\"That's right,\" Lotte said. \"But relax, everybody. Scourge spiders don't like crowds. They're opportunistic. Total cowards.\"\n\nNevertheless, Brock kept his eyes on the trees.\n\n\"I can't believe I'm saying this,\" Liza said. \"But I wish Micah were here. Maybe his healing could counteract the venom.\"\n\n\"The effect is temporary,\" Lotte explained. \"We've probably saved her life just by stumbling across her. The spider will have scurried away.\"\n\n\"And what if it comes back?\" Jett asked. \"It... eats her? It eats her alive?\"\n\nLotte frowned. \"Yes, but... it's probably painless....\"\n\n\"We can't leave her!\" Fel cried.\n\n\"We are on a vital mission,\" Lotte insisted. \"Zed is—they're all in tremendous danger.\"\n\n\"We can save her and continue the mission,\" Liza said.\n\n\"Have mercy, Lotte,\" said Jett.\n\nBrock, eager to be on the right side of things this time, pumped his fist enthusiastically. \"Save the deer! Yes! Let's do it!\"\n\n\"You realize this isn't up to a vote?\" Lotte said. \"I'm definitely in charge, yes? We all remember?\"\n\n\"So we take the deer with us,\" Liza said. \"We can carry her—\"\n\n\"We can pull her!\" Brock offered. \"Our tents are tarred canvas. They can be pulled on the ground without tearing. It won't even slow us down.\"\n\nLotte clucked her tongue. \"It's not the call I'd make on my own, but it's hard to argue with your problem solving. And I like seeing you work as a team.\" She nodded. \"All right, then. Load her up and we'll take her with us until the venom's run its course.\"\n\nLiza held out a hand to Brock.\n\n\"What?\" he said.\n\n\"Hand me your tent,\" she said.\n\n\"What, mine?\"\n\n\"It was your idea,\" she said.\n\n\"Yeah, I contributed the idea,\" he replied. He imagined his tent dripping with muddy ice and deer blood. \"So someone else should contribute their tent.\" He reached for Fel's backpack, then pulled his hand back as Mousebane appeared hissing from within.\n\n\"No more fooling around, Brock,\" Lotte said. \"I mean it. Last warning.\"\n\nJett, at least, volunteered to drag the deer, freeing Brock to sulk in relative comfort—aside from his aching feet, his freezing ears, and his nose, runny and rubbed raw.\n\nHis pride hurt most of all, though. He wasn't used to feeling like an outsider. But that was how he felt without Zed there.\n\nHow did anybody manage without a best friend?\n\nHe turned to Liza, who had no trouble keeping pace despite the weight of her chain mail. \"Do you miss Jayna?\" he asked her.\n\n\"Jayna?\" Liza said. She was scanning the woods, alert for any danger. With her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, he could see the yellow bruise blooming on her forehead, a souvenir from their fight in the guildhall. Lotte had tried to get her to stay behind with Fife, and Brock and Jett made no effort to disguise their relief when she'd refused. If the wound bothered her now, she gave no sign of it. \"Why are you asking me about Jayna? What are you getting at?\"\n\nBrock sighed loudly. \"Never mind.\"\n\n\"I just saw Jayna a few days ago,\" Liza said, still watching the trees. \"I'm not totally codependent.\"\n\n\"Ugh, we get it! You're awesome!\"\n\nNow she turned to look at him. \"Why are you being so hostile lately?\"\n\n\"Uh, guys...\" Jett said from behind them, still pulling the tarp. \"Maybe not so loud?\"\n\nBrock let Liza walk ahead, waiting so that he could fall into step beside Jett. \"She thinks I'm hostile,\" he muttered to Jett.\n\n\"You do seem a little... tired lately,\" Jett said, not unkindly. \"You're always coming or going on your little errands. When do you sleep?\"\n\nBrock felt a buzz of panic. In the six weeks they'd been bunking together, Jett had politely ignored the fact that Brock snuck in and out of their room at all hours of the night. But of course he noticed.\n\nFor a moment, Brock thought about answering truthfully. Jett was trustworthy, levelheaded, and wiser than many adults. He might be able to see a way out that Brock had missed.\n\nMore likely he'd just get caught up in the Lady's web, too. Involving Jett was a violation of the Shadows' tenets, and keeping anything a secret from the Lady Gray felt next to impossible. He couldn't risk putting Jett in harm's way.\n\nSo he put a fake smile on his face and changed the subject.\n\n\"There's a lot going on,\" he said easily. \"Even Zed's been busy. He was in the shantytown with Fel the other day. Did you catch that?\"\n\nJett gave him a dubious look. \"Yeah, Brock. Everybody knows about it. Fel's been showing him around, introducing him to folk. Zed frets about it every week for hours beforehand, and then buzzes about it for days afterward. Some days it's all he talks about.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" Brock said. \"Yeah, I just—I wasn't sure he mentioned it to you, specifically.\"\n\nThey fell into silence for a spell after that. When Brock couldn't stand his own thoughts any longer, he asked, \"You don't think Zed would ever leave, do you?\"\n\n\"Leave?\" Jett echoed.\n\n\"It's just that he's so interested in the elf side of his heritage and... I know he's never exactly had an easy time in Freestone. He talks like he doesn't belong there. He's always felt that way. Imagine he pulls this off, imagine Zed saves Llethanyl and—\"\n\nJett held up a hand for quiet. He moved in a slow circle, peering into the forest from every angle, while Brock looked frantically from side to side. \"What is it?\" he whispered.\n\nFel noticed they'd stopped and retraced her steps to join them. \"What's wrong?\" she asked.\n\n\"Heard something,\" Jett said. \"Thought I did.\"\n\n\"I've felt eyes on us for some time,\" Fel said. \"But I assume my imagination is... overactive after last night's surprises.\"\n\n\"Yours and mine both,\" Jett said. \"Let's hope.\" He waved on Lotte and Liza, who'd paused up ahead to wait for them. \"Let's catch up. Brock, you were saying?\"\n\nBrock sighed. \"Nothing.\"\n\n\"You think Zed's going to leave Freestone? Live in Llethanyl, is that it?\"\n\nBrock shrugged sullenly. \"I'm just saying it crossed my mind.\"\n\n\"Nonsense,\" Jett said. \"Zed's not going anywhere.\"\n\n\"But if you had the opportunity—if you could live in Dragnacht, even just for a few years? You wouldn't be tempted?\"\n\nJett answered, \"No. Of course not.\"\n\nBut he hesitated before he said it. Just long enough to make Brock's fears seem reasonable.\n\n\"I'm sure Zed would be quite happy in Llethanyl,\" Fel said, trying to be helpful and missing the mark by a wide margin. \"It's a wonderful place.\"\n\n\"Really?\" Brock said. \"Even for a night elf?\"\n\nThe smile froze on Fel's face. \"I don't know what you mean.\"\n\n\"I just mean I'd be a little angry if I were you. All that stuff the minister was saying about your people, about who's trustworthy and who's not. You don't have to put up with that. I used to tell Zed—\"\n\n\"Llethanyl is changing for the better,\" Fel insisted.\n\n\"Sure, but it sounded to me like—\"\n\n\"It wasn't always easy for my people, that much is true. But the city is a little better every day.\"\n\n\"Right,\" Brock said. He thought about that for a moment. \"You mean before the undead thing, though,\" he said.",
"loss": true
},
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"Obviously, yes, before that,\" Fel said through her now very strained smile.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"What's wrong, Lotte?\" Liza asked, as Brock's group rejoined them. \"You seem worried.\"\n\n\"It's probably nothing,\" Lotte said. \"But I thought we'd have found them by now.\"\n\n\"They had a good head start on us,\" Jett said.\n\nLotte shook her head, but kept moving and kept her eyes on the trail she followed. \"But only a small force was going all the way to Llethanyl, remember? The rest of the guild was supposed to turn back. Our paths should have crossed.\"\n\n\"Is it possible we missed them?\" Liza asked.\n\n\"It's unlikely. We've been following their trail all day. I don't know why they wouldn't take the same path back.\"\n\nFel still bristled with annoyance over whatever Brock had said to upset her. He'd been trying to make her feel better—to say he was on her side. \"Hey, listen,\" he said, reaching out to pat her on the back.\n\nHe forgot about the sleeping cat hitching a ride in her open pack.\n\nMousebane, screeching in surprise, leaped in the air, legs rigid, arcing toward Jett, whose dwarven stature put him directly in harm's path. Before he knew what was happening, he had a furious, hissing cat on his head.\n\nJett shrieked, reaching up to pry the cat from his hair, but he'd wrapped the tent's ropes around his forearms. At the sudden movement, the canvas billowed out like a sail. The deer caught air. Spurred on by its sudden startling predicament, it regained use of its legs, kicking madly as it soared past Brock. Its hoofs connected with a tree, and the snow upon the tree's boughs came loose, hurtling down at Brock's head.\n\nHe sidestepped just in time, and the snow fell harmlessly to the ground.\n\n\"That,\" Brock began, \"could have been much wor—\"\n\nSuddenly the world was spinning. He'd been so quick to dodge the falling snow, he'd given no thought to where he put his feet, and now up was down and the ground was high above him and his arms and legs were all tangled.\n\nTangled, as if in a web.\n\n\"Spiders!\" he screamed. \"Scourge spiders! Fiendish spiders! Undead spiders! Someone help!\"\n\n\"Calm down, Brock, you're all right,\" Lotte said from the ground. She smiled, but upside down it looked far from reassuring.\n\n\"Should we put him out of his misery?\" Liza asked sweetly.\n\nThe blood was rushing to Brock's head. \"Brace yourself,\" Lotte said. Then she drew her sword, and sunlight flashed upon it as she struck the tree trunk.\n\nBrock came crashing to the ground, his landing softened by the pile of snow at the base of the tree. He leaped to his feet and pushed free of the tangled threads—not webbing, but some kind of rope, pliable and strong.\n\nHe'd been snared in a net.\n\n\"Some kind of hunter's trap?\" Lotte mused. \"Fel, make my day and tell me this is elven.\"\n\n\"Oh! Uh, it's not,\" Fel said, clearly dispirited at the lost opportunity to make Lotte's day.\n\n\"That... is very troubling news,\" the quartermaster said.\n\nBrock's head was spinning. He saw Liza fussing over Jett's bleeding scalp. He saw Fel trying to coax Mousebane out from beneath a shrub. He saw the deer walking drunkenly away, not sparing a backward glance for her rescuers. And he saw Lotte, a shadow across her features as she contemplated the netting in her hands.\n\n\"We've been following the wrong trail,\" she said.\n\n\"We'll make up the time, Lotte,\" Fel said in the same soothing tone of voice she'd been directing at the cat. \"It will be all right.\"\n\n\"No, wait,\" Liza said. \"What do you mean the wrong trail?\" She pointed at the net. \"Who set that trap?\"\n\n\"It wasn't elves,\" said Lotte. \"And it wasn't our people, either. I've never even seen this material.\"\n\nBrock tried to focus past his vertigo. \"What does that mean?\" he asked.\n\n\"It's impossible,\" Lotte said. \"But it means someone else is out here. Someone we've never encountered before.\"\n\n\"Answer me truthfully,\" Frond said. \"Do you know what that thing was?\"\n\n\"A complication,\" Queen Me'Shala replied. Her expression was a study in vagueness: lovely and exquisitely blank. Behind her, the queen's ministers were similarly beautiful and unreadable.\n\nTheir whole party—elves and humans, adults and children—were clustered around the beginnings of a fire, working through their evening rations. It had been a full night and day since they'd spotted the thing. A span of urgent whispers, unanswered questions, and still more snoring from Micah.\n\nFrond crossed her arms, causing her belt of throwing stars to tinkle like bells in the quiet. \"We made this journey in good faith,\" she said, \"with what we believed to be a complete understanding of the risks. If I think you're keeping something from me, Your Majesty, then I'll have to insist we retur—\"\n\n\"Complete understanding is a children's fantasy,\" snapped the minister Threya. Her golden eyes narrowed on Frond. \"Even you must know this, human. There is no certainty where the Dangers are concerned. They prey upon your understanding. They stalk it from the shadows while it sleeps, sure of its own safety. And then they drag it, crying and screaming, into the jaws of everything it doesn't know.\"\n\nSilence fell over the camp.\n\n\"That,\" said Micah, \"is the worst children's fantasy ever.\"\n\nQueen Me'Shala sighed. \"What Threya means is that situations can change without our knowing.\" She stared imploringly at Frond. \"As you said, you entered into this quest in good faith, and I cannot convey the depth of my gratitude. The Adventurers Guild represents the very best aspects of your people. I would never knowingly jeopardize the friendship we share, even to reclaim my own city. I swear I've told you all I can. That creature... it may not even be related to the Lich.\"\n\nFrond glanced to Hexam, who was brooding over the fire pit. \"There's any number of giant flying Dangers out there,\" he murmured. \"Dire rocs come to mind, as do winged nightmares and a baker's dozen of fiends....\"\n\n\"And dragons,\" Jayna said in a small voice. The girl was seated on a log, her arms curled tightly around her stomach. Her eyes were focused on the wizard.\n\nHexam nodded slowly. \"But a necromancer could reanimate any of those, in theory. The toll it would take, however—\"\n\n\"—would be catastrophic,\" Selby finished for him. The second sun elf minister leaned against a tree; his face was screwed up in thought. \"It would rot his body and mind. Even as he became a more powerful focus for Mort's energies, he would grow slower and weaker. And more insane. Difficult to destroy though they are, this has been the undoing of many a lich throughout history.\"\n\nFrond contemplated all this, her fingers tapping rapidly against the pointed stars on her belt. Finally, she let out a misty breath. \"Let's get some sleep. Tomorrow, we'll continue on to the Celadon Falls wayshelter.\" She frowned over the small group clustered together in the cold, then spat on the ground. \"Everyone be on your guard. The closer we get, the more likely it is that we'll run into trouble.\"\n\nZed rose with the others, but his mind was far away, trying to imagine what sort of creature had earned the name winged nightmare.\n\nThere was a billow of green from the corner of his vision, and then Callum stood beside him, unfastening his moss-colored cloak. The ranger leaned in. \"The queen would like to speak with you,\" he whispered.\n\nZed wasn't sure he'd heard that quite right. \"The... the queen of...?\" His ears roasted.\n\nA glimmer of amusement touched Callum's eyes. \"Of the elves,\" he confirmed. Then the mirth vanished from his face as he cast a glance toward his monarch. \"Zed, stay close to me the rest of the journey. The path from here becomes... complicated.\"\n\nZed frowned, but he nodded at the ranger. They walked together to a section of camp where Queen Me'Shala spoke in low tones with her two ministers. Behind them, Thorn and Petal were erecting a large tent made of shimmering fabric. Petal winked at Zed as he arrived.\n\nThe queen turned to him with a bright, inviting smile, and it was like a log had been added to the furnace heating Zed's ears. He thought belatedly to bring fingers to his lips, in the way Hexam had greeted her, but couldn't remember how many and so settled on all five. The queen's smile broadened at the gesture. Behind her, Threya rolled her eyes and Selby chuckled.\n\n\"How charming,\" Queen Me'Shala said. \"And it seems that you're gifted in other ways, too. You conjured a miraculous fire that saved your very city. I hope you can do the same for mine.\"\n\nOh, Fie. How was he supposed to respond to that? Confidently? With humility? Laugh until he broke into tears? Zed mumbled, \"So do I, Your Majesty.\"\n\n\"Callum tells me that you're something of a pioneer among the adventurers. The first to explore a shrine once occupied by elven druids. What an experience that must have been.\"\n\nZed glanced toward the High Ranger.\n\n\"That was weeks ago,\" he replied. \"The rangers and adventurers have been back many times since then.\"\n\n\"Once, elven druids filled the wilds of Terryn,\" the queen said somberly. \"They were revered among our people as sages and mentors. The druidic sagas are where our most sacred customs come from, along with our symbols.\"\n\nShe extended an ungloved hand, on which the crest of Llethanyl glittered atop a mythril ring—the great tree wreathed with birds.\n\n\"But though they counseled us,\" the queen said, smiling sadly down at the ring, \"the druids avoided cities. They brought their students to the wilderness to learn, and kept no written records. And when the Day of Dangers struck, the druids were all lost. Their secrets, and their promises, were lost with them.\"\n\nThe queen dipped her hand into a fur-lined glove, glancing wistfully back up to Zed. \"Thousands of years of culture and philosophy, gone. That is the crisis we now face again. It's a daunting responsibility, isn't it?\"\n\nZed could only nod in agreement. But why was Queen Me'Shala telling him this?\n\n\"Perhaps you could do me a favor,\" she said brightly. \"I'd like to see this green fire of yours firsthand.\"",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "Tiny hairs exploded along Zed's arms.",
"loss": true
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"value": "Oh, Nox's shadowy butt. Cast the fire? In front of the queen?\n\n\"Your Majesty, I...\" Zed faltered. \"It's very dangerous, you see.\"\n\n\"Frond has put so much faith in you,\" Me'Shala said pointedly. \"I'm sure you're up to the task.\" She held out her gloved hand, into which Thorn immediately placed a gray lump of metal. \"Aim at this, if you'd be so kind.\" The queen tossed the lump a few yards away, where it landed heavily on the frozen earth.\n\nZed pivoted, his knees nearly buckling beneath him. He took a deep breath and turned his mind inward, reaching until it found what he was looking for.\n\nHis mana. He took a small sip, extending his palms.\n\nThe fire started slowly, like the first morning pumps from a well. But soon an emerald torrent flowed, bathing the camp in green. Zed aimed for the metal knot, concentrating with all his effort. Then, just as a bead of sweat fell from his nose, he snuffed out the mana, and the fire went with it.\n\nThreya stomped to the spot where the queen had thrown the ore. She touched her fingers to the ground. Only a dark scorch mark remained.\n\n\"That's... astounding,\" Selby breathed. \"That was dwarven orichalcum, the most magically resistant material in Terryn!\"\n\n\"Astounding indeed.\" Me'Shala's eyes were practically glowing with excitement. She stepped toward Zed and gently pressed his ear tip between her gloved fingers. The material was softer than anything he'd ever felt. \"Fate has cast you among the humans,\" she murmured. \"But perhaps you'd always hoped for a chance to make your own decision, hmm? A real choice.\" She smiled warmly. \"That choice could come soon. If you so decide, you'd be welcomed among my people, Zed.\" The queen hesitated, looking almost bashful. \"Our people.\"\n\n\"I'm so sorry to interrupt,\" Selby interjected. \"But I believe our human comrades may wish for their apprentice back.\" Indeed, on the other side of camp, Frond was actually tapping her foot with impatience. Her expression was dour.\n\nThe queen retreated a step, glancing from Zed to Callum. \"This one is precious, High Ranger. Please watch him carefully. Though I know you will.\"\n\nCallum nodded slowly, the edges of his mouth tilting into a frown. \"Of course, Your Majesty.\"\n\nZed's thoughts were muddled as he joined the other adventurers to bed down for the night.\n\nFrond had packed a large linen tent for all five of them to sleep beneath when it snowed, though most nights the party just pulled their bedrolls close to the fire. She and Hexam took turns keeping watch with the rangers, so there were always multiple eyes on the forest.\n\nTonight, Frond's watch was first. Hexam was already curled up in his bedroll, while Micah's wheezing foretold of another long, loud evening. Jayna lay on her stomach, reading by the firelight.\n\nFrond grunted as Zed approached, now sitting on a log she'd dragged to the fire pit. She polished the blade of her sword with an oily rag, running the cloth along the steel in long, languid motions.\n\n\"Have a nice chat with the queen?\" she asked suspiciously. \"I thought I told you to save your mana.\"\n\n\"Sorry,\" Zed whispered. \"She asked me to demonstrate, and...\" He trailed off, still basking in the high of Me'Shala's approval. Had the queen of the elves just truly called him astounding? \"She's very nice, isn't she?\"\n\nFrond smirked. The firelight intensified her scars, making the expression look gruesome. \"She's very good at getting people to think so.\"\n\nZed swallowed. What did that mean?\n\n\"How long have you known her?\" he asked. He hovered over his own bedroll, not quite ready to crawl inside. His bladder was achingly full.\n\n\"I knew her when she was still Princess Me'Shala,\" Frond said, glancing back down at her blade. \"She was less nice then, but more kind, I think. I was a young adventurer and she was beginning her mandatory tour with the rangers. We grew close.\" Frond cleared her throat. \"Quite close.\"\n\nZed felt a sudden warmth burning in his cheeks that had little to do with the fire. Frond and the queen were... close?\n\nThe guildmistress smirked at his scandalized expression. \"Yes, romantically. Back then Me'Shala had a wild streak,\" she continued, \"which has since been ironed out by the burdens of rulership.\" Frond scrubbed at a spot of rust, clicking her tongue. \"Still just as pretty, though. Not like me. I've only become more beautiful over the years.\"\n\nFrond's gaze flicked up, an almost playful gleam in her eyes. Then her face was hard again as she set back to her work. \"Me'Shala's charming, Zed,\" she grunted, \"but she's cunning, too. Just be careful around her. And remember who your people are.\"\n\nZed bristled. As if anyone had given him a choice in his people.\n\n\"Sleep now,\" she said. \"Both of you.\" She flicked her chin toward Jayna without looking. By the way the girl hurriedly closed her book, it was clear she'd been listening. Jayna dug into her bedroll.\n\n\"I need to make water,\" Zed said.\n\nFrond nodded. \"Don't go far.\"\n\nThe fire's warmth faded quickly as Zed crunched through the snow. Beyond their little encampment, the darkness was a wall every bit as thick and foreboding as Freestone's.\n\nZed tried not to think what might be just beyond, watching him from within that murk. He didn't dare stray more than a few timid yards from the fire, though modesty drove him to take cover behind a tree.\n\nZed glanced across the pale snow. With the fire far behind him, his shadow stretched out into inhuman lengths, craning deep into the trees. Its neck was swallowed by the darkness, giving the shadow a headless appearance. Zed thought of the executions that took place in the market square, and he shivered.\n\nHe did his business quickly and trudged back toward the fire.\n\nFor the first few steps, everything was fine.\n\nThen, on his fourth, Zed's throat began to feel dry. He coughed softly, trying to clear it. A few steps more and his airway contracted. Zed wheezed, pausing midstep. He cleared his throat once, twice, but couldn't seem to draw enough breath in.\n\n\"Something...\" Zed sucked in a gulp of air. \"I think something's wro—\"\n\nHe couldn't finish. Zed's throat had closed completely. His eyes bulged with panic, darting up toward the campfire, where Frond was squinting in concentration and scrubbing the blunt edge of her sword.\n\nShe hadn't heard him.\n\nZed stumbled forward, reaching toward Frond. A painful pressure was now squeezing his neck, but when he reached for it his fingers found nothing but his own throat.\n\nHelp! Zed thought wildly. But when he opened his mouth, no sound came out.\n\n\"Oh, Fie, Zed! What is that?\" Jayna's voice pierced the quiet. The girl was sitting up in her bedroll, her wide eyes staring at something behind him.\n\nFrond shot up just as Zed spun around to face whatever horror loomed there. His head was spinning and the edges of his vision were going strangely white, and all Zed could see was...\n\n\"Your—your shadow!\" Jayna stammered.\n\nZed's shadow floated among the trees. Its misshapen limbs were impossibly long. That's not right, he thought deliriously. Get back on the ground.\n\nSomehow the shade had unanchored itself. It curled upward from the forest floor like a roll of parchment billowing in the wind. One of those spindly arms was stretching toward Zed. Its fingers grasped his face, crawling across it like the legs of a scuttling insect, until they found his mouth.\n\nThen they pushed inside.\n\nZed's throat filled with a cold, tingling rush. His legs gave out just as Frond bellowed, \"Stalking shadow!\"\n\nThere was an odd lurching sensation when, instead of crumpling to the ground, Zed felt himself being yanked into the air. The whiteness at the edges of his vision expanded.\n\nMany voices began shouting then, though Zed couldn't understand everything they said. He thought he heard Hexam's voice yell, \"No, don't touch him! Only a blood relative can remove it safely!\"\n\n\"But we'll never get back to his mother in time!\" Jayna cried.\n\nMother, Zed thought. He hoped she was warm. It was getting so cold.\n\nDarkness filled his vision and the world tilted. Distantly, Zed felt himself being pulled downward.\n\n\"Tell me what to do.\" Callum's urgent voice pressed against his thoughts. The elf was so loud, and all Zed wanted was to sleep. He was very, very tired.\n\n\"Didn't you hear me?\"",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "Hexam snapped. \"Only someone of his blood can—\"",
"loss": true
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"from": "system",
"value": "Next turn only: maintain roughly 28% quote-to-text ratio",
"loss": null
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Then just tell me what to do!\" Callum barked.\n\nThere was a moment of silence that Zed swam in. The world was getting very quiet. The stars were growing very large. Very white.\n\n\"His full name. Three times.\"\n\n\"Zerend Kagari.\" At the sound of his own name, something changed. A great rushing noise filled Zed's ears, like the wind howling against Freestone's walls during a storm.\n\n\"Zerend Kagari.\" Now the pressure in his throat loosened. Sensation began flooding back into his limbs.\n\n\"Zerend Kagari.\" And all at once, Zed sucked in a gulp of air. His body began to seize violently, but someone was holding him tight, softening the convulsions.\n\nZed opened his eyes to witness a cloud of oily black spume pouring upward from his own mouth. The strange howling-wind noise now filled the encampment, baying out from the cloud.\n\nIt billowed through the air, its shapeless limbs thrashing like tentacles. One moment it seemed to try to escape, surging straight up toward the treetops. But the shadow had been weakened somehow. Or wounded. It wobbled heavily, then crashed to the ground as a torrent of ichor. There it bubbled against the snow, its smoky edges coagulating into thick sludge.\n\nFrond slashed her sword through the mass, cleaving it in half. Both pieces dissolved into hissing puddles, and the howling went silent.\n\nEverything was quiet as Zed caught his breath and his shaking slowly abated. The figures of humans and elves swam into focus: many eyes pointed at him. He discovered it was Callum who'd been holding him while he convulsed, who was still holding him now. Callum who'd spoken his name and—\n\nZed glanced up. The world tilted again. \"You...\" he croaked.\n\nThe High Ranger's face was grave.\n\n\"Are you my father?\" Zed wheezed. A hot tear burned its way across his cheek.\n\nCallum shook his head, his eyes wide with... shame?\n\n\"No, Zed,\" he said. \"I'm the man who killed him. I'm your uncle.\"\n\n\"It's not possible,\" Brock said. \"People? Living out here? We'd have encountered them before.\"\n\n\"Would we?\" Jett asked, scanning their surroundings as he kept his palm on the handle of his maul. \"I'd never seen a proper tree until six weeks ago.\"\n\n\"You know what I mean.\" Brock had his eyes on the space between the trees, too. \"Lotte would have encountered them before. Or someone would. Adventurers have been scouting this forest for two hundred years!\"\n\n\"And stumbling over new surprises every day, believe me,\" said Lotte. She clucked her tongue. \"This doesn't change the mission, though. We keep moving. What is that smell?\"\n\nLotte didn't wait for an answer. She hoisted her pack higher on her shoulders and trudged on, veering off the path they'd been following. Brock, however, froze in place, patting himself up and down. What was that smell...?\n\nHis pants were wet, and not just with snow. The pitmunk toxin had spilled all over him when he'd been caught in the trap.\n\n\"Oh, man, those ropes stink,\" he said quickly, kicking snow onto the net, which Lotte had left behind on the ground. \"I hope they didn't ruin my pants.\" He waved his hand across his nose.\n\nLiza gave him a skeptical look, but she fell into step behind Lotte. Brock let the others go ahead of him, determined to stay downwind until his clothing had aired out a bit. But if the scent was keeping the Dangers away, then they'd certainly be safe for a while.\n\nFrom Dangers, anyway.\n\n\"Are we very far off track?\" Liza asked.\n\nLotte was consulting a compass as they walked. \"We can't have strayed too far in a day. I think we're just a little north of the path Frond was taking. Fie, did they have to take all our mages with them?\"\n\nBrock saw Jett and Liza exchange a look. He wanted to ask what they were thinking, but he didn't have the breath. He realized Lotte had increased their pace considerably.\n\nLotte was worried.\n\n\"Do you really think there are people out here?\" Brock huffed.\n\n\"Anything could be out here,\" Lotte answered. \"But in the early days of the guild, we sent search parties to every city, town, and roadside inn within two hundred miles. We found Llethanyl still standing.\" She shook her head. \"Nothing else.\"\n\n\"Is it possible...\" Liza began. \"Freestone does send its citizens out here sometimes. You know, the banished...\"\n\nBrock shuddered. Capital crimes in Freestone were punishable by execution... or by exile beyond the wall, which was really just a slower form of execution. By far, most condemned criminals preferred the certainty and swiftness of the executioner's ax.\n\n\"It's hard to imagine humans surviving out here for any length of time,\" Fel said.\n\n\"I'd love to take offense at that,\" Brock said. \"But I agree.\"\n\n\"I'll bet a Danger made that trap,\" Jett said. \"Kobolds wear clothing. Surely they could make a net.\"\n\nLotte shook her head again. \"Some Dangers do use tools, but most are of the sharp-and-pointy variety. Traps are a little subtle for them.\"\n\n\"The thing Zed met in the old elven shrine was pretty subtle,\" Brock reminded her.\n\n\"Oh, no,\" Liza said. \"You don't think... the people Mother Brenner infected...\"\n\n\"What about them?\" Jett asked.\n\n\"Remember?\" Liza continued. \"Once they were infected, she cast them out. That way they couldn't give her away before she was ready—and they'd be ready to return when the wards fell. Some of them must still be out here.\"\n\n\"They're not people anymore,\" Lotte answered. Her voice was sad but certain. \"They wouldn't make nets or leave bootprints in the snow. The infection spreads too fast.\"\n\nSilence descended on them then, and Brock thought back to the horrors of the previous season, when the town's most respected and trusted figure had been infected by a monstrous spore—and had infected others in turn. Under the influence of the penanggalan, Mother Brenner had targeted Freestone's most vulnerable, preying upon the guildless and the sick, and then casting them out of the city before their transformations took hold. In that way, she'd covered her tracks and made the Danger-infested wilderness that much deadlier than before.\n\nBrock was brooding on such unwelcome thoughts when he caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye.\n\n\"What was that?\" he said, whirling around. The trees were empty.\n\n\"Over there,\" Liza said, pointing in another direction. \"Did you see it?\"\n\nWhatever it was, it had vanished before Brock had caught a glimpse.\n\n\"Pitmunks,\" Fel whispered, pointing. \"There's a bold one.\"\n\nThis time, Brock saw it. The creature stood upon a branch, craning its head back and bobbing its snout as if sniffing the air. It reminded him somewhat of the squirrel he'd seen during his first official mission. But this animal was hairless, with wrinkled red skin, and its flaring bushy tail was composed of sharp black quills; the same quills that ran in a single row down its back and swayed slightly in the wind.\n\nAs the adventurers paused to watch it, the diminutive Danger was joined by a second pitmunk, and a third.\n\n\"That's weird,\" Fel said. \"They normally aren't social outside of mating season.\"\n\n\"Mating season?\" Brock asked, suddenly nervous.\n\nFel nodded enthusiastically. \"They give off a pungent scent that attracts mates. But they're very competitive about it. You don't want to be caught anywhere near one of those frenzies.\" She shrugged. \"The colors are pretty from a distance though. All that red...\"\n\nThe wind shifted, so that it was at Brock's back.\n\nThe nearest pitmunk's spines quivered; its tail fluffed up.\n\n\"Oh, Fie, Fie, Fie...\" he said.\n\nAnother pitmunk appeared on a nearby branch, while two more poked their heads from the hollow of a fallen tree. Twelve, twenty, thirty gleaming black eyes turned toward the party.\n\nThey were all focusing on Brock.\n\n\"We have to run!\" he shouted. \"Everybody run!\"\n\nHe didn't wait to see if they listened. Brock turned and bolted as the trees ahead burst to life, the entire canopy shifting and creaking under the weight of dozens of tiny Dangers leaping into motion as one.\n\nThey were swarming Brock in seconds, climbing up his arms and across his back, quills cutting right through his leather tunic as if it were cloth. The chittering was almost deafening, and while each animal alone weighed almost nothing, their combined weight was quickly stacking up. Brock stumbled.\n\nSomething struck him from behind, and then he was down in the snow again. Liza had tackled him, sending his tiny passengers flying.\n\n\"Why are they after you?\" she cried, covering him with her body. \"OW!\"\n\n\"Something on my clothes,\" he said. \"My pants...\"\n\n\"Fix it!\" she said, leaping up and battering the swarm with her shield. Lotte and Fel and Jett were there, too, and the four of them formed a box around Brock, slashing and swiping and knocking the leaping Dangers right out of the sky. But there were too many to keep them all back.\n\n\"I can't believe this is happening,\" Brock muttered, pulling at the drawstring on his pants.\n\n\"If you have a plan, hurry!\" Liza shouted, looking back at him.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Don't look!\" he shrilled.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Eyes on the murderous swarm, please!\"\n\nBrock disrobed quickly, cutting off his pants with a knife and hurling them as far as he could manage over Jett's head. The leathers fell into a heap at the base of a tree, and the entire swarm of pitmunks wheeled away from the adventurers to descend upon the pile in a chittering mass.\n\n\"Let's hurry,\" Lotte said, wiping sweat from her brow. \"I want some distance in case they decide they liked the taste of us.\"\n\n\"If I could just get some pants from my pack...\" Brock said. He stood shivering in his boots, pulling his tunic low to cover as much of his bare legs as possible. It was like wearing an extremely short dress. He looked ridiculous, and he knew it.\n\n\"Keep moving!\" Lotte barked, and Brock didn't argue. He marched through the snow and past his tittering teammates, who he was sure caught a glimpse of his underclothes with every step.\n\nBrock was shivering and miserable by the time Lotte was satisfied they'd put enough distance between them and the swarm. The light was fading, and a deeper chill was settling in for the night.\n\n\"Let's rest for a while,\" she said, peering at her compass in the low light. \"Girls, gather some wood. Jett, get a fire going. Brock... pants would be good.\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you,\" he said, pulling off his pack.\n\nFel was somehow just as energetic as she'd been at the long day's start. By the time Brock had laced up his trousers, she had already dropped a small pile of branches at Jett's feet.\n\n\"Ah...\" the dwarf said. \"About my assignment...\"\n\n\"Yes?\" Lotte said curtly.\n\n\"Well, Zed normally does this bit. You know, with the...\" He waggled his fingers at the pile of sticks.\n\nLotte huffed. \"You kids rely entirely too much on magic. Fel, can you start the fire, please?\"\n\n\"Yes! On it!\" Fel said joyously, rushing back with another armful of branches. She set to work with flint she pulled from her belt.\n\n\"Why aren't there more mages in the guild?\" Liza asked.\n\n\"Frond does recruit them,\" Lotte answered, dropping onto one of the small logs Liza had set in a circle around the pile of kindling. \"But they tend not to last as long as the fighters.\"\n\n\"No kidding,\" Brock growled. He dabbed at his fresh cuts with a minty salve.\n\n\"It's the healers we've really coveted, though. To have an actual healer in our ranks, on journeys with us, instead of having to carry the wounded back to town—it's only been a month or two and Micah's been a huge boon already.\"\n\n\"What's that mean? Boon?\" Fel asked, stoking her small fire.\n\nBrock, Liza, and Jett all spoke over one another in their rush to answer.\n\n\"Half-wit!\"\n\n\"Menace!\"\n\n\"Rock eater!\"\n\n\"It means he's been helpful,\" Lotte insisted. \"Imagine if we had ten of him.\"\n\n\"There's no reason to be cruel,\" Brock said. He patted Liza's shoulder, and she pretended to pull her hair out.\n\n\"Anyway,\" Lotte said, passing around a small satchel of cured meat. \"Maybe now that Pollux is in charge, we can use the draft to enlist more healers in the future. Even Frond didn't care to cross the Luminous Mother.\"\n\n\"Really?\" Jett stroked his chin. \"I didn't think Frond was afraid of anybody.\"\n\n\"I don't know that it was fear, precisely,\" Lotte said. \"But Frond would do anything for the guild. Sometimes that means playing politics.\"\n\n\"Right,\" Brock said. \"That Frond, so politically savvy.\"\n\n\"It's a fine art,\" Lotte said pointedly. \"Pushing back just enough. Knowing the difference between a line you can cross and one you can't.\"\n\nJett leaned over to Brock. \"I think she's talking about you,\" he whispered loudly.\n\n\"I'm sorry, but...\" Brock glanced to his left and right, looking for support from his friends, some sign they were thinking what he was thinking. They only looked back curiously. \"Is no one else going to say it? You're talking about the draft, about... abducting people from their lives. Frond isn't collecting painted pebbles; she's collecting cannon fodder.\"\n\n\"Some of us volunteered, Brock,\" Liza warned.\n\n\"Well, sure, but you're weird.\"\n\n\"'Some of us' includes you, idiot! You volunteered, too!\"\n\n\"Oh, right,\" he said. Sort of.\n\n\"I volunteered,\" said Lotte.\n\n\"Really?\" Brock was surprised. All he knew about Lotte's life outside of the guild was that she originally came from intown—Brock often saw her consulting an ancient timepiece, some treasured family heirloom worth a small fortune.\n\n\"I was in the Stewards Guild,\" she said. \"And I was good at my job. A born administrator.\"\n\nFel wrinkled up her nose. \"Administrator?\"\n\n\"It means...\" Brock paused. \"Um...\"\n\n\"An administrator is a person who... administrates,\" Liza said.\n\nThe fire crackled in the silence.\n\nJett shrugged. \"Don't ask me.\"\n\n\"An administrator is a person who makes things happen,\" Lotte said. \"The stewards keep Freestone running just as much as the merchants do, but with less posturing and fewer rewards. They coordinate the Guildculling, file important paperwork, schedule construction projects for the Works Guild; they're judges and chancellors and pages...\"\n\nJett pretended to snore.\n\nLotte laughed. \"Okay, you're not wrong. It's important work, but it's boring. Which is probably why I fell in love with Jak.\"\n\n\"Oooh,\" Fel said. \"Lotte and Jak, why don't you plant a tree? Let it bask in your mutual affection as it does the light of the sun!\" She giggled.\n\nBrock gave Fel a confused look, and he wasn't the only one.\n\n\"I'm guessing you don't have that saying,\" she said bashfully.\n\n\"I recognize the sentiment.\" Lotte smiled to herself. \"Jak was fearless and... rowdy. We were from different planes, as they say. The adventurer and the administrator. I wouldn't have even met him except that I'd had to fine him for making rude noises during Master Quilby's speech at a public ceremony.\"\n\n\"Love at first citation?\" Brock said.\n\n\"Something like that. We began seeing each other. My parents were very unhappy about it. I was still living at home, and this was the first time I'd ever defied them. The first time I'd ever put my own needs first.\n\n\"One day, there was a knock at my door. It was Alabasel Frond, looking about as out of place intown as a dog in fancy dress. But there was nothing funny about her expression. I knew what had happened before she said a word—Jak was dead.\"\n\nThe humor around the campfire dried up in an instant. Fel uttered a little gasp; otherwise, it was silent until Lotte finally spoke again.\n\n\"My parents were... pleased. They didn't even try to hide it. I could finally get past my rebellious phase, is how they put it. They locked me inside my room to keep me from going to his funeral pyre.\" Lotte smirked. \"First door I ever kicked down.\"\n\nFel clasped her hands together. \"And you joined the Sea of Stars in Jak's memory?\" she asked dreamily.\n\n\"I tried,\" Lotte answered. \"But Frond said no.\"\n\n\"No?!\" said Jett.\n\n\"She really turned you away?\" Liza asked.\n\n\"She did,\" Lotte confirmed. \"Told me that she couldn't accept my application unless she was certain I'd thought it through. Told me to come back in a week if I still felt the same. Seven days later, I was knocking on her door at the crack of dawn.\" Lotte frowned. \"The whole guild slept until third bell that day, so it was a long and frustrating morning for me.\"\n\nShe fixed her gaze on Brock. \"My point is, none of us is 'cannon fodder' to her, Brock. The rest of Freestone might take what we do—what we sacrifice—for granted. Frond assuredly does not.\"\n\nBrock nodded, keeping to himself the fear that Zed or Jayna or even Micah might already number among those sacrifices.\n\nDespite his worries, Brock slept easily and deeply beside the fire. It took a long moment to get his bearings as Lotte shook him awake.\n\nHe tried to ask if it was his turn to keep watch, but his words came out slurred with sleep.\n\nLotte shushed him. \"Come with me,\" she whispered.\n\nBrock kept his blanket around him as he stood and trudged in the snow, following Lotte a good thirty paces from their campsite. The cold was invigorating, and by the time Lotte came to a stop, he was fully awake.\n\n\"What is it?\" he asked. \"Did you see something out here?\"\n\n\"Oh, I've seen something,\" Lotte said. \"Empty your pockets.\"\n\n\"Uh, what?\" Brock said.\n\n\"Do it now,\" she insisted.\n\nBrock repositioned his blanket so that he could reach his trouser pockets, turning them inside out. He gave Lotte a look that said: Satisfied?\n\n\"This one,\" Lotte said, tapping a small pocket woven into his tunic.\n\nBrock hesitated, but there was no getting out of it. He produced a folded sheet of waxed parchment. Lotte snatched it from him, unfolding it to reveal a clutch of cottony spheres, fuzzy tufts no larger than a walnut.\n\n\"Do you know what these are?\" she demanded.\n\n\"No,\" Brock said, and at her hard look, he said, \"No, Quartermaster. I thought maybe the material would be of use, though. I was going to ask you—\"\n\n\"These are cocoons,\" Lotte said sharply. \"Bladewort cocoons. You ever see a bladewort? They blend right in with the trees in the springtime. Look like leaves. Pretty little green butterflies.\"\n\n\"What's a butterfly?\" Brock asked.\n\n\"Doesn't really matter; they're extinct by now for all I know. But the bladewort thrives out here. They're small and hard to capture or kill. Their wings are as sharp as Frond's throwing stars, and they use them to cut you open so they can lap at your blood. Sometimes they nick a minor artery. Sometimes they cut your throat right open. What do you think would happen if they hatched in your tunic?\"\n\nBrock dropped his gaze to the snow, chastened. \"I'm sorry,\" he said. \"I didn't know.\"\n\n\"And did you know what would happen with that... that pitmunk spit or shelled rat urine or whatever it is you had in your pocket today?\"\n\nBrock felt the color drain from his face. \"It wasn't urine,\" he protested.",
"loss": true
},
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"from": "human",
"value": "Lotte sighed. \"Look at me, Brock.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He lifted his eyes from the ground; Lotte looked serious, but not angry.",
"loss": true
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"from": "system",
"value": "Next turn only: maintain roughly 28% quote-to-text ratio",
"loss": null
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I've seen you poring over Hexam's monster manual. And I want to encourage your curiosity. But with Dangers, the smallest mistake could have disastrous consequences. Consequences that could kill you, or worse, kill somebody else and haunt you forever. So you have to run everything you do by me or Hexam, you understand?\" She held his eyes, waiting for an answer.\n\nBrock nodded. \"Yes,\" he said.\n\n\"And no souvenirs without our consent, all right?\"\n\n\"Yes, Quartermaster.\"\n\n\"Good,\" she said. \"Now go toss these in the fire, and we'll rouse the others. It'll be light out soon.\"\n\nThey plodded back to camp, and Lotte watched as Brock approached the fire with his handful of cocoons. He hadn't known what they were, and it obviously wasn't a good idea to bring such a thing into Freestone. But his mind still swam with the possibilities. Wings like sharpened steel? A town with regular shortages of metal could use that. And the creature must somehow produce this silky cocoon. Could bladewort larvae be used to produce material for clothiers?\n\n\"Go on,\" Lotte said, and Brock realized he'd hesitated. He quickly dumped the cocoons into the fire. Only then did Lotte turn her back and begin waking the others.\n\nBrock cursed himself silently. Lotte wasn't likely to take her eyes off him now. Which meant his work for the Lady Gray had gotten a lot more complicated. She wouldn't be happy if he came back empty-handed. And if she wasn't happy, Zed wasn't safe.\n\nThe cocoons popped and sizzled in the fire, marring the morning's crispness with the acrid smell of burning.\n\nThe morning after the stalking shadow's attack, Zed felt numb. He moved listlessly around the camp, packing his gear and tying his bedroll. His thoughts were thick as syrup.\n\nI'm your uncle.\n\nCallum's revelation throbbed like a headache, pulsing just behind Zed's eyes.\n\nLast night a million questions had been at his tongue, a torrent beating against a dam. But the dam had held. The stalking shadow's attack had left Zed feeling poisonous and tired. His throat burned. Frond had immediately set Micah to work on him, shooing Callum and the rest of the elves away.\n\nZed tried to protest, but the guildmistress had placed her cool hand against his chest.\n\n\"Tomorrow,\" she said. \"Right now you must heal.\"\n\nSo he'd healed, as Micah's glowing hands illuminated the night.\n\nNow tomorrow had finally come, but Zed found his questions had all dried up, replaced by a not-unpleasant emptiness.\n\nMicah, at least, was giving him a wide berth. If Zed didn't know any better, he'd say the boy looked almost pensive as he stared out into the muddy morning. Perhaps the long night of healing had finally exhausted his endless reserves of snark.\n\nAs Zed stooped to pick up his scepter, a lanky shadow passed across the snow, jolting him with panic. He snapped up to find Callum looming, those wide green eyes unreadable.\n\nZed felt a flare of irritation that disturbed his stupor. He frowned as he slid the scepter into its leather holster. The camp had suddenly cleared out. Glancing around, Zed discovered the adventurers had all joined the elves on their side.\n\nTraitors. Brock would have backed him up.\n\nWell, Zed wouldn't speak first.\n\nHe'd already asked his questions—had been asking them for weeks—and Callum had chosen to rebuff him over and over. Zed didn't owe the elf a single word more, and he was determined not to give him one until Callum begged for forgiveness.\n\n\"Why?\" Zed asked.\n\nHe bit down on his own cheek.\n\nCallum flinched softly at the word. \"Is there any answer I could give that would satisfy you? That would absolve me?\"\n\nZed's anger squalled again at that. He scowled at the elf. \"No,\" he said. \"But you don't get to do that to me now. I've been begging you for answers about my father, and all I've gotten are lies.\"\n\nThe High Ranger frowned. \"I never lied to you, Zed.\"\n\n\"A lie by omission is still a lie!\" Zed shouted. His voice echoed through the forest. Zed heard the startled cries of birds in the distance.\n\nHe knew he was being foolish. A tantrum now would just attract more Dangers. He should rush past Callum and rejoin the group, march glumly behind Micah while the boy attempted to scratch himself beneath layers of winter clothing, or listen in while Jayna snuck Hexam her clever questions.\n\nInstead, Zed began to cry. This infuriated him even further. He spun around and wiped angrily at his eyes. The ache for familiar things—for his mother, and Brock, and the safety of the city—throbbed deeply in his chest.\n\n\"You think I've failed you,\" Callum said from behind him. He placed his hands on Zed's shoulders, turning him gently back around. \"And you're right. But how could I tell you the true extent of it? That I've been failing you since before you were born?\"\n\nCallum kneeled, putting them at eye level. Zed found his gaze locked with the elf's, and he was unable to look away. \"My brother and I were together on that journey to Freestone,\" Callum said. \"It was his first to the city of the humans. On the giddy night of our arrival, I watched as Zerend introduced himself to a pretty young servant girl who had been waving from the crowd, ignoring the strange looks he received from both humans and elves. I loudly toasted them when they thought they'd snuck a kiss at the tavern and listened to my brother's breathless professions of love as we left the city two weeks later. I physically restrained him when he tried to double back and return to her.\" Callum's mouth opened, closed, opened again. \"We lost him on that very same journey. He was slayed before my eyes by a monster that I missed.\"\n\nZed stared, dumbfounded.\n\n\"Six years later, I learned from the Adventurers Guild that the pretty human servant had birthed a child with pointed ears. And do you know what I did, Zed?\" Callum suddenly gripped Zed's arms, his eyes burning with a terrible intensity. \"I did nothing,\" the elf rasped through gritted teeth. \"I told them that Zerend was lost and sent them on their way. I took no responsibility for you, or the many things I owed you. How could I? You had a mother, so what claim could I make? I was the leader of the queen's rangers; I couldn't very well abandon my obligations to live among humans. To bring you the news that it was my fault your father...\"\n\nCallum's voice faltered, a lute string breaking midsong. Slowly, the manic light died from his eyes, and his grip on Zed's arms loosened. \"I left you and your mother alone, because of my shame.\"\n\nThe elf stood, ignoring the snow and dirt that now caked his trousers. \"And then there you were. An adventurer, of all things. So different, and yet so like him. You've repaid my unkindness by risking your life to save us. You rescue a people who won't even claim you as one of their own.\" Callum's hands were clenched into fists at his side. \"And we betray you even now. Even as I say this.\"\n\nCreeping fingers began to scale Zed's spine. That didn't sound good. \"'Betray'? What do you mean?\"\n\n\"A lie by omission.\" Callum watched him for a long beat, his eyes large and sorrowful. \"The queen is lying. To all of you.\"\n\nRipples of dread exploded along Zed's arms.\n\n\"I'm so sorry,\" Callum said. \"I've brought you into terrible danger.\"\n\nAnd at that moment, the Danger arrived.\n\nZed heard the screams before he saw anything.\n\nVoices shouted from the other camp, the elven and trade tongues knotting in alarm.\n\nCallum tilted his head to the side. \"What—?\"\n\nWhich was when the arrow found him. It plunged into his shoulder as suddenly and quietly as a bird alighting on a branch, sending the High Ranger spinning into the dirt with a grunt.\n\n\"Callum!\" Zed screamed. He fell to his knees by the elf's side.\n\nCallum glanced down at the shaft. \"I'm fine.\" He twisted the arrow with practiced skill, unhooking the beaklike head from his shoulder. \"It's one of ours.\" Callum's wide eyes darted around the camp. \"An ambush. They're here!\"\n\nFigures appeared along the edges of the clearing. Stark gray shapes that lumbered within the whiteness.\n\nThey had been elves once, Zed could see that much. But where living elves were beings of color and beauty and magic, these creatures blighted those qualities from the landscape with their very presence. Most were little more than skeletons, on which pustules of flesh and hair clung stubbornly, like toadstools to a dying tree.\n\nThe only color Zed could make out in all that deadness were the pinpricks of bright purple light that burned from within every skeleton's eye sockets.\n\nThey were led by a single stooped elf for whom death was more recent. Her skin was ashen, as if she were wearing thick layers of makeup, and her eyes were spoonfuls of cloudy milk. She moved in teetering steps, as if just on the verge of falling over. Beyond these strange, dancing strides, she made no other noise.\n\nNone of them did.\n\n\"Stay behind me,\" Callum whispered as he stood. Slowly, the High Ranger unhooked the longbow from his back, nocking it with fluid, almost casual motions.\n\nZed shook his head, though he didn't dare look away from the figures. They were forming a staggered line, separating Zed and Callum from the others. A few of the skeletons carried jagged, rusty weapons. The bent elf stood behind the line, wielding a bow just like Callum's. She wore the uniform of a ranger.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Zed, behind me,\" Callum rasped. \"I can't protect you and fight them at the same time.\"\n\nZed took a deep breath. He'd expected to feel afraid right now. He'd been in a near panic the entire journey so far. The fear was still there; Zed's heart beat in his chest like a dog scratching at a flea. But above it, insulating him from the worst of the terror, something else was growing. It was a restlessness, a yearning.\n\nZed wanted to burn.\n\n\"No.\" He pulled the crystal-topped scepter free of his belt. Zed narrowed his eyes, drawing carefully from his mana. \"I've gotten this far without your protection,\" he said. \"I don't need it now.\"\n\nAnd as a nimbus of silver mist closed Zed off from the world around him, the last thing he saw was Callum's stricken face.\n\nHe reappeared several yards away, trotting out of a second cloud just behind the line of undead. This was elf-stepping, the first sorcerous ability he'd manifested. It allowed him to pass between distant locations in a blink, as long as he could see where he was going.\n\nZed raised the scepter, recalling Hexam's lesson. Fold the magic into the material. He summoned his mana and focused on the crystal, pointing at the back of the stooped undead ranger. He felt the magic thrumming through his hands like usual, felt the air around his fingers begin to boil, but he tamped it down. The current passed easily into the rod, as if it were an extension of his own arm. As the mana left him, the crystal at the top glowed vivid green.\n\nA high, tinny noise rang out from the stone. The air around the undead elf shimmered with heat. But just as the power exploded from the scepter, the implement kicked back, throwing Zed's aim off course. Green fire discharged into a row of skeletons, incinerating them.\n\nZed had missed the archer. Her empty gaze flicked back at him, pinpricks of purple light widening slightly, like pupils dilating.\n\nThree long strides and she was on him. The elf leaped into the air, pouncing upon Zed and sending the scepter pinwheeling away into the snow. The wind left Zed's lungs in a great rush as he crashed to the ground.\n\nWhatever bluster had insulated him from his fear evaporated now. The ranger bent over Zed at an inhuman angle, pinning him to the ground with spindly limbs. This close he could see her face was ripped with a ragged, untreated wound. Behind the violet gleams, insect larvae swam in her milky eyes.\n\nZed tried to scream, but the elf grabbed his neck and squeezed hard. Her face was completely emotionless as she started crushing his throat.\n\nThen, suddenly, she was gone. Zed heard Callum bellowing as the High Ranger ripped the undead elf off of him. A hoarse gasp later, and his lungs filled gratefully with cold air.\n\nZed was getting very tired of being strangled by Dangers.\n\nHe scrabbled up to his hands and knees to find Callum wrestling with the undead elf.\n\n\"Get to Frond!\" Callum roared as he plunged a hunting knife into the creature.\n\nThis time Zed didn't argue. He snatched up the scepter from the ground and took a quick gulp of mana, casting his eyes to the other camp, where many more figures were blurring between the trees.\n\nA skeleton lunged at him just as the silvery mist enfolded Zed. Its rictus grin disappeared into the clouds.\n\nWhen the mist parted, Zed fell out of it and into a full-scale battle.\n\nAll around him, elves fought for their lives against a skeletal horde. The queen and her ministers stood together, buffered by Petal and Thorn, who whirled and slashed with their longswords whenever the creatures came too close.\n\nEnergy sparked from Queen Me'Shala's hands—Zed could feel the charge in his own hair—and then bright webs of lightning connected a whole line of the skeletons, burning them with a sudden flash. A loud crack followed the brightness, popping Zed's ears.\n\nSelby was chanting under his breath, a spell that seemed to be generating a bright red aura around the elven forces. Threya brandished two large swords and used them to impale a Danger that had made it past Thorn's defensive line, right through the eyes. She removed the offending skeleton from her weapons with a spirited shove of her boot.\n\nThe queen's gaze landed on Zed, her expression brightening. \"Zed!\" she called, waving him over. \"This way!\"\n\nThe queen is lying.\n\nI've brought you into terrible danger.\n\nZed took a step back, shaking his head. His hands clenched around the scepter's handle.\n\nThe queen watched him retreat and something in her face changed. For a moment she looked alarmed. Then her eyes narrowed.\n\nZed whirled around and ran. He searched the woods desperately for Frond, or any of the other adventurers, but he couldn't find a familiar face in the chaos.\n\nA shadow fell across his path. Zed glanced up in time to see a skeleton plunging down toward him from the trees. He yelped, elf-stepping out of the way. Zed tumbled out of the silvery mist and slammed against a tree just as the skeleton hit the forest floor, exploding into a mess of bones.\n\nHe stood there for a moment, propped against the tree, just panting and willing his heart to be still.\n\nThat was when he saw Frond. The guildmistress was midleap, swinging her curved sword out in front of her. She unburdened a particularly stooped skeleton of its cumbersome head, then skidded into the body, sending it crashing away. Frond was back up immediately, her sharp eyes scanning for threats.\n\nThey landed on Zed. Frond raised her hand, her lips parting to say something, just as a scream filled the encampment.\n\nA high, keening voice echoed from the forest. The sound was unearthly in its pitch and intensity, but somewhere inside it was the wail of a woman's voice. Zed grabbed his ears against the cry, searching the camp for the source. He gasped as the Dangers began to part, making way for something else to come through.\n\nWhat emerged was no shambling corpse. A female elven figure floated several feet off the ground, shivering with ghastly purple radiance. Lank strands of hair encircled her head in a snarled corona. The dead woman—for she was surely dead; her mummified face was frozen in a sob—was almost transparent. She flickered in and out of sight, her form blurring one moment, and then focusing the next.\n\n\"Ban'shea!\" Many elven voices began screaming the word, all of them sharp with panic.\n\nAn armored figure exploded toward the spirit, her sword carving looping patterns through the air.\n\nIt was Petal. The sword sister moved with languid grace. Her flowing slashes drew the ban'shea's attention. Petal caught Zed watching her and spared him a cheerful wink. She stepped between Zed and the creature. She was protecting him.\n\nThe spirit turned toward her. The ban'shea's sorrowful eyes brightened with desperate intensity.\n\nPetal spun, expertly swiping her longsword into the Danger. But the blow passed right through it, leaving only a billowing trail of purple vapor. The sword sister tilted, caught off balance.\n\nThe ban'shea descended before she could recover. The purple light radiating from the Danger brightened, flooding the encampment. She took Petal's face in her hands and the echoing wail sharpened, rising to an almost unbearable pitch. Zed kept his hands pressed firmly over his ears, but he watched as Petal's face went slack. He saw her wide, lovely eyes unfocus as she stared up at the spirit. The sword sister's mouth fell open, and the pinkness drained from her skin, blanching to pale blue.\n\nThe ban'shea's wail relented, but the silence that followed was almost as awful. She released Petal, and the elf's body fell to the ground.\n\nPetal was dead.\n\nZed discovered he'd stopped breathing, and couldn't will himself to start again. In place of air, a liquid rush of horror flooded his chest. His hands were shaking uncontrollably.\n\nOnly the sheer force of Frond's order brought him back.\n\n\"Zed, run!\"\n\nZed came to in time to discover that the ban'shea's fervid eyes were now trained on him.\n\nHe ran.\n\nHe plunged into the trees without a thought for where he was headed. Behind him, the spirit's wail rose again, echoing miserably. Zed sucked in a gulp of mana and cast his gaze as far out into the forest as he could see. He passed through a tunnel of mist and arrived many yards away.\n\nHe curved right, into a thick stand of trees, panting and sobbing as he ran.\n\nA shape leaped in front of him. Zed screamed, lifting his scepter and summoning his mana. It flooded into the crystal, the stone glaring green, just as recognition dawned.\n\nHe knew the person standing there.\n\nIt was Brock.\n\nHis friend's eyes widened as he saw the glowing scepter pointed right at him.\n\nZed's mouth fell open. \"How—?\"\n\nThe spell went off before he could stop it.",
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"value": "A spray of green fire gushed from the crystal, splashing over Brock and exploding with blinding intensity.",
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"value": "Zed was blown off of his feet and landed in the snow with a hiss and a cloud of vapor.",
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"value": "He pushed himself up in a panic, his eyes darting wildly to where he'd just annihilated his best friend.",
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"value": "Brock still stood there, totally unharmed. Though he looked a bit shaken.\n\nSurrounding him was a glittering, semitransparent barrier. Then Zed saw Jayna standing just behind the boy, her arms raised. Her red curls were matted with sweat. Jayna lowered her hands and the shield dissolved into air, a bubble popping.\n\nZed and Brock said nothing for a long moment, both boys just huffing and staring at each other.\n\n\"Am I dreaming?\" Zed finally asked.\n\n\"We came to warn you that the Lich knows your plan,\" Brock said. He waved weakly toward camp, where the sounds of battle still raged. \"Brock to the rescue.\"\n\n\"'We'?\"\n\nOther figures stepped into view. Liza stood just a short distance away, with Jett beside her. Micah hung back, nervously scanning the forest, while Fel moved to help Zed to his feet.\n\n\"When the undead attacked, Frond ordered Micah and me to run.\" Jayna shook out her trembling hands. She looked even paler than usual. \"We ran into Lotte and these guys just a few moments ago. Zed, you nearly killed us!\"\n\nZed grabbed Fel's arm after she'd helped him up, his eyes searching the trees. \"That doesn't matter right now. Where's Lotte?\"\n\n\"She ran toward the battle,\" Liza said. \"She made us promise to stay far away.\"\n\n\"Naturally, Liza ignored her,\" Brock said with a sigh.\n\nThe image of Petal's blue face pushed unbidden into Zed's mind. \"We have to run!\" he said. \"There's something still chasing me. It killed a sword sister with just a scream. It—\"\n\n\"Ban'shea...\" Fel's voice wheezed in Zed's ear, so thick with fear it seemed to fog the air around them.\n\nZed turned just as the scream rose through the forest, high and despondent.\n\nThe ban'shea floated through the trees. Her anguished eyes were wide and wild. She reached pleadingly for Zed.\n\n\"Run!\" he screamed.\n\nThey ran, tumbling backward into the woods. Trees flashed by Zed, and he heard shouts from the others, though he couldn't pick out any distinct voices. Behind them, the ban'shea wailed again, alarmingly near.\n\nAs he ran, he glanced above him into the bony branches of the trees. In the distance, Zed spotted what he hoped was a particularly sturdy one. He held his breath and leaped into the air. Mist exploded around him, and then the wind was knocked forcefully out of Zed's chest as he slammed into the branch. He latched on to it with his arms and legs and just hung there a moment, willing himself to breathe until he finally could.\n\nZed crawled carefully on top of the bough, acutely aware of the sound of creaking wood. He glanced down. His friends were still running, some in wildly different directions. Beyond them, the sickly purple light of the ban'shea flitted between the trees. If he could just get close enough to hit her with his flame, before she caught him like she had poor Petal...\n\nThere was a crack, and a sharp dip. Zed shrieked as the branch buckled. He sucked in a breath and fell through fog—\n\n—then landed in a heap on the ground. Zed scrambled to his feet, raising his scepter, which was illuminated by a strange purple glare. He looked up.\n\nThe ban'shea floated just above, watching him with her dolorous gaze. The Danger's face blurred, her features swimming, and when they reformed Zed was surprised to see a normal elven face staring back at him.\n\nThis woman was beautiful. She had kind, wet eyes, which reminded Zed of his own mother's. Her expression was soft and sorrowful. She reached a hand down toward Zed, seeming just on the verge of telling him something. Some tragic and wonderful secret.\n\nNo, Zed. This isn't a secret you wish to know.\n\nSomething called him back to himself. Zed raised the scepter high, toward the ban'shea's outstretched hand, and summoned every last bit of mana he had.\n\nThe fire erupted as a great green sphere, enveloping the Danger in a swirling orb. It churned like a miniature sun in the desolate forest.\n\nZed's stomach quailed as the last of his magic was used up. His legs buckled beneath him, sending him sprawling into the snow. He panted, closing his eyes as the heat of the flames swept over him.\n\nHe was alive. He was alive, and he'd rescued his friends.\n\nEventually the blaze faded, the warmth giving way back to crisp, cold winter. Zed opened his eyes.\n\nThe ban'shea still floated above him. Somehow the green flames, which burned anything they touched, hadn't touched her.\n\nOh, no, Zed thought exhaustedly. There's a flaw in the plan.\n\nThe spirit's beautiful face liquefied, contorting into a wide, starving smile. Zed screamed, crawling backward. The ban'shea sailed slowly closer. Her ragged locks of hair reached toward him like fingers. Her torn lips opened wider and wider.\n\nThe trees around them began to glow with honey-colored light, illuminating the forest in sunny radiance. Zed wondered if he was dying already, if this was part of the ban'shea's deadly scream. But this light seemed wholly different. It reminded Zed of Micah's healing hands, but instead of coming from a person, it rippled out from the forest itself, billowing from the leafless trees.\n\nThe ban'shea recoiled from the light, shielding her eyes. Zed noticed that several figures had joined them, emerging from within the foliage.\n\nBrock? he wondered. Liza? Micah? No, these shapes were too tall. The figures stood in a tight circle, positioned behind the sudden glare, shrouded in shadow. And they were all chanting something in a language Zed didn't recognize.\n\nAbove him, the ban'shea shriveled beneath the amber light. She fractured and folded in upon herself, until she was nothing but a curl of violet smoke. Then the smoke vanished; the warm light dimmed, and Zed dimmed, too, falling into unconsciousness.\n\n\"Zed!\" Brock shouted. \"Zed!\"\n\nThe forest mocked him with its silence.\n\nIt was awful, that silence. Unnatural. No matter how far he hurled his voice, the snow seemed to swallow it up. The sounds of battle had been so loud, a fearsome din of clashing steel and shouted curses. And that dreadful wail. But now, utter silence. Just how far had they run?\n\nAnd at what point had Zed fallen behind?\n\n\"Zed!\" he screamed, and even though his voice, high with panic, fell flat among the drifts and barren trees, still there was an echo of a sort as Micah took up the call, and Jayna, and Jett with his tenor sounding out like a foghorn.\n\nAnd then Fel's voice cried: \"Over here!\"\n\nBrock scrambled through the snow, arriving at the base of a tree where Fel squatted, examining the ground. But he saw only more snow.\n\nLiza's breath was visible in little clouds. \"What are we looking at, Fel?\"\n\n\"Here.\" Fel gestured at a spot where the snow was disturbed, as if pushed aside. She picked up a broken branch, gazed up at the tree. \"He fell. He scrabbled about. And here...\" She took a few steps forward, to where the snow remained unmarred, and placed a hand upon a patch of ice. Brock noticed the area shimmered in the sunlight like glass. \"The top layer of snow was melted and then froze again. As if exposed to a brief burst of extreme heat.\"\n\n\"His fire,\" Jayna said.\n\nMicah tucked his mace under his armpit so that he could rub his frozen fingers together. \"Fire, right. So there is a good reason to find him.\"\n\n\"But where is he?\" Brock asked, scanning the trees.\n\nFel pointed off to the side. \"Footprints.\"\n\n\"So he's okay?\" Brock prompted. \"He got up and walked away?\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, Brock,\" she said. \"I don't think they're his footprints.\"\n\n\"What does that mean?\" Liza asked. \"Someone took him?\"\n\nFel showed her palms. \"This is good news. There's no... Forgive me, but there's no blood. And a ban'shea would leave no prints, so... I think he's okay. But I think he was taken.\"\n\n\"ZED!\" Brock shouted into the distance. He moved quickly, placing his own feet within the footprints.\n\n\"Brock!\" Liza called.",
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"value": "\"Let Fel lead. She's a trained tracker.\"",
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"value": "\"I can follow footprints in the snow!\" he barked.\n\n\"You're following the wrong prints.\"\n\nBrock paused, considered the trail he was following. It led uphill, back in the direction they'd come from. Fel was already leading the others away at an angle, deeper into the forest, where the skeletal trees stood closer together. He kicked at the prints in frustration, then hurried to catch up.\n\nLiza gripped him by the arm as he caught up. \"We'll find him, Brock.\"\n\n\"I was sure he was right behind me,\" Brock replied as they hurried after Fel. \"When he was drafted I told him, I promised him, we'd look out for each other, and now—\"\n\nLiza's grip tightened, and she pulled him down low. Brock saw that Fel had lifted her fist, signaling that they should stop. If something was wrong, though, he couldn't see what. The world was as silent as ever, the trail they followed showing the only sign of life in a dead forest.\n\nAnd then he saw the figure standing among the trees.\n\nShe was lithe and tall, and so still that Brock had mistaken her for a sapling. Her garments marked her as a stranger. She wore metal and stone and a supple, waxy material that was familiar, but which he couldn't place. Her face was covered with a mask of immaculate white, its chin coming to a point, with simple slits for her eyes and mouth.\n\n\"What... is that...?\" Liza whispered.\n\nBrock shuddered. \"Does it remind anyone else of—?\"\n\n\"The naga,\" Jett said, his voice husky at the reminder of the monster whose venom had nearly killed him.\n\nMicah scoffed. \"It's not a Danger, it's just some kind of scarecrow.\"\n\nAnd then the figure tilted its head, turning its black slits on Micah.\n\n\"Wedge formation!\" Liza shouted, already stepping forward with her shield raised.\n\nThe figure lifted its hand, and Brock held his breath. It looked to him like a gesture of greeting, but he was wholly expecting that hand to produce a fireball or a lightning bolt or even a tentacle.\n\nHe'd seen far too many tentacles in the last six weeks.\n\nHe drew his weapons and saw the others had done the same. Jayna flexed her fingers.\n\n\"Liza?\" Jett prompted, hefting his hammer. \"What's our move?\"\n\nThe figure stood its ground and said something in a language Brock didn't recognize.\n\n\"Anybody catch that?\" Micah asked.\n\n\"We come in peace,\" Liza said. \"Do you understand?\"\n\nThe figure ignored her, turning its gaze now on Fel. It spoke again, utterly unintelligible.\n\n\"We're wasting time,\" Brock hissed.\n\n\"All right,\" Liza said. \"All right, maybe we just... just keep going.\" She took a sideways step.\n\nAnd the forest burst into motion.\n\nSuddenly they were everywhere: up in the trees and behind every trunk, and two of them even popped up from within snowdrifts. They all wore those eerie masks, white as their surroundings, and they were all armed. In the time it took Brock to blink, a dozen nocked arrows were pointed directly at them.\n\n\"Well,\" Micah said, dropping his mace into the snow. \"That I understand.\"\n\nBrock had gotten used to sorting his enemies into three categories. There were the people, those he could talk to and, in theory at least, reason with. There were the Dangers, beyond reason, with whom communication was impossible. And there was Mousebane, in a category all her own, who seemed at times to understand just what Brock wanted and chose to do the opposite. And who, he noted, had disappeared deep into Fel's pack at the first sign of trouble.\n\nWhat he wasn't used to were people who just didn't have any idea what he was saying.\n\n\"We are looking for our friend, you understand?\" he said, enunciating each syllable.\n\nThe strangers had taken their weapons and managed to communicate that the group should walk forward. Mostly that was achieved by surrounding them and prodding them with arrows. Other than an initial exchange in their unfamiliar language, they had been as silent as the woods themselves.\n\n\"All right, buddy,\" Jett said to Brock. \"You know if they don't speak the trade tongue, talking slowly in the trade tongue isn't going to get you anywhere. Besides\"—he nodded at the ground—\"we're still following the trail. I think it's fairly clear they are taking us to Zed.\"\n\n\"So we can all be prisoners together,\" Micah said. \"It'll feel just like being back at the guildhall, I bet. Until they kill us and feed us to the Dangers.\"\n\n\"They won't do that,\" Jayna said, but she sounded wholly uncertain about it.\n\n\"What else would a group of armed weirdos living in the woods want with a bunch of kids? How do you think they survive out here without getting eaten themselves? They've got to be Danger-worshipping cultists sworn into the service of some fiendish abomination.\" Micah made a face as if the answer were obvious and Jayna were deranged not to have come to the same conclusion.\n\nBrock turned to comfort Jayna, but she didn't look scared—she looked determined. \"I'm still good for a spell or two, Liza.\"\n\n\"They are not going to kill and feed us to anything,\" Fel said.\n\n\"Oh yeah?\" said Micah. \"You figure the Dangers will just eat us alive?\"\n\n\"Micah...\" Liza warned.\n\n\"Look at what they're wearing,\" Fel said. \"Consider it. Pauldrons of metal and buckles of stone. Their cloaks are woven cotton in a season when animal fur would be preferable. And the rest of it... some kind of plant matter.\"\n\nBrock took a second look at the waxy-looking material on their torsos and arms and legs. She was right. It looked like they'd wrapped themselves in leaves coated in lacquer.\n\n\"No animal products at all,\" Liza said. \"Not even Danger skins.\"\n\n\"So what, they live off berries?\" Micah made an exaggerated show of scanning their surroundings. \"How does that work in the winter, exactly?\"\n\n\"And who doesn't speak the trade tongue?\" Brock put in. \"Everyone speaks it. It's the whole point of having a trade language!\"\n\n\"It's nice to see you two getting along, anyway,\" Liza said.\n\nBlock glared at Micah, and Micah glared back. \"We're not getting along,\" Brock insisted. \"We're just... annoyed in the same direction.\"\n\n\"Is it getting brighter out?\" Jett asked.\n\nHe was right, Brock realized. As they'd walked, the forest had become darker and gloomier, to the point where he'd wondered how their captors could see much of anything through their slitted masks. He'd wholly expected to trip over a clutch of undead elves—according to Jayna, the woods had been swarming with them—but as unsettling as their surroundings were, they were clearly moving farther away from where the Lich's forces had lain in ambush. Now, as Jett had indicated, the forest had brightened somewhat. It seemed to grow brighter with each step.\n\n\"That isn't sunlight,\" Liza said. \"Does anyone else feel that?\"\n\nBrock looked at her. \"Feel what?\" he asked, but she struggled to explain it.\n\n\"Jayna?\" Liza prompted.\n\nJayna shook her head. \"I don't feel anything.\"\n\nThen they crested a hill, and Brock saw the trees. Trees that glowed with their own inner light.\n\n\"You think you've seen everything,\" Jett said. \"You flee a horde of reanimated elf corpses and you say, well, that's it, I've seen all there is to see. And then—\"\n\n\"—glowing trees,\" Brock finished.\n\nAnd beyond those trees, the forest was lush and verdant.\n\nPassing between the lit trees was like stepping into another world. After miles and weeks of snow and ice, the greenery all around them was a jarring and welcome change. The air was warm.\n\n\"This is some pretty great magic,\" Jett mused.\n\n\"Magic?\" Jayna said. \"Maybe...\"\n\n\"Maybe? Of course it's magic.\" Jett removed his gloves and rolled up his sleeves. \"Sometimes I forget magic isn't all about setting monsters on fire.\"\n\n\"Not that there's anything wrong with that,\" Liza said lightly, but she was intently scanning their surroundings. The ground was an uninterrupted expanse of moss, but beneath it was a hard material. Cobblestones. The trees here, thick and heavy with the foliage of high summer, reached far into the air to form a ceiling of leaf and branch. They did not glow from within like those at the perimeter, but daylight filtered through the canopy, lighting the scene in cool shades of green and yellow.\n\nEverywhere there was stone—stone steps, stone wells, stone walls—and everywhere that stone was overrun with algae and weeds and creeping vines.\n\n\"It's a dead city,\" Jayna breathed.\n\n\"Are you kidding?\" Liza smiled and brushed her fingers across a flower as they walked along the broken cobbles. \"This place is very much alive.\"\n\n\"I've never seen anything like it,\" Jett said, awed.\n\n\"Zed has, sort of,\" Liza replied.\n\nBrock considered the structures as they approached what appeared to be a residential district. The uniform rows of squat stone houses made for a striking study in order and chaos. Despite being of similar size and shape, no two buildings were alike, because nature had left its mark upon each in unique ways. Some were covered with verdant moss, others with flowering vines that wove unimpeded through open doors and windows. One structure had a tree growing from it, right up through its very roof, but it appeared otherwise intact. He could just make out the movements of the people inside as they snuck glances through darkened windows.\n\n\"The shrine we visited last summer,\" he said.",
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"value": "\"The druids! Their shrine was like this, the trees and stone all wound together. This is similar, just... bigger. Way bigger.\"",
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"value": "\"Druids?\" Jayna echoed. \"Alive out here all this time? Alone?\" She looked around at their silent captors with new interest. \"Is it possible?\"\n\n\"The druids who built that shrine were elves,\" Jett reasoned. \"And these ones were definitely most interested in talking to Fel.\"\n\n\"But I couldn't understand them,\" Fel said softly.\n\n\"So they've got some weird druid language and a secret handshake,\" Micah said. \"We can figure it out. If they're elves, we're on the same side.\"\n\nLiza's smile faltered. \"Probably. But from what we've learned of the divisions in Llethanyl...\" She glanced at Fel. \"Better not let our guard down just yet.\"\n\nAs the druids led them down the avenue, the city grew more cramped, buildings and trees alike crowding in. Eventually they were forced to walk two by two, with half the druids leading the way and the other half following behind. Their silent captors kept their bows drawn, but, strange masks aside, they weren't terribly menacing. Still, Brock was growing nervous once more. He didn't miss the snow, but without it he had no way to know if they were still following Zed's trail. And whatever Liza said about the city, it felt like a dead place to him, a once-great achievement that had been strangled by the green as thoroughly as any Danger could manage. He imagined Freestone's familiar marketplace in a similar state, and the thought made him shudder.\n\nThey went down a narrow staircase slick with growth, positioned between two buildings so that the light of the street above was quickly forgotten. If these druids were elves, their eyes would be better equipped to handle the darkness. Brock peered ahead, running his hand along the slimy wall to steady himself.\n\nAs his eyes adjusted, the staircase bottomed out, and the druids led them through an ancient archway and into an expansive indoor space beyond it.\n\nIndoor wasn't quite right, however. Huge pieces of the structure were missing, allowing shafts of light to illuminate ancient stonework and massive roots. Brock imagined tremendous trees must be high overhead, hidden from view by what remained of the domed ceiling, supported by the roots that wove their way down the walls and deeper still.\n\nHe wondered if the vegetation made the ceiling more or less likely to fall on their heads.\n\nThere were more druids here, and they parted to reveal Zed standing among them. Brock's heart leaped into his throat, and he held his breath as Zed saw them and rushed forward. If Zed was their prisoner, the druids made no move to stop him, and within a moment he had flung his arms around Brock and Liza and as many of the others as he could reach.\n\n\"I'm so glad you're here!\" he gushed. \"I was afraid I'd never find you and nobody here will speak to me and they took my scepter.\"\n\nOne of the druids, the unarmed woman whom they'd first encountered, reached out and poked lightly at the point of Zed's ear as if expecting it to fall off.\n\nZed suffered the inspection with a small grimace. \"Also they keep doing that.\"\n\n\"Yeah, well,\" Micah said. \"We thought they'd have fed you to their sinister woodland overlords by now, so maybe look on the bright side.\"\n\nZed's eyes goggled.\n\nLiza huffed. \"We didn't—\"\n\n\"You are bleeding, though,\" Micah continued. He reached out and, his hand glowing with a honeyed light, touched a small cut on Zed's brow.\n\nThe druids all turned to watch, chattering excitedly. Their words echoed about the space like music. And then they bowed their heads to Micah in an unmistakable display of respect.\n\nLiza's jaw dropped. \"What... the...\"\n\n\"Well,\" Micah said, puffing out his chest. \"All I can say is, it's about time.\"\n\n\"Actually, I think Danger worship might have been easier to wrap my head around,\" Brock said.\n\nThe druids stirred, turning their attention to a grand archway where another of their number appeared. This figure was dressed in the same strange, simple mask, but instead of the lightly armored plant material of their captors, he wore a flowing robe the likes of which Brock had never seen. It shimmered softly in the light, and its color—Brock knew all the dyes available to man and elf, but this garment was a shade he'd never seen before, a rich blue bordering on purple.\n\nThis was a regal figure. Someone of authority.\n\nHe approached slowly, holding a small object in his upturned palm. He waved his free hand above the object, chanting low and purposefully.\n\n\"It's a spell,\" Zed said, his voice tight.\n\n\"I recognize it,\" Jayna said. \"He's holding a parrot's claw.\"\n\n\"Ew,\" said everyone.\n\n\"It's not an actual parrot's claw. It's petrified wood—a small tree branch that has hardened to stone over hundreds of years. There isn't a single one in Freestone, but they were used before the Day of Dangers... for translation spells.\"\n\n\"That's good news,\" Liza said.\n\n\"Mostly,\" Jayna said. \"But we have to be careful.\" She cast a look over the group, and her eyes lingered on Brock and Micah. \"The charm will translate everything we say.\"\n\nBrock pointed at his chest. \"Me? Why are you worried about me? I'm very diplomatic!\"\n\n\"For the record,\" Micah said, \"I totally get why you're worried about me.\"\n\n\"Sorry,\" Jayna said. \"It's just that the spell will be very, very literal. Some scholars believe that the great war between the dwarves and orcs was ignited over a simple mistranslation of the dwarven word for, um, 'rear end.'\"\n\nJett giggled. Jayna ignored him and continued.\n\n\"Once he finishes that spell, we have to avoid idioms, slang... Metaphors are totally off the table,\" she said. \"Uh, not literally! I mean—\"\n\nLiza sighed wearily. \"I get it. Just let me do the talking. Okay?\"\n\nThe mage came to a stop a few yards from them, and the rest of the druids drifted to the edges of the room, the archers watching them intently. The claw glowed with a soft blue light, and the mage's chanting ended. He turned his eerie gaze upon Fel. This time when he spoke, the claw vibrated in his palm, producing words that Brock understood perfectly.\n\n\"Who are you?\"\n\n\"Greetings, honored host,\" Liza said, spacing her words out to allow the claw time to sing out in the druid's language. \"We are citizens of Freestone. We fight the undead Dangers in the surrounding woods. We require help.\"\n\n\"Not you, Sister of Light,\" the druid said, and though the words from the claw were spoken neutrally, his tone sounded harsh. He lifted a finger, singling out Fel. \"Who are you? How is it you do not know our language?\"\n\n\"M-me?\" Fel stammered. \"I...\"\n\n\"And what are you?\" he asked, turning to consider Zed.\n\n\"He is a person and his name is Zed,\" Brock said hotly.\n\n\"Everyone calm down,\" Liza barked at her team. \"Please,\" she said, returning her attention to the druid. \"We are on a crucial mission to liberate Llethanyl from monsters. We must find our friends, or the entire city is doomed.\"\n\n\"Llethanyl?\" the druid said. \"Llethanyl overburdened its bough long ago.\"\n\n\"Uh, was that a metaphor?\" Micah whispered.\n\n\"Micah, shush!\" cried Jayna.\n\nThe druid turned his eyes on Fel once more. \"What do we care about Llethanyl? Overrun with monsters, you say? It was ever so.\" He pulled the mask away from his face, and Fel gasped. He wasn't just an elf—he was a night elf, like her.\n\n\"I say let Llethanyl burn.\"\n\nThough the sun waned above them—Zed could just make out the purple haze of dusk through the holes in the dome—the druids' overgrown chamber remained as bright as midday.\n\nZed sat on the floor, while Liza, Jayna, and Fel spoke haltingly with the druid leader several feet away. Too many voices were confusing the conversation, Liza had said. When Micah piped up that the last bit seemed perfectly clear to him, she banished all the boys to the other side of the hall.\n\nZed didn't mind being left out. He was numb with exhaustion and captivated by the lush beauty of the druids' home. Here, somehow, life still thrived in the dead of winter, plant life twining together with the ruins into a strange new garden.\n\nAnd elves survived, too, against all odds. Once their leader had removed his mask, many of the others followed suit. Each and every one was a night elf. Half a dozen stood nearby, eyeing Zed and the others curiously, and whispering to one another. They kept their bows raised.\n\nFel seemed to have been struck dumb by the sight of so many night elves. Though she stood now with Liza and Jayna, the two human girls were doing most of the talking. Fel just watched the druid leader with eyes so large and wide they seemed ready to burst open. It was as if her gaze were too small a container for everything she was seeing.\n\n\"You know, I don't think this is going to be so bad,\" Micah mused. \"These backwater elves have probably never met a healing prodigy before. They were falling over themselves when I cleaned up Zed's cut.\"\n\nJett shook his head. \"Is it too late to feed him to monsters?\"\n\nReclining beside the dwarf, Mousebane yawned, showing off her pointy teeth. The cat had been curled up in Fel's pack, but with the threat behind them and this uncanny warmth bathing down, she'd finally ventured out of hiding. Now she was sprawled out on a patch of moss that had grown over what was once thick carpet. She kept her lazy gaze on Fel across the chamber. Zed nearly reached out to rub her soft belly, but Mousebane turned and hissed at him before he even had a chance to lift his hand.\n\nFinally, the three girls returned. Behind them, the druids' leader raised his palm, and the archers all lowered their bows.\n\n\"Well, there's good news and there's bad news,\" Liza said. \"And then there's more bad news. And then finally a little more bad news to top it all off.\"\n\n\"Dessert first,\" said Brock. \"Let's start with the good stuff.\"\n\n\"We're not prisoners,\" Liza said. \"The druids will let us depart safely, but they strongly recommend that we wait until morning, when the dead are thinnest. Until then, we're free to explore.\"",
"loss": true
},
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"That's all the news I need, thanks.\"",
"loss": true
},
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Micah shot up from the ground with a wide stretch. \"I'm off to enjoy some well-deserved praise. Step aside, peons. Ah—sorry, Zed—that was rude. I mean, pardon me, peons.\" Micah winked, then sauntered out of the domed chamber, ducking beneath a curtain of leafy vines. The druids' leader nodded silently to one of the archers, and the night elf followed him out.\n\n\"Well, I was going give him one of the parrot's claws I enchanted,\" Jayna said. \"But it's probably safer if he doesn't have one.\" The girl passed around curved petrified tokens, which Zed could smell were pungent with the scent of mint.\n\n\"Wait,\" Jett said. \"You enchanted these? During the five breaths you were over there? When did you learn the spell?\"\n\n\"I just followed the druid's instructions,\" Jayna murmured. \"Though describing arcane formulas through an omniglot spell really tests the limits of translation magic. The enchantments won't last very long. I needed to conserve my mana. Sorry.\"\n\n\"I didn't understand a word you just said, but this is incredible.\" Jett turned the pincer over in his hands. \"You're even more brilliant than I realized, Jayna. Hexam doesn't appreciate what he has.\"\n\nJayna opened her mouth to respond, but no sound actually came out. Instead, her cheeks blushed almost as red as her hair.\n\n\"Not that I'm excited to get to the bad news,\" Brock said, \"but I assume there's more to the story here?\"\n\nLiza nodded grimly. \"The night elves won't help us take back Llethanyl. In fact, as soon as we leave their city, we're on our own. Also, they're not giving back our gear until we go. The conversation was... tense.\"\n\nFel's eyes were on her feet, where Mousebane had padded over and then collapsed again. \"The dro'shea of Llethanyl always believed the rest of our people were wiped out. That our culture was lost.\" Her gaze rose from the ground now, cobalt eyes shining. \"But that isn't true. These dro'shea survived. They've flourished!\"\n\n\"And as far as they're concerned,\" Liza said, \"the elves are still at war.\"\n\n\"Aren't we?\" Fel spun toward Liza, sending Mousebane spilling away. Something had cracked in the young elf's gaze. A container had finally broken. \"The Lich attacked the city on his own, but my entire people have been found guilty of the crime. All my life I've been treated like an intruder in my own home, a home my parents gave their lives to protect. Maybe the druids are right. Maybe... maybe Llethanyl deserves this!\"\n\n\"Fel, you don't mean that,\" Liza said.\n\n\"Don't tell me what I mean!\" Fel snapped. \"You can't understand what it's like. Every day I'm reminded that I'm not just different, but unwelcome. I've tried to be a good elf—for the dro'shea, and Callum, and the memories of my mother and father—but it never mattered!\" Fel waved the parrot's claw, which was gripped so tightly in her palm that Zed worried she'd cut herself. \"My parents never knew that our real people were alive and waiting for us! And now I've found them, but I can't even speak their language!\" She shoved the claw into a pocket and whirled around, her back to the group.\n\nA long, quiet beat passed.\n\n\"You're right,\" Zed said softly. \"It's not fair. Why don't we look around together? Like in the market.\"\n\n\"No.\" Fel let out a shuddering breath. \"I'm sorry, Zed, but this isn't a tour I can give you. I've always wondered what was taken from us. What our stories were. I'm going to see what I've missed.\"\n\nAnd with that, Fel was gone. Mousebane trotted after her, disappearing into the foliage.\n\nJett placed a hand on Zed's back as he frowned at the empty passageway. \"Give her space,\" he said. \"She needs to take this in, without an audience.\"\n\n\"So what's next, oh 'Sister of Light'?\" Brock asked, turning to Liza.\n\n\"For what it's worth,\" Jayna muttered, \"Frond said our next stop was somewhere called Celadon Falls. Not that I have any idea where that is.\"\n\nLiza gazed up toward the ceiling and closed her eyes. She was standing beside a shaft of light, and the radiance shifted momentarily, covering her olive-brown skin in its glow. \"Maybe we could all use a moment to split up and cool off. Figure some stuff out.\" Then she opened her eyes and gave Brock an impish smile. \"Jayna, Jett, want to have a look around?\"\n\nJett was beside her in an instant. \"Definitely,\" he said.\n\nJayna nodded, following more slowly. The three left the chamber, trailed by two more elven archers, leaving Zed and Brock behind.\n\n\"You realize this is the discovery of a lifetime,\" Brock said. \"A lost city of druids survived the Day of Dangers, and we found it. Or, well, I guess they found us. Either way, I expect another sternly worded letter of congratulations from the king.\"\n\nThe two were walking down what had once been a wide city avenue. Every few feet the stone bricks erupted upward, overturned by thick tree trunks or impossibly large roots. Night had fallen, but the canopy of leaves shimmered with a sparkling light that kept the city bright and warm, like lanterns during a festival. A stream ran right through the road ahead of them. Its glittering water was clear and lovely.\n\n\"Frond will have to update the guild's flag,\" Zed agreed. \"Five stars won't be enough anymore.\"\n\nBrock sighed. \"Unless we can't save Llethanyl.\"\n\nA long moment of quiet hung between them.\n\n\"Jayna mentioned Callum is your uncle,\" Brock said. \"That's... I can't imagine what it must have been like, finding out that way.\"\n\n\"Brock, I...\" Zed shut his eyes, fighting back a wave of emotions. All the hurt and frustration of the last few days—of the last six weeks—flared up inside him, as fresh as ever. \"What did I do... to make you hate me?\"\n\nBrock grimaced, glancing away. \"I don't hate you, Zed. I don't think it's even possible to hate you.\"\n\nZed thought of Makiva, and his heart bucked. He wondered if that was really true. He'd made a pact with a witch. That made him a warlock. Zed couldn't imagine anything Freestoners despised more than elf-blooded warlocks.\n\n\"Then why have you been avoiding me?\" he asked.\n\n\"It's complicated.\" Brock exhaled. \"I know that's not an answer. I promised we'd stick together when we joined the Sea of Stars, and I've let you down. I've got a good reason for it, I swear. Something I've been meaning to talk to you about...\" Brock glanced over his shoulder. \"But it might have to wait just a bit longer.\"\n\nBehind them, two night elf archers followed a few feet back. They'd lowered their bows, but kept their eyes trained on the boys.\n\nZed nodded glumly. \"I have something to tell you, too. Something important. I should have told you a long time ago, but I was afraid. I still am.\"\n\nBrock gave Zed a worried glance, but he didn't press him further. \"Once this is all over, we both come clean. No more secrets. Deal?\"\n\n\"Deal,\" Zed said.\n\nThen Brock took his hand and pulled him in for a stiff, earnest embrace. It felt like a weight had immediately fallen from Zed's shoulders. For the first time in weeks, he and Brock were a team again. Suddenly the prospect of saving Llethanyl didn't feel quite so impossible.\n\nThough it was well past the hour Freestone shuttered its doors, Zed noticed many dro'shea were bustling about as he and Brock explored the city. Some carried baskets full of fruits and grains. Others wove fabric outdoors, loitering in the light from the trees. It was like being in Freestone's market again during more prosperous times. The city was full of overgrown structures—stately houses were fused with trees or cloaked in moss—but this didn't feel like a wild place to Zed. It felt like a garden. Flowers grew in neat spirals of color, and many of the trees were pruned into artful silhouettes. Every blade of grass was perfectly level. Zed couldn't help but stare in awe.\n\nAnd there were plenty of night elves watching them, too. Zed noticed a small group of dro'shea children peering at him and Brock from behind an enormous tree. When Brock waved, the children shrieked and laughed, disappearing from sight.\n\n\"What I don't get is how they've survived the Dangers this long,\" Zed said. \"I didn't notice any wards coming in. Aside from that one mage, there's been no spellcraft to speak of.\"\n\n\"Wait, this seriously isn't magic?\" Brock asked, waving upward.\n\nZed shook his head. \"At least not any I can sense. Haven't you noticed the light looks... familiar? It's sort of like what Micah does.\"\n\n\"I do my best to forget about what Micah does.\" Brock searched around, then nodded toward a young elven woman with pale gray skin who was standing over a small sapling. She was dressed in an ornate, flowing robe, similar to the druidic leader's. \"Don't look now,\" he said. \"But I think we're about to see some of this nonmagic firsthand.\"\n\nIndeed, the druid's palms were held carefully over the plant. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. The sapling shimmered with a glowing amber aureole. Honeyed light dripped from its leaves and trunk, bathing the soil around it in radiance. As Zed and Brock watched, the sapling grew at incredible speed, stretching upward like a dog rising lazily from sleep. It expanded several inches in a moment's time, and pink blossoms flowered along its branches. Then the elven woman let out her breath and the light faded. The sapling dimmed to normal.\n\nThe woman opened her eyes, then caught sight of Zed and Brock watching her. She yelped, stumbling backward. The boys both immediately raised their hands.\n\n\"Sorry!\" Zed said. \"We were just watching.\"\n\nZed heard his own voice echoed in a foreign tongue, resonating from the parrot's claw in his left hand.\n\nThe druid nodded slowly, her eyes flicking to the archers behind them.",
"loss": true
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"value": "\"Forgive me.\" Her voice rang out from the claw. \"I'd heard there were foreigners in\"—the translation spell lapsed as the night elf spoke the name of her city; Zed heard something like Tascen Ra, before the magic kicked in again—\"Duskhaven, but you're so strange looking. Are all humans so small?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Brock answered, before Zed could respond. \"What were you doing there, with the tree?\"\n\nThe night elf smiled. \"This sapling is meek. It sees the towering plants around us and worries that it will never grow tall. I gave it confidence.\"\n\n\"Using magic?\" Zed asked.\n\nThe woman's brow furrowed as the question was echoed in her tongue. Her head tilted curiously. \"Magic? The sapling doesn't need borrowed power from other planes. It must nourish its own anima, or it will never grow strong enough to survive.\"\n\n\"Anima...\" Zed breathed. \"It is like Micah's healing. They use anima to make the forest grow! Wait, trees have anima?\"\n\nThe druid smiled bemusedly. \"Everything has it. It fills the living. Before coming here, my people lived in a desert. Only the night offered us any safety from the heat of the sun. But druids can\"—the spell lapsed again, and several words echoed out in a rush—\"arguewhisperfamilysingbroker with the land. We wield the anima of our surroundings to guide and protect the natural world. Always carefully. Always taking only what we need.\"\n\n\"What can you do with it?\" Brock asked. He had an inquisitive gleam in his eye. \"Does it just make the plants grow?\"\n\n\"That's one aspect of the art,\" the druid said, nodding. \"We use what's available in the environment around us. We can coax a stubborn tree to action....\" She raised her hand, and a tree bough gently lowered from the canopy above, shimmering with light. Zed gasped with delight as it dropped a bright pink fruit right into her palm.\n\nThe druid took a bite. As he watched the juice drip down her chin, Zed's stomach quailed with hunger. \"And sometimes we can ask natural animals to come to our aid. A swarm of wasps will usually scare off even the most persistent of monsters. And... if needed... we can even use it to redirect the elemental forces that surround us.\"\n\n\"Elemental?\" Zed said.\n\nThe elven woman tilted her head again thoughtfully. \"How to explain?\" She held out the pink fruit, and Zed quickly snatched it up, taking a luxuriously large bite. It was sweeter than any apple he'd had in Freestone.\n\nThe druid moved to the edge of the stream that ran through the cobbles. She closed her eyes and held both hands over the clear water. Light shivered from the trees and grass and moss that surrounded her. Strings of brilliance reflected on the surface of the water, until the stream itself seemed to be cascading with brightness. Beneath the druid, the water swelled. It trickled upward, a reverse teardrop, then broke from the stream and ascended into the elf's waiting hands. The bubble floated just above her palms as a perfect sphere.\n\n\"Incredible,\" Zed gasped, forgetting the fruit in his own hand. \"It's just like magic! I had no idea anima could do this.\"\n\nThe druid turned around, gently revolving her palms. The sphere floated higher still, rotating slowly and smoothly over her head. \"Magic breaks the rules,\" she said. \"It creates something from nothing by tearing holes between the homebarriersacredworlds. We use it sparingly. Anima bends without breaking, employing what we already have.\"\n\n\"The line between bending and breaking is not always clear, Lanaya.\" A deep voice echoed out from the parrot's claw in Zed's hand.\n\nThe druid yelped, losing her concentration, and the orb of water immediately burst, drenching her. Zed turned around to see the imposing figure of the night elves' leader towering over him and Brock. The leader's mask was back on, obscuring his expression.\n\n\"I'm so sorry, masterfirsthighest Prime Druid!\" Lanaya said. \"The foreigners were curious about our arts.\"\n\n\"And you were all too ready to show off your skills, weren't you? Pride is poison, Lanaya. It pollutes the land just as it pollutes us. Learn from the fall of Llethanyl.\"\n\nThe young elf had the good grace not to answer. Instead, she bowed her dripping head.\n\nThe Prime Druid—as the parrot's claw had dubbed him—glowered over Zed and Brock. At least Zed assumed he was glowering beneath the mask. \"I request the presence of the would-be saviors of Llethanyl. Your Prime, the Sister of Light, has made me a challenge. You will be there to witness her defeat.\" With that, the Prime Druid stalked away, not bothering to wait and see if the two boys followed.\n\n\"Oh, no, Liza,\" Brock said. \"What have you done?\"\n\nThey arrived at what had once been a massive circular amphitheater. The great stone steps leading down to the center were lined with cushions of moss. Hundreds of small glowing toadstools formed a ring around the space. But the true spectacle was what rose from the stage.\n\nAn enormous mushroom grew in the center of the concentric stone bands. Its cap towered over the amphitheater, resting atop a massive twisting stem. Gazing up, Zed could see swirling, multicolored lights in the gills, which illuminated the space in unearthly hues. Glittering spores fell gently from the mushroom's cap, raining starlight upon the crowds of elves who lounged on the steps.\n\nZed stopped cold once he caught sight of the enormous toadstool. His mouth fell open.\n\n\"Wow.\" Brock didn't so much say the word as breathe it. The amphitheater had a hushed, serene quality. Fireflies danced around, winking playfully between the clusters of elves.\n\n\"This is the mothersunsetsafetyreaper Crepuscule.\" Lanaya spoke from behind them, the words echoing through the parrot's claw. \"Our ancestors brought its spores with us from the desert and spread them here. When the spores grew, they knew this place would be a safe home for us.\"\n\n\"It's incredible.\" Zed shook his head. \"Those spores... are they safe?\"\n\nLanaya laughed obligingly. \"They are to us. The Crepuscule is what protects our people. The spores know us. We're immune to their effects. Monsters and strangers, however, become confused when they approach Duskhaven. The spores cloud their minds. They're gently turned away. If you hadn't been led here by the Prime Druid, you never would have arrived.\"\n\n\"I've never seen anything like it,\" Zed said. \"Hexam would kill to get his hands on a sample.\"\n\n\"Hexam and a few others,\" Brock muttered. \"Lanaya, this isn't a natural mushroom, is it?\"\n\nThe elf shrugged. \"It's protected our people for as long as we can remember. Some believe it first came from the plane of fairies—but many say the same is true of the elves, too. Perhaps we brought it with us.\" The druid's gaze rose appreciatively up the twirling stalk. \"Our sagas don't tell of its beginnings. The Crepuscule's nature is in endings. It comes alive only as the sun sets, shining through the night. And when we die, our bodies are buried here, feeding the mushroom colony.\"\n\n\"It eats you?\" Zed blurted out.\n\nLanaya nodded. \"Eventually, yes. But only after we've passed. Funguses are the great decomposers. They're vital to the well-being of the land. In giving ourselves to the Crepuscule, we become a part of the power that protects Duskhaven.\" The elf's blue eyes slowly blinked. \"It also wards us against evilsmokepurple necromancy. The elves of Llethanyl fear the long night. They refuse to speak of it, and preserve the bodies of their fallen, as if they'd never died. But ignoring something true doesn't make it untrue. Death is not an opinion.\"\n\nBelow them, the Prime Druid strode ahead, his long legs carrying him gracefully over the steps. Zed had been so preoccupied with the enormous toadstool that he'd failed to see his friends were all clustered at the bottom of it until just now. Liza stood with her arms crossed, while Jayna, Jett, and Micah sat nearby on one of the large steps. Zed searched around for Fel, and caught sight of her watching from the amphitheater's edge. Mousebane sniffed a glowing mushroom at her feet and gave it a tentative lick.\n\nWhen the Prime Druid arrived at the amphitheater's basin, he turned and raised his hands into the air. He didn't acknowledge Liza standing just beside him. The small conversations throughout the space quieted.\n\nThe druid spoke in a booming voice, which was repeated from Zed's hand as the enchantment translated.\n\n\"These young strangers have wandered into our midst while chasing an impossible task. They wish to revive Llethanyl, a corpse that's long since dead.\" Murmurs of agreement rose from the night elves. \"We have saved their lives and shown them hospitality, and yet still they ask more of us. They beg us to join them in their foolishness, and deliver our enemies from an unnatural fate they brought upon themselves.\"\n\nNow the crowd began to shout, angry bursts of chatter too jumbled for the parrot's claw to translate. Zed got the general tone, however.\n\n\"But despite their foolishness,\" the Prime Druid boomed, cutting through the talk, \"the strangers' Prime is bright. In acknowledgment of a Sister of Light, I have agreed to honor her challenge.\"\n\n\"Sister of Light...\" Zed said. \"People keep saying that about Liza. What does it mean?\"\n\nLanaya's eyes widened. \"You truly can't see it? Your Prime and her brother are strongfamilyelf shining with anima. It dazzles me just to look at them. The boy has already ripened—he reaches inward for his power—but your Prime's anima is still raw. If she were a druid, she'd be exceptional.\"\n\nBrock was grinning down at the stage. \"She's already pretty exceptional, to tell you the truth.\"\n\nLiza uncrossed her arms, resting her hands on her hips. She scanned the crowd with a resolute expression, unfazed by both the taunts and strange compliments of the Prime Druid.\n\n\"If the Sister of Light can answer Afonso's Riddle,\" the druid said, \"we will join the strangers in their futile mission.\"\n\nGasps went up from the crowd. Lanaya, too, sucked in a gulp of air. \"But that's impossible,\" the enchanted claw muttered.\n\n\"If she fails,\" the Prime continued, \"the humans will relinquish their weapons to us, and leave our home at once.\"\n\nBrock slapped his palm to his forehead. \"Did I say exceptional? Because what I meant was reckless, bullheaded, and suicidal.\"\n\nThe murmurs that rose from the crowd now were less ardent. The elves all turned to regard Zed's friends clustered together at the bottom step of the amphitheater. A voice cried out from the crowd, clear enough that the parrot's claw hummed in Zed's hand.\n\n\"But they're just children!\" the claw translated.\n\nThe Prime Druid was unmoved. \"These strangers would have us fight and die for our enemies,\" he announced. \"If they wish us to risk ourselves, then they must be willing to risk as well.\"\n\nLiza took a step forward, staring stonily out into the audience. Then Zed saw her gaze find Fel, and Liza's eyes softened. \"Llethanyl is not my city,\" she said, holding her own parrot's claw aloft to translate. \"But like Llethanyl, my city is also imperfect. Its people can be cruel, its laws unjust.\"\n\nLiza frowned, perhaps thinking of her own experience with Freestone's ban on female knights. \"But it's also filled with goodness,\" she called. \"With acts of kindness and grace. A city isn't just one thing. It contains us—people—and all the many things we are. As long as the elves of Llethanyl survive, the city is not a corpse. That's why we're willing to risk ourselves for it.\"",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "She turned to the Prime Druid, squaring her shoulders. \"Ask me your riddle.\"\n\nThe druid inclined his head, his mask dramatically blank. \"What contains vast distances, hidden in its heart? And has many siblings, more through mishap than by art? Once solved, it dies, but you can resurrect it with a tie.\"\n\n\"Did... did the translation spell just rhyme?\" Zed whispered. \"Jayna's magic is starting to intimidate me.\"\n\n\"To be fair, that last one was more of a slant rhyme,\" Brock whispered back.\n\nLiza's face clouded as she considered the riddle.\n\nZed's mind was doing loops just trying to remember the first line. Contains vast what in its where?\n\n\"This is impossible!\" he hissed, just as Liza stepped forward.\n\n\"The answer is 'a knot,'\" she called.\n\nThe Prime Druid inclined his head once again. At the bottom of the amphitheater, Jayna, Jett, and Micah burst into cheers and applause.\n\nBut none of the elves stirred. They continued to watch the stage expectantly. Zed turned to find Lanaya was biting her lip.\n\nThe Prime nodded to someone waiting at the amphitheater's edge. Two elven druids hustled toward the stage, carrying a large flat shape between them.\n\nThe druids set down two wooden stakes, intricately decorated with carved leaves and flowers. Between the stakes was the thickest nest of vines that Zed had ever seen. Even from where he and Brock stood at the outer edges of the arena, he could tell that each vine was covered in sharp-looking thorns. Together they formed an impenetrable knot of vegetation, with a long elliptical shape contained within its center.\n\n\"What's happening?\" Liza asked. \"I answered Afonso's Riddle. Now return our gear and help us stop the Lich.\"\n\nDeep rumbles of laugher echoed from behind the Prime Druid's mask. \"That was not the riddle, human. It was merely an introduction.\" He turned toward the audience and raised his hands. The long sleeves of his robe billowed down to reveal ropy, muscled arms.\n\n\"When our people first came to these lands,\" the Prime Druid called, \"it was to war against the profane ain'shea and cowardly cel'shea. But then the world tore open, and old conflicts were superseded by the necessities of survival. Our founder, Afonso the Green Knight, led us to the ruins of this city. Together with his druids, he slew the monsters that dwelled within. He spawned the Crepuscule and shielded our people from the unnatural horrors that plagued them, until it was strong enough to protect us on its own. And when the long night finally came for him, as it does for us all, the green knight laid down his sword.\"\n\nThe druid turned, motioning toward the knot of vines. \"This is Afonso's Riddle. For over two centuries, the blade has been hidden within. Crafted by the cleverest druids, its roots fed by the green knight's own blood, the riddle has remained unsolved since its growth. Only one worthy of Afonso's legacy will be able to untangle the knot.\" The Prime Druid turned to Liza and nodded in mock respect. \"This is the question I set before you.\"\n\nThe amphitheater was completely quiet. Liza stepped toward the mass of briars. She reached a hand tentatively forward, then hissed, pulling her finger away.\n\nThe Prime Druid chuckled beneath his mask. \"I would offer you gloves for the task, but you'd find them little help. The riddle's thorns are sharper than mythril. Even thick cloth will be as water to them.\"\n\n\"It's sort of unfair that he gets to keep using all these metaphors,\" Brock muttered.\n\nLiza frowned at the druid, then turned back to Afonso's Riddle. She rounded the cluster of vines, searching for a weak spot. She reached in again... slowly... hesitantly....\n\n\"Prime Druid!\" Beside Zed, Lanaya stepped forward.\n\nAll around the amphitheater, night elves began muttering. The Prime's mask turned, those two slits regarding her coldly.\n\nLanaya wavered, then took a deep breath. \"Please, let these children forfeit!\" she called. \"The Sister of Light means us no harm. Afonso's Riddle was made to be unsolvable. It's a weapon, not a question. This isn't a fair challenge!\"\n\nThe Prime Druid stalked to the edge of the stage. \"The challenge matches the request!\" he boomed.\n\n\"The riddle will kill her! Its thorns are poisoned!\"\n\nBrock let out a little gasp. Zed's gaze snapped back to the stage, where Liza stood wide-eyed.\n\nThe Prime rolled his shoulders, then turned his masked face from Lanaya, back to Liza.\n\n\"The challenge stands,\" he growled.\n\n\"Liza!\" Fel's voice rang out from the other side of the amphitheater. Zed and Brock both turned in time to see the young ranger snatch a bow fluidly from the hands of one of the elven archers, then aim it toward the stage. She loosed her arrow.\n\n\"Zed!\" Fel shouted. \"Fire!\"\n\nZed wasted precious moments figuring out what Fel meant, then precious more stumbling forward and raising his hand into the air. The missile sailed over the heads of the night elf spectators.\n\nI can't make it, Zed realized. It's too far!\n\nThen he felt the chain around his neck grow warm. And suddenly—as if by magic—Zed knew that he could make it. He summoned his mana, already boiling with anticipation, and pointed his hand to the arrow. A green streak exploded from Zed's palm, blasting upward. It met the arrow with perfect precision, just as the missile curved downward, then landed with a thuck at Liza's feet.\n\n\"What is this?\" The Prime Druid's voice echoed out from the parrot's claw. \"Take that weapon from her!\"\n\nThere was an uproar as night elves descended upon Fel. Mousebane let out a shrill, then attacked two of the archers as they approached. The cat launched herself up one archer's leg, clawing the poor elf in a blaze of fur and fury, before leaping onto the face of another.\n\nAt the bottom of the amphitheater, Liza gazed down at the burning arrow at her feet. Then, before the Prime Druid could stop her, she snatched it up from the ground and lunged forward, positioning the arrowhead as she would a blade. She stabbed it into the vines. There was a great whoosh! and a flash of light as the green flames caught, burning quickly through the riddle. Liza waited only half an instant before she plunged her hand into the center of the charred briars, bracing her leg against a wooden stake, and yanked. With a cry, she tore something free of the vines.\n\nAll around them, the commotion suddenly quieted. The archers restraining Fel let their arms drop, now staring wide-eyed at Liza. The entire glittering arena was silent once again.\n\nLiza raised her arm into the air. It was singed and blackened with ash; her skin smoked all the way up to her elbow.\n\nAnd clutched in her hand was a gleaming green sword.\n\nThe moment Liza lifted the sword, Brock steeled himself for a fight.\n\nIf he'd stopped to think about it, he wouldn't have liked their odds. Seven against a city, unarmed except for an ancient sword and whatever mana Zed and Jayna had left in them. And even if they fought their way free of the city, they'd be lost in a dark forest, knee-deep in snow, surrounded by the undead.\n\nBut Brock didn't stop to think about the odds. He clenched his fists and dug his feet in and said to Zed, \"Get ready.\"\n\nNo one in the amphitheater moved, though, aside from a few druids leaning in to whisper furiously with their Prime while two others, wary now of provoking Mousebane, cautiously took the bow from Fel. She didn't resist, nor did she do much to suppress the pleased look on her face. Brock was used to seeing her smile, but now she displayed what he could only call a self-satisfied smirk.\n\nHe really did have the coolest friends.\n\nLiza lowered the sword and turned toward the Prime. Her expression was placid, showing the respectful poise she would have been forced to learn as a young noble. Brock could see in her body language, though, just how thrilled she was. It must have been all she could do not to pump her fist in the air and whoop in victory.\n\nThe Prime Druid, on the other hand, radiated disappointment. Brock had to wonder if the elf had a different mask for less solemn occasions. The eye slits on this one fairly dripped with scorn.\n\n\"You have failed our challenge,\" he said, and Brock found himself gripping his parrot's claw tight enough to hurt.\n\n\"Excuse me?\" Liza said, her poise dropping in an instant. She kept the sword nonthreateningly at her side, but pointed at it with her free hand. \"Riddle solved, I'd say.\"\n\n\"You cheated,\" the Prime said.\n\n\"She didn't,\" Micah said, rising to his feet. \"Among my sister's many shortcomings is that she never cheats. She didn't break any rules that were presented to her.\"\n\n\"And she was wise enough to use the greatest tool at her disposal,\" Jett added.\n\n\"Teamwork!\" Jayna trilled.\n\n\"Right, teamwork,\" Jett said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. \"I was going to say teamwork, not mystical fire.\"\n\n\"Maybe this is what Afonso intended to teach you—teach us,\" Fel offered, raising her voice louder than Brock had ever heard it. She opened her hands in a gesture that was part plea, part invitation. \"That there are problems you can't solve on your own. That you have to work with others, people who see things differently than you do, in order to overcome life's greatest challenges.\"\n\nMurmurs swept through the crowd, and Brock saw Lanaya nodding vigorously. He could feel the druids being swayed. They wanted to celebrate the riddle being solved.\n\nThe Prime quashed those murmurs with a forceful sweep of his hand. \"Do not put words into the mouth of our champion,\" he said hotly. \"Afonso gave his life so that we might live free. If he taught us anything, it is that we are better off alone.\" His gaze swept across the amphitheater, trailing past Zed and Brock before returning once more to Fel. \"None of you are welcome here. You must leave this place at dawn.\" He turned to go, but paused, his eye slits turning to Afonso's sword. \"And take that tainted relic with you. Consider it the only aid you shall receive from Duskhaven.\"\n\n\"Well, the hospitality was nice while it lasted,\" Brock grumbled.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "They had been roughly escorted from the amphitheater, their parrot's claws had been confiscated, and then they were deposited on a patch of spongy moss beneath a massive oak.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Sentries were stationed at a short distance, marking the boundaries of their territory.",
"loss": true
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"from": "system",
"value": "Precise word count needed: 'after' × 2",
"loss": null
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"value": "The message was clear even without the aid of a translation spell: They were to stay put and stay quiet until morning.\n\nOddly, though the rest of their weapons remained confiscated, the druids had let Liza keep the sword. Brock remembered how the Prime had called it tainted. He wondered if that was how they all saw it—if the druids didn't care to even touch the sword now that she, a human, had pulled it from the thorns.\n\n\"I'm sorry, you guys,\" Liza said, turning the sword in her hand to catch a moonbeam. \"I thought I could persuade the Prime to help us. When I pressed him on the issue, he asked if I was challenging his leadership, and I suppose when I said yes it became an actual, formal challenge. Maybe I should have backed down right then, but... oh, he just got my blood up.\"\n\n\"Liza, that was totally reckless,\" Zed said through a huge smile. \"It was also amazing and inspiring and a little bit funny. Brock and I loved every minute of it.\"\n\n\"Hey now,\" Brock said, and Liza looked at him as if daring him to disagree with Zed. Brock faltered. \"I'll say this much: Frond will be proud.\"\n\n\"It's no wonder Liza was unafraid of the riddle,\" Jayna said primly. \"When she's used to navigating such thorny compliments.\"\n\nJett laughed at that—a bit louder than was justified, Brock thought. And then Jayna blushed. And then Brock rolled his eyes back so far he plopped backward onto the moss. It was spongy, and Zed, who was sitting beside him, bounced in place.\n\n\"The moss will make a nice bed, at least,\" Jett said, easing himself down and slowly detaching his mythril leg, which was held in place with a series of leather straps and metal buckles. He sighed in relief, massaging his residual limb. \"This will be a far sight better than camping in the snow.\"\n\n\"I can't imagine any of us is going to sleep a wink, though,\" Liza said. And then Micah's loud snoring came from several yards away, where he was sprawled out on his back and already drooling. \"Other than him,\" she said. \"Oh, to be carefree and young again.\"\n\n\"Aren't you, like, five minutes older than him?\" Zed asked.\n\n\"It was a crucial five minutes,\" she answered. \"I really made the most of them.\"\n\n\"I'll say,\" said Jett. \"When the gods were handing out brains and Micah went for his share, they told him, 'Sorry, that girl who was just here took the last of them.'\"\n\nThey all chuckled at that, except for Zed, who said, \"Aw, he means well.\"\n\n\"Does he, though?\" asked Brock from his pillow of moss. He looked over at Fel, who sat apart from the group, stroking Mousebane and apparently lost in thought. \"What do you think, Fel? You've got the outsider's perspective.\"\n\nFel immediately burst into tears.\n\nHot panic coursed through Brock. Earlier, he'd been ready to take on dozens of armed druids without a prayer of winning. Now, confronted with a crying girl, he froze in place, utterly perplexed and terrified.\n\n\"Brock!\" Liza chided.\n\n\"Honestly, Brock,\" Jayna chimed in. The girls went immediately to Fel's side, wrapping her in hugs and whispering soothing words.\n\nJett replaced his prosthetic, shaking his head sadly and clucking his tongue at Brock as he trailed after the girls.\n\n\"Oh, don't you start,\" Brock said. He turned to Zed. \"What just happened?\"\n\nZed sidled up close. \"I think... I think Fel is maybe feeling a little out of place. I think maybe calling her an 'outsider' was the wrong thing to say.\"\n\nBrock grimaced. \"I only meant that she's new to our group.\"\n\n\"I know what you meant,\" Zed said. \"I'm sure she did, too. But she's going to be a little sensitive after all this.\" He gestured to indicate their surroundings.\n\nBrock studied his friend in silence. He considered himself good at reading people. But he could be careless and miss the important things that Zed often seemed to sense. It had always been that way. Brock could tell what people wanted. But Zed was better at seeing what they needed.\n\n\"What about you?\" he asked Zed.\n\n\"Hmm?\" said Zed.\n\n\"Are you feeling... sensitive? You always wanted to know more about the elves, but the more we learn... well. Nothing's really gone the way you must have imagined it would.\"\n\n\"It's strange,\" Zed said. \"I spent so much time feeling like I didn't fit and just sort of assuming that meant I was in the wrong place. That it would be different with the elves somehow.\" He shrugged. \"I guess elves are people, too. And people are imperfect.\"\n\nMicah's snoring crescendoed, seemingly underscoring Zed's point.\n\n\"That includes me,\" Brock said with a sigh. \"I'd better go apologize. With all the practice I've had this year, I think I'm getting pretty good at it.\"\n\n\"You're really not! Average at best!\" Zed said cheerfully as Brock shuffled toward the phalanx of girls and cat and dwarf. They eyed him as he approached.\n\n\"Fel, I'm sorry,\" he said. \"I absolutely didn't mean it. You're part of the team.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" Fel said softly, but she didn't meet his eyes.\n\nLiza and Jayna weren't as forgiving.\n\n\"We banish you,\" Jayna said, \"to that side of the clearing.\"\n\nShe pointed right at Micah.\n\nBrock turned to Jett for help, and the dwarf only shrugged.\n\n\"Get!\" said Liza.\n\nBrock sighed. He grabbed his pack and slunk sullenly toward Micah's sleeping form.\n\nBut Brock's \"banishment\" only made it easier for him to sneak away in the night.\n\nBased on everything they'd seen, the guards would expect the adventurers to be loud and conspicuous. It made them careless; Brock slid past them without a problem. Zed even helped without meaning to. He was having some nightmare, and cried out briefly as he tugged at his collar in his sleep, drawing the guards' attention for just a moment.\n\nBrock imagined Zed had experienced a lot of nightmares these past six weeks.\n\nBrock had nightmares, too. A waking nightmare in which the Lady Gray demanded he find items of value in between fighting for his life against an endless parade of horrors. And having to do it all under Lotte's scrutiny.\n\nBut Lotte wasn't here now, was she?\n\nHe kept to the shadows, creeping as close to the center of town as he dared. Climbing a tree, he settled in on a sturdy branch, took the satchel from his shoulder, and opened it up toward the night sky.\n\nThat sky was full of Crepuscule spores. Spores that, through some glorious magic, kept this town and its people safe from their enemies. Safe even from the undead horde that thronged the woods just a half day's march away.\n\nThat was the sort of magic Brock could learn to like.\n\nAs his satchel filled, Brock smiled to himself. The druids had refused to help Llethanyl, but he could make certain they helped him. Whether they wanted to or not.\n\nThe Lady Gray would have her treasure.\n\nThey were escorted to the edge of the overgrown city at first light. Every one of them hesitated, contemplating the strange threshold where high summer gave way to the dead of winter. They layered on their winter gear under the careful watch of the druids, who finally returned their weapons. Zed hugged his scepter close, and Brock felt a palpable sense of relief to have his daggers back. He'd never have guessed he would grow so fond of them. But then, he'd never have guessed he'd be traipsing through a forest that was haunted by reanimated elf corpses.\n\n\"Join the Adventurers Guild,\" he muttered. \"See the world.\"\n\nMost of the druid escorts were masked sentries with bows, but several townsfolk trailed behind them, apparently interested in seeing the strangers off. Without the parrot's claws, Brock had no idea what any of them were saying to one another, but they looked solemn. Lanaya, the friendly druid who'd been so eager to discuss anima, was among them. She caught Brock's eye, gave a grim smile, and nodded. Her expression said, Good luck.\n\nBrock nodded back, and he tried to use his eyes to communicate how certain he was that they were all going to die and then be raised as evil puppet corpses and sent back to Duskhaven and then wouldn't the druids be sorry? He wasn't confident she got the message.\n\n\"That place was super-boring,\" Micah said once they were off.\n\n\"Which place?\" Liza asked. \"Do you mean the hidden civilization that is staving off not just countless Dangers but also all of winter with the help of a massive glowing toadstool from the realm of the fairies? Is that the place you mean?\"\n\n\"Got it on your first guess, sis,\" he said. \"And since no one is asking the obvious question, I'll do it: Shouldn't we be heading back to Freestone at this point?\"\n\n\"No way,\" Liza said. \"Frond and the others will be waiting for us at the wayshelter. We need to regroup.\"\n\n\"And it's not any safer going in the other direction,\" Jayna said. \"Those things were everywhere.\"\n\n\"By now, Lotte will have warned them that the Lich knows their plan,\" Liza said. \"And they'll have come up with a new plan. Frond will know what to do.\"\n\nJett grunted. \"Assuming we can find her.\"\n\n\"Jayna said their next stop was Celadon Falls, and I've been there with the rangers,\" said Fel. \"We're far from any established trail, but I know what direction to go.\"\n\n\"As long as we give the ambush site a wide berth,\" Liza said, and Zed nodded in vigorous agreement.\n\nAs they walked, Brock pulled his cloak tight against the biting cold. The lingering warmth of Duskhaven was leeched away in moments.\n\nHe took a small object from his satchel, glancing over his shoulder to be sure no druids remained in view. \"Hey, Fel,\" he said softly, drifting over to her side.",
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"value": "\"I got you a present.\"\n\nHe opened his hand to reveal a parrot's claw.\n\nFel's eyes squinted in confusion. \"Oh,\" she said. \"Thanks, but why...?\"\n\nThe parrot's claw translated her words into the dro'shea language.\n\n\"I woke up early this morning,\" he said, and he wrinkled up his nose and cast a glare Micah's way. \"I know we didn't have time to learn much from the druids, and I thought... well, I thought maybe you'd have a use for a tool that can teach you literally any word in the almost-forgotten language of the night elves.\"\n\nFel stared at him, stunned.\n\n\"Uh, I know,\" Brock said. \"Stealing is bad, but... it's the thought that counts?\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" Fel said.\n\nAnd the claw said, \"Savasche.\"\n\n\"Savasche,\" Fel repeated, her eyes glimmering with tears.\n\nBrock smiled. \"You're welcome,\" he said.\n\nAnd the claw said, \"Davos.\"\n\n\"Friend,\" said Zed.\n\n\"Tanay.\"\n\n\"Brave,\" said Liza.\n\n\"Seebul.\"\n\n\"Fierce,\" said Jayna.\n\n\"Grishta.\"\n\n\"One of us,\" said Jett.\n\n\"Al de nos.\"\n\nMicah opened his mouth to speak.\n\n\"Micah, please don't ruin the moment,\" Liza said quickly.\n\n\"Micah, sahv nehro ta.\"\n\nBrock laughed. \"That's one we all need to remember.\"\n\nFel burst into tears again, but this time the tears were accompanied by a smile—that old familiar smile, returning for the first time in days. She threw her arms around Brock, and he hugged her back.\n\n\"See?\" he said to Zed over her shoulder. \"I told you I was getting the hang of apologizing.\"\n\nMicah took a deep breath, turned toward the parrot's claw, and before anyone could stop him, he shouted: \"POOP!\"\n\nThe day's journey was difficult. Their brief evening of summer had been a cruel tease, and their bodies reacted poorly to the sudden return to winter, clenching and cramping against the icy wind and the deep drifts. Brock ached all over, and his thoughts had deadened to a low buzz in the back of his skull, when Fel finally pointed ahead and said, \"There!\"\n\nBrock squinted against the chill, surprised to see a wash of color standing out among the endless white and gray. A hundred paces ahead, the flat stretch of snowy forest ended at a cliff—a tall, craggy outcrop of pearlescent green stone, with a small stream of water trickling down its face. That stream, he knew, would be a waterfall when spring came and melted all the snow.\n\n\"Celadon Falls,\" he said.\n\nThere was a door set right into the faint green rock of the cliff. It was unlocked, and opened easily. Unlike the last wayshelter they had visited, this one had been recently accessed.\n\n\"Eyes open, everyone,\" Liza said. \"I'll take lead. Don't touch any treasure chests.\"\n\n\"And don't let any treasure chests touch you,\" Brock added. He trailed behind the others, hanging back a moment to check that his satchel was intact and dry.\n\nHe'd stolen more than a parrot's claw from the druids, after all, and the contents of his satchel might very well be priceless.\n\n\"There's no one here,\" Liza said. \"We didn't beat them here, did we? We couldn't have.\"\n\nBrock caught up, descending the stairs and stepping into a large room with roughly hewn walls of stone.\n\n\"It's empty,\" he said.\n\n\"That's what I just said, Brock.\"\n\n\"No, I mean there's nothing here.\" He tapped an empty weapons rack. \"We're supposed to keep the wayshelters stocked at all times. This one's been cleared out.\"\n\n\"Frond left a note,\" Jayna said, returning from an adjacent room with a sheet of paper. Her face was stricken, and she hesitated to say more, casting a furtive and sorrowful look at Fel. Finally she handed the note over to Liza. \"It's addressed to you.\"\n\n\"'We've joined up with Lotte,'\" Liza read aloud. \"'If you see this, you must turn around. Get Zed and the others back to Freestone immediately.' \" She let the paper fall from her fingers. \"It says, 'The mission is over. Llethanyl is a lost cause.'\"\n\nThe apprentices puttered glumly around the wayshelter, gathering their gear, adjusting their cloaks, and generally delaying their departure. The journey back to Freestone would be long and cold. It would be filled with Dangers of all sorts, though especially with undead ones, and there wasn't a single adult to guide or protect them.\n\nIt would also be a journey tinged by defeat. Llethanyl was gone. A new city full of elves had been discovered, and yet it had banished the apprentices within a night. Zed doubted the Sea of Stars would ever find their way there again.\n\nDespite these losses, Fel seemed to be all out of tears. She stood quietly now by the wayshelter's door, staring out into bleak whiteness.\n\nZed tried not to think about his own disappointment. A knot had clinched inside his chest. His father's city was truly lost to him. Forever.\n\n\"I can't believe Frond would just give up,\" Liza said. She paced the length of the chamber, opening and closing her fists. The green sword gleamed at her hip. \"A lost cause? We haven't even tried yet!\"\n\n\"Something must have happened,\" Jett said. \"They must have gotten some new information.\" The dwarf sat on a cot, adjusting the linen sock he wore as a liner beneath his prosthetic. Jayna had absconded with the mythril leg some time ago—\"to perform a small test,\" she'd said—retreating into the wayshelter's side room. Zed could sense waves of magic coming from beyond the closed door, thick with the smell of mint.\n\n\"Oh, I'll bet they got some new information,\" Zed muttered. \"Like that the queen is lying.\"\n\nAll eyes in the room focused on him, and Zed's ears flared with heat.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked Liza.\n\nZed sighed. \"Callum told me something just before the dead attacked. He said Queen Me'Shala wasn't being honest with us. He didn't have time to say about what.\"\n\nLiza blinked at him. \"And you're just telling us this now?\"\n\n\"A lot's happened, okay?\"\n\n\"Fel, any ideas?\" Liza said, glancing to the doorway.\n\nThe night elf shrugged, her eyes thoughtful. \"I'm not what you'd call part of the queen's inner circle. Callum never mentioned anything, but he can be a secretive elf.\"\n\nZed snorted, and Fel glanced at him.\n\n\"Sorry,\" Zed mumbled. \"The cold is getting to my sinuses.\"\n\n\"Frond almost turned us around once already,\" Micah said. He was lounging in one of the wayshelter's hammocks, arms crossed behind his head. \"After we spotted that mountain monster. This plan was always crazy. We should have waited for King Freestone.\"\n\n\"Waited for him to what?\" Brock said. \"Kick the elves out on their backsides? He was never going to send his precious Stone Sons out beyond the wards. The longer we waited, the worse things got.\"\n\n\"Yeah, and this has improved the situation so much,\" Micah drawled.\n\n\"Well, it's nice to have you two back on opposite sides of an issue, at least.\" Liza stopped pacing and shook her head. \"There's nothing for it, is there? Fel, I... I'm so sorry.\"\n\n\"Me too,\" the night elf said. She closed her eyes, and a frigid breeze crept in from the open doorway, rustling her braids. Mousebane ambled unhappily away from the chill. \"Despite what I said in Duskhaven, Llethanyl has always been my home. To be so close and then retreat. It burns.\"\n\nAt the word burns, Zed automatically touched the chain around his neck.\n\nHe'd had the nightmare again, back in Duskhaven, just before they set off. In his dream the chain became scorching hot, smoldering with an unnatural fever. Once again the clasp had disappeared, so Zed couldn't remove the necklace, no matter how desperately he clawed at it. The fox charm had burned even further than last time. In this dream, it was little more than a smoking lump.\n\nAnd at the end of the nightmare, Zed was again visited by the watcher. A fiery green fox attended his struggle, observing the scene with burning eyes.\n\nOnly this time, before Zed awoke, the fox had spoken.\n\n\"Zed...\" Its voice was an echo, delivered from a parched throat. The words were so faint that Zed could barely understand them, but the fox's eyes widened, shining with intensity. It had a message for him and it would be heard. \"The fire... it burns, Zed. It—\"\n\nWhich was when Zed had been booted awake by Micah, and not gently.\n\nBefore joining the Sea of Stars, Zed had never been given to eerie or prophetic dreams. In fact, two months before this, his most common dreams had involved eating alarming quantities of candy. But the last time he'd dreamed something this strange, a witch had eventually come to him with an offer to save his city.\n\nZed had seen enough strangeness by now to trust that these nightmares meant something. And as soon as he and Brock could get a quiet moment, Zed would tell him everything.\n\nTogether, they would figure this out.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "The door to the side room burst open, and Jayna's alarmed face startled Zed from his worries.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Jayna, if you're done testing my leg,\" Jett said, \"I sort of need it to get back to Freestone.\"\n\n\"We aren't going to Freestone!\" The girl rushed to Jett, absently handing him the mythril pylon. Then she spun around and held out her other hand toward Liza. \"Look what I found balled up and half burned in the back room!\"\n\nLiza took a charred slip of paper from Jayna's hand, scrunching her nose in confusion. \"This handwriting is terrible,\" she said. \"It's... Frond's.\" She began reading. \"'Liza, Celadon wayshelter is not safe. We've joined with Lotte, but the team was forced to move on. Do not tarry here. Bring Zed and the others and join us at Llethanyl.' \" Her eyes widened, rising slowly from the page. \"'Once you arrive, we'll retake the city....'\"\n\n\"But if that note's from Frond...?\" Jett muttered. His dazed expression mirrored Liza's.\n\n\"She might have written the second one later.\" Micah hopped out from the hammock. \"After she decided to head back to Freestone.\" But even he looked unsure.\n\n\"And then hid her own first note, after trying to burn it?\" Jayna said. \"I found it stuffed behind a cot.\" She grabbed the undamaged paper from the table—the missive telling them to return to Freestone—and rushed it over to Zed. \"Smell this,\" she said.\n\n\"No thank you,\" Zed demurred. \"I don't think Frond's washed her hands once since we left—\"\n\n\"Magic!\" Jayna said exasperatedly, pushing the note forward. \"There are spells to replicate a person's handwriting. Magical plagiarism was a big problem in the Mages Guild.\"\n\nZed's eyes brightened and he took the sheet, holding it under his nose. Sure enough, a crisp note of mint wafted up from the page. \"There is magic!\"\n\n\"Wait, hold on,\" Brock said. \"What was that bit about the wayshelter being unsafe, though?\"\n\nSuddenly, Mousebane shot up, the fur on her tail exploding out into a bludgeon of fluff. She yowled and hissed at the wayshelter's open front door, claws out and scratching at the air.\n\n\"Fel...\" Liza warned, pulling her sword free from her belt. \"Maybe you should bolt the door.\"\n\nBut the young elf was already backing away, a look of deep shock on her face. \"Oh, no,\" she whimpered. \"No, it can't be.\"\n\nThere was a loud creak as the wayshelter's front door edged open. Purple light spilled into the cramped space, radiating from a tall, ragged figure. The elven ghost was almost transparent, just as the ban'shea had been, but gripped within its hand was a very solid-looking longsword, rusted and pitted by use. Its head lolled slightly to one side, and two milky eyes stared blankly forward. The very sight of it seemed to drain the strength from Zed. His arms grew heavy, and his vision blurred.\n\n\"A wraith,\" Fel said. \"A spirit of despair, risen to haunt the living. I saw some of them drain the life from their own family members as they fled the city. And this one... it looks like...\"\n\nOnce, the male elf's skin had been dark, his long braided hair streaked with silver. Now, the wraith seemed to be fraying at the edges. Its feet floated inches above the floor. The ghost raised its free hand and pointed a thin finger right at Fel.\n\n\"My father,\" Fel finished.\n\n\"Zed!\" Liza shouted. \"Fire!\"\n\nZed could barely hear the order. Something about the presence of the Danger filled him with gloom, sapping him of the will to move. He fought against the torpor. Zed raised his scepter, drawing upon his mana, and sent a gush of green flames pouring out. It billowed uselessly over the wraith, which barely seemed to notice. Its empty eyes just followed Fel as she retreated farther back into the room.\n\n\"Felasege...\" A rasping voice issued out from the Danger, though its desiccated mouth never opened. \"Where are you? Do not be afraid. There is no pain.\"\n\n\"Father,\" Fel said, shaking her head. \"What has the Lich done to you?\"\n\n\"No pain,\" the wraith repeated. \"Felasege... Am I here? I feel... nothing at all.\" Then it raised its rusted longsword high into the air and lurched forward with shocking speed.\n\nJayna weakly lifted her hands to conjure a Wizard's Shield, but fell to her knees. All around Zed, the other apprentices were similarly slumping over, suffering from the Danger's sapping presence. With a cry of effort, Jayna threw her hands up again, and a barrier blossomed in front of the ghost, pungent with magic. The wraith's blade careened violently off the shield and ricocheted away, but despite the elf's thin frame and wasted arms, it held firm to the blade. Slowly, with a piercing sound, it dragged the sword back across the floor to its side.\n\n\"Daughter... where are you?\"\n\nThe ghost jerked forward again. It wavered for a moment at the magic barrier, as if pushing against a great wind. Then the wraith flickered through the shield, passing bodilessly to the other side. The rusted blade clattered to the floor behind it.\n\n\"Why do I feel nothing?\" The wraith raised both hands, its fingers fumbling blindly through the air. It shivered, then jerked toward Fel.\n\n\"Stay back!\" Jett shouted, somehow finding the strength to step between them. The dwarf swung his hammer in front of him, but it passed right through the figure and pitched Jett into the cots along with it.\n\nNow nothing stood between the ghost and Fel. It hovered inches away from her. Fel sank back against the wall with wide, fearful eyes. The wraith bent forward, its long fingers reaching, as if to caress her face.\n\n\"FelasaaaaaaaHHHHHHH!\"\n\nThere was an explosive rush of amber light, so dazzling against the purple that for a moment Zed was blinded. He held his hand up against the glare, before thinking to question how he even had the strength to do so. Where the aura of the ghost had drained him, this new light flooded him with vitality. Zed leaped up to his feet, and saw the others were as well. Liza, Brock, Jayna, and Jett. Everyone except...\n\nMicah stood behind the ghost, his fist extended and outlined in brilliant gold light. It looked like he'd punched right through the wraith. Where his arm made contact with it, the Danger's shape began to bubble, then fizzle away into purple smoke.\n\n\"I feel... warm,\" the wraith rasped. \"Fel, I... I can see you. How beautiful you've...\"\n\nBut before it could finish, the specter dissolved completely away, leaving only an echo and a wisp of vapor.\n\nSlowly, the glow outlining Micah's hand faded, and he slumped forward unsteadily, panting. His hair was slick with sweat, as if he'd just finished a particularly punishing day of Lotte's drills.\n\n\"Micah!\" Zed rushed to the boy, with Liza just beside him. The two managed to lower him onto a nearby cot, while Jayna hurried to Fel and wrapped a cloak around her shoulders.\n\n\"What,\" exclaimed Brock, \"was that?\"\n\nJett shook his head in wonder. \"Zed's fire couldn't touch the ghost, but Micah... Did you destroy it with a healing punch?\"\n\n\"Take a moment,\" Liza said to her brother. \"Catch your breath.\"\n\n\"No time,\" Micah huffed. \"Unfortunately, you dweebs were right again. We have to get to Lletherol.\"\n\n\"Llethanyl,\" Zed corrected.\n\n\"Whatever. I think... I think that I might be the best chance we have of saving the city.\"\n\nThey wasted no more time. As soon as Micah could stand, the apprentices gathered their gear and left the wayshelter, edging carefully around the milky green stone. Fel led them forward, her eyes scanning the woods. Even Mousebane insisted on walking on her own four feet, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings.\n\nZed had imagined that Fel would lead them back to the Broken Roads, but instead she guided the team through snowy woodlands, saying it would be better to avoid the obvious path. Eventually the trees opened into a sprawling steppe.\n\nThe snow was thinner here, and the plain was blanketed with dry grass that came up to Zed's knees. It billowed and whistled in the wind, slowing their progress, but Zed found he could see far into the distance. It was an odd, heady experience—to see so far, with no walls or trees to interrupt the view.\n\nEvery now and then, Fel stopped the group to survey the area, ordering the others low while she and Mousebane scanned the horizon. Hours passed without a single undead sighting.\n\nA stark line of mountains loomed in their path, much closer than Zed had realized from the forest. He'd never been so close to anything so colossal. The enormity of those peaks made him feel strangely fragile. Zed remembered the Danger they'd seen—the one that had looked like a mountaintop from far away. The sheer scale of such a creature had nearly drowned him in dread.\n\nThe world was so much bigger than Zed. Than all of civilization combined, he imagined. These mountains had seen the rise and fall of kingdoms. They had witnessed the Day of Dangers, and any number of calamities before it. Now they watched a train of children marching across the valley, children who hoped that by some miracle they could save one precious city from the same fate that had befallen so many others. That would eventually befall every city, in time. The fact that Zed was here at all, walking this journey and taking this in, seemed itself like a sort of miracle.",
"loss": true
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"value": "The apprentices were all quiet. Liza walked at the rear of the line, with Micah huffing just in front of her. Zed marched behind Fel, watching her long steps and determined gaze. In that moment, she reminded him very much of Callum.\n\n\"Fel, are you all right?\" Zed ventured, calling over the wind.\n\n\"Hmm? Oh yes. Fine.\" The girl turned and the hardness in her face melted away for a moment, winter flowering into summer. But Fel couldn't sustain the smile for long. It was gone before she'd turned away.\n\n\"It's fine if you're not all right, you know,\" Zed said. \"You've had... a bad week.\"\n\nFel coughed out a laugh that seemed on the verge of caving in.\n\n\"Do you want to talk about him?\" he pushed on. \"About your father?\"\n\nFel's gaze became vague, and her eyebrows scrunched together. \"We're almost to Llethanyl. Maybe there will be time to talk when this is all over.\"\n\n\"He really seemed to love you. Even after... Well, even now.\"\n\n\"That wasn't really him,\" Fel said huskily. She breathed out a blossom of steam that blew away as soon as it had formed. \"A ghost is just an echo, some strong emotion the person harbored in life that Mort's energy latches on to.\"\n\n\"Then that strong emotion must have been love,\" Zed said. \"Because the ghost seemed to love you a lot.\"\n\nFel hesitated, then nodded slowly. \"And the Lich used that against us. Against me.\" She subtly wiped at her eyes.\n\nZed frowned, his mind whirring. Fel was right. The Lich had known to target her, and right where she'd be.\n\n\"What about you, then?\" she asked. \"Do you want to talk about your father... or Callum?\"\n\n\"You know what?\" Zed said. \"I think you're right. Let's save the father talk for later.\"\n\nThis time when Fel laughed, it sounded a bit surer. \"Let me just say this one thing....\" The girl bit her lip nervously, but then sighed and nodded. \"Callum can be... oh, what's the human word? Locked? Cagey! He feels everything intensely, but he keeps those emotions bottled up. I used to think it was because he's the High Ranger, but I've changed my mind. I think something hurt him a long time ago. Hurt him more than he could handle. And I think he's been running from that hurt ever since.\"\n\nZed frowned hard at the grass whipping across his legs, his eyes tracking each step as he took it.\n\n\"He volunteered to lead your apprentice journey,\" Fel continued. \"And let me tell you a little secret about Callum: He is not the type to babysit. He's been watching out for you in his own way.\" Fel's eyes flicked back to Zed, then down to the rustling grass that indicated Mousebane prowling below. \"You and I both know what it's like to lose family, Zed. To wish we had just one more chance to see them, to hug them... to forgive them. If a chance like that presents itself, don't miss it.\"\n\nIn that moment, Zed resolved that he wouldn't.\n\nAfter a time, Fel raised her hand, making a sharp hissing sound with her teeth. Zed and the others dropped immediately, crouching in the reeds. Fel pointed to a spot in the distance.\n\nSquinting, Zed could just make out a line of about a dozen figures. He couldn't see many details, but their movements left little doubt as to what they were. The figures lurched and swayed—the same strange, uneven gait Zed had seen among the undead during the attack on camp.\n\nThe apprentices waited a long while for the figures to move across the steppe, barely daring to breathe. And they waited even longer after they'd disappeared into the distance.\n\nFinally, Fel rose, signaling forward with two fingers. Zed and the others followed without a word.\n\nEventually they arrived at the mountainside, where the grass cleared and Zed's feeling of smallness multiplied. Looking up, he found himself awash with vertigo, even with his feet planted firmly on the ground. Fel led the team to a cleft in the mountain, where a single skeletal tree was perched, as if in vigil.\n\n\"This is one of the back ways into the city,\" Fel said, once the team had all gathered around the tree. \"We've gotten lucky so far, but once we enter here, Llethanyl will be swarming with the dead.\"\n\nMicah searched around, taking in the apparently solid mountainside and single tree. \"You want me to make a snide comment, is what's happening here—before you pull whatever magic branch opens the mountain. I'm not going to fall for it.\"\n\nFel did look slightly disappointed. \"Llethanyl is situated in a valley on the other side of the mountain. There are several entrances in or out, where our mages distorted space to allow groups to slip through. This is one of the lesser known entrances. Callum's tracks lead here.\"\n\n\"I didn't notice any tracks,\" Brock said.\n\nFel smiled. \"No, you wouldn't have. He left them for me to find.\" She stepped to the tree and placed her palm against the bark. \"Lleth anyl,\" Fel said somberly.\n\n\"Lleth elan,\" a rich elven voice answered. Zed caught a sharp whiff of magic just as the stones behind them began to change. The mountainside warped, like a puzzle where a simple shift in perspective revealed new shapes hidden in the relief. Once, gray crags of rock had attended them, but now an enormous arch towered over the apprentices. Fel turned, eyeing the great door appreciatively. It loomed ten feet tall and was decorated with a tree and a crown of birds.\n\n\"He's been here,\" she said. \"And recently. Let's hope we aren't walking into an ambush.\" She pushed against the door, and it swung open with a ponderous sound. Fel disappeared inside.\n\nZed glanced back at the others, who were all still staring up at the archway. Then he followed Fel into the dark.\n\nAnd it was dark. As soon as he'd stepped into the tunnel, or whatever it was, the world went totally black. Zed turned around to find the entrance had disappeared, leaving him immersed alone in the gloom. Panic clenched immediately at his throat.\n\n\"Fel?\" Zed called.\n\n\"I'm right here!\" The night elf's voice echoed from up ahead. \"It's all part of the enchantment. Just keep moving.\"\n\n\"Where are you guys?\" Jett's voice hailed from nearby. \"It sounds like you're right next to me.\"\n\n\"We are,\" Fel said. \"We're all here together, but the spell makes us feel alone. Follow the sound of my voice.\"\n\nZed took a tentative, terrified step forward. Walking in pure darkness felt unnatural. He waved his arms around him, expecting to encounter walls of some kind—the rocks of the mountain at least—but his fingers passed through empty air.\n\n\"Keep moving,\" Fel said. \"It's not very far. It's important not to dawdle on the path. Getting lost is possible, and it's not a good idea.\" Then she began to sing. It was a cheerful little song in the elven language, and though Zed couldn't understand a word of it, it comforted him just to hear Fel's voice.\n\nSo Zed moved, though every part of him screamed not to. One foot in front of the other, he trudged through the darkness.\n\n\"This is fascinating magic,\" Jayna's voice called out. \"I've never seen anything like it.\"\n\n\"It's a very ancient spell, I think,\" Fel answered, pausing in her singing. \"Like Freestone's wards, our mages feed mana into it regularly. It's just one of the magical protections my people use.\"\n\n\"The darkness is intense,\" Micah said. \"I can't blast through it.\"\n\n\"Micah!\" Liza barked. \"Stop. Wasting. Your anima!\"\n\n\"Sorry, Mom.\"\n\n\"We're here, anyway,\" Fel said. \"Just a few more steps.\"\n\nIt didn't take Zed even that long. One step and suddenly the black curtain was pulled away. For a moment, the light was overwhelming. Zed squinted against it. Then, muddy shapes took form. Fel stood in front of him, beaming, and behind her Zed noticed other figures gathered together behind a stone outcropping.\n\nFrond caught sight of him first. She nodded, looking even more ragged than the last time he'd seen her. A dark stain of something had caked over her leathers. Hexam was bandaging Lotte, who grimaced and gingerly held her arm aloft.\n\nBehind them, the elven retinue were huddled together: Queen Me'Shala, Selby, Threya, and Callum, all currently engaged in what looked like an intense discussion.\n\nA wide valley glutted with trees expanded into the distance, but above Zed rose the most spectacular skyline he had ever witnessed. Llethanyl was a city cut from glass. Its towers sparkled under the gray sky like multicolored crystals. Silken canopies waved gently in the wind, and an enormous oak tree climbed up from the city's center, a great hand reaching into the air. The tree was bare now in winter, but hundreds of lanterns, intricately folded to look like birds, drifted among its branches.\n\nFor all its beauty, however, Llethanyl was empty of life. The lanterns were dark and the city intensely quiet, except for the wind howling through the valley. Squinting into the distance, Zed couldn't spot a single moving figure. It was an exquisite ruin: pale and lovely and totally dead.\n\nCallum glanced distractedly from his conversation, turned back, then whipped around again.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "His phosphorescent eyes radiated relief.",
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"value": "The High Ranger burst away from the queen, and in just a few loping steps had made his way to Zed, wrapping him in an embrace that felt downright familial.\n\n\"You're safe,\" Zed heard him whisper, muffled by his shoulder. \"Thank you, thank you, thank you.\"\n\n\"Callum,\" Fel said. \"We have so much to tell you. There's a city of—\"\n\n\"Just a moment,\" Callum said. \"I want to hear everything, I do, but the situation here is complicated.\" He pulled away from Zed, his large eyes wet with emotion.\n\nFrond joined them, placing her soiled hand right on Zed's shoulder. He tried not to imagine what the stain was. \"Did you all make it?\" she said. \"Every apprentice?\"\n\nZed nodded, turning around. \"We all made it,\" he said. Behind him, the others were congregated together, staring wide-eyed at the city that rose above them. Liza, Micah, Jayna, and Jett. And...\n\nZed turned, searching the outcropping.\n\n\"Brock,\" he said. \"Wh-where's Brock?\"\n\nBrock Dunderfel was gone.\n\nThe darkness spoke to Brock in his father's voice.\n\nIt wasn't anything so dramatic as a wraith. But in that dark space, in the utter absence of all light and sound, Brock felt fear blossom in his chest like a flower of ice. The tiny voice in the back of his head, the one that spoke up whenever he doubted himself, was now all he could hear. And that voice just happened to sound an awful lot like his dad.\n\nOver the many years when Brock had been training for a place in the Merchants Guild, his father had been on constant guard against Brock's attempts to cut corners. With summer outside his window and the children of Freestone running free, Brock would do anything he could to get through his assignments faster. But with speed came mistakes, and on more than one occasion Brock's haste had backfired. On those days he was forced to stay at his small desk performing calculations well past the time the sun disappeared below the town wall and lanterns were lit across the city. And his father would say I hope you learned your lesson, son. There are no shortcuts in life.\n\nSo it figured the one time he tried to take a magical shortcut through a mountain, he would get lost.\n\nWhat would his father make of Brock's recent choices? Smuggling edible grass and monster guts for a black market shadow broker and her fallen magus was far from the life of stability and security toward which Brock had always been pushed. Then again, looked at another way, it was Brock's father who'd gotten him into this mess, in a transparent attempt to get in good with Lord Quilby.\n\nA transparent and successful attempt. Leave it to the elder Dunderfel to get exactly what he wanted, even as the world burned all around him.\n\n\"Hello?\" Brock called. \"Anybody out there?\"\n\nFel's singing had gone silent some time ago. It was difficult to say how long it had been; here, there was no context for time. It felt as if the darkness had somehow rushed in to fill the spot she had left. But the darkness was already everywhere. It was darker than the woods at night. Darker than a dungeon.\n\nHe wanted to turn back. Was that the spell influencing his mind, or his own fear? Either way, he would be defiant. He put one foot in front of the other, but had no sense of stepping forward. He thought about touching his face to make sure he was still there in the truest physical sense and not some disembodied consciousness, but he decided he really didn't want to know.\n\nHe had to get out of here.\n\nHe tried to will himself out of the darkness. Nothing. He focused on shuffling forward, but he no longer felt any ground beneath his feet. He couldn't tell if he was moving anymore, forgot what it felt like to walk. Brock's fear swelled into despair.\n\nAnd then, there was a light: a slice of pure white in the blackness. And framed in the light was a girl with a sword.\n\nShe said his name, and it sounded like music.\n\nBrock lunged for her, heedless of the blade, wrapping his arms around her waist. There was a popping sound, and his stomach lurched, and suddenly Brock's knees found hard stone and his eyes were dazzled with light.\n\nWhile his eyes adjusted and his vertigo faded, he stayed on his knees and held on to Liza like his life depended on it.\n\n\"H-how long was I in there?\" he asked. He shivered, his body prickling with gooseflesh where it met cool air.\n\n\"Like five seconds,\" Liza said dismissively, but she patted him affectionately on the head.\n\n\"It felt longer,\" he said, finally releasing her and rising slowly to his feet. \"Did you... did you cut through the darkness?\"\n\n\"I cut through a spell,\" Liza said excitedly. \"The sword just sort of... pulled. I swear I could feel it guiding me. It was amazing.\" She stopped to look around her. \"This is bad, though.\" She turned in a circle, and Brock blinked against the torchlight to take in their surroundings. Stone was all around them, but it wasn't the familiar gray stone of home or the cracked, mossy stone of Duskhaven. Everything was white—white, but with swirls of glittering silver where it caught the torchlight. And every surface was etched with intricate detail. There were recesses along the walls, like shallow doorways, just tall and deep enough that an adult could stand within them. But they stood empty, and the overall effect was of a vertical wave of marble, peaks and troughs dipping into shadow and lifting back again to the light in an unbroken pattern.\n\n\"It's beautiful,\" he said.\n\n\"It's wrong,\" Liza responded. \"I was just with the others. We were outside. I came back for you... I thought we'd end up where I started, but who knows where that spell's brought us.\"\n\nBrock shivered and held his hands up to a burning torch, but the flame produced no heat. It was no natural fire.\n\n\"Don't tell Zed,\" Brock said. \"But I am really starting to hate magic!\"\n\nThey both flinched as his voice echoed through the large space. They stood in silence as the echo died off, waiting to hear whether anything moved in response. But the place was as silent as a tomb.\n\nAnd suddenly Brock knew that's exactly where they were.\n\n\"This is the mausoleum,\" he said. \"Isn't it? This is where Llethanyl laid their dead to rest.\"\n\nLiza pointed her sword at the ground, which was littered with broken pieces of white stone. Brock had assumed it was a deliberate choice, given the immaculate state of the walls and ceiling, but now he saw it in a new light. \"Those hollows, the recesses all along the walls—they were sealed off once,\" Liza said. \"Something broke in.\"\n\n\"Or broke out,\" Brock said, and he shuddered. \"This is where the Lich got his army. All those dead elves just... got up and walked out of here.\"\n\n\"Which means we can walk out of here, too.\" She waved her sword around in the empty air, probing for some sign of the spell that had deposited them here. \"I keep hoping that Fel or the others will appear any second, but we have to accept the possibility that we're on our own.\"\n\nBrock gestured toward a staircase. \"I vote we go up.\"\n\nLiza nodded and led the way upstairs to a nearly identical space. The shattered stone of the floor made their progress awkward; Brock could feel the jagged edges through his boots, and his ankles tilted this way and that with each step. But they crossed the room to another staircase and kept going.\n\nIn the next room, something was moving.\n\nHere, one of the hollows still had its lid: an ornate piece of stonework with a carven image of an elf.\n\n\"Do you hear—?\" Brock whispered, and Liza shushed him.\n\nSuddenly the lid jolted as something on the other side pushed against it. Brock leaped away, reaching out for Liza without thinking. But the lid held.\n\n\"I guess that one's stuck,\" Liza said.\n\nBrock realized he was gripping her arm, which among other things would interfere with her ability to stab their enemies. He reluctantly released her.\n\n\"Let's keep moving,\" he said, and they quickly crossed the room to the sound of the stone lid rattling in place.\n\nThe creature in that tomb had to have been there for weeks. It was stuck, but it wouldn't stop trying to escape. Brock considered each hollow they passed in the next room. Row after row of empty tombs in room after room, and each tomb represented an undead soldier in the Lich's army.\n\nThat army would not tire. It did not require food or drink or shelter from the cold. And seeing this place, the scale of it, Brock now realized that this unstoppable army numbered in the millions.\n\n\"We can't win,\" he said. \"We can't beat this.\"\n\n\"We don't have to beat the army. Only the Lich.\"\n\n\"Right. That sounded only slightly impossible when we had a secret weapon. But Zed's fire didn't work on the wraith. What if it doesn't work on the Lich? What if we get close to it and all Zed manages to do is singe its robe and then we have to fight a newly angry Lich with a cloak of mystical fire?\"\n\n\"Not to worry.\" Liza smiled. \"I have a plan.\"\n\n\"Please tell me your plan isn't 'Micah walks up to the Lich and punches it with his healing fist.'\"\n\nLiza's smile went taut. \"Sometimes the best plans are simple.\"\n\n\"And rarely do the best plans rely entirely on Micah.\"\n\nThey kept going. Brock wondered just how deep the elves had built. But whenever they came upon a set of stairs, they went up.",
"loss": true
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"value": "\"What's that smell?\" Brock asked. \"It's familiar.\"",
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"value": "Liza nodded. \"It's myrrh. They used it at the ceremony for the little boy.\"\n\n\"Right,\" Brock murmured. \"To ward off evil, Fel said.\"\n\n\"That's a nice sentiment, but there's a more pragmatic reason for it,\" Liza said. \"It covers the smell of... of rot.\"\n\nBrock grimaced. \"This is so wrong in so many ways,\" he said. \"Why bury your dead like this to begin with? It doesn't even seem sanitary.\"\n\n\"It's tradition,\" Liza said. \"Haven't you talked to Fel about it? From their perspective, it's far more natural than fire.\"\n\nBrock shook his head. \"I can't wrap my mind around it.\"\n\n\"That's the root of our problems though, isn't it? Freestone used to draw people from all over Terryn. But we're all from Freestone now. And it's like... all those different ways of doing things went away, and now we act like there's only one way. The Freestone way.\" She pursed her lips. \"I thought people would be excited to learn from the elves, to consider other viewpoints. But that's not what happened.\"\n\n\"It's not just Freestone, though,\" Brock pointed out. \"Llethanyl's obviously failed to move past a war that ended centuries ago. And those druids weren't exactly open to new ideas.\"\n\nLiza smirked. \"You're almost as protective of Freestone as you are of Zed.\"\n\n\"How could I not be? Freestone is... it's fierce. It's been staring down the end of the world for two hundred years and it hasn't blinked. How could you not love it?\"\n\n\"But you talk about Freestone as if it's alive. As if Freestone itself is fierce, or brave, or ingenious. But cities can't be those things; you're talking about the people who live there. A place is only as good as the individuals who shape it. And when it came to the refugees... Freestone failed, Brock. The people and the king of Freestone, we all failed.\"\n\nBrock couldn't disagree with that. But he chose not to voice his agreement, either, and silence settled over them as they ascended once more.\n\nThe room at the top of the stairs was empty, and Liza spoke again as they picked their way across more broken stone.\n\n\"And listen,\" she said. \"I wanted to say... I know everything has changed recently, and changed fast. And maybe one of those changes is that Zed doesn't lean on you so much. But we all rely on you, Brock.\" She cleared her throat. \"Me most of all.\"\n\nBrock kept his eyes to the floor, as if very concerned with the possibility of tripping. \"Okay,\" he said, knowing it was a completely inadequate response. But he felt emotion swirling in his stomach and his throat and up into his eyes, and he didn't quite trust himself to say more.\n\n\"You can lean on us too, sometimes, if you want,\" she said. \"You don't have to fix every problem yourself.\" She paused. \"Anyway, that's all I wanted to say.\"\n\nBrock nodded.\n\nThe next level, at last, was different, the staircase leading them to a small antechamber. The stonework here was less ornate than elsewhere, and there was a single arched doorway. Elven script scrolled across the arch, and Liza pointed out one familiar word: dro'shea.\n\nBeyond the threshold was a long stretch of hallway lined with skulls. The low ceiling was of that same familiar white stone, but the walls themselves were nothing but bone, skulls stacked atop one another like bricks, each of them jawless and hollow-eyed.\n\nBrock wanted to ask what this meant. Were all night elves interred this way? Were these the remains of those elves lost in war, or to Dangers beyond the city, their bodies unrecoverable? Did the elves of Llethanyl do this to punish the night elves?\n\nThat thought was a sour one, and it lingered. If the elves truly believed in resurrection, then this was the cruelest punishment he could imagine.\n\nHe wanted to ask Liza what she thought, but the idea of speaking now felt somehow disrespectful. He could scarcely draw breath before those thousand empty stares.\n\nAnd then a sudden flash of light caught his attention, and he turned to see that one of those stares was not so empty. Within the eye sockets of one skull to his left, small purple flames burned softly.\n\n\"Was... that like that before?\" he asked.\n\n\"Here,\" rasped the skull. It had no jaw, made no movement, but Brock knew it had made the sound.\n\nAcross the hall, right at Liza's elbow, another skull's sockets lit with violet fire. \"They're here,\" it said, its voice faint and scratchy.\n\n\"Here,\" said another skull.\n\n\"Over here,\" rasped a fourth.\n\n\"Run!\" Liza said.\n\nAs they ran, the skulls all around them flared to life, the purple fire keeping pace with them. Brock felt that eerie purple light as the weight of countless malevolent eyes. Though each skull's voice was small, their sounds were compounding into a horrid cacophony that he feared would be heard throughout the building.\n\nLiza burst through a set of doors at the end of the hallway, Brock a half step behind her. They entered a dim, dusty room lined with carven panels, the stone worked skillfully to show scenes from elven history. From what Brock saw, most of the scenes were of battle, people fighting atop piles of bodies, and in the low light he could not tell if they were human or elf, dro'shea or ain'shea, only that they were killing and dying. Aside from the purple hallway at their back, three doors led from the room.\n\n\"Which way?\" Brock asked.\n\nRunning footfalls sounded from beyond the doorway to their right.\n\n\"Left!\" Liza said.\n\nThey ran down a hallway, up another flight of stairs. After a week of marching upon flat terrain, Brock's thighs burned with the effort of so much climbing. Yet he would have given anything for another staircase when they came to a small chamber with no exit.\n\n\"There has to be a way out,\" he insisted. He ran his hands over the stone walls, even tried turning a torch in its sconce. The room was otherwise empty but for two rows of benches and a small altar.\n\n\"We'll have to stand and fight,\" Liza said, and Brock could swear the green sword shone a little brighter when she said it.\n\nBut there was a purple light glowing from the doorway, heralding the arrival of a tall armored figure. She did not shamble or lurch into the room; she stepped forward with grace and deadly purpose. Her right hand held a blade with a glittering glass orb for a pommel. In her left, she held a skull, its sockets glowing purple.\n\nThe skull hissed. \"They are here.\"\n\n\"Who?\" said the figure. Her face was shrouded in shadow. \"Who defiles this sacred place?\"\n\n\"Um,\" Brock said, drawing his daggers, his eyes flitting between the figure and the jawless skull. \"I'm pretty sure this place was defiled before we got here.\"\n\n\"Stay back,\" Liza snarled, holding her sword between them.\n\nThe figure chuckled darkly and took another step forward. \"Here,\" said the skull.\n\nIn the low, eerie light, Brock noted the figure's armor, soiled and dented, bore the familiar sigil of a tree and birds.\n\n\"It's a sword sister,\" he breathed.\n\n\"I was, once,\" said the figure. \"Now I am a revenant. Doomed by regret. Cursed by failure.\" With her next step, the light of the room's torches found her angular jawline, her lush lips gone cold and blue. \"I killed sages and rangers. Murdered even a minister. I was my queen's blade, but I never knew another guided my hand.\"\n\nAnother step, and the light revealed her fully. She was ain'shea, with high cheekbones. Brock saw fine silver in her earlobes.\n\nShe had been a lovely elf. But her eyes were gone; in their place, maggots writhed.\n\nBrock and Liza both recoiled.\n\n\"He took my eyes, that I would not know him. He took my eyes, and now my world is red!\"\n\nShe slashed out with the blade, frightfully fast. Liza and Brock dove in separate directions, and the sword struck stone. She lifted it again and chopped at the air, as if feeling around for them—as if guessing where they might have gone. Brock scrabbled farther away, pressing against the wall, and the revenant lowered her sword and raised the skull, pointing it all about the room.\n\nOf course—she had no eyes. Somehow she was using the skull to see.\n\nHe held a dagger carefully by the blade, lined up his shot, and sent the dagger flying.\n\nHis aim was true. But the blade bounced harmlessly off the skull to clatter upon the ground.\n\nIt did, however, get the revenant's attention. She whirled on Brock, sword arm raised.\n\nAnd Liza thrust forward, slipping her own sword beneath the creature's. The skull shattered in a flash of purple light.\n\nThe revenant stumbled back, and while she reeled, Liza stepped lightly across the room to Brock. She gestured for him to be quiet. With their enemy blinded, they would be able to sneak away, but apparently she thought Brock's mouth jeopardized that plan.\n\nI know, he mouthed at her. It was my plan first!\n\nShe shrugged furiously at him, unable to make sense of his silent bickering.\n\n\"I don't need to see you,\" the revenant said, and the orb upon her sword glowed, patterns swirling on its surface like storm clouds in the summer sky.\n\nA bolt of energy leaped from the orb. The revenant had cast it in the direction Liza had stood before, and Brock hoped for a moment that it would find nothing but empty air and cold stone; but the bolt turned in midair, careless as a bird of prey, and came straight at Liza. It crossed the room in the time it took Brock to suck in a startled breath.\n\nLiza knocked the magic dart out of the sky with her sword.\n\nThe sword sister cast another bolt, and another, and Liza advanced each time, slashing the magical lights from the air as easily as Mousebane swatted at fat houseflies.\n\n\"Ha!\" Liza cried as the third mote of light snuffed harmlessly against her blade. The way now clear, she advanced on their foe.\n\n\"Curse you,\" the revenant cried. \"Curse us all!\" And the orb glowed suddenly orange, and the room grew terribly hot.\n\n\"Liza!\" Brock cried, and he dove for her, knocking her away from the creature as it let forth a massive blast of searing heat.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The noise was incredible, the force shattering the wall at Brock's back, reducing heavy stone to shards and dust.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He flinched, squeezing his eyes shut against the dust and covering Liza with his body, fully expecting the ceiling to come crashing down on them. But only silence descended, and as the dust settled, Brock risked a peek at their surroundings.\n\nThe crack in the wall stopped short of the ceiling, and the revenant had been hurled back in the blast. Whether dazed or unconscious, she did not stir.\n\n\"Look at that,\" he told Liza. \"I guess you really do rely on me.\"\n\n\"Please get off me,\" she said. \"Right now.\"\n\n\"All right, all right,\" Brock said roughly as he clambered to his feet.\n\n\"First things first,\" Liza said. \"This poor woman needs to be put out of her misery.\"\n\nShe looked at him for his agreement, and after a moment he nodded solemnly and turned away. He listened as Liza retrieved her sword, its metal singing upon the stone. And he flinched when the sword struck stone once more.\n\n\"You can look now,\" Liza said. \"It's over.\"\n\n\"Only a fool would believe it so,\" rasped the revenant.\n\nBrock whirled at the sound of the voice, and saw Liza aghast in horror.\n\nThe creature had been cleanly decapitated. But she hadn't been silenced. \"My service is not yet ended,\" she said. \"Not while the children of Freestone remain free.\"\n\n\"That is... that is super-disturbing,\" Brock said.\n\n\"Children?\" Liza asked. \"You were after us, specifically?\"\n\n\"I was to deliver you to him, but if not me, then the others will. There is no escape for you.\"\n\n\"Do your worst,\" Liza said, \"because for the record, we don't want to es— Wait. What if we surrender?\"\n\n\"Surrender?\" both Brock and the revenant said at once.\n\n\"You're right,\" Liza said, casting a broad and completely unnecessary wink at Brock. \"We're up against unbeatable odds. We see the futility, and wish to submit ourselves to the great Lich himself.\"\n\n\"Well,\" rasped the head. \"In that case, I shall take you to him as my prisoners. And you will know pain and suffering and worse things, the agonies without name or number which await us on the other side of Mort's gray door.\" The revenant's head chuckled darkly, then came up suddenly short. \"I will, of course, require you to carry me there.\"\n\n\"It'll snow soon,\" Frond said. \"We don't have time to wait.\"\n\nShe frowned at the sky as the queen and Selby made a series of complicated wizardly gestures in the alcove where Liza had disappeared. For all their finger wriggling, neither Liza nor Brock had materialized from the depths of the spell.\n\n\"They're beyond my reach, anyway,\" Queen Me'Shala announced. She frowned, lowering her hands and wiping a pretty shimmer of perspiration from her pretty face, prettily. \"Elderon's Shade is woven throughout the city. It's unlikely, but if they managed to slip between folds in the magic, they could have ended up anywhere in the valley. Even in the heart of Llethanyl.\"\n\nFrond considered this while tightening a strap on her glove. \"Could we use it the same way? To get close to the Lich? The element of surprise could keep Zed safe.\"\n\nSelby was still working on the spell, but he shook his head before she'd even finished the question. \"Not from here. The Shade is meant to have specific entrance and exit points. Without using them, you could end up locked in the crypts.\"\n\nZed shuddered at the thought. He was standing with Fel and Callum, keeping a watchful eye on the queen. Brock's vanishing had thrown the team momentarily into panic, but Zed could still feel an accusation bubbling up inside him. For all he knew, Me'Shala had engineered the spell to trap his friends. If she really was betraying the humans, perhaps she wanted as many of them out of the way as possible.\n\n\"The good news is,\" Selby continued, \"if your apprentices are merely lost in the Shade, they should be safe for the moment. It won't be pleasant, but there's nothing inside the demiplane that can harm them.\"\n\n\"A demiplane!\" Jayna gasped. \"Was that what we passed through?\"\n\n\"Oh, gee,\" Micah gushed with mock enthusiasm. \"I hope this means we get another magic lesson!\"\n\n\"Demiplanes are pocket dimensions separate from our...\" Hexam began. He drifted off as Micah's sarcasm finally sank in. Hexam cleared his throat. \"Yes, well. At any rate, the creation of one is in violation of several treaties between our cities.\"\n\nThe minister waved away Hexam's pointed look, pausing in his work. \"The Shade was created long before such agreements. What's your charming human expression? It's been 'grandparented in.'\"\n\n\"Grandfathered,\" Hexam muttered.\n\n\"Well, that's rather discriminatory, isn't it?\" Selby mused cheerfully.\n\n\"Enough.\" Frond pinched the bridge of her nose. \"The plan remains the same. Hexam, Zed, and I will head into the city with Callum and the rangers. The remaining group can work on freeing Brock and Liza.\"\n\n\"Wait,\" said Zed. \"There's something else. Micah—\"\n\n\"There's been a change of plans,\" Me'Shala interrupted. \"My ministers and I will now be leading the siege. Frond, you and your people may wait here in safety. All except for Zed, of course.\"\n\nThe queen spoke casually, as if reminding Frond of a last-minute dinner engagement, but Threya and Selby shifted slightly at the pronouncement, exchanging significant looks. Their postures were suddenly alert. All around Zed, rangers glanced at one another, then toward their queen. The elves' resolved expressions made clear that something was happening. Something they'd been waiting for.\n\nFrond's frown deepened. \"No.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid I must insist. This is my city. The rescue of Llethanyl will be won by elves.\"\n\n\"Zed is my apprentice, Your Majesty,\" Frond said. \"His safety is my priority. You placed me in charge, at least let me—\"\n\n\"Alabasel, you are an exceptional human,\" the queen said, \"and a fine guildmistress. But I am the sovereign leader of a proud and ancient people. They are my priority—not your roughneck adventurers. This is not a request. From this moment forward, I am taking control of the mission. The situation is complicated beyond your understanding.\"\n\nThe queen was changing the plan. Thorn, Me'Shala's surviving sword sister, moved her hand slyly toward her blade.\n\nFrond looked around her, absorbing the hostile atmosphere. The adventurers were outmanned two to one, and half were just apprentices. Her shoulders sank. \"Me'Shala, don't do this. Not to me.\"\n\n\"Believe me,\" the queen replied. \"It brings me no joy. But we all still want the same thing, Alabasel. We're still allies in this.\"\n\n\"That's a lie!\" The words poured from Zed like ambrosia spilling over the lip of a flagon. He pointed an accusing finger at Me'Shala. \"You've been working against us from the beginning!\"\n\nThe queen narrowed her eyes. In her gaze Zed felt something powerful taking aim. A tingling sensation swept over him, and all the hairs on Zed's arm stood on end. \"Choose your next words carefully, half elf,\" she drawled. \"What exactly do you accuse me of?\"\n\n\"You... well...\" Zed faltered. His finger drooped. Should he reveal what Callum had told him? What would happen to the High Ranger if he did?\n\n\"Someone wrote a false note from Frond at the wayshelter,\" Zed began carefully, \"telling us to turn around. Just when we discovered Frond's real note, though, Fel's dead father appeared as a wraith and nearly killed her!\"\n\nBehind the queen, Selby frowned. \"The night elf? What does that prove?\"\n\n\"Fel was the only one of us who knew the way here,\" Zed said. \"If the Lich could get rid of her, we'd have no way to join you here at Llethanyl.\"\n\n\"Ridiculous,\" Threya sniped. \"The deathling wasn't even part of the expedition! How would the Lich know to target her?\"\n\n\"Exactly.\" Zed snapped his fingers. He felt the evidence bolstering him. Something was very wrong with this mission, and he would root it out. Zed threw his shoulders back and met the queen's glare with one of his own. \"The only way he'd know was because Lotte revealed as much.\"\n\nOn the other side of the clearing, Lotte blanched. \"Me?\"\n\n\"Not on purpose, of course.\" Zed dipped his head apologetically. \"Naturally, she told the rest of you who she'd brought with her while we were separated. I don't know how, but one of you warned the Lich. It's the only explanation that makes sense.\"\n\nMe'Shala's eyes darted from Zed to Fel and back again. She was quiet for a long beat. When she finally spoke, her voice was a terrible whisper. \"Felasege, is all of this true? You were targeted?\"\n\n\"Your Majesty,\" Threya said, \"you cannot trust the word of a deathling—\"\n\n\"Oh, give it a rest, Threya!\" Selby spat. \"Your small-mindedness will kill us all.\"\n\n\"The night elves have always hated Llethanyl!\" Threya continued, speaking over him. \"They are death-worshipping zealots who—\"\n\n\"Enough!\" The queen's voice boomed, silencing the ministers. \"Answer me now, night elf.\" Her russet eyes blazed as she looked to Fel.\n\nThe last time Fel had faced the queen's scrutiny, she had shrunk from it. This time, however, the girl squared her shoulders, standing straightbacked. Her own cobalt gaze matched Me'Shala's in its fierceness. \"Yes, it's true. The Lich sent my father as a wraith.\" Then her eyes turned, narrowing upon Threya. \"He died for this city, by the way,\" Fel added.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "At some point in your response, insert this verbatim: \"It's too late for that! The mission is a failure. We should retreat through the Shade!\"",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Fighting for a better Llethanyl. Insult me again, Minister, just one more time, and I'll show you what a zealot I can be.\"\n\nThreya glowered, but she said nothing else for the moment.\n\n\"But why,\" the queen said, waving past the tension, \"do you suspect me of betraying my own city?\"\n\n\"Because I gave him the idea.\" Callum's voice resonated from behind Zed. Zed felt the High Ranger's hand fall upon his shoulder.\n\n\"You?\" The queen's eyes widened with surprise.\n\n\"Traitor!\" Threya hissed. She pulled an enormous sword free of its scabbard.\n\n\"I told Zed that you were misleading the adventurers. That we all were. And this was true. The Sea of Stars are our only friends among the humans! They've risked everything to help us, and yet we deceive and betray them!\"\n\n\"Elves don't need human friends,\" Threya said. \"They are not our peers!\"\n\n\"What exactly were you lying about?\" Frond asked Callum. \"This? Me'Shala's plan?\"\n\nThe High Ranger shook his head. \"So many things. There are... weapons. Tools that we've kept secret from Freestone. One of them is Elderon's Shade. As you saw, it can be used to bypass impassable barriers. But the Shade isn't a fixed structure, like a building. It can be moved. Redirected. All one would need is the focus that controls it. And that is still hidden in the castle, accessible only to the queen.\"\n\nFrond's eyes blazed as the implication sank in. She whirled on the queen. \"You willfully hid a tool that could be used to invade my city?\" Zed had never seen the guildmistress so furious. Real anger boiled behind her eyes. He took an involuntary step backward.\n\n\"Invade?\" The queen laughed mirthlessly. \"Your king detained my people in an open-air prison! Don't lecture me about trust, Alabasel! The Shade is a back door. I thought if I could retrieve it here, then even if we failed today, my people might have a fighting chance when your knights came with swords drawn.\" She frowned. \"In any case, it's safely locked away. The Lich can't access the focus on his own.\"\n\nThe queen hesitated, her eyes falling to her feet. \"But there's a more pressing problem,\" she said with a resigned sigh. \"A weapon that the Lich does have access to. When he took the city, Galvino created an... abomination. He resurrected an ancient skeleton, a trophy that had been sealed within our crypts. That was the winged shape we saw on the horizon. The 'mountain' that flew away. I knew you would abandon the raid if we told you the truth about it. So I lied.\"\n\n\"What abomination?\" Frond pronounced each word with cold deliberateness.\n\n\"I think...\" Hexam's voice faltered. His eyes were on the sky. \"I think perhaps I might know.\"\n\nShadows began flitting over the ground: small dots of darkness, like scurrying mice. Zed looked upward, toward the branches of the enormous tree that covered the city. Fluttering black shapes were emerging from the lanterns, flocking together into a beating mass.\n\n\"Are those... bats?\" Jayna asked.\n\n\"No,\" rasped the queen. \"They are not.\"\n\nThe flock grew as Zed watched, forming into a writhing cloud. And from this murk a figure began to emerge, swimming in the gray sky. A wing. A claw. A lashing tail. The cloud solidified, the individual shapes knitting together in a greater whole. In moments, a long snout had appeared, and two eyes that shone with purple light.\n\nThe mountain had arrived.\n\nZed had never seen a dragon. No one alive in Freestone had, even among the Adventurers Guild. But despite the creature's rarity, it was one of the few Dangers that everyone in the city knew well. Giant winged lizards that breathed fire and possessed a wicked intelligence, dragons appeared in countless knightly stories, destroying cities and hoarding mounds of glittering treasure.\n\nThe creature that now climbed among the great tree's branches was a dragon, Zed could tell that clearly. And yet it was not. Its scales were formed of some ragged, oily darkness, and its wings fluttered in the rising wind, occasionally smoking away. Its wasted face housed two cavernous hollows, in which purple coals burned from deep within.\n\n\"Dracolich...\" Hexam whispered, his eyes bulging.\n\nPerhaps the creature heard him. Perhaps it had been watching them all along. Whatever the case, the dracolich's purple gaze fell instantly upon the group. It opened its desiccated maw and roared. Zed felt as much as heard it. It was the howl of a once-proud creature brought low.\n\nIn the silence that followed, Zed heard a new sound rising all throughout the city. Footsteps—hundreds of them—either summoned by the roar or hidden within it. All across Llethanyl doorways crashed open and a monstrous populace spilled into the streets. The dead made no other sounds as they marched. They didn't moan, or shout, or breathe. They just lurched forward, filling the wide avenues.\n\nZed realized that there would be no surprise attack on the Lich.\n\nThe rangers whipped around, pulling their bows taut. Frond drew her sword, and Thorn echoed her just moments later.\n\n\"Hexam,\" Frond said quietly. \"We need a path to the palace.\"\n\n\"Then keep them off me for a moment, please.\"\n\n\"The palace?\" Lotte exclaimed, rising from her perch and cradling her wounded arm. \"It's too late for that! The mission is a failure. We should retreat through the Shade!\"\n\n\"Hate to say it,\" Micah piped up, \"but I'm with her.\"\n\n\"Yes, back through,\" Selby readily agreed. \"Right this way, everyo—\" He took a step into the alcove and slammed into solid stone. Where before there had been a layer of magical muck, now the wall was quite wall-like. \"Ah! It appears this entrance is... damaged.\"\n\n\"Hex-am,\" Frond called. All around them, the dead were pressing in. Even in the cold, Zed could detect the scent of rot.\n\n\"I am working on it,\" the wizard crooned back in an irritable singsong. Hexam's eyes were closed, his fingers weaving into strange patterns. One moment they contorted themselves to look like a beast, and the next a wall of interlocking fingers. Veins of light trailed his movements, forming a circular sigil more complicated than anything Zed had ever seen in the archivist's lessons.\n\n\"Mindless, nameless,\" Hexam chanted, his voice echoing strangely. \"A sacred space behind the teeth. The peace which fuels the hunger. The abominable line.\" The archivist's eyes snapped open. His irises shone with a fierce blue light, and Zed was engulfed by the sharp scent of magic.\n\n\"Back!\" Hexam shouted, stepping forward to meet the approaching horde. The sigil traveled with him, the circle now rotating along an invisible axis. Callum grabbed Zed's and Fel's wrists, falling in behind the wizard, as did the others. Hexam raised his hands, spreading his fingers wide.\n\nThe sigil unfolded.\n\nWhat emerged was a thing of teeth and fire, a great beastly maw that exploded from the seal just as the first wave of enemies reached it. Fiery fangs clamped down upon the undead attackers, obliterating them. Then the grinning mouth stretched forward, transforming from a wolfish muzzle into a tunnel carved from flame. The walls swelled outward, incinerating the dead that crowded against it. In only a few moments a passage had formed, snaking into the city and burning any of the Dangers unlucky enough to touch the outer layer.\n\n\"Go... now!\" Hexam cried. And before Zed had time to realize what was happening, he was pulled into the flames.\n\nThe inside of the tunnel was surprisingly comfortable for something fashioned entirely of fire. Callum and Frond ran ahead, with Zed and Fel huffing just behind them. Mousebane was perched on Fel's shoulder, warily eyeing the burning border of the tunnel. Zed was too winded to look behind him, but he heard plenty of footsteps following in his wake.\n\nThrough the flames, Llethanyl appeared to be set ablaze. Zed couldn't see where they were headed, and just hoped that Hexam's magic knew the path somehow.\n\nThere was a rumbling from outside the passage, obscured by the roar of the spell. A shadow fell over them, its darkness distinct even through the flames. Suddenly Zed was knocked from his feet by an enormous black talon as it crashed easily through the fiery barrier. He landed hard on his back, and the world shattered into blinking shards of light.\n\nIt had begun to snow. Zed felt the snowflakes before he could see them. They prickled his face with small bites. In the distance, he heard screams of pain and alarm, but he couldn't breathe well enough to call out.\n\nThe shadow rose upward, and a squall of wind sent him spilling even farther away. Zed forced himself to roll onto his side, then clawed his way to his hands and knees. Looking up—his vision finally clearing—he saw the fiery tunnel darken where the dracolich's claw had punctured it, hardening into a shell of white-gray ash. The ash spread outward in both directions, extinguishing the flames as it went and collapsing the tunnel upon itself.\n\nBut that wasn't the worst of it. Undead elves swarmed from the city's avenues, falling upon the group just as they were recovering. Frond screamed, surging forward and burying her sword into the rib cage of a skeleton. Callum stood with his bow raised, firing arrows into the horde.\n\nZed searched the chaos for his friends and found Jayna battering a swarm of the undead with mystical darts. Behind her, Jett and Micah nervously gripped their weapons.\n\nThe queen and her ministers fought with sword and spell, but Zed caught a glimpse of Thorn, the sword sister, lying prone on the ground. Her body was limp and covered with dots of snow. Was she...?\n\nThorn's body shivered. An arm struck out, moving stiffly. The sword sister propped herself up, and Zed could see her eyes were wide and vacant. She lurched to her feet, her head lolling to the side.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Then she raised her sword and aimed for the queen's back.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Zed bumbled forward, and the world exploded into mist around him.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "As he careened out of the fog, his shoulder smashed into Thorn's stomach. Both Zed and the elf went down, sliding away into the snow.\n\nThorn recovered first. In an instant she was on top of him, scratching at his face and tearing at his hair, digging her thumb into his cheek. Zed screamed. He tried in vain to grab at her wrists, but she was too strong. The elf's eyes were empty of emotion. The centers of her pupils glowed with pinpricks of violet.\n\nZed heard a loud crack, accompanied by a strobe of light. The weight disappeared from his ribs. Panting, he pushed himself up to find the elf twitching on the ground several feet away. A small line of smoke rose from a singed spot on her chest.\n\nAbove him, Me'Shala stood with her hand raised, grimacing at the body of someone who had once been her protector.\n\n\"Make for the palace!\" Frond's voice bellowed over the tumult.\n\nThe queen locked eyes with Zed. Then she swept away without a word.\n\nZed climbed to his feet, searching for Frond and the others. Snow billowed through the air in heavy white sails. He could no longer see the queen or his guildmates. Zed took a tentative step forward, paused, then turned around.\n\nWhich way was the palace?\n\nHe spun in a circle, hoping to catch a glimpse of something recognizable. Fear crept through Zed's limbs, a different sort of chill altogether.\n\n\"Hello?\" Zed called out. \"Hey! Is anybody there?\" He received no answer.\n\nUntil he did.\n\nA horrid keening issued from the storm, shrill and gravelly. Two shining eyes stalked toward him, beaming with malice, even through the snow. They glared hatefully at Zed.\n\nIt was a look that he knew well.\n\n\"Mousebane!\" he called with relief. He trudged toward the cat, which took several steps back and hissed at his approach. She eyed him distrustfully, perhaps suspecting he might try to pet her.\n\n\"Zed! Over here!\"\n\nZed spotted Fel's small shape nearby, waving at him. He huffed after her with Mousebane beside him, just hoping she could still navigate her way through the city in this.\n\nLlethanyl had disappeared behind the curtains of snow. Figures large and small were concealed within the blizzard, their shapes blurred into ominous shadows. Zed kept his eyes on Fel while he walked, afraid to lose sight of her for even a moment.\n\nWhich was why he missed the armored skeleton until it leaped out of the din.\n\n\"Fel!\" Zed shouted, as Mousebane took off like a bolt.\n\nBoth were too slow. Fel screamed as the Danger seized her arm, wrenching her to the ground. It lifted a rusted javelin into the air, stabbing downward.\n\nA second figure emerged from the snow, cleaving forward with a scream. Threya plowed into the skeleton with her enormous swords, then hurled it back into the snowfall as two distinct halves.\n\nThe minister stood over Fel, breathing raggedly. She looked down at the young night elf whose life she'd just saved—and then at the blood that began to pour from her own side, where the skeleton's javelin still pierced her.\n\n\"Oh,\" Threya murmured. Her voice was hushed with surprise. \"Oh, no...\" She teetered, then fell into the snow.\n\n\"No!\" Fel scrambled up, rushing to the minister. \"Please, no. Please, please...\" She ripped off her cloak, wrapping it around the javelin to try and stanch the bleeding. Mousebane trotted to her, watching with wide, curious eyes.\n\n\"Help!\" Zed cupped his hands and turned around in a circle, searching for any familiar figures. \"Callum! Micah!\" he bellowed into the blizzard. \"Anybody...\"\n\nNo response came. The city had gone silent.\n\n\"Be quiet,\" Threya said. \"You'll just bring more of those things to us.\"\n\n\"But why?\" Fel asked hoarsely. \"Why would you save me? I thought you hated night elves. I thought you hated me.\"\n\n\"Tell me, deathling...\" The minister's chest rose and fell with crackling breaths. \"Do you really think me such a monster? That I'd let a child die right in front of me?\" Her eyes were wide and wet.\n\n\"Yes,\" Fel hissed. \"Yes, I did. As a minister, you spoke against the dro'shea many times. You took every chance to make our lives harder.\"\n\n\"To be hated by one so young...\" The minister closed her eyes and grimaced. \"Selby was right. I don't expect you to forgive me, but you must...\" Threya's eyes bulged open again, though she now gazed toward some unseeable distance. \"Run,\" she rasped.\n\n\"We aren't leaving you!\" Fel said. \"Just hold on!\"\n\n\"Go now.\" Threya's grip tightened. \"Before I become... one more weapon... of his. Stop the Lich.... I beg you.\"\n\nZed remembered how quickly the sword sister had turned on her own queen once she'd fallen. He took Fel's shoulder, pulling her gently away from the minister. Threya released her hand without a fight. \"She's right,\" he whispered. \"We have to go, before she—\"\n\n\"I know,\" Fel snapped, shrugging his hand away.\n\nMousebane rubbed her face against the girl's leg, mewling. Fel looked down at the cat. She took a deep breath. \"I know,\" she said again, dismally. \"I'm sorry, Zed. Let's go.\"\n\nThey went.\n\nZed couldn't see far through the blizzard, but luckily Fel seemed to know the way. The two trudged side by side, with Mousebane prowling low to the ground. All around them, Llethanyl was hushed, except for the wind and the crunching of their own boots in the snow. They'd had a couple close encounters with crowds of shambling dead, but the blizzard helped to hide them just as well from their pursuers.\n\nThe closer they came to the palace, however, the fewer Dangers they saw. The dead seemed to be giving it a wide berth. Zed wasn't sure he wanted to know why. Glancing up, he could just make out the variegated towers spiraling into the clouds. It was a wondrous, dreadful view.\n\nSoon a pillar even larger than the others loomed through the murk, as thick as a city block. It took Zed several moments to realize that this wasn't another tower but the base of the enormous tree he'd seen from the city's outskirts.\n\n\"The palace is built into the roots,\" Fel explained, taking in his wide-eyed gaze.\n\nZed nodded, frowning. \"Do you think the others made it?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" Fel said. \"I hope so.\"\n\n\"We need Micah,\" Zed muttered. \"He might be the key to ending this.\" He cursed himself for not telling Frond when he'd had the chance.\n\n\"Frond ordered everyone to the palace.\" Fel pointed to a shape just beyond. \"That's the entrance. And the most likely place they'd all go.\"\n\nZed squinted, finally noticing the shrouded white archway hidden within the snow. A great tree decorated the front, wreathed by a halo of soaring birds. The doors were slightly ajar. He nodded, and they began trudging closer.\n\nBefore they'd gotten even halfway there, an enormous shadow fell over the square. It appeared without a sound, just a crush of sudden darkness. Zed stumbled back as the shadow descended, and the dracolich landed heavily before the archway. Its impact shook the ground. Zed had to fight to keep upright against the beating of those great wings.\n\nThe gargantuan monster turned its gaze upon them. Even through the snow, its two purple eyes shone brightly.\n\n\"Hasss osss stahvraaaah.\" The creature spoke in a tongue Zed had never heard before. It didn't even sound like something a person could produce—equal parts thunder, rattle, and snake hiss. Zed felt the vibration of its voice in his chest.\n\n\"Back!\" He reached for his scepter and sent a warning gout of green fire in an arc over their heads. \"Don't come any closer!\"\n\n\"Hmmmm. I smell Fie.\"\n\nZed's mouth fell open. What had it just said?\n\n\"My master has bid me kill the sorcerer without completely destroying its body.\" The dracolich issued a rattling sound from the back of its throat, then opened its mouth. Inside was a nightmare landscape of tongue and teeth. \"He wishes to add it to his army. This will not be easy, I think.\"\n\nThe creature snaked forward with alarming speed for something so huge. Zed was reminded of the lizards that scurried across Freestone's cobblestones in the summer. The dracolich lowered its face and peered at them.",
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"value": "Its maw was as large as an outtown home. The smell of decay threatened to overwhelm Zed.\n\nThe dragon's burning purple eyes passed from Zed to Fel.\n\n\"Any others, I may eat,\" it rumbled. \"Though I do not hunger so much anymore. Perhaps this was meant as an insult. Death has made me slow... confused. In my time I was grand.\"\n\n\"Let us pass and we can free you!\" Zed said, stepping in front of Fel. Slowly, carefully, he drew upon his mana, pooling it into the scepter. \"We're here to stop the Lich.\"\n\n\"I know why you have come,\" the dragon boomed. \"As does he. Your hunt was always misguided. You do not understand your prey.\" The dragon reared up again, its muzzle rising several stories. It snorted, and a vivid gush of orange flame erupted from its nostrils. \"But the time for speaking is over, I think. Perhaps the flames will leave enough of you behind.\" The dracolich opened its mouth, wide enough for Zed to see something spark within its throat.\n\nHe raised his scepter, and threw everything he could at that spark.\n\nThe explosion was unlike anything Zed had ever seen before, larger and more awful than even the blast that had destroyed Mother Brenner. There was a sucking sound like a great deep breath, and then silence, as Zed and Fel were blown from their feet and tossed through the air.\n\nWhen Zed came to he was lying in the snow. His clothes smoked. Fel was beside him, and she was saying something, though Zed couldn't make it out over the high-pitched whine in his ears.\n\nThe fire...\n\nHe followed Fel's finger as it pointed up and away.\n\nIt burns, Zed.\n\nThe dracolich was on fire. It watched them from the center of a circle of meltwater, a black skeleton outlined in emerald flames. But even within all that green, two purple lights shone bright and clear from the sockets of its skull.\n\nThe flames had eaten the dragon's skin, and eaten it hungrily. The oily mass of shadows that covered it dripped apart, globs burning to ash before they reached the ground. Soon the flames, too, had guttered away, extinguished by the cold.\n\nThe skeleton still remained, grinning calmly at Zed.\n\n\"Interesting...\" the dracolich cooed. \"But not enough, I think.\"\n\nIt roared, sending snow crashing from the surrounding towers into the streets. Clouds of it washed over Zed and Fel, choking the air.\n\nThe dragon's enormous skeletal wings unfolded, the tips disappearing into the mist. It raised a great taloned foot.\n\nSlowly the snow settled, and in the haze Zed could make out figures filling the streets of Llethanyl. An army of the dead was arriving to block their way out. They were surrounded. Beaten.\n\n\"Seebul.\"\n\nZed snapped around, searching for the voice that had spoken.\n\n\"Grishta.\"\n\nThese were words he knew. He'd heard them just recently.\n\nLights began to ripple out from the surrounding figures, filling the square with an amber radiance. They shimmered prettily against the snow, transforming each flake into a sparkling mote.\n\nThe snow suddenly stopped in midair.\n\nZed gasped. He reached out to touch one of the suspended snowflakes, and it melted against his touch. Then all the snow followed, water cascading to the ground in a wash of warm rain like a summer storm. In moments, the air was clear and bright.\n\nAnd elves surrounded him. Living, breathing elves. Druids filled the square, clad in their indigo robes and all wearing pristine white masks. The Prime Druid stood ahead of the others, carrying an ornate wooden crook topped with blue toadstools. He stamped the staff against the stone avenue. Light rippled from his feet along the ground, and in its wake bursts of green sprouted from the earth.\n\nBehind the skeletal dragon, the great tree, too, began to shimmer with light. Pink flowers erupted from its branches, filling the air with a sudden, sweet aroma. The tree's bark brightened, until it glowed so white-hot that Zed had to look away.\n\n\"This light...\" The dragon's voice was soft. Covetous.\n\nThe branches of the great tree creaked in a jangling chorus. Then, with a huge crack, one of the boughs reached out and snagged the dracolich's wing like a grasping hand. The dragon roared. Where the tree's glowing bark touched it, the skeleton began to sizzle and smoke. The dracolich tried to pull away, clawing against the trunk of the tree, but vines lashed out where it made contact, and moss engulfed the talon.\n\nOne of the druids approached Zed and Fel, helping them to their feet. \"Cresca dilane,\" the druid said, her voice muffled from behind her mask. She pointed urgently to the archway. Zed recognized the voice of Lanaya, the young druid he'd spoken with at Duskhaven. He didn't understand her words, but figured he got the point.\n\n\"Fel, come on,\" he said. \"I think they're going to hold it off for us.\"\n\nFel nodded. Her eyes were wide as she took in the assembled elves. \"They came....\" A huge smile graced her face. \"They actually came!\" Fel bounded to the young druid. \"Savasche,\" she said, with real conviction. \"Savasche, savasche, savasche!\"\n\nLanaya laughed and took Fel's hands in her own. \"Al de nos,\" she answered warmly. Then she pointed to the archway, her tone serious. \"Cresca,\" she said again. \"Unlat comini.\"\n\n\"Time to go,\" said Zed.\n\n\"Yes,\" Fel agreed. \"Time to go save my city.\"\n\n\"I really am sorry about this,\" Brock said. \"So, so, so sorry.\"\n\n\"Finally, an apology from the mouth of Brock Dunderfel,\" Liza said. \"And it's addressed to the severed head of an undead assassin. Typical.\"\n\n\"None of this is typical,\" Brock groaned. \"Please don't let this be our new normal.\"\n\nThey'd found a shuttered lantern with a circular handle, just big enough, once emptied of wick and oil, to contain the revenant's head. Now Liza held it aloft as if she were holding any other lantern.\n\nThe revenant had tried its best to kill them, but Brock still felt guilty carrying its head around like this. It felt like making a mockery out of another being's death, and that sat uneasy with him.\n\nThen again, it eased his guilt a little that the revenant was such a jerk. It kept gloating about their imminent doom, which was no way to make friends.\n\nSeveral long minutes ago, they'd entered a subterranean tunnel, and the immaculate stonework of the crypts had given way to hard-packed dirt. Brock assumed magic had been used to form the tunnel, for its sides were perfectly flat, and plant roots almost seemed to hold the soil in place like a net. As they walked, the roots grew thicker, until the walls were more wood than soil, and Brock realized they were seeing the root structure of the massive tree at Llethanyl's heart.\n\n\"The Lich will cut out your tongues!\" cried the revenant. \"Oh, could I but see it. Still, I'll savor the silence, oh yes.\"\n\n\"I think your new friend is telling us to shut up,\" Liza said.\n\n\"How is it even talking?\" Brock asked. \"It doesn't have any lungs.\"\n\nLiza shrugged. \"Magic? All right, the Lich is going to eat our tongues. I guess that means we're still going the right way.\"\n\nIn truth, there was only one way to go.\n\n\"Do you feel that?\" Liza asked.\n\n\"What?\"\n\nShe paused. \"I can't describe it. I feel like something's happened up there.... The sword is buzzing.\"\n\nBrock raised an eyebrow. \"How hard did you hit your head before?\"\n\n\"Never mind. Come on.\"\n\n\"Forward,\" said the revenant. \"Forward to doom.\"\n\nThe tunnel began to incline, and the soil gave way entirely to wood. Brock marveled at how gradually, how organically, one setting transitioned to the next. Eventually they were walking a hallway of polished wood—until the hall came to an abrupt end.\n\n\"Keep going,\" rasped the head.\n\n\"I guess you can't see through all the maggots,\" Brock said. \"But you led us to a dead end.\"\n\n\"Never the end,\" said the revenant. \"Never dead...\"\n\n\"Brock, here.\" Liza had set the revenant's lantern down to consider the wall. \"I think... I think it's a door.\" She rapped her knuckles lightly against it, and the space behind it sounded hollow. But when she pushed, nothing happened.\n\n\"If this actually opens into the palace, it's probably a hidden door,\" Brock said. \"Don't push. Try sliding.\"\n\nLiza pressed her palms to the wall and pivoted. It slid open without a sound. A curtain hung in the recess beyond, blocking their view, but Brock could tell it was a well-lit interior space. \"We made it,\" he said.\n\n\"So eager,\" said the head. \"So eager to die.\"",
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"value": "Brock stuck his tongue out.",
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"value": "\"And what about you?\" Liza asked. Her voice was husky. \"Do you want to die?\"\n\nThe head chuckled. \"I cannot die. My new lord will not allow it.\"\n\n\"But if it were possible,\" Liza insisted. \"If you had a choice.\"\n\nThe head stilled, though the maggots upon it still writhed. It appeared thoughtful—even sad. \"I... do not... There is no choice. There is only the Lich.\"\n\n\"Brock,\" Liza said. \"Look away.\"\n\nBrock considered the curtain. There was a flash of green, and the sound of metal piercing metal. Liza had plunged her sword through the lantern.\n\n\"Did it work that time?\" Brock asked, and when he turned, he saw Liza's stricken face. \"Hold on. Are you crying?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, unashamed of the tears cutting tracks through the grime on her cheeks. \"It's awful what the Lich has done. Monstrous. Don't you see it? He's not just a killer or a conqueror. He's... warped the natural order. He took something sacred and he's dragged it through the mud.\"\n\nBrock nodded mutely. He knew what she meant. He understood the pity she felt for the sword sister and everyone else the Lich had touched. Most of all, he understood her fury—the rage that was evident in the tightness of her jaw, the squint of her eyes.\n\n\"Well,\" he told her, \"I'd say it's time someone dragged him through the mud. Wouldn't you?\" He pulled a reasonably clean handkerchief from his satchel pocket and handed it to her.\n\nLiza smiled. Instead of wiping her tears away, she wiped the blade of her sword. \"Count me in,\" she said.\n\n\"Great.\" Brock gestured toward the curtain. \"Uh, ladies first?\"\n\n\"Cowards second.\" She winked. \"Come on!\"\n\nThe palace interior was a marvel. It appeared to have been entirely carved out of the inside of the tree, but the wood of the walls was smooth to the touch and glowed with a soft interior light. Rugs and tapestries and little side tables with silver sculptures furnished the hallways, making it all seem so normal—Brock could almost forget he was walking within a living structure.\n\nBut a thin layer of dust covered everything, a visible reminder that this grandest of homes had been abandoned by the living. It was a haunted place, and it shuddered occasionally, as if frightened, or determined to uproot itself and flee.\n\nOr maybe Brock was projecting his own feelings.\n\nThey wound their way past empty rooms and darkened windows, and soon enough their hallway ended in a grand foyer.\n\nTo Brock's continued astonishment, it was filled with familiar faces.\n\nZed and Fel huffed raggedly at the doorway, their clothes somehow both wet and singed. Jett was bandaging a cut on Jayna's arm while Micah looked on, a bit bruised and battered himself. But they were alive, all of them.\n\n\"I'm telling you I can just heal her,\" Micah groused.\n\nLiza recognized her cue. \"Save your anima, Micah,\" she said, and all five of them leaped to their feet upon hearing her voice.\n\n\"You're okay!\" Jayna said, crossing the foyer to embrace her friend.\n\n\"Brock, where were you?\" Zed asked, stepping forward more hesitantly.\n\n\"I know I have a habit of disappearing,\" he said. \"But that time it was not my fault.\"\n\n\"Where's everybody else? Frond? Lotte?\" Liza asked.\n\nZed bit his lip. \"We got separated. It all happened so fast. There was a dragon—a dracolich...\"\n\nMicah rolled not just his eyes but his entire head. \"Here we go again. Zed and Fel versus the drakle itch.\"\n\nFel made a frustrated harrumph, and Zed gestured madly at Micah. \"It was kind of a big deal!\"\n\nBrock patted him on the shoulder, inadvertently producing a puff of ash. \"And I want to hear all about it.\"\n\n\"Later,\" Jett said. \"The dragon is restrained for now, but—\" The palace trembled. \"Well, but that.\"\n\n\"We should wait for Frond,\" Brock said. The entire group looked at him with undisguised surprise. \"What?\" he said. \"It's not a compliment or anything. It's a sound strategy.\"\n\n\"I don't know how long we can wait,\" Liza said. \"Stopping the Lich is the only way to win, and I don't want to lose the element of surprise.\"\n\n\"Dear girl, you sound just like an elf. I think I should like to keep you.\" A ripple of tension went through the group at the sound of the voice. When Queen Me'Shala stepped from the shadows, not even Fel showed the respect of touching her fingers to her lips.\n\n\"Where'd you come from?\" Micah asked.\n\nThe queen smiled. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion, and Brock thought it made her only more beautiful. \"This is my palace. You don't think I come and go through the most obvious door?\"\n\nMicah shrugged broadly, eager to convey he'd given the matter very little thought. Whatever charm the queen held for Brock, Micah was apparently immune.\n\n\"You're alone, Majesty?\" Fel asked. \"Your sword sister—\"\n\nThe queen shook her head, a momentary sadness registering and then just as suddenly gone. \"They gave everything to get me here. Now we must honor their sacrifice with action. But where is Frond?\" she asked. \"Callum?\"\n\n\"Last time I saw them,\" Zed answered, \"they were with you.\"\n\nBrock was surprised at the iciness in his friend's voice. \"Uh, what he means is—\"\n\n\"She knows what I mean,\" Zed said sharply.\n\nThe queen was unmoved by any of it. \"It's chaos out there. And knowing those two, they've stopped to help every stray kitten along the way.\" She clucked her tongue. \"I know they will be fine. But we cannot wait. Galvino is here. In my home. And we've brought you all this way, Zed.\" She lifted her hands toward him as if bestowing a blessing. \"My secret weapon.\"\n\nBrock tried to pass a meaningful look to Micah, but the healer was preoccupied with digging a particularly elusive booger from his nose.\n\nMe'Shala gasped at the state of the throne room, her eyes wide with horror as they swept across the cavernous space. Brock tried to imagine it as it once had been: a huge vaulted ceiling with arches of living wood, and walls draped with ivy that had been braided into lush, elaborate geometries. Branches grew inward into the room, reaching out from ceiling and floor; they might have once held fanciful ornaments and mystical baubles or even living birds.\n\nThe wood was dead now, the ivy rotted, and the branches broken and gnarled. If indeed they had held ornaments, those were likely shattered upon the floor, but no floor was visible. The entire room, huge as it was, was shrouded in a swirling lavender miasma that came up to Brock's knees and obscured his view of his own feet.\n\nAt the center of the haze was a throne of wet, rotting wood. And upon that throne was the Lich.\n\nHe stood, rising to his full and intimidating height. His skin was pale gray, pulled taut and paper-thin across his face; his eyes were a luminous purple above sunken cheeks. His clothing, however, was fine, with gleaming embroidery to match the circlet of silver he wore over his stringy white hair.\n\n\"Me'Shhhala,\" he hissed, lurching forward. Though he was well across the room, Brock flinched at the sudden movement. The Lich paused momentarily, then took another stumbling step. He moved in an ungainly manner, in awkward fits and starts, his body all twisted. He held his arms out at strange angles, his hands hanging limp.\n\nBrock took an involuntary step back. The queen, however, stood her ground. \"You shall not address me, traitor. Not until you remove that ridiculous hat.\"\n\nThe Lich rasped. Brock couldn't tell if he was laughing or panting. His thin lips, already pulled tight, split open, flesh tearing against yellow teeth. His blood was thick and dark.\n\n\"What have you done to yourself, Galvino?\" There was more scorn than pity in the queen's voice. \"This is the power you sought? Mort's energies have ruined you. You are undone.\" She held out a hand. \"Stand down now. Stop this horror.\"\n\n\"Shhhhala,\" he said, lurching ever closer. Brock was getting truly nervous now.\n\n\"I see my orders do not carry the weight they once did here.\" The queen lowered her hand. \"So I'll ask nicely. Zed, would you please end this?\"\n\nZed hesitated only a moment, then he stepped before the queen and held forth his scepter. Its jewel flashed green.\n\nA torrent of flame burst forth, so sudden and intense that Brock, even expecting it as he was, felt his heart leap in awe. They all stepped back, including the queen, and Brock shielded his face against the heat and the eerie green light.\n\nThe Lich, however, was unaffected. He stood, immune and unconcerned, some magic diverting the flames around his broken body. Even his finery remained untouched by the fire.\n\nZed's flame cut out.\n\n\"What—?\" said the queen.\n\n\"Oh, no,\" Zed said unconvincingly. \"I was sure that would work.\" He winked at Brock as Micah got into position for their true plan. They just needed the Lich to come another step closer....\n\n\"Shhhala,\" the Lich moaned, his torn lips flapping. \"Help. Help me.\"",
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"value": "Next output: substantial quoted text",
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"value": "\"Help you?\" the queen echoed, stunned. Brock tore his eyes from Micah to consider Galvino. There was a look of real pain etched across his features.\n\nAt that moment Micah darted forward, right fist aglow, and he punched the Lich squarely in the mouth. Honeyed light flared from the impact, and the loose and rotting flesh of Galvino's jaw exploded away into ash. The creature reeled back, but Micah gripped it by its glittering robe and struck it again, and again, and with a fourth blow nothing remained of the Lich's head but a cloud of gray ash.\n\nMicah dropped the remains of their enemy into the mist at his feet. He took a heaving breath, then he pumped his still-glowing fist into the air. \"How about that? Let's hear it for the secret secret weapon.\"\n\nSomething brushed against Brock's calf, slithering past him.\n\nIn the far corner of the room, the mist swelled. Brock saw faces in the fog, ghostly forms taking shape from nothingness.\n\n\"It didn't work,\" Brock said. \"We beat the Lich. Why didn't it work?\" He looked wildly from face to face, and saw his own shock and fear mirrored by each of his companions.\n\nAnd he saw Selby step through the door at their backs.\n\n\"Ah, good, we're all here,\" he said. \"Me'Shala, your ministers have a bone to pick with you. In fact, I think I see the bone. It's sticking out of that hole in poor Threya.\" He waved a hand upward, where a hiss drew Brock's attention to the shadows. Threya was there, crouched in the dead branches high above. The left half of her torso was one giant bruise, purple flesh marred with branching veins of black rot. Her eyes were aglow with violet malice.\n\nSelby laughed at his own joke.\n\n\"You're working with the Lich?\" Liza demanded.\n\n\"No, child,\" Selby said. \"So close! But no, no, I am the Lich.\"\n\nBrock couldn't believe it. He stood in stunned silence, trying to make sense of Selby's words.\n\nFinally the queen spoke. \"That's not possible,\" Me'Shala said. Her voice trembled with barely contained emotion.\n\n\"It's not only possible,\" Selby said. \"It was inevitable. Once, our people strolled the long roads of eternity. We were immortals. The sagas said we had to earn back our right to live forever, but you always lacked the vision and the courage to do what was necessary. How then could any true elf stand by and do nothing?\"\n\n\"He's lying,\" Jayna said. \"He must be. If he were responsible for this, the power would have consumed him. Turned him into...\" She waved a hand despairingly at the area where Galvino's corpse had finally fallen to its rest.\n\nSelby nodded sadly. \"It's true that with power comes... sacrifice, and Mort's assistance isn't free, I'm afraid. The more one pulls from that plane, the more one's body suffers. But I found a way around all that—I only had to use a little bit of necromancy, enough to animate one corpse, and that corpse could act as the focus through which Mort's energies flowed into our plane and raised an army. I suppose it's dear Threya's turn now, but Galvino served the purpose so well, don't you think? He was always the best of us—the most visionary—so I gave him the honor. I controlled the man who controlled the legions.\" He shrugged. \"All great leaders delegate. Of course, he had to die first, but it's not as if he'd have betrayed you willingly.\"\n\n\"Galvino's been dead this whole time,\" Jett growled. \"We were all afraid of the puppet, while we made room at our table for the puppeteer.\"\n\n\"I've been called worse,\" Selby said. \"Though truthfully Freestone's hospitality left something to be desired. I suppose we've all suffered a bit.\"\n\n\"Your suffering hasn't yet begun,\" the queen said. \"And it will not soon end, believe me.\"\n\n\"Posture all you want, Me'Shala. It's the only regal thing about you, after all. Well, that and your access to the royal treasury. Couldn't find any way around that...\"\n\nMe'Shala stiffened.\n\n\"See your mistake now, do you? Coming all the way back here?\" Selby steepled his fingers. \"I was content to let you flee to Freestone. That city will fall too, after all. But their wards are better than I expected. I needed another way in. So go on, Me'Shala.\" He grinned. \"Open the door for me.\"\n\n\"Elderon's Shade.\" Jayna gasped. \"The demiplane!\" She turned to her friends. \"The elves created a way to walk an army right through our wards. The demiplane we traveled through to get here!\"\n\n\"Its focus is safe within the treasury,\" Me'Shala explained. \"Someplace only one of my blood can reach. Selby needs me alive.\"\n\nBrock frowned, a memory flaring unbidden at the mention of a treasury. The Lady Gray had expressed her desire for some item from those elven coffers. Had she known Me'Shala had hoarded not riches, but weapons?\n\n\"I need you alive, yes,\" Selby said. \"But how many of these children are you willing to watch die before you giv—?\"\n\nSuddenly, Selby was struck through the heart with an arrow. His words ended in a bloody cough, and he looked down at his chest in shock.\n\nBrock turned to see that Fel had loosed the arrow. She was already nocking a second in her bow.\n\nSelby gripped the shaft and pulled, tearing the arrow from his chest, heedless of the gore. \"Well, anyway, I suppose it's time to take matters into my own hands.\"\n\nViolet mist roiled where his blood met the air, and Brock knew that the foul energies of Mort were somehow sustaining him.\n\n\"I never liked you,\" Selby said, regarding Me'Shala coldly. \"The elves will be better off when you're gone.\" His eyes flared purple, and the queen was hurled across the room, where Threya fell upon her.\n\n\"As for the rest of you,\" Selby said. Brock shuddered as the minister turned his eyes on them. \"I've been paying attention. And I've prepared something special for each of you. The half elf has so much angst about his father, doesn't he?\"\n\nOh, no, Brock thought. He couldn't...\n\nBrock turned to look across the room, where the ghostly shapes had roiled within the fog. One of those ghosts had taken ragged form now, and it was drifting slowly toward them.\n\nToward Zed.\n\nBrock felt a wave of hopelessness threaten to overwhelm him. It might have been the wraith's unholy aura, already clawing its way into him at this distance. But he heard Zed's choked sob, and he knew that there was nothing supernatural about what Zed was feeling.\n\nThe wraith was hazy, flowing like a tattered banner on a breeze. All the same, Brock could tell it looked a little like Callum. The same jaw, the same flared ears.\n\nBut it had Zed's hopelessly messy hair, riddled with cowlicks.\n\n\"Do I have a son?\" the wraith asked in a thin voice, casting about blindly even as it drifted ever closer to Zed. \"I have no son.\"\n\nBrock stepped between Zed and the wraith, turning to grip his friend by the arms. \"Zed, listen to me. You have to run. Run!\" Zed showed no sign of hearing him, so Brock forcibly turned him around and shoved him. \"Don't let that thing touch you!\"\n\nSelby chuckled. \"Look at you all. The dwarf with his hammer and the wizard with her shield,\" he said. \"You all really should learn some new tricks.\"\n\nTo one side, Jett was surrounded by grasping hands from within the fog. They gripped his hammer with ghostly fingers, trapping the dwarf in a tug-of-war he couldn't win.\n\nJayna had hurried to the queen's side and thrown her shield up, deflecting the attacks of the other minister, who clawed at the translucent barrier with ragged, bloody fingers. The queen lay unmoving, and Jayna was coughing uncontrollably. Her shield wasn't keeping out the fog, and something in the fog was affecting her....\n\nMicah ran forward, hurling himself at Selby. But the minister caught Micah's punch in one palm.\n\n\"Ah, yes,\" Selby said. \"And the obnoxious healer. I'll admit, I was surprised to see the energies of Mort are so vulnerable to that light of yours.\" Micah's knees buckled, and Selby held fast. \"But I'm not fully dead yet. And it just so happens that I've got a new trick I've been meaning to try.\" Brock watched in horror as Selby's ruined chest began to knit itself back together, while purple-black bruises blossomed all along Micah's arm. Micah gasped, writhing in pain, unable to pull away.\n\nBrock rushed forward and slashed at Selby's forearm with his daggers, leaving wicked cuts in his flesh. The minister dropped Micah, but laughed as the new injuries knit themselves closed.\n\nBrock gripped Micah by the arms and pulled him back out of reach, but the boy was heavy. Liza appeared at his side, along with Jett, now hammerless, and they all huddled together. Brock saw that Zed was staying just ahead of the wraith, which pursued him as he elf-stepped blindly across the room; he had to be running out of energy. Fel fought alone against Threya, Jayna and the queen unconscious at her feet.\n\n\"The world is dead,\" Selby said. \"It died two hundred years ago. We've tried to deny it, as the elves have long refused to accept death.\" He grinned. \"But death is not the end. Death can be tamed.\"\n\nSelby began chanting in a low voice, words Brock didn't recognize, but just hearing them filled him with dread. Selby made a furious series of gestures with his fingers, which popped as he forced them into unnatural arrangements. The hair on Brock's arms stood on end as the temperature around them dropped.\n\nA web of purple energy burst forth from Selby's hands. The mass shivered across the chamber, not like light or fire, but like frost upon glass. It was as if the air before them were freezing, cracking, dying.\n\nWith a splintering lurch, the tangle engulfed them.\n\nBrock shielded his face. It should have been the end, but a sheen of brilliant blue arced suddenly into being, intercepting the attack.\n\nBrock gaped as the energies met. The barrier was a spell he knew well—Jayna's signature Wizard's Shield. But this time, it came from an unexpected source.\n\nJett's prosthetic leg shone with azure sigils. The dwarf looked down at it in awe as the ethereal bubble shattered into glittering rain all around them.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"What was that?\" Brock asked.\n\n\"Jayna—she must have enchanted the mythril. Folded the spell right in.\" Jett grinned. \"She really is brilliant.\"\n\nSelby had evidently put a lot into that blast. He appeared momentarily dazed, staggering backward as his fingers popped back into place. But he wouldn't be down for long.\n\nBrock desperately searched his mind for a solution, some angle that Selby hadn't planned for. Nothing. There was nothing!\n\nBrock shouldn't have even been here. Frond had left him behind for a reason. He wasn't a wizard or a healer. He didn't have any mystical legendary blades. He wasn't a hero.\n\nBrock was a sneak. He was a smuggler and a thief. And all he had left in his useless satchel was a useless pile of... a pile of...\n\nHe gripped Liza by the shoulders. \"Follow me. We have to be quick. Hey, Selby!\" he bellowed.\n\nWhen the minister looked up, Brock dashed forward and threw his satchel as hard as he could. It slammed into Selby's stomach.\n\n\"Run him through!\" Brock cried to Liza. \"Through the bag!\"\n\nLiza did, screaming as she plunged the sword into Selby's stomach. Her momentum carried him back, forcing him against a wall.\n\nThe sword flared with golden-green light, making Selby look otherworldly. He laughed as the new wounds they'd inflicted once more knit themselves back together. But soon his laughter stopped. \"What?\" he said. \"What is this?\"\n\nToadstools erupted from the satchel, small and numerous, growing larger as they spread across his abdomen.\n\nLiza hesitated. \"Brock, what—?\"\n\n\"Lanaya said it in Duskhaven: 'Funguses are the great decomposers.' So I... took some spores.\"\n\nSelby shrieked, clawing at Liza's hands now, trying desperately to break her grip on the sword.\n\n\"Just don't let up!\" Brock cried.\n\nLiza dug her heels in and gritted her teeth, keeping Selby pinned even as he writhed and bucked. His manic movements only made it worse for him; as his wound grew, the Crepuscule filled it with new and hungry life, spurred on by the druidic magic of Liza's shining sword.\n\nThe toadstools grew large all around Selby's torso, with smaller tendrils of fungus popping up all along his arms, up his neck. His tongue bubbled and blistered with growths. By the time his eyes and ears were overgrown, his middle section had rotted away entirely, and what was left of the elf slid in pulpy pieces to the floor.\n\nThe fog began to thin almost immediately. Brock saw Threya's corpse slump to the floor like a discarded doll beside the unconscious body of the queen she had been forced, in death, to betray. Fel panted with exhaustion, Micah groaned in pain, and Brock's heart thrummed in his chest as he scanned the room for his best friend.\n\nZed stood eerily still, holding one hand out as the wraith of his lost father frayed apart before him. It looked like he wanted to reach out, to risk touching the phantom, but in the instant before Zed could move, it was gone.\n\n\"What—what just happened?\" Liza said, shaking the rot from her sword, which had grown dim.\n\nBrock fell to his knees. The fear and horror and grief all left him in a rush, but no happiness seeped in to replace it. All he felt now was tired. Tired in his limbs, in his bones, and in his heart.\n\n\"It doesn't feel like it,\" he said. \"But we won.\"\n\nIn the days that followed Selby's defeat, Zed watched as winter turned to spring. Not true spring, which was still weeks away, but a bright and strange likeness of it, courtesy of the druids.\n\nWith the necromancer vanquished, the dracolich had burned away, exploding into purple fog that drifted apart in the wind. The rest of the dead who walked Llethanyl fell where they stood, turning the city itself into a sort of crypt.\n\nQueen Me'Shala and the apprentices had limped from the palace, exhausted and nearly broken, where they found a small army of druids waiting in the square. Frond, Hexam, Lotte, and the surviving rangers had all been herded into a small circle, with a dozen arrows now pointed their way. The adults looked... confused.\n\nAs did Me'Shala. Zed had never seen the elven queen so visibly shocked, not even when all three of her own ministers had attacked her.\n\nAnd so, despite their fatigue, hours of explanation followed, carefully conducted through magicked tokens. All through their talks, Queen Me'Shala watched the druids with naked wonder. And when the story of Duskhaven's survival had finally been told, the queen surprised everyone by bursting into tears.\n\n\"La fael,\" Me'Shala said—the elven words for \"thank you.\" \"La fael, Duskhaven. La fael, Frond. La fael, apprentices il humans il dro'shea. Druids have returned to the elves!\" The queen fell to one knee, her gratitude echoing through the square in three different tongues. She bent low, folding herself into the unmistakable pose for humility.\n\nIt seemed elves did bow after all.\n\nAfter the corpses had been cleared, carried by the rangers into the crypts, the team rested in Llethanyl a few days more. Micah slowly tended to their injuries, careful not to show off too much while Liza was within view. For all their fine control of anima, the druids apparently lacked the ability to heal, a distinction that puzzled the adventurers.\n\nWhile they recovered, Queen Me'Shala took a needle to one of the city's banners and sewed several small shapes into the design.\n\nCallum and the rangers combed the city. Eventually a hidden cache of ancient-looking manuals on necromancy were discovered in Selby's old rooms, along with a knife carved from solid bone that flickered with ghastly purple gleams. Where Selby had found them remained a mystery. The druids destroyed the knife, and the books were confiscated by Frond, in case there was something useful to be gleaned from them. None of the elves protested.\n\nZed explored the city during this time, taking in the spiraling towers as they glittered in the sunlight. One afternoon, Callum brought Zed to his childhood home, a strangely lovely house at the edge of the city that was shaped like an onion bulb. The High Ranger ushered his nephew inside, hovering anxiously at the doorway while Zed looked around.\n\nZed ran his fingers over the unfamiliar furniture. The chairs and dressers were all constructed with looping veins of white wood, lodes that spiraled outward into twirling branches. Light poured in from enormous decorative windows in the ceiling.\n\nIt was a home carved from a dream—gorgeous and spacious and absolutely weird. Zed tried to imagine living here—growing up here—but it all felt too strange.\n\nStrange, and wonderful.\n\nThen Callum showed him to what had been his father's room. They sat inside, together, talking until the sun fell.\n\nThe day before their journey back to Freestone, Zed parked himself against a tree and finished his note to Brock. He wrote it all down, every detail.\n\nHe described his vision with Makiva, and their conversation in the otherworldly forest. He wrote of his strange dreams with the watching fox, and the burning chain around his throat.\n\nAnd Zed told the truth about his green fire. The magic that could mean his execution.\n\nHe wasn't sure if he actually had the courage to speak the words aloud to his best friend, but he knew he could hand Brock a note. Then, once Brock had read it, they would decide what to do next. Together.\n\nOnce he'd finished, Zed folded the vellum into a neat square and tucked it away into the sorcerous codex. He stood, stretching, enjoying the unnatural warmth provided by the druids.\n\nHe decided it would be a good opportunity to try one of the exercises from the codex. At first Zed had been wary of the book, considering it was a gift from Selby, but the elves had assured him its instructions were legitimate.\n\nZed braced his feet, taking deep, controlled breaths, just as the first exercise described. He closed his eyes, reaching inward, until he felt his mana—the deep, quiet pool. Normally he only skimmed the surface of the pool, taking small sips of magic to better conserve it. But this exercise was about exploration. About learning the depths of his reserves.\n\nWith a second breath, Zed plunged himself in magic.\n\nHis entire body began to tingle—a pleasant, exhilarating rush. Zed's muscles surged with vitality, and he felt buoyed with confidence. The magic tugged at his hands, a strange yearning sensation. It wanted to be used. Wanted to burn.\n\nThe instructions for the exercise had said to just test the mana then pull slowly back out again, but they hadn't specifically mentioned not casting spells. He would just make a small flame.\n\nZed raised his right hand into the air. The magic seemed to boil eagerly inside him. It was an itch that demanded scratching.\n\nA curl of green fire unfolded, small and gentle. It weaved between his fingers like a kite in the wind, sailing with lovely precision. Zed grinned, astonished by his own control over the fire. He'd never managed to—\n\n\"It burns, Zed.\"\n\nA sibilant voice hissed loudly in Zed's ears, startling him. He shook his head, alarmed.\n\n\"What was—?\"\n\n\"It burns. It burns. It burns. It burns.\"\n\nIt whispered again. Then again and again.\n\nZed covered his ear with his left hand. He tried to quash his mana and put out the flame, but the magic was running freely now. He couldn't get a grip on it. Zed felt the mana still tingling throughout his body, growing warm, then hot.\n\nThe fire split away from his hand and now began circling around him, growing and changing. It transformed into a blazing chain. Several smaller fires burst into being, hanging in the air like lanterns.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Zed remembered these. Makiva had called them will-o-wisps.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"It burns, Zed. It burns. ItburnsZeditburnsITBURNSITBURNS-ZEDITBURNS!!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(( IMPORTANT: Your response must contain: \"I can't believe Fel didn't come to say good-bye,\" ))",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Zed opened his mouth to scream, but no noise came out. His head was ringing and the world was spinning. He couldn't breathe. The chain... the chain around his throat... was burning.\n\n\"ZED!\"\n\nThen, suddenly, the fires all went out. Zed's body went limp, his head and arms lolling forward.\n\nA long moment of quiet passed. A warm breeze stirred the grass around him. Zed rose, blinking into the sun. He glanced around, but the glade was empty. Silent.\n\nHe quickly gathered up his scepter and his book, stuffing them both into his bag. Then he turned and marched through the grass, back to the group.\n\nThe journey home was long and strenuous. Dangers attacked several times, emboldened by the melting snow, but a large contingent of druids had accompanied the party, and they helped defend against the monsters. There were no casualties, but one of the rangers was bitten by something called a gibbering gab, and she had to be muffled with a wad of cloth when its venom compelled her to recount her most embarrassing secrets.\n\nAs the story of Brock's ingenious solution spread among the elves—Smuggling spores from the Crepuscule to combat the undead! Using Liza and her sword to empower their growth!—Zed's friend enjoyed a sort of begrudging admiration from both the rangers and druids.\n\nOn the one hand, it was a deceitful act: absconding with a pouch full of Duskhaven's most sacred substance. But ultimately it had worked when nothing else did, and the elves couldn't deny the boy's resourcefulness. Frond, at least, seemed to regard Brock with new esteem.\n\nThough Zed caught Lotte watching the boy suspiciously.\n\nLiza also enjoyed a certain celebrity among the dro'shea. For mastering their champion's sword—a feat which hadn't been accomplished in two centuries—the druids had taken to calling her the green knight. Zed had never seen her so pleased.\n\n\"So what's the title for a female knight?\" Brock wondered aloud one evening during camp. \"Should we call you Ser Liza now?\"\n\n\"There was one like a thousand years ago who went by Dame,\" Micah piped up from the tree where he was reclining. \"Rhymes with—\"\n\n\"You don't want to finish that sentence,\" Jett said, hefting his hammer from hand to hand. Jayna glared at Micah, seated beside the dwarf.\n\n\"Micah, remember what we talked about?\" Liza called instructively. \"About killing with kindness?\"\n\nMicah smiled sweetly at his sister. \"Kindness is a pretty twisted name for a longsword.\"\n\n\"Speaking of,\" Fel broke in brightly. She was learning to handle the siblings as well as any of them. \"Liza should name her new weapon. All the truly legendary blades have names. There's the famous 'bird which dances joyfully in the storm.' Oh, and who could forget 'the last lonely child of the mountain hermit'?\"\n\nJayna shook her head. \"My, the elven language is... descriptive.\"\n\n\"I already have a name for it,\" Liza said, holding the sword up against the fire. It glowed prettily in the firelight, almost as if lit by a brightness all its own. \"The Solution.\"\n\nThe apprentices sat in silence for a moment. Finally, Fel cleared her throat. \"That still sounds a little twisted.\"\n\nFel, for her part, was treated as no less than the savior of the elves. She was a bridge to the future, the uniter of Llethanyl and Duskhaven, and the restorer of the ancient druids. Her actions in helping Liza to solve the riddle and her final plea for cooperation had been what eventually convinced the druids that Llethanyl might be worth saving.\n\nThe queen was effusive in her praise for the girl, often asking Fel to accompany her so that they might speak of the days to come.\n\nOn the third day of the journey, Callum joined Zed at the back of the line. He watched the boy for a long beat, but Zed's eyes stayed forward, a casual smile playing across his face. They walked in silence for a time, neither of them speaking.\n\nFinally, the High Ranger broke the quiet. \"Zed,\" Callum started nervously. \"I've been thinking about the future. And about you. Thinking perhaps I might—\"\n\nZed laughed. The harsh sound of it brought Callum up short.\n\n\"Listen,\" Zed said. \"I can appreciate what you're doing here. It's sweet, really. You feel guilty for abandoning me, but the truth is that I'm fine. I didn't need you then, and I don't now. So if you're entertaining ideas of sticking around and playing the father figure, let me save you the trouble. Your city is saved. Everything worked out. Let's just leave it at that.\"\n\nNow Zed finally turned. He watched as the ranger's expression tightened in grief.\n\nAfter a moment, Callum nodded. \"Very well,\" he said thickly.\n\nThe ranger's cloak faded from view as he pushed back up the line. Zed's fingers rose, slowly stroking the chain around his neck. A flicker of movement caught his eye and he turned to find Mousebane regarding him from within the trees. The cat's eyes were huge and yellow.\n\nMousebane hissed at him, the fur along her back standing on end.\n\nZed's face split into a snarl. He hissed back.\n\nWhen the Stone Sons caught sight of their party marching up the Broken Roads, the knights' eyes landed first on a banner waving wildly in the breeze.\n\nHorns blared, announcing the team's arrival. By the time the gates had been opened and they finally stepped into the city, a crowd had congregated, whispering curiously.\n\nQueen Me'Shala entered first, with Fel by her side. The young ranger gripped an enormous banner, topped with the emblem of Llethanyl: the great tree wreathed by birds.\n\nBut the emblem now featured a new design, an extension that had been added by the queen herself. At the tree's base, a ring of toadstools encircled the roots. It was the ancient symbol of the dro'shea, to honor the elves of Duskhaven.\n\nThe queen made straight for the city's market, a vision of poise even after her long travels. Zed and the others followed behind, the druids bringing up the rear. Their white masks tilted as they wondered at this strange human city. No knights moved to stop them. Instead, they kept the crowds at bay as their company passed.\n\nWhen Me'Shala reached the square, the elves erupted from their shanties, pressing around the queen and reaching their hands toward her. Me'Shala extended her left hand, brushing her fingertips with those of her people. Her right arm she kept laid across Fel's shoulders, gently gripping the girl.\n\nThe adventurers and druids trailed them, fielding curious looks from both humans and elves.\n\nThe market's fountain had been cleared and was now encircled by a phalanx of knights. When Me'Shala and the others arrived, they found King Freestone himself waiting for them beneath the statues of the Champions. His stony expression was markedly less adoring than those of the elves who filled the square.\n\nAs Me'Shala finally reached him, the monarchs both inclined their heads.\n\n\"Your Majesty,\" the king said gruffly. \"Though your people tried to hide it from my Stone Sons, it's come to our attention that you've been missing for a number of days. You and the guildmistress of the Adventurers Guild.\" The king's hard gaze fell to Frond, who looked on silently.\n\n\"Not missing, my dear King Freestone,\" the queen said. \"Merely away. We were quite aware of where we were. And I'm pleased to return bearing the most remarkable news. Llethanyl has been restored. The Lich is no more, and my people may return to our home.\"\n\nThe king's mouth fell open.\n\nWhispers broke like waves among the elves as the queen's pronouncement spread through the crowd. They seemed to hardly believe their own monarch. Zed watched as a young wood elf covered his mouth with his hands, tears welling in his eyes.\n\n\"How...?\" the king asked.\n\n\"It's a grand story, involving many miraculous turns.\" The queen shifted, waving her hand to the group of masked elves behind her. \"Today marks the beginning of a new era for Llethanyl. It's a moment of transformation, for nothing less will be required of us if we're to avoid repeating the mistakes of our past. But first, my old friend, I would ask you to kindly get these knights away from my people.\"\n\nThings were busy over the next few days, as the elves prepared for their long journey home. Fel was at the guildhall less and less, having become something of a favorite companion of the queen's.\n\nThe news that a hidden sect of druids had been discovered sent shock waves through the elves and humans alike. King Freestone called several special councils on the matter, summoning Frond away for hours at a time. Zed and the others weren't privy to these talks, but they got the impression that many questions were asked and only some of them answered. The dro'shea of Duskhaven remained aloof, even by elven standards, and they were especially mistrustful of this stone city that had cut itself off from the land.\n\nStill, new ties had been formed. From Freestone's perspective, the small, broken constellation of Terryn's last survivors had grown a bit brighter, and that was a cherished victory.\n\nZed kept to himself in these days. He ran drills with the others, and was a dutiful student in his lessons with Hexam, but he remained remote. He sat impassively when Jayna finally exploded on Hexam during one of the wizard's more haphazard lectures, berating him for his stinginess in teaching her useful spells for the field.\n\nWith Hexam's office in shambles, they'd taken their lessons that day outside in the training yard. A small audience of guild members pretended not to listen while Jayna described how she'd failed her fellow apprentices during the battle against Selby. She used every bad word she knew, and some she didn't but bravely attempted anyway.\n\n\"I will never, ever find myself unable to protect my friends again—do you hear me? Even if it means I have to go marching into Silverglow Tower itself and demand that they provide me with a real education. You—you don't appreciate what you have!\" Jayna swallowed, suddenly self-conscious. The nearby adventurers had burst into applause. \"In me, I mean.\"\n\nShe left that particular lesson with three new spells to memorize.\n\nAnd then came the day for farewells.\n\nThe adventurers had all gathered just outside the city gates, helping the rangers to oversee the procession of elves as they departed Freestone. Zed stood with the other apprentices, watching Syd wave along a young family of sun elves. The mother cried with joy as she lifted her golden child into her arms and began the long journey homeward.\n\n\"I can't believe Fel didn't come to say good-bye,\" Liza said, wiping away a tear of her own.\n\n\"We'll get her on the way out,\" said Jett. But he, too, seemed glum as his eyes searched through the crowd.\n\nZed caught sight of Callum leading a troop of clamoring elven children into the center of the procession, where they'd be safest from any monster attacks. In all the time he'd been back, Zed hadn't mentioned Callum once to his mother, much less their family connection.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The High Ranger seemed to sense he was being watched.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "His gaze rose, and for a moment the two locked eyes, just staring at one another. Then Callum nodded to Zed, his face a mask.\n\nZed nodded back. An instant later, Callum was gone, ushered away by his duties.\n\nAs the morning dwindled, so did the lines of elves exiting the city. Frond joined the apprentices after a time, nodding in a satisfied way at the progress.\n\nEventually, Me'Shala arrived at the gate, flanked by two new sword sisters in gleaming armor.\n\n\"Alabasel, I...\" The queen seemed to shrink as she reached the guildmistress. Her gaze fell to the ground, then fluttered back up again. \"Thank you,\" she said. \"For helping us. For saving us.\"\n\nFrond's face was hard. The edges of her mouth bent into a slight frown. \"Freestone and Llethanyl will always be allies,\" she said blandly. \"Remember that as you hoard your illegal magical artifact with the power to infiltrate my city.\"\n\nThe queen pursed her lips. \"We're not so different, Alabasel,\" she murmured. \"Is there anything you wouldn't do to protect Freestone? To keep one of those 'last lights' burning?\"\n\nThe guildmistress remained silent.\n\nMe'Shala sighed, then stood a bit straighter. \"Well, in honor of that alliance between our cities, and in thanks for everything you and your people have done for us, at least allow me to leave you with a small gift.\" The queen held out her hand, where one of the sword sisters placed a crystal flask filled with milky blue liquid. \"This is a very rare tincture, a potion whose formula was lost many years ago. Only a few bottles remain among my people. I'd like you to have one.\" As Me'Shala pressed the flask into Frond's hands she leaned in and whispered something into the guildmistress's ear. Then she kissed her scarred cheek.\n\nNow Frond's stony expression finally melted away. Her eyes widened in shock.\n\nThe queen stepped back, smiling slyly. She gazed down at the apprentices. \"My thanks to you as well. You children saved my life, and my city. Frond is very lucky to have such a fine team supporting her. You will always be welcome in Llethanyl.\"\n\nThen Me'Shala glanced to Zed, her eyes lingering, her face unreadable. \"Good-bye, Zed. The path of a half elf is a lonely one, and for that you have my pity. But there are good and loyal friends beside you. Treasure them.\"\n\nZed nodded. He watched as the queen joined the procession, flanked by her guards, then disappeared into the crowd.\n\nFrond hurried away, leaving the apprentices to attend the last of the rangers as they trailed out of the city. Elves clasped hands with and embraced adventurers, then followed the winding parade as it snaked away into the trees.\n\nFinally, once all of Llethanyl had departed, the Stone Sons closed the city gate.\n\nJayna wiped her eyes as the apprentices made their way back toward the guildhall's private door. Liza held her friend's shoulder, staring sadly at the ground. Brock and Jett plodded behind, Jett still watching the trees where the elves had disappeared.\n\n\"She really didn't say good-bye...\" he said.\n\nWhen they arrived at the hatch, Micah reached out to take the handle. But it lurched from his grip, as someone pulled the door open from the other side.\n\nThere, Fel gazed out at the apprentices, her eyes bright with cheerful confusion. \"Oh, no, you all look so sad! Don't worry—I overheard Frond saying we won't have to wait the full six years until the next visit.\"\n\n\"Fel!\" Liza cried, leaping forward and tackling the young elf in a hug. \"What are you still doing here? Your people just left!\"\n\nFel laughed, returning the embrace. \"Lotte didn't tell you? The queen offered to make me a minister, but I decided to wait. I think she believed that having me around would impress the druids. Or soothe her own conscience.\" Fel rolled her eyes. \"Until Duskhaven revealed themselves, Queen Me'Shala was all too happy to leave my people behind. I'm thrilled that she's committed to change, but she has some hard truths to face about herself, too. I won't be her tool, or her flatterer.\"\n\n\"Wouldn't you be the best choice for a minister, then?\" asked Jayna.\n\n\"I'm just a kid,\" Fel said, shaking her head. \"And I think that's why she wanted me. The druids will show her what's what. I want to be a real minister someday, and I'll make a better one if I have a broader view of other cultures. Maybe you noticed, but elves can be a little exclusive.\"\n\n\"Now that you mention it...\" Brock said with a grin.\n\n\"Anyway, I'm now the official elven liaison to the Adventurers Guild.\" She beamed at her friends. \"Mousebane and I are staying in Freestone!\"\n\nZed watched.\n\nHe watched as the adventurers meandered aimlessly around their hall, adrift in the suddenly ample space.\n\nHe watched as Frond called Hexam and Lotte urgently into her office, her hand trembling as it gripped the flask Me'Shala had given her. Once they were all inside, the guildmistress slammed the door closed behind them.\n\nHe watched as Brock turned to him, his eyebrows raised inquisitively. \"She really needs to work on the whole subtlety thing,\" Brock said.\n\nZed watched. His mouth opened, and words came drifting out: \"I guess so.\"\n\nBut Zed hadn't spoken them. Zed hadn't spoken once since they'd left Llethanyl. Nor had he moved a muscle. He could only watch as someone else manipulated his hands and spoke with his voice. And this presence was now turning him away from his best friend, while Zed screamed silently in his own mind.\n\n\"Brock! Brock! Help me! BROCK!\"\n\n\"Hey, uh, Zed...?\" Brock said.\n\nZed's body stopped. It pivoted, turning back toward the boy.\n\n\"In Duskhaven I mentioned there was something I needed to tell you.\" Brock's voice was soft. Nervous. \"And you said there was something you wanted to confess to me, too. Do you... Is everything all right?\"\n\n\"Brock, this isn't me! Can't you tell this isn't me?\"\n\nZed's face smirked. \"Yeah, sorry about that. Guess all the excitement just got to me. Honestly, I can't even remember what I meant to tell you. But if there's something you need to get off your chest, feel free.\"\n\n\"I... what?\" Brock faltered. He looked stricken. \"It sounded like it might be important, though. Like you were in trouble.\"\n\n\"Obviously it wasn't that important, or I'd remember.\"\n\nA long moment passed, while Brock frowned skeptically at him. \"You know what? Forget it. It's fine.\"\n\nZed's body turned away without a moment's hesitation. \"Forgotten.\"\n\nZed howled as his legs carried him away from his bewildered friend and through the guildhall. They marched him up the stairs to the barracks and then into his room. Most of the guild was still downstairs, so the cramped quarters were silent and empty. Zed's hand gently closed the door behind him.\n\n\"Nice try, Zed,\" said the presence who spoke with his voice. It was the first time the presence had ever acknowledged him. Zed was shocked into silence by the strangeness of being addressed by himself. \"Sorry, but I can't have you spilling our secrets, can I? Our pact is between us.\"\n\nZed's body crossed the room and sat down upon his mattress. His hands worked slowly and patiently as they untied his boots. \"I've been watching you, you know. Keeping an eye on you from the necklace. Keeping you safe, like any good mentor would. I told you that once you'd made your way in the world, we could speak again of payments. But I never dreamed it would happen this fast. You were more powerful than Foster ever was. The fire burned so brightly in your hands.\"\n\nMakiva.\n\nZed's mouth curled into a smile. \"With my help, you'll accomplish so many great things, my talented pupil. So many great and terrible and gruesome things. When we're through, this dreary world will fall away like a dream, and you'll witness horrors unlike anything you can imagine. This time we'll do it right, Zed, without any interruptions.\" Makiva sighed, pulling Zed's boots gently from his feet. \"But there are still so many preparations to make. We must be patient, you and I.\"\n\nAs Zed watched helplessly, a pair of burning eyes opened in the far corner of the room. Green flames licked outward from the orbs, forming into the fiery shape of a fox. It was the animal from Zed's dreams, the watcher who'd spoken to him in urgent whispers.\n\nThe creature's shape billowed, exploding into smoke as the flames finally guttered away. The clouds expanded, re-forming into a gaunt man with haunted eyes and pointed ears.\n\nThe man seemed almost to be made of the strange smoke. His shape curled and twisted in surprising directions.\n\n\"I tried to warn you.\" Zed heard a wry voice echoing through his thoughts, as if it inhabited the same strange nonspace from which he watched Makiva controlling his body. \"She hides inside the chain. Uses the fire to burn a way into you. You used too much of it, and now she'll take what's owed her.\"\n\n\"Foster,\" Zed gasped. \"Foster Pendleton.\" His own bodiless voice was laced with disgust.\n\nThe smoky figure nodded slightly.\n\n\"Welcome to the club, kid.\"\n\nAfter so many days on the Broken Roads, the warrens beneath the streets of Freestone felt cramped. Brock was eager to do his business and get back to the guildhall. Get back home, he tried out, and found that the thought fit well enough.\n\nHe donned his slender mask, made his way to the Lady Gray's office, and removed the panel in the wall. He paused only when he'd dipped his quill in ink and stood before the ancient map. Was he really prepared to do this?\n\n\"There's a hidden village,\" he said. \"Those masked elves—I'm sure you heard about them?\"\n\nThe Lady inclined her head.\n\n\"You should send for Master Curse,\" Brock said, and then he got to work on the map, starting with Celadon Falls and working his way back along the path. By the time he'd finished, Master Curse had joined them. The magus leaned against a bookshelf and glared.\n\n\"There's a whole city hidden in the middle of the forest. Elven druids have been living there, without walls, since the Day of Dangers.\"\n\n\"How is that possible?\" asked Curse.\n\n\"I can't quite put my finger on it.\" Brock pulled a small package from his new satchel.",
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"value": "It was a tightly wadded handkerchief the size of a pomegranate.",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 106 sentences.",
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"value": "\"Oh, wait, that doesn't quite work unless you realize—there's a finger wrapped up in here.\"\n\nCurse recoiled. Brock thought it was funny, but he himself flinched when he realized the Lady was standing at his shoulder. \"Explain,\" she said.\n\n\"It's the Lich's finger. It's all that's left of him, and it's riddled with a fungus—the same species that the druids use to protect their city.\"\n\n\"Magic?\" she asked. \"Like our wards?\"\n\n\"Something like that, but their version is a huge mushroom in the center of the city. It keeps away the Dangers and even the snow. Their stories claim it originated in Fey.\"\n\n\"Interesting,\" Curse said. \"True or not, it's certainly interesting.\"\n\n\"I had a bag full of spores for you,\" Brock said. \"I... lost it. And this is the best I could do.\"\n\nThe Lady fixed her eyes on Curse. \"You can work with this?\"\n\nCurse wrinkled his nose. \"If I must.\" He held out a hand for the package.\n\n\"Careful with it,\" Brock said, feeling a pang of guilt. \"The druids... this thing is sacred to them.\"\n\n\"It's a rotting finger,\" Curse said, snatching it from Brock's hand. \"And potentially a great weapon. No more than that.\"\n\n\"Well,\" Brock said. \"It's more like a shield than a weapon.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" the Lady Gray purred. \"I'm sure that's what he meant.\"\n\nWhen Curse had gone, Brock sighed wearily. \"Well, I'd love to say it's been fun, but even I'm not that good a liar. Are we done here?\"\n\nThe Lady took up one of her ledgers and flipped through it. \"You may see yourself out.\"\n\n\"I mean are we done?\" Brock said hotly. \"I just betrayed an entire civilization for you. I brought back a kind of magic we didn't even know existed. And I don't want to brag or anything, but in stopping a power-mad Lich before he could tear Freestone down to its foundations, I also saved your life. Although that last part was more of an unhappy side effect.\"\n\n\"You're right,\" she said, bobbing her head. \"You've certainly proven your value, Brock Dunderfel! I do believe I'll keep you after all.\" She put the book down to give him an unobstructed view of her smile. \"You didn't think I'd just cut you loose, really? Just like that?\"\n\nBrock's fury rose within him, but he knew better than to unleash it, knew from a lifetime's practice how to temper and tame it and—\n\n\"Forget it,\" he said. \"I'm done. Forget you, and forget Zed, who clearly doesn't want my help. And forget our idiot king and this lousy city full of awful people. I'm done.\" He ripped the mask from his face and let it flutter to the floor, then he ground it beneath his boot. \"I quit.\"\n\nHe didn't even take a moment to savor the look of shock on the Lady's face as he turned his back on her and stormed out of her office.\n\nIt had taken longer than he'd expected, but he'd finally managed to wipe that intolerable smirk off her face.\n\nIt was late when Brock returned to the Sea of Stars guildhall. He crept silently through the door, hoping he might get to bed for once without having to lie to any of his friends.\n\nSure enough, the common area was empty of friends. Alabasel Frond sat alone in the dark, leaning her chin into her fists, gazing off into the distance.\n\nFor a breathless moment, Brock feared he had been caught. But he forced himself to stay calm. Whatever Frond knew, he could talk his way out of it.\n\nBut when he took a step forward, Frond looked sharply at him and said, \"I didn't see you there.\" Then she returned to her quiet contemplation—gazing not at a distant nothing, Brock realized, but at the statue at the back of the room. The statue that had once been a living boy.\n\nBrock swallowed a dozen jokes. The sight of Frond deep in thought was comical to him and practically begged for comment. But he'd heard the story about how she had dragged that stone-cursed boy back to the guildhall, all alone for days, surrounded by Dangers, her fingers a bloody mess and her back in such pain she'd finally submitted herself to the ministrations of the Golden Way healers she so disliked.\n\n\"Do you know the elves have no word for 'regret'?\" she asked.\n\n\"I might have heard that,\" Brock said. \"It doesn't mean they don't feel regret, though.\"\n\n\"I'm not sure,\" Frond said, keeping her eyes forward. \"After everything Me'Shala did, everything her people had been through—everything she had us risk for her. She tried to explain her actions, but I know she wouldn't do anything differently if she could change it. Isn't that what regret means?\" She narrowed her eyes. \"A determination to do better. To be better.\"\n\nBrock smirked. Frond managed to make emotions sound like exercise.\n\n\"The elves didn't believe in death, not really, and it nearly cost them everything,\" she said, standing. \"Maybe I'm the same. The more I try to save everyone, the more death I see.\" She strode toward the statue. \"You may as well stick around to watch, I suppose.\"\n\n\"Uh, watch what?\"\n\nIt was then Brock saw she was holding something. It was the gift Me'Shala had given her—a strange blue liquid in a delicate and beautiful flask.\n\nFrond shattered that flask over the statue's head.\n\n\"Hey!\" Brock said, taking a step back though he was nowhere near the shards of glass. \"How about some warning next—\"\n\nHe stopped, the words failing him as he watched the viscous liquid drip over the stone boy's brow, off his nose, pattering on his shoulders and his outstretched hand. Wherever the liquid touched stone, veins stretched out, a patchwork web of blue upon gray. But those veins were not liquid and they were not webs. They were cracks.\n\nThe statue was coming apart.\n\nBrock saw the worry on Frond's face, and he feared that this was some strange mercy—that the boy who'd been turned to stone would now crumble to ash before them. When the stone fell away, though, there was something behind it: Cloth. Flesh. Terrified eyes. The boy was still there, whole beneath the stone, and he was alive.\n\nHe collapsed into Frond's outstretched arms, trembling and weak. \"Brock, water!\" she barked. He snapped out of his trance and brought a pitcher forward.\n\nThe boy gaped. \"How—? Where?\"\n\n\"You're safe,\" Frond said, lowering him gently to the ground, but keeping one hand at the back of his head, the other lightly touching his shoulder. \"You're home, Nirav.\"\n\nNirav appeared delirious; his hair and skin were covered with powdered stone, but he made no effort to wipe it away. He blinked as if blinded by the low light, and his voice was weak and raw.\n\n\"Drink,\" Frond said, holding the pitcher to his lips.\n\nNirav drank, and then he fell into sleep. Brock stood there for a long time in silence while Frond held the unconscious boy. When at last he turned to leave, Frond spoke.\n\n\"This is how we save the world, Brock,\" she said. \"This is how we win it back. One life at a time.\"\n\nIf writing a book is an adventure, then writing a series is an epic quest—one that would be impossible without the support of an extraordinary cast of supernatural helpers. We are immensely grateful to our family and our friends: those who have cheered us on, challenged us, and inspired us—and, we suspect, cast a spell or two to guide us along the way. There's no other explanation for how fortunate we are; it must be magic.\n\nA special round of thank-yous is due to the amazing Disney Hyperion team, the true heroes behind these books. Thanks to editorial warriors Kieran and Mary, design wizard Mary Claire, and that gallery of rogues, Cassie, Seale, Dina, and Kevin. And to the dozens of others across the company, those unsung heroes whose labors get these books into the hands of readers worldwide: Thank you. We couldn't ask for better guildmates.\n\nThanks once again to Manuel Sumberac and Virginia Allyn for lending their enormous talents to the creation of the book's cover and map, respectively. These are gorgeous works of art, and we're humbled to see the world we imagined come to life in so stunning a fashion.\n\nOur agents, Ammi-Joan Paquette and Josh & Tracey Adams, possess the wisdom of the ages. We are so very lucky for their guidance and their faith.\n\nWe're especially grateful for the insights of our sensitivity readers, Kati Gardner and Natasha Razi, as well as our indispensable early reader (and Frond's #1 fan), Laura Bisberg. And thanks to Damien Mittlefehldt for lending us his video-making skills—and for finding the last quiet corner of New York City.\n\nOur deepest appreciation goes to the teachers, librarians, parents, and booksellers who coordinated our many school visits. Your generosity, positivity, and commitment left an unforgettable impression on us, and we're honored to have joined such a passionate community of book lovers and literacy advocates.\n\nIn fact, far and away our favorite part of this entire experience has been the opportunity to interact with our young readers. So a special, wholehearted thanks to all the kids out there who have joined the guild—especially to the self-identified nerds among you. You were our inspiration on days when the writing was difficult—and we can't wait to see the stories that you go on to write in the future.\n\nFinally, to Zack and Andrew: You make the entire journey worthwhile. This one's for you.",
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"value": "i'll kick things off by writing a bit (might include characters you don't know yet), then you'll take over and write the next 88 sentences in the distinctive voice of Zane Grey.",
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"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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"value": "Chapter I. Lassiter\n\na sharp clip-crop of iron-shod hoofs deadened and died away, and clouds of yellow dust drifted from under the cottonwoods out over the sage.\n\nJane Withersteen gazed down the wide purple slope with dreamy and troubled eyes. A rider had just left her and it was his message that held her thoughtful and almost sad, awaiting the churchmen who were coming to resent and attack her right to befriend a Gentile.\n\nShe wondered if the unrest and strife that had lately come to the little village of Cottonwoods was to involve her. And then she sighed, remembering that her father had founded this remotest border settlement of southern Utah and that he had left it to her. She owned all the ground and many of the cottages. Withersteen House was hers, and the great ranch, with its thousands of cattle, and the swiftest horses of the sage. To her belonged Amber Spring, the water which gave verdure and beauty to the village and made living possible on that wild purple upland waste. She could not escape being involved by whatever befell Cottonwoods.\n\nThat year, 1871, had marked a change which had been gradually coming in the lives of the peace-loving Mormons of the border. Glaze—Stone Bridge—Sterling, villages to the north, had risen against the invasion of Gentile settlers and the forays of rustlers. There had been opposition to the one and fighting with the other. And now Cottonwoods had begun to wake and bestir itself and grown hard.\n\nJane prayed that the tranquility and sweetness of her life would not be permanently disrupted. She meant to do so much more for her people than she had done. She wanted the sleepy quiet pastoral days to last always. Trouble between the Mormons and the Gentiles of the community would make her unhappy. She was Mormon-born, and she was a friend to poor and unfortunate Gentiles. She wished only to go on doing good and being happy. And she thought of what that great ranch meant to her. She loved it all—the grove of cottonwoods, the old stone house, the amber-tinted water, and the droves of shaggy, dusty horses and mustangs, the sleek, clean-limbed, blooded racers, and the browsing herds of cattle and the lean, sun-browned riders of the sage.\n\nWhile she waited there she forgot the prospect of untoward change. The bray of a lazy burro broke the afternoon quiet, and it was comfortingly suggestive of the drowsy farmyard, and the open corrals, and the green alfalfa fields. Her clear sight intensified the purple sage-slope as it rolled before her. Low swells of prairie-like ground sloped up to the west. Dark, lonely cedar-trees, few and far between, stood out strikingly, and at long distances ruins of red rocks. Farther on, up the gradual slope, rose a broken wall, a huge monument, looming dark purple and stretching its solitary, mystic way, a wavering line that faded in the north. Here to the westward was the light and color and beauty. Northward the slope descended to a dim line of canyons from which rose an up-flinging of the earth, not mountainous, but a vast heave of purple uplands, with ribbed and fan-shaped walls, castle-crowned cliffs, and gray escarpments. Over it all crept the lengthening, waning afternoon shadows.\n\nThe rapid beat of hoofs recalled Jane Withersteen to the question at hand. A group of riders cantered up the lane, dismounted, and threw their bridles. They were seven in number, and Tull, the leader, a tall, dark man, was an elder of Jane's church.\n\n\"Did you get my message?\" he asked, curtly.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Jane.\n\n\"I sent word I'd give that rider Venters half an hour to come down to the village. He didn't come.\"\n\n\"He knows nothing of it;\" said Jane. \"I didn't tell him. I've been waiting here for you.\"\n\n\"Where is Venters?\"\n\n\"I left him in the courtyard.\"\n\n\"Here, Jerry,\" called Tull, turning to his men, \"take the gang and fetch Venters out here if you have to rope him.\"\n\nThe dusty-booted and long-spurred riders clanked noisily into the grove of cottonwoods and disappeared in the shade.\n\n\"Elder Tull, what do you mean by this?\" demanded Jane. \"If you must arrest Venters you might have the courtesy to wait till he leaves my home. And if you do arrest him it will be adding insult to injury. It's absurd to accuse Venters of being mixed up in that shooting fray in the village last night. He was with me at the time. Besides, he let me take charge of his guns. You're only using this as a pretext. What do you mean to do to Venters?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you presently,\" replied Tull. \"But first tell me why you defend this worthless rider?\"\n\n\"Worthless!\" exclaimed Jane, indignantly. \"He's nothing of the kind. He was the best rider I ever had. There's not a reason why I shouldn't champion him and every reason why I should. It's no little shame to me, Elder Tull, that through my friendship he has roused the enmity of my people and become an outcast. Besides I owe him eternal gratitude for saving the life of little Fay.\"\n\n\"I've heard of your love for Fay Larkin and that you intend to adopt her. But—Jane Withersteen, the child is a Gentile!\"\n\n\"Yes. But, Elder, I don't love the Mormon children any less because I love a Gentile child. I shall adopt Fay if her mother will give her to me.\"\n\n\"I'm not so much against that. You can give the child Mormon teaching,\" said Tull. \"But I'm sick of seeing this fellow Venters hang around you. I'm going to put a stop to it. You've so much love to throw away on these beggars of Gentiles that I've an idea you might love Venters.\"\n\nTull spoke with the arrogance of a Mormon whose power could not be brooked and with the passion of a man in whom jealousy had kindled a consuming fire.\n\n\"Maybe I do love him,\" said Jane. She felt both fear and anger stir her heart. \"I'd never thought of that. Poor fellow! he certainly needs some one to love him.\"\n\n\"This'll be a bad day for Venters unless you deny that,\" returned Tull, grimly.\n\nTull's men appeared under the cottonwoods and led a young man out into the lane. His ragged clothes were those of an outcast. But he stood tall and straight, his wide shoulders flung back, with the muscles of his bound arms rippling and a blue flame of defiance in the gaze he bent on Tull.\n\nFor the first time Jane Withersteen felt Venters's real spirit. She wondered if she would love this splendid youth. Then her emotion cooled to the sobering sense of the issue at stake.\n\n\"Venters, will you leave Cottonwoods at once and forever?\" asked Tull, tensely.\n\n\"Why?\" rejoined the rider.\n\n\"Because I order it.\"\n\nVenters laughed in cool disdain.\n\nThe red leaped to Tull's dark cheek.\n\n\"If you don't go it means your ruin,\" he said, sharply.\n\n\"Ruin!\" exclaimed Venters, passionately. \"Haven't you already ruined me? What do you call ruin? A year ago I was a rider. I had horses and cattle of my own. I had a good name in Cottonwoods. And now when I come into the village to see this woman you set your men on me. You hound me. You trail me as if I were a rustler. I've no more to lose—except my life.\"\n\n\"Will you leave Utah?\"\n\n\"Oh! I know,\" went on Venters, tauntingly, \"it galls you, the idea of beautiful Jane Withersteen being friendly to a poor Gentile. You want her all yourself. You're a wiving Mormon. You have use for her—and Withersteen House and Amber Spring and seven thousand head of cattle!\"\n\nTull's hard jaw protruded, and rioting blood corded the veins of his neck.\n\n\"Once more. Will you go?\"\n\n\"NO!\"\n\n\"Then I'll have you whipped within an inch of your life,\" replied Tull, harshly. \"I'll turn you out in the sage. And if you ever come back you'll get worse.\"\n\nVenters's agitated face grew coldly set and the bronze changed\n\nJane impulsively stepped forward. \"Oh! Elder Tull!\" she cried. \"You won't do that!\"\n\nTull lifted a shaking finger toward her.\n\n\"That'll do from you. Understand, you'll not be allowed to hold this boy to a friendship that's offensive to your Bishop. Jane Withersteen, your father left you wealth and power. It has turned your head. You haven't yet come to see the place of Mormon women. We've reasoned with you, borne with you. We've patiently waited. We've let you have your fling, which is more than I ever saw granted to a Mormon woman. But you haven't come to your senses. Now, once for all, you can't have any further friendship with Venters. He's going to be whipped, and he's got to leave Utah!\"\n\n\"Oh! Don't whip him! It would be dastardly!\" implored Jane, with slow certainty of her failing courage.\n\nTull always blunted her spirit, and she grew conscious that she had feigned a boldness which she did not possess.",
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"value": "He loomed up now in different guise, not as a jealous suitor, but embodying the mysterious despotism she had known from childhood—the power of her creed.\n\n\"Venters, will you take your whipping here or would you rather go out in the sage?\" asked Tull. He smiled a flinty smile that was more than inhuman, yet seemed to give out of its dark aloofness a gleam of righteousness.\n\n\"I'll take it here—if I must,\" said Venters. \"But by God!—Tull you'd better kill me outright. That'll be a dear whipping for you and your praying Mormons. You'll make me another Lassiter!\"\n\nThe strange glow, the austere light which radiated from Tull's face, might have been a holy joy at the spiritual conception of exalted duty. But there was something more in him, barely hidden, a something personal and sinister, a deep of himself, an engulfing abyss. As his religious mood was fanatical and inexorable, so would his physical hate be merciless.\n\n\"Elder, I—I repent my words,\" Jane faltered. The religion in her, the long habit of obedience, of humility, as well as agony of fear, spoke in her voice. \"Spare the boy!\" she whispered.\n\n\"You can't save him now,\" replied Tull stridently.\n\nHer head was bowing to the inevitable. She was grasping the truth, when suddenly there came, in inward constriction, a hardening of gentle forces within her breast. Like a steel bar it was stiffening all that had been soft and weak in her. She felt a birth in her of something new and unintelligible. Once more her strained gaze sought the sage-slopes. Jane Withersteen loved that wild and purple wilderness. In times of sorrow it had been her strength, in happiness its beauty was her continual delight. In her extremity she found herself murmuring, \"Whence cometh my help!\" It was a prayer, as if forth from those lonely purple reaches and walls of red and clefts of blue might ride a fearless man, neither creed-bound nor creed-mad, who would hold up a restraining hand in the faces of her ruthless people.\n\nThe restless movements of Tull's men suddenly quieted down. Then followed a low whisper, a rustle, a sharp exclamation.\n\n\"Look!\" said one, pointing to the west.\n\n\"A rider!\"\n\nJane Withersteen wheeled and saw a horseman, silhouetted against the western sky, coming riding out of the sage. He had ridden down from the left, in the golden glare of the sun, and had been unobserved till close at hand. An answer to her prayer!\n\n\"Do you know him? Does any one know him?\" questioned Tull, hurriedly.\n\nHis men looked and looked, and one by one shook their heads.\n\n\"He's come from far,\" said one.\n\n\"Thet's a fine hoss,\" said another.\n\n\"A strange rider.\"\n\n\"Huh! he wears black leather,\" added a fourth.\n\nWith a wave of his hand, enjoining silence, Tull stepped forward in such a way that he concealed Venters.\n\nThe rider reined in his mount, and with a lithe forward-slipping action appeared to reach the ground in one long step. It was a peculiar movement in its quickness and inasmuch that while performing it the rider did not swerve in the slightest from a square front to the group before him.\n\n\"Look!\" hoarsely whispered one of Tull's companions. \"He packs two black-butted guns—low down—they're hard to see—black akin them black chaps.\"\n\n\"A gun-man!\" whispered another. \"Fellers, careful now about movin' your hands.\"\n\nThe stranger's slow approach might have been a mere leisurely manner of gait or the cramped short steps of a rider unused to walking; yet, as well, it could have been the guarded advance of one who took no chances with men.\n\n\"Hello, stranger!\" called Tull. No welcome was in this greeting only a gruff curiosity.\n\nThe rider responded with a curt nod. The wide brim of a black sombrero cast a dark shade over his face. For a moment he closely regarded Tull and his comrades, and then, halting in his slow walk, he seemed to relax.\n\n\"Evenin', ma'am,\" he said to Jane, and removed his sombrero with quaint grace.\n\nJane, greeting him, looked up into a face that she trusted instinctively and which riveted her attention. It had all the characteristics of the range rider's—the leanness, the red burn of the sun, and the set changelessness that came from years of silence and solitude. But it was not these which held her, rather the intensity of his gaze, a strained weariness, a piercing wistfulness of keen, gray sight, as if the man was forever looking for that which he never found. Jane's subtle woman's intuition, even in that brief instant, felt a sadness, a hungering, a secret.\n\n\"Jane Withersteen, ma'am?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Yes,\" she replied.\n\n\"The water here is yours?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"May I water my horse?\"\n\n\"Certainly. There's the trough.\"\n\n\"But mebbe if you knew who I was—\" He hesitated, with his glance on the listening men. \"Mebbe you wouldn't let me water him—though I ain't askin' none for myself.\"\n\n\"Stranger, it doesn't matter who you are. Water your horse. And if you are thirsty and hungry come into my house.\"\n\n\"Thanks, ma'am. I can't accept for myself—but for my tired horse—\"\n\nTrampling of hoofs interrupted the rider. More restless movements on the part of Tull's men broke up the little circle, exposing the prisoner Venters.\n\n\"Mebbe I've kind of hindered somethin'—for a few moments, perhaps?\" inquired the rider.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Jane Withersteen, with a throb in her voice.\n\nShe felt the drawing power of his eyes; and then she saw him look at the bound Venters, and at the men who held him, and their leader.\n\n\"In this here country all the rustlers an' thieves an' cut-throats an' gun-throwers an' all-round no-good men jest happen to be Gentiles. Ma'am, which of the no-good class does that young feller belong to?\"\n\n\"He belongs to none of them. He's an honest boy.\"\n\n\"You KNOW that, ma'am?\"\n\n\"Yes—yes.\"\n\n\"Then what has he done to get tied up that way?\"\n\nHis clear and distinct question, meant for Tull as well as for Jane Withersteen, stilled the restlessness and brought a momentary silence.\n\n\"Ask him,\" replied Jane, her voice rising high.\n\nThe rider stepped away from her, moving out with the same slow, measured stride in which he had approached, and the fact that his action placed her wholly to one side, and him no nearer to Tull and his men, had a penetrating significance.\n\n\"Young feller, speak up,\" he said to Venters.\n\n\"Here stranger, this's none of your mix,\" began Tull. \"Don't try any interference. You've been asked to drink and eat. That's more than you'd have got in any other village of the Utah border. Water your horse and be on your way.\"\n\n\"Easy—easy—I ain't interferin' yet,\" replied the rider. The tone of his voice had undergone a change. A different man had spoken. Where, in addressing Jane, he had been mild and gentle, now, with his first speech to Tull, he was dry, cool, biting. \"I've lest stumbled onto a queer deal. Seven Mormons all packin' guns, an' a Gentile tied with a rope, an' a woman who swears by his honesty! Queer, ain't that?\"\n\n\"Queer or not, it's none of your business,\" retorted Tull.\n\n\"Where I was raised a woman's word was law. I ain't quite outgrowed that yet.\"\n\nTull fumed between amaze and anger.\n\n\"Meddler, we have a law here something different from woman's whim—Mormon law!... Take care you don't transgress it.\"\n\n\"To hell with your Mormon law!\"",
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"value": "The deliberate speech marked the rider's further change, this time from kindly interest to an awakening menace.",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 40 sentences.",
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"value": "It produced a transformation in Tull and his companions. The leader gasped and staggered backward at a blasphemous affront to an institution he held most sacred. The man Jerry, holding the horses, dropped the bridles and froze in his tracks. Like posts the other men stood watchful-eyed, arms hanging rigid, all waiting.\n\n\"Speak up now, young man. What have you done to be roped that way?\"\n\n\"It's a damned outrage!\" burst out Venters. \"I've done no wrong. I've offended this Mormon Elder by being a friend to that woman.\"\n\n\"Ma'am, is it true—what he says?\" asked the rider of Jane, but his quiveringly alert eyes never left the little knot of quiet men.\n\n\"True? Yes, perfectly true,\" she answered.\n\n\"Well, young man, it seems to me that bein' a friend to such a woman would be what you wouldn't want to help an' couldn't help... What's to be done to you for it?\"\n\n\"They intend to whip me. You know what that means—in Utah!\"\n\n\"I reckon,\" replied the rider, slowly.\n\nWith his gray glance cold on the Mormons, with the restive bit-champing of the horses, with Jane failing to repress her mounting agitations, with Venters standing pale and still, the tension of the moment tightened. Tull broke the spell with a laugh, a laugh without mirth, a laugh that was only a sound betraying fear.\n\n\"Come on, men!\" he called.\n\nJane Withersteen turned again to the rider.\n\n\"Stranger, can you do nothing to save Venters?\"\n\n\"Ma'am, you ask me to save him—from your own people?\"\n\n\"Ask you? I beg of you!\"\n\n\"But you don't dream who you're askin'.\"\n\n\"Oh, sir, I pray you—save him!\"\n\n\"These are Mormons, an' I...\"\n\n\"At—at any cost—save him. For I—I care for him!\"\n\nTull snarled. \"You love-sick fool! Tell your secrets. There'll be a way to teach you what you've never learned... Come men out of here!\"\n\n\"Mormon, the young man stays,\" said the rider.\n\nLike a shot his voice halted Tull.\n\n\"What!\"\n\n\"Who'll keep him? He's my prisoner!\" cried Tull, hotly. \"Stranger, again I tell you—don't mix here. You've meddled enough. Go your way now or—\"\n\n\"Listen!... He stays.\"\n\nAbsolute certainty, beyond any shadow of doubt, breathed in the rider's low voice.\n\n\"Who are you? We are seven here.\"\n\nThe rider dropped his sombrero and made a rapid movement, singular in that it left him somewhat crouched, arms bent and stiff, with the big black gun-sheaths swung round to the fore.\n\n\"LASSITER!\"\n\nIt was Venters's wondering, thrilling cry that bridged the fateful connection between the rider's singular position and the dreaded name.\n\nTull put out a groping hand. The life of his eyes dulled to the gloom with which men of his fear saw the approach of death. But death, while it hovered over him, did not descend, for the rider waited for the twitching fingers, the downward flash of hand that did not come. Tull, gathering himself together, turned to the horses, attended by his pale comrades.",
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"value": "Continue with the same vibes as Zane Grey. Story might have ongoing characters/plots - work with what's given",
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"value": "Chapter II. Cottonwoods",
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"value": "venters appeared too deeply moved to speak the gratitude his face expressed.",
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"value": "And Jane turned upon the rescuer and gripped his hands. Her smiles and tears seemingly dazed him. Presently as something like calmness returned, she went to Lassiter's weary horse.\n\n\"I will water him myself,\" she said, and she led the horse to a trough under a huge old cottonwood. With nimble fingers she loosened the bridle and removed the bit. The horse snorted and bent his head. The trough was of solid stone, hollowed out, moss-covered and green and wet and cool, and the clear brown water that fed it spouted and splashed from a wooden pipe.\n\n\"He has brought you far to-day?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am, a matter of over sixty miles, mebbe seventy.\"\n\n\"A long ride—a ride that—Ah, he is blind!\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am,\" replied Lassiter.\n\n\"What blinded him?\"\n\n\"Some men once roped an' tied him, an' then held white-iron close to his eyes.\"\n\n\"Oh! Men? You mean devils... Were they your enemies—Mormons?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am.\"\n\n\"To take revenge on a horse! Lassiter, the men of my creed are unnaturally cruel. To my everlasting sorrow I confess it. They have been driven, hated, scourged till their hearts have hardened. But we women hope and pray for the time when our men will soften.\"\n\n\"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am—that time will never come.\"\n\n\"Oh, it will!... Lassiter, do you think Mormon women wicked? Has your hand been against them, too?\"\n\n\"No. I believe Mormon women are the best and noblest, the most long-sufferin', and the blindest, unhappiest women on earth.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" She gave him a grave, thoughtful look. \"Then you will break bread with me?\"\n\nLassiter had no ready response, and he uneasily shifted his weight from one leg to another, and turned his sombrero round and round in his hands. \"Ma'am,\" he began, presently, \"I reckon your kindness of heart makes you overlook things. Perhaps I ain't well known hereabouts, but back up North there's Mormons who'd rest uneasy in their graves at the idea of me sittin' to table with you.\"\n\n\"I dare say. But—will you do it, anyway?\" she asked.\n\n\"Mebbe you have a brother or relative who might drop in an' be offended, an' I wouldn't want to—\"\n\n\"I've not a relative in Utah that I know of. There's no one with a right to question my actions.\" She turned smilingly to Venters. \"You will come in, Bern, and Lassiter will come in. We'll eat and be merry while we may.\"\n\n\"I'm only wonderin' if Tull an' his men'll raise a storm down in the village,\" said Lassiter, in his last weakening stand.\n\n\"Yes, he'll raise the storm—after he has prayed,\" replied Jane. \"Come.\"\n\nShe led the way, with the bridle of Lassiter's horse over her arm. They entered a grove and walked down a wide path shaded by great low-branching cottonwoods. The last rays of the setting sun sent golden bars through the leaves. The grass was deep and rich, welcome contrast to sage-tired eyes. Twittering quail darted across the path, and from a tree-top somewhere a robin sang its evening song, and on the still air floated the freshness and murmur of flowing water.\n\nThe home of Jane Withersteen stood in a circle of cottonwoods, and was a flat, long, red-stone structure with a covered court in the center through which flowed a lively stream of amber-colored water. In the massive blocks of stone and heavy timbers and solid doors and shutters showed the hand of a man who had builded against pillage and time; and in the flowers and mosses lining the stone-bedded stream, in the bright colors of rugs and blankets on the court floor, and the cozy corner with hammock and books and the clean-linened table, showed the grace of a daughter who lived for happiness and the day at hand.\n\nJane turned Lassiter's horse loose in the thick grass. \"You will want him to be near you,\" she said, \"or I'd have him taken to the alfalfa fields.\" At her call appeared women who began at once to bustle about, hurrying to and fro, setting the table. Then Jane, excusing herself, went within.\n\nShe passed through a huge low ceiled chamber, like the inside of a fort, and into a smaller one where a bright wood-fire blazed in an old open fireplace, and from this into her own room. It had the same comfort as was manifested in the home-like outer court; moreover, it was warm and rich in soft hues.\n\nSeldom did Jane Withersteen enter her room without looking into her mirror. She knew she loved the reflection of that beauty which since early childhood she had never been allowed to forget. Her relatives and friends, and later a horde of Mormon and Gentile suitors, had fanned the flame of natural vanity in her. So that at twenty-eight she scarcely thought at all of her wonderful influence for good in the little community where her father had left her practically its beneficent landlord, but cared most for the dream and the assurance and the allurement of her beauty. This time, however, she gazed into her glass with more than the usual happy motive, without the usual slight conscious smile. For she was thinking of more than the desire to be fair in her own eyes, in those of her friend; she wondered if she were to seem fair in the eyes of this Lassiter, this man whose name had crossed the long, wild brakes of stone and plains of sage, this gentle-voiced, sad-faced man who was a hater and a killer of Mormons. It was not now her usual half-conscious vain obsession that actuated her as she hurriedly changed her riding-dress to one of white, and then looked long at the stately form with its gracious contours, at the fair face with its strong chin and full firm lips, at the dark-blue, proud, and passionate eyes.\n\n\"If by some means I can keep him here a few days, a week—he will never kill another Mormon,\" she mused. \"Lassiter!... I shudder when I think of that name, of him. But when I look at the man I forget who he is—I almost like him. I remember only that he saved Bern. He has suffered. I wonder what it was—did he love a Mormon woman once? How splendidly he championed us poor misunderstood souls! Somehow he knows—much.\"\n\nJane Withersteen joined her guests and bade them to her board. Dismissing her woman, she waited upon them with her own hands. It was a bountiful supper and a strange company. On her right sat the ragged and half-starved Venters; and though blind eyes could have seen what he counted for in the sum of her happiness, yet he looked the gloomy outcast his allegiance had made him, and about him there was the shadow of the ruin presaged by Tull. On her left sat black-leather-garbed Lassiter looking like a man in a dream. Hunger was not with him, nor composure, nor speech, and when he twisted in frequent unquiet movements the heavy guns that he had not removed knocked against the table-legs. If it had been otherwise possible to forget the presence of Lassiter those telling little jars would have rendered it unlikely. And Jane Withersteen talked and smiled and laughed with all the dazzling play of lips and eyes that a beautiful, daring woman could summon to her purpose.\n\nWhen the meal ended, and the men pushed back their chairs, she leaned closer to Lassiter and looked square into his eyes.\n\n\"Why did you come to Cottonwoods?\"\n\nHer question seemed to break a spell. The rider arose as if he had just remembered himself and had tarried longer than his wont.\n\n\"Ma'am, I have hunted all over the southern Utah and Nevada for—somethin'. An' through your name I learned where to find it—here in Cottonwoods.\"\n\n\"My name! Oh, I remember. You did know my name when you spoke first. Well, tell me where you heard it and from whom?\"\n\n\"At the little village—Glaze, I think it's called—some fifty miles or more west of here. An' I heard it from a Gentile, a rider who said you'd know where to tell me to find—\"\n\n\"What?\" she demanded, imperiously, as Lassiter broke off.\n\n\"Milly Erne's grave,\" he answered low, and the words came with a wrench.\n\nVenters wheeled in his chair to regard Lassiter in amazement, and Jane slowly raised herself in white, still wonder.\n\n\"Milly Erne's grave?\" she echoed, in a whisper. \"What do you know of Milly Erne, my best-beloved friend—who died in my arms? What were you to her?\"\n\n\"Did I claim to be anythin'?\" he inquired. \"I know people—relatives—who have long wanted to know where she's buried, that's all.\"\n\n\"Relatives? She never spoke of relatives, except a brother who was shot in Texas. Lassiter, Milly Erne's grave is in a secret burying-ground on my property.\"\n\n\"Will you take me there?... You'll be offendin' Mormons worse than by breakin' bread with me.\"\n\n\"Indeed yes, but I'll do it. Only we must go unseen. To-morrow, perhaps.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Jane Withersteen,\" replied the rider, and he bowed to her and stepped backward out of the court.\n\n\"Will you not stay—sleep under my roof?\" she asked.\n\n\"No, ma'am, an' thanks again. I never sleep indoors. An' even if I did there's that gatherin' storm in the village below. No, no. I'll go to the sage. I hope you won't suffer none for your kindness to me.\"\n\n\"Lassiter,\" said Venters, with a half-bitter laugh, \"my bed too, is the sage. Perhaps we may meet out there.\"\n\n\"Mebbe so. But the sage is wide an' I won't be near. Good night.\"\n\nAt Lassiter's low whistle the black horse whinnied, and carefully picked his blind way out of the grove. The rider did not bridle him, but walked beside him, leading him by touch of hand and together they passed slowly into the shade of the cottonwoods.\n\n\"Jane, I must be off soon,\" said Venters. \"Give me my guns. If I'd had my guns—\"\n\n\"Either my friend or the Elder of my church would be lying dead,\" she interposed.\n\n\"Tull would be—surely.\"\n\n\"Oh, you fierce-blooded, savage youth! Can't I teach you forebearance, mercy? Bern, it's divine to forgive your enemies. 'Let not the sun go down upon thy wrath.'\"\n\n\"Hush! Talk to me no more of mercy or religion—after to-day. To-day this strange coming of Lassiter left me still a man, and now I'll die a man!... Give me my guns.\"\n\nSilently she went into the house, to return with a heavy cartridge-belt and gun-filled sheath and a long rifle; these she handed to him, and as he buckled on the belt she stood before him in silent eloquence.\n\n\"Jane,\" he said, in gentler voice, \"don't look so. I'm not going out to murder your churchman. I'll try to avoid him and all his men. But can't you see I've reached the end of my rope? Jane, you're a wonderful woman. Never was there a woman so unselfish and good. Only you're blind in one way... Listen!\"\n\nFrom behind the grove came the clicking sound of horses in a rapid trot.\n\n\"Some of your riders,\" he continued. \"It's getting time for the night shift. Let us go out to the bench in the grove and talk there.\"\n\nIt was still daylight in the open, but under the spreading cottonwoods shadows were obscuring the lanes. Venters drew Jane off from one of these into a shrub-lined trail, just wide enough for the two to walk abreast, and in a roundabout way led her far from the house to a knoll on the edge of the grove. Here in a secluded nook was a bench from which, through an opening in the tree-tops, could be seen the sage-slope and the wall of rock and the dim lines of canyons. Jane had not spoken since Venters had shocked her with his first harsh speech; but all the way she had clung to his arm, and now, as he stopped and laid his rifle against the bench, she still clung to him.\n\n\"Jane, I'm afraid I must leave you.\"\n\n\"Bern!\" she cried.\n\n\"Yes, it looks that way. My position is not a happy one—I can't feel right—I've lost all—\"\n\n\"I'll give you anything you—\"\n\n\"Listen, please. When I say loss I don't mean what you think. I mean loss of good-will, good name—that which would have enabled me to stand up in this village without bitterness. Well, it's too late... Now, as to the future, I think you'd do best to give me up. Tull is implacable. You ought to see from his intention to-day that—But you can't see. Your blindness—your damned religion!... Jane, forgive me—I'm sore within and something rankles. Well, I fear that invisible hand will turn its hidden work to your ruin.\"\n\n\"Invisible hand? Bern!\"\n\n\"I mean your Bishop.\" Venters said it deliberately and would not release her as she started back. \"He's the law. The edict went forth to ruin me. Well, look at me! It'll now go forth to compel you to the will of the Church.\"\n\n\"You wrong Bishop Dyer. Tull is hard, I know. But then he has been in love with me for years.\"\n\n\"Oh, your faith and your excuses! You can't see what I know—and if you did see it you'd not admit it to save your life. That's the Mormon of you. These elders and bishops will do absolutely any deed to go on building up the power and wealth of their church, their empire. Think of what they've done to the Gentiles here, to me—think of Milly Erne's fate!\"\n\n\"What do you know of her story?\"\n\n\"I know enough—all, perhaps, except the name of the Mormon who brought her here. But I must stop this kind of talk.\"\n\nShe pressed his hand in response. He helped her to a seat beside him on the bench. And he respected a silence that he divined was full of woman's deep emotion beyond his understanding.\n\nIt was the moment when the last ruddy rays of the sunset brightened momentarily before yielding to twilight. And for Venters the outlook before him was in some sense similar to a feeling of his future, and with searching eyes he studied the beautiful purple, barren waste of sage. Here was the unknown and the perilous. The whole scene impressed Venters as a wild, austere, and mighty manifestation of nature. And as it somehow reminded him of his prospect in life, so it suddenly resembled the woman near him, only in her there were greater beauty and peril, a mystery more unsolvable, and something nameless that numbed his heart and dimmed his eye.",
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"value": "\"Look! A rider!\" exclaimed Jane, breaking the silence.",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 51 sentences.",
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"value": "\"Can that be Lassiter?\"\n\nVenters moved his glance once more to the west. A horseman showed dark on the sky-line, then merged into the color of the sage.\n\n\"It might be. But I think not—that fellow was coming in. One of your riders, more likely. Yes, I see him clearly now. And there's another.\"\n\n\"I see them, too.\"\n\n\"Jane, your riders seem as many as the bunches of sage. I ran into five yesterday 'way down near the trail to Deception Pass. They were with the white herd.\"\n\n\"You still go to that canyon? Bern, I wish you wouldn't. Oldring and his rustlers live somewhere down there.\"\n\n\"Well, what of that?\"\n\n\"Tull has already hinted to your frequent trips into Deception Pass.\"\n\n\"I know.\" Venters uttered a short laugh. \"He'll make a rustler of me next. But, Jane, there's no water for fifty miles after I leave here, and the nearest is in the canyon. I must drink and water my horse. There! I see more riders. They are going out.\"\n\n\"The red herd is on the slope, toward the Pass.\"\n\nTwilight was fast falling. A group of horsemen crossed the dark line of low ground to become more distinct as they climbed the slope. The silence broke to a clear call from an incoming rider, and, almost like the peal of a hunting-horn, floated back the answer. The outgoing riders moved swiftly, came sharply into sight as they topped a ridge to show wild and black above the horizon, and then passed down, dimming into the purple of the sage.\n\n\"I hope they don't meet Lassiter,\" said Jane.\n\n\"So do I,\" replied Venters. \"By this time the riders of the night shift know what happened to-day. But Lassiter will likely keep out of their way.\"\n\n\"Bern, who is Lassiter? He's only a name to me—a terrible name.\"\n\n\"Who is he? I don't know, Jane. Nobody I ever met knows him. He talks a little like a Texan, like Milly Erne. Did you note that?\"\n\n\"Yes. How strange of him to know of her! And she lived here ten years and has been dead two. Bern, what do you know of Lassiter? Tell me what he has done—why you spoke of him to Tull—threatening to become another Lassiter yourself?\"\n\n\"Jane, I only heard things, rumors, stories, most of which I disbelieved. At Glaze his name was known, but none of the riders or ranchers I knew there ever met him. At Stone Bridge I never heard him mentioned. But at Sterling and villages north of there he was spoken of often. I've never been in a village which he had been known to visit. There were many conflicting stories about him and his doings. Some said he had shot up this and that Mormon village, and others denied it. I'm inclined to believe he has, and you know how Mormons hide the truth. But there was one feature about Lassiter upon which all agree—that he was what riders in this country call a gun-man. He's a man with a marvelous quickness and accuracy in the use of a Colt. And now that I've seen him I know more. Lassiter was born without fear. I watched him with eyes which saw him my friend. I'll never forget the moment I recognized him from what had been told me of his crouch before the draw. It was then I yelled his name. I believe that yell saved Tull's life. At any rate, I know this, between Tull and death then there was not the breadth of the littlest hair. If he or any of his men had moved a finger downward—\"\n\nVenters left his meaning unspoken, but at the suggestion Jane shuddered.\n\nThe pale afterglow in the west darkened with the merging of twilight into night. The sage now spread out black and gloomy. One dim star glimmered in the southwest sky. The sound of trotting horses had ceased, and there was silence broken only by a faint, dry pattering of cottonwood leaves in the soft night wind.\n\nInto this peace and calm suddenly broke the high-keyed yelp of a coyote, and from far off in the darkness came the faint answering note of a trailing mate.\n\n\"Hello! the sage-dogs are barking,\" said Venters.\n\n\"I don't like to hear them,\" replied Jane. \"At night, sometimes when I lie awake, listening to the long mourn or breaking bark or wild howl, I think of you asleep somewhere in the sage, and my heart aches.\"\n\n\"Jane, you couldn't listen to sweeter music, nor could I have a better bed.\"\n\n\"Just think! Men like Lassiter and you have no home, no comfort, no rest, no place to lay your weary heads. Well!... Let us be patient. Tull's anger may cool, and time may help us. You might do some service to the village—who can tell? Suppose you discovered the long-unknown hiding-place of Oldring and his band, and told it to my riders? That would disarm Tull's ugly hints and put you in favor. For years my riders have trailed the tracks of stolen cattle. You know as well as I how dearly we've paid for our ranges in this wild country. Oldring drives our cattle down into the network of deceiving canyons, and somewhere far to the north or east he drives them up and out to Utah markets. If you will spend time in Deception Pass try to find the trails.\"\n\n\"Jane, I've thought of that. I'll try.\"\n\n\"I must go now. And it hurts, for now I'll never be sure of seeing you again. But to-morrow, Bern?\"\n\n\"To-morrow surely. I'll watch for Lassiter and ride in with him.\"\n\n\"Good night.\"\n\nThen she left him and moved away, a white, gliding shape that soon vanished in the shadows.\n\nVenters waited until the faint slam of a door assured him she had reached the house, and then, taking up his rifle, he noiselessly slipped through the bushes, down the knoll, and on under the dark trees to the edge of the grove. The sky was now turning from gray to blue; stars had begun to lighten the earlier blackness; and from the wide flat sweep before him blew a cool wind, fragrant with the breath of sage. Keeping close to the edge of the cottonwoods, he went swiftly and silently westward. The grove was long, and he had not reached the end when he heard something that brought him to a halt. Low padded thuds told him horses were coming this way. He sank down in the gloom, waiting, listening. Much before he had expected, judging from sound, to his amazement he descried horsemen near at hand. They were riding along the border of the sage, and instantly he knew the hoofs of the horses were muffled. Then the pale starlight afforded him indistinct sight of the riders. But his eyes were keen and used to the dark, and by peering closely he recognized the huge bulk and black-bearded visage of Oldring and the lithe, supple form of the rustler's lieutenant, a masked rider. They passed on; the darkness swallowed them. Then, farther out on the sage, a dark, compact body of horsemen went by, almost without sound, almost like specters, and they, too, melted into the night.",
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"from": "system",
"value": "Task: Story collab\nContext: May include established elements\nMe: Opening\nYou: 95 sentences more, Zane Grey-style",
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"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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"value": "Chapter III. Amber Spring\n\nNo unusual circumstances was it for Oldring and some of his men to visit Cottonwoods in the broad light of day, but for him to prowl about in the dark with the hoofs of his horses muffled meant that mischief was brewing. Moreover, to Venters the presence of the masked rider with Oldring seemed especially ominous. For about this man there was mystery, he seldom rode through the village, and when he did ride through it was swiftly; riders seldom met by day on the sage, but wherever he rode there always followed deeds as dark and mysterious as the mask he wore. Oldring's band did not confine themselves to the rustling of cattle.\n\nVenters lay low in the shade of the cottonwoods, pondering this chance meeting, and not for many moments did he consider it safe to move on. Then, with sudden impulse, he turned the other way and went back along the grove. When he reached the path leading to Jane's home he decided to go down to the village. So he hurried onward, with quick soft steps. Once beyond the grove he entered the one and only street. It was wide, lined with tall poplars, and under each row of trees, inside the foot-path, were ditches where ran the water from Jane Withersteen's spring.\n\nBetween the trees twinkled lights of cottage candles, and far down flared bright windows of the village stores. When Venters got closer to these he saw knots of men standing together in earnest conversation. The usual lounging on the corners and benches and steps was not in evidence. Keeping in the shadow Venters went closer and closer until he could hear voices. But he could not distinguish what was said. He recognized many Mormons, and looked hard for Tull and his men, but looked in vain. Venters concluded that the rustlers had not passed along the village street. No doubt these earnest men were discussing Lassiter's coming. But Venters felt positive that Tull's intention toward himself that day had not been and would not be revealed.\n\nSo Venters, seeing there was little for him to learn, began retracing his steps. The church was dark, Bishop Dyer's home next to it was also dark, and likewise Tull's cottage. Upon almost any night at this hour there would be lights here, and Venters marked the unusual omission.\n\nAs he was about to pass out of the street to skirt the grove, he once more slunk down at the sound of trotting horses. Presently he descried two mounted men riding toward him. He hugged the shadow of a tree. Again the starlight, brighter now, aided him, and he made out Tull's stalwart figure, and beside him the short, froglike shape of the rider Jerry. They were silent, and they rode on to disappear.\n\nVenters went his way with busy, gloomy mind, revolving events of the day, trying to reckon those brooding in the night. His thoughts overwhelmed him. Up in that dark grove dwelt a woman who had been his friend. And he skulked about her home, gripping a gun stealthily as an Indian, a man without place or people or purpose. Above her hovered the shadow of grim, hidden, secret power. No queen could have given more royally out of a bounteous store than Jane Withersteen gave her people, and likewise to those unfortunates whom her people hated. She asked only the divine right of all women—freedom; to love and to live as her heart willed. And yet prayer and her hope were vain.\n\n\"For years I've seen a storm clouding over her and the village of Cottonwoods,\" muttered Venters, as he strode on. \"Soon it'll burst. I don't like the prospects.\" That night the villagers whispered in the street—and night-riding rustlers muffled horses—and Tull was at work in secret—and out there in the sage hid a man who meant something terrible—Lassiter!\n\nVenters passed the black cottonwoods, and, entering the sage, climbed the gradual slope. He kept his direction in line with a western star. From time to time he stopped to listen and heard only the usual familiar bark of coyote and sweep of wind and rustle of sage. Presently a low jumble of rocks loomed up darkly somewhat to his right, and, turning that way, he whistled softly. Out of the rocks glided a dog that leaped and whined about him. He climbed over rough, broken rock, picking his way carefully, and then went down. Here it was darker, and sheltered from the wind. A white object guided him. It was another dog, and this one was asleep, curled up between a saddle and a pack. The animal awoke and thumped his tail in greeting. Venters placed the saddle for a pillow, rolled in his blankets, with his face upward to the stars. The white dog snuggled close to him. The other whined and pattered a few yards to the rise of ground and there crouched on guard. And in that wild covert Venters shut his eyes under the great white stars and intense vaulted blue, bitterly comparing their loneliness to his own, and fell asleep.\n\nWhen he awoke, day had dawned and all about him was bright steel-gray. The air had a cold tang. Arising, he greeted the fawning dogs and stretched his cramped body, and then, gathering together bunches of dead sage sticks, he lighted a fire. Strips of dried beef held to the blaze for a moment served him and the dogs. He drank from a canteen. There was nothing else in his outfit; he had grown used to a scant fire. Then he sat over the fire, palms outspread, and waited. Waiting had been his chief occupation for months, and he scarcely knew what he waited for unless it was the passing of the hours. But now he sensed action in the immediate present; the day promised another meeting with Lassiter and Jane, perhaps news of the rustlers; on the morrow he meant to take the trail to Deception Pass.\n\nAnd while he waited he talked to his dogs. He called them Ring and Whitie; they were sheep-dogs, half collie, half deerhound, superb in build, perfectly trained. It seemed that in his fallen fortunes these dogs understood the nature of their value to him, and governed their affection and faithfulness accordingly. Whitie watched him with somber eyes of love, and Ring, crouched on the little rise of ground above, kept tireless guard. When the sun rose, the white dog took the place of the other, and Ring went to sleep at his master's feet.\n\nBy and by Venters rolled up his blankets and tied them and his meager pack together, then climbed out to look for his horse. He saw him, presently, a little way off in the sage, and went to fetch him. In that country, where every rider boasted of a fine mount and was eager for a race, where thoroughbreds dotted the wonderful grazing ranges, Venters rode a horse that was sad proof of his misfortunes.\n\nThen, with his back against a stone, Venters faced the east, and, stick in hand and idle blade, he waited. The glorious sunlight filled the valley with purple fire. Before him, to left, to right, waving, rolling, sinking, rising, like low swells of a purple sea, stretched the sage. Out of the grove of cottonwoods, a green patch on the purple, gleamed the dull red of Jane Withersteen's old stone house. And from there extended the wide green of the village gardens and orchards marked by the graceful poplars; and farther down shone the deep, dark richness of the alfalfa fields. Numberless red and black and white dots speckled the sage, and these were cattle and horses.\n\nSo, watching and waiting, Venters let the time wear away. At length he saw a horse rise above a ridge, and he knew it to be Lassiter's black. Climbing to the highest rock, so that he would show against the sky-line, he stood and waved his hat. The almost instant turning of Lassiter's horse attested to the quickness of that rider's eye. Then Venters climbed down, saddled his horse, tied on his pack, and, with a word to his dogs, was about to ride out to meet Lassiter, when he concluded to wait for him there, on higher ground, where the outlook was commanding.\n\nIt had been long since Venters had experienced friendly greeting from a man. Lassiter's warmed in him something that had grown cold from neglect. And when he had returned it, with a strong grip of the iron hand that held his, and met the gray eyes, he knew that Lassiter and he were to be friends.\n\n\"Venters, let's talk awhile before we go down there,\" said Lassiter, slipping his bridle. \"I ain't in no hurry. Them's sure fine dogs you've got.\" With a rider's eye he took in the points of Venter's horse, but did not speak his thought. \"Well, did anythin' come off after I left you last night?\"\n\nVenters told him about the rustlers.\n\n\"I was snug hid in the sage,\" replied Lassiter, \"an' didn't see or hear no one. Oldrin's got a high hand here, I reckon. It's no news up in Utah how he holes in canyons an' leaves no track.\" Lassiter was silent a moment. \"Me an' Oldrin' wasn't exactly strangers some years back when he drove cattle into Bostil's Ford, at the head of the Rio Virgin. But he got harassed there an' now he drives some place else.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, you knew him? Tell me, is he Mormon or Gentile?\"\n\n\"I can't say. I've knowed Mormons who pretended to be Gentiles.\"\n\n\"No Mormon ever pretended that unless he was a rustler,\" declared Venters.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"Mebbe so.\"",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"It's a hard country for any one, but hardest for Gentiles. Did you ever know or hear of a Gentile prospering in a Mormon community?\"\n\n\"I never did.\"\n\n\"Well, I want to get out of Utah. I've a mother living in Illinois. I want to go home. It's eight years now.\"\n\nThe older man's sympathy moved Venters to tell his story. He had left Quincy, run off to seek his fortune in the gold fields had never gotten any farther than Salt Lake City, wandered here and there as helper, teamster, shepherd, and drifted southward over the divide and across the barrens and up the rugged plateau through the passes to the last border settlements. Here he became a rider of the sage, had stock of his own, and for a time prospered, until chance threw him in the employ of Jane Withersteen.\n\n\"Lassiter, I needn't tell you the rest.\"\n\n\"Well, it'd be no news to me. I know Mormons. I've seen their women's strange love en' patience en' sacrifice an' silence en' whet I call madness for their idea of God. An' over against that I've seen the tricks of men. They work hand in hand, all together, an' in the dark. No man can hold out against them, unless he takes to packin' guns. For Mormons are slow to kill. That's the only good I ever seen in their religion. Venters, take this from me, these Mormons ain't just right in their minds. Else could a Mormon marry one woman when he already has a wife, an' call it duty?\"\n\n\"Lassiter, you think as I think,\" returned Venters.\n\n\"How'd it come then that you never throwed a gun on Tull or some of them?\" inquired the rider, curiously.\n\n\"Jane pleaded with me, begged me to be patient, to overlook. She even took my guns from me. I lost all before I knew it,\" replied Venters, with the red color in his face. \"But, Lassiter, listen. Out of the wreck I saved a Winchester, two Colts, and plenty of shells. I packed these down into Deception Pass. There, almost every day for six months, I have practiced with my rifle till the barrel burnt my hands. Practised the draw—the firing of a Colt, hour after hour!\"\n\n\"Now that's interestin' to me,\" said Lassiter, with a quick uplift of his head and a concentration of his gray gaze on Venters. \"Could you throw a gun before you began that practisin'?\"\n\n\"Yes. And now...\" Venters made a lightning-swift movement.\n\nLassiter smiled, and then his bronzed eyelids narrowed till his eyes seemed mere gray slits. \"You'll kill Tull!\" He did not question; he affirmed.\n\n\"I promised Jane Withersteen I'd try to avoid Tull. I'll keep my word. But sooner or later Tull and I will meet. As I feel now, if he even looks at me I'll draw!\"\n\n\"I reckon so. There'll be hell down there, presently.\" He paused a moment and flicked a sage-brush with his quirt. \"Venters, seein' as you're considerable worked up, tell me Milly Erne's story.\"\n\nVenters's agitation stilled to the trace of suppressed eagerness in Lassiter's query.\n\n\"Milly Erne's story? Well, Lassiter, I'll tell you what I know. Milly Erne had been in Cottonwoods years when I first arrived there, and most of what I tell you happened before my arrival. I got to know her pretty well. She was a slip of a woman, and crazy on religion. I conceived an idea that I never mentioned—I thought she was at heart more Gentile than Mormon. But she passed as a Mormon, and certainly she had the Mormon woman's locked lips. You know, in every Mormon village there are women who seem mysterious to us, but about Milly there was more than the ordinary mystery. When she came to Cottonwoods she had a beautiful little girl whom she loved passionately. Milly was not known openly in Cottonwoods as a Mormon wife. That she really was a Mormon wife I have no doubt. Perhaps the Mormon's other wife or wives would not acknowledge Milly. Such things happen in these villages. Mormon wives wear yokes, but they get jealous. Well, whatever had brought Milly to this country—love or madness of religion—she repented of it. She gave up teaching the village school. She quit the church. And she began to fight Mormon upbringing for her baby girl. Then the Mormons put on the screws—slowly, as is their way. At last the child disappeared. 'Lost' was the report. The child was stolen, I know that. So do you. That wrecked Milly Erne. But she lived on in hope. She became a slave. She worked her heart and soul and life out to get back her child. She never heard of it again. Then she sank... I can see her now, a frail thing, so transparent you could almost look through her—white like ashes—and her eyes!... Her eyes have always haunted me. She had one real friend—Jane Withersteen. But Jane couldn't mend a broken heart, and Milly died.\"\n\nFor moments Lassiter did not speak, or turn his head.\n\n\"The man!\" he exclaimed, presently, in husky accents.\n\n\"I haven't the slightest idea who the Mormon was,\" replied Venters; \"nor has any Gentile in Cottonwoods.\"\n\n\"Does Jane Withersteen know?\"\n\n\"Yes. But a red-hot running-iron couldn't burn that name out of her!\"\n\nWithout further speech Lassiter started off, walking his horse and Venters followed with his dogs. Half a mile down the slope they entered a luxuriant growth of willows, and soon came into an open space carpeted with grass like deep green velvet. The rushing of water and singing of birds filled their ears. Venters led his comrade to a shady bower and showed him Amber Spring. It was a magnificent outburst of clear, amber water pouring from a dark, stone-lined hole. Lassiter knelt and drank, lingered there to drink again. He made no comment, but Venters did not need words. Next to his horse a rider of the sage loved a spring. And this spring was the most beautiful and remarkable known to the upland riders of southern Utah. It was the spring that made old Withersteen a feudal lord and now enabled his daughter to return the toll which her father had exacted from the toilers of the sage.\n\nThe spring gushed forth in a swirling torrent, and leaped down joyously to make its swift way along a willow-skirted channel. Moss and ferns and lilies overhung its green banks. Except for the rough-hewn stones that held and directed the water, this willow thicket and glade had been left as nature had made it.\n\nBelow were artificial lakes, three in number, one above the other in banks of raised earth, and round about them rose the lofty green-foliaged shafts of poplar trees. Ducks dotted the glassy surface of the lakes; a blue heron stood motionless on a water-gate; kingfishers darted with shrieking flight along the shady banks; a white hawk sailed above; and from the trees and shrubs came the song of robins and cat-birds. It was all in strange contrast to the endless slopes of lonely sage and the wild rock environs beyond. Venters thought of the woman who loved the birds and the green of the leaves and the murmur of the water.\n\nNext on the slope, just below the third and largest lake, were corrals and a wide stone barn and open sheds and coops and pens. Here were clouds of dust, and cracking sounds of hoofs, and romping colts and heehawing burros. Neighing horses trampled to the corral fences. And on the little windows of the barn projected bobbing heads of bays and blacks and sorrels. When the two men entered the immense barnyard, from all around the din increased. This welcome, however, was not seconded by the several men and boys who vanished on sight.\n\nVenters and Lassiter were turning toward the house when Jane appeared in the lane leading a horse. In riding-skirt and blouse she seemed to have lost some of her statuesque proportions, and looked more like a girl rider than the mistress of Withersteen. She was brightly smiling, and her greeting was warmly cordial.\n\n\"Good news,\" she announced. \"I've been to the village. All is quiet. I expected—I don't know what. But there's no excitement. And Tull has ridden out on his way to Glaze.\"\n\n\"Tull gone?\" inquired Venters, with surprise. He was wondering what could have taken Tull away. Was it to avoid another meeting with Lassiter that he went? Could it have any connection with the probable nearness of Oldring and his gang?\n\n\"Gone, yes, thank goodness,\" replied Jane. \"Now I'll have peace for a while. Lassiter, I want you to see my horses. You are a rider, and you must be a judge of horseflesh. Some of mine have Arabian blood. My father got his best strain in Nevada from Indians who claimed their horses were bred down from the original stock left by the Spaniards.\"\n\n\"Well, ma'am, the one you've been ridin' takes my eye,\" said Lassiter, as he walked round the racy, clean-limbed, and fine-pointed roan.\n\n\"Where are the boys?\" she asked, looking about. \"Jerd, Paul, where are you? Here, bring out the horses.\"\n\nThe sound of dropping bars inside the barn was the signal for the horses to jerk their heads in the windows, to snort and stamp. Then they came pounding out of the door, a file of thoroughbreds, to plunge about the barnyard, heads and tails up, manes flying. They halted afar off, squared away to look, came slowly forward with whinnies for their mistress, and doubtful snorts for the strangers and their horses.\n\n\"Come—come—come,\" called Jane, holding out her hands. \"Why, Bells—Wrangle, where are your manners? Come, Black Star—come, Night. Ah, you beauties! My racers of the sage!\"\n\nOnly two came up to her; those she called Night and Black Star. Venters never looked at them without delight. The first was soft dead black, the other glittering black, and they were perfectly matched in size, both being high and long-bodied, wide through the shoulders, with lithe, powerful legs. That they were a woman's pets showed in the gloss of skin, the fineness of mane. It showed, too, in the light of big eyes and the gentle reach of eagerness.\n\n\"I never seen their like,\" was Lassiter's encomium, \"an' in my day I've seen a sight of horses. Now, ma'am, if you was wantin' to make a long an' fast ride across the sage—say to elope—\"\n\nLassiter ended there with dry humor, yet behind that was meaning. Jane blushed and made arch eyes at him.\n\n\"Take care, Lassiter, I might think that a proposal,\" she replied, gaily. \"It's dangerous to propose elopement to a Mormon woman. Well, I was expecting you. Now will be a good hour to show you Milly Erne's grave. The day-riders have gone, and the night-riders haven't come in. Bern, what do you make of that? Need I worry? You know I have to be made to worry.\"\n\n\"Well, it's not usual for the night shift to ride in so late,\" replied Venters, slowly, and his glance sought Lassiter's. \"Cattle are usually quiet after dark. Still, I've known even a coyote to stampede your white herd.\"\n\n\"I refuse to borrow trouble. Come,\" said Jane.\n\nThey mounted, and, with Jane in the lead, rode down the lane, and, turning off into a cattle trail, proceeded westward. Venters's dogs trotted behind them. On this side of the ranch the outlook was different from that on the other; the immediate foreground was rough and the sage more rugged and less colorful; there were no dark-blue lines of canyons to hold the eye, nor any uprearing rock walls. It was a long roll and slope into gray obscurity. Soon Jane left the trail and rode into the sage, and presently she dismounted and threw her bridle. The men did likewise. Then, on foot, they followed her, coming out at length on the rim of a low escarpment. She passed by several little ridges of earth to halt before a faintly defined mound. It lay in the shade of a sweeping sage-brush close to the edge of the promontory; and a rider could have jumped his horse over it without recognizing a grave.\n\n\"Here!\"",
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"from": "human",
"value": "She looked sad as she spoke, but she offered no explanation for the neglect of an unmarked, uncared-for grave.",
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"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 29 sentences.",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "There was a little bunch of pale, sweet lavender daisies, doubtless planted there by Jane.\n\n\"I only come here to remember and to pray,\" she said. \"But I leave no trail!\"\n\nA grave in the sage! How lonely this resting-place of Milly Erne! The cottonwoods or the alfalfa fields were not in sight, nor was there any rock or ridge or cedar to lend contrast to the monotony. Gray slopes, tinging the purple, barren and wild, with the wind waving the sage, swept away to the dim horizon.\n\nLassiter looked at the grave and then out into space. At that moment he seemed a figure of bronze.\n\nJane touched Venters's arm and led him back to the horses.\n\n\"Bern!\" cried Jane, when they were out of hearing. \"Suppose Lassiter were Milly's husband—the father of that little girl lost so long ago!\"\n\n\"It might be, Jane. Let us ride on. If he wants to see us again he'll come.\"\n\nSo they mounted and rode out to the cattle trail and began to climb. From the height of the ridge, where they had started down, Venters looked back. He did not see Lassiter, but his glance, drawn irresistibly farther out on the gradual slope, caught sight of a moving cloud of dust.\n\n\"Hello, a rider!\"\n\n\"Yes, I see,\" said Jane.\n\n\"That fellow's riding hard. Jane, there's something wrong.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, there must be... How he rides!\"\n\nThe horse disappeared in the sage, and then puffs of dust marked his course.\n\n\"He's short-cut on us—he's making straight for the corrals.\"\n\nVenters and Jane galloped their steeds and reined in at the turning of the lane. This lane led down to the right of the grove. Suddenly into its lower entrance flashed a bay horse. Then Venters caught the fast rhythmic beat of pounding hoofs. Soon his keen eye recognized the swing of the rider in his saddle.\n\n\"It's Judkins, your Gentile rider!\" he cried. \"Jane, when Judkins rides like that it means hell!\"",
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"from": "system",
"value": "28 sentences sentences in Zane Grey style, continuing user's bit. Note: May include established elements",
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"from": "human",
"value": "Chapter IV. Deception Pass",
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"from": "human",
"value": "The rider thundered up and almost threw his foam-flecked horse in the sudden stop.",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "He was a giant form, and with fearless eyes.\n\n\"Judkins, you're all bloody!\" cried Jane, in affright. \"Oh, you've been shot!\"\n\n\"Nothin' much Miss Withersteen. I got a nick in the shoulder. I'm some wet an' the hoss's been throwin' lather, so all this ain't blood.\"\n\n\"What's up?\" queried Venters, sharply.\n\n\"Rustlers sloped off with the red herd.\"\n\n\"Where are my riders?\" demanded Jane.\n\n\"Miss Withersteen, I was alone all night with the herd. At daylight this mornin' the rustlers rode down. They began to shoot at me on sight. They chased me hard an' far, burnin' powder all the time, but I got away.\"\n\n\"Jud, they meant to kill you,\" declared Venters.\n\n\"Now I wonder,\" returned Judkins. \"They wanted me bad. An' it ain't regular for rustlers to waste time chasin' one rider.\"\n\n\"Thank heaven you got away,\" said Jane. \"But my riders—where are they?\"\n\n\"I don't know. The night-riders weren't there last night when I rode down, en' this mornin' I met no day-riders.\"\n\n\"Judkins! Bern, they've been set upon—killed by Oldring's men!\"\n\n\"I don't think so,\" replied Venters, decidedly. \"Jane, your riders haven't gone out in the sage.\"\n\n\"Bern, what do you mean?\" Jane Withersteen turned deathly pale.\n\n\"You remember what I said about the unseen hand?\"\n\n\"Oh!... Impossible!\"\n\n\"I hope so. But I fear—\" Venters finished, with a shake of his head.\n\n\"Bern, you're bitter; but that's only natural. We'll wait to see what's happened to my riders. Judkins, come to the house with me. Your wound must be attended to.\"\n\n\"Jane, I'll find out where Oldring drives the herd,\" vowed Venters.\n\n\"No, no! Bern, don't risk it now—when the rustlers are in such shooting mood.\"\n\n\"I'm going. Jud, how many cattle in that red herd?\"\n\n\"Twenty-five hundred head.\"",
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"Whew! What on earth can Oldring do with so many cattle? Why, a hundred head is a big steal. I've got to find out.\"",
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"Don't go,\" implored Jane.",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Bern, you want a hoss thet can run. Miss Withersteen, if it's not too bold of me to advise, make him take a fast hoss or don't let him go.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, Judkins. He must ride a horse that can't be caught. Which one—Black Star—Night?\"\n\n\"Jane, I won't take either,\" said Venters, emphatically. \"I wouldn't risk losing one of your favorites.\"\n\n\"Wrangle, then?\"\n\n\"Thet's the hoss,\" replied Judkins. \"Wrangle can outrun Black Star an' Night. You'd never believe it, Miss Withersteen, but I know. Wrangle's the biggest en' fastest hoss on the sage.\"\n\n\"Oh no, Wrangle can't beat Black Star. But, Bern, take Wrangle if you will go. Ask Jerd for anything you need. Oh, be watchful, careful... God speed you.\"\n\nShe clasped his hand, turned quickly away, and went down a lane with the rider.\n\nVenters rode to the barn, and, leaping off, shouted for Jerd. The boy came running. Venters sent him for meat, bread, and dried fruits, to be packed in saddlebags. His own horse he turned loose into the nearest corral. Then he went for Wrangle. The giant sorrel had earned his name for a trait the opposite of amiability. He came readily out of the barn, but once in the yard he broke from Venters, and plunged about with ears laid back. Venters had to rope him, and then he kicked down a section of fence, stood on his hind legs, crashed down and fought the rope. Jerd returned to lend a hand.\n\n\"Wrangle don't git enough work,\" said Jerd, as the big saddle went on. \"He's unruly when he's corralled, an' wants to run. Wait till he smells the sage!\"\n\n\"Jerd, this horse is an iron-jawed devil. I never straddled him but once. Run? Say, he's swift as wind!\"\n\nWhen Venters's boot touched the stirrup the sorrel bolted, giving him the rider's flying mount. The swing of this fiery horse recalled to Venters days that were not really long past, when he rode into the sage as the leader of Jane Withersteen's riders. Wrangle pulled hard on a tight rein. He galloped out of the lane, down the shady border of the grove, and hauled up at the watering-trough, where he pranced and champed his bit. Venters got off and filled his canteen while the horse drank. The dogs, Ring and Whitie, came trotting up for their drink. Then Venters remounted and turned Wrangle toward the sage.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "A wide, white trail wound away down the slope.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "(In the next section: Include 'rider' 2 time(s) in your answer - no more, no less)",
"loss": false
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "One keen, sweeping glance told Venters that there was neither man nor horse nor steer within the limit of his vision, unless they were lying down in the sage. Ring loped in the lead and Whitie loped in the rear. Wrangle settled gradually into an easy swinging canter, and Venters's thoughts, now that the rush and flurry of the start were past, and the long miles stretched before him, reverted to a calm reckoning of late singular coincidences.\n\nThere was the night ride of Tull's, which, viewed in the light of subsequent events, had a look of his covert machinations; Oldring and his Masked Rider and his rustlers riding muffled horses; the report that Tull had ridden out that morning with his man Jerry on the trail to Glaze, the strange disappearance of Jane Withersteen's riders, the unusually determined attempt to kill the one Gentile still in her employ, an intention frustrated, no doubt, only by Judkin's magnificent riding of her racer, and lastly the driving of the red herd. These events, to Venters's color of mind, had a dark relationship. Remembering Jane's accusation of bitterness, he tried hard to put aside his rancor in judging Tull. But it was bitter knowledge that made him see the truth. He had felt the shadow of an unseen hand; he had watched till he saw its dim outline, and then he had traced it to a man's hate, to the rivalry of a Mormon Elder, to the power of a Bishop, to the long, far-reaching arm of a terrible creed. That unseen hand had made its first move against Jane Withersteen. Her riders had been called in, leaving her without help to drive seven thousand head of cattle. But to Venters it seemed extraordinary that the power which had called in these riders had left so many cattle to be driven by rustlers and harried by wolves. For hand in glove with that power was an insatiate greed; they were one and the same.\n\n\"What can Oldring do with twenty-five hundred head of cattle?\" muttered Venters. \"Is he a Mormon? Did he meet Tull last night? It looks like a black plot to me. But Tull and his churchmen wouldn't ruin Jane Withersteen unless the Church was to profit by that ruin. Where does Oldring come in? I'm going to find out about these things.\"\n\nWrangle did the twenty-five miles in three hours and walked little of the way. When he had gotten warmed up he had been allowed to choose his own gait. The afternoon had well advanced when Venters struck the trail of the red herd and found where it had grazed the night before. Then Venters rested the horse and used his eyes. Near at hand were a cow and a calf and several yearlings, and farther out in the sage some straggling steers. He caught a glimpse of coyotes skulking near the cattle. The slow sweeping gaze of the rider failed to find other living things within the field of sight. The sage about him was breast-high to his horse, oversweet with its warm, fragrant breath, gray where it waved to the light, darker where the wind left it still, and beyond the wonderful haze-purple lent by distance. Far across that wide waste began the slow lift of uplands through which Deception Pass cut its tortuous many-canyoned way.\n\nVenters raised the bridle of his horse and followed the broad cattle trail. The crushed sage resembled the path of a monster snake. In a few miles of travel he passed several cows and calves that had escaped the drive. Then he stood on the last high bench of the slope with the floor of the valley beneath. The opening of the canyon showed in a break of the sage, and the cattle trail paralleled it as far as he could see.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "That trail led to an undiscovered point where Oldring drove cattle into the pass, and many a rider who had followed it had never returned. Venters satisfied himself that the rustlers had not deviated from their usual course, and then he turned at right angles off the cattle trail and made for the head of the pass.\n\nThe sun lost its heat and wore down to the western horizon, where it changed from white to gold and rested like a huge ball about to roll on its golden shadows down the slope. Venters watched the lengthening of the rays and bars, and marveled at his own league-long shadow. The sun sank. There was instant shading of brightness about him, and he saw a kind of cold purple bloom creep ahead of him to cross the canyon, to mount the opposite slope and chase and darken and bury the last golden flare of sunlight.\n\nVenters rode into a trail that he always took to get down into the canyon. He dismounted and found no tracks but his own made days previous. Nevertheless he sent the dog Ring ahead and waited. In a little while Ring returned. Whereupon Venters led his horse on to the break in the ground.\n\nThe opening into Deception Pass was one of the remarkable natural phenomena in a country remarkable for vast slopes of sage, uplands insulated by gigantic red walls, and deep canyons of mysterious source and outlet. Here the valley floor was level, and here opened a narrow chasm, a ragged vent in yellow walls of stone. The trail down the five hundred feet of sheer depth always tested Venters's nerve. It was bad going for even a burro. But Wrangle, as Venters led him, snorted defiance or disgust rather than fear, and, like a hobbled horse on the jump, lifted his ponderous iron-shod fore hoofs and crashed down over the first rough step. Venters warmed to greater admiration of the sorrel; and, giving him a loose bridle, he stepped down foot by foot. Oftentimes the stones and shale started by Wrangle buried Venters to his knees; again he was hard put to it to dodge a rolling boulder, there were times when he could not see Wrangle for dust, and once he and the horse rode a sliding shelf of yellow, weathered cliff. It was a trail on which there could be no stops, and, therefore, if perilous, it was at least one that did not take long in the descent.\n\nVenters breathed lighter when that was over, and felt a sudden assurance in the success of his enterprise. For at first it had been a reckless determination to achieve something at any cost, and now it resolved itself into an adventure worthy of all his reason and cunning, and keenness of eye and ear.\n\nPinyon pines clustered in little clumps along the level floor of the pass. Twilight had gathered under the walls. Venters rode into the trail and up the canyon. Gradually the trees and caves and objects low down turned black, and this blackness moved up the walls till night enfolded the pass, while day still lingered above. The sky darkened; and stars began to show, at first pale and then bright. Sharp notches of the rim-wall, biting like teeth into the blue, were landmarks by which Venters knew where his camping site lay. He had to feel his way through a thicket of slender oaks to a spring where he watered Wrangle and drank himself. Here he unsaddled and turned Wrangle loose, having no fear that the horse would leave the thick, cool grass adjacent to the spring.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Next he satisfied his own hunger, fed Ring and Whitie and, with them curled beside him, composed himself to await sleep.\n\nThere had been a time when night in the high altitude of these Utah uplands had been satisfying to Venters. But that was before the oppression of enemies had made the change in his mind. As a rider guarding the herd he had never thought of the night's wildness and loneliness; as an outcast, now when the full silence set in, and the deep darkness, and trains of radiant stars shone cold and calm, he lay with an ache in his heart. For a year he had lived as a black fox, driven from his kind. He longed for the sound of a voice, the touch of a hand. In the daytime there was riding from place to place, and the gun practice to which something drove him, and other tasks that at least necessitated action, at night, before he won sleep, there was strife in his soul. He yearned to leave the endless sage slopes, the wilderness of canyons, and it was in the lonely night that this yearning grew unbearable. It was then that he reached forth to feel Ring or Whitie, immeasurably grateful for the love and companionship of two dogs.\n\nOn this night the same old loneliness beset Venters, the old habit of sad thought and burning unquiet had its way. But from it evolved a conviction that his useless life had undergone a subtle change. He had sensed it first when Wrangle swung him up to the high saddle, he knew it now when he lay in the gateway of Deception Pass. He had no thrill of adventure, rather a gloomy perception of great hazard, perhaps death. He meant to find Oldring's retreat. The rustlers had fast horses, but none that could catch Wrangle. Venters knew no rustler could creep upon him at night when Ring and Whitie guarded his hiding-place. For the rest, he had eyes and ears, and a long rifle and an unerring aim, which he meant to use. Strangely his foreshadowing of change did not hold a thought of the killing of Tull. It related only to what was to happen to him in Deception Pass; and he could no more lift the veil of that mystery than tell where the trails led to in that unexplored canyon. Moreover, he did not care. And at length, tired out by stress of thought, he fell asleep.\n\nWhen his eyes unclosed, day had come again, and he saw the rim of the opposite wall tipped with the gold of sunrise. A few moments sufficed for the morning's simple camp duties. Near at hand he found Wrangle, and to his surprise the horse came to him. Wrangle was one of the horses that left his viciousness in the home corral. What he wanted was to be free of mules and burros and steers, to roll in dust-patches, and then to run down the wide, open, windy sage-plains, and at night browse and sleep in the cool wet grass of a springhole. Jerd knew the sorrel when he said of him, \"Wait till he smells the sage!\"\n\nVenters saddled and led him out of the oak thicket, and, leaping astride, rode up the canyon, with Ring and Whitie trotting behind.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "An old grass-grown trail followed the course of a shallow wash where flowed a thin stream of water. The canyon was a hundred rods wide, its yellow walls were perpendicular; it had abundant sage and a scant growth of oak and pinon. For five miles it held to a comparatively straight bearing, and then began a heightening of rugged walls and a deepening of the floor. Beyond this point of sudden change in the character of the canyon Venters had never explored, and here was the real door to the intricacies of Deception Pass.\n\nHe reined Wrangle to a walk, halted now and then to listen, and then proceeded cautiously with shifting and alert gaze. The canyon assumed proportions that dwarfed those of its first ten miles. Venters rode on and on, not losing in the interest of his wide surroundings any of his caution or keen search for tracks or sight of living thing. If there ever had been a trail here, he could not find it. He rode through sage and clumps of pinon trees and grassy plots where long-petaled purple lilies bloomed. He rode through a dark constriction of the pass no wider than the lane in the grove at Cottonwoods. And he came out into a great amphitheater into which jutted huge towering corners of a confluence of intersecting canyons.\n\nVenters sat his horse, and, with a rider's eye, studied this wild cross-cut of huge stone gullies. Then he went on, guided by the course of running water. If it had not been for the main stream of water flowing north he would never have been able to tell which of those many openings was a continuation of the pass. In crossing this amphitheater he went by the mouths of five canyons, fording little streams that flowed into the larger one. Gaining the outlet which he took to be the pass, he rode on again under over hanging walls. One side was dark in shade, the other light in sun. This narrow passageway turned and twisted and opened into a valley that amazed Venters.\n\nHere again was a sweep of purple sage, richer than upon the higher levels. The valley was miles long, several wide, and inclosed by unscalable walls. But it was the background of this valley that so forcibly struck him. Across the sage-flat rose a strange up-flinging of yellow rocks. He could not tell which were close and which were distant. Scrawled mounds of stone, like mountain waves, seemed to roll up to steep bare slopes and towers.\n\nIn this plain of sage Venters flushed birds and rabbits, and when he had proceeded about a mile he caught sight of the bobbing white tails of a herd of running antelope. He rode along the edge of the stream which wound toward the western end of the slowly looming mounds of stone. The high slope retreated out of sight behind the nearer protection. To Venters the valley appeared to have been filled in by a mountain of melted stone that had hardened in strange shapes of rounded outline.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "He followed the stream till he lost it in a deep cut.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "Therefore Venters quit the dark slit which baffled further search in that direction, and rode out along the curved edge of stone where it met the sage.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "It was not long before he came to a low place, and here Wrangle readily climbed up.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "system",
"value": "Word restriction: Use 'worked' 2 time(s) only",
"loss": null
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"value": "All about him was ridgy roll of wind-smoothed, rain-washed rock. Not a tuft of grass or a bunch of sage colored the dull rust-yellow. He saw where, to the right, this uneven flow of stone ended in a blunt wall. Leftward, from the hollow that lay at his feet, mounted a gradual slow-swelling slope to a great height topped by leaning, cracked, and ruined crags. Not for some time did he grasp the wonder of that acclivity. It was no less than a mountain-side, glistening in the sun like polished granite, with cedar-trees springing as if by magic out of the denuded surface. Winds had swept it clear of weathered shale, and rains had washed it free of dust. Far up the curved slope its beautiful lines broke to meet the vertical rim-wall, to lose its grace in a different order and color of rock, a stained yellow cliff of cracks and caves and seamed crags. And straight before Venters was a scene less striking but more significant to his keen survey. For beyond a mile of the bare, hummocky rock began the valley of sage, and the mouths of canyons, one of which surely was another gateway into the pass.\n\nHe got off his horse, and, giving the bridle to Ring to hold, he commenced a search for the cleft where the stream ran. He was not successful and concluded the water dropped into an underground passage. Then he returned to where he had left Wrangle, and led him down off the stone to the sage. It was a short ride to the opening canyons. There was no reason for a choice of which one to enter. The one he rode into was a clear, sharp shaft in yellow stone a thousand feet deep, with wonderful wind-worn caves low down and high above buttressed and turreted ramparts. Farther on Venters came into a region where deep indentations marked the line of canyon walls. These were huge, cove-like blind pockets extending back to a sharp corner with a dense growth of underbrush and trees.\n\nVenters penetrated into one of these offshoots, and, as he had hoped, he found abundant grass. He had to bend the oak saplings to get his horse through. Deciding to make this a hiding-place if he could find water, he worked back to the limit of the shelving walls. In a little cluster of silver spruces he found a spring. This inclosed nook seemed an ideal place to leave his horse and to camp at night, and from which to make stealthy trips on foot. The thick grass hid his trail; the dense growth of oaks in the opening would serve as a barrier to keep Wrangle in, if, indeed, the luxuriant browse would not suffice for that. So Venters, leaving Whitie with the horse, called Ring to his side, and, rifle in hand, worked his way out to the open. A careful photographing in mind of the formation of the bold outlines of rimrock assured him he would be able to return to his retreat even in the dark.\n\nBunches of scattered sage covered the center of the canyon, and among these Venters threaded his way with the step of an Indian. At intervals he put his hand on the dog and stopped to listen.",
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"value": "There was a drowsy hum of insects, but no other sound disturbed the warm midday stillness. Venters saw ahead a turn, more abrupt than any yet. Warily he rounded this corner, once again to halt bewildered.\n\nThe canyon opened fan-shaped into a great oval of green and gray growths. It was the hub of an oblong wheel, and from it, at regular distances, like spokes, ran the outgoing canyons. Here a dull red color predominated over the fading yellow. The corners of wall bluntly rose, scarred and scrawled, to taper into towers and serrated peaks and pinnacled domes.\n\nVenters pushed on more heedfully than ever. Toward the center of this circle the sage-brush grew smaller and farther apart He was about to sheer off to the right, where thickets and jumbles of fallen rock would afford him cover, when he ran right upon a broad cattle trail. Like a road it was, more than a trail, and the cattle tracks were fresh. What surprised him more, they were wet! He pondered over this feature. It had not rained. The only solution to this puzzle was that the cattle had been driven through water, and water deep enough to wet their legs.\n\nSuddenly Ring growled low. Venters rose cautiously and looked over the sage. A band of straggling horsemen were riding across the oval. He sank down, startled and trembling. \"Rustlers!\" he muttered. Hurriedly he glanced about for a place to hide. Near at hand there was nothing but sage-brush. He dared not risk crossing the open patches to reach the rocks. Again he peeped over the sage. The rustlers—four—five—seven—eight in all, were approaching, but not directly in line with him. That was relief for a cold deadness which seemed to be creeping inward along his veins. He crouched down with bated breath and held the bristling dog.\n\nHe heard the click of iron-shod hoofs on stone, the coarse laughter of men, and then voices gradually dying away. Long moments passed. Then he rose. The rustlers were riding into a canyon.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "Their horses were tired, and they had several pack animals; evidently they had traveled far.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "user note just fyi, ⚠️ Required: Use 'horsemen' exactly 2 times",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Venters doubted that they were the rustlers who had driven the red herd. Olding's band had split. Venters watched these horsemen disappear under a bold canyon wall.\n\nThe rustlers had come from the northwest side of the oval. Venters kept a steady gaze in that direction, hoping, if there were more, to see from what canyon they rode. A quarter of an hour went by. Reward for his vigilance came when he descried three more mounted men, far over to the north. But out of what canyon they had ridden it was too late to tell. He watched the three ride across the oval and round the jutting red corner where the others had gone.\n\n\"Up that canyon!\" exclaimed Venters. \"Oldring's den! I've found it!\"\n\nA knotty point for Venters was the fact that the cattle tracks all pointed west. The broad trail came from the direction of the canyon into which the rustlers had ridden, and undoubtedly the cattle had been driven out of it across the oval. There were no tracks pointing the other way. It had been in his mind that Oldring had driven the red herd toward the rendezvous, and not from it. Where did that broad trail come down into the pass, and where did it lead? Venters knew he wasted time in pondering the question, but it held a fascination not easily dispelled. For many years Oldring's mysterious entrance and exit to Deception Pass had been all-absorbing topics to sage-riders.\n\nAll at once the dog put an end to Venters's pondering. Ring sniffed the air, turned slowly in his tracks with a whine, and then growled. Venters wheeled. Two horsemen were within a hundred yards, coming straight at him. One, lagging behind the other, was Oldring's Masked Rider.\n\nVenters cunningly sank, slowly trying to merge into sage-brush. But, guarded as his action was, the first horse detected it. He stopped short, snorted, and shot up his ears. The rustler bent forward, as if keenly peering ahead. Then, with a swift sweep, he jerked a gun from its sheath and fired.\n\nThe bullet zipped through the sage-brush.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "Flying bits of wood struck Venters, and the hot, stinging pain seemed to lift him in one leap.",
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"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 4 sentences.",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Like a flash the blue barrel of his rifle gleamed level and he shot once—twice.\n\nThe foremost rustler dropped his weapon and toppled from his saddle, to fall with his foot catching in a stirrup. The horse snorted wildly and plunged away, dragging the rustler through the sage.\n\nThe Masked Rider huddled over his pommel slowly swaying to one side, and then, with a faint, strange cry, slipped out of the saddle.",
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] |
[
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"from": "system",
"value": "Let's engage in a collaborative writing exercise. I'll provide a starting point (which may include pre-existing characters and lore), and You'll continue with 82 sentences in the style of Zane Grey.",
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"value": "Chapter V. The Masked Rider\n\nVenters looked quickly from the fallen rustlers to the canyon where the others had disappeared. He calculated on the time needed for running horses to return to the open, if their riders heard shots. He waited breathlessly. But the estimated time dragged by and no riders appeared. Venters began presently to believe that the rifle reports had not penetrated into the recesses of the canyon, and felt safe for the immediate present.\n\nHe hurried to the spot where the first rustler had been dragged by his horse. The man lay in deep grass, dead, jaw fallen, eyes protruding—a sight that sickened Venters. The first man at whom he had ever aimed a weapon he had shot through the heart. With the clammy sweat oozing from every pore Venters dragged the rustler in among some boulders and covered him with slabs of rock. Then he smoothed out the crushed trail in grass and sage. The rustler's horse had stopped a quarter of a mile off and was grazing.\n\nWhen Venters rapidly strode toward the Masked Rider not even the cold nausea that gripped him could wholly banish curiosity. For he had shot Oldring's infamous lieutenant, whose face had never been seen. Venters experienced a grim pride in the feat. What would Tull say to this achievement of the outcast who rode too often to Deception Pass?\n\nVenters's curious eagerness and expectation had not prepared him for the shock he received when he stood over a slight, dark figure. The rustler wore the black mask that had given him his name, but he had no weapons. Venters glanced at the drooping horse, there were no gun-sheaths on the saddle.\n\n\"A rustler who didn't pack guns!\" muttered Venters. \"He wears no belt. He couldn't pack guns in that rig... Strange!\"\n\nA low, gasping intake of breath and a sudden twitching of body told Venters the rider still lived.\n\n\"He's alive!... I've got to stand here and watch him die. And I shot an unarmed man.\"\n\nShrinkingly Venters removed the rider's wide sombrero and the black cloth mask. This action disclosed bright chestnut hair, inclined to curl, and a white, youthful face. Along the lower line of cheek and jaw was a clear demarcation, where the brown of tanned skin met the white that had been hidden from the sun.\n\n\"Oh, he's only a boy!... What! Can he be Oldring's Masked Rider?\"\n\nThe boy showed signs of returning consciousness. He stirred; his lips moved; a small brown hand clenched in his blouse.\n\nVenters knelt with a gathering horror of his deed. His bullet had entered the rider's right breast, high up to the shoulder. With hands that shook, Venters untied a black scarf and ripped open the blood-wet blouse.\n\nFirst he saw a gaping hole, dark red against a whiteness of skin, from which welled a slender red stream. Then the graceful, beautiful swell of a woman's breast!\n\n\"A woman!\" he cried. \"A girl!... I've killed a girl!\"\n\nShe suddenly opened eyes that transfixed Venters. They were fathomless blue. Consciousness of death was there, a blended terror and pain, but no consciousness of sight. She did not see Venters. She stared into the unknown.\n\nThen came a spasm of vitality. She writhed in a torture of reviving strength, and in her convulsions she almost tore from Ventner's grasp. Slowly she relaxed and sank partly back. The ungloved hand sought the wound, and pressed so hard that her wrist half buried itself in her bosom. Blood trickled between her spread fingers. And she looked at Venters with eyes that saw him.\n\nHe cursed himself and the unerring aim of which he had been so proud. He had seen that look in the eyes of a crippled antelope which he was about to finish with his knife. But in her it had infinitely more—a revelation of mortal spirit. The instinctive bringing to life was there, and the divining helplessness and the terrible accusation of the stricken.\n\n\"Forgive me! I didn't know!\" burst out Venters.\n\n\"You shot me—you've killed me!\" she whispered, in panting gasps. Upon her lips appeared a fluttering, bloody froth. By that Venters knew the air in her lungs was mixing with blood. \"Oh, I knew—it would—come—some day!... Oh, the burn!... Hold me—I'm sinking—it's all dark... Ah, God!... Mercy—\"\n\nHer rigidity loosened in one long quiver and she lay back limp, still, white as snow, with closed eyes.\n\nVenters thought then that she died. But the faint pulsation of her breast assured him that life yet lingered. Death seemed only a matter of moments, for the bullet had gone clear through her. Nevertheless, he tore sageleaves from a bush, and, pressing them tightly over her wounds, he bound the black scarf round her shoulder, tying it securely under her arm. Then he closed the blouse, hiding from his sight that blood-stained, accusing breast.\n\n\"What—now?\" he questioned, with flying mind. \"I must get out of here. She's dying—but I can't leave her.\"\n\nHe rapidly surveyed the sage to the north and made out no animate object. Then he picked up the girl's sombrero and the mask. This time the mask gave him as great a shock as when he first removed it from her face. For in the woman he had forgotten the rustler, and this black strip of felt-cloth established the identity of Oldring's Masked Rider. Venters had solved the mystery. He slipped his rifle under her, and, lifting her carefully upon it, he began to retrace his steps. The dog trailed in his shadow. And the horse, that had stood drooping by, followed without a call. Venters chose the deepest tufts of grass and clumps of sage on his return. From time to time he glanced over his shoulder. He did not rest. His concern was to avoid jarring the girl and to hide his trail. Gaining the narrow canyon, he turned and held close to the wall till he reached his hiding-place. When he entered the dense thicket of oaks he was hard put to it to force a way through. But he held his burden almost upright, and by slipping side wise and bending the saplings he got in. Through sage and grass he hurried to the grove of silver spruces.\n\nHe laid the girl down, almost fearing to look at her. Though marble pale and cold, she was living.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Venters then appreciated the tax that long carry had been to his strength. He sat down to rest. Whitie sniffed at the pale girl and whined and crept to Venters's feet. Ring lapped the water in the runway of the spring.\n\nPresently Venters went out to the opening, caught the horse and, leading him through the thicket, unsaddled him and tied him with a long halter. Wrangle left his browsing long enough to whinny and toss his head. Venters felt that he could not rest easily till he had secured the other rustler's horse; so, taking his rifle and calling for Ring, he set out. Swiftly yet watchfully he made his way through the canyon to the oval and out to the cattle trail. What few tracks might have betrayed him he obliterated, so only an expert tracker could have trailed him. Then, with many a wary backward glance across the sage, he started to round up the rustler's horse. This was unexpectedly easy. He led the horse to lower ground, out of sight from the opposite side of the oval along the shadowy western wall, and so on into his canyon and secluded camp.\n\nThe girl's eyes were open; a feverish spot burned in her cheeks she moaned something unintelligible to Venters, but he took the movement of her lips to mean that she wanted water. Lifting her head, he tipped the canteen to her lips. After that she again lapsed into unconsciousness or a weakness which was its counterpart. Venters noted, however, that the burning flush had faded into the former pallor.\n\nThe sun set behind the high canyon rim, and a cool shade darkened the walls. Venters fed the dogs and put a halter on the dead rustlers horse. He allowed Wrangle to browse free. This done, he cut spruce boughs and made a lean-to for the girl. Then, gently lifting her upon a blanket, he folded the sides over her. The other blanket he wrapped about his shoulders and found a comfortable seat against a spruce-tree that upheld the little shack. Ring and Whitie lay near at hand, one asleep, the other watchful.\n\nVenters dreaded the night's vigil. At night his mind was active, and this time he had to watch and think and feel beside a dying girl whom he had all but murdered. A thousand excuses he invented for himself, yet not one made any difference in his act or his self-reproach.\n\nIt seemed to him that when night fell black he could see her white face so much more plainly.\n\n\"She'll go, presently,\" he said, \"and be out of agony—thank God!\"\n\nEvery little while certainty of her death came to him with a shock; and then he would bend over and lay his ear on her breast. Her heart still beat.\n\nThe early night blackness cleared to the cold starlight. The horses were not moving, and no sound disturbed the deathly silence of the canyon.\n\n\"I'll bury her here,\" thought Venters, \"and let her grave be as much a mystery as her life was.\"\n\nFor the girl's few words, the look of her eyes, the prayer, had strangely touched Venters.\n\n\"She was only a girl,\" he soliloquized. \"What was she to Oldring? Rustlers don't have wives nor sisters nor daughters. She was bad—that's all. But somehow... well, she may not have willingly become the companion of rustlers. That prayer of hers to God for mercy!... Life is strange and cruel. I wonder if other members of Oldring's gang are women? Likely enough. But what was his game? Oldring's Mask Rider! A name to make villagers hide and lock their doors. A name credited with a dozen murders, a hundred forays, and a thousand stealings of cattle. What part did the girl have in this? It may have served Oldring to create mystery.\"\n\nHours passed. The white stars moved across the narrow strip of dark-blue sky above. The silence awoke to the low hum of insects. Venters watched the immovable white face, and as he watched, hour by hour waiting for death, the infamy of her passed from his mind. He thought only of the sadness, the truth of the moment. Whoever she was—whatever she had done—she was young and she was dying.\n\nThe after-part of the night wore on interminably. The starlight failed and the gloom blackened to the darkest hour. \"She'll die at the gray of dawn,\" muttered Venters, remembering some old woman's fancy. The blackness paled to gray, and the gray lightened and day peeped over the eastern rim. Venters listened at the breast of the girl. She still lived. Did he only imagine that her heart beat stronger, ever so slightly, but stronger? He pressed his ear closer to her breast. And he rose with his own pulse quickening.\n\n\"If she doesn't die soon—she's got a chance—the barest chance to live,\" he said.\n\nHe wondered if the internal bleeding had ceased. There was no more film of blood upon her lips. But no corpse could have been whiter. Opening her blouse, he untied the scarf, and carefully picked away the sage leaves from the wound in her shoulder. It had closed. Lifting her lightly, he ascertained that the same was true of the hole where the bullet had come out. He reflected on the fact that clean wounds closed quickly in the healing upland air. He recalled instances of riders who had been cut and shot apparently to fatal issues; yet the blood had clotted, the wounds closed, and they had recovered. He had no way to tell if internal hemorrhage still went on, but he believed that it had stopped. Otherwise she would surely not have lived so long. He marked the entrance of the bullet, and concluded that it had just touched the upper lobe of her lung. Perhaps the wound in the lung had also closed. As he began to wash the blood stains from her breast and carefully rebandage the wound, he was vaguely conscious of a strange, grave happiness in the thought that she might live.\n\nBroad daylight and a hint of sunshine high on the cliff-rim to the west brought him to consideration of what he had better do. And while busy with his few camp tasks he revolved the thing in his mind. It would not be wise for him to remain long in his present hiding-place. And if he intended to follow the cattle trail and try to find the rustlers he had better make a move at once. For he knew that rustlers, being riders, would not make much of a day's or night's absence from camp for one or two of their number; but when the missing ones failed to show up in reasonable time there would be a search. And Venters was afraid of that.\n\n\"A good tracker could trail me,\" he muttered. \"And I'd be cornered here. Let's see. Rustlers are a lazy set when they're not on the ride. I'll risk it. Then I'll change my hiding-place.\"\n\nHe carefully cleaned and reloaded his guns. When he rose to go he bent a long glance down upon the unconscious girl. Then ordering Whitie and Ring to keep guard, he left the camp.\n\nThe safest cover lay close under the wall of the canyon, and here through the dense thickets Venters made his slow, listening advance toward the oval. Upon gaining the wide opening he decided to cross it and follow the left wall till he came to the cattle trail. He scanned the oval as keenly as if hunting for antelope. Then, stooping, he stole from one cover to another, taking advantage of rocks and bunches of sage, until he had reached the thickets under the opposite wall. Once there, he exercised extreme caution in his surveys of the ground ahead, but increased his speed when moving. Dodging from bush to bush, he passed the mouths of two canyons, and in the entrance of a third canyon he crossed a wash of swift clear water, to come abruptly upon the cattle trail.\n\nIt followed the low bank of the wash, and, keeping it in sight, Venters hugged the line of sage and thicket. Like the curves of a serpent the canyon wound for a mile or more and then opened into a valley. Patches of red showed clear against the purple of sage, and farther out on the level dotted strings of red led away to the wall of rock.",
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"value": "\"Ha, the red herd!\" exclaimed Venters.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "Then dots of white and black told him there were cattle of other colors in this inclosed valley.",
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"value": "Just for the next message: aim for 8% quoted content",
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"value": "Oldring, the rustler, was also a rancher. Venters's calculating eye took count of stock that outnumbered the red herd.\n\n\"What a range!\" went on Venters. \"Water and grass enough for fifty thousand head, and no riders needed!\"\n\nAfter his first burst of surprise and rapid calculation Venters lost no time there, but slunk again into the sage on his back trail. With the discovery of Oldring's hidden cattle-range had come enlightenment on several problems. Here the rustler kept his stock, here was Jane Withersteen's red herd; here were the few cattle that had disappeared from the Cottonwoods slopes during the last two years. Until Oldring had driven the red herd his thefts of cattle for that time had not been more than enough to supply meat for his men. Of late no drives had been reported from Sterling or the villages north. And Venters knew that the riders had wondered at Oldring's inactivity in that particular field. He and his band had been active enough in their visits to Glaze and Cottonwoods; they always had gold; but of late the amount gambled away and drunk and thrown away in the villages had given rise to much conjecture. Oldring's more frequent visits had resulted in new saloons, and where there had formerly been one raid or shooting fray in the little hamlets there were now many. Perhaps Oldring had another range farther on up the pass, and from there drove the cattle to distant Utah towns where he was little known But Venters came finally to doubt this. And, from what he had learned in the last few days, a belief began to form in Venters's mind that Oldring's intimidations of the villages and the mystery of the Masked Rider, with his alleged evil deeds, and the fierce resistance offered any trailing riders, and the rustling of cattle—these things were only the craft of the rustler-chief to conceal his real life and purpose and work in Deception Pass.\n\nAnd like a scouting Indian Venters crawled through the sage of the oval valley, crossed trail after trail on the north side, and at last entered the canyon out of which headed the cattle trail, and into which he had watched the rustlers disappear.\n\nIf he had used caution before, now he strained every nerve to force himself to creeping stealth and to sensitiveness of ear. He crawled along so hidden that he could not use his eyes except to aid himself in the toilsome progress through the brakes and ruins of cliff-wall. Yet from time to time, as he rested, he saw the massive red walls growing higher and wilder, more looming and broken. He made note of the fact that he was turning and climbing. The sage and thickets of oak and brakes of alder gave place to pinyon pine growing out of rocky soil. Suddenly a low, dull murmur assailed his ears. At first he thought it was thunder, then the slipping of a weathered slope of rock. But it was incessant, and as he progressed it filled out deeper and from a murmur changed into a soft roar.\n\n\"Falling water,\" he said. \"There's volume to that. I wonder if it's the stream I lost.\"\n\nThe roar bothered him, for he could hear nothing else. Likewise, however, no rustlers could hear him. Emboldened by this and sure that nothing but a bird could see him, he arose from his hands and knees to hurry on. An opening in the pinyons warned him that he was nearing the height of slope.\n\nHe gained it, and dropped low with a burst of astonishment. Before him stretched a short canyon with rounded stone floor bare of grass or sage or tree, and with curved, shelving walls. A broad rippling stream flowed toward him, and at the back of the canyon waterfall burst from a wide rent in the cliff, and, bounding down in two green steps, spread into a long white sheet.\n\nIf Venters had not been indubitably certain that he had entered the right canyon his astonishment would not have been so great. There had been no breaks in the walls, no side canyons entering this one where the rustlers' tracks and the cattle trail had guided him, and, therefore, he could not be wrong. But here the canyon ended, and presumably the trails also.\n\n\"That cattle trail headed out of here,\" Venters kept saying to himself. \"It headed out. Now what I want to know is how on earth did cattle ever get in here?\"\n\nIf he could be sure of anything it was of the careful scrutiny he had given that cattle track, every hoofmark of which headed straight west. He was now looking east at an immense round boxed corner of canyon down which tumbled a thin, white veil of water, scarcely twenty yards wide. Somehow, somewhere, his calculations had gone wrong. For the first time in years he found himself doubting his rider's skill in finding tracks, and his memory of what he had actually seen. In his anxiety to keep under cover he must have lost himself in this offshoot of Deception Pass, and thereby in some unaccountable manner, missed the canyon with the trails. There was nothing else for him to think. Rustlers could not fly, nor cattle jump down thousand-foot precipices. He was only proving what the sage-riders had long said of this labyrinthine system of deceitful canyons and valleys—trails led down into Deception Pass, but no rider had ever followed them.\n\nOn a sudden he heard above the soft roar of the waterfall an unusual sound that he could not define. He dropped flat behind a stone and listened. From the direction he had come swelled something that resembled a strange muffled pounding and splashing and ringing. Despite his nerve the chill sweat began to dampen his forehead. What might not be possible in this stonewalled maze of mystery? The unnatural sound passed beyond him as he lay gripping his rifle and fighting for coolness. Then from the open came the sound, now distinct and different. Venters recognized a hobble-bell of a horse, and the cracking of iron on submerged stones, and the hollow splash of hoofs in water.\n\nRelief surged over him. His mind caught again at realities, and curiosity prompted him to peep from behind the rock.\n\nIn the middle of the stream waded a long string of packed burros driven by three superbly mounted men. Had Venters met these dark-clothed, dark-visaged, heavily armed men anywhere in Utah, let alone in this robbers' retreat, he would have recognized them as rustlers. The discerning eye of a rider saw the signs of a long, arduous trip. These men were packing in supplies from one of the northern villages. They were tired, and their horses were almost played out, and the burros plodded on, after the manner of their kind when exhausted, faithful and patient, but as if every weary, splashing, slipping step would be their last.\n\nAll this Venters noted in one glance. After that he watched with a thrilling eagerness. Straight at the waterfall the rustlers drove the burros, and straight through the middle, where the water spread into a fleecy, thin film like dissolving smoke. Following closely, the rustlers rode into this white mist, showing in bold black relief for an instant, and then they vanished.\n\nVenters drew a full breath that rushed out in brief and sudden utterance.\n\n\"Good Heaven! Of all the holes for a rustler!... There's a cavern under that waterfall, and a passageway leading out to a canyon beyond. Oldring hides in there. He needs only to guard a trail leading down from the sage-flat above. Little danger of this outlet to the pass being discovered. I stumbled on it by luck, after I had given up. And now I know the truth of what puzzled me most—why that cattle trail was wet!\"\n\nHe wheeled and ran down the slope, and out to the level of the sage-brush. Returning, he had no time to spare, only now and then, between dashes, a moment when he stopped to cast sharp eyes ahead. The abundant grass left no trace of his trail. Short work he made of the distance to the circle of canyons. He doubted that he would ever see it again; he knew he never wanted to; yet he looked at the red corners and towers with the eyes of a rider picturing landmarks never to be forgotten.\n\nHere he spent a panting moment in a slow-circling gaze of the sage-oval and the gaps between the bluffs. Nothing stirred except the gentle wave of the tips of the brush. Then he pressed on past the mouths of several canyons and over ground new to him, now close under the eastern wall. This latter part proved to be easy traveling, well screened from possible observation from the north and west, and he soon covered it and felt safer in the deepening shade of his own canyon. Then the huge, notched bulge of red rim loomed over him, a mark by which he knew again the deep cove where his camp lay hidden. As he penetrated the thicket, safe again for the present, his thoughts reverted to the girl he had left there. The afternoon had far advanced. How would he find her? He ran into camp, frightening the dogs.\n\nThe girl lay with wide-open, dark eyes, and they dilated when he knelt beside her. The flush of fever shone in her cheeks.",
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"value": "He lifted her and held water to her dry lips, and felt an inexplicable sense of lightness as he saw her swallow in a slow, choking gulp.",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 9 sentences.",
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"value": "Gently he laid her back.\n\n\"Who—are—you?\" she whispered, haltingly.\n\n\"I'm the man who shot you,\" he replied.\n\n\"You'll—not—kill me—now?\"\n\n\"No, no.\"\n\n\"What—will—you—do—with me?\"\n\n\"When you get better—strong enough—I'll take you back to the canyon where the rustlers ride through the waterfall.\"\n\nAs with a faint shadow from a flitting wing overhead, the marble whiteness of her face seemed to change.\n\n\"Don't—take—me—back—there!\"",
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"value": "The user will write a bit then you need to write around 64 sentences continuing directly from the user's text. Characters and story elements may appear without introduction - roll with them naturally. Try to mimic the style of Zane Grey.",
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"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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"value": "OOC - Just for the next scene, use moderate dialogue",
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"value": "Chapter VI. The Mill-Wheel of Steers\n\nMeantime, at the ranch, when Judkins's news had sent Venters on the trail of the rustlers, Jane Withersteen led the injured man to her house and with skilled fingers dressed the gunshot wound in his arm.\n\n\"Judkins, what do you think happened to my riders?\"\n\n\"I—I d rather not say,\" he replied.\n\n\"Tell me. Whatever you'll tell me I'll keep to myself. I'm beginning to worry about more than the loss of a herd of cattle. Venters hinted of—but tell me, Judkins.\"\n\n\"Well, Miss Withersteen, I think as Venters thinks—your riders have been called in.\"\n\n\"Judkins!... By whom?\"\n\n\"You know who handles the reins of your Mormon riders.\"\n\n\"Do you dare insinuate that my churchmen have ordered in my riders?\"\n\n\"I ain't insinuatin' nothin', Miss Withersteen,\" answered Judkins, with spirit. \"I know what I'm talking about. I didn't want to tell you.\"\n\n\"Oh, I can't believe that! I'll not believe it! Would Tull leave my herds at the mercy of rustlers and wolves just because—because—? No, no! It's unbelievable.\"\n\n\"Yes, thet particular thing's onheard of around Cottonwoods But, beggin' pardon, Miss Withersteen, there never was any other rich Mormon woman here on the border, let alone one thet's taken the bit between her teeth.\"\n\nThat was a bold thing for the reserved Judkins to say, but it did not anger her. This rider's crude hint of her spirit gave her a glimpse of what others might think. Humility and obedience had been hers always. But had she taken the bit between her teeth? Still she wavered. And then, with quick spurt of warm blood along her veins, she thought of Black Star when he got the bit fast between his iron jaws and ran wild in the sage. If she ever started to run! Jane smothered the glow and burn within her, ashamed of a passion for freedom that opposed her duty.\n\n\"Judkins, go to the village,\" she said, \"and when you have learned anything definite about my riders please come to me at once.\"\n\nWhen he had gone Jane resolutely applied her mind to a number of tasks that of late had been neglected. Her father had trained her in the management of a hundred employees and the working of gardens and fields; and to keep record of the movements of cattle and riders. And beside the many duties she had added to this work was one of extreme delicacy, such as required all her tact and ingenuity. It was an unobtrusive, almost secret aid which she rendered to the Gentile families of the village. Though Jane Withersteen never admitted so to herself, it amounted to no less than a system of charity. But for her invention of numberless kinds of employment, for which there was no actual need, these families of Gentiles, who had failed in a Mormon community, would have starved.\n\nIn aiding these poor people Jane thought she deceived her keen churchmen, but it was a kind of deceit for which she did not pray to be forgiven. Equally as difficult was the task of deceiving the Gentiles, for they were as proud as they were poor. It had been a great grief to her to discover how these people hated her people; and it had been a source of great joy that through her they had come to soften in hatred. At any time this work called for a clearness of mind that precluded anxiety and worry; but under the present circumstances it required all her vigor and obstinate tenacity to pin her attention upon her task.\n\nSunset came, bringing with the end of her labor a patient calmness and power to wait that had not been hers earlier in the day. She expected Judkins, but he did not appear. Her house was always quiet; to-night, however, it seemed unusually so. At supper her women served her with a silent assiduity; it spoke what their sealed lips could not utter—the sympathy of Mormon women. Jerd came to her with the key of the great door of the stone stable, and to make his daily report about the horses. One of his daily duties was to give Black Star and Night and the other racers a ten-mile run. This day it had been omitted, and the boy grew confused in explanations that she had not asked for. She did inquire if he would return on the morrow, and Jerd, in mingled surprise and relief, assured her he would always work for her. Jane missed the rattle and trot, canter and gallop of the incoming riders on the hard trails. Dusk shaded the grove where she walked; the birds ceased singing; the wind sighed through the leaves of the cottonwoods, and the running water murmured down its stone-bedded channel. The glimmering of the first star was like the peace and beauty of the night. Her faith welled up in her heart and said that all would soon be right in her little world. She pictured Venters about his lonely camp-fire sitting between his faithful dogs. She prayed for his safety, for the success of his undertaking.\n\nEarly the next morning one of Jane's women brought in word that Judkins wished to speak to her. She hurried out, and in her surprise to see him armed with rifle and revolver, she forgot her intention to inquire about his wound.\n\n\"Judkins! Those guns? You never carried guns.\"\n\n\"It's high time, Miss Withersteen,\" he replied. \"Will you come into the grove? It ain't jest exactly safe for me to be seen here.\"\n\nShe walked with him into the shade of the cottonwoods.\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Miss Withersteen, I went to my mother's house last night. While there, some one knocked, an' a man asked for me. I went to the door. He wore a mask. He said I'd better not ride any more for Jane Withersteen. His voice was hoarse an' strange, disguised I reckon, like his face. He said no more, an' ran off in the dark.\"\n\n\"Did you know who he was?\" asked Jane, in a low voice.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nJane did not ask to know; she did not want to know; she feared to know. All her calmness fled at a single thought.\n\n\"Thet's why I'm packin' guns,\" went on Judkins. \"For I'll never quit ridin' for you, Miss Withersteen, till you let me go.\"\n\n\"Judkins, do you want to leave me?\"\n\n\"Do I look thet way? Give me a hoss—a fast hoss, an' send me out on the sage.\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you, Judkins! You're more faithful than my own people. I ought not accept your loyalty—you might suffer more through it. But what in the world can I do? My head whirls. The wrong to Venters—the stolen herd—these masks, threats, this coil in the dark! I can't understand! But I feel something dark and terrible closing in around me.\"\n\n\"Miss Withersteen, it's all simple enough,\" said Judkins, earnestly.",
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"value": "\"Now please listen—an' beggin' your pardon—jest turn thet deaf Mormon ear aside, an' let me talk clear an' plain in the other. I went around to the saloons an' the stores an' the loafin' places yesterday. All your riders are in. There's talk of a vigilance band organized to hunt down rustlers. They call themselves 'The Riders.' Thet's the report—thet's the reason given for your riders leavin' you. Strange thet only a few riders of other ranchers joined the band! An' Tull's man, Jerry Card—he's the leader. I seen him en' his hoss. He 'ain't been to Glaze. I'm not easy to fool on the looks of a hoss thet's traveled the sage. Tull an' Jerry didn't ride to Glaze!... Well, I met Blake en' Dorn, both good friends of mine, usually, as far as their Mormon lights will let 'em go. But these fellers couldn't fool me, an' they didn't try very hard. I asked them, straight out like a man, why they left you like thet. I didn't forget to mention how you nursed Blake's poor old mother when she was sick, an' how good you was to Dorn's kids. They looked ashamed, Miss Withersteen. An' they jest froze up—thet dark set look thet makes them strange an' different to me. But I could tell the difference between thet first natural twinge of conscience an' the later look of some secret thing. An' the difference I caught was thet they couldn't help themselves. They hadn't no say in the matter. They looked as if their bein' unfaithful to you was bein' faithful to a higher duty. An' there's the secret. Why it's as plain as—as sight of my gun here.\"",
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"value": "\"Plain!... My herds to wander in the sage—to be stolen! Jane Withersteen a poor woman! Her head to be brought low and her spirit broken!... Why, Judkins, it's plain enough.\"\n\n\"Miss Withersteen, let me get what boys I can gather, an' hold the white herd. It's on the slope now, not ten miles out—three thousand head, an' all steers. They're wild, an' likely to stampede at the pop of a jack-rabbit's ears. We'll camp right with them, en' try to hold them.\"\n\n\"Judkins, I'll reward you some day for your service, unless all is taken from me. Get the boys and tell Jerd to give you pick of my horses, except Black Star and Night. But—do not shed blood for my cattle nor heedlessly risk your lives.\"\n\nJane Withersteen rushed to the silence and seclusion of her room, and there could not longer hold back the bursting of her wrath. She went stone-blind in the fury of a passion that had never before showed its power. Lying upon her bed, sightless, voiceless, she was a writhing, living flame. And she tossed there while her fury burned and burned, and finally burned itself out.\n\nThen, weak and spent, she lay thinking, not of the oppression that would break her, but of this new revelation of self. Until the last few days there had been little in her life to rouse passions. Her forefathers had been Vikings, savage chieftains who bore no cross and brooked no hindrance to their will. Her father had inherited that temper; and at times, like antelope fleeing before fire on the slope, his people fled from his red rages. Jane Withersteen realized that the spirit of wrath and war had lain dormant in her. She shrank from black depths hitherto unsuspected. The one thing in man or woman that she scorned above all scorn, and which she could not forgive, was hate. Hate headed a flaming pathway straight to hell. All in a flash, beyond her control there had been in her a birth of fiery hate. And the man who had dragged her peaceful and loving spirit to this degradation was a minister of God's word, an Elder of her church, the counselor of her beloved Bishop.\n\nThe loss of herds and ranges, even of Amber Spring and the Old Stone House, no longer concerned Jane Withersteen, she faced the foremost thought of her life, what she now considered the mightiest problem—the salvation of her soul.\n\nShe knelt by her bedside and prayed; she prayed as she had never prayed in all her life—prayed to be forgiven for her sin to be immune from that dark, hot hate; to love Tull as her minister, though she could not love him as a man; to do her duty by her church and people and those dependent upon her bounty; to hold reverence of God and womanhood inviolate.\n\nWhen Jane Withersteen rose from that storm of wrath and prayer for help she was serene, calm, sure—a changed woman. She would do her duty as she saw it, live her life as her own truth guided her. She might never be able to marry a man of her choice, but she certainly never would become the wife of Tull. Her churchmen might take her cattle and horses, ranges and fields, her corrals and stables, the house of Withersteen and the water that nourished the village of Cottonwoods; but they could not force her to marry Tull, they could not change her decision or break her spirit. Once resigned to further loss, and sure of herself, Jane Withersteen attained a peace of mind that had not been hers for a year. She forgave Tull, and felt a melancholy regret over what she knew he considered duty, irrespective of his personal feeling for her. First of all, Tull, as he was a man, wanted her for himself; and secondly, he hoped to save her and her riches for his church. She did not believe that Tull had been actuated solely by his minister's zeal to save her soul. She doubted her interpretation of one of his dark sayings—that if she were lost to him she might as well be lost to heaven. Jane Withersteen's common sense took arms against the binding limits of her religion; and she doubted that her Bishop, whom she had been taught had direct communication with God—would damn her soul for refusing to marry a Mormon. As for Tull and his churchmen, when they had harassed her, perhaps made her poor, they would find her unchangeable, and then she would get back most of what she had lost. So she reasoned, true at last to her faith in all men, and in their ultimate goodness.\n\nThe clank of iron hoofs upon the stone courtyard drew her hurriedly from her retirement. There, beside his horse, stood Lassiter, his dark apparel and the great black gun-sheaths contrasting singularly with his gentle smile. Jane's active mind took up her interest in him and her half-determined desire to use what charm she had to foil his evident design in visiting Cottonwoods. If she could mitigate his hatred of Mormons, or at least keep him from killing more of them, not only would she be saving her people, but also be leading back this bloodspiller to some semblance of the human.\n\n\"Mornin', ma'am,\" he said, black sombrero in hand.\n\n\"Lassiter I'm not an old woman, or even a madam,\" she replied, with her bright smile. \"If you can't say Miss Withersteen—call me Jane.\"\n\n\"I reckon Jane would be easier. First names are always handy for me.\"\n\n\"Well, use mine, then. Lassiter, I'm glad to see you. I'm in trouble.\"\n\nThen she told him of Judkins's return, of the driving of the red herd, of Venters's departure on Wrangle, and the calling-in of her riders.\n\n\"'Pears to me you're some smilin' an' pretty for a woman with so much trouble,\" he remarked.\n\n\"Lassiter! Are you paying me compliments? But, seriously I've made up my mind not to be miserable. I've lost much, and I'll lose more. Nevertheless, I won't be sour, and I hope I'll never be unhappy—again.\"\n\nLassiter twisted his hat round and round, as was his way, and took his time in replying.\n\n\"Women are strange to me. I got to back-trailin' myself from them long ago. But I'd like a game woman. Might I ask, seein' as how you take this trouble, if you're goin' to fight?\"\n\n\"Fight! How? Even if I would, I haven't a friend except that boy who doesn't dare stay in the village.\"\n\n\"I make bold to say, ma'am—Jane—that there's another, if you want him.\"\n\n\"Lassiter!... Thank you. But how can I accept you as a friend? Think! Why, you'd ride down into the village with those terrible guns and kill my enemies—who are also my churchmen.\"\n\n\"I reckon I might be riled up to jest about that,\" he replied, dryly.\n\nShe held out both hands to him.\n\n\"Lassiter! I'll accept your friendship—be proud of it—return it—if I may keep you from killing another Mormon.\"\n\n\"I'll tell you one thing,\" he said, bluntly, as the gray lightning formed in his eyes. \"You're too good a woman to be sacrificed as you're goin' to be... No, I reckon you an' me can't be friends on such terms.\"\n\nIn her earnestness she stepped closer to him, repelled yet fascinated by the sudden transition of his moods. That he would fight for her was at once horrible and wonderful.\n\n\"You came here to kill a man—the man whom Milly Erne—\"\n\n\"The man who dragged Milly Erne to hell—put it that way!... Jane Withersteen, yes, that's why I came here. I'd tell so much to no other livin' soul... There're things such a woman as you'd never dream of—so don't mention her again. Not till you tell me the name of the man!\"\n\n\"Tell you! I? Never!\"\n\n\"I reckon you will. An' I'll never ask you. I'm a man of strange beliefs an' ways of thinkin', an' I seem to see into the future an' feel things hard to explain. The trail I've been followin' for so many years was twisted en' tangled, but it's straightenin' out now. An', Jane Withersteen, you crossed it long ago to ease poor Milly's agony. That, whether you want or not, makes Lassiter your friend. But you cross it now strangely to mean somethin to me—God knows what!—unless by your noble blindness to incite me to greater hatred of Mormon men.\"\n\nJane felt swayed by a strength that far exceeded her own. In a clash of wills with this man she would go to the wall. If she were to influence him it must be wholly through womanly allurement. There was that about Lassiter which commanded her respect. She had abhorred his name; face to face with him, she found she feared only his deeds.",
"loss": true
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"value": "His mystic suggestion, his foreshadowing of something that she was to mean to him, pierced deep into her mind. She believed fate had thrown in her way the lover or husband of Milly Erne. She believed that through her an evil man might be reclaimed. His allusion to what he called her blindness terrified her. Such a mistaken idea of his might unleash the bitter, fatal mood she sensed in him. At any cost she must placate this man; she knew the die was cast, and that if Lassiter did not soften to a woman's grace and beauty and wiles, then it would be because she could not make him.\n\n\"I reckon you'll hear no more such talk from me,\" Lassiter went on, presently. \"Now, Miss Jane, I rode in to tell you that your herd of white steers is down on the slope behind them big ridges. An' I seen somethin' goin' on that'd be mighty interestin' to you, if you could see it. Have you a field-glass?\"\n\n\"Yes, I have two glasses. I'll get them and ride out with you. Wait, Lassiter, please,\" she said, and hurried within. Sending word to Jerd to saddle Black Star and fetch him to the court, she then went to her room and changed to the riding-clothes she always donned when going into the sage. In this male attire her mirror showed her a jaunty, handsome rider. If she expected some little need of admiration from Lassiter, she had no cause for disappointment. The gentle smile that she liked, which made of him another person, slowly overspread his face.\n\n\"If I didn't take you for a boy!\" he exclaimed. \"It's powerful queer what difference clothes make. Now I've been some scared of your dignity, like when the other night you was all in white but in this rig—\"\n\nBlack Star came pounding into the court, dragging Jerd half off his feet, and he whistled at Lassiter's black. But at sight of Jane all his defiant lines seemed to soften, and with tosses of his beautiful head he whipped his bridle.\n\n\"Down, Black Star, down,\" said Jane.\n\nHe dropped his head, and, slowly lengthening, he bent one foreleg, then the other, and sank to his knees. Jane slipped her left foot in the stirrup, swung lightly into the saddle, and Black Star rose with a ringing stamp. It was not easy for Jane to hold him to a canter through the grove, and like the wind he broke when he saw the sage. Jane let him have a couple of miles of free running on the open trail, and then she coaxed him in and waited for her companion. Lassiter was not long in catching up, and presently they were riding side by side. It reminded her how she used to ride with Venters. Where was he now? She gazed far down the slope to the curved purple lines of Deception Pass and involuntarily shut her eyes with a trembling stir of nameless fear.\n\n\"We'll turn off here,\" Lassiter said, \"en' take to the sage a mile or so. The white herd is behind them big ridges.\"\n\n\"What are you going to show me?\" asked Jane. \"I'm prepared—don't be afraid.\"\n\nHe smiled as if he meant that bad news came swiftly enough without being presaged by speech.\n\nWhen they reached the lee of a rolling ridge Lassiter dismounted, motioning to her to do likewise. They left the horses standing, bridles down. Then Lassiter, carrying the field-glasses began to lead the way up the slow rise of ground. Upon nearing the summit he halted her with a gesture.\n\n\"I reckon we'd see more if we didn't show ourselves against the sky,\" he said. \"I was here less than an hour ago. Then the herd was seven or eight miles south, an' if they ain't bolted yet—\"\n\n\"Lassiter!... Bolted?\"\n\n\"That's what I said. Now let's see.\"\n\nJane climbed a few more paces behind him and then peeped over the ridge. Just beyond began a shallow swale that deepened and widened into a valley and then swung to the left. Following the undulating sweep of sage, Jane saw the straggling lines and then the great body of the white herd. She knew enough about steers, even at a distance of four or five miles, to realize that something was in the wind. Bringing her field-glass into use, she moved it slowly from left to right, which action swept the whole herd into range. The stragglers were restless; the more compactly massed steers were browsing. Jane brought the glass back to the big sentinels of the herd, and she saw them trot with quick steps, stop short and toss wide horns, look everywhere, and then trot in another direction.\n\n\"Judkins hasn't been able to get his boys together yet,\" said Jane. \"But he'll be there soon. I hope not too late. Lassiter, what's frightening those big leaders?\"\n\n\"Nothin' jest on the minute,\" replied Lassiter. \"Them steers are quietin' down. They've been scared, but not bad yet. I reckon the whole herd has moved a few miles this way since I was here.\"\n\n\"They didn't browse that distance—not in less than an hour. Cattle aren't sheep.\"\n\n\"No, they jest run it, en' that looks bad.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, what frightened them?\" repeated Jane, impatiently.\n\n\"Put down your glass. You'll see at first better with a naked eye. Now look along them ridges on the other side of the herd, the ridges where the sun shines bright on the sage... That's right. Now look en' look hard en' wait.\"\n\nLong-drawn moments of straining sight rewarded Jane with nothing save the low, purple rim of ridge and the shimmering sage.\n\n\"It's begun again!\" whispered Lassiter, and he gripped her arm. \"Watch... There, did you see that?\"\n\n\"No, no. Tell me what to look for?\"\n\n\"A white flash—a kind of pin-point of quick light—a gleam as from sun shinin' on somethin' white.\"\n\nSuddenly Jane's concentrated gaze caught a fleeting glint. Quickly she brought her glass to bear on the spot. Again the purple sage, magnified in color and size and wave, for long moments irritated her with its monotony. Then from out of the sage on the ridge flew up a broad, white object, flashed in the sunlight and vanished. Like magic it was, and bewildered Jane.\n\n\"What on earth is that?\"",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"I reckon there's some one behind that ridge throwin' up a sheet or a white blanket to reflect the sunshine.\"",
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"value": "\"Why?\" queried Jane, more bewildered than ever.\n\n\"To stampede the herd,\" replied Lassiter, and his teeth clicked.\n\n\"Ah!\" She made a fierce, passionate movement, clutched the glass tightly, shook as with the passing of a spasm, and then dropped her head. Presently she raised it to greet Lassiter with something like a smile. \"My righteous brethren are at work again,\" she said, in scorn. She had stifled the leap of her wrath, but for perhaps the first time in her life a bitter derision curled her lips. Lassiter's cool gray eyes seemed to pierce her. \"I said I was prepared for anything; but that was hardly true. But why would they—anybody stampede my cattle?\"\n\n\"That's a Mormon's godly way of bringin' a woman to her knees.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, I'll die before I ever bend my knees. I might be led I won't be driven. Do you expect the herd to bolt?\"\n\n\"I don't like the looks of them big steers. But you can never tell. Cattle sometimes stampede as easily as buffalo. Any little flash or move will start them. A rider gettin' down an' walkin' toward them sometimes will make them jump an' fly. Then again nothin' seems to scare them. But I reckon that white flare will do the biz. It's a new one on me, an' I've seen some ridin' an' rustlin'. It jest takes one of them God-fearin' Mormons to think of devilish tricks.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, might not this trick be done by Oldring's men?\" asked Jane, ever grasping at straws.\n\n\"It might be, but it ain't,\" replied Lassiter. \"Oldring's an honest thief. He don't skulk behind ridges to scatter your cattle to the four winds. He rides down on you, an' if you don't like it you can throw a gun.\"\n\nJane bit her tongue to refrain from championing men who at the very moment were proving to her that they were little and mean compared even with rustlers.\n\n\"Look!... Jane, them leadin' steers have bolted. They're drawin' the stragglers, an' that'll pull the whole herd.\"\n\nJane was not quick enough to catch the details called out by Lassiter, but she saw the line of cattle lengthening. Then, like a stream of white bees pouring from a huge swarm, the steers stretched out from the main body. In a few moments, with astonishing rapidity, the whole herd got into motion. A faint roar of trampling hoofs came to Jane's ears, and gradually swelled; low, rolling clouds of dust began to rise above the sage.\n\n\"It's a stampede, an' a hummer,\" said Lassiter.\n\n\"Oh, Lassiter! The herd's running with the valley! It leads into the canyon! There's a straight jump-off!\"\n\n\"I reckon they'll run into it, too. But that's a good many miles yet. An', Jane, this valley swings round almost north before it goes east. That stampede will pass within a mile of us.\"\n\nThe long, white, bobbing line of steers streaked swiftly through the sage, and a funnel-shaped dust-cloud arose at a low angle. A dull rumbling filled Jane's ears.\n\n\"I'm thinkin' of millin' that herd,\" said Lassiter. His gray glance swept up the slope to the west. \"There's some specks an' dust way off toward the village. Mebbe that's Judkins an' his boys. It ain't likely he'll get here in time to help. You'd better hold Black Star here on this high ridge.\"\n\nHe ran to his horse and, throwing off saddle-bags and tightening the cinches, he leaped astride and galloped straight down across the valley.\n\nJane went for Black Star and, leading him to the summit of the ridge, she mounted and faced the valley with excitement and expectancy. She had heard of milling stampeded cattle, and knew it was a feat accomplished by only the most daring riders.\n\nThe white herd was now strung out in a line two miles long. The dull rumble of thousands of hoofs deepened into continuous low thunder, and as the steers swept swiftly closer the thunder became a heavy roll. Lassiter crossed in a few moments the level of the valley to the eastern rise of ground and there waited the coming of the herd. Presently, as the head of the white line reached a point opposite to where Jane stood, Lassiter spurred his black into a run.\n\nJane saw him take a position on the off side of the leaders of the stampede, and there he rode. It was like a race. They swept on down the valley, and when the end of the white line neared Lassiter's first stand the head had begun to swing round to the west. It swung slowly and stubbornly, yet surely, and gradually assumed a long, beautiful curve of moving white. To Jane's amaze she saw the leaders swinging, turning till they headed back toward her and up the valley. Out to the right of these wild plunging steers ran Lassiter's black, and Jane's keen eye appreciated the fleet stride and sure-footedness of the blind horse. Then it seemed that the herd moved in a great curve, a huge half-moon with the points of head and tail almost opposite, and a mile apart But Lassiter relentlessly crowded the leaders, sheering them to the left, turning them little by little. And the dust-blinded wild followers plunged on madly in the tracks of their leaders. This ever-moving, ever-changing curve of steers rolled toward Jane and when below her, scarce half a mile, it began to narrow and close into a circle. Lassiter had ridden parallel with her position, turned toward her, then aside, and now he was riding directly away from her, all the time pushing the head of that bobbing line inward.\n\nIt was then that Jane, suddenly understanding Lassiter's feat stared and gasped at the riding of this intrepid man. His horse was fleet and tireless, but blind. He had pushed the leaders around and around till they were about to turn in on the inner side of the end of that line of steers. The leaders were already running in a circle; the end of the herd was still running almost straight. But soon they would be wheeling. Then, when Lassiter had the circle formed, how would he escape? With Jane Withersteen prayer was as ready as praise; and she prayed for this man's safety. A circle of dust began to collect. Dimly, as through a yellow veil, Jane saw Lassiter press the leaders inward to close the gap in the sage. She lost sight of him in the dust, again she thought she saw the black, riderless now, rear and drag himself and fall. Lassiter had been thrown—lost! Then he reappeared running out of the dust into the sage. He had escaped, and she breathed again.\n\nSpellbound, Jane Withersteen watched this stupendous millwheel of steers. Here was the milling of the herd. The white running circle closed in upon the open space of sage. And the dust circles closed above into a pall. The ground quaked and the incessant thunder of pounding hoofs rolled on.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "Jane felt deafened, yet she thrilled to a new sound.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 22 sentences.",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "As the circle of sage lessened the steers began to bawl, and when it closed entirely there came a great upheaval in the center, and a terrible thumping of heads and clicking of horns. Bawling, climbing, goring, the great mass of steers on the inside wrestled in a crashing din, heaved and groaned under the pressure. Then came a deadlock. The inner strife ceased, and the hideous roar and crash. Movement went on in the outer circle, and that, too, gradually stilled. The white herd had come to a stop, and the pall of yellow dust began to drift away on the wind.\n\nJane Withersteen waited on the ridge with full and grateful heart. Lassiter appeared, making his weary way toward her through the sage. And up on the slope Judkins rode into sight with his troop of boys. For the present, at least, the white herd would be looked after.\n\nWhen Lassiter reached her and laid his hand on Black Star's mane, Jane could not find speech.\n\n\"Killed—my—hoss,\" he panted.\n\n\"Oh! I'm sorry,\" cried Jane. \"Lassiter! I know you can't replace him, but I'll give you any one of my racers—Bells, or Night, even Black Star.\"\n\n\"I'll take a fast hoss, Jane, but not one of your favorites,\" he replied. \"Only—will you let me have Black Star now an' ride him over there an' head off them fellers who stampeded the herd?\"\n\nHe pointed to several moving specks of black and puffs of dust in the purple sage.\n\n\"I can head them off with this hoss, an' then—\"\n\n\"Then, Lassiter?\"\n\n\"They'll never stampede no more cattle.\"\n\n\"Oh! No! No!... Lassiter, I won't let you go!\"\n\nBut a flush of fire flamed in her cheeks, and her trembling hands shook Black Star's bridle, and her eyes fell before Lassiter's.",
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[
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"from": "system",
"value": "Today you will be acting as a writing assistant, your partner will send something and you will write the next eleven sentences. The story may reference existing characters and events - incorporate them as presented.",
"loss": null
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{
"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
"loss": null
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "[ooc] Word count directive: Use 'could' exactly 3 times [ooc]",
"loss": false
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Chapter VII. The Daughter of Withersteen\n\n\"Lassiter, will you be my rider?\" Jane had asked him.\n\n\"I reckon so,\" he had replied.\n\nFew as the words were, Jane knew how infinitely much they implied. She wanted him to take charge of her cattle and horse and ranges, and save them if that were possible. Yet, though she could not have spoken aloud all she meant, she was perfectly honest with herself. Whatever the price to be paid, she must keep Lassiter close to her; she must shield from him the man who had led Milly Erne to Cottonwoods. In her fear she so controlled her mind that she did not whisper this Mormon's name to her own soul, she did not even think it. Besides, beyond this thing she regarded as a sacred obligation thrust upon her, was the need of a helper, of a friend, of a champion in this critical time. If she could rule this gun-man, as Venters had called him, if she could even keep him from shedding blood, what strategy to play his flame and his presence against the game of oppression her churchmen were waging against her?",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "Never would she forget the effect on Tull and his men when Venters shouted Lassiter's name.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "system",
"value": "Mandatory inclusion (with quotes): I'll take him, an' I'll take your orders, ma'am.",
"loss": null
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "If she could not wholly control Lassiter, then what she could do might put off the fatal day.\n\nOne of her safe racers was a dark bay, and she called him Bells because of the way he struck his iron shoes on the stones. When Jerd led out this slender, beautifully built horse Lassiter suddenly became all eyes. A rider's love of a thoroughbred shone in them. Round and round Bells he walked, plainly weakening all the time in his determination not to take one of Jane's favorite racers.\n\n\"Lassiter, you're half horse, and Bells sees it already,\" said Jane, laughing. \"Look at his eyes. He likes you. He'll love you, too. How can you resist him? Oh, Lassiter, but Bells can run! It's nip and tuck between him and Wrangle, and only Black Star can beat him. He's too spirited a horse for a woman. Take him. He's yours.\"\n\n\"I jest am weak where a hoss's concerned,\" said Lassiter. \"I'll take him, an' I'll take your orders, ma'am.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm glad, but never mind the ma'am. Let it still be Jane.\"\n\nFrom that hour, it seemed, Lassiter was always in the saddle, riding early and late, and coincident with his part in Jane's affairs the days assumed their old tranquility.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "Her intelligence told her this was only the lull before the storm, but her faith would not have it so.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "She resumed her visits to the village, and upon one of these she encountered Tull. He greeted her as he had before any trouble came between them, and she, responsive to peace if not quick to forget, met him halfway with manner almost cheerful. He regretted the loss of her cattle; he assured her that the vigilantes which had been organized would soon rout the rustlers; when that had been accomplished her riders would likely return to her.\n\n\"You've done a headstrong thing to hire this man Lassiter,\" Tull went on, severely. \"He came to Cottonwoods with evil intent.\"\n\n\"I had to have somebody. And perhaps making him my rider may turn out best in the end for the Mormons of Cottonwoods.\"\n\n\"You mean to stay his hand?\"\n\n\"I do—if I can.\"\n\n\"A woman like you can do anything with a man. That would be well, and would atone in some measure for the errors you have made.\"\n\nHe bowed and passed on. Jane resumed her walk with conflicting thoughts.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "She resented Elder Tull's cold, impassive manner that looked down upon her as one who had incurred his just displeasure.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Otherwise he would have been the same calm, dark-browed, impenetrable man she had known for ten years. In fact, except when he had revealed his passion in the matter of the seizing of Venters, she had never dreamed he could be other than the grave, reproving preacher. He stood out now a strange, secretive man. She would have thought better of him if he had picked up the threads of their quarrel where they had parted. Was Tull what he appeared to be? The question flung itself in-voluntarily over Jane Withersteen's inhibitive habit of faith without question. And she refused to answer it. Tull could not fight in the open. Venters had said, Lassiter had said, that her Elder shirked fight and worked in the dark. Just now in this meeting Tull had ignored the fact that he had sued, exhorted, demanded that she marry him. He made no mention of Venters.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "His manner was that of the minister who had been outraged, but who overlooked the frailties of a woman.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Beyond question he seemed unutterably aloof from all knowledge of pressure being brought to bear upon her, absolutely guiltless of any connection with secret power over riders, with night journeys, with rustlers and stampedes of cattle. And that convinced her again of unjust suspicions. But it was convincement through an obstinate faith. She shuddered as she accepted it, and that shudder was the nucleus of a terrible revolt.\n\nJane turned into one of the wide lanes leading from the main street and entered a huge, shady yard. Here were sweet-smelling clover, alfalfa, flowers, and vegetables, all growing in happy confusion. And like these fresh green things were the dozens of babies, tots, toddlers, noisy urchins, laughing girls, a whole multitude of children of one family. For Collier Brandt, the father of all this numerous progeny, was a Mormon with four wives.\n\nThe big house where they lived was old, solid, picturesque the lower part built of logs, the upper of rough clapboards, with vines growing up the outside stone chimneys. There were many wooden-shuttered windows, and one pretentious window of glass proudly curtained in white. As this house had four mistresses, it likewise had four separate sections, not one of which communicated with another, and all had to be entered from the outside.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "In the shade of a wide, low, vine-roofed porch Jane found Brandt's wives entertaining Bishop Dyer.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "They were motherly women, of comparatively similar ages, and plain-featured, and just at this moment anything but grave. The Bishop was rather tall, of stout build, with iron-gray hair and beard, and eyes of light blue. They were merry now; but Jane had seen them when they were not, and then she feared him as she had feared her father.\n\nThe women flocked around her in welcome.\n\n\"Daughter of Withersteen,\" said the Bishop, gaily, as he took her hand, \"you have not been prodigal of your gracious self of late. A Sabbath without you at service! I shall reprove Elder Tull.\"\n\n\"Bishop, the guilt is mine. I'll come to you and confess,\" Jane replied, lightly; but she felt the undercurrent of her words.\n\n\"Mormon love-making!\" exclaimed the Bishop, rubbing his hands. \"Tull keeps you all to himself.\"\n\n\"No. He is not courting me.\"\n\n\"What? The laggard! If he does not make haste I'll go a-courting myself up to Withersteen House.\"\n\nThere was laughter and further bantering by the Bishop, and then mild talk of village affairs, after which he took his leave, and Jane was left with her friend, Mary Brandt.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Jane, you're not yourself. Are you sad about the rustling of the cattle? But you have so many, you are so rich.\"",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Then Jane confided in her, telling much, yet holding back her doubts of fear.\n\n\"Oh, why don't you marry Tull and be one of us?\n\n\"But, Mary, I don't love Tull,\" said Jane, stubbornly.\n\n\"I don't blame you for that. But, Jane Withersteen, you've got to choose between the love of man and love of God. Often we Mormon women have to do that. It's not easy. The kind of happiness you want I wanted once. I never got it, nor will you, unless you throw away your soul. We've all watched your affair with Venters in fear and trembling. Some dreadful thing will come of it. You don't want him hanged or shot—or treated worse, as that Gentile boy was treated in Glaze for fooling round a Mormon woman. Marry Tull. It's your duty as a Mormon. You'll feel no rapture as his wife—but think of Heaven! Mormon women don't marry for what they expect on earth. Take up the cross, Jane. Remember your father found Amber Spring, built these old houses, brought Mormons here, and fathered them. You are the daughter of Withersteen!\"\n\nJane left Mary Brandt and went to call upon other friends. They received her with the same glad welcome as had Mary, lavished upon her the pent-up affection of Mormon women, and let her go with her ears ringing of Tull, Venters, Lassiter, of duty to God and glory in Heaven.\n\n\"Verily,\" murmured Jane, \"I don't know myself when, through all this, I remain unchanged—nay, more fixed of purpose.\"\n\nShe returned to the main street and bent her thoughtful steps toward the center of the village. A string of wagons drawn by oxen was lumbering along. These \"sage-freighters,\" as they were called, hauled grain and flour and merchandise from Sterling, and Jane laughed suddenly in the midst of her humility at the thought that they were her property, as was one of the three stores for which they freighted goods. The water that flowed along the path at her feet, and turned into each cottage-yard to nourish garden and orchard, also was hers, no less her private property because she chose to give it free.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Yet in this village of Cottonwoods, which her father had founded and which she maintained she was not her own mistress; she was not able to abide by her own choice of a husband.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "She was the daughter of Withersteen. Suppose she proved it, imperiously! But she quelled that proud temptation at its birth.\n\nNothing could have replaced the affection which the village people had for her; no power could have made her happy as the pleasure her presence gave. As she went on down the street past the stores with their rude platform entrances, and the saloons where tired horses stood with bridles dragging, she was again assured of what was the bread and wine of life to her—that she was loved. Dirty boys playing in the ditch, clerks, teamsters, riders, loungers on the corners, ranchers on dusty horses, little girls running errands, and women hurrying to the stores all looked up at her coming with glad eyes.\n\nJane's various calls and wandering steps at length led her to the Gentile quarter of the village. This was at the extreme southern end, and here some thirty Gentile families lived in huts and shacks and log-cabins and several dilapidated cottages. The fortunes of these inhabitants of Cottonwoods could be read in their abodes. Water they had in abundance, and therefore grass and fruit-trees and patches of alfalfa and vegetable gardens. Some of the men and boys had a few stray cattle, others obtained such intermittent employment as the Mormons reluctantly tendered them.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "But none of the families was prosperous, many were very poor, and some lived only by Jane Withersteen's beneficence.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "As it made Jane happy to go among her own people, so it saddened her to come in contact with these Gentiles. Yet that was not because she was unwelcome; here she was gratefully received by the women, passionately by the children. But poverty and idleness, with their attendant wretchedness and sorrow, always hurt her. That she could alleviate this distress more now than ever before proved the adage that it was an ill wind that blew nobody good. While her Mormon riders were in her employ she had found few Gentiles who would stay with her, and now she was able to find employment for all the men and boys. No little shock was it to have man after man tell her that he dare not accept her kind offer.\n\n\"It won't do,\" said one Carson, an intelligent man who had seen better days. \"We've had our warning. Plain and to the point! Now there's Judkins, he packs guns, and he can use them, and so can the daredevil boys he's hired. But they've little responsibility. Can we risk having our homes burned in our absence?\"\n\nJane felt the stretching and chilling of the skin of her face as the blood left it.\n\n\"Carson, you and the others rent these houses?\" she asked.\n\n\"You ought to know, Miss Withersteen. Some of them are yours.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[OOC: Required word frequency: 'things' (2x)]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I know?... Carson, I never in my life took a day's labor for rent or a yearling calf or a bunch of grass, let alone gold.\"\n\n\"Bivens, your store-keeper, sees to that.\"\n\n\"Look here, Carson,\" went on Jane, hurriedly, and now her cheeks were burning. \"You and Black and Willet pack your goods and move your families up to my cabins in the grove. They're far more comfortable than these. Then go to work for me. And if aught happens to you there I'll give you money—gold enough to leave Utah!\"\n\nThe man choked and stammered, and then, as tears welled into his eyes, he found the use of his tongue and cursed. No gentle speech could ever have equaled that curse in eloquent expression of what he felt for Jane Withersteen. How strangely his look and tone reminded her of Lassiter!\n\n\"No, it won't do,\" he said, when he had somewhat recovered himself. \"Miss Withersteen, there are things that you don't know, and there's not a soul among us who can tell you.\"\n\n\"I seem to be learning many things, Carson. Well, then, will you let me aid you—say till better times?\"\n\n\"Yes, I will,\" he replied, with his face lighting up.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"I see what it means to you, and you know what it means to me. Thank you! And if better times ever come, I'll be only too happy to work for you.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Better times will come. I trust God and have faith in man. Good day, Carson.\"\n\nThe lane opened out upon the sage-inclosed alfalfa fields, and the last habitation, at the end of that lane of hovels, was the meanest. Formerly it had been a shed; now it was a home. The broad leaves of a wide-spreading cottonwood sheltered the sunken roof of weathered boards. Like an Indian hut, it had one floor. Round about it were a few scanty rows of vegetables, such as the hand of a weak woman had time and strength to cultivate. This little dwelling-place was just outside the village limits, and the widow who lived there had to carry her water from the nearest irrigation ditch. As Jane Withersteen entered the unfenced yard a child saw her, shrieked with joy, and came tearing toward her with curls flying. This child was a little girl of four called Fay. Her name suited her, for she was an elf, a sprite, a creature so fairy-like and beautiful that she seemed unearthly.\n\n\"Muvver sended for oo,\" cried Fay, as Jane kissed her, \"an' oo never tome.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"I didn't know, Fay; but I've come now.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Fay was a child of outdoors, of the garden and ditch and field, and she was dirty and ragged. But rags and dirt did not hide her beauty. The one thin little bedraggled garment she wore half covered her fine, slim body. Red as cherries were her cheeks and lips; her eyes were violet blue, and the crown of her childish loveliness was the curling golden hair. All the children of Cottonwoods were Jane Withersteen's friends, she loved them all. But Fay was dearest to her. Fay had few playmates, for among the Gentile children there were none near her age, and the Mormon children were forbidden to play with her. So she was a shy, wild, lonely child.\n\n\"Muvver's sick,\" said Fay, leading Jane toward the door of the hut.\n\nJane went in. There was only one room, rather dark and bare, but it was clean and neat. A woman lay upon a bed.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Mrs. Larkin, how are you?\" asked Jane, anxiously.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I've been pretty bad for a week, but I'm better now.\"\n\n\"You haven't been here all alone—with no one to wait on you?\"\n\n\"Oh no! My women neighbors are kind. They take turns coming in.\"\n\n\"Did you send for me?\"\n\n\"Yes, several times.\"\n\n\"But I had no word—no messages ever got to me.\"\n\n\"I sent the boys, and they left word with your women that I was ill and would you please come.\"\n\nA sudden deadly sickness seized Jane. She fought the weakness, as she fought to be above suspicious thoughts, and it passed, leaving her conscious of her utter impotence. That, too, passed as her spirit rebounded. But she had again caught a glimpse of dark underhand domination, running its secret lines this time into her own household.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "user note just fyi, Make sure to seamlessly include 'Mrs. Larkin, you're better, and I'm so glad,' in your answer",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Like a spider in the blackness of night an unseen hand had begun to run these dark lines, to turn and twist them about her life, to plait and weave a web. Jane Withersteen knew it now, and in the realization further coolness and sureness came to her, and the fighting courage of her ancestors.\n\n\"Mrs. Larkin, you're better, and I'm so glad,\" said Jane. \"But may I not do something for you—a turn at nursing, or send you things, or take care of Fay?\"\n\n\"You're so good. Since my husband's been gone what would have become of Fay and me but for you? It was about Fay that I wanted to speak to you. This time I thought surely I'd die, and I was worried about Fay. Well, I'll be around all right shortly, but my strength's gone and I won't live long. So I may as well speak now. You remember you've been asking me to let you take Fay and bring her up as your daughter?\"\n\n\"Indeed yes, I remember. I'll be happy to have her. But I hope the day—\"\n\n\"Never mind that. The day'll come—sooner or later. I refused your offer, and now I'll tell you why.\"\n\n\"I know why,\" interposed Jane. \"It's because you don't want her brought up as a Mormon.\"\n\n\"No, it wasn't altogether that.\" Mrs. Larkin raised her thin hand and laid it appealingly on Jane's.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"I don't like to tell you. But—it's this: I told all my friends what you wanted. They know you, care for you, and they said for me to trust Fay to you. Women will talk, you know. It got to the ears of Mormons—gossip of your love for Fay and your wanting her. And it came straight back to me, in jealousy, perhaps, that you wouldn't take Fay as much for love of her as because of your religious duty to bring up another girl for some Mormon to marry.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 5 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"That's a damnable lie!\" cried Jane Withersteen.\n\n\"It was what made me hesitate,\" went on Mrs. Larkin, \"but I never believed it at heart. And now I guess I'll let you—\"\n\n\"Wait! Mrs. Larkin, I may have told little white lies in my life, but never a lie that mattered, that hurt any one. Now believe me. I love little Fay. If I had her near me I'd grow to worship her. When I asked for her I thought only of that love... Let me prove this. You and Fay come to live with me. I've such a big house, and I'm so lonely. I'll help nurse you, take care of you. When you're better you can work for me. I'll keep little Fay and bring her up—without Mormon teaching. When she's grown, if she should want to leave me, I'll send her, and not empty-handed, back to Illinois where you came from. I promise you.\"\n\n\"I knew it was a lie,\" replied the mother, and she sank back upon her pillow with something of peace in her white, worn face. \"Jane Withersteen, may Heaven bless you! I've been deeply grateful to you. But because you're a Mormon I never felt close to you till now. I don't know much about religion as religion, but your God and my God are the same.\"",
"loss": null
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Job: User writes start, you add ~26 sentences sentences. Style: Zane Grey. Note: May include established characters",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Chapter VIII. Surprise Valley\n\nBack in that strange canyon, which Venters had found indeed a valley of surprises, the wounded girl's whispered appeal, almost a prayer, not to take her back to the rustlers crowned the events of the last few days with a confounding climax. That she should not want to return to them staggered Venters. Presently, as logical thought returned, her appeal confirmed his first impression—that she was more unfortunate than bad—and he experienced a sensation of gladness. If he had known before that Oldring's Masked Rider was a woman his opinion would have been formed and he would have considered her abandoned. But his first knowledge had come when he lifted a white face quivering in a convulsion of agony; he had heard God's name whispered by blood-stained lips; through her solemn and awful eyes he had caught a glimpse of her soul. And just now had come the entreaty to him, \"Don't—take—me—back—there!\"\n\nOnce for all Venters's quick mind formed a permanent conception of this poor girl. He based it, not upon what the chances of life had made her, but upon the revelation of dark eyes that pierced the infinite, upon a few pitiful, halting words that betrayed failure and wrong and misery, yet breathed the truth of a tragic fate rather than a natural leaning to evil.\n\n\"What's your name?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Bess,\" she answered.\n\n\"Bess what?\"\n\n\"That's enough—just Bess.\"\n\nThe red that deepened in her cheeks was not all the flush of fever. Venters marveled anew, and this time at the tint of shame in her face, at the momentary drooping of long lashes. She might be a rustler's girl, but she was still capable of shame, she might be dying, but she still clung to some little remnant of honor.\n\n\"Very well, Bess. It doesn't matter,\" he said. \"But this matters—what shall I do with you?\"\n\n\"Are—you—a rider?\" she whispered.\n\n\"Not now. I was once. I drove the Withersteen herds. But I lost my place—lost all I owned—and now I'm—I'm a sort of outcast. My name's Bern Venters.\"\n\n\"You won't—take me—to Cottonwoods—or Glaze? I'd be—hanged.\"\n\n\"No, indeed. But I must do something with you. For it's not safe for me here. I shot that rustler who was with you. Sooner or later he'll be found, and then my tracks. I must find a safer hiding-place where I can't be trailed.\"\n\n\"Leave me—here.\"\n\n\"Alone—to die!\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I will not.\" Venters spoke shortly with a kind of ring in his voice.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"What—do you want—to do—with me?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "You must use the word 'replied' exactly 2 times in your response",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Her whispering grew difficult, so low and faint that Venters had to stoop to hear her.\n\n\"Why, let's see,\" he replied, slowly. \"I'd like to take you some place where I could watch by you, nurse you, till you're all right.\"\n\n\"And—then?\"\n\n\"Well, it'll be time to think of that when you're cured of your wound. It's a bad one. And—Bess, if you don't want to live—if you don't fight for life—you'll never—\"\n\n\"Oh! I want—to live! I'm afraid—to die. But I'd rather—die—than go back—to—to—\"\n\n\"To Oldring?\" asked Venters, interrupting her in turn.\n\nHer lips moved in an affirmative.\n\n\"I promise not to take you back to him or to Cottonwoods or to Glaze.\"\n\nThe mournful earnestness of her gaze suddenly shone with unutterable gratitude and wonder. And as suddenly Venters found her eyes beautiful as he had never seen or felt beauty. They were as dark blue as the sky at night. Then the flashing changed to a long, thoughtful look, in which there was a wistful, unconscious searching of his face, a look that trembled on the verge of hope and trust.\n\n\"I'll try—to live,\" she said. The broken whisper just reached his ears. \"Do what—you want—with me.\"\n\n\"Rest then—don't worry—sleep,\" he replied.\n\nAbruptly he arose, as if words had been decision for him, and with a sharp command to the dogs he strode from the camp. Venters was conscious of an indefinite conflict of change within him. It seemed to be a vague passing of old moods, a dim coalescing of new forces, a moment of inexplicable transition. He was both cast down and uplifted. He wanted to think and think of the meaning, but he resolutely dispelled emotion. His imperative need at present was to find a safe retreat, and this called for action.\n\nSo he set out. It still wanted several hours before dark. This trip he turned to the left and wended his skulking way southward a mile or more to the opening of the valley, where lay the strange scrawled rocks.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He did not, however, venture boldly out into the open sage, but clung to the right-hand wall and went along that till its perpendicular line broke into the long incline of bare stone.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Before proceeding farther he halted, studying the strange character of this slope and realizing that a moving black object could be seen far against such background. Before him ascended a gradual swell of smooth stone. It was hard, polished, and full of pockets worn by centuries of eddying rain-water. A hundred yards up began a line of grotesque cedar-trees, and they extended along the slope clear to its most southerly end. Beyond that end Venters wanted to get, and he concluded the cedars, few as they were, would afford some cover.\n\nTherefore he climbed swiftly. The trees were farther up than he had estimated, though he had from long habit made allowance for the deceiving nature of distances in that country. When he gained the cover of cedars he paused to rest and look, and it was then he saw how the trees sprang from holes in the bare rock. Ages of rain had run down the slope, circling, eddying in depressions, wearing deep round holes. There had been dry seasons, accumulations of dust, wind-blown seeds, and cedars rose wonderfully out of solid rock. But these were not beautiful cedars. They were gnarled, twisted into weird contortions, as if growth were torture, dead at the tops, shrunken, gray, and old. Theirs had been a bitter fight, and Venters felt a strange sympathy for them. This country was hard on trees—and men.\n\nHe slipped from cedar to cedar, keeping them between him and the open valley. As he progressed, the belt of trees widened and he kept to its upper margin. He passed shady pockets half full of water, and, as he marked the location for possible future need, he reflected that there had been no rain since the winter snows. From one of these shady holes a rabbit hopped out and squatted down, laying its ears flat.\n\nVenters wanted fresh meat now more than when he had only himself to think of. But it would not do to fire his rifle there. So he broke off a cedar branch and threw it. He crippled the rabbit, which started to flounder up the slope. Venters did not wish to lose the meat, and he never allowed crippled game to escape, to die lingeringly in some covert. So after a careful glance below, and back toward the canyon, he began to chase the rabbit.\n\nThe fact that rabbits generally ran uphill was not new to him. But it presently seemed singular why this rabbit, that might have escaped downward, chose to ascend the slope.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Venters knew then that it had a burrow higher up.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "More than once he jerked over to seize it, only in vain, for the rabbit by renewed effort eluded his grasp.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Word frequency rule: 'cliff' × 2",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Thus the chase continued on up the bare slope. The farther Venters climbed the more determined he grew to catch his quarry. At last, panting and sweating, he captured the rabbit at the foot of a steeper grade. Laying his rifle on the bulge of rising stone, he killed the animal and slung it from his belt.\n\nBefore starting down he waited to catch his breath. He had climbed far up that wonderful smooth slope, and had almost reached the base of yellow cliff that rose skyward, a huge scarred and cracked bulk. It frowned down upon him as if to forbid further ascent. Venters bent over for his rifle, and, as he picked it up from where it leaned against the steeper grade, he saw several little nicks cut in the solid stone.\n\nThey were only a few inches deep and about a foot apart. Venters began to count them—one—two—three—four—on up to sixteen. That number carried his glance to the top of his first bulging bench of cliff-base. Above, after a more level offset, was still steeper slope, and the line of nicks kept on, to wind round a projecting corner of wall.\n\nA casual glance would have passed by these little dents; if Venters had not known what they signified he would never have bestowed upon them the second glance. But he knew they had been cut there by hand, and, though age-worn, he recognized them as steps cut in the rock by the cliff-dwellers. With a pulse beginning to beat and hammer away his calmness, he eyed that indistinct line of steps, up to where the buttress of wall hid further sight of them. He knew that behind the corner of stone would be a cave or a crack which could never be suspected from below. Chance, that had sported with him of late, now directed him to a probable hiding-place. Again he laid aside his rifle, and, removing boots and belt, he began to walk up the steps. Like a mountain goat, he was agile, sure-footed, and he mounted the first bench without bending to use his hands. The next ascent took grip of fingers as well as toes, but he climbed steadily, swiftly, to reach the projecting corner, and slipped around it. Here he faced a notch in the cliff. At the apex he turned abruptly into a ragged vent that split the ponderous wall clear to the top, showing a narrow streak of blue sky.\n\nAt the base this vent was dark, cool, and smelled of dry, musty dust. It zigzagged so that he could not see ahead more than a few yards at a time. He noticed tracks of wildcats and rabbits in the dusty floor. At every turn he expected to come upon a huge cavern full of little square stone houses, each with a small aperture like a staring dark eye.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The passage lightened and widened, and opened at the foot of a narrow, steep, ascending chute.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Venters had a moment's notice of the rock, which was of the same smoothness and hardness as the slope below, before his gaze went irresistibly upward to the precipitous walls of this wide ladder of granite.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "These were ruined walls of yellow sandstone, and so split and splintered, so overhanging with great sections of balancing rim, so impending with tremendous crumbling crags, that Venters caught his breath sharply, and, appalled, he instinctively recoiled as if a step upward might jar the ponderous cliffs from their foundation. Indeed, it seemed that these ruined cliffs were but awaiting a breath of wind to collapse and come tumbling down. Venters hesitated. It would be a foolhardy man who risked his life under the leaning, waiting avalanches of rock in that gigantic split. Yet how many years had they leaned there without falling! At the bottom of the incline was an immense heap of weathered sandstone all crumbling to dust, but there were no huge rocks as large as houses, such as rested so lightly and frightfully above, waiting patiently and inevitably to crash down. Slowly split from the parent rock by the weathering process, and carved and sculptured by ages of wind and rain, they waited their moment. Venters felt how foolish it was for him to fear these broken walls; to fear that, after they had endured for thousands of years, the moment of his passing should be the one for them to slip. Yet he feared it.\n\n\"What a place to hide!\" muttered Venters. \"I'll climb—I'll see where this thing goes. If only I can find water!\"\n\nWith teeth tight shut he essayed the incline. And as he climbed he bent his eyes downward. This, however, after a little grew impossible; he had to look to obey his eager, curious mind. He raised his glance and saw light between row on row of shafts and pinnacles and crags that stood out from the main wall. Some leaned against the cliff, others against each other; many stood sheer and alone; all were crumbling, cracked, rotten. It was a place of yellow, ragged ruin. The passage narrowed as he went up; it became a slant, hard for him to stick on; it was smooth as marble. Finally he surmounted it, surprised to find the walls still several hundred feet high, and a narrow gorge leading down on the other side. This was a divide between two inclines, about twenty yards wide. At one side stood an enormous rock. Venters gave it a second glance, because it rested on a pedestal. It attracted closer attention. It was like a colossal pear of stone standing on its stem. Around the bottom were thousands of little nicks just distinguishable to the eye. They were marks of stone hatchets. The cliff-dwellers had chipped and chipped away at this boulder till it rested its tremendous bulk upon a mere pin-point of its surface.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Venters pondered. Why had the little stone-men hacked away at that big boulder?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It bore no semblance to a statue or an idol or a godhead or a sphinx. Instinctively he put his hands on it and pushed; then his shoulder and heaved. The stone seemed to groan, to stir, to grate, and then to move. It tipped a little downward and hung balancing for a long instant, slowly returned, rocked slightly, groaned, and settled back to its former position.\n\nVenters divined its significance. It had been meant for defense. The cliff-dwellers, driven by dreaded enemies to this last stand, had cunningly cut the rock until it balanced perfectly, ready to be dislodged by strong hands. Just below it leaned a tottering crag that would have toppled, starting an avalanche on an acclivity where no sliding mass could stop. Crags and pinnacles, splintered cliffs, and leaning shafts and monuments, would have thundered down to block forever the outlet to Deception Pass.\n\n\"That was a narrow shave for me,\" said Venters, soberly. \"A balancing rock! The cliff-dwellers never had to roll it. They died, vanished, and here the rock stands, probably little changed... But it might serve another lonely dweller of the cliffs. I'll hide up here somewhere, if I can only find water.\"\n\nHe descended the gorge on the other side. The slope was gradual, the space narrow, the course straight for many rods. A gloom hung between the up-sweeping walls. In a turn the passage narrowed to scarce a dozen feet, and here was darkness of night. But light shone ahead; another abrupt turn brought day again, and then wide open space.\n\nAbove Venters loomed a wonderful arch of stone bridging the canyon rims, and through the enormous round portal gleamed and glistened a beautiful valley shining under sunset gold reflected by surrounding cliffs. He gave a start of surprise. The valley was a cove a mile long, half that wide, and its enclosing walls were smooth and stained, and curved inward, forming great caves. He decided that its floor was far higher than the level of Deception Pass and the intersecting canyons. No purple sage colored this valley floor. Instead there were the white of aspens, streaks of branch and slender trunk glistening from the green of leaves, and the darker green of oaks, and through the middle of this forest, from wall to wall, ran a winding line of brilliant green which marked the course of cottonwoods and willows.\n\n\"There's water here—and this is the place for me,\" said Venters. \"Only birds can peep over those walls, I've gone Oldring one better.\"\n\nVenters waited no longer, and turned swiftly to retrace his steps. He named the canyon Surprise Valley and the huge boulder that guarded the outlet Balancing Rock.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Going down he did not find himself attended by such fears as had beset him in the climb; still, he was not easy in mind and could not occupy himself with plans of moving the girl and his outfit until he had descended to the notch.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "There he rested a moment and looked about him. The pass was darkening with the approach of night. At the corner of the wall, where the stone steps turned, he saw a spur of rock that would serve to hold the noose of a lasso. He needed no more aid to scale that place. As he intended to make the move under cover of darkness, he wanted most to be able to tell where to climb up. So, taking several small stones with him, he stepped and slid down to the edge of the slope where he had left his rifle and boots. He placed the stones some yards apart. He left the rabbit lying upon the bench where the steps began. Then he addressed a keen-sighted, remembering gaze to the rim-wall above. It was serrated, and between two spears of rock, directly in line with his position, showed a zigzag crack that at night would let through the gleam of sky. This settled, he put on his belt and boots and prepared to descend. Some consideration was necessary to decide whether or not to leave his rifle there. On the return, carrying the girl and a pack, it would be added encumbrance; and after debating the matter he left the rifle leaning against the bench. As he went straight down the slope he halted every few rods to look up at his mark on the rim. It changed, but he fixed each change in his memory. When he reached the first cedar-tree, he tied his scarf upon a dead branch, and then hurried toward camp, having no more concern about finding his trail upon the return trip.\n\nDarkness soon emboldened and lent him greater speed. It occurred to him, as he glided into the grassy glade near camp and head the whinny of a horse, that he had forgotten Wrangle. The big sorrel could not be gotten into Surprise Valley. He would have to be left here.\n\nVenters determined at once to lead the other horses out through the thicket and turn them loose. The farther they wandered from this canyon the better it would suit him. He easily descried Wrangle through the gloom, but the others were not in sight. Venters whistled low for the dogs, and when they came trotting to him he sent them out to search for the horses, and followed. It soon developed that they were not in the glade nor the thicket. Venters grew cold and rigid at the thought of rustlers having entered his retreat.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "But the thought passed, for the demeanor of Ring and Whitie reassured him.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Word restriction: Use 'against' 2 time(s) only",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The horses had wandered away.\n\nUnder the clump of silver spruces a denser mantle of darkness, yet not so thick that Venter's night-practiced eyes could not catch the white oval of a still face. He bent over it with a slight suspension of breath that was both caution lest he frighten her and chill uncertainty of feeling lest he find her dead. But she slept, and he arose to renewed activity.\n\nHe packed his saddle-bags. The dogs were hungry, they whined about him and nosed his busy hands; but he took no time to feed them nor to satisfy his own hunger. He slung the saddlebags over his shoulders and made them secure with his lasso. Then he wrapped the blankets closer about the girl and lifted her in his arms. Wrangle whinnied and thumped the ground as Venters passed him with the dogs. The sorrel knew he was being left behind, and was not sure whether he liked it or not. Venters went on and entered the thicket. Here he had to feel his way in pitch blackness and to wedge his progress between the close saplings. Time meant little to him now that he had started, and he edged along with slow side movement till he got clear of the thicket. Ring and Whitie stood waiting for him. Taking to the open aisles and patches of the sage, he walked guardedly, careful not to stumble or step in dust or strike against spreading sage-branches.\n\nIf he were burdened he did not feel it. From time to time, when he passed out of the black lines of shade into the wan starlight, he glanced at the white face of the girl lying in his arms. She had not awakened from her sleep or stupor. He did not rest until he cleared the black gate of the canyon. Then he leaned against a stone breast-high to him and gently released the girl from his hold. His brow and hair and the palms of his hands were wet, and there was a kind of nervous contraction of his muscles. They seemed to ripple and string tense. He had a desire to hurry and no sense of fatigue. A wind blew the scent of sage in his face. The first early blackness of night passed with the brightening of the stars. Somewhere back on his trail a coyote yelped, splitting the dead silence.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Venters's faculties seemed singularly acute.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He lifted the girl again and pressed on. The valley better traveling than the canyon. It was lighter, freer of sage, and there were no rocks. Soon, out of the pale gloom shone a still paler thing, and that was the low swell of slope. Venters mounted it and his dogs walked beside him. Once upon the stone he slowed to snail pace, straining his sight to avoid the pockets and holes. Foot by foot he went up. The weird cedars, like great demons and witches chained to the rock and writhing in silent anguish, loomed up with wide and twisting naked arms. Venters crossed this belt of cedars, skirted the upper border, and recognized the tree he had marked, even before he saw his waving scarf.\n\nHere he knelt and deposited the girl gently, feet first and slowly laid her out full length. What he feared was to reopen one of her wounds. If he gave her a violent jar, or slipped and fell! But the supreme confidence so strangely felt that night admitted no such blunders.\n\nThe slope before him seemed to swell into obscurity to lose its definite outline in a misty, opaque cloud that shaded into the over-shadowing wall. He scanned the rim where the serrated points speared the sky, and he found the zigzag crack. It was dim, only a shade lighter than the dark ramparts, but he distinguished it, and that served.\n\nLifting the girl, he stepped upward, closely attending to the nature of the path under his feet. After a few steps he stopped to mark his line with the crack in the rim. The dogs clung closer to him. While chasing the rabbit this slope had appeared interminable to him; now, burdened as he was, he did not think of length or height or toil. He remembered only to avoid a misstep and to keep his direction. He climbed on, with frequent stops to watch the rim, and before he dreamed of gaining the bench he bumped his knees into it, and saw, in the dim gray light, his rifle and the rabbit. He had come straight up without mishap or swerving off his course, and his shut teeth unlocked.\n\nAs he laid the girl down in the shallow hollow of the little ridge with her white face upturned, she opened her eyes. Wide, staring black, at once like both the night and the stars, they made her face seem still whiter.\n\n\"Is—it—you?\" she asked, faintly.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Yes,\" replied Venters.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Oh! Where—are we?\"\n\n\"I'm taking you to a safe place where no one will ever find you. I must climb a little here and call the dogs. Don't be afraid. I'll soon come for you.\"\n\nShe said no more. Her eyes watched him steadily for a moment and then closed. Venters pulled off his boots and then felt for the little steps in the rock. The shade of the cliff above obscured the point he wanted to gain, but he could see dimly a few feet before him. What he had attempted with care he now went at with surpassing lightness. Buoyant, rapid, sure, he attained the corner of wall and slipped around it. Here he could not see a hand before his face, so he groped along, found a little flat space, and there removed the saddle-bags. The lasso he took back with him to the corner and looped the noose over the spur of rock.\n\n\"Ring—Whitie—come,\" he called, softly.\n\nLow whines came up from below.\n\n\"Here! Come, Whitie—Ring,\" he repeated, this time sharply.\n\nThen followed scraping of claws and pattering of feet; and out of the gray gloom below him swiftly climbed the dogs to reach his side and pass beyond.\n\nVenters descended, holding to the lasso. He tested its strength by throwing all his weight upon it. Then he gathered the girl up, and, holding her securely in his left arm, he began to climb, at every few steps jerking his right hand upward along the lasso. It sagged at each forward movement he made, but he balanced himself lightly during the interval when he lacked the support of a taut rope. He climbed as if he had wings, the strength of a giant, and knew not the sense of fear. The sharp corner of cliff seemed to cut out of the darkness. He reached it and the protruding shelf, and then, entering the black shade of the notch, he moved blindly but surely to the place where he had left the saddle-bags. He heard the dogs, though he could not see them. Once more he carefully placed the girl at his feet. Then, on hands and knees, he went over the little flat space, feeling for stones. He removed a number, and, scraping the deep dust into a heap, he unfolded the outer blanket from around the girl and laid her upon this bed. Then he went down the slope again for his boots, rifle, and the rabbit, and, bringing also his lasso with him, he made short work of that trip.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Are—you—there?\" The girl's voice came low from the blackness.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 21 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Yes,\" he replied, and was conscious that his laboring breast made speech difficult.\n\n\"Are we—in a cave?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Oh, listen!... The waterfall!... I hear it! You've brought me back!\"\n\nVenters heard a murmuring moan that one moment swelled to a pitch almost softly shrill and the next lulled to a low, almost inaudible sigh.\n\n\"That's—wind blowing—in the—cliffs,\" he panted. \"You're far from Oldring's—canyon.\"\n\nThe effort it cost him to speak made him conscious of extreme lassitude following upon great exertion. It seemed that when he lay down and drew his blanket over him the action was the last before utter prostration. He stretched inert, wet, hot, his body one great strife of throbbing, stinging nerves and bursting veins. And there he lay for a long while before he felt that he had begun to rest.\n\nRest came to him that night, but no sleep. Sleep he did not want. The hours of strained effort were now as if they had never been, and he wanted to think. Earlier in the day he had dismissed an inexplicable feeling of change; but now, when there was no longer demand on his cunning and strength and he had time to think, he could not catch the illusive thing that had sadly perplexed as well as elevated his spirit.\n\nAbove him, through a V-shaped cleft in the dark rim of the cliff, shone the lustrous stars that had been his lonely accusers for a long, long year. To-night they were different. He studied them. Larger, whiter, more radiant they seemed; but that was not the difference he meant. Gradually it came to him that the distinction was not one he saw, but one he felt. In this he divined as much of the baffling change as he thought would be revealed to him then. And as he lay there, with the singing of the cliff-winds in his ears, the white stars above the dark, bold vent, the difference which he felt was that he was no longer alone.",
"loss": null
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Let's engage in a collaborative writing exercise. I'll provide a starting point (which may include pre-existing characters and lore), and You'll continue with 10 sentences in the style of Zane Grey.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Chapter IX. Silver Spruce and Aspens\n\nThe rest of that night seemed to Venters only a few moments of starlight, a dark overcasting of sky, an hour or so of gray gloom, and then the lighting of dawn.\n\nWhen he had bestirred himself, feeding the hungry dogs and breaking his long fast, and had repacked his saddle-bags, it was clear daylight, though the sun had not tipped the yellow wall in the east. He concluded to make the climb and descent into Surprise Valley in one trip. To that end he tied his blanket upon Ring and gave Whitie the extra lasso and the rabbit to carry. Then, with the rifle and saddle-bags slung upon his back, he took up the girl. She did not awaken from heavy slumber.\n\nThat climb up under the rugged, menacing brows of the broken cliffs, in the face of a grim, leaning boulder that seemed to be weary of its age-long wavering, was a tax on strength and nerve that Venters felt equally with something sweet and strangely exulting in its accomplishment. He did not pause until he gained the narrow divide and there he rested. Balancing Rock loomed huge, cold in the gray light of dawn, a thing without life, yet it spoke silently to Venters: \"I am waiting to plunge down, to shatter and crash, roar and boom, to bury your trail, and close forever the outlet to Deception Pass!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "On the descent of the other side Venters had easy going, but was somewhat concerned because Whitie appeared to have succumbed to temptation, and while carrying the rabbit was also chewing on it. And Ring evidently regarded this as an injury to himself, especially as he had carried the heavier load. Presently he snapped at one end of the rabbit and refused to let go. But his action prevented Whitie from further misdoing, and then the two dogs pattered down, carrying the rabbit between them.\n\nVenters turned out of the gorge, and suddenly paused stock-still, astounded at the scene before him. The curve of the great stone bridge had caught the sunrise, and through the magnificent arch burst a glorious stream of gold that shone with a long slant down into the center of Surprise Valley. Only through the arch did any sunlight pass, so that all the rest of the valley lay still asleep, dark green, mysterious, shadowy, merging its level into walls as misty and soft as morning clouds.\n\nVenters then descended, passing through the arch, looking up at its tremendous height and sweep. It spanned the opening to Surprise Valley, stretching in almost perfect curve from rim to rim. Even in his hurry and concern Venters could not but feel its majesty, and the thought came to him that the cliff-dwellers must have regarded it as an object of worship.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(authors note, Use the word 'level' 2 time(s) - this is a strict requirement)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Down, down, down Venters strode, more and more feeling the weight of his burden as he descended, and still the valley lay below him. As all other canyons and coves and valleys had deceived him, so had this deep, nestling oval. At length he passed beyond the slope of weathered stone that spread fan-shape from the arch, and encountered a grassy terrace running to the right and about on a level with the tips of the oaks and cottonwoods below. Scattered here and there upon this shelf were clumps of aspens, and he walked through them into a glade that surpassed in beauty and adaptability for a wild home, any place he had ever seen. Silver spruces bordered the base of a precipitous wall that rose loftily. Caves indented its surface, and there were no detached ledges or weathered sections that might dislodge a stone. The level ground, beyond the spruces, dropped down into a little ravine. This was one dense line of slender aspens from which came the low splashing of water. And the terrace, lying open to the west, afforded unobstructed view of the valley of green treetops.\n\nFor his camp Venters chose a shady, grassy plot between the silver spruces and the cliff.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Here, in the stone wall, had been wonderfully carved by wind or washed by water several deep caves above the level of the terrace. They were clean, dry, roomy.\n\nHe cut spruce boughs and made a bed in the largest cave and laid the girl there. The first intimation that he had of her being aroused from sleep or lethargy was a low call for water.\n\nHe hurried down into the ravine with his canteen. It was a shallow, grass-green place with aspens growing up everywhere. To his delight he found a tiny brook of swift-running water. Its faint tinge of amber reminded him of the spring at Cottonwoods, and the thought gave him a little shock. The water was so cold it made his fingers tingle as he dipped the canteen. Having returned to the cave, he was glad to see the girl drink thirstily.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "This time he noted that she could raise her head slightly without his help.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"You were thirsty,\" he said. \"It's good water. I've found a fine place. Tell me—how do you feel?\"\n\n\"There's pain—here,\" she replied, and moved her hand to her left side.\n\n\"Why, that's strange! Your wounds are on your right side. I believe you're hungry. Is the pain a kind of dull ache—a gnawing?\"\n\n\"It's like—that.\"\n\n\"Then it's hunger.\" Venters laughed, and suddenly caught himself with a quick breath and felt again the little shock. When had he laughed? \"It's hunger,\" he went on. \"I've had that gnaw many a time. I've got it now. But you mustn't eat. You can have all the water you want, but no food just yet.\"\n\n\"Won't I—starve?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"No, people don't starve easily. I've discovered that. You must lie perfectly still and rest and sleep—for days.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"My hands—are dirty; my face feels—so hot and sticky; my boots hurt.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It was her longest speech as yet, and it trailed off in a whisper.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Well, I'm a fine nurse!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It annoyed him that he had never thought of these things. But then, awaiting her death and thinking of her comfort were vastly different matters. He unwrapped the blanket which covered her. What a slender girl she was! No wonder he had been able to carry her miles and pack her up that slippery ladder of stone. Her boots were of soft, fine leather, reaching clear to her knees. He recognized the make as one of a boot-maker in Sterling. Her spurs, that he had stupidly neglected to remove, consisted of silver frames and gold chains, and the rowels, large as silver dollars, were fancifully engraved. The boots slipped off rather hard. She wore heavy woollen rider's stockings, half length, and these were pulled up over the ends of her short trousers.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "You must use the word 'blood' exactly 2 times in your response",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Venters took off the stockings to note her little feet were red and swollen. He bathed them. Then he removed his scarf and bathed her face and hands.\n\n\"I must see your wounds now,\" he said, gently.\n\nShe made no reply, but watched him steadily as he opened her blouse and untied the bandage. His strong fingers trembled a little as he removed it. If the wounds had reopened! A chill struck him as he saw the angry red bullet-mark, and a tiny stream of blood winding from it down her white breast. Very carefully he lifted her to see that the wound in her back had closed perfectly. Then he washed the blood from her breast, bathed the wound, and left it unbandaged, open to the air.\n\nHer eyes thanked him.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Listen,\" he said, earnestly.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I've had some wounds, and I've seen many. I know a little about them. The hole in your back has closed. If you lie still three days the one in your breast will close and you'll be safe. The danger from hemorrhage will be over.\"\n\nHe had spoken with earnest sincerity, almost eagerness.\n\n\"Why—do you—want me—to get well?\" she asked, wonderingly.\n\nThe simple question seemed unanswerable except on grounds of humanity. But the circumstances under which he had shot this strange girl, the shock and realization, the waiting for death, the hope, had resulted in a condition of mind wherein Venters wanted her to live more than he had ever wanted anything. Yet he could not tell why. He believed the killing of the rustler and the subsequent excitement had disturbed him. For how else could he explain the throbbing of his brain, the heat of his blood, the undefined sense of full hours, charged, vibrant with pulsating mystery where once they had dragged in loneliness?\n\n\"I shot you,\" he said, slowly, \"and I want you to get well so I shall not have killed a woman. But—for your own sake, too—\"\n\nA terrible bitterness darkened her eyes, and her lips quivered.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Hush,\" said Venters. \"You've talked too much already.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "In her unutterable bitterness he saw a darkness of mood that could not have been caused by her present weak and feverish state.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "meta: [System: Use 'hated' 2 times in response]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "She hated the life she had led, that she probably had been compelled to lead. She had suffered some unforgivable wrong at the hands of Oldring. With that conviction Venters felt a shame throughout his body, and it marked the rekindling of fierce anger and ruthlessness. In the past long year he had nursed resentment. He had hated the wilderness—the loneliness of the uplands. He had waited for something to come to pass. It had come. Like an Indian stealing horses he had skulked into the recesses of the canyons. He had found Oldring's retreat; he had killed a rustler; he had shot an unfortunate girl, then had saved her from this unwitting act, and he meant to save her from the consequent wasting of blood, from fever and weakness. Starvation he had to fight for her and for himself. Where he had been sick at the letting of blood, now he remembered it in grim, cold calm.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "And as he lost that softness of nature, so he lost his fear of men.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Include 'dried' 2 time(s) in your answer - no more, no less",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He would watch for Oldring, biding his time, and he would kill this great black-bearded rustler who had held a girl in bondage, who had used her to his infamous ends.\n\nVenters surmised this much of the change in him—idleness had passed; keen, fierce vigor flooded his mind and body; all that had happened to him at Cottonwoods seemed remote and hard to recall; the difficulties and perils of the present absorbed him, held him in a kind of spell.\n\nFirst, then, he fitted up the little cave adjoining the girl's room for his own comfort and use. His next work was to build a fireplace of stones and to gather a store of wood. That done, he spilled the contents of his saddle-bags upon the grass and took stock. His outfit consisted of a small-handled axe, a hunting-knife, a large number of cartridges for rifle or revolver, a tin plate, a cup, and a fork and spoon, a quantity of dried beef and dried fruits, and small canvas bags containing tea, sugar, salt, and pepper. For him alone this supply would have been bountiful to begin a sojourn in the wilderness, but he was no longer alone. Starvation in the uplands was not an unheard-of thing; he did not, however, worry at all on that score, and feared only his possible inability to supply the needs of a woman in a weakened and extremely delicate condition.\n\nIf there was no game in the valley—a contingency he doubted—it would not be a great task for him to go by night to Oldring's herd and pack out a calf. The exigency of the moment was to ascertain if there were game in Surprise Valley.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Whitie still guarded the dilapidated rabbit, and Ring slept near by under a spruce. Venters called Ring and went to the edge of the terrace, and there halted to survey the valley.\n\nHe was prepared to find it larger than his unstudied glances had made it appear; for more than a casual idea of dimensions and a hasty conception of oval shape and singular beauty he had not had time. Again the felicity of the name he had given the valley struck him forcibly. Around the red perpendicular walls, except under the great arc of stone, ran a terrace fringed at the cliff-base by silver spruces; below that first terrace sloped another wider one densely overgrown with aspens, and the center of the valley was a level circle of oaks and alders, with the glittering green line of willows and cottonwood dividing it in half. Venters saw a number and variety of birds flitting among the trees. To his left, facing the stone bridge, an enormous cavern opened in the wall; and low down, just above the tree-tops, he made out a long shelf of cliff-dwellings, with little black, staring windows or doors. Like eyes they were, and seemed to watch him. The few cliff-dwellings he had seen—all ruins—had left him with haunting memory of age and solitude and of something past. He had come, in a way, to be a cliff-dweller himself, and those silent eyes would look down upon him, as if in surprise that after thousands of years a man had invaded the valley.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Venters felt sure that he was the only white man who had ever walked under the shadow of the wonderful stone bridge, down into that wonderful valley with its circle of caves and its terraced rings of silver spruce and aspens.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Mandatory: Your text must contain 'venters' 4 times exactly",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The dog growled below and rushed into the forest. Venters ran down the declivity to enter a zone of light shade streaked with sunshine. The oak-trees were slender, none more than half a foot thick, and they grew close together, intermingling their branches. Ring came running back with a rabbit in his mouth. Venters took the rabbit and, holding the dog near him, stole softly on. There were fluttering of wings among the branches and quick bird-notes, and rustling of dead leaves and rapid patterings. Venters crossed well-worn trails marked with fresh tracks; and when he had stolen on a little farther he saw many birds and running quail, and more rabbits than he could count. He had not penetrated the forest of oaks for a hundred yards, had not approached anywhere near the line of willows and cottonwoods which he knew grew along a stream. But he had seen enough to know that Surprise Valley was the home of many wild creatures.\n\nVenters returned to camp.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He skinned the rabbits, and gave the dogs the one they had quarreled over, and the skin of this he dressed and hung up to dry, feeling that he would like to keep it.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It was a particularly rich, furry pelt with a beautiful white tail. Venters remembered that but for the bobbing of that white tail catching his eye he would not have espied the rabbit, and he would never have discovered Surprise Valley. Little incidents of chance like this had turned him here and there in Deception Pass; and now they had assumed to him the significance and direction of destiny.\n\nHis good fortune in the matter of game at hand brought to his mind the necessity of keeping it in the valley. Therefore he took the axe and cut bundles of aspens and willows, and packed them up under the bridge to the narrow outlet of the gorge. Here he began fashioning a fence, by driving aspens into the ground and lacing them fast with willows. Trip after trip he made down for more building material, and the afternoon had passed when he finished the work to his satisfaction. Wildcats might scale the fence, but no coyote could come in to search for prey, and no rabbits or other small game could escape from the valley.\n\nUpon returning to camp he set about getting his supper at ease, around a fine fire, without hurry or fear of discovery. After hard work that had definite purpose, this freedom and comfort gave him peculiar satisfaction.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He caught himself often, as he kept busy round the camp-fire, stopping to glance at the quiet form in the cave, and at the dogs stretched cozily near him, and then out across the beautiful valley.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The present was not yet real to him.\n\nWhile he ate, the sun set beyond a dip in the rim of the curved wall. As the morning sun burst wondrously through a grand arch into this valley, in a golden, slanting shaft, so the evening sun, at the moment of setting, shone through a gap of cliffs, sending down a broad red burst to brighten the oval with a blaze of fire. To Venters both sunrise and sunset were unreal.\n\nA cool wind blew across the oval, waving the tips of oaks, and while the light lasted, fluttering the aspen leaves into millions of facets of red, and sweeping the graceful spruces. Then with the wind soon came a shade and a darkening, and suddenly the valley was gray. Night came there quickly after the sinking of the sun. Venters went softly to look at the girl. She slept, and her breathing was quiet and slow. He lifted Ring into the cave, with stern whisper for him to stay there on guard.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Then he drew the blanket carefully over her and returned to the camp-fire.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "OOC, Word usage requirement: 'water' must appear 2 times",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Though exceedingly tired, he was yet loath to yield to lassitude, but this night it was not from listening, watchful vigilance; it was from a desire to realize his position. The details of his wild environment seemed the only substance of a strange dream. He saw the darkening rims, the gray oval turning black, the undulating surface of forest, like a rippling lake, and the spear-pointed spruces. He heard the flutter of aspen leaves and the soft, continuous splash of falling water. The melancholy note of a canyon bird broke clear and lonely from the high cliffs. Venters had no name for this night singer, and he had never seen one, but the few notes, always pealing out just at darkness, were as familiar to him as the canyon silence. Then they ceased, and the rustle of leaves and the murmur of water hushed in a growing sound that Venters fancied was not of earth. Neither had he a name for this, only it was inexpressibly wild and sweet. The thought came that it might be a moan of the girl in her last outcry of life, and he felt a tremor shake him. But no! This sound was not human, though it was like despair.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He began to doubt his sensitive perceptions, to believe that he half-dreamed what he thought he heard.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Then the sound swelled with the strengthening of the breeze, and he realized it was the singing of the wind in the cliffs.\n\nBy and by a drowsiness overcame him, and Venters began to nod, half asleep, with his back against a spruce. Rousing himself and calling Whitie, he went to the cave. The girl lay barely visible in the dimness. Ring crouched beside her, and the patting of his tail on the stone assured Venters that the dog was awake and faithful to his duty. Venters sought his own bed of fragrant boughs; and as he lay back, somehow grateful for the comfort and safety, the night seemed to steal away from him and he sank softly into intangible space and rest and slumber.\n\nVenters awakened to the sound of melody that he imagined was only the haunting echo of dream music. He opened his eyes to another surprise of this valley of beautiful surprises. Out of his cave he saw the exquisitely fine foliage of the silver spruces crossing a round space of blue morning sky; and in this lacy leafage fluttered a number of gray birds with black and white stripes and long tails. They were mocking-birds, and they were singing as if they wanted to burst their throats.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Venters listened. One long, silver-tipped branch dropped almost to his cave, and upon it, within a few yards of him, sat one of the graceful birds.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Venters saw the swelling and quivering of its throat in song.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He arose, and when he slid down out of his cave the birds fluttered and flew farther away.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Venters stepped before the opening of the other cave and looked in. The girl was awake, with wide eyes and listening look, and she had a hand on Ring's neck.\n\n\"Mocking-birds!\" she said.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Venters, \"and I believe they like our company.\"\n\n\"Where are we?\"\n\n\"Never mind now. After a little I'll tell you.\"\n\n\"The birds woke me. When I heard them—and saw the shiny trees—and the blue sky—and then a blaze of gold dropping down—I wondered—\"\n\nShe did not complete her fancy, but Venters imagined he understood her meaning. She appeared to be wandering in mind. Venters felt her face and hands and found them burning with fever.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "He went for water, and was glad to find it almost as cold as if flowing from ice.",
"loss": true
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{
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"value": "That water was the only medicine he had, and he put faith in it. She did not want to drink, but he made her swallow, and then he bathed her face and head and cooled her wrists.\n\nThe day began with the heightening of the fever. Venters spent the time reducing her temperature, cooling her hot cheeks and temples. He kept close watch over her, and at the least indication of restlessness, that he knew led to tossing and rolling of the body, he held her tightly, so no violent move could reopen her wounds. Hour after hour she babbled and laughed and cried and moaned in delirium; but whatever her secret was she did not reveal it. Attended by something somber for Venters, the day passed. At night in the cool winds the fever abated and she slept.\n\nThe second day was a repetition of the first. On the third he seemed to see her wither and waste away before his eyes.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "That day he scarcely went from her side for a moment, except to run for fresh, cool water; and he did not eat.",
"loss": true
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{
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"value": "The fever broke on the fourth day and left her spent and shrunken, a slip of a girl with life only in her eyes. They hung upon Venters with a mute observance, and he found hope in that.\n\nTo rekindle the spark that had nearly flickered out, to nourish the little life and vitality that remained in her, was Venters's problem. But he had little resource other than the meat of the rabbits and quail; and from these he made broths and soups as best he could, and fed her with a spoon. It came to him that the human body, like the human soul, was a strange thing and capable of recovering from terrible shocks. For almost immediately she showed faint signs of gathering strength. There was one more waiting day, in which he doubted, and spent long hours by her side as she slept, and watched the gentle swell of her breast rise and fall in breathing, and the wind stir the tangled chestnut curls. On the next day he knew that she would live.\n\nUpon realizing it he abruptly left the cave and sought his accustomed seat against the trunk of a big spruce, where once more he let his glance stray along the sloping terraces. She would live, and the somber gloom lifted out of the valley, and he felt relief that was pain.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "Then he roused to the call of action, to the many things he needed to do in the way of making camp fixtures and utensils, to the necessity of hunting food, and the desire to explore the valley.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "/* Ensure 'venters' appears 3 time(s) in your answer */",
"loss": false
},
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"value": "But he decided to wait a few more days before going far from camp, because he fancied that the girl rested easier when she could see him near at hand. And on the first day her languor appeared to leave her in a renewed grip of life. She awoke stronger from each short slumber; she ate greedily, and she moved about in her bed of boughs; and always, it seemed to Venters, her eyes followed him. He knew now that her recovery would be rapid. She talked about the dogs, about the caves, the valley, about how hungry she was, till Venters silenced her, asking her to put off further talk till another time. She obeyed, but she sat up in her bed, and her eyes roved to and fro, and always back to him.\n\nUpon the second morning she sat up when he awakened her, and would not permit him to bathe her face and feed her, which actions she performed for herself. She spoke little, however, and Venters was quick to catch in her the first intimations of thoughtfulness and curiosity and appreciation of her situation. He left camp and took Whitie out to hunt for rabbits. Upon his return he was amazed and somewhat anxiously concerned to see his invalid sitting with her back to a corner of the cave and her bare feet swinging out.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Hurriedly he approached, intending to advise her to lie down again, to tell her that perhaps she might overtax her strength. The sun shone upon her, glinting on the little head with its tangle of bright hair and the small, oval face with its pallor, and dark-blue eyes underlined by dark-blue circles. She looked at him and he looked at her. In that exchange of glances he imagined each saw the other in some different guise. It seemed impossible to Venters that this frail girl could be Oldring's Masked Rider. It flashed over him that he had made a mistake which presently she would explain.\n\n\"Help me down,\" she said.\n\n\"But—are you well enough?\" he protested. \"Wait—a little longer.\"\n\n\"I'm weak—dizzy. But I want to get down.\"",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "He lifted her—what a light burden now!—and stood her upright beside him, and supported her as she essayed to walk with halting steps.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "She was like a stripling of a boy; the bright, small head scarcely reached his shoulder. But now, as she clung to his arm, the rider's costume she wore did not contradict, as it had done at first, his feeling of her femininity. She might be the famous Masked Rider of the uplands, she might resemble a boy; but her outline, her little hands and feet, her hair, her big eyes and tremulous lips, and especially a something that Venters felt as a subtle essence rather than what he saw, proclaimed her sex.\n\nShe soon tired. He arranged a comfortable seat for her under the spruce that overspread the camp-fire.\n\n\"Now tell me—everything,\" she said.\n\nHe recounted all that had happened from the time of his discovery of the rustlers in the canyon up to the present moment.\n\n\"You shot me—and now you've saved my life?\"\n\n\"Yes. After almost killing you I've pulled you through.\"\n\n\"Are you glad?\"\n\n\"I should say so!\"",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "Her eyes were unusually expressive, and they regarded him steadily; she was unconscious of that mirroring of her emotions and they shone with gratefulness and interest and wonder and sadness.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Tell me—about yourself?\" she asked.\n\nHe made this a briefer story, telling of his coming to Utah, his various occupations till he became a rider, and then how the Mormons had practically driven him out of Cottonwoods, an outcast.\n\nThen, no longer able to withstand his own burning curiosity, he questioned her in turn.\n\n\"Are you Oldring's Masked Rider?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she replied, and dropped her eyes.\n\n\"I knew it—I recognized your figure—and mask, for I saw you once. Yet I can't believe it!... But you never were really that rustler, as we riders knew him? A thief—a marauder—a kidnapper of women—a murderer of sleeping riders!\"\n\n\"No! I never stole—or harmed any one—in all my life. I only rode and rode—\"\n\n\"But why—why?\" he burst out. \"Why the name? I understand Oldring made you ride. But the black mask—the mystery—the things laid to your hands—the threats in your infamous name—the night-riding credited to you—the evil deeds deliberately blamed on you and acknowledged by rustlers—even Oldring himself! Why? Tell me why?\"\n\n\"I never knew that,\" she answered low.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Her drooping head straightened, and the large eyes, larger now and darker, met Venters's with a clear, steadfast gaze in which he read truth. It verified his own conviction.\n\n\"Never knew? That's strange! Are you a Mormon?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Is Oldring a Mormon?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Do you—care for him?\"\n\n\"Yes. I hate his men—his life—sometimes I almost hate him!\"\n\nVenters paused in his rapid-fire questioning, as if to brace him self to ask for a truth that would be abhorrent for him to confirm, but which he seemed driven to hear.\n\n\"What are—what were you to Oldring?\"",
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] |
[
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"value": "Job: User writes start, you add ~110 sentences sentences. Style: Zane Grey. Note: May include established characters",
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"value": "Chapter X. Love",
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"value": "During all these waiting days Venters, with the exception of the afternoon when he had built the gate in the gorge, had scarcely gone out of sight of camp and never out of hearing.",
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"value": "His desire to explore Surprise Valley was keen, and on the morning after his long talk with the girl he took his rifle and, calling Ring, made a move to start. The girl lay back in a rude chair of boughs he had put together for her. She had been watching him, and when he picked up the gun and called the dog Venters thought she gave a nervous start.\n\n\"I'm only going to look over the valley,\" he said.\n\n\"Will you be gone long?\"\n\n\"No,\" he replied, and started off. The incident set him thinking of his former impression that, after her recovery from fever, she did not seem at ease unless he was close at hand. It was fear of being alone, due, he concluded, most likely to her weakened condition. He must not leave her much alone.\n\nAs he strode down the sloping terrace, rabbits scampered before him, and the beautiful valley quail, as purple in color as the sage on the uplands, ran fleetly along the ground into the forest. It was pleasant under the trees, in the gold-flecked shade, with the whistle of quail and twittering of birds everywhere. Soon he had passed the limit of his former excursions and entered new territory. Here the woods began to show open glades and brooks running down from the slope, and presently he emerged from shade into the sunshine of a meadow. The shaking of the high grass told him of the running of animals, what species he could not tell, but from Ring's manifest desire to have a chase they were evidently some kind wilder than rabbits. Venters approached the willow and cottonwood belt that he had observed from the height of slope. He penetrated it to find a considerable stream of water and great half-submerged mounds of brush and sticks, and all about him were old and new gnawed circles at the base of the cottonwoods.\n\n\"Beaver!\" he exclaimed. \"By all that's lucky! The meadow's full of beaver! How did they ever get here?\"\n\nBeaver had not found a way into the valley by the trail of the cliff-dwellers, of that he was certain; and he began to have more than curiosity as to the outlet or inlet of the stream. When he passed some dead water, which he noted was held by a beaver dam, there was a current in the stream, and it flowed west. Following its course, he soon entered the oak forest again, and passed through to find himself before massed and jumbled ruins of cliff wall. There were tangled thickets of wild plum-trees and other thorny growths that made passage extremely laborsome. He found innumerable tracks of wildcats and foxes. Rustlings in the thick undergrowth told him of stealthy movements of these animals. At length his further advance appeared futile, for the reason that the stream disappeared in a split at the base of immense rocks over which he could not climb. To his relief he concluded that though beaver might work their way up the narrow chasm where the water rushed, it would be impossible for men to enter the valley there.\n\nThis western curve was the only part of the valley where the walls had been split asunder, and it was a wildly rough and inaccessible corner. Going back a little way, he leaped the stream and headed toward the southern wall. Once out of the oaks he found again the low terrace of aspens, and above that the wide, open terrace fringed by silver spruces. This side of the valley contained the wind or water worn caves. As he pressed on, keeping to the upper terrace, cave after cave opened out of the cliff; now a large one, now a small one. Then yawned, quite suddenly and wonderfully above him, the great cavern of the cliff-dwellers.\n\nIt was still a goodly distance, and he tried to imagine, if it appeared so huge from where he stood, what it would be when he got there. He climbed the terrace and then faced a long, gradual ascent of weathered rock and dust, which made climbing too difficult for attention to anything else. At length he entered a zone of shade, and looked up. He stood just within the hollow of a cavern so immense that he had no conception of its real dimensions. The curved roof, stained by ages of leakage, with buff and black and rust-colored streaks, swept up and loomed higher and seemed to soar to the rim of the cliff. Here again was a magnificent arch, such as formed the grand gateway to the valley, only in this instance it formed the dome of a cave instead of the span of a bridge.\n\nVenters passed onward and upward. The stones he dislodged rolled down with strange, hollow crack and roar. He had climbed a hundred rods inward, and yet he had not reached the base of the shelf where the cliff-dwellings rested, a long half-circle of connected stone house, with little dark holes that he had fancied were eyes. At length he gained the base of the shelf, and here found steps cut in the rock. These facilitated climbing, and as he went up he thought how easily this vanished race of men might once have held that stronghold against an army. There was only one possible place to ascend, and this was narrow and steep.\n\nVenters had visited cliff-dwellings before, and they had been in ruins, and of no great character or size but this place was of proportions that stunned him, and it had not been desecrated by the hand of man, nor had it been crumbled by the hand of time. It was a stupendous tomb. It had been a city. It was just as it had been left by its builders. The little houses were there, the smoke-blackened stains of fires, the pieces of pottery scattered about cold hearths, the stone hatchets; and stone pestles and mealing-stones lay beside round holes polished by years of grinding maize—lay there as if they had been carelessly dropped yesterday. But the cliff-dwellers were gone!\n\nDust! They were dust on the floor or at the foot of the shelf, and their habitations and utensils endured. Venters felt the sublimity of that marvelous vaulted arch, and it seemed to gleam with a glory of something that was gone. How many years had passed since the cliff-dwellers gazed out across the beautiful valley as he was gazing now? How long had it been since women ground grain in those polished holes? What time had rolled by since men of an unknown race lived, loved, fought, and died there? Had an enemy destroyed them? Had disease destroyed them, or only that greatest destroyer—time? Venters saw a long line of blood-red hands painted low down upon the yellow roof of stone. Here was strange portent, if not an answer to his queries. The place oppressed him. It was light, but full of a transparent gloom. It smelled of dust and musty stone, of age and disuse. It was sad. It was solemn. It had the look of a place where silence had become master and was now irrevocable and terrible and could not be broken. Yet, at the moment, from high up in the carved crevices of the arch, floated down the low, strange wail of wind—a knell indeed for all that had gone.\n\nVenters, sighing, gathered up an armful of pottery, such pieces as he thought strong enough and suitable for his own use, and bent his steps toward camp. He mounted the terrace at an opposite point to which he had left. He saw the girl looking in the direction he had gone. His footsteps made no sound in the deep grass, and he approached close without her being aware of his presence. Whitie lay on the ground near where she sat, and he manifested the usual actions of welcome, but the girl did not notice them. She seemed to be oblivious to everything near at hand. She made a pathetic figure drooping there, with her sunny hair contrasting so markedly with her white, wasted cheeks and her hands listlessly clasped and her little bare feet propped in the framework of the rude seat. Venters could have sworn and laughed in one breath at the idea of the connection between this girl and Oldring's Masked Rider. She was the victim of more than accident of fate—a victim to some deep plot the mystery of which burned him. As he stepped forward with a half-formed thought that she was absorbed in watching for his return, she turned her head and saw him. A swift start, a change rather than rush of blood under her white cheeks, a flashing of big eyes that fixed their glance upon him, transformed her face in that single instant of turning, and he knew she had been watching for him, that his return was the one thing in her mind. She did not smile; she did not flush; she did not look glad. All these would have meant little compared to her indefinite expression. Venters grasped the peculiar, vivid, vital something that leaped from her face. It was as if she had been in a dead, hopeless clamp of inaction and feeling, and had been suddenly shot through and through with quivering animation. Almost it was as if she had returned to life.\n\nAnd Venters thought with lightning swiftness, \"I've saved her—I've unlinked her from that old life—she was watching as if I were all she had left on earth—she belongs to me!\" The thought was startlingly new. Like a blow it was in an unprepared moment. The cheery salutation he had ready for her died unborn and he tumbled the pieces of pottery awkwardly on the grass while some unfamiliar, deep-seated emotion, mixed with pity and glad assurance of his power to succor her, held him dumb.\n\n\"What a load you had!\" she said. \"Why, they're pots and crocks! Where did you get them?\"\n\nVenters laid down his rifle, and, filling one of the pots from his canteen, he placed it on the smoldering campfire.\n\n\"Hope it'll hold water,\" he said, presently. \"Why, there's an enormous cliff-dwelling just across here. I got the pottery there. Don't you think we needed something? That tin cup of mine has served to make tea, broth, soup—everything.\"\n\n\"I noticed we hadn't a great deal to cook in.\"\n\nShe laughed. It was the first time. He liked that laugh, and though he was tempted to look at her, he did not want to show his surprise or his pleasure.\n\n\"Will you take me over there, and all around in the valley—pretty soon, when I'm well?\" she added.\n\n\"Indeed I shall. It's a wonderful place. Rabbits so thick you can't step without kicking one out. And quail, beaver, foxes, wildcats. We're in a regular den. But—haven't you ever seen a cliff-dwelling?\"\n\n\"No. I've heard about them, though. The—the men say the Pass is full of old houses and ruins.\"\n\n\"Why, I should think you'd have run across one in all your riding around,\" said Venters. He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully, and he essayed a perfectly casual manner, and pretended to be busy assorting pieces of pottery. She must have no cause again to suffer shame for curiosity of his. Yet never in all his days had he been so eager to hear the details of anyone's life.\n\n\"When I rode—I rode like the wind,\" she replied, \"and never had time to stop for anything.\"\n\n\"I remember that day I—I met you in the Pass—how dusty you were, how tired your horse looked. Were you always riding?\"\n\n\"Oh, no. Sometimes not for months, when I was shut up in the cabin.\"\n\nVenters tried to subdue a hot tingling.\n\n\"You were shut up, then?\" he asked, carelessly.\n\n\"When Oldring went away on his long trips—he was gone for months sometimes—he shut me up in the cabin.\"\n\n\"What for?\"\n\n\"Perhaps to keep me from running away. I always threatened that. Mostly, though, because the men got drunk at the villages. But they were always good to me. I wasn't afraid.\"\n\n\"A prisoner! That must have been hard on you?\"\n\n\"I liked that. As long as I can remember I've been locked up there at times, and those times were the only happy ones I ever had. It's a big cabin, high up on a cliff, and I could look out. Then I had dogs and pets I had tamed, and books. There was a spring inside, and food stored, and the men brought me fresh meat. Once I was there one whole winter.\"",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "It now required deliberation on Venters's part to persist in his unconcern and to keep at work.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "He wanted to look at her, to volley questions at her.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"As long as you can remember—you've lived in Deception Pass?\" he went on.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"I've a dim memory of some other place, and women and children; but I can't make anything of it. Sometimes I think till I'm weary.\"",
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"Then you can read—you have books?\"",
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"Oh yes, I can read, and write, too, pretty well. Oldring is educated. He taught me, and years ago an old rustler lived with us, and he had been something different once. He was always teaching me.\"",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"So Oldring takes long trips,\" mused Venters. \"Do you know where he goes?\"\n\n\"No. Every year he drives cattle north of Sterling—then does not return for months. I heard him accused once of living two lives—and he killed the man. That was at Stone Bridge.\"\n\nVenters dropped his apparent task and looked up with an eagerness he no longer strove to hide.\n\n\"Bess,\" he said, using her name for the first time, \"I suspected Oldring was something besides a rustler. Tell me, what's his purpose here in the Pass? I believe much that he has done was to hide his real work here.\"\n\n\"You're right. He's more than a rustler. In fact, as the men say, his rustling cattle is now only a bluff. There's gold in the canyons!\"\n\n\"Ah!\"\n\n\"Yes, there's gold, not in great quantities, but gold enough for him and his men. They wash for gold week in and week out. Then they drive a few cattle and go into the villages to drink and shoot and kill—to bluff the riders.\"\n\n\"Drive a few cattle! But, Bess, the Withersteen herd, the red herd—twenty-five hundred head! That's not a few. And I tracked them into a valley near here.\"\n\n\"Oldring never stole the red herd. He made a deal with Mormons. The riders were to be called in, and Oldring was to drive the herd and keep it till a certain time—I won't know when—then drive it back to the range. What his share was I didn't hear.\"\n\n\"Did you hear why that deal was made?\" queried Venters.\n\n\"No. But it was a trick of Mormons. They're full of tricks. I've heard Oldring's men tell about Mormons. Maybe the Withersteen woman wasn't minding her halter! I saw the man who made the deal. He was a little, queer-shaped man, all humped up. He sat his horse well. I heard one of our men say afterward there was no better rider on the sage than this fellow. What was the name? I forget.\"\n\n\"Jerry Card?\" suggested Venters.\n\n\"That's it. I remember—it's a name easy to remember—and Jerry Card appeared to be on fair terms with Oldring's men.\"\n\n\"I shouldn't wonder,\" replied Venters, thoughtfully. Verification of his suspicions in regard to Tull's underhand work—for the deal with Oldring made by Jerry Card assuredly had its inception in the Mormon Elder's brain, and had been accomplished through his orders—revived in Venters a memory of hatred that had been smothered by press of other emotions. Only a few days had elapsed since the hour of his encounter with Tull, yet they had been forgotten and now seemed far off, and the interval one that now appeared large and profound with incalculable change in his feelings. Hatred of Tull still existed in his heart, but it had lost its white heat. His affection for Jane Withersteen had not changed in the least; nevertheless, he seemed to view it from another angle and see it as another thing—what, he could not exactly define. The recalling of these two feelings was to Venters like getting glimpses into a self that was gone; and the wonder of them—perhaps the change which was too illusive for him—was the fact that a strange irritation accompanied the memory and a desire to dismiss it from mind. And straightway he did dismiss it, to return to thoughts of his significant present.\n\n\"Bess, tell me one more thing,\" he said. \"Haven't you known any women—any young people?\"\n\n\"Sometimes there were women with the men; but Oldring never let me know them. And all the young people I ever saw in my life was when I rode fast through the villages.\"\n\nPerhaps that was the most puzzling and thought-provoking thing she had yet said to Venters. He pondered, more curious the more he learned, but he curbed his inquisitive desires, for he saw her shrinking on the verge of that shame, the causing of which had occasioned him such self-reproach. He would ask no more. Still he had to think, and he found it difficult to think clearly. This sad-eyed girl was so utterly different from what it would have been reason to believe such a remarkable life would have made her. On this day he had found her simple and frank, as natural as any girl he had ever known. About her there was something sweet. Her voice was low and well modulated. He could not look into her face, meet her steady, unabashed, yet wistful eyes, and think of her as the woman she had confessed herself. Oldring's Masked Rider sat before him, a girl dressed as a man. She had been made to ride at the head of infamous forays and drives. She had been imprisoned for many months of her life in an obscure cabin. At times the most vicious of men had been her companions; and the vilest of women, if they had not been permitted to approach her, had, at least, cast their shadows over her. But—but in spite of all this—there thundered at Venters some truth that lifted its voice higher than the clamoring facts of dishonor, some truth that was the very life of her beautiful eyes; and it was innocence.\n\nIn the days that followed, Venters balanced perpetually in mind this haunting conception of innocence over against the cold and sickening fact of an unintentional yet actual gift. How could it be possible for the two things to be true? He believed the latter to be true, and he would not relinquish his conviction of the former; and these conflicting thoughts augmented the mystery that appeared to be a part of Bess. In those ensuing days, however, it became clear as clearest light that Bess was rapidly regaining strength; that, unless reminded of her long association with Oldring, she seemed to have forgotten it; that, like an Indian who lives solely from moment to moment, she was utterly absorbed in the present.\n\nDay by day Venters watched the white of her face slowly change to brown, and the wasted cheeks fill out by imperceptible degrees. There came a time when he could just trace the line of demarcation between the part of her face once hidden by a mask and that left exposed to wind and sun. When that line disappeared in clear bronze tan it was as if she had been washed clean of the stigma of Oldring's Masked Rider. The suggestion of the mask always made Venters remember; now that it was gone he seldom thought of her past. Occasionally he tried to piece together the several stages of strange experience and to make a whole. He had shot a masked outlaw the very sight of whom had been ill omen to riders; he had carried off a wounded woman whose bloody lips quivered in prayer; he had nursed what seemed a frail, shrunken boy; and now he watched a girl whose face had become strangely sweet, whose dark-blue eyes were ever upon him without boldness, without shyness, but with a steady, grave, and growing light. Many times Venters found the clear gaze embarrassing to him, yet, like wine, it had an exhilarating effect. What did she think when she looked at him so? Almost he believed she had no thought at all. All about her and the present there in Surprise Valley, and the dim yet subtly impending future, fascinated Venters and made him thoughtful as all his lonely vigils in the sage had not.\n\nChiefly it was the present that he wished to dwell upon; but it was the call of the future which stirred him to action. No idea had he of what that future had in store for Bess and him. He began to think of improving Surprise Valley as a place to live in, for there was no telling how long they would be compelled to stay there. Venters stubbornly resisted the entering into his mind of an insistent thought that, clearly realized, might have made it plain to him that he did not want to leave Surprise Valley at all. But it was imperative that he consider practical matters; and whether or not he was destined to stay long there, he felt the immediate need of a change of diet. It would be necessary for him to go farther afield for a variety of meat, and also that he soon visit Cottonwoods for a supply of food.\n\nIt occurred again to Venters that he could go to the canyon where Oldring kept his cattle, and at little risk he could pack out some beef. He wished to do this, however, without letting Bess know of it till after he had made the trip. Presently he hit upon the plan of going while she was asleep.\n\nThat very night he stole out of camp, climbed up under the stone bridge, and entered the outlet to the Pass. The gorge was full of luminous gloom. Balancing Rock loomed dark and leaned over the pale descent. Transformed in the shadowy light, it took shape and dimensions of a spectral god waiting—waiting for the moment to hurl himself down upon the tottering walls and close forever the outlet to Deception Pass. At night more than by day Venters felt something fearful and fateful in that rock, and that it had leaned and waited through a thousand years to have somehow to deal with his destiny.\n\n\"Old man, if you must roll, wait till I get back to the girl, and then roll!\" he said, aloud, as if the stones were indeed a god.\n\nAnd those spoken words, in their grim note to his ear, as well as contents to his mind, told Venters that he was all but drifting on a current which he had not power nor wish to stem.\n\nVenters exercised his usual care in the matter of hiding tracks from the outlet, yet it took him scarcely an hour to reach Oldring's cattle. Here sight of many calves changed his original intention, and instead of packing out meat he decided to take a calf out alive. He roped one, securely tied its feet, and swung it over his shoulder. Here was an exceedingly heavy burden, but Venters was powerful—he could take up a sack of grain and with ease pitch it over a pack-saddle—and he made long distance without resting. The hardest work came in the climb up to the outlet and on through to the valley. When he had accomplished it, he became fired with another idea that again changed his intention. He would not kill the calf, but keep it alive. He would go back to Oldring's herd and pack out more calves. Thereupon he secured the calf in the best available spot for the moment and turned to make a second trip.\n\nWhen Venters got back to the valley with another calf, it was close upon daybreak. He crawled into his cave and slept late. Bess had no inkling that he had been absent from camp nearly all night, and only remarked solicitously that he appeared to be more tired than usual, and more in the need of sleep. In the afternoon Venters built a gate across a small ravine near camp, and here corralled the calves; and he succeeded in completing his task without Bess being any the wiser.\n\nThat night he made two more trips to Oldring's range, and again on the following night, and yet another on the next. With eight calves in his corral, he concluded that he had enough; but it dawned upon him then that he did not want to kill one. \"I've rustled Oldring's cattle,\" he said, and laughed. He noted then that all the calves were red. \"Red!\" he exclaimed. \"From the red herd. I've stolen Jane Withersteen's cattle!... That's about the strangest thing yet.\"\n\nOne more trip he undertook to Oldring's valley, and this time he roped a yearling steer and killed it and cut out a small quarter of beef. The howling of coyotes told him he need have no apprehension that the work of his knife would be discovered. He packed the beef back to camp and hung it upon a spruce-tree. Then he sought his bed.\n\nOn the morrow he was up bright and early, glad that he had a surprise for Bess. He could hardly wait for her to come out. Presently she appeared and walked under the spruce. Then she approached the camp-fire. There was a tinge of healthy red in the bronze of her cheeks, and her slender form had begun to round out in graceful lines.\n\n\"Bess, didn't you say you were tired of rabbit?\" inquired Venters. \"And quail and beaver?\"\n\n\"Indeed I did.\"\n\n\"What would you like?\"\n\n\"I'm tired of meat, but if we have to live on it I'd like some beef.\"\n\n\"Well, how does that strike you?\" Venters pointed to the quarter hanging from the spruce-tree. \"We'll have fresh beef for a few days, then we'll cut the rest into strips and dry it.\"\n\n\"Where did you get that?\" asked Bess, slowly.\n\n\"I stole that from Oldring.\"\n\n\"You went back to the canyon—you risked—\" While she hesitated the tinge of bloom faded out of her cheeks.\n\n\"It wasn't any risk, but it was hard work.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry I said I was tired of rabbit. Why! How—When did you get that beef?\"\n\n\"Last night.\"",
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"While I was asleep?\"",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 44 sentences.",
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"value": "\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I woke last night sometime—but I didn't know.\"\n\nHer eyes were widening, darkening with thought, and whenever they did so the steady, watchful, seeing gaze gave place to the wistful light. In the former she saw as the primitive woman without thought; in the latter she looked inward, and her gaze was the reflection of a troubled mind. For long Venters had not seen that dark change, that deepening of blue, which he thought was beautiful and sad. But now he wanted to make her think.\n\n\"I've done more than pack in that beef,\" he said. \"For five nights I've been working while you slept. I've got eight calves corralled near a ravine. Eight calves, all alive and doing fine!\"\n\n\"You went five nights!\"\n\nAll that Venters could make of the dilation of her eyes, her slow pallor, and her exclamation, was fear—fear for herself or for him.\n\n\"Yes. I didn't tell you, because I knew you were afraid to be left alone.\"\n\n\"Alone?\" She echoed his word, but the meaning of it was nothing to her. She had not even thought of being left alone. It was not, then, fear for herself, but for him. This girl, always slow of speech and action, now seemed almost stupid. She put forth a hand that might have indicated the groping of her mind. Suddenly she stepped swiftly to him, with a look and touch that drove from him any doubt of her quick intelligence or feeling.\n\n\"Oldring has men watch the herds—they would kill you. You must never go again!\"\n\nWhen she had spoken, the strength and the blaze of her died, and she swayed toward Venters.\n\n\"Bess, I'll not go again,\" he said, catching her.\n\nShe leaned against him, and her body was limp and vibrated to a long, wavering tremble. Her face was upturned to his. Woman's face, woman's eyes, woman's lips—all acutely and blindly and sweetly and terribly truthful in their betrayal! But as her fear was instinctive, so was her clinging to this one and only friend.\n\nVenters gently put her from him and steadied her upon her feet; and all the while his blood raced wild, and a thrilling tingle unsteadied his nerve, and something—that he had seen and felt in her—that he could not understand—seemed very close to him, warm and rich as a fragrant breath, sweet as nothing had ever before been sweet to him.\n\nWith all his will Venters strove for calmness and thought and judgment unbiased by pity, and reality unswayed by sentiment. Bess's eyes were still fixed upon him with all her soul bright in that wistful light. Swiftly, resolutely he put out of mind all of her life except what had been spent with him. He scorned himself for the intelligence that made him still doubt. He meant to judge her as she had judged him. He was face to face with the inevitableness of life itself. He saw destiny in the dark, straight path of her wonderful eyes. Here was the simplicity, the sweetness of a girl contending with new and strange and enthralling emotions here the living truth of innocence; here the blind terror of a woman confronted with the thought of death to her savior and protector. All this Venters saw, but, besides, there was in Bess's eyes a slow-dawning consciousness that seemed about to break out in glorious radiance.\n\n\"Bess, are you thinking?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes—oh yes!\"\n\n\"Do you realize we are here alone—man and woman?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Have you thought that we may make our way out to civilization, or we may have to stay here—alone—hidden from the world all our lives?\"\n\n\"I never thought—till now.\"\n\n\"Well, what's your choice—to go—or to stay here—alone with me?\"\n\n\"Stay!\" New-born thought of self, ringing vibrantly in her voice, gave her answer singular power.\n\nVenters trembled, and then swiftly turned his gaze from her face—from her eyes. He knew what she had only half divined—that she loved him.",
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[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "same energy as Zane Grey, keep writing. story might have ongoing elements",
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"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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"value": "Chapter XI. Faith and Unfaith\n\nAt Jane Withersteen's home the promise made to Mrs. Larkin to care for little Fay had begun to be fulfilled. Like a gleam of sunlight through the cottonwoods was the coming of the child to the gloomy house of Withersteen. The big, silent halls echoed with childish laughter. In the shady court, where Jane spent many of the hot July days, Fay's tiny feet pattered over the stone flags and splashed in the amber stream. She prattled incessantly. What difference, Jane thought, a child made in her home! It had never been a real home, she discovered. Even the tidiness and neatness she had so observed, and upon which she had insisted to her women, became, in the light of Fay's smile, habits that now lost their importance. Fay littered the court with Jane's books and papers, and other toys her fancy improvised, and many a strange craft went floating down the little brook.\n\nAnd it was owing to Fay's presence that Jane Withersteen came to see more of Lassiter. The rider had for the most part kept to the sage. He rode for her, but he did not seek her except on business; and Jane had to acknowledge in pique that her overtures had been made in vain. Fay, however, captured Lassiter the moment he first laid eyes on her.\n\nJane was present at the meeting, and there was something about it which dimmed her sight and softened her toward this foe of her people. The rider had clanked into the court, a tired yet wary man, always looking for the attack upon him that was inevitable and might come from any quarter; and he had walked right upon little Fay. The child had been beautiful even in her rags and amid the surroundings of the hovel in the sage, but now, in a pretty white dress, with her shining curls brushed and her face clean and rosy, she was lovely. She left her play and looked up at Lassiter.\n\nIf there was not an instinct for all three of them in that meeting, an unreasoning tendency toward a closer intimacy, then Jane Withersteen believed she had been subject to a queer fancy. She imagined any child would have feared Lassiter. And Fay Larkin had been a lonely, a solitary elf of the sage, not at all an ordinary child, and exquisitely shy with strangers. She watched Lassiter with great, round, grave eyes, but showed no fear. The rider gave Jane a favorable report of cattle and horses; and as he took the seat to which she invited him, little Fay edged as much as half an inch nearer. Jane replied to his look of inquiry and told Fay's story. The rider's gray, earnest gaze troubled her. Then he turned to Fay and smiled in a way that made Jane doubt her sense of the true relation of things. How could Lassiter smile so at a child when he had made so many children fatherless? But he did smile, and to the gentleness she had seen a few times he added something that was infinitely sad and sweet. Jane's intuition told her that Lassiter had never been a father, but if life ever so blessed him he would be a good one. Fay, also, must have found that smile singularly winning. For she edged closer and closer, and then, by way of feminine capitulation, went to Jane, from whose side she bent a beautiful glance upon the rider.\n\nLassiter only smiled at her.\n\nJane watched them, and realized that now was the moment she should seize, if she was ever to win this man from his hatred. But the step was not easy to take. The more she saw of Lassiter the more she respected him, and the greater her respect the harder it became to lend herself to mere coquetry. Yet as she thought of her great motive, of Tull, and of that other whose name she had schooled herself never to think of in connection with Milly Erne's avenger, she suddenly found she had no choice. And her creed gave her boldness far beyond the limit to which vanity would have led her.\n\n\"Lassiter, I see so little of you now,\" she said, and was conscious of heat in her cheeks.\n\n\"I've been riding hard,\" he replied.\n\n\"But you can't live in the saddle. You come in sometimes. Won't you come here to see me—oftener?\"\n\n\"Is that an order?\"\n\n\"Nonsense! I simply ask you to come to see me when you find time.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\nThe query once heard was not so embarrassing to Jane as she might have imagined. Moreover, it established in her mind a fact that there existed actually other than selfish reasons for her wanting to see him. And as she had been bold, so she determined to be both honest and brave.\n\n\"I've reasons—only one of which I need mention,\" she answered. \"If it's possible I want to change you toward my people. And on the moment I can conceive of little I wouldn't do to gain that end.\"\n\nHow much better and freer Jane felt after that confession! She meant to show him that there was one Mormon who could play a game or wage a fight in the open.\n\n\"I reckon,\" said Lassiter, and he laughed.\n\nIt was the best in her, if the most irritating, that Lassiter always aroused.\n\n\"Will you come?\" She looked into his eyes, and for the life of her could not quite subdue an imperiousness that rose with her spirit. \"I never asked so much of any man—except Bern Venters.\"\n\n\"'Pears to me that you'd run no risk, or Venters, either. But mebbe that doesn't hold good for me.\"\n\n\"You mean it wouldn't be safe for you to be often here? You look for ambush in the cottonwoods?\"\n\n\"Not that so much.\"\n\nAt this juncture little Fay sidled over to Lassiter.\n\n\"Has oo a little dirl?\" she inquired.\n\n\"No, lassie,\" replied the rider.\n\nWhatever Fay seemed to be searching for in Lassiter's sun-reddened face and quiet eyes she evidently found. \"Oo tan tom to see me,\" she added, and with that, shyness gave place to friendly curiosity. First his sombrero with its leather band and silver ornaments commanded her attention; next his quirt, and then the clinking, silver spurs. These held her for some time, but presently, true to childish fickleness, she left off playing with them to look for something else. She laughed in glee as she ran her little hands down the slippery, shiny surface of Lassiter's leather chaps. Soon she discovered one of the hanging gun—sheaths, and she dragged it up and began tugging at the huge black handle of the gun. Jane Withersteen repressed an exclamation. What significance there was to her in the little girl's efforts to dislodge that heavy weapon! Jane Withersteen saw Fay's play and her beauty and her love as most powerful allies to her own woman's part in a game that suddenly had acquired a strange zest and a hint of danger. And as for the rider, he appeared to have forgotten Jane in the wonder of this lovely child playing about him. At first he was much the shyer of the two.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "Gradually her confidence overcame his backwardness, and he had the temerity to stroke her golden curls with a great hand.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "Fay rewarded his boldness with a smile, and when he had gone to the extreme of closing that great hand over her little brown one, she said, simply, \"I like oo!\"",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Sight of his face then made Jane oblivious for the time to his character as a hater of Mormons. Out of the mother longing that swelled her breast she divined the child hunger in Lassiter.\n\nHe returned the next day, and the next; and upon the following he came both at morning and at night. Upon the evening of this fourth day Jane seemed to feel the breaking of a brooding struggle in Lassiter. During all these visits he had scarcely a word to say, though he watched her and played absent-mindedly with Fay. Jane had contented herself with silence. Soon little Fay substituted for the expression of regard, \"I like oo,\" a warmer and more generous one, \"I love oo.\"\n\nThereafter Lassiter came oftener to see Jane and her little protegee. Daily he grew more gentle and kind, and gradually developed a quaintly merry mood. In the morning he lifted Fay upon his horse and let her ride as he walked beside her to the edge of the sage. In the evening he played with the child at an infinite variety of games she invented, and then, oftener than not, he accepted Jane's invitation to supper. No other visitor came to Withersteen House during those days. So that in spite of watchfulness he never forgot, Lassiter began to show he felt at home there. After the meal they walked into the grove of cottonwoods or up by the lakes, and little Fay held Lassiter's hand as much as she held Jane's. Thus a strange relationship was established, and Jane liked it. At twilight they always returned to the house, where Fay kissed them and went in to her mother. Lassiter and Jane were left alone.\n\nThen, if there were anything that a good woman could do to win a man and still preserve her self-respect, it was something which escaped the natural subtlety of a woman determined to allure. Jane's vanity, that after all was not great, was soon satisfied with Lassiter's silent admiration. And her honest desire to lead him from his dark, blood-stained path would never have blinded her to what she owed herself. But the driving passion of her religion, and its call to save Mormons' lives, one life in particular, bore Jane Withersteen close to an infringement of her womanhood. In the beginning she had reasoned that her appeal to Lassiter must be through the senses. With whatever means she possessed in the way of adornment she enhanced her beauty. And she stooped to artifices that she knew were unworthy of her, but which she deliberately chose to employ. She made of herself a girl in every variable mood wherein a girl might be desirable. In those moods she was not above the methods of an inexperienced though natural flirt. She kept close to him whenever opportunity afforded; and she was forever playfully, yet passionately underneath the surface, fighting him for possession of the great black guns. These he would never yield to her. And so in that manner their hands were often and long in contact. The more of simplicity that she sensed in him the greater the advantage she took.\n\nShe had a trick of changing—and it was not altogether voluntary—from this gay, thoughtless, girlish coquettishness to the silence and the brooding, burning mystery of a woman's mood. The strength and passion and fire of her were in her eyes, and she so used them that Lassiter had to see this depth in her, this haunting promise more fitted to her years than to the flaunting guise of a wilful girl.\n\nThe July days flew by. Jane reasoned that if it were possible for her to be happy during such a time, then she was happy. Little Fay completely filled a long aching void in her heart. In fettering the hands of this Lassiter she was accomplishing the greatest good of her life, and to do good even in a small way rendered happiness to Jane Withersteen. She had attended the regular Sunday services of her church; otherwise she had not gone to the village for weeks. It was unusual that none of her churchmen or friends had called upon her of late; but it was neglect for which she was glad. Judkins and his boy riders had experienced no difficulty in driving the white herd. So these warm July days were free of worry, and soon Jane hoped she had passed the crisis; and for her to hope was presently to trust, and then to believe. She thought often of Venters, but in a dreamy, abstract way. She spent hours teaching and playing with little Fay. And the activity of her mind centered around Lassiter. The direction she had given her will seemed to blunt any branching off of thought from that straight line. The mood came to obsess her.\n\nIn the end, when her awakening came, she learned that she had builded better than she knew. Lassiter, though kinder and gentler than ever, had parted with his quaint humor and his coldness and his tranquility to become a restless and unhappy man. Whatever the power of his deadly intent toward Mormons, that passion now had a rival, the one equally burning and consuming. Jane Withersteen had one moment of exultation before the dawn of a strange uneasiness. What if she had made of herself a lure, at tremendous cost to him and to her, and all in vain!\n\nThat night in the moonlit grove she summoned all her courage and, turning suddenly in the path, she faced Lassiter and leaned close to him, so that she touched him and her eyes looked up to his.\n\n\"Lassiter!... Will you do anything for me?\"\n\nIn the moonlight she saw his dark, worn face change, and by that change she seemed to feel him immovable as a wall of stone.\n\nJane slipped her hands down to the swinging gun-sheaths, and when she had locked her fingers around the huge, cold handles of the guns, she trembled as with a chilling ripple over all her body.\n\n\"May I take your guns?\"\n\n\"Why?\" he asked, and for the first time to her his voice carried a harsh note. Jane felt his hard, strong hands close round her wrists. It was not wholly with intent that she leaned toward him, for the look of his eyes and the feel of his hands made her weak.\n\n\"It's no trifle—no woman's whim—it's deep—as my heart. Let me take them?\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"I want to keep you from killing more men—Mormons. You must let me save you from more wickedness—more wanton bloodshed—\" Then the truth forced itself falteringly from her lips. \"You must—let—help me to keep my vow to Milly Erne. I swore to her—as she lay dying—that if ever any one came here to avenge her—I swore I would stay his hand. Perhaps I—I alone can save the—the man who—who—Oh, Lassiter!... I feel that I can't change you—then soon you'll be out to kill—and you'll kill by instinct—and among the Mormons you kill will be the one—who... Lassiter, if you care a little for me—let me—for my sake—let me take your guns!\"\n\nAs if her hands had been those of a child, he unclasped their clinging grip from the handles of his guns, and, pushing her away, he turned his gray face to her in one look of terrible realization and then strode off into the shadows of the cottonwoods.\n\nWhen the first shock of her futile appeal to Lassiter had passed, Jane took his cold, silent condemnation and abrupt departure not so much as a refusal to her entreaty as a hurt and stunned bitterness for her attempt at his betrayal. Upon further thought and slow consideration of Lassiter's past actions, she believed he would return and forgive her. The man could not be hard to a woman, and she doubted that he could stay away from her. But at the point where she had hoped to find him vulnerable she now began to fear he was proof against all persuasion. The iron and stone quality that she had early suspected in him had actually cropped out as an impregnable barrier. Nevertheless, if Lassiter remained in Cottonwoods she would never give up her hope and desire to change him. She would change him if she had to sacrifice everything dear to her except hope of heaven.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "Passionately devoted as she was to her religion, she had yet refused to marry a Mormon.",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "But a situation had developed wherein self paled in the great white light of religious duty of the highest order. That was the leading motive, the divinely spiritual one; but there were other motives, which, like tentacles, aided in drawing her will to the acceptance of a possible abnegation. And through the watches of that sleepless night Jane Withersteen, in fear and sorrow and doubt, came finally to believe that if she must throw herself into Lassiter's arms to make him abide by \"Thou shalt not kill!\" she would yet do well.\n\nIn the morning she expected Lassiter at the usual hour, but she was not able to go at once to the court, so she sent little Fay. Mrs. Larkin was ill and required attention. It appeared that the mother, from the time of her arrival at Withersteen House, had relaxed and was slowly losing her hold on life. Jane had believed that absence of worry and responsibility coupled with good nursing and comfort would mend Mrs. Larkin's broken health. Such, however, was not the case.\n\nWhen Jane did get out to the court, Fay was there alone, and at the moment embarking on a dubious voyage down the stone-lined amber stream upon a craft of two brooms and a pillow. Fay was as delightfully wet as she could possibly wish to get.\n\nClatter of hoofs distracted Fay and interrupted the scolding she was gleefully receiving from Jane. The sound was not the light-spirited trot that Bells made when Lassiter rode him into the outer court. This was slower and heavier, and Jane did not recognize in it any of her other horses. The appearance of Bishop Dyer startled Jane. He dismounted with his rapid, jerky motion flung the bridle, and, as he turned toward the inner court and stalked up on the stone flags, his boots rang. In his authoritative front, and in the red anger unmistakably flaming in his face, he reminded Jane of her father.\n\n\"Is that the Larkin pauper?\" he asked, bruskly, without any greeting to Jane.\n\n\"It's Mrs. Larkin's little girl,\" replied Jane, slowly.\n\n\"I hear you intend to raise the child?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Of course you mean to give her Mormon bringing-up?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nHis questions had been swift. She was amazed at a feeling that some one else was replying for her.\n\n\"I've come to say a few things to you.\" He stopped to measure her with stern, speculative eye.\n\nJane Withersteen loved this man. From earliest childhood she had been taught to revere and love bishops of her church. And for ten years Bishop Dyer had been the closest friend and counselor of her father, and for the greater part of that period her own friend and Scriptural teacher. Her interpretation of her creed and her religious activity in fidelity to it, her acceptance of mysterious and holy Mormon truths, were all invested in this Bishop. Bishop Dyer as an entity was next to God. He was God's mouthpiece to the little Mormon community at Cottonwoods. God revealed himself in secret to this mortal.\n\nAnd Jane Withersteen suddenly suffered a paralyzing affront to her consciousness of reverence by some strange, irresistible twist of thought wherein she saw this Bishop as a man. And the train of thought hurdled the rising, crying protests of that other self whose poise she had lost. It was not her Bishop who eyed her in curious measurement. It was a man who tramped into her presence without removing his hat, who had no greeting for her, who had no semblance of courtesy. In looks, as in action, he made her think of a bull stamping cross-grained into a corral. She had heard of Bishop Dyer forgetting the minister in the fury of a common man, and now she was to feel it. The glance by which she measured him in turn momentarily veiled the divine in the ordinary. He looked a rancher; he was booted, spurred, and covered with dust; he carried a gun at his hip, and she remembered that he had been known to use it. But during the long moment while he watched her there was nothing commonplace in the slow-gathering might of his wrath.\n\n\"Brother Tull has talked to me,\" he began. \"It was your father's wish that you marry Tull, and my order. You refused him?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"You would not give up your friendship with that tramp Venters?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"But you'll do as I order!\" he thundered. \"Why, Jane Withersteen, you are in danger of becoming a heretic! You can thank your Gentile friends for that. You face the damning of your soul to perdition.\"\n\nIn the flux and reflux of the whirling torture of Jane's mind, that new, daring spirit of hers vanished in the old habitual order of her life. She was a Mormon, and the Bishop regained ascendance.\n\n\"It's well I got you in time, Jane Withersteen. What would your father have said to these goings-on of yours? He would have put you in a stone cage on bread and water. He would have taught you something about Mormonism. Remember, you're a born Mormon. There have been Mormons who turned heretic—damn their souls!—but no born Mormon ever left us yet. Ah, I see your shame. Your faith is not shaken. You are only a wild girl.\" The Bishop's tone softened. \"Well, it's enough that I got to you in time... Now tell me about this Lassiter. I hear strange things.\"\n\n\"What do you wish to know?\" queried Jane.\n\n\"About this man. You hired him?\"\n\n\"Yes, he's riding for me. When my riders left me I had to have any one I could get.\"\n\n\"Is it true what I hear—that he's a gun-man, a Mormon-hater, steeped in blood?\"\n\n\"True—terribly true, I fear.\"\n\n\"But what's he doing here in Cottonwoods? This place isn't notorious enough for such a man. Sterling and the villages north, where there's universal gun-packing and fights every day—where there are more men like him, it seems to me they would attract him most. We're only a wild, lonely border settlement. It's only recently that the rustlers have made killings here. Nor have there been saloons till lately, nor the drifting in of outcasts. Has not this gun-man some special mission here?\"\n\nJane maintained silence.\n\n\"Tell me,\" ordered Bishop Dyer, sharply.\n\n\"Yes,\" she replied.\n\n\"Do you know what it is?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Tell me that.\"\n\n\"Bishop Dyer, I don't want to tell.\"\n\nHe waved his hand in an imperative gesture of command.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "The red once more leaped to his face, and in his steel-blue eyes glinted a pin-point of curiosity.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"That first day,\" whispered Jane, \"Lassiter said he came here to find—Milly Erne's grave!\"",
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"from": "human",
"value": "OOC, Make sure to use 'began' 2 time(s) throughout your message",
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"value": "With downcast eyes Jane watched the swift flow of the amber water. She saw it and tried to think of it, of the stones, of the ferns; but, like her body, her mind was in a leaden vise. Only the Bishop's voice could release her. Seemingly there was silence of longer duration than all her former life.\n\n\"For what—else?\" When Bishop Dyer's voice did cleave the silence it was high, curiously shrill, and on the point of breaking. It released Jane's tongue, but she could not lift her eyes.\n\n\"To kill the man who persuaded Milly Erne to abandon her home and her husband—and her God!\"\n\nWith wonderful distinctness Jane Withersteen heard her own clear voice. She heard the water murmur at her feet and flow on to the sea; she heard the rushing of all the waters in the world. They filled her ears with low, unreal murmurings—these sounds that deadened her brain and yet could not break the long and terrible silence. Then, from somewhere—from an immeasurable distance—came a slow, guarded, clinking, clanking step. Into her it shot electrifying life. It released the weight upon her numbed eyelids. Lifting her eyes she saw—ashen, shaken, stricken—not the Bishop but the man! And beyond him, from round the corner came that soft, silvery step. A long black boot with a gleaming spur swept into sight—and then Lassiter! Bishop Dyer did not see, did not hear: he stared at Jane in the throes of sudden revelation.\n\n\"Ah, I understand!\" he cried, in hoarse accents. \"That's why you made love to this Lassiter—to bind his hands!\"\n\nIt was Jane's gaze riveted upon the rider that made Bishop Dyer turn. Then clear sight failed her. Dizzily, in a blur, she saw the Bishop's hand jerk to his hip. She saw gleam of blue and spout of red. In her ears burst a thundering report. The court floated in darkening circles around her, and she fell into utter blackness.\n\nThe darkness lightened, turned to slow-drifting haze, and lifted. Through a thin film of blue smoke she saw the rough-hewn timbers of the court roof. A cool, damp touch moved across her brow. She smelled powder, and it was that which galvanized her suspended thought. She moved, to see that she lay prone upon the stone flags with her head on Lassiter's knee, and he was bathing her brow with water from the stream. The same swift glance, shifting low, brought into range of her sight a smoking gun and splashes of blood.\n\n\"Ah-h!\" she moaned, and was drifting, sinking again into darkness, when Lassiter's voice arrested her.\n\n\"It's all right, Jane. It's all right.\"\n\n\"Did—you—kill—him?\" she whispered.\n\n\"Who? That fat party who was here? No. I didn't kill him.\"\n\n\"Oh!... Lassiter!\"\n\n\"Say! It was queer for you to faint. I thought you were such a strong woman, not faintish like that. You're all right now—only some pale. I thought you'd never come to. But I'm awkward round women folks. I couldn't think of anythin'.\"\n\n\"Lassiter!... the gun there!... the blood!\"\n\n\"So that's troublin' you. I reckon it needn't. You see it was this way. I come round the house an' seen that fat party an' heard him talkin' loud. Then he seen me, an' very impolite goes straight for his gun. He oughtn't have tried to throw a gun on me—whatever his reason was. For that's meetin' me on my own grounds. I've seen runnin' molasses that was quicker 'n him. Now I didn't know who he was, visitor or friend or relation of yours, though I seen he was a Mormon all over, an' I couldn't get serious about shootin'. So I winged him—put a bullet through his arm as he was pullin' at his gun. An' he dropped the gun there, an' a little blood. I told him he'd introduced himself sufficient, an' to please move out of my vicinity. An' he went.\"\n\nLassiter spoke with slow, cool, soothing voice, in which there was a hint of levity, and his touch, as he continued to bathe her brow, was gentle and steady. His impassive face, and the kind gray eyes, further stilled her agitation.\n\n\"He drew on you first, and you deliberately shot to cripple him—you wouldn't kill him—you—Lassiter?\"\n\n\"That's about the size of it.\"\n\nJane kissed his hand.\n\nAll that was calm and cool about Lassiter instantly vanished.\n\n\"Don't do that! I won't stand it! An' I don't care a damn who that fat party was.\"\n\nHe helped Jane to her feet and to a chair. Then with the wet scarf he had used to bathe her face he wiped the blood from the stone flags and, picking up the gun, he threw it upon a couch. With that he began to pace the court, and his silver spurs jangled musically, and the great gun-sheaths softly brushed against his leather chaps.\n\n\"So—it's true—what I heard him say?\" Lassiter asked, presently halting before her. \"You made love to me—to bind my hands?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" confessed Jane. It took all her woman's courage to meet the gray storm of his glance.\n\n\"All these days that you've been so friendly an' like a pardner—all these evenin's that have been so bewilderin' to me—your beauty—an'—an' the way you looked an' came close to me—they were woman's tricks to bind my hands?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"An' your sweetness that seemed so natural, an' your throwin' little Fay an' me so much together—to make me love the child—all that was for the same reason?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nLassiter flung his arms—a strange gesture for him.\n\n\"Mebbe it wasn't much in your Mormon thinkin', for you to play that game. But to ring the child in—that was hellish!\"\n\nJane's passionate, unheeding zeal began to loom darkly.\n\n\"Lassiter, whatever my intention in the beginning, Fay loves you dearly—and I—I've grown to—to like you.\"\n\n\"That's powerful kind of you, now,\" he said. Sarcasm and scorn made his voice that of a stranger. \"An' you sit there an' look me straight in the eyes! You're a wonderful strange woman, Jane Withersteen.\"\n\n\"I'm not ashamed, Lassiter. I told you I'd try to change you.\"\n\n\"Would you mind tellin' me just what you tried?\"\n\n\"I tried to make you see beauty in me and be softened by it. I wanted you to care for me so that I could influence you. It wasn't easy. At first you were stone-blind. Then I hoped you'd love little Fay, and through that come to feel the horror of making children fatherless.\"\n\n\"Jane Withersteen, either you're a fool or noble beyond my understandin'. Mebbe you're both. I know you're blind. What you meant is one thing—what you did was to make me love you.\"\n\n\"Lassiter!\"\n\n\"I reckon I'm a human bein', though I never loved any one but my sister, Milly Erne. That was long—\"",
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"value": "\"Oh, are you Milly's brother?\"",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 17 sentences.",
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"value": "\"Yes, I was, an' I loved her. There never was any one but her in my life till now. Didn't I tell you that long ago I back-trailed myself from women? I was a Texas ranger till—till Milly left home, an' then I became somethin' else—Lassiter! For years I've been a lonely man set on one thing. I came here an' met you. An' now I'm not the man I was. The change was gradual, an' I took no notice of it. I understand now that never-satisfied longin' to see you, listen to you, watch you, feel you near me. It's plain now why you were never out of my thoughts. I've had no thoughts but of you. I've lived an' breathed for you. An' now when I know what it means—what you've done—I'm burnin' up with hell's fire!\"\n\n\"Oh, Lassiter—no—no—you don't love me that way!\" Jane cased.\n\n\"If that's what love is, then I do.\"\n\n\"Forgive me! I didn't mean to make you love me like that. Oh, what a tangle of our lives! You—Milly Erne's brother! And I—heedless, mad to melt your heart toward Mormons. Lassiter, I may be wicked but not wicked enough to hate. If I couldn't hate Tull, could I hate you?\"\n\n\"After all, Jane, mebbe you're only blind—Mormon blind. That only can explain what's close to selfishness—\"\n\n\"I'm not selfish. I despise the very word. If I were free—\"\n\n\"But you're not free. Not free of Mormonism. An' in playin' this game with me you've been unfaithful.\"\n\n\"Un-faithful!\" faltered Jane.\n\n\"Yes, I said unfaithful. You're faithful to your Bishop an' unfaithful to yourself. You're false to your womanhood an' true to your religion. But for a savin' innocence you'd have made yourself low an' vile—betrayin' yourself, betrayin' me—all to bind my hands an' keep me from snuffin' out Mormon life. It's your damned Mormon blindness.\"\n\n\"Is it vile—is it blind—is it only Mormonism to save human life? No, Lassiter, that's God's law, divine, universal for all Christians.\"\n\n\"The blindness I mean is blindness that keeps you from seein' the truth. I've known many good Mormons. But some are blacker than hell. You won't see that even when you know it. Else, why all this blind passion to save the life of that—that...\"\n\nJane shut out the light, and the hands she held over her eyes trembled and quivered against her face.\n\n\"Blind—yes, en' let me make it clear en' simple to you,\" Lassiter went on, his voice losing its tone of anger. \"Take, for instance, that idea of yours last night when you wanted my guns. It was good an' beautiful, an' showed your heart—but—why, Jane, it was crazy. Mind I'm assumin' that life to me is as sweet as to any other man. An' to preserve that life is each man's first an' closest thought. Where would any man be on this border without guns? Where, especially, would Lassiter be? Well, I'd be under the sage with thousands of other men now livin' an' sure better men than me. Gun-packin' in the West since the Civil War has growed into a kind of moral law. An' out here on this border it's the difference between a man an' somethin' not a man. Look what your takin' Venters's guns from him all but made him! Why, your churchmen carry guns. Tull has killed a man an' drawed on others. Your Bishop has shot a half dozen men, an' it wasn't through prayers of his that they recovered. An' to-day he'd have shot me if he'd been quick enough on the draw. Could I walk or ride down into Cottonwoods without my guns? This is a wild time, Jane Withersteen, this year of our Lord eighteen seventy-one.\"\n\n\"No time—for a woman!\" exclaimed Jane, brokenly. \"Oh, Lassiter, I feel helpless—lost—and don't know where to turn. If I am blind—then—I need some one—a friend—you, Lassiter—more than ever!\"\n\n\"Well, I didn't say nothin' about goin' back on you, did I?\"",
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"value": "Hey can you write like Zane Grey and use whatever i write as a jumping off point? btw characters and stuff might show up without backstory, just go with it",
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"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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"value": "Chapter XII. The Invisible Hand\n\nJane received a letter from Bishop Dyer, not in his own handwriting, which stated that the abrupt termination of their interview had left him in some doubt as to her future conduct. A slight injury had incapacitated him from seeking another meeting at present, the letter went on to say, and ended with a request which was virtually a command, that she call upon him at once.\n\nThe reading of the letter acquainted Jane Withersteen with the fact that something within her had all but changed. She sent no reply to Bishop Dyer nor did she go to see him. On Sunday she remained absent from the service—for the second time in years—and though she did not actually suffer there was a dead-lock of feelings deep within her, and the waiting for a balance to fall on either side was almost as bad as suffering. She had a gloomy expectancy of untoward circumstances, and with it a keen-edged curiosity to watch developments. She had a half-formed conviction that her future conduct—as related to her churchmen—was beyond her control and would be governed by their attitude toward her. Something was changing in her, forming, waiting for decision to make it a real and fixed thing. She had told Lassiter that she felt helpless and lost in the fateful tangle of their lives; and now she feared that she was approaching the same chaotic condition of mind in regard to her religion. It appalled her to find that she questioned phases of that religion. Absolute faith had been her serenity. Though leaving her faith unshaken, her serenity had been disturbed, and now it was broken by open war between her and her ministers. That something within her—a whisper—which she had tried in vain to hush had become a ringing voice, and it called to her to wait. She had transgressed no laws of God. Her churchmen, however invested with the power and the glory of a wonderful creed, however they sat in inexorable judgment of her, must now practice toward her the simple, common, Christian virtue they professed to preach, \"Do unto others as you would have others do unto you!\"\n\nJane Withersteen, waiting in darkness of mind, remained faithful still. But it was darkness that must soon be pierced by light. If her faith were justified, if her churchmen were trying only to intimidate her, the fact would soon be manifest, as would their failure, and then she would redouble her zeal toward them and toward what had been the best work of her life—work for the welfare and happiness of those among whom she lived, Mormon and Gentile alike. If that secret, intangible power closed its coils round her again, if that great invisible hand moved here and there and everywhere, slowly paralyzing her with its mystery and its inconceivable sway over her affairs, then she would know beyond doubt that it was not chance, nor jealousy, nor intimidation, nor ministerial wrath at her revolt, but a cold and calculating policy thought out long before she was born, a dark, immutable will of whose empire she and all that was hers was but an atom.\n\nThen might come her ruin. Then might come her fall into black storm. Yet she would rise again, and to the light. God would be merciful to a driven woman who had lost her way.\n\nA week passed. Little Fay played and prattled and pulled at Lassiter's big black guns. The rider came to Withersteen House oftener than ever. Jane saw a change in him, though it did not relate to his kindness and gentleness. He was quieter and more thoughtful. While playing with Fay or conversing with Jane he seemed to be possessed of another self that watched with cool, roving eyes, that listened, listened always as if the murmuring amber stream brought messages, and the moving leaves whispered something. Lassiter never rode Bells into the court any more, nor did he come by the lane or the paths. When he appeared it was suddenly and noiselessly out of the dark shadow of the grove.\n\n\"I left Bells out in the sage,\" he said, one day at the end of that week. \"I must carry water to him.\"\n\n\"Why not let him drink at the trough or here?\" asked Jane, quickly.\n\n\"I reckon it'll be safer for me to slip through the grove. I've been watched when I rode in from the sage.\"\n\n\"Watched? By whom?\"\n\n\"By a man who thought he was well hid. But my eyes are pretty sharp. An', Jane,\" he went on, almost in a whisper, \"I reckon it'd be a good idea for us to talk low. You're spied on here by your women.\"\n\n\"Lassiter!\" she whispered in turn. \"That's hard to believe. My women love me.\"\n\n\"What of that?\" he asked. \"Of course they love you. But they're Mormon women.\"\n\nJane's old, rebellious loyalty clashed with her doubt.\n\n\"I won't believe it,\" she replied, stubbornly.\n\n\"Well then, just act natural an' talk natural, an' pretty soon—give them time to hear us—pretend to go over there to the table, en' then quick-like make a move for the door en' open it.\"\n\n\"I will,\" said Jane, with heightened color. Lassiter was right; he never made mistakes; he would not have told her unless he positively knew. Yet Jane was so tenacious of faith that she had to see with her own eyes, and so constituted that to employ even such small deceit toward her women made her ashamed, and angry for her shame as well as theirs. Then a singular thought confronted her that made her hold up this simple ruse—which hurt her, though it was well justified—against the deceit she had wittingly and eagerly used toward Lassiter. The difference was staggering in its suggestion of that blindness of which he had accused her. Fairness and justice and mercy, that she had imagined were anchor-cables to hold fast her soul to righteousness had not been hers in the strange, biased duty that had so exalted and confounded her.\n\nPresently Jane began to act her little part, to laugh and play with Fay, to talk of horses and cattle to Lassiter. Then she made deliberate mention of a book in which she kept records of all pertaining to her stock, and she walked slowly toward the table, and when near the door she suddenly whirled and thrust it open. Her sharp action nearly knocked down a woman who had undoubtedly been listening.\n\n\"Hester,\" said Jane, sternly, \"you may go home, and you need not come back.\"\n\nJane shut the door and returned to Lassiter. Standing unsteadily, she put her hand on his arm. She let him see that doubt had gone, and how this stab of disloyalty pained her.\n\n\"Spies! My own women!... Oh, miserable!\" she cried, with flashing, tearful eyes.\n\n\"I hate to tell you,\" he replied. By that she knew he had long spared her. \"It's begun again—that work in the dark.\"\n\n\"Nay, Lassiter—it never stopped!\"\n\nSo bitter certainty claimed her at last, and trust fled Withersteen House and fled forever. The women who owed much to Jane Withersteen changed not in love for her, nor in devotion to their household work, but they poisoned both by a thousand acts of stealth and cunning and duplicity. Jane broke out once and caught them in strange, stone-faced, unhesitating falsehood. Thereafter she broke out no more. She forgave them because they were driven. Poor, fettered, and sealed Hagars, how she pitied them! What terrible thing bound them and locked their lips, when they showed neither consciousness of guilt toward their benefactress nor distress at the slow wearing apart of long-established and dear ties?\n\n\"The blindness again!\" cried Jane Withersteen. \"In my sisters as in me!... O God!\"\n\nThere came a time when no words passed between Jane and her women. Silently they went about their household duties, and secretly they went about the underhand work to which they had been bidden. The gloom of the house and the gloom of its mistress, which darkened even the bright spirit of little Fay, did not pervade these women. Happiness was not among them, but they were aloof from gloom. They spied and listened; they received and sent secret messengers; and they stole Jane's books and records, and finally the papers that were deeds of her possessions. Through it all they were silent, rapt in a kind of trance. Then one by one, without leave or explanation or farewell, they left Withersteen House, and never returned.\n\nCoincident with this disappearance Jane's gardeners and workers in the alfalfa fields and stable men quit her, not even asking for their wages. Of all her Mormon employees about the great ranch only Jerd remained. He went on with his duty, but talked no more of the change than if it had never occurred.\n\n\"Jerd,\" said Jane, \"what stock you can't take care of turn out in the sage. Let your first thought be for Black Star and Night. Keep them in perfect condition. Run them every day and watch them always.\"\n\nThough Jane Withersteen gave them such liberality, she loved her possessions. She loved the rich, green stretches of alfalfa, and the farms, and the grove, and the old stone house, and the beautiful, ever-faithful amber spring, and every one of a myriad of horses and colts and burros and fowls down to the smallest rabbit that nipped her vegetables; but she loved best her noble Arabian steeds. In common with all riders of the upland sage Jane cherished two material things—the cold, sweet, brown water that made life possible in the wilderness and the horses which were a part of that life. When Lassiter asked her what Lassiter would be without his guns he was assuming that his horse was part of himself. So Jane loved Black Star and Night because it was her nature to love all beautiful creatures—perhaps all living things; and then she loved them because she herself was of the sage and in her had been born and bred the rider's instinct to rely on his four-footed brother. And when Jane gave Jerd the order to keep her favorites trained down to the day it was a half-conscious admission that presaged a time when she would need her fleet horses.\n\nJane had now, however, no leisure to brood over the coils that were closing round her. Mrs. Larkin grew weaker as the August days began; she required constant care; there was little Fay to look after; and such household work as was imperative. Lassiter put Bells in the stable with the other racers, and directed his efforts to a closer attendance upon Jane. She welcomed the change.",
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"value": "He was always at hand to help, and it was her fortune to learn that his boast of being awkward around women had its root in humility and was not true.\n\nHis great, brown hands were skilled in a multiplicity of ways which a woman might have envied. He shared Jane's work, and was of especial help to her in nursing Mrs. Larkin. The woman suffered most at night, and this often broke Jane's rest. So it came about that Lassiter would stay by Mrs. Larkin during the day, when she needed care, and Jane would make up the sleep she lost in night-watches. Mrs. Larkin at once took kindly to the gentle Lassiter, and, without ever asking who or what he was, praised him to Jane. \"He's a good man and loves children,\" she said. How sad to hear this truth spoken of a man whom Jane thought lost beyond all redemption! Yet ever and ever Lassiter towered above her, and behind or through his black, sinister figure shone something luminous that strangely affected Jane. Good and evil began to seem incomprehensibly blended in her judgment. It was her belief that evil could not come forth from good; yet here was a murderer who dwarfed in gentleness, patience, and love any man she had ever known.\n\nShe had almost lost track of her more outside concerns when early one morning Judkins presented himself before her in the courtyard.\n\nThin, hard, burnt, bearded, with the dust and sage thick on him, with his leather wrist-bands shining from use, and his boots worn through on the stirrup side, he looked the rider of riders. He wore two guns and carried a Winchester.\n\nJane greeted him with surprise and warmth, set meat and bread and drink before him; and called Lassiter out to see him. The men exchanged glances, and the meaning of Lassiter's keen inquiry and Judkins's bold reply, both unspoken, was not lost upon Jane.\n\n\"Where's your hoss?\" asked Lassiter, aloud.\n\n\"Left him down the slope,\" answered Judkins. \"I footed it in a ways, an' slept last night in the sage. I went to the place you told me you 'moss always slept, but didn't strike you.\"\n\n\"I moved up some, near the spring, an' now I go there nights.\"\n\n\"Judkins—the white herd?\" queried Jane, hurriedly.\n\n\"Miss Withersteen, I make proud to say I've not lost a steer. Fer a good while after thet stampede Lassiter milled we hed no trouble. Why, even the sage dogs left us. But it's begun agin—thet flashin' of lights over ridge tips, an' queer puffin' of smoke, en' then at night strange whistles en' noises. But the herd's acted magnificent. An' my boys, say, Miss Withersteen, they're only kids, but I ask no better riders. I got the laugh in the village fer takin' them out. They're a wild lot, an' you know boys hev more nerve than grown men, because they don't know what danger is. I'm not denyin' there's danger. But they glory in it, an' mebbe I like it myself—anyway, we'll stick. We're goin' to drive the herd on the far side of the first break of Deception Pass. There's a great round valley over there, an' no ridges or piles of rocks to aid these stampeders. The rains are due. We'll hev plenty of water fer a while. An' we can hold thet herd from anybody except Oldrin'. I come in fer supplies. I'll pack a couple of burros an' drive out after dark to-night.\"\n\n\"Judkins, take what you want from the store-room. Lassiter will help you. I—I can't thank you enough... but—wait.\"\n\nJane went to the room that had once been her father's, and from a secret chamber in the thick stone wall she took a bag of gold, and, carrying it back to the court, she gave it to the rider.\n\n\"There, Judkins, and understand that I regard it as little for your loyalty. Give what is fair to your boys, and keep the rest. Hide it. Perhaps that would be wisest.\"\n\n\"Oh... Miss Withersteen!\" ejaculated the rider. \"I couldn't earn so much in—in ten years. It's not right—I oughtn't take it.\"\n\n\"Judkins, you know I'm a rich woman. I tell you I've few faithful friends. I've fallen upon evil days. God only knows what will become of me and mine! So take the gold.\"\n\nShe smiled in understanding of his speechless gratitude, and left him with Lassiter. Presently she heard him speaking low at first, then in louder accents emphasized by the thumping of his rifle on the stones. \"As infernal a job as even you, Lassiter, ever heerd of.\"\n\n\"Why, son,\" was Lassiter's reply, \"this breakin' of Miss Withersteen may seem bad to you, but it ain't bad—yet. Some of these wall-eyed fellers who look jest as if they was walkin' in the shadow of Christ himself, right down the sunny road, now they can think of things en' do things that are really hell-bent.\"\n\nJane covered her ears and ran to her own room, and there like caged lioness she paced to and fro till the coming of little Fay reversed her dark thoughts.\n\nThe following day, a warm and muggy one threatening rain awhile Jane was resting in the court, a horseman clattered through the grove and up to the hitching-rack. He leaped off and approached Jane with the manner of a man determined to execute difficult mission, yet fearful of its reception. In the gaunt, wiry figure and the lean, brown face Jane recognized one of her Mormon riders, Blake. It was he of whom Judkins had long since spoken. Of all the riders ever in her employ Blake owed her the most, and as he stepped before her, removing his hat and making manly efforts to subdue his emotion, he showed that he remembered.\n\n\"Miss Withersteen, mother's dead,\" he said.\n\n\"Oh—Blake!\" exclaimed Jane, and she could say no more.\n\n\"She died free from pain in the end, and she's buried—resting at last, thank God!... I've come to ride for you again, if you'll have me. Don't think I mentioned mother to get your sympathy. When she was living and your riders quit, I had to also. I was afraid of what might be done—said to her... Miss Withersteen, we can't talk of—of what's going on now—\"\n\n\"Blake, do you know?\"\n\n\"I know a great deal. You understand, my lips are shut. But without explanation or excuse I offer my services. I'm a Mormon—I hope a good one. But—there are some things!... It's no use, Miss Withersteen, I can't say any more—what I'd like to. But will you take me back?\"\n\n\"Blake!... You know what it means?\"\n\n\"I don't care. I'm sick of—of—I'll show you a Mormon who'll be true to you!\"\n\n\"But, Blake—how terribly you might suffer for that!\"\n\n\"Maybe. Aren't you suffering now?\"\n\n\"God knows indeed I am!\"\n\n\"Miss Withersteen, it's a liberty on my part to speak so, but I know you pretty well—know you'll never give in. I wouldn't if I were you. And I—I must—Something makes me tell you the worst is yet to come. That's all. I absolutely can't say more. Will you take me back—let me ride for you—show everybody what I mean?\"\n\n\"Blake, it makes me happy to hear you. How my riders hurt me when they quit!\" Jane felt the hot tears well to her eyes and splash down upon her hands. \"I thought so much of them—tried so hard to be good to them. And not one was true. You've made it easy to forgive. Perhaps many of them really feel as you do, but dare not return to me. Still, Blake, I hesitate to take you back. Yet I want you so much.\"\n\n\"Do it, then. If you're going to make your life a lesson to Mormon women, let me make mine a lesson to the men. Right is right. I believe in you, and here's my life to prove it.\"\n\n\"You hint it may mean your life!\" said Jane, breathless and low.\n\n\"We won't speak of that. I want to come back. I want to do what every rider aches in his secret heart to do for you... Miss Withersteen, I hoped it'd not be necessary to tell you that my mother on her deathbed told me to have courage. She knew how the thing galled me—she told me to come back... Will you take me?\"\n\n\"God bless you, Blake! Yes, I'll take you back. And will you—will you accept gold from me?\"\n\n\"Miss Withersteen!\"\n\n\"I just gave Judkins a bag of gold. I'll give you one. If you will not take it you must not come back. You might ride for me a few months—weeks—days till the storm breaks. Then you'd have nothing, and be in disgrace with your people. We'll forearm you against poverty, and me against endless regret. I'll give you gold which you can hide—till some future time.\"\n\n\"Well, if it pleases you,\" replied Blake. \"But you know I never thought of pay. Now, Miss Withersteen, one thing more. I want to see this man Lassiter. Is he here?\"\n\n\"Yes, but, Blake—what—Need you see him? Why?\" asked Jane, instantly worried. \"I can speak to him—tell him about you.\"\n\n\"That won't do. I want to—I've got to tell him myself. Where is he?\"\n\n\"Lassiter is with Mrs. Larkin. She is ill. I'll call him,\" answered Jane, and going to the door she softly called for the rider. A faint, musical jingle preceded his step—then his tall form crossed the threshold.\n\n\"Lassiter, here's Blake, an old rider of mine. He has come back to me and he wishes to speak to you.\"\n\nBlake's brown face turned exceedingly pale.\n\n\"Yes, I had to speak to you,\" he said, swiftly. \"My name's Blake. I'm a Mormon and a rider. Lately I quit Miss Withersteen. I've come to beg her to take me back. Now I don't know you; but I know—what you are. So I've this to say to your face. It would never occur to this woman to imagine—let alone suspect me to be a spy. She couldn't think it might just be a low plot to come here and shoot you in the back. Jane Withersteen hasn't that kind of a mind... Well, I've not come for that. I want to help her—to pull a bridle along with Judkins and—and you. The thing is—do you believe me?\"\n\n\"I reckon I do,\" replied Lassiter. How this slow, cool speech contrasted with Blake's hot, impulsive words! \"You might have saved some of your breath. See here, Blake, cinch this in your mind. Lassiter has met some square Mormons! An' mebbe—\"\n\n\"Blake,\" interrupted Jane, nervously anxious to terminate a colloquy that she perceived was an ordeal for him. \"Go at once and fetch me a report of my horses.\"\n\n\"Miss Withersteen!... You mean the big drove—down in the sage-cleared fields?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" replied Jane. \"My horses are all there, except the blooded stock I keep here.\"\n\n\"Haven't you heard—then?\"\n\n\"Heard? No! What's happened to them?\"\n\n\"They're gone, Miss Withersteen, gone these ten days past. Dorn told me, and I rode down to see for myself.\"\n\n\"Lassiter—did you know?\" asked Jane, whirling to him.\n\n\"I reckon so... But what was the use to tell you?\"\n\nIt was Lassiter turning away his face and Blake studying the stone flags at his feet that brought Jane to the understanding of what she betrayed. She strove desperately, but she could not rise immediately from such a blow.\n\n\"My horses! My horses! What's become of them?\"\n\n\"Dorn said the riders report another drive by Oldring... And I trailed the horses miles down the slope toward Deception Pass.\"\n\n\"My red herd's gone! My horses gone! The white herd will go next. I can stand that. But if I lost Black Star and Night, it would be like parting with my own flesh and blood. Lassiter—Blake—am I in danger of losing my racers?\"\n\n\"A rustler—or—or anybody stealin' hosses of yours would most of all want the blacks,\" said Lassiter. His evasive reply was affirmative enough. The other rider nodded gloomy acquiescence.\n\n\"Oh! Oh!\" Jane Withersteen choked, with violent utterance.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"Let me take charge of the blacks?\"",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 37 sentences.",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "asked Blake. \"One more rider won't be any great help to Judkins. But I might hold Black Star and Night, if you put such store on their value.\"\n\n\"Value! Blake, I love my racers. Besides, there's another reason why I mustn't lose them. You go to the stables. Go with Jerd every day when he runs the horses, and don't let them out of your sight. If you would please me—win my gratitude, guard my black racers.\"\n\nWhen Blake had mounted and ridden out of the court Lassiter regarded Jane with the smile that was becoming rarer as the days sped by.\n\n\"'Pears to me, as Blake says, you do put some store on them hosses. Now I ain't gainsayin' that the Arabians are the handsomest hosses I ever seen. But Bells can beat Night, an' run neck en' neck with Black Star.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, don't tease me now. I'm miserable—sick. Bells is fast, but he can't stay with the blacks, and you know it. Only Wrangle can do that.\"\n\n\"I'll bet that big raw-boned brute can more'n show his heels to your black racers. Jane, out there in the sage, on a long chase, Wrangle could kill your favorites.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" replied Jane, impatiently. \"Lassiter, why do you say that so often? I know you've teased me at times, and I believe it's only kindness. You're always trying to keep my mind off worry. But you mean more by this repeated mention of my racers?\"\n\n\"I reckon so.\" Lassiter paused, and for the thousandth time in her presence moved his black sombrero round and round, as if counting the silver pieces on the band. \"Well, Jane, I've sort of read a little that's passin' in your mind.\"\n\n\"You think I might fly from my home—from Cottonwoods—from the Utah border?\"\n\n\"I reckon. An' if you ever do an' get away with the blacks I wouldn't like to see Wrangle left here on the sage. Wrangle could catch you. I know Venters had him. But you can never tell. Mebbe he hasn't got him now... Besides—things are happenin', an' somethin' of the same queer nature might have happened to Venters.\"\n\n\"God knows you're right!... Poor Bern, how long he's gone! In my trouble I've been forgetting him. But, Lassiter, I've little fear for him. I've heard my riders say he's as keen as a wolf... As to your reading my thoughts—well, your suggestion makes an actual thought of what was only one of my dreams. I believe I dreamed of flying from this wild borderland, Lassiter. I've strange dreams. I'm not always practical and thinking of my many duties, as you said once. For instance—if I dared—if I dared I'd ask you to saddle the blacks and ride away with me—and hide me.\"\n\n\"Jane!\"\n\nThe rider's sunburnt face turned white. A few times Jane had seen Lassiter's cool calm broken—when he had met little Fay, when he had learned how and why he had come to love both child and mistress, when he had stood beside Milly Erne's grave. But one and all they could not be considered in the light of his present agitation. Not only did Lassiter turn white—not only did he grow tense, not only did he lose his coolness, but also he suddenly, violently, hungrily took her into his arms and crushed her to his breast.\n\n\"Lassiter!\" cried Jane, trembling. It was an action for which she took sole blame. Instantly, as if dazed, weakened, he released her. \"Forgive me!\" went on Jane. \"I'm always forgetting your—your feelings. I thought of you as my faithful friend. I'm always making you out more than human... only, let me say—I meant that—about riding away. I'm wretched, sick of this—this—Oh, something bitter and black grows on my heart!\"\n\n\"Jane, the hell—of it,\" he replied, with deep intake of breath, \"is you can't ride away. Mebbe realizin' it accounts for my grabbin' you—that way, as much as the crazy boy's rapture your words gave me. I don't understand myself... But the hell of this game is—you can't ride away.\"\n\n\"Lassiter!... What on earth do you mean? I'm an absolutely free woman.\"\n\n\"You ain't absolutely anythin' of the kind... I reckon I've got to tell you!\"\n\n\"Tell me all. It's uncertainty that makes me a coward. It's faith and hope—blind love, if you will, that makes me miserable. Every day I awake believing—still believing. The day grows, and with it doubts, fears, and that black bat hate that bites hotter and hotter into my heart. Then comes night—I pray—I pray for all, and for myself—I sleep—and I awake free once more, trustful, faithful, to believe—to hope! Then, O my God! I grow and live a thousand years till night again!... But if you want to see me a woman, tell me why I can't ride away—tell me what more I'm to lose—tell me the worst.\"\n\n\"Jane, you're watched. There's no single move of yours, except when you're hid in your house, that ain't seen by sharp eyes. The cottonwood grove's full of creepin', crawlin' men. Like Indians in the grass. When you rode, which wasn't often lately, the sage was full of sneakin' men. At night they crawl under your windows into the court, an' I reckon into the house. Jane Withersteen, you know, never locked a door! This here grove's a hummin' bee-hive of mysterious happenin's. Jane, it ain't so much that these soles keep out of my way as me keepin' out of theirs. They're goin' to try to kill me. That's plain. But mebbe I'm as hard to shoot in the back as in the face. So far I've seen fit to watch only. This all means, Jane, that you're a marked woman. You can't get away—not now. Mebbe later, when you're broken, you might. But that's sure doubtful. Jane, you're to lose the cattle that's left—your home an' ranch—an' Amber Spring. You can't even hide a sack of gold! For it couldn't be slipped out of the house, day or night, an' hid or buried, let alone be rid off with. You may lose all. I'm tellin' you, Jane, hopin' to prepare you, if the worst does come. I told you once before about that strange power I've got to feel things.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, what can I do?\"\n\n\"Nothin', I reckon, except know what's comin' an' wait an' be game. If you'd let me make a call on Tull, an' a long-deferred call on—\"\n\n\"Hush!... Hush!\" she whispered.\n\n\"Well, even that wouldn't help you any in the end.\"\n\n\"What does it mean? Oh, what does it mean? I am my father's daughter—a Mormon, yet I can't see! I've not failed in religion—in duty. For years I've given with a free and full heart. When my father died I was rich. If I'm still rich it's because I couldn't find enough ways to become poor. What am I, what are my possessions to set in motion such intensity of secret oppression?\"\n\n\"Jane, the mind behind it all is an empire builder.\"\n\n\"But, Lassiter, I would give freely—all I own to avert this—this wretched thing. If I gave—that would leave me with faith still. Surely my—my churchmen think of my soul? If I lose my trust in them—\"\n\n\"Child, be still!\" said Lassiter, with a dark dignity that had in it something of pity. \"You are a woman, fine en' big an' strong, an' your heart matches your size. But in mind you're a child. I'll say a little more—then I'm done. I'll never mention this again. Among many thousands of women you're one who has bucked against your churchmen. They tried you out, an' failed of persuasion, an' finally of threats. You meet now the cold steel of a will as far from Christlike as the universe is wide. You're to be broken. Your body's to be held, given to some man, made, if possible, to bring children into the world. But your soul?... What do they care for your soul?\"",
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"value": "Let's engage in a collaborative writing exercise. I'll provide a starting point (which may include pre-existing characters and lore), and You'll continue with 113 sentences in the style of Zane Grey.",
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"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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"value": "Chapter XIII. Solitude and Storm\n\nIn his hidden valley Venters awakened from sleep, and his ears rang with innumerable melodies from full-throated mockingbirds, and his eyes opened wide upon the glorious golden shaft of sunlight shining through the great stone bridge. The circle of cliffs surrounding Surprise Valley lay shrouded in morning mist, a dim blue low down along the terraces, a creamy, moving cloud along the ramparts. The oak forest in the center was a plumed and tufted oval of gold.\n\nHe saw Bess under the spruces. Upon her complete recovery of strength she always rose with the dawn. At the moment she was feeding the quail she had tamed. And she had begun to tame the mocking-birds. They fluttered among the branches overhead and some left off their songs to flit down and shyly hop near the twittering quail. Little gray and white rabbits crouched in the grass, now nibbling, now laying long ears flat and watching the dogs.\n\nVenters's swift glance took in the brightening valley, and Bess and her pets, and Ring and Whitie. It swept over all to return again and rest upon the girl. She had changed. To the dark trousers and blouse she had added moccasins of her own make, but she no longer resembled a boy. No eye could have failed to mark the rounded contours of a woman. The change had been to grace and beauty. A glint of warm gold gleamed from her hair, and a tint of red shone in the clear dark brown of cheeks. The haunting sweetness of her lips and eyes, that earlier had been illusive, a promise, had become a living fact. She fitted harmoniously into that wonderful setting; she was like Surprise Valley—wild and beautiful.\n\nVenters leaped out of his cave to begin the day.\n\nHe had postponed his journey to Cottonwoods until after the passing of the summer rains. The rains were due soon. But until their arrival and the necessity for his trip to the village he sequestered in a far corner of mind all thought of peril, of his past life, and almost that of the present. It was enough to live. He did not want to know what lay hidden in the dim and distant future. Surprise Valley had enchanted him. In this home of the cliff-dwellers there were peace and quiet and solitude, and another thing, wondrous as the golden morning shaft of sunlight, that he dared not ponder over long enough to understand.\n\nThe solitude he had hated when alone he had now come to love. He was assimilating something from this valley of gleams and shadows. From this strange girl he was assimilating more.\n\nThe day at hand resembled many days gone before. As Venters had no tools with which to build, or to till the terraces, he remained idle. Beyond the cooking of the simple fare there were no tasks. And as there were no tasks, there was no system. He and Bess began one thing, to leave it; to begin another, to leave that; and then do nothing but lie under the spruces and watch the great cloud-sails majestically move along the ramparts, and dream and dream. The valley was a golden, sunlit world. It was silent. The sighing wind and the twittering quail and the singing birds, even the rare and seldom-occurring hollow crack of a sliding weathered stone, only thickened and deepened that insulated silence.\n\nVenters and Bess had vagrant minds.\n\n\"Bess, did I tell you about my horse Wrangle?\" inquired Venters.\n\n\"A hundred times,\" she replied.\n\n\"Oh, have I? I'd forgotten. I want you to see him. He'll carry us both.\"\n\n\"I'd like to ride him. Can he run?\"\n\n\"Run? He's a demon. Swiftest horse on the sage! I hope he'll stay in that canyon.\n\n\"He'll stay.\"\n\nThey left camp to wander along the terraces, into the aspen ravines, under the gleaming walls. Ring and Whitie wandered in the fore, often turning, often trotting back, open-mouthed and solemn-eyed and happy. Venters lifted his gaze to the grand archway over the entrance to the valley, and Bess lifted hers to follow his, and both were silent. Sometimes the bridge held their attention for a long time. To-day a soaring eagle attracted them.\n\n\"How he sails!\" exclaimed Bess. \"I wonder where his mate is?\"\n\n\"She's at the nest. It's on the bridge in a crack near the top. I see her often. She's almost white.\"\n\nThey wandered on down the terrace, into the shady, sun-flecked forest. A brown bird fluttered crying from a bush. Bess peeped into the leaves. \"Look! A nest and four little birds. They're not afraid of us. See how they open their mouths. They're hungry.\"\n\nRabbits rustled the dead brush and pattered away. The forest was full of a drowsy hum of insects. Little darts of purple, that were running quail, crossed the glades. And a plaintive, sweet peeping came from the coverts. Bess's soft step disturbed a sleeping lizard that scampered away over the leaves. She gave chase and caught it, a slim creature of nameless color but of exquisite beauty.\n\n\"Jewel eyes,\" she said. \"It's like a rabbit—afraid. We won't eat you. There—go.\"\n\nMurmuring water drew their steps down into a shallow shaded ravine where a brown brook brawled softly over mossy stones. Multitudes of strange, gray frogs with white spots and black eyes lined the rocky bank and leaped only at close approach. Then Venters's eye descried a very thin, very long green snake coiled round a sapling. They drew closer and closer till they could have touched it. The snake had no fear and watched them with scintillating eyes.\n\n\"It's pretty,\" said Bess. \"How tame! I thought snakes always ran.\"\n\n\"No. Even the rabbits didn't run here till the dogs chased them.\"\n\nOn and on they wandered to the wild jumble of massed and broken fragments of cliff at the west end of the valley. The roar of the disappearing stream dinned in their ears. Into this maze of rocks they threaded a tortuous way, climbing, descending, halting to gather wild plums and great lavender lilies, and going on at the will of fancy. Idle and keen perceptions guided them equally.\n\n\"Oh, let us climb there!\" cried Bess, pointing upward to a small space of terrace left green and shady between huge abutments of broken cliff. And they climbed to the nook and rested and looked out across the valley to the curling column of blue smoke from their campfire. But the cool shade and the rich grass and the fine view were not what they had climbed for. They could not have told, although whatever had drawn them was well-satisfying. Light, sure-footed as a mountain goat, Bess pattered down at Venters's heels; and they went on, calling the dogs, eyes dreamy and wide, listening to the wind and the bees and the crickets and the birds.\n\nPart of the time Ring and Whitie led the way, then Venters, then Bess; and the direction was not an object. They left the sun-streaked shade of the oaks, brushed the long grass of the meadows, entered the green and fragrant swaying willows, to stop, at length, under the huge old cottonwoods where the beavers were busy.\n\nHere they rested and watched. A dam of brush and logs and mud and stones backed the stream into a little lake. The round, rough beaver houses projected from the water. Like the rabbits, the beavers had become shy. Gradually, however, as Venters and Bess knelt low, holding the dogs, the beavers emerged to swim with logs and gnaw at cottonwoods and pat mud walls with their paddle-like tails, and, glossy and shiny in the sun, to go on with their strange, persistent industry. They were the builders. The lake was a mud-hole, and the immediate environment a scarred and dead region, but it was a wonderful home of wonderful animals.\n\n\"Look at that one—he puddles in the mud,\" said Bess. \"And there! See him dive! Hear them gnawing! I'd think they'd break their teeth. How's it they can stay out of the water and under the water?\"\n\nAnd she laughed.\n\nThen Venters and Bess wandered farther, and, perhaps not all unconsciously this time, wended their slow steps to the cave of the cliff-dwellers, where she liked best to go.\n\nThe tangled thicket and the long slant of dust and little chips of weathered rock and the steep bench of stone and the worn steps all were arduous work for Bess in the climbing. But she gained the shelf, gasping, hot of cheek, glad of eye, with her hand in Venters's. Here they rested. The beautiful valley glittered below with its millions of wind-turned leaves bright-faced in the sun, and the mighty bridge towered heavenward, crowned with blue sky. Bess, however, never rested for long. Soon she was exploring, and Venters followed; she dragged forth from corners and shelves a multitude of crudely fashioned and painted pieces of pottery, and he carried them. They peeped down into the dark holes of the kivas, and Bess gleefully dropped a stone and waited for the long-coming hollow sound to rise. They peeped into the little globular houses, like mud-wasp nests, and wondered if these had been store-places for grain, or baby cribs, or what; and they crawled into the larger houses and laughed when they bumped their heads on the low roofs, and they dug in the dust of the floors. And they brought from dust and darkness armloads of treasure which they carried to the light. Flints and stones and strange curved sticks and pottery they found; and twisted grass rope that crumbled in their hands, and bits of whitish stone which crushed to powder at a touch and seemed to vanish in the air.\n\n\"That white stuff was bone,\" said Venters, slowly. \"Bones of a cliff-dweller.\"\n\n\"No!\" exclaimed Bess.\n\n\"Here's another piece. Look!... Whew! dry, powdery smoke! That's bone.\"\n\nThen it was that Venters's primitive, childlike mood, like a savage's, seeing, yet unthinking, gave way to the encroachment of civilized thought. The world had not been made for a single day's play or fancy or idle watching. The world was old. Nowhere could be gotten a better idea of its age than in this gigantic silent tomb.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "The gray ashes in Venters's hand had once been bone of a human being like himself.",
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"value": "The pale gloom of the cave had shadowed people long ago. He saw that Bess had received the same shock—could not in moments such as this escape her feeling living, thinking destiny.\n\n\"Bern, people have lived here,\" she said, with wide, thoughtful eyes.\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied.\n\n\"How long ago?\"\n\n\"A thousand years and more.\"\n\n\"What were they?\"\n\n\"Cliff-dwellers. Men who had enemies and made their homes high out of reach.\"\n\n\"They had to fight?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"They fought for—what?\"\n\n\"For life. For their homes, food, children, parents—for their women!\"\n\n\"Has the world changed any in a thousand years?\"\n\n\"I don't know—perhaps a little.\"\n\n\"Have men?\"\n\n\"I hope so—I think so.\"\n\n\"Things crowd into my mind,\" she went on, and the wistful light in her eyes told Venters the truth of her thoughts. \"I've ridden the border of Utah. I've seen people—know how they live—but they must be few of all who are living. I had my books and I studied them. But all that doesn't help me any more. I want to go out into the big world and see it. Yet I want to stay here more. What's to become of us? Are we cliff-dwellers? We're alone here. I'm happy when I don't think. These—these bones that fly into dust—they make me sick and a little afraid. Did the people who lived here once have the same feelings as we have? What was the good of their living at all? They're gone! What's the meaning of it all—of us?\"\n\n\"Bess, you ask more than I can tell. It's beyond me. Only there was laughter here once—and now there's silence. There was life—and now there's death. Men cut these little steps, made these arrow-heads and mealing-stones, plaited the ropes we found, and left their bones to crumble in our fingers. As far as time is concerned it might all have been yesterday. We're here to-day. Maybe we're higher in the scale of human beings—in intelligence. But who knows? We can't be any higher in the things for which life is lived at all.\"\n\n\"What are they?\"\n\n\"Why—I suppose relationship, friendship—love.\"\n\n\"Love!\"\n\n\"Yes. Love of man for woman—love of woman for man. That's the nature, the meaning, the best of life itself.\"\n\nShe said no more. Wistfulness of glance deepened into sadness.\n\n\"Come, let us go,\" said Venters.\n\nAction brightened her. Beside him, holding his hand she slipped down the shelf, ran down the long, steep slant of sliding stones, out of the cloud of dust, and likewise out of the pale gloom.\n\n\"We beat the slide,\" she cried.\n\nThe miniature avalanche cracked and roared, and rattled itself into an inert mass at the base of the incline. Yellow dust like the gloom of the cave, but not so changeless, drifted away on the wind; the roar clapped in echo from the cliff, returned, went back, and came again to die in the hollowness. Down on the sunny terrace there was a different atmosphere. Ring and Whitie leaped around Bess. Once more she was smiling, gay, and thoughtless, with the dream-mood in the shadow of her eyes.\n\n\"Bess, I haven't seen that since last summer. Look!\" said Venters, pointing to the scalloped edge of rolling purple clouds that peeped over the western wall. \"We're in for a storm.\"\n\n\"Oh, I hope not. I'm afraid of storms.\"\n\n\"Are you? Why?\"\n\n\"Have you ever been down in one of these walled-up pockets in a bad storm?\"\n\n\"No, now I think of it, I haven't.\"\n\n\"Well, it's terrible. Every summer I get scared to death and hide somewhere in the dark. Storms up on the sage are bad, but nothing to what they are down here in the canyons. And in this little valley—why, echoes can rap back and forth so quick they'll split our ears.\"\n\n\"We're perfectly safe here, Bess.\"\n\n\"I know. But that hasn't anything to do with it. The truth is I'm afraid of lightning and thunder, and thunder-claps hurt my head. If we have a bad storm, will you stay close to me?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nWhen they got back to camp the afternoon was closing, and it was exceedingly sultry. Not a breath of air stirred the aspen leaves, and when these did not quiver the air was indeed still. The dark-purple clouds moved almost imperceptibly out of the west.\n\n\"What have we for supper?\" asked Bess.\n\n\"Rabbit.\"\n\n\"Bern, can't you think of another new way to cook rabbit?\" went on Bess, with earnestness.\n\n\"What do you think I am—a magician?\" retorted Venters.\n\n\"I wouldn't dare tell you. But, Bern, do you want me to turn into a rabbit?\"\n\nThere was a dark-blue, merry flashing of eyes and a parting of lips; then she laughed. In that moment she was naive and wholesome.\n\n\"Rabbit seems to agree with you,\" replied Venters. \"You are well and strong—and growing very pretty.\"\n\nAnything in the nature of compliment he had never before said to her, and just now he responded to a sudden curiosity to see its effect. Bess stared as if she had not heard aright, slowly blushed, and completely lost her poise in happy confusion.\n\n\"I'd better go right away,\" he continued, \"and fetch supplies from Cottonwoods.\"\n\nA startlingly swift change in the nature of her agitation made him reproach himself for his abruptness.\n\n\"No, no, don't go!\" she said. \"I didn't mean—that about the rabbit. I—I was only trying to be—funny. Don't leave me all alone!\"\n\n\"Bess, I must go sometime.\"\n\n\"Wait then. Wait till after the storms.\"\n\nThe purple cloud-bank darkened the lower edge of the setting sun, crept up and up, obscuring its fiery red heart, and finally passed over the last ruddy crescent of its upper rim.\n\nThe intense dead silence awakened to a long, low, rumbling roll of thunder.\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Bess, nervously.\n\n\"We've had big black clouds before this without rain,\" said Venters. \"But there's no doubt about that thunder. The storms are coming. I'm glad. Every rider on the sage will hear that thunder with glad ears.\"\n\nVenters and Bess finished their simple meal and the few tasks around the camp, then faced the open terrace, the valley, and the west, to watch and await the approaching storm.\n\nIt required keen vision to see any movement whatever in the purple clouds. By infinitesimal degrees the dark cloud-line merged upward into the golden-red haze of the afterglow of sunset. A shadow lengthened from under the western wall across the valley. As straight and rigid as steel rose the delicate spear-pointed silver spruces; the aspen leaves, by nature pendant and quivering, hung limp and heavy; no slender blade of grass moved. A gentle splashing of water came from the ravine. Then again from out of the west sounded the low, dull, and rumbling roll of thunder.\n\nA wave, a ripple of light, a trembling and turning of the aspen leaves, like the approach of a breeze on the water, crossed the valley from the west; and the lull and the deadly stillness and the sultry air passed away on a cool wind.\n\nThe night bird of the canyon, with clear and melancholy notes announced the twilight. And from all along the cliffs rose the faint murmur and moan and mourn of the wind singing in the caves. The bank of clouds now swept hugely out of the western sky. Its front was purple and black, with gray between, a bulging, mushrooming, vast thing instinct with storm. It had a dark, angry, threatening aspect. As if all the power of the winds were pushing and piling behind, it rolled ponderously across the sky. A red flare burned out instantaneously, flashed from the west to east, and died. Then from the deepest black of the purple cloud burst a boom. It was like the bowling of a huge boulder along the crags and ramparts, and seemed to roll on and fall into the valley to bound and bang and boom from cliff to cliff.\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Bess, with her hands over her ears. \"What did I tell you?\"\n\n\"Why, Bess, be reasonable!\" said Venters.\n\n\"I'm a coward.\"\n\n\"Not quite that, I hope. It's strange you're afraid. I love a storm.\"\n\n\"I tell you a storm down in these canyons is an awful thing. I know Oldring hated storms. His men were afraid of them. There was one who went deaf in a bad storm, and never could hear again.\"\n\n\"Maybe I've lots to learn, Bess. I'll lose my guess if this storm isn't bad enough. We're going to have heavy wind first, then lightning and thunder, then the rain. Let's stay out as long as we can.\"\n\nThe tips of the cottonwoods and the oaks waved to the east, and the rings of aspens along the terraces twinkled their myriad of bright faces in fleet and glancing gleam. A low roar rose from the leaves of the forest, and the spruces swished in the rising wind. It came in gusts, with light breezes between. As it increased in strength the lulls shortened in length till there was a strong and steady blow all the time, and violent puffs at intervals, and sudden whirling currents. The clouds spread over the valley, rolling swiftly and low, and twilight faded into a sweeping darkness. Then the singing of the wind in the caves drowned the swift roar of rustling leaves; then the song swelled to a mourning, moaning wail; then with the gathering power of the wind the wail changed to a shriek. Steadily the wind strengthened and constantly the strange sound changed.\n\nThe last bit of blue sky yielded to the on-sweep of clouds. Like angry surf the pale gleams of gray, amid the purple of that scudding front, swept beyond the eastern rampart of the valley. The purple deepened to black. Broad sheets of lightning flared over the western wall. There were not yet any ropes or zigzag streaks darting down through the gathering darkness. The storm center was still beyond Surprise Valley.\n\n\"Listen!... Listen!\" cried Bess, with her lips close to Venters's ear. \"You'll hear Oldring's knell!\"\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"Oldring's knell. When the wind blows a gale in the caves it makes what the rustlers call Oldring's knell. They believe it bodes his death. I think he believes so, too. It's not like any sound on earth... It's beginning. Listen!\"\n\nThe gale swooped down with a hollow unearthly howl. It yelled and pealed and shrilled and shrieked.",
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"value": "It was made up of a thousand piercing cries.",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 53 sentences.",
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"value": "It was a rising and a moving sound. Beginning at the western break of the valley, it rushed along each gigantic cliff, whistling into the caves and cracks, to mount in power, to bellow a blast through the great stone bridge. Gone, as into an engulfing roar of surging waters, it seemed to shoot back and begin all over again.\n\nIt was only wind, thought Venters. Here sped and shrieked the sculptor that carved out the wonderful caves in the cliffs. It was only a gale, but as Venters listened, as his ears became accustomed to the fury and strife, out of it all or through it or above it pealed low and perfectly clear and persistently uniform a strange sound that had no counterpart in all the sounds of the elements. It was not of earth or of life. It was the grief and agony of the gale. A knell of all upon which it blew!\n\nBlack night enfolded the valley. Venters could not see his companion, and knew of her presence only through the tightening hold of her hand on his arm. He felt the dogs huddle closer to him. Suddenly the dense, black vault overhead split asunder to a blue-white, dazzling streak of lightning. The whole valley lay vividly clear and luminously bright in his sight. Upreared, vast and magnificent, the stone bridge glimmered like some grand god of storm in the lightning's fire. Then all flashed black again—blacker than pitch—a thick, impenetrable coal-blackness. And there came a ripping, crashing report. Instantly an echo resounded with clapping crash. The initial report was nothing to the echo. It was a terrible, living, reverberating, detonating crash. The wall threw the sound across, and could have made no greater roar if it had slipped in avalanche. From cliff to cliff the echo went in crashing retort and banged in lessening power, and boomed in thinner volume, and clapped weaker and weaker till a final clap could not reach across the waiting cliff.\n\nIn the pitchy darkness Venters led Bess, and, groping his way, by feel of hand found the entrance to her cave and lifted her up. On the instant a blinding flash of lightning illumined the cave and all about him. He saw Bess's face white now with dark, frightened eyes. He saw the dogs leap up, and he followed suit. The golden glare vanished; all was black; then came the splitting crack and the infernal din of echoes.\n\nBess shrank closer to him and closer, found his hands, and pressed them tightly over her ears, and dropped her face upon his shoulder, and hid her eyes.\n\nThen the storm burst with a succession of ropes and streaks and shafts of lightning, playing continuously, filling the valley with a broken radiance; and the cracking shots followed each other swiftly till the echoes blended in one fearful, deafening crash.\n\nVenters looked out upon the beautiful valley—beautiful now as never before—mystic in its transparent, luminous gloom, weird in the quivering, golden haze of lightning. The dark spruces were tipped with glimmering lights; the aspens bent low in the winds, as waves in a tempest at sea; the forest of oaks tossed wildly and shone with gleams of fire. Across the valley the huge cavern of the cliff-dwellers yawned in the glare, every little black window as clear as at noonday; but the night and the storm added to their tragedy. Flung arching to the black clouds, the great stone bridge seemed to bear the brunt of the storm. It caught the full fury of the rushing wind. It lifted its noble crown to meet the lightnings. Venters thought of the eagles and their lofty nest in a niche under the arch. A driving pall of rain, black as the clouds, came sweeping on to obscure the bridge and the gleaming walls and the shining valley. The lightning played incessantly, streaking down through opaque darkness of rain. The roar of the wind, with its strange knell and the re-crashing echoes, mingled with the roar of the flooding rain, and all seemingly were deadened and drowned in a world of sound.\n\nIn the dimming pale light Venters looked down upon the girl. She had sunk into his arms, upon his breast, burying her face. She clung to him. He felt the softness of her, and the warmth, and the quick heave of her breast. He saw the dark, slender, graceful outline of her form. A woman lay in his arms! And he held her closer. He who had been alone in the sad, silent watches of the night was not now and never must be again alone. He who had yearned for the touch of a hand felt the long tremble and the heart-beat of a woman. By what strange chance had she come to love him! By what change—by what marvel had she grown into a treasure!\n\nNo more did he listen to the rush and roar of the thunder-storm. For with the touch of clinging hands and the throbbing bosom he grew conscious of an inward storm—the tingling of new chords of thought, strange music of unheard, joyous bells sad dreams dawning to wakeful delight, dissolving doubt, resurging hope, force, fire, and freedom, unutterable sweetness of desire. A storm in his breast—a storm of real love.",
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"value": "user starts, u write ~one hundred and three sentences more. copy Zane Grey's style. heads up: might have existing chars/lore",
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"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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"value": "Chapter XIV. West Wind\n\nWhen the storm abated Venters sought his own cave, and late in the night, as his blood cooled and the stir and throb and thrill subsided, he fell asleep.\n\nWith the breaking of dawn his eyes unclosed. The valley lay drenched and bathed, a burnished oval of glittering green. The rain-washed walls glistened in the morning light. Waterfalls of many forms poured over the rims. One, a broad, lacy sheet, thin as smoke, slid over the western notch and struck a ledge in its downward fall, to bound into broader leap, to burst far below into white and gold and rosy mist.\n\nVenters prepared for the day, knowing himself a different man.\n\n\"It's a glorious morning,\" said Bess, in greeting.\n\n\"Yes. After the storm the west wind,\" he replied.\n\n\"Last night was I—very much of a baby?\" she asked, watching him.\n\n\"Pretty much.\"\n\n\"Oh, I couldn't help it!\"\n\n\"I'm glad you were afraid.\"\n\n\"Why?\" she asked, in slow surprise.\n\n\"I'll tell you some day,\" he answered, soberly. Then around the camp-fire and through the morning meal he was silent; afterward he strolled thoughtfully off alone along the terrace. He climbed a great yellow rock raising its crest among the spruces, and there he sat down to face the valley and the west.\n\n\"I love her!\"\n\nAloud he spoke—unburdened his heart—confessed his secret. For an instant the golden valley swam before his eyes, and the walls waved, and all about him whirled with tumult within.\n\n\"I love her!... I understand now.\"\n\nReviving memory of Jane Withersteen and thought of the complications of the present amazed him with proof of how far he had drifted from his old life. He discovered that he hated to take up the broken threads, to delve into dark problems and difficulties. In this beautiful valley he had been living a beautiful dream. Tranquility had come to him, and the joy of solitude, and interest in all the wild creatures and crannies of this incomparable valley—and love. Under the shadow of the great stone bridge God had revealed Himself to Venters.\n\n\"The world seems very far away,\" he muttered, \"but it's there—and I'm not yet done with it. Perhaps I never shall be... Only—how glorious it would be to live here always and never think again!\"\n\nWhereupon the resurging reality of the present, as if in irony of his wish, steeped him instantly in contending thought. Out of it all he presently evolved these things: he must go to Cottonwoods; he must bring supplies back to Surprise Valley; he must cultivate the soil and raise corn and stock, and, most imperative of all, he must decide the future of the girl who loved him and whom he loved. The first of these things required tremendous effort, the last one, concerning Bess, seemed simply and naturally easy of accomplishment. He would marry her. Suddenly, as from roots of poisonous fire, flamed up the forgotten truth concerning her. It seemed to wither and shrivel up all his joy on its hot, tearing way to his heart. She had been Oldring's Masked Rider. To Venters's question, \"What were you to Oldring?\" she had answered with scarlet shame and drooping head.\n\n\"What do I care who she is or what she was!\" he cried, passionately. And he knew it was not his old self speaking. It was this softer, gentler man who had awakened to new thoughts in the quiet valley. Tenderness, masterful in him now, matched the absence of joy and blunted the knife-edge of entering jealousy. Strong and passionate effort of will, surprising to him, held back the poison from piercing his soul.\n\n\"Wait!... Wait!\" he cried, as if calling. His hand pressed his breast, and he might have called to the pang there. \"Wait! It's all so strange—so wonderful. Anything can happen. Who am I to judge her? I'll glory in my love for her. But I can't tell it—can't give up to it.\"\n\nCertainly he could not then decide her future. Marrying her was impossible in Surprise Valley and in any village south of Sterling. Even without the mask she had once worn she would easily have been recognized as Oldring's Rider. No man who had ever seen her would forget her, regardless of his ignorance as to her sex. Then more poignant than all other argument was the fact that he did not want to take her away from Surprise Valley. He resisted all thought of that. He had brought her to the most beautiful and wildest place of the uplands; he had saved her, nursed her back to strength, watched her bloom as one of the valley lilies; he knew her life there to be pure and sweet—she belonged to him, and he loved her. Still these were not all the reasons why he did not want to take her away. Where could they go? He feared the rustlers—he feared the riders—he feared the Mormons. And if he should ever succeed in getting Bess safely away from these immediate perils, he feared the sharp eyes of women and their tongues, the big outside world with its problems of existence. He must wait to decide her future, which, after all, was deciding his own. But between her future and his something hung impending. Like Balancing Rock, which waited darkly over the steep gorge, ready to close forever the outlet to Deception Pass, that nameless thing, as certain yet intangible as fate, must fall and close forever all doubts and fears of the future.\n\n\"I've dreamed,\" muttered Venters, as he rose. \"Well, why not?... To dream is happiness! But let me just once see this clearly wholly; then I can go on dreaming till the thing falls. I've got to tell Jane Withersteen. I've dangerous trips to take. I've work here to make comfort for this girl. She's mine. I'll fight to keep her safe from that old life. I've already seen her forget it. I love her. And if a beast ever rises in me I'll burn my hand off before I lay it on her with shameful intent. And, by God! sooner or later I'll kill the man who hid her and kept her in Deception Pass!\"\n\nAs he spoke the west wind softly blew in his face. It seemed to soothe his passion. That west wind was fresh, cool, fragrant, and it carried a sweet, strange burden of far-off things—tidings of life in other climes, of sunshine asleep on other walls—of other places where reigned peace. It carried, too, sad truth of human hearts and mystery—of promise and hope unquenchable. Surprise Valley was only a little niche in the wide world whence blew that burdened wind. Bess was only one of millions at the mercy of unknown motive in nature and life. Content had come to Venters in the valley; happiness had breathed in the slow, warm air; love as bright as light had hovered over the walls and descended to him; and now on the west wind came a whisper of the eternal triumph of faith over doubt.\n\n\"How much better I am for what has come to me!\" he exclaimed. \"I'll let the future take care of itself. Whatever falls, I'll be ready.\"\n\nVenters retraced his steps along the terrace back to camp, and found Bess in the old familiar seat, waiting and watching for his return.\n\n\"I went off by myself to think a little,\" he explained.\n\n\"You never looked that way before. What—what is it? Won't you tell me?\"\n\n\"Well, Bess, the fact is I've been dreaming a lot. This valley makes a fellow dream. So I forced myself to think. We can't live this way much longer. Soon I'll simply have to go to Cottonwoods. We need a whole pack train of supplies. I can get—\"\n\n\"Can you go safely?\" she interrupted.\n\n\"Why, I'm sure of it. I'll ride through the Pass at night. I haven't any fear that Wrangle isn't where I left him. And once on him—Bess, just wait till you see that horse!\"\n\n\"Oh, I want to see him—to ride him. But—but, Bern, this is what troubles me,\" she said. \"Will—will you come back?\"\n\n\"Give me four days. If I'm not back in four days you'll know I'm dead. For that only shall keep me.\"\n\n\"Oh!\"\n\n\"Bess, I'll come back. There's danger—I wouldn't lie to you—but I can take care of myself.\"\n\n\"Bern, I'm sure—oh, I'm sure of it! All my life I've watched hunted men. I can tell what's in them. And I believe you can ride and shoot and see with any rider of the sage. It's not—not that I—fear.\"\n\n\"Well, what is it, then?\"\n\n\"Why—why—why should you come back at all?\"\n\n\"I couldn't leave you here alone.\"\n\n\"You might change your mind when you get to the village—among old friends—\"\n\n\"I won't change my mind. As for old friends—\" He uttered a short, expressive laugh.\n\n\"Then—there—there must be a—a woman!\" Dark red mantled the clear tan of temple and cheek and neck. Her eyes were eyes of shame, upheld a long moment by intense, straining search for the verification of her fear. Suddenly they drooped, her head fell to her knees, her hands flew to her hot cheeks.\n\n\"Bess—look here,\" said Venters, with a sharpness due to the violence with which he checked his quick, surging emotion.\n\nAs if compelled against her will—answering to an irresistible voice—Bess raised her head, looked at him with sad, dark eyes, and tried to whisper with tremulous lips.\n\n\"There's no woman,\" went on Venters, deliberately holding her glance with his. \"Nothing on earth, barring the chances of life, can keep me away.\"\n\nHer face flashed and flushed with the glow of a leaping joy; but like the vanishing of a gleam it disappeared to leave her as he had never beheld her.\n\n\"I am nothing—I am lost—I am nameless!\"\n\n\"Do you want me to come back?\" he asked, with sudden stern coldness. \"Maybe you want to go back to Oldring!\"\n\nThat brought her erect, trembling and ashy pale, with dark, proud eyes and mute lips refuting his insinuation.\n\n\"Bess, I beg your pardon. I shouldn't have said that. But you angered me. I intend to work—to make a home for you here—to be a—a brother to you as long as ever you need me. And you must forget what you are—were—I mean, and be happy. When you remember that old life you are bitter, and it hurts me.\"",
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"value": "writers block help pls. ill send something, u do one hundred and sixty-four sentences. going for Zane Grey vibe. note: might have existing chars",
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"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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"value": "Chapter XV. Shadows on the Sage-slope\n\nIn the cloudy, threatening, waning summer days shadows lengthened down the sage-slope, and Jane Withersteen likened them to the shadows gathering and closing in around her life.\n\nMrs. Larkin died, and little Fay was left an orphan with no known relative. Jane's love redoubled. It was the saving brightness of a darkening hour. Fay turned now to Jane in childish worship. And Jane at last found full expression for the mother-longing in her heart. Upon Lassiter, too, Mrs. Larkin's death had some subtle reaction. Before, he had often, without explanation, advised Jane to send Fay back to any Gentile family that would take her in. Passionately and reproachfully and wonderingly Jane had refused even to entertain such an idea. And now Lassiter never advised it again, grew sadder and quieter in his contemplation of the child, and infinitely more gentle and loving. Sometimes Jane had a cold, inexplicable sensation of dread when she saw Lassiter watching Fay. What did the rider see in the future? Why did he, day by day, grow more silent, calmer, cooler, yet sadder in prophetic assurance of something to be?\n\nNo doubt, Jane thought, the rider, in his almost superhuman power of foresight, saw behind the horizon the dark, lengthening shadows that were soon to crowd and gloom over him and her and little Fay. Jane Withersteen awaited the long-deferred breaking of the storm with a courage and embittered calm that had come to her in her extremity. Hope had not died. Doubt and fear, subservient to her will, no longer gave her sleepless nights and tortured days. Love remained. All that she had loved she now loved the more. She seemed to feel that she was defiantly flinging the wealth of her love in the face of misfortune and of hate. No day passed but she prayed for all—and most fervently for her enemies. It troubled her that she had lost, or had never gained, the whole control of her mind. In some measure reason and wisdom and decision were locked in a chamber of her brain, awaiting a key. Power to think of some things was taken from her. Meanwhile, abiding a day of judgment, she fought ceaselessly to deny the bitter drops in her cup, to tear back the slow, the intangibly slow growth of a hot, corrosive lichen eating into her heart.\n\nOn the morning of August 10th, Jane, while waiting in the court for Lassiter, heard a clear, ringing report of a rifle. It came from the grove, somewhere toward the corrals. Jane glanced out in alarm. The day was dull, windless, soundless. The leaves of the cottonwoods drooped, as if they had foretold the doom of Withersteen House and were now ready to die and drop and decay. Never had Jane seen such shade. She pondered on the meaning of the report. Revolver shots had of late cracked from different parts of the grove—spies taking snap-shots at Lassiter from a cowardly distance! But a rifle report meant more. Riders seldom used rifles. Judkins and Venters were the exceptions she called to mind. Had the men who hounded her hidden in her grove, taken to the rifle to rid her of Lassiter, her last friend? It was probable—it was likely. And she did not share his cool assumption that his death would never come at the hands of a Mormon. Long had she expected it. His constancy to her, his singular reluctance to use the fatal skill for which he was famed—both now plain to all Mormons—laid him open to inevitable assassination. Yet what charm against ambush and aim and enemy he seemed to bear about him! No, Jane reflected, it was not charm; only a wonderful training of eye and ear, and sense of impending peril. Nevertheless that could not forever avail against secret attack.\n\nThat moment a rustling of leaves attracted her attention; then the familiar clinking accompaniment of a slow, soft, measured step, and Lassiter walked into the court.\n\n\"Jane, there's a fellow out there with a long gun,\" he said, and, removing his sombrero, showed his head bound in a bloody scarf.\n\n\"I heard the shot; I knew it was meant for you. Let me see—you can't be badly injured?\"\n\n\"I reckon not. But mebbe it wasn't a close call!... I'll sit here in this corner where nobody can see me from the grove.\" He untied the scarf and removed it to show a long, bleeding furrow above his left temple.\n\n\"It's only a cut,\" said Jane. \"But how it bleeds! Hold your scarf over it just a moment till I come back.\"\n\nShe ran into the house and returned with bandages; and while she bathed and dressed the wound Lassiter talked.\n\n\"That fellow had a good chance to get me. But he must have flinched when he pulled the trigger. As I dodged down I saw him run through the trees. He had a rifle. I've been expectin' that kind of gun play. I reckon now I'll have to keep a little closer hid myself. These fellers all seem to get chilly or shaky when they draw a bead on me, but one of them might jest happen to hit me.\"\n\n\"Won't you go away—leave Cottonwoods as I've begged you to—before some one does happen to hit you?\" she appealed to him.\n\n\"I reckon I'll stay.\"\n\n\"But, oh, Lassiter—your blood will be on my hands!\"\n\n\"See here, lady, look at your hands now, right now. Aren't they fine, firm, white hands? Aren't they bloody now? Lassiter's blood! That's a queer thing to stain your beautiful hands. But if you could only see deeper you'd find a redder color of blood. Heart color, Jane!\"\n\n\"Oh!... My friend!\"\n\n\"No, Jane, I'm not one to quit when the game grows hot, no more than you. This game, though, is new to me, an' I don't know the moves yet, else I wouldn't have stepped in front of that bullet.\"\n\n\"Have you no desire to hunt the man who fired at you—to find him—and—and kill him?\"\n\n\"Well, I reckon I haven't any great hankerin' for that.\"\n\n\"Oh, the wonder of it!... I knew—I prayed—I trusted. Lassiter, I almost gave—all myself to soften you to Mormons. Thank God, and thank you, my friend... But, selfish woman that I am, this is no great test. What's the life of one of those sneaking cowards to such a man as you? I think of your great hate toward him who—I think of your life's implacable purpose. Can it be—\"\n\n\"Wait!... Listen!\" he whispered. \"I hear a hoss.\"\n\nHe rose noiselessly, with his ear to the breeze. Suddenly he pulled his sombrero down over his bandaged head and, swinging his gun-sheaths round in front, he stepped into the alcove.\n\n\"It's a hoss—comin' fast,\" he added.\n\nJane's listening ear soon caught a faint, rapid, rhythmic beat of hoofs. It came from the sage. It gave her a thrill that she was at a loss to understand. The sound rose stronger, louder. Then came a clear, sharp difference when the horse passed from the sage trail to the hard-packed ground of the grove. It became a ringing run—swift in its bell-like clatterings, yet singular in longer pause than usual between the hoofbeats of a horse.\n\n\"It's Wrangle!... It's Wrangle!\" cried Jane Withersteen. \"I'd know him from a million horses!\"\n\nExcitement and thrilling expectancy flooded out all Jane Withersteen's calm. A tight band closed round her breast as she saw the giant sorrel flit in reddish-brown flashes across the openings in the green. Then he was pounding down the lane—thundering into the court—crashing his great iron-shod hoofs on the stone flags. Wrangle it was surely, but shaggy and wild-eyed, and sage-streaked, with dust-caked lather staining his flanks. He reared and crashed down and plunged. The rider leaped off, threw the bridle, and held hard on a lasso looped round Wrangle's head and neck. Janet's heart sank as she tried to recognize Venters in the rider. Something familiar struck her in the lofty stature in the sweep of powerful shoulders. But this bearded, longhaired, unkempt man, who wore ragged clothes patched with pieces of skin, and boots that showed bare legs and feet—this dusty, dark, and wild rider could not possibly be Venters.\n\n\"Whoa, Wrangle, old boy! Come down. Easy now. So—so—so. You're home, old boy, and presently you can have a drink of water you'll remember.\"\n\nIn the voice Jane knew the rider to be Venters. He tied Wrangle to the hitching-rack and turned to the court.\n\n\"Oh, Bern!... You wild man!\" she exclaimed.\n\n\"Jane—Jane, it's good to see you! Hello, Lassiter! Yes, it's Venters.\"\n\nLike rough iron his hard hand crushed Jane's. In it she felt the difference she saw in him. Wild, rugged, unshorn—yet how splendid! He had gone away a boy—he had returned a man. He appeared taller, wider of shoulder, deeper-chested, more powerfully built. But was that only her fancy—he had always been a young giant—was the change one of spirit? He might have been absent for years, proven by fire and steel, grown like Lassiter, strong and cool and sure. His eyes—were they keener, more flashing than before?—met hers with clear, frank, warm regard, in which perplexity was not, nor discontent, nor pain.\n\n\"Look at me long as you like,\" he said, with a laugh. \"I'm not much to look at. And, Jane, neither you nor Lassiter, can brag. You're paler than I ever saw you. Lassiter, here, he wears a bloody bandage under his hat. That reminds me. Some one took a flying shot at me down in the sage. It made Wrangle run some... Well, perhaps you've more to tell me than I've got to tell you.\"\n\nBriefly, in few words, Jane outlined the circumstances of her undoing in the weeks of his absence.\n\nUnder his beard and bronze she saw his face whiten in terrible wrath.\n\n\"Lassiter—what held you back?\"\n\nNo time in the long period of fiery moments and sudden shocks had Jane Withersteen ever beheld Lassiter as calm and serene and cool as then.\n\n\"Jane had gloom enough without my addin' to it by shootin' up the village,\" he said.\n\nAs strange as Lassiter's coolness was Venters's curious, intent scrutiny of them both, and under it Jane felt a flaming tide wave from bosom to temples.\n\n\"Well—you're right,\" he said, with slow pause. \"It surprises me a little, that's all.\"\n\nJane sensed then a slight alteration in Venters, and what it was, in her own confusion, she could not tell. It had always been her intention to acquaint him with the deceit she had fallen to in her zeal to move Lassiter. She did not mean to spare herself. Yet now, at the moment, before these riders, it was an impossibility to explain.\n\nVenters was speaking somewhat haltingly, without his former frankness. \"I found Oldring's hiding-place and your red herd. I learned—I know—I'm sure there was a deal between Tull and Oldring.\" He paused and shifted his position and his gaze. He looked as if he wanted to say something that he found beyond him. Sorrow and pity and shame seemed to contend for mastery over him. Then he raised himself and spoke with effort. \"Jane I've cost you too much. You've almost ruined yourself for me. It was wrong, for I'm not worth it. I never deserved such friendship. Well, maybe it's not too late. You must give me up. Mind, I haven't changed. I am just the same as ever. I'll see Tull while I'm here, and tell him to his face.\"\n\n\"Bern, it's too late,\" said Jane.\n\n\"I'll make him believe!\" cried Venters, violently.\n\n\"You ask me to break our friendship?\"\n\n\"Yes. If you don't, I shall.\"\n\n\"Forever?\"\n\n\"Forever!\"\n\nJane sighed. Another shadow had lengthened down the sage slope to cast further darkness upon her. A melancholy sweetness pervaded her resignation. The boy who had left her had returned a man, nobler, stronger, one in whom she divined something unbending as steel. There might come a moment later when she would wonder why she had not fought against his will, but just now she yielded to it. She liked him as well—nay, more, she thought, only her emotions were deadened by the long, menacing wait for the bursting storm.\n\nOnce before she had held out her hand to him—when she gave it; now she stretched it tremblingly forth in acceptance of the decree circumstance had laid upon them. Venters bowed over it kissed it, pressed it hard, and half stifled a sound very like a sob. Certain it was that when he raised his head tears glistened in his eyes.\n\n\"Some—women—have a hard lot,\" he said, huskily. Then he shook his powerful form, and his rags lashed about him. \"I'll say a few things to Tull—when I meet him.\"\n\n\"Bern—you'll not draw on Tull? Oh, that must not be! Promise me—\"\n\n\"I promise you this,\" he interrupted, in stern passion that thrilled while it terrorized her. \"If you say one more word for that plotter I'll kill him as I would a mad coyote!\"\n\nJane clasped her hands. Was this fire-eyed man the one whom she had once made as wax to her touch? Had Venters become Lassiter and Lassiter Venters?\n\n\"I'll—say no more,\" she faltered.\n\n\"Jane, Lassiter once called you blind,\" said Venters. \"It must be true. But I won't upbraid you. Only don't rouse the devil in me by praying for Tull! I'll try to keep cool when I meet him. That's all. Now there's one more thing I want to ask of you—the last. I've found a valley down in the Pass. It's a wonderful place. I intend to stay there. It's so hidden I believe no one can find it. There's good water, and browse, and game. I want to raise corn and stock. I need to take in supplies. Will you give them to me?\"\n\n\"Assuredly. The more you take the better you'll please me—and perhaps the less my—my enemies will get.\"\n\n\"Venters, I reckon you'll have trouble packin' anythin' away,\" put in Lassiter.\n\n\"I'll go at night.\"\n\n\"Mebbe that wouldn't be best. You'd sure be stopped. You'd better go early in the mornin'—say, just after dawn. That's the safest time to move round here.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, I'll be hard to stop,\" returned Venters, darkly.\n\n\"I reckon so.\"\n\n\"Bern,\" said Jane, \"go first to the riders' quarters and get yourself a complete outfit. You're a—a sight. Then help yourself to whatever else you need—burros, packs, grain, dried fruits, and meat. You must take coffee and sugar and flour—all kinds of supplies. Don't forget corn and seeds. I remember how you used to starve. Please—please take all you can pack away from here. I'll make a bundle for you, which you mustn't open till you're in your valley. How I'd like to see it! To judge by you and Wrangle, how wild it must be!\"\n\nJane walked down into the outer court and approached the sorrel. Upstarting, he laid back his ears and eyed her.\n\n\"Wrangle—dear old Wrangle,\" she said, and put a caressing hand on his matted mane. \"Oh, he's wild, but he knows me! Bern, can he run as fast as ever?\"\n\n\"Run? Jane, he's done sixty miles since last night at dark, and I could make him kill Black Star right now in a ten-mile race.\"\n\n\"He never could,\" protested Jane. \"He couldn't even if he was fresh.\"\n\n\"I reckon mebbe the best hoss'll prove himself yet,\" said Lassiter, \"an', Jane, if it ever comes to that race I'd like you to be on Wrangle.\"\n\n\"I'd like that, too,\" rejoined Venters. \"But, Jane, maybe Lassiter's hint is extreme. Bad as your prospects are, you'll surely never come to the running point.\"\n\n\"Who knows!\" she replied, with mournful smile.\n\n\"No, no, Jane, it can't be so bad as all that. Soon as I see Tull there'll be a change in your fortunes. I'll hurry down to the village... Now don't worry.\"\n\nJane retired to the seclusion of her room.",
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"value": "Lassiter's subtle forecasting of disaster, Venters's forced optimism, neither remained in mind.",
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"value": "Material loss weighed nothing in the balance with other losses she was sustaining. She wondered dully at her sitting there, hands folded listlessly, with a kind of numb deadness to the passing of time and the passing of her riches. She thought of Venters's friendship. She had not lost that, but she had lost him. Lassiter's friendship—that was more than love—it would endure, but soon he, too, would be gone. Little Fay slept dreamlessly upon the bed, her golden curls streaming over the pillow. Jane had the child's worship. Would she lose that, too? And if she did, what then would be left? Conscience thundered at her that there was left her religion. Conscience thundered that she should be grateful on her knees for this baptism of fire; that through misfortune, sacrifice, and suffering her soul might be fused pure gold. But the old, spontaneous, rapturous spirit no more exalted her. She wanted to be a woman—not a martyr. Like the saint of old who mortified his flesh, Jane Withersteen had in her the temper for heroic martyrdom, if by sacrificing herself she could save the souls of others. But here the damnable verdict blistered her that the more she sacrificed herself the blacker grew the souls of her churchmen. There was something terribly wrong with her soul, something terribly wrong with her churchmen and her religion. In the whirling gulf of her thought there was yet one shining light to guide her, to sustain her in her hope; and it was that, despite her errors and her frailties and her blindness, she had one absolute and unfaltering hold on ultimate and supreme justice. That was love. \"Love your enemies as yourself!\" was a divine word, entirely free from any church or creed.\n\nJane's meditations were disturbed by Lassiter's soft, tinkling step in the court. Always he wore the clinking spurs. Always he was in readiness to ride. She passed out and called him into the huge, dim hall.\n\n\"I think you'll be safer here. The court is too open,\" she said.\n\n\"I reckon,\" replied Lassiter. \"An' it's cooler here. The day's sure muggy. Well, I went down to the village with Venters.\"\n\n\"Already! Where is he?\" queried Jane, in quick amaze.\n\n\"He's at the corrals. Blake's helpin' him get the burros an' packs ready. That Blake is a good fellow.\"\n\n\"Did—did Bern meet Tull?\"\n\n\"I guess he did,\" answered Lassiter, and he laughed dryly.\n\n\"Tell me! Oh, you exasperate me! You're so cool, so calm! For Heaven's sake, tell me what happened!\"\n\n\"First time I've been in the village for weeks,\" went on Lassiter, mildly. \"I reckon there 'ain't been more of a show for a long time. Me an' Venters walkin' down the road! It was funny. I ain't sayin' anybody was particular glad to see us. I'm not much thought of hereabouts, an' Venters he sure looks like what you called him, a wild man. Well, there was some runnin' of folks before we got to the stores. Then everybody vamoosed except some surprised rustlers in front of a saloon. Venters went right in the stores an' saloons, an' of course I went along. I don't know which tickled me the most—the actions of many fellers we met, or Venters's nerve. Jane, I was downright glad to be along. You see that sort of thing is my element, an' I've been away from it for a spell. But we didn't find Tull in one of them places. Some Gentile feller at last told Venters he'd find Tull in that long buildin' next to Parsons's store. It's a kind of meetin'-room; and sure enough, when we peeped in, it was half full of men.\n\n\"Venters yelled: 'Don't anybody pull guns! We ain't come for that!' Then he tramped in, an' I was some put to keep alongside him. There was a hard, scrapin' sound of feet, a loud cry, an' then some whisperin', an' after that stillness you could cut with a knife. Tull was there, an' that fat party who once tried to throw a gun on me, an' other important-lookin' men, en' that little frog-legged feller who was with Tull the day I rode in here. I wish you could have seen their faces, 'specially Tull's an' the fat party's. But there ain't no use of me tryin' to tell you how they looked.\n\n\"Well, Venters an' I stood there in the middle of the room with that batch of men all in front of us, en' not a blamed one of them winked an eyelash or moved a finger. It was natural, of course, for me to notice many of them packed guns. That's a way of mine, first noticin' them things. Venters spoke up, an' his voice sort of chilled an' cut, en' he told Tull he had a few things to say.\"\n\nHere Lassiter paused while he turned his sombrero round and round, in his familiar habit, and his eyes had the look of a man seeing over again some thrilling spectacle, and under his red bronze there was strange animation.\n\n\"Like a shot, then, Venters told Tull that the friendship between you an' him was all over, an' he was leaving your place. He said you'd both of you broken off in the hope of propitiatin' your people, but you hadn't changed your mind otherwise, an' never would.\n\n\"Next he spoke up for you. I ain't goin' to tell you what he said. Only—no other woman who ever lived ever had such tribute! You had a champion, Jane, an' never fear that those thick-skulled men don't know you now. It couldn't be otherwise. He spoke the ringin', lightnin' truth... Then he accused Tull of the underhand, miserable robbery of a helpless woman. He told Tull where the red herd was, of a deal made with Oldrin', that Jerry Card had made the deal. I thought Tull was goin' to drop, an' that little frog-legged cuss, he looked some limp an' white. But Venters's voice would have kept anybody's legs from bucklin'. I was stiff myself. He went on an' called Tull—called him every bad name ever known to a rider, an' then some. He cursed Tull. I never hear a man get such a cursin'. He laughed in scorn at the idea of Tull bein' a minister. He said Tull an' a few more dogs of hell builded their empire out of the hearts of such innocent an' God-fearin' women as Jane Withersteen. He called Tull a binder of women, a callous beast who hid behind a mock mantle of righteousness—an' the last an' lowest coward on the face of the earth. To prey on weak women through their religion—that was the last unspeakable crime!\n\n\"Then he finished, an' by this time he'd almost lost his voice. But his whisper was enough. 'Tull,' he said, 'she begged me not to draw on you to-day. She would pray for you if you burned her at the stake... But listen!... I swear if you and I ever come face to face again, I'll kill you!'\n\n\"We backed out of the door then, an' up the road. But nobody follered us.\"\n\nJane found herself weeping passionately. She had not been conscious of it till Lassiter ended his story, and she experienced exquisite pain and relief in shedding tears. Long had her eyes been dry, her grief deep; long had her emotions been dumb. Lassiter's story put her on the rack; the appalling nature of Venters's act and speech had no parallel as an outrage; it was worse than bloodshed. Men like Tull had been shot, but had one ever been so terribly denounced in public? Over-mounting her horror, an uncontrollable, quivering passion shook her very soul. It was sheer human glory in the deed of a fearless man. It was hot, primitive instinct to live—to fight. It was a kind of mad joy in Venters's chivalry. It was close to the wrath that had first shaken her in the beginning of this war waged upon her.\n\n\"Well, well, Jane, don't take it that way,\" said Lassiter, in evident distress. \"I had to tell you. There's some things a feller jest can't keep. It's strange you give up on hearin' that, when all this long time you've been the gamest woman I ever seen. But I don't know women. Mebbe there's reason for you to cry. I know this—nothin' ever rang in my soul an' so filled it as what Venters did. I'd like to have done it, but—I'm only good for throwin' a gun, en' it seems you hate that... Well, I'll be goin' now.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"Venters took Wrangle to the stable. The sorrel's shy a shoe, an' I've got to help hold the big devil an' put on another.\"\n\n\"Tell Bern to come for the pack I want to give him—and—and to say good-by,\" called Jane, as Lassiter went out.\n\nJane passed the rest of that day in a vain endeavor to decide what and what not to put in the pack for Venters. This task was the last she would ever perform for him, and the gifts were the last she would ever make him. So she picked and chose and rejected, and chose again, and often paused in sad revery, and began again, till at length she filled the pack.\n\nIt was about sunset, and she and Fay had finished supper and were sitting in the court, when Venters's quick steps rang on the stones. She scarcely knew him, for he had changed the tattered garments, and she missed the dark beard and long hair. Still he was not the Venters of old. As he came up the steps she felt herself pointing to the pack, and heard herself speaking words that were meaningless to her. He said good-by; he kissed her, released her, and turned away. His tall figure blurred in her sight, grew dim through dark, streaked vision, and then he vanished.\n\nTwilight fell around Withersteen House, and dusk and night. Little Fay slept; but Jane lay with strained, aching eyes. She heard the wind moaning in the cottonwoods and mice squeaking in the walls. The night was interminably long, yet she prayed to hold back the dawn. What would another day bring forth? The blackness of her room seemed blacker for the sad, entering gray of morning light. She heard the chirp of awakening birds, and fancied she caught a faint clatter of hoofs. Then low, dull distant, throbbed a heavy gunshot. She had expected it, was waiting for it; nevertheless, an electric shock checked her heart, froze the very living fiber of her bones. That vise-like hold on her faculties apparently did not relax for a long time, and it was a voice under her window that released her.\n\n\"Jane!... Jane!\" softly called Lassiter.\n\nShe answered somehow.\n\n\"It's all right. Venters got away. I thought mebbe you'd heard that shot, en' I was worried some.\"\n\n\"What was it—who fired?\"\n\n\"Well—some fool feller tried to stop Venters out there in the sage—an' he only stopped lead!... I think it'll be all right. I haven't seen or heard of any other fellers round. Venters'll go through safe. An', Jane, I've got Bells saddled, an' I'm going to trail Venters. Mind, I won't show myself unless he falls foul of somebody an' needs me. I want to see if this place where he's goin' is safe for him. He says nobody can track him there. I never seen the place yet I couldn't track a man to. Now, Jane, you stay indoors while I'm gone, an' keep close watch on Fay. Will you?\"\n\n\"Yes! Oh yes!\"\n\n\"An' another thing, Jane,\" he continued, then paused for long—\"another thing—if you ain't here when I come back—if you're gone—don't fear, I'll trail you—I'll find you out.\"\n\n\"My dear Lassiter, where could I be gone—as you put it?\" asked Jane, in curious surprise.\n\n\"I reckon you might be somewhere. Mebbe tied in an old barn—or corralled in some gulch—or chained in a cave! Milly Erne was—till she give in! Mebbe that's news to you... Well, if you're gone I'll hunt for you.\"\n\n\"No, Lassiter,\" she replied, sadly and low. \"If I'm gone just forget the unhappy woman whose blinded selfish deceit you repaid with kindness and love.\"\n\nShe heard a deep, muttering curse, under his breath, and then the silvery tinkling of his spurs as he moved away.\n\nJane entered upon the duties of that day with a settled, gloomy calm. Disaster hung in the dark clouds, in the shade, in the humid west wind. Blake, when he reported, appeared without his usual cheer; and Jerd wore a harassed look of a worn and worried man. And when Judkins put in appearance, riding a lame horse, and dismounted with the cramp of a rider, his dust-covered figure and his darkly grim, almost dazed expression told Jane of dire calamity. She had no need of words.\n\n\"Miss Withersteen, I have to report—loss of the—white herd,\" said Judkins, hoarsely.\n\n\"Come, sit down, you look played out,\" replied Jane, solicitously. She brought him brandy and food, and while he partook of refreshments, of which he appeared badly in need, she asked no questions.\n\n\"No one rider—could hev done more—Miss Withersteen,\" he went on, presently.\n\n\"Judkins, don't be distressed. You've done more than any other rider. I've long expected to lose the white herd. It's no surprise. It's in line with other things that are happening. I'm grateful for your service.\"\n\n\"Miss Withersteen, I knew how you'd take it. But if anythin', that makes it harder to tell. You see, a feller wants to do so much fer you, an' I'd got fond of my job. We led the herd a ways off to the north of the break in the valley. There was a big level an' pools of water an' tip-top browse. But the cattle was in a high nervous condition. Wild—as wild as antelope! You see, they'd been so scared they never slept. I ain't a-goin' to tell you of the many tricks that were pulled off out there in the sage. But there wasn't a day for weeks thet the herd didn't get started to run. We allus managed to ride 'em close an' drive 'em back an' keep 'em bunched. Honest, Miss Withersteen, them steers was thin. They was thin when water and grass was everywhere. Thin at this season—thet'll tell you how your steers was pestered. Fer instance, one night a strange runnin' streak of fire run right through the herd. That streak was a coyote—with an oiled an' blazin' tail! Fer I shot it an' found out. We had hell with the herd that night, an' if the sage an' grass hadn't been wet—we, hosses, steers, an' all would hev burned up. But I said I wasn't goin' to tell you any of the tricks... Strange now, Miss Withersteen, when the stampede did come it was from natural cause—jest a whirlin' devil of dust. You've seen the like often. An' this wasn't no big whirl, fer the dust was mostly settled. It had dried out in a little swale, an' ordinarily no steer would ever hev run fer it. But the herd was nervous en' wild. An' jest as Lassiter said, when that bunch of white steers got to movin' they was as bad as buffalo. I've seen some buffalo stampedes back in Nebraska, an' this bolt of the steers was the same kind.\n\n\"I tried to mill the herd jest as Lassiter did. But I wasn't equal to it, Miss Withersteen. I don't believe the rider lives who could hev turned thet herd.",
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"value": "We kept along of the herd fer miles, an' more 'n one of my boys tried to get the steers a-millin'.",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 63 sentences.",
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"value": "It wasn't no use. We got off level ground, goin' down, an' then the steers ran somethin' fierce. We left the little gullies an' washes level-full of dead steers. Finally I saw the herd was makin' to pass a kind of low pocket between ridges. There was a hog-back—as we used to call 'em—a pile of rocks stickin' up, and I saw the herd was goin' to split round it, or swing out to the left. An' I wanted 'em to go to the right so mebbe we'd be able to drive 'em into the pocket. So, with all my boys except three, I rode hard to turn the herd a little to the right. We couldn't budge 'em. They went on en' split round the rocks, en' the most of 'em was turned sharp to the left by a deep wash we hedn't seen—hed no chance to see.\n\n\"The other three boys—Jimmy Vail, Joe Willis, an' thet little Cairns boy—a nervy kid! they, with Cairns leadin', tried to buck thet herd round to the pocket. It was a wild, fool idee. I couldn't do nothin'. The boys got hemmed in between the steers an' the wash—thet they hedn't no chance to see, either. Vail an' Willis was run down right before our eyes. An' Cairns, who rode a fine hoss, he did some ridin'. I never seen equaled, en' would hev beat the steers if there'd been any room to run in. I was high up an' could see how the steers kept spillin' by twos an' threes over into the wash. Cairns put his hoss to a place thet was too wide fer any hoss, an' broke his neck an' the hoss's too. We found that out after, an' as fer Vail an' Willis—two thousand steers ran over the poor boys. There wasn't much left to pack home fer burying!... An', Miss Withersteen, thet all happened yesterday, en' I believe, if the white herd didn't run over the wall of the Pass, it's runnin' yet.\"\n\nOn the morning of the second day after Judkins's recital, during which time Jane remained indoors a prey to regret and sorrow for the boy riders, and a new and now strangely insistent fear for her own person, she again heard what she had missed more than she dared honestly confess—the soft, jingling step of Lassiter. Almost overwhelming relief surged through her, a feeling as akin to joy as any she could have been capable of in those gloomy hours of shadow, and one that suddenly stunned her with the significance of what Lassiter had come to mean to her. She had begged him, for his own sake, to leave Cottonwoods. She might yet beg that, if her weakening courage permitted her to dare absolute loneliness and helplessness, but she realized now that if she were left alone her life would become one long, hideous nightmare.\n\nWhen his soft steps clinked into the hall, in answer to her greeting, and his tall, black-garbed form filled the door, she felt an inexpressible sense of immediate safety. In his presence she lost her fear of the dim passageways of Withersteen House and of every sound. Always it had been that, when he entered the court or the hall, she had experienced a distinctly sickening but gradually lessening shock at sight of the huge black guns swinging at his sides. This time the sickening shock again visited her, it was, however, because a revealing flash of thought told her that it was not alone Lassiter who was thrillingly welcome, but also his fatal weapons. They meant so much. How she had fallen—how broken and spiritless must she be—to have still the same old horror of Lassiter's guns and his name, yet feel somehow a cold, shrinking protection in their law and might and use.\n\n\"Did you trail Venters—find his wonderful valley?\" she asked, eagerly.\n\n\"Yes, an' I reckon it's sure a wonderful place.\"\n\n\"Is he safe there?\"\n\n\"That's been botherin' me some. I tracked him an' part of the trail was the hardest I ever tackled. Mebbe there's a rustler or somebody in this country who's as good at trackin' as I am. If that's so Venters ain't safe.\"\n\n\"Well—tell me all about Bern and his valley.\"\n\nTo Jane's surprise Lassiter showed disinclination for further talk about his trip. He appeared to be extremely fatigued. Jane reflected that one hundred and twenty miles, with probably a great deal of climbing on foot, all in three days, was enough to tire any rider. Moreover, it presently developed that Lassiter had returned in a mood of singular sadness and preoccupation. She put it down to a moodiness over the loss of her white herd and the now precarious condition of her fortune.\n\nSeveral days passed, and as nothing happened, Jane's spirits began to brighten. Once in her musings she thought that this tendency of hers to rebound was as sad as it was futile. Meanwhile, she had resumed her walks through the grove with little Fay.\n\nOne morning she went as far as the sage. She had not seen the slope since the beginning of the rains, and now it bloomed a rich deep purple. There was a high wind blowing, and the sage tossed and waved and colored beautifully from light to dark. Clouds scudded across the sky and their shadows sailed darkly down the sunny slope.\n\nUpon her return toward the house she went by the lane to the stables, and she had scarcely entered the great open space with its corrals and sheds when she saw Lassiter hurriedly approaching. Fay broke from her and, running to a corral fence, began to pat and pull the long, hanging ears of a drowsy burro.\n\nOne look at Lassiter armed her for a blow.\n\nWithout a word he led her across the wide yard to the rise of the ground upon which the stable stood.\n\n\"Jane—look!\" he said, and pointed to the ground.\n\nJane glanced down, and again, and upon steadier vision made out splotches of blood on the stones, and broad, smooth marks in the dust, leading out toward the sage.\n\n\"What made these?\" she asked.\n\n\"I reckon somebody has dragged dead or wounded men out to where there was hosses in the sage.\"\n\n\"Dead—or—wounded—men!\"\n\n\"I reckon—Jane, are you strong? Can you bear up?\"\n\nHis hands were gently holding hers, and his eyes—suddenly she could no longer look into them. \"Strong?\" she echoed, trembling. \"I—I will be.\"\n\nUp on the stone-flag drive, nicked with the marks made by the iron-shod hoofs of her racers, Lassiter led her, his grasp ever growing firmer.\n\n\"Where's Blake—and—and Jerb?\" she asked, haltingly.\n\n\"I don't know where Jerb is. Bolted, most likely,\" replied Lassiter, as he took her through the stone door. \"But Blake—poor Blake! He's gone forever!... Be prepared, Jane.\"\n\nWith a cold prickling of her skin, with a queer thrumming in her ears, with fixed and staring eyes, Jane saw a gun lying at her feet with chamber swung and empty, and discharged shells scattered near.\n\nOutstretched upon the stable floor lay Blake, ghastly white—dead—one hand clutching a gun and the other twisted in his bloody blouse.\n\n\"Whoever the thieves were, whether your people or rustlers—Blake killed some of them!\" said Lassiter.\n\n\"Thieves?\" whispered Jane.\n\n\"I reckon. Hoss-thieves!... Look!\" Lassiter waved his hand toward the stalls.\n\nThe first stall—Bells's stall—was empty. All the stalls were empty. No racer whinnied and stamped greeting to her. Night was gone! Black Star was gone!",
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"value": "Let's engage in a collaborative writing exercise. I'll provide a starting point (which may include pre-existing characters and lore), and You'll continue with one hundred and twenty-one sentences in the style of Zane Grey.",
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"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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"value": "Chapter XVI. Gold\n\nAs Lassiter had reported to Jane, Venters \"went through\" safely, and after a toilsome journey reached the peaceful shelter of Surprise Valley. When finally he lay wearily down under the silver spruces, resting from the strain of dragging packs and burros up the slope and through the entrance to Surprise Valley, he had leisure to think, and a great deal of the time went in regretting that he had not been frank with his loyal friend, Jane Withersteen.\n\nBut, he kept continually recalling, when he had stood once more face to face with her and had been shocked at the change in her and had heard the details of her adversity, he had not had the heart to tell her of the closer interest which had entered his life. He had not lied; yet he had kept silence.\n\nBess was in transports over the stores of supplies and the outfit he had packed from Cottonwoods. He had certainly brought a hundred times more than he had gone for; enough, surely, for years, perhaps to make permanent home in the valley. He saw no reason why he need ever leave there again.\n\nAfter a day of rest he recovered his strength and shared Bess's pleasure in rummaging over the endless packs, and began to plan for the future. And in this planning, his trip to Cottonwoods, with its revived hate of Tull and consequent unleashing of fierce passions, soon faded out of mind. By slower degrees his friendship for Jane Withersteen and his contrition drifted from the active preoccupation of his present thought to a place in memory, with more and more infrequent recalls.\n\nAnd as far as the state of his mind was concerned, upon the second day after his return, the valley, with its golden hues and purple shades, the speaking west wind and the cool, silent night, and Bess's watching eyes with their wonderful light, so wrought upon Venters that he might never have left them at all.\n\nThat very afternoon he set to work. Only one thing hindered him upon beginning, though it in no wise checked his delight, and that in the multiplicity of tasks planned to make a paradise out of the valley he could not choose the one with which to begin. He had to grow into the habit of passing from one dreamy pleasure to another, like a bee going from flower to flower in the valley, and he found this wandering habit likely to extend to his labors. Nevertheless, he made a start.\n\nAt the outset he discovered Bess to be both a considerable help in some ways and a very great hindrance in others. Her excitement and joy were spurs, inspirations; but she was utterly impracticable in her ideas, and she flitted from one plan to another with bewildering vacillation. Moreover, he fancied that she grew more eager, youthful, and sweet; and he marked that it was far easier to watch her and listen to her than it was to work. Therefore he gave her tasks that necessitated her going often to the cave where he had stored his packs.\n\nUpon the last of these trips, when he was some distance down the terrace and out of sight of camp, he heard a scream, and then the sharp barking of the dogs.\n\nFor an instant he straightened up, amazed. Danger for her had been absolutely out of his mind. She had seen a rattlesnake—or a wildcat. Still she would not have been likely to scream at sight of either; and the barking of the dogs was ominous. Dropping his work, he dashed back along the terrace. Upon breaking through a clump of aspens he saw the dark form of a man in the camp. Cold, then hot, Venters burst into frenzied speed to reach his guns. He was cursing himself for a thoughtless fool when the man's tall form became familiar and he recognized Lassiter. Then the reversal of emotions changed his run to a walk; he tried to call out, but his voice refused to carry; when he reached camp there was Lassiter staring at the white-faced girl. By that time Ring and Whitie had recognized him.\n\n\"Hello, Venters! I'm makin' you a visit,\" said Lassiter, slowly. \"An' I'm some surprised to see you've a—a young feller for company.\"\n\nOne glance had sufficed for the keen rider to read Bess's real sex, and for once his cool calm had deserted him. He stared till the white of Bess's cheeks flared into crimson. That, if it were needed, was the concluding evidence of her femininity, for it went fittingly with her sun-tinted hair and darkened, dilated eyes, the sweetness of her mouth, and the striking symmetry of her slender shape.\n\n\"Heavens! Lassiter!\" panted Venters, when he caught his breath. \"What relief—it's only you! How—in the name of all that's wonderful—did you ever get here?\"\n\n\"I trailed you. We—I wanted to know where you was, if you had a safe place. So I trailed you.\"\n\n\"Trailed me,\" cried Venters, bluntly.\n\n\"I reckon. It was some of a job after I got to them smooth rocks. I was all day trackin' you up to them little cut steps in the rock. The rest was easy.\"\n\n\"Where's your hoss? I hope you hid him.\"\n\n\"I tied him in them queer cedars down on the slope. He can't be seen from the valley.\"\n\n\"That's good. Well, well! I'm completely dumfounded. It was my idea that no man could track me in here.\"\n\n\"I reckon. But if there's a tracker in these uplands as good as me he can find you.\"\n\n\"That's bad. That'll worry me. But, Lassiter, now you're here I'm glad to see you. And—and my companion here is not a young fellow!... Bess, this is a friend of mine. He saved my life once.\"\n\nThe embarrassment of the moment did not extend to Lassiter. Almost at once his manner, as he shook hands with Bess, relieved Venters and put the girl at ease. After Venters's words and one quick look at Lassiter, her agitation stilled, and, though she was shy, if she were conscious of anything out of the ordinary in the situation, certainly she did not show it.\n\n\"I reckon I'll only stay a little while,\" Lassiter was saying. \"An' if you don't mind troublin', I'm hungry. I fetched some biscuits along, but they're gone. Venters, this place is sure the wonderfullest ever seen. Them cut steps on the slope! That outlet into the gorge! An' it's like climbin' up through hell into heaven to climb through that gorge into this valley! There's a queer-lookin' rock at the top of the passage. I didn't have time to stop. I'm wonderin' how you ever found this place. It's sure interestin'.\"\n\nDuring the preparation and eating of dinner Lassiter listened mostly, as was his wont, and occasionally he spoke in his quaint and dry way. Venters noted, however, that the rider showed an increasing interest in Bess. He asked her no questions, and only directed his attention to her while she was occupied and had no opportunity to observe his scrutiny. It seemed to Venters that Lassiter grew more and more absorbed in his study of Bess, and that he lost his coolness in some strange, softening sympathy. Then, quite abruptly, he arose and announced the necessity for his early departure. He said good-by to Bess in a voice gentle and somewhat broken, and turned hurriedly away. Venters accompanied him, and they had traversed the terrace, climbed the weathered slope, and passed under the stone bridge before either spoke again.\n\nThen Lassiter put a great hand on Venters's shoulder and wheeled him to meet a smoldering fire of gray eyes.\n\n\"Lassiter, I couldn't tell Jane! I couldn't,\" burst out Venters, reading his friend's mind. \"I tried. But I couldn't. She wouldn't understand, and she has troubles enough. And I love the girl!\"\n\n\"Venters, I reckon this beats me. I've seen some queer things in my time, too. This girl—who is she?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"Don't know! What is she, then?\"\n\n\"I don't know that, either. Oh, it's the strangest story you ever heard. I must tell you. But you'll never believe.\"\n\n\"Venters, women were always puzzles to me. But for all that, if this girl ain't a child, an' as innocent, I'm no fit person to think of virtue an' goodness in anybody. Are you goin' to be square with her?\"\n\n\"I am—so help me God!\"\n\n\"I reckoned so. Mebbe my temper oughtn't led me to make sure. But, man, she's a woman in all but years. She's sweeter 'n the sage.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, I know, I know. And the hell of it is that in spite of her innocence and charm she's—she's not what she seems!\"\n\n\"I wouldn't want to—of course, I couldn't call you a liar, Venters,\" said the older man.\n\n\"What's more, she was Oldring's Masked Rider!\"\n\nVenters expected to floor his friend with that statement, but he was not in any way prepared for the shock his words gave. For an instant he was astounded to see Lassiter stunned; then his own passionate eagerness to unbosom himself, to tell the wonderful story, precluded any other thought.\n\n\"Son, tell me all about this,\" presently said Lassiter as he seated himself on a stone and wiped his moist brow.\n\nThereupon Venters began his narrative at the point where he had shot the rustler and Oldring's Masked Rider, and he rushed through it, telling all, not holding back even Bess's unreserved avowal of her love or his deepest emotions.\n\n\"That's the story,\" he said, concluding. \"I love her, though I've never told her. If I did tell her I'd be ready to marry her, and that seems impossible in this country. I'd be afraid to risk taking her anywhere. So I intend to do the best I can for her here.\"\n\n\"The longer I live the stranger life is,\" mused Lassiter, with downcast eyes. \"I'm reminded of somethin' you once said to Jane about hands in her game of life. There's that unseen hand of power, an' Tull's black hand, an' my red one, an' your indifferent one, an' the girl's little brown, helpless one. An', Venters there's another one that's all-wise an' all-wonderful. That's the hand guidin' Jane Withersteen's game of life!... Your story's one to daze a far clearer head than mine. I can't offer no advice, even if you asked for it. Mebbe I can help you. Anyway, I'll hold Oldrin' up when he comes to the village an' find out about this girl. I knew the rustler years ago. He'll remember me.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, if I ever meet Oldring I'll kill him!\" cried Venters, with sudden intensity.\n\n\"I reckon that'd be perfectly natural,\" replied the rider.\n\n\"Make him think Bess is dead—as she is to him and that old life.\"\n\n\"Sure, sure, son. Cool down now. If you're goin' to begin pullin' guns on Tull an' Oldin' you want to be cool. I reckon, though, you'd better keep hid here. Well, I must be leavin'.\"\n\n\"One thing, Lassiter. You'll not tell Jane about Bess? Please don't!\"\n\n\"I reckon not. But I wouldn't be afraid to bet that after she'd got over anger at your secrecy—Venters, she'd be furious once in her life!—she'd think more of you. I don't mind sayin' for myself that I think you're a good deal of a man.\"\n\nIn the further ascent Venters halted several times with the intention of saying good-by, yet he changed his mind and kept on climbing till they reached Balancing Rock. Lassiter examined the huge rock, listened to Venters's idea of its position and suggestion, and curiously placed a strong hand upon it.\n\n\"Hold on!\" cried Venters. \"I heaved at it once and have never gotten over my scare.\"\n\n\"Well, you do seem uncommon nervous,\" replied Lassiter, much amused. \"Now, as for me, why I always had the funniest notion to roll stones! When I was a kid I did it, an' the bigger I got the bigger stones I'd roll. Ain't that funny? Honest—even now I often get off my hoss just to tumble a big stone over a precipice, en' watch it drop, en' listen to it bang an' boom. I've started some slides in my time, an' don't you forget it. I never seen a rock I wanted to roll as bad as this one! Wouldn't there jest be roarin', crashin' hell down that trail?\"\n\n\"You'd close the outlet forever!\" exclaimed Venters. \"Well, good-by, Lassiter. Keep my secret and don't forget me. And be mighty careful how you get out of the valley below. The rustlers' canyon isn't more than three miles up the Pass. Now you've tracked me here, I'll never feel safe again.\"\n\nIn his descent to the valley, Venters's emotion, roused to stirring pitch by the recital of his love story, quieted gradually, and in its place came a sober, thoughtful mood. All at once he saw that he was serious, because he would never more regain his sense of security while in the valley. What Lassiter could do another skilful tracker might duplicate. Among the many riders with whom Venters had ridden he recalled no one who could have taken his trail at Cottonwoods and have followed it to the edge of the bare slope in the pass, let alone up that glistening smooth stone. Lassiter, however, was not an ordinary rider. Instead of hunting cattle tracks he had likely spent a goodly portion of his life tracking men. It was not improbable that among Oldring's rustlers there was one who shared Lassiter's gift for trailing. And the more Venters dwelt on this possibility the more perturbed he grew.\n\nLassiter's visit, moreover, had a disquieting effect upon Bess, and Venters fancied that she entertained the same thought as to future seclusion. The breaking of their solitude, though by a well-meaning friend, had not only dispelled all its dream and much of its charm, but had instilled a canker of fear. Both had seen the footprint in the sand.\n\nVenters did no more work that day. Sunset and twilight gave way to night, and the canyon bird whistled its melancholy notes, and the wind sang softly in the cliffs, and the camp-fire blazed and burned down to red embers. To Venters a subtle difference was apparent in all of these, or else the shadowy change had been in him. He hoped that on the morrow this slight depression would have passed away.\n\nIn that measure, however, he was doomed to disappointment. Furthermore, Bess reverted to a wistful sadness that he had not observed in her since her recovery. His attempt to cheer her out of it resulted in dismal failure, and consequently in a darkening of his own mood. Hard work relieved him; still, when the day had passed, his unrest returned. Then he set to deliberate thinking, and there came to him the startling conviction that he must leave Surprise Valley and take Bess with him. As a rider he had taken many chances, and as an adventurer in Deception Pass he had unhesitatingly risked his life, but now he would run no preventable hazard of Bess's safety and happiness, and he was too keen not to see that hazard. It gave him a pang to think of leaving the beautiful valley just when he had the means to establish a permanent and delightful home there. One flashing thought tore in hot temptation through his mind—why not climb up into the gorge, roll Balancing Rock down the trail, and close forever the outlet to Deception Pass? \"That was the beast in me—showing his teeth!\" muttered Venters, scornfully. \"I'll just kill him good and quick! I'll be fair to this girl, if it's the last thing I do on earth!\"\n\nAnother day went by, in which he worked less and pondered more and all the time covertly watched Bess. Her wistfulness had deepened into downright unhappiness, and that made his task to tell her all the harder.",
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"value": "writers block help pls. ill send something, u do sixty-nine sentences. going for Zane Grey vibe. note: might have existing chars",
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"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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"value": "Chapter XVII. Wrangle's Race Run\n\nThe plan eventually decided upon by the lovers was for Venters to go to the village, secure a horse and some kind of a disguise for Bess, or at least less striking apparel than her present garb, and to return post-haste to the valley. Meanwhile, she would add to their store of gold. Then they would strike the long and perilous trail to ride out of Utah. In the event of his inability to fetch back a horse for her, they intended to make the giant sorrel carry double. The gold, a little food, saddle blankets, and Venters's guns were to compose the light outfit with which they would make the start.\n\n\"I love this beautiful place,\" said Bess. \"It's hard to think of leaving it.\"\n\n\"Hard! Well, I should think so,\" replied Venters. \"Maybe—in years—\" But he did not complete in words his thought that might be possible to return after many years of absence and change.\n\nOnce again Bess bade Venters farewell under the shadow of Balancing Rock, and this time it was with whispered hope and tenderness and passionate trust. Long after he had left her, all down through the outlet to the Pass, the clinging clasp of her arms, the sweetness of her lips, and the sense of a new and exquisite birth of character in her remained hauntingly and thrillingly in his mind. The girl who had sadly called herself nameless and nothing had been marvelously transformed in the moment of his avowal of love. It was something to think over, something to warm his heart, but for the present it had absolutely to be forgotten so that all his mind could be addressed to the trip so fraught with danger.\n\nHe carried only his rifle, revolver, and a small quantity of bread and meat, and thus lightly burdened, he made swift progress down the slope and out into the valley. Darkness was coming on, and he welcomed it. Stars were blinking when he reached his old hiding-place in the split of canyon wall, and by their aid he slipped through the dense thickets to the grassy enclosure. Wrangle stood in the center of it with his head up, and he appeared black and of gigantic proportions in the dim light. Venters whistled softly, began a slow approach, and then called. The horse snorted and, plunging away with dull, heavy sound of hoofs, he disappeared in the gloom. \"Wilder than ever!\" muttered Venters. He followed the sorrel into the narrowing split between the walls, and presently had to desist because he could not see a foot in advance. As he went back toward the open Wrangle jumped out of an ebony shadow of cliff and like a thunderbolt shot huge and black past him down into the starlit glade. Deciding that all attempts to catch Wrangle at night would be useless, Venters repaired to the shelving rock where he had hidden saddle and blanket, and there went to sleep.\n\nThe first peep of day found him stirring, and as soon as it was light enough to distinguish objects, he took his lasso off his saddle and went out to rope the sorrel. He espied Wrangle at the lower end of the cove and approached him in a perfectly natural manner. When he got near enough, Wrangle evidently recognized him, but was too wild to stand. He ran up the glade and on into the narrow lane between the walls. This favored Venters's speedy capture of the horse, so, coiling his noose ready to throw, he hurried on. Wrangle let Venters get to within a hundred feet and then he broke. But as he plunged by, rapidly getting into his stride, Venters made a perfect throw with the rope. He had time to brace himself for the shock; nevertheless, Wrangle threw him and dragged him several yards before halting.\n\n\"You wild devil,\" said Venters, as he slowly pulled Wrangle up. \"Don't you know me? Come now—old fellow—so—so—\"\n\nWrangle yielded to the lasso and then to Venters's strong hand. He was as straggly and wild-looking as a horse left to roam free in the sage. He dropped his long ears and stood readily to be saddled and bridled. But he was exceedingly sensitive, and quivered at every touch and sound. Venters led him to the thicket, and, bending the close saplings to let him squeeze through, at length reached the open. Sharp survey in each direction assured him of the usual lonely nature of the canyon, then he was in the saddle, riding south.\n\nWrangle's long, swinging canter was a wonderful ground-gainer. His stride was almost twice that of an ordinary horse; and his endurance was equally remarkable. Venters pulled him in occasionally, and walked him up the stretches of rising ground and along the soft washes. Wrangle had never yet shown any indication of distress while Venters rode him. Nevertheless, there was now reason to save the horse, therefore Venters did not resort to the hurry that had characterized his former trip. He camped at the last water in the Pass. What distance that was to Cottonwoods he did not know; he calculated, however, that it was in the neighborhood of fifty miles.\n\nEarly in the morning he proceeded on his way, and about the middle of the forenoon reached the constricted gap that marked the southerly end of the Pass, and through which led the trail up to the sage-level. He spied out Lassiter's tracks in the dust, but no others, and dismounting, he straightened out Wrangle's bridle and began to lead him up the trail. The short climb, more severe on beast than on man, necessitated a rest on the level above, and during this he scanned the wide purple reaches of slope.\n\nWrangle whistled his pleasure at the smell of the sage. Remounting, Venters headed up the white trail with the fragrant wind in his face. He had proceeded for perhaps a couple of miles when Wrangle stopped with a suddenness that threw Venters heavily against the pommel.\n\n\"What's wrong, old boy?\" called Venters, looking down for a loose shoe or a snake or a foot lamed by a picked-up stone. Unrewarded, he raised himself from his scrutiny. Wrangle stood stiff head high, with his long ears erect. Thus guided, Venters swiftly gazed ahead to make out a dust-clouded, dark group of horsemen riding down the slope. If they had seen him, it apparently made no difference in their speed or direction.\n\n\"Wonder who they are!\" exclaimed Venters. He was not disposed to run. His cool mood tightened under grip of excitement as he reflected that, whoever the approaching riders were, they could not be friends. He slipped out of the saddle and led Wrangle behind the tallest sage-brush. It might serve to conceal them until the riders were close enough for him to see who they were; after that he would be indifferent to how soon they discovered him.\n\nAfter looking to his rifle and ascertaining that it was in working order, he watched, and as he watched, slowly the force of a bitter fierceness, long dormant, gathered ready to flame into life. If those riders were not rustlers he had forgotten how rustlers looked and rode. On they came, a small group, so compact and dark that he could not tell their number. How unusual that their horses did not see Wrangle! But such failure, Venters decided, was owing to the speed with which they were traveling.",
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"value": "They moved at a swift canter affected more by rustlers than by riders.",
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"value": "Venters grew concerned over the possibility that these horsemen would actually ride down on him before he had a chance to tell what to expect. When they were within three hundred yards he deliberately led Wrangle out into the trail.\n\nThen he heard shouts, and the hard scrape of sliding hoofs, and saw horses rear and plunge back with up-flung heads and flying manes. Several little white puffs of smoke appeared sharply against the black background of riders and horses, and shots rang out. Bullets struck far in front of Venters, and whipped up the dust and then hummed low into the sage. The range was great for revolvers, but whether the shots were meant to kill or merely to check advance, they were enough to fire that waiting ferocity in Venters. Slipping his arm through the bridle, so that Wrangle could not get away, Venters lifted his rifle and pulled the trigger twice.\n\nHe saw the first horseman lean sideways and fall. He saw another lurch in his saddle and heard a cry of pain. Then Wrangle, plunging in fright, lifted Venters and nearly threw him. He jerked the horse down with a powerful hand and leaped into the saddle. Wrangle plunged again, dragging his bridle, that Venters had not had time to throw in place. Bending over with a swift movement, he secured it and dropped the loop over the pommel. Then, with grinding teeth, he looked to see what the issue would be.\n\nThe band had scattered so as not to afford such a broad mark for bullets. The riders faced Venters, some with red-belching guns. He heard a sharper report, and just as Wrangle plunged again he caught the whim of a leaden missile that would have hit him but for Wrangle's sudden jump. A swift, hot wave, turning cold, passed over Venters. Deliberately he picked out the one rider with a carbine, and killed him. Wrangle snorted shrilly and bolted into the sage. Venters let him run a few rods, then with iron arm checked him.\n\nFive riders, surely rustlers, were left. One leaped out of the saddle to secure his fallen comrade's carbine. A shot from Venters, which missed the man but sent the dust flying over him made him run back to his horse. Then they separated. The crippled rider went one way; the one frustrated in his attempt to get the carbine rode another, Venters thought he made out a third rider, carrying a strange-appearing bundle and disappearing in the sage. But in the rapidity of action and vision he could not discern what it was. Two riders with three horses swung out to the right. Afraid of the long rifle—a burdensome weapon seldom carried by rustlers or riders—they had been put to rout.\n\nSuddenly Venters discovered that one of the two men last noted was riding Jane Withersteen's horse Bells—the beautiful bay racer she had given to Lassiter. Venters uttered a savage outcry. Then the small, wiry, frog-like shape of the second rider, and the ease and grace of his seat in the saddle—things so strikingly incongruous—grew more and more familiar in Venters's sight.\n\n\"Jerry Card!\" cried Venters.\n\nIt was indeed Tull's right-hand man. Such a white hot wrath inflamed Venters that he fought himself to see with clearer gaze.\n\n\"It's Jerry Card!\" he exclaimed, instantly. \"And he's riding Black Star and leading Night!\"\n\nThe long-kindling, stormy fire in Venters's heart burst into flame. He spurred Wrangle, and as the horse lengthened his stride Venters slipped cartridges into the magazine of his rifle till it was once again full. Card and his companion were now half a mile or more in advance, riding easily down the slope. Venters marked the smooth gait, and understood it when Wrangle galloped out of the sage into the broad cattle trail, down which Venters had once tracked Jane Withersteen's red herd. This hard-packed trail, from years of use, was as clean and smooth as a road. Venters saw Jerry Card look back over his shoulder, the other rider did likewise. Then the three racers lengthened their stride to the point where the swinging canter was ready to break into a gallop.\n\n\"Wrangle, the race's on,\" said Venters, grimly. \"We'll canter with them and gallop with them and run with them. We'll let them set the pace.\"\n\nVenters knew he bestrode the strongest, swiftest, most tireless horse ever ridden by any rider across the Utah uplands. Recalling Jane Withersteen's devoted assurance that Night could run neck and neck with Wrangle, and Black Star could show his heels to him, Venters wished that Jane were there to see the race to recover her blacks and in the unqualified superiority of the giant sorrel. Then Venters found himself thankful that she was absent, for he meant that race to end in Jerry Card's death. The first flush, the raging of Venters's wrath, passed, to leave him in sullen, almost cold possession of his will. It was a deadly mood, utterly foreign to his nature, engendered, fostered, and released by the wild passions of wild men in a wild country. The strength in him then—the thing rife in him that was not hate, but something as remorseless—might have been the fiery fruition of a whole lifetime of vengeful quest. Nothing could have stopped him.\n\nVenters thought out the race shrewdly. The rider on Bells would probably drop behind and take to the sage. What he did was of little moment to Venters. To stop Jerry Card, his evil hidden career as well as his present flight, and then to catch the blacks—that was all that concerned Venters. The cattle trail wound for miles and miles down the slope. Venters saw with a rider's keen vision ten, fifteen, twenty miles of clear purple sage. There were no on-coming riders or rustlers to aid Card. His only chance to escape lay in abandoning the stolen horses and creeping away in the sage to hide. In ten miles Wrangle could run Black Star and Night off their feet, and in fifteen he could kill them outright. So Venters held the sorrel in, letting Card make the running. It was a long race that would save the blacks.\n\nIn a few miles of that swinging canter Wrangle had crept appreciably closer to the three horses. Jerry Card turned again, and when he saw how the sorrel had gained, he put Black Star to a gallop. Night and Bells, on either side of him, swept into his stride.\n\nVenters loosened the rein on Wrangle and let him break into a gallop. The sorrel saw the horses ahead and wanted to run. But Venters restrained him.",
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"value": "And in the gallop he gained more than in the canter. Bells was fast in that gait, but Black Star and Night had been trained to run. Slowly Wrangle closed the gap down to a quarter of a mile, and crept closer and closer.\n\nJerry Card wheeled once more. Venters distinctly saw the red flash of his red face. This time he looked long. Venters laughed. He knew what passed in Card's mind. The rider was trying to make out what horse it happened to be that thus gained on Jane Withersteen's peerless racers. Wrangle had so long been away from the village that not improbably Jerry had forgotten. Besides, whatever Jerry's qualifications for his fame as the greatest rider of the sage, certain it was that his best point was not far-sightedness. He had not recognized Wrangle. After what must have been a searching gaze he got his comrade to face about. This action gave Venters amusement. It spoke so surely of the facts that neither Card nor the rustler actually knew their danger. Yet if they kept to the trail—and the last thing such men would do would be to leave it—they were both doomed.\n\nThis comrade of Card's whirled far around in his saddle, and he even shaded his eyes from the sun. He, too, looked long. Then, all at once, he faced ahead again and, bending lower in the saddle, began to fling his right arm up and down. That flinging Venters knew to be the lashing of Bells. Jerry also became active. And the three racers lengthened out into a run.\n\n\"Now, Wrangle!\" cried Venters. \"Run, you big devil! Run!\"\n\nVenters laid the reins on Wrangle's neck and dropped the loop over the pommel. The sorrel needed no guiding on that smooth trail. He was surer-footed in a run than at any other fast gait, and his running gave the impression of something devilish. He might now have been actuated by Venters's spirit; undoubtedly his savage running fitted the mood of his rider. Venters bent forward swinging with the horse, and gripped his rifle. His eye measured the distance between him and Jerry Card.\n\nIn less than two miles of running Bells began to drop behind the blacks, and Wrangle began to overhaul him. Venters anticipated that the rustler would soon take to the sage. Yet he did not. Not improbably he reasoned that the powerful sorrel could more easily overtake Bells in the heavier going outside of the trail. Soon only a few hundred yards lay between Bells and Wrangle. Turning in his saddle, the rustler began to shoot, and the bullets beat up little whiffs of dust. Venters raised his rifle, ready to take snap shots, and waited for favorable opportunity when Bells was out of line with the forward horses. Venters had it in him to kill these men as if they were skunk-bitten coyotes, but also he had restraint enough to keep from shooting one of Jane's beloved Arabians.\n\nNo great distance was covered, however, before Bells swerved to the left, out of line with Black Star and Night. Then Venters, aiming high and waiting for the pause between Wrangle's great strides, began to take snap shots at the rustler. The fleeing rider presented a broad target for a rifle, but he was moving swiftly forward and bobbing up and down. Moreover, shooting from Wrangle's back was shooting from a thunderbolt. And added to that was the danger of a low-placed bullet taking effect on Bells. Yet, despite these considerations, making the shot exceedingly difficult, Venters's confidence, like his implacability, saw a speedy and fatal termination of that rustler's race. On the sixth shot the rustler threw up his arms and took a flying tumble off his horse. He rolled over and over, hunched himself to a half-erect position, fell, and then dragged himself into the sage. As Venters went thundering by he peered keenly into the sage, but caught no sign of the man. Bells ran a few hundred yards, slowed up, and had stopped when Wrangle passed him.\n\nAgain Venters began slipping fresh cartridges into the magazine of his rifle, and his hand was so sure and steady that he did not drop a single cartridge. With the eye of a rider and the judgment of a marksman he once more measured the distance between him and Jerry Card. Wrangle had gained, bringing him into rifle range. Venters was hard put to it now not to shoot, but thought it better to withhold his fire. Jerry, who, in anticipation of a running fusillade, had huddled himself into a little twisted ball on Black Star's neck, now surmising that this pursuer would make sure of not wounding one of the blacks, rose to his natural seat in the saddle.\n\nIn his mind perhaps, as certainly as in Venters's, this moment was the beginning of the real race.\n\nVenters leaned forward to put his hand on Wrangle's neck, then backward to put it on his flank. Under the shaggy, dusty hair trembled and vibrated and rippled a wonderful muscular activity. But Wrangle's flesh was still cold. What a cold-blooded brute thought Venters, and felt in him a love for the horse he had never given to any other. It would not have been humanly possible for any rider, even though clutched by hate or revenge or a passion to save a loved one or fear of his own life, to be astride the sorrel to swing with his swing, to see his magnificent stride and hear the rapid thunder of his hoofs, to ride him in that race and not glory in the ride.\n\nSo, with his passion to kill still keen and unabated, Venters lived out that ride, and drank a rider's sage-sweet cup of wildness to the dregs.\n\nWhen Wrangle's long mane, lashing in the wind, stung Venters in the cheek, the sting added a beat to his flying pulse. He bent a downward glance to try to see Wrangle's actual stride, and saw only twinkling, darting streaks and the white rush of the trail. He watched the sorrel's savage head, pointed level, his mouth still closed and dry, but his nostrils distended as if he were snorting unseen fire. Wrangle was the horse for a race with death. Upon each side Venters saw the sage merged into a sailing, colorless wall. In front sloped the lay of ground with its purple breadth split by the white trail. The wind, blowing with heavy, steady blast into his face, sickened him with enduring, sweet odor, and filled his ears with a hollow, rushing roar.\n\nThen for the hundredth time he measured the width of space separating him from Jerry Card. Wrangle had ceased to gain. The blacks were proving their fleetness.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Venters watched Jerry Card, admiring the little rider's horsemanship. He had the incomparable seat of the upland rider, born in the saddle. It struck Venters that Card had changed his position, or the position of the horses. Presently Venters remembered positively that Jerry had been leading Night on the right-hand side of the trail. The racer was now on the side to the left. No—it was Black Star. But, Venters argued in amaze, Jerry had been mounted on Black Star. Another clearer, keener gaze assured Venters that Black Star was really riderless. Night now carried Jerry Card.\n\n\"He's changed from one to the other!\" ejaculated Venters, realizing the astounding feat with unstinted admiration. \"Changed at full speed! Jerry Card, that's what you've done unless I'm drunk on the smell of sage. But I've got to see the trick before I believe it.\"\n\nThenceforth, while Wrangle sped on, Venters glued his eyes to the little rider. Jerry Card rode as only he could ride. Of all the daring horsemen of the uplands, Jerry was the one rider fitted to bring out the greatness of the blacks in that long race. He had them on a dead run, but not yet at the last strained and killing pace. From time to time he glanced backward, as a wise general in retreat calculating his chances and the power and speed of pursuers, and the moment for the last desperate burst. No doubt, Card, with his life at stake, gloried in that race, perhaps more wildly than Venters. For he had been born to the sage and the saddle and the wild. He was more than half horse. Not until the last call—the sudden up-flashing instinct of self-preservation—would he lose his skill and judgment and nerve and the spirit of that race. Venters seemed to read Jerry's mind. That little crime-stained rider was actually thinking of his horses, husbanding their speed, handling them with knowledge of years, glorying in their beautiful, swift, racing stride, and wanting them to win the race when his own life hung suspended in quivering balance. Again Jerry whirled in his saddle and the sun flashed red on his face. Turning, he drew Black Star closer and closer toward Night, till they ran side by side, as one horse. Then Card raised himself in the saddle, slipped out of the stirrups, and, somehow twisting himself, leaped upon Black Star. He did not even lose the swing of the horse. Like a leech he was there in the other saddle, and as the horses separated, his right foot, that had been apparently doubled under him, shot down to catch the stirrup. The grace and dexterity and daring of that rider's act won something more than admiration from Venters.\n\nFor the distance of a mile Jerry rode Black Star and then changed back to Night. But all Jerry's skill and the running of the blacks could avail little more against the sorrel.\n\nVenters peered far ahead, studying the lay of the land. Straightaway for five miles the trail stretched, and then it disappeared in hummocky ground. To the right, some few rods, Venters saw a break in the sage, and this was the rim of Deception Pass. Across the dark cleft gleamed the red of the opposite wall. Venters imagined that the trail went down into the Pass somewhere north of those ridges. And he realized that he must and would overtake Jerry Card in this straight course of five miles.\n\nCruelly he struck his spurs into Wrangle's flanks. A light touch of spur was sufficient to make Wrangle plunge. And now, with a ringing, wild snort, he seemed to double up in muscular convulsions and to shoot forward with an impetus that almost unseated Venters. The sage blurred by, the trail flashed by, and the wind robbed him of breath and hearing. Jerry Card turned once more. And the way he shifted to Black Star showed he had to make his last desperate running. Venters aimed to the side of the trail and sent a bullet puffing the dust beyond Jerry. Venters hoped to frighten the rider and get him to take to the sage. But Jerry returned the shot, and his ball struck dangerously close in the dust at Wrangle's flying feet. Venters held his fire then, while the rider emptied his revolver. For a mile, with Black Star leaving Night behind and doing his utmost, Wrangle did not gain; for another mile he gained little, if at all. In the third he caught up with the now galloping Night and began to gain rapidly on the other black.\n\nOnly a hundred yards now stretched between Black Star and Wrangle. The giant sorrel thundered on—and on—and on. In every yard he gained a foot. He was whistling through his nostrils, wringing wet, flying lather, and as hot as fire. Savage as ever, strong as ever, fast as ever, but each tremendous stride jarred Venters out of the saddle! Wrangle's power and spirit and momentum had begun to run him off his legs. Wrangle's great race was nearly won—and run. Venters seemed to see the expanse before him as a vast, sheeted, purple plain sliding under him. Black Star moved in it as a blur. The rider, Jerry Card, appeared a mere dot bobbing dimly. Wrangle thundered on—on—on! Venters felt the increase in quivering, straining shock after every leap. Flecks of foam flew into Venters's eyes, burning him, making him see all the sage as red. But in that red haze he saw, or seemed to see, Black Star suddenly riderless and with broken gait. Wrangle thundered on to change his pace with a violent break. Then Venters pulled him hard. From run to gallop, gallop to canter, canter to trot, trot to walk, and walk to stop, the great sorrel ended his race.\n\nVenters looked back. Black Star stood riderless in the trail. Jerry Card had taken to the sage. Far up the white trail Night came trotting faithfully down. Venters leaped off, still half blind, reeling dizzily.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "In a moment he had recovered sufficiently to have a care for Wrangle.",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Rapidly he took off the saddle and bridle. The sorrel was reeking, heaving, whistling, shaking. But he had still the strength to stand, and for him Venters had no fears.\n\nAs Venters ran back to Black Star he saw the horse stagger on shaking legs into the sage and go down in a heap. Upon reaching him Venters removed the saddle and bridle. Black Star had been killed on his legs, Venters thought. He had no hope for the stricken horse. Black Star lay flat, covered with bloody froth, mouth wide, tongue hanging, eyes glaring, and all his beautiful body in convulsions.\n\nUnable to stay there to see Jane's favorite racer die, Venters hurried up the trail to meet the other black. On the way he kept a sharp lookout for Jerry Card. Venters imagined the rider would keep well out of range of the rifle, but, as he would be lost on the sage without a horse, not improbably he would linger in the vicinity on the chance of getting back one of the blacks. Night soon came trotting up, hot and wet and run out. Venters led him down near the others, and unsaddling him, let him loose to rest. Night wearily lay down in the dust and rolled, proving himself not yet spent.\n\nThen Venters sat down to rest and think. Whatever the risk, he was compelled to stay where he was, or comparatively near, for the night. The horses must rest and drink. He must find water. He was now seventy miles from Cottonwoods, and, he believed, close to the canyon where the cattle trail must surely turn off and go down into the Pass. After a while he rose to survey the valley.\n\nHe was very near to the ragged edge of a deep canyon into which the trail turned. The ground lay in uneven ridges divided by washes, and these sloped into the canyon. Following the canyon line, he saw where its rim was broken by other intersecting canyons, and farther down red walls and yellow cliffs leading toward a deep blue cleft that he made sure was Deception Pass. Walking out a few rods to a promontory, he found where the trail went down. The descent was gradual, along a stone-walled trail, and Venters felt sure that this was the place where Oldring drove cattle into the Pass. There was, however, no indication at all that he ever had driven cattle out at this point. Oldring had many holes to his burrow.\n\nIn searching round in the little hollows Venters, much to his relief, found water. He composed himself to rest and eat some bread and meat, while he waited for a sufficient time to elapse so that he could safely give the horses a drink. He judged the hour to be somewhere around noon. Wrangle lay down to rest and Night followed suit. So long as they were down Venters intended to make no move. The longer they rested the better, and the safer it would be to give them water. By and by he forced himself to go over to where Black Star lay, expecting to find him dead. Instead he found the racer partially if not wholly recovered. There was recognition, even fire, in his big black eyes. Venters was overjoyed. He sat by the black for a long time. Black Star presently labored to his feet with a heave and a groan, shook himself, and snorted for water. Venters repaired to the little pool he had found, filled his sombrero, and gave the racer a drink. Black Star gulped it at one draught, as if it were but a drop, and pushed his nose into the hat and snorted for more. Venters now led Night down to drink, and after a further time Black Star also. Then the blacks began to graze.\n\nThe sorrel had wandered off down the sage between the trail and the canyon. Once or twice he disappeared in little swales. Finally Venters concluded Wrangle had grazed far enough, and, taking his lasso, he went to fetch him back. In crossing from one ridge to another he saw where the horse had made muddy a pool of water. It occurred to Venters then that Wrangle had drunk his fill, and did not seem the worse for it, and might be anything but easy to catch. And, true enough, he could not come within roping reach of the sorrel. He tried for an hour, and gave up in disgust. Wrangle did not seem so wild as simply perverse. In a quandary Venters returned to the other horses, hoping much, yet doubting more, that when Wrangle had grazed to suit himself he might be caught.\n\nAs the afternoon wore away Venters's concern diminished, yet he kept close watch on the blacks and the trail and the sage. There was no telling of what Jerry Card might be capable. Venters sullenly acquiesced to the idea that the rider had been too quick and too shrewd for him. Strangely and doggedly, however, Venters clung to his foreboding of Card's downfall.\n\nThe wind died away; the red sun topped the far distant western rise of slope; and the long, creeping purple shadows lengthened. The rims of the canyons gleamed crimson and the deep clefts appeared to belch forth blue smoke. Silence enfolded the scene.\n\nIt was broken by a horrid, long-drawn scream of a horse and the thudding of heavy hoofs. Venters sprang erect and wheeled south. Along the canyon rim, near the edge, came Wrangle, once more in thundering flight.\n\nVenters gasped in amazement. Had the wild sorrel gone mad? His head was high and twisted, in a most singular position for a running horse. Suddenly Venters descried a frog-like shape clinging to Wrangle's neck. Jerry Card! Somehow he had straddled Wrangle and now stuck like a huge burr. But it was his strange position and the sorrel's wild scream that shook Venters's nerves. Wrangle was pounding toward the turn where the trail went down. He plunged onward like a blind horse.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "More than one of his leaps took him to the very edge of the precipice.",
"loss": true
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"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 21 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "CONSTRAINT: Include 'canyon' 2 time(s)",
"loss": null
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Jerry Card was bent forward with his teeth fast in the front of Wrangle's nose! Venters saw it, and there flashed over him a memory of this trick of a few desperate riders. He even thought of one rider who had worn off his teeth in this terrible hold to break or control desperate horses. Wrangle had indeed gone mad. The marvel was what guided him. Was it the half-brute, the more than half-horse instinct of Jerry Card? Whatever the mystery, it was true. And in a few more rods Jerry would have the sorrel turning into the trail leading down into the canyon.\n\n\"No—Jerry!\" whispered Venters, stepping forward and throwing up the rifle. He tried to catch the little humped, frog-like shape over the sights. It was moving too fast; it was too small. Yet Venters shot once... twice... the third time... four times... five! all wasted shots and precious seconds!\n\nWith a deep-muttered curse Venters caught Wrangle through the sights and pulled the trigger. Plainly he heard the bullet thud. Wrangle uttered a horrible strangling sound. In swift death action he whirled, and with one last splendid leap he cleared the canyon rim. And he whirled downward with the little frog-like shape clinging to his neck!\n\nThere was a pause which seemed never ending, a shock, and an instant's silence.\n\nThen up rolled a heavy crash, a long roar of sliding rocks dying away in distant echo, then silence unbroken.\n\nWrangle's race was run.",
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[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "same energy as Zane Grey, keep writing. story might have ongoing elements",
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{
"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Chapter XVIII. Oldring's Knell\n\nSome forty hours or more later Venters created a commotion in Cottonwoods by riding down the main street on Black Star and leading Bells and Night. He had come upon Bells grazing near the body of a dead rustler, the only incident of his quick ride into the village.\n\nNothing was farther from Venters's mind than bravado. No thought came to him of the defiance and boldness of riding Jane Withersteen's racers straight into the arch-plotter's stronghold. He wanted men to see the famous Arabians; he wanted men to see them dirty and dusty, bearing all the signs of having been driven to their limit; he wanted men to see and to know that the thieves who had ridden them out into the sage had not ridden them back. Venters had come for that and for more—he wanted to meet Tull face to face; if not Tull, then Dyer; if not Dyer, then anyone in the secret of these master conspirators. Such was Venters's passion. The meeting with the rustlers, the unprovoked attack upon him, the spilling of blood, the recognition of Jerry Card and the horses, the race, and that last plunge of mad Wrangle—all these things, fuel on fuel to the smoldering fire, had kindled and swelled and leaped into living flame. He could have shot Dyer in the midst of his religious services at the altar; he could have killed Tull in front of wives and babes.\n\nHe walked the three racers down the broad, green-bordered village road. He heard the murmur of running water from Amber Spring. Bitter waters for Jane Withersteen! Men and women stopped to gaze at him and the horses. All knew him; all knew the blacks and the bay. As well as if it had been spoken, Venters read in the faces of men the intelligence that Jane Withersteen's Arabians had been known to have been stolen. Venters reined in and halted before Dyer's residence. It was a low, long, stone structure resembling Withersteen House. The spacious front yard was green and luxuriant with grass and flowers; gravel walks led to the huge porch; a well-trimmed hedge of purple sage separated the yard from the church grounds; birds sang in the trees; water flowed musically along the walks; and there were glad, careless shouts of children. For Venters the beauty of this home, and the serenity and its apparent happiness, all turned red and black. For Venters a shade overspread the lawn, the flowers, the old vine-clad stone house. In the music of the singing birds, in the murmur of the running water, he heard an ominous sound. Quiet beauty—sweet music—innocent laughter! By what monstrous abortion of fate did these abide in the shadow of Dyer?\n\nVenters rode on and stopped before Tull's cottage. Women stared at him with white faces and then flew from the porch. Tull himself appeared at the door, bent low, craning his neck. His dark face flashed out of sight; the door banged; a heavy bar dropped with a hollow sound.\n\nThen Venters shook Black Star's bridle, and, sharply trotting, led the other horses to the center of the village. Here at the intersecting streets and in front of the stores he halted once more. The usual lounging atmosphere of that prominent corner was not now in evidence. Riders and ranchers and villagers broke up what must have been absorbing conversation. There was a rush of many feet, and then the walk was lined with faces.\n\nVenters's glance swept down the line of silent stone-faced men. He recognized many riders and villagers, but none of those he had hoped to meet. There was no expression in the faces turned toward him. All of them knew him, most were inimical, but there were few who were not burning with curiosity and wonder in regard to the return of Jane Withersteen's racers. Yet all were silent. Here were the familiar characteristics—masked feeling—strange secretiveness—expressionless expression of mystery and hidden power.\n\n\"Has anybody here seen Jerry Card?\" queried Venters, in a loud voice.\n\nIn reply there came not a word, not a nod or shake of head, not so much as dropping eye or twitching lip—nothing but a quiet, stony stare.\n\n\"Been under the knife? You've a fine knife-wielder here—one Tull, I believe!... Maybe you've all had your tongues cut out?\"\n\nThis passionate sarcasm of Venters brought no response, and the stony calm was as oil on the fire within him.\n\n\"I see some of you pack guns, too!\" he added, in biting scorn. In the long, tense pause, strung keenly as a tight wire, he sat motionless on Black Star. \"All right,\" he went on. \"Then let some of you take this message to Tull. Tell him I've seen Jerry Card!... Tell him Jerry Card will never return!\"\n\nThereupon, in the same dead calm, Venters backed Black Star away from the curb, into the street, and out of range. He was ready now to ride up to Withersteen House and turn the racers over to Jane.\n\n\"Hello, Venters!\" a familiar voice cried, hoarsely, and he saw a man running toward him. It was the rider Judkins who came up and gripped Venters's hand. \"Venters, I could hev dropped when I seen them hosses. But thet sight ain't a marker to the looks of you. What's wrong? Hev you gone crazy? You must be crazy to ride in here this way—with them hosses—talkie' thet way about Tull en' Jerry Card.\"\n\n\"Jud, I'm not crazy—only mad clean through,\" replied Venters.\n\n\"Mad, now, Bern, I'm glad to hear some of your old self in your voice. Fer when you come up you looked like the corpse of a dead rider with fire fer eyes. You hed thet crowd too stiff fer throwin' guns. Come, we've got to hev a talk. Let's go up the lane. We ain't much safe here.\"\n\nJudkins mounted Bells and rode with Venters up to the cottonwood grove. Here they dismounted and went among the trees.\n\n\"Let's hear from you first,\" said Judkins. \"You fetched back them hosses. Thet is the trick. An', of course, you got Jerry the same as you got Horne.\"\n\n\"Horne!\"\n\n\"Sure. He was found dead yesterday all chewed by coyotes, en' he'd been shot plumb center.\"\n\n\"Where was he found?\"\n\n\"At the split down the trail—you know where Oldring's cattle trail runs off north from the trail to the pass.\"\n\n\"That's where I met Jerry and the rustlers. What was Horne doing with them? I thought Horne was an honest cattle-man.\"\n\n\"Lord—Bern, don't ask me thet! I'm all muddled now tryin' to figure things.\"\n\nVenters told of the fight and the race with Jerry Card and its tragic conclusion.\n\n\"I knowed it! I knowed all along that Wrangle was the best hoss!\" exclaimed Judkins, with his lean face working and his eyes lighting. \"Thet was a race! Lord, I'd like to hev seen Wrangle jump the cliff with Jerry. An' thet was good-by to the grandest hoss an' rider ever on the sage!... But, Bern, after you got the hosses why'd you want to bolt right in Tull's face?\"\n\n\"I want him to know. An' if I can get to him I'll—\"\n\n\"You can't get near Tull,\" interrupted Judkins. \"Thet vigilante bunch hev taken to bein' bodyguard for Tull an' Dyer, too.\"\n\n\"Hasn't Lassiter made a break yet?\" inquired Venters, curiously.\n\n\"Naw!\" replied Judkins, scornfully. \"Jane turned his head. He's mad in love over her—follers her like a dog. He ain't no more Lassiter! He's lost his nerve, he doesn't look like the same feller. It's village talk. Everybody knows it. He hasn't thrown a gun, an' he won't!\"\n\n\"Jud, I'll bet he does,\" replied Venters, earnestly. \"Remember what I say. This Lassiter is something more than a gun-man. Jud, he's big—he's great!... I feel that in him. God help Tull and Dyer when Lassiter does go after them. For horses and riders and stone walls won't save them.\"\n\n\"Wal, hev it your way, Bern. I hope you're right. Nat'rully I've been some sore on Lassiter fer gittin' soft. But I ain't denyin' his nerve, or whatever's great in him thet sort of paralyzes people. No later 'n this mornin' I seen him saunterin' down the lane, quiet an' slow. An' like his guns he comes black—black, thet's Lassiter. Wal, the crowd on the corner never batted an eye, en' I'll gamble my hoss thet there wasn't one who hed a heartbeat till Lassiter got by. He went in Snell's saloon, an' as there wasn't no gun play I had to go in, too. An' there, darn my pictures, if Lassiter wasn't standin' to the bar, drinking en' talkin' with Oldrin'.\"",
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"Oldring!\" whispered Venters.",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "His voice, as all fire and pulse within him, seemed to freeze.\n\n\"Let go my arm!\" exclaimed Judkins. \"Thet's my bad arm. Sure it was Oldrin'. What the hell's wrong with you, anyway? Venters, I tell you somethin's wrong. You're whiter 'n a sheet. You can't be scared of the rustler. I don't believe you've got a scare in you. Wal, now, jest let me talk. You know I like to talk, an' if I'm slow I allus git there sometime. As I said, Lassiter was talkie' chummy with Oldrin'. There wasn't no hard feelin's. An' the gang wasn't payin' no pertic'lar attention. But like a cat watchin' a mouse I hed my eyes on them two fellers. It was strange to me, thet confab. I'm gittin' to think a lot, fer a feller who doesn't know much. There's been some queer deals lately an' this seemed to me the queerest. These men stood to the bar alone, an' so close their big gun-hilts butted together. I seen Oldrin' was some surprised at first, an' Lassiter was cool as ice. They talked, an' presently at somethin' Lassiter said the rustler bawled out a curse, an' then he jest fell up against the bar, an' sagged there. The gang in the saloon looked around an' laughed, an' thet's about all. Finally Oldrin' turned, and it was easy to see somethin' hed shook him. Yes, sir, thet big rustler—you know he's as broad as he is long, an' the powerfulest build of a man—yes, sir, the nerve had been taken out of him. Then, after a little, he began to talk an' said a lot to Lassiter, an' by an' by it didn't take much of an eye to see thet Lassiter was gittin' hit hard. I never seen him anyway but cooler 'n ice—till then. He seemed to be hit harder 'n Oldrin', only he didn't roar out thet way. He jest kind of sunk in, an' looked an' looked, an' he didn't see a livin' soul in thet saloon. Then he sort of come to, an' shakin' hands—mind you, shakin' hands with Oldrin'—he went out. I couldn't help thinkin' how easy even a boy could hev dropped the great gun-man then!... Wal, the rustler stood at the bar fer a long time, en' he was seein' things far off, too; then he come to an' roared fer whisky, an' gulped a drink thet was big enough to drown me.\"\n\n\"Is Oldring here now?\" whispered Venters. He could not speak above a whisper. Judkins's story had been meaningless to him.\n\n\"He's at Snell's yet. Bern, I hevn't told you yet thet the rustlers hev been raisin' hell. They shot up Stone Bridge an' Glaze, an' fer three days they've been here drinkin' an' gamblin' an' throwin' of gold. These rustlers hev a pile of gold. If it was gold dust or nugget gold I'd hev reason to think, but it's new coin gold, as if it had jest come from the United States treasury. An' the coin's genuine. Thet's all been proved. The truth is Oldrin's on a rampage. A while back he lost his Masked Rider, an' they say he's wild about thet. I'm wonderin' if Lassiter could hev told the rustler anythin' about thet little masked, hard-ridin' devil. Ride! He was most as good as Jerry Card. An', Bern, I've been wonderin' if you know—\"\n\n\"Judkins, you're a good fellow,\" interrupted Venters. \"Some day I'll tell you a story. I've no time now. Take the horses to Jane.\"\n\nJudkins stared, and then, muttering to himself, he mounted Bells, and stared again at Venters, and then, leading the other horses, he rode into the grove and disappeared.\n\nOnce, long before, on the night Venters had carried Bess through the canyon and up into Surprise Valley, he had experienced the strangeness of faculties singularly, tinglingly acute. And now the same sensation recurred. But it was different in that he felt cold, frozen, mechanical incapable of free thought, and all about him seemed unreal, aloof, remote. He hid his rifle in the sage, marking its exact location with extreme care. Then he faced down the lane and strode toward the center of the village. Perceptions flashed upon him, the faint, cold touch of the breeze, a cold, silvery tinkle of flowing water, a cold sun shining out of a cold sky, song of birds and laugh of children, coldly distant. Cold and intangible were all things in earth and heaven. Colder and tighter stretched the skin over his face; colder and harder grew the polished butts of his guns; colder and steadier became his hands as he wiped the clammy sweat from his face or reached low to his gun-sheaths. Men meeting him in the walk gave him wide berth. In front of Bevin's store a crowd melted apart for his passage, and their faces and whispers were faces and whispers of a dream. He turned a corner to meet Tull face to face, eye to eye. As once before he had seen this man pale to a ghastly, livid white so again he saw the change. Tull stopped in his tracks, with right hand raised and shaking. Suddenly it dropped, and he seemed to glide aside, to pass out of Venters's sight. Next he saw many horses with bridles down—all clean-limbed, dark bays or blacks—rustlers' horses! Loud voices and boisterous laughter, rattle of dice and scrape of chair and clink of gold, burst in mingled din from an open doorway. He stepped inside.\n\nWith the sight of smoke-hazed room and drinking, cursing, gambling, dark-visaged men, reality once more dawned upon Venters.\n\nHis entrance had been unnoticed, and he bent his gaze upon the drinkers at the bar. Dark-clothed, dark-faced men they all were, burned by the sun, bow-legged as were most riders of the sage, but neither lean nor gaunt. Then Venters's gaze passed to the tables, and swiftly it swept over the hard-featured gamesters, to alight upon the huge, shaggy, black head of the rustler chief.\n\n\"Oldring!\" he cried, and to him his voice seemed to split a bell in his ears.\n\nIt stilled the din.\n\nThat silence suddenly broke to the scrape and crash of Oldring's chair as he rose; and then, while he passed, a great gloomy figure, again the thronged room stilled in silence yet deeper.\n\n\"Oldring, a word with you!\" continued Venters.\n\n\"Ho! What's this?\" boomed Oldring, in frowning scrutiny.\n\n\"Come outside, alone. A word for you—from your Masked Rider!\"\n\nOldring kicked a chair out of his way and lunged forward with a stamp of heavy boot that jarred the floor. He waved down his muttering, rising men.\n\nVenters backed out of the door and waited, hearing, as no sound had ever before struck into his soul, the rapid, heavy steps of the rustler.\n\nOldring appeared, and Venters had one glimpse of his great breadth and bulk, his gold-buckled belt with hanging guns, his high-top boots with gold spurs. In that moment Venters had a strange, unintelligible curiosity to see Oldring alive. The rustler's broad brow, his large black eyes, his sweeping beard, as dark as the wing of a raven, his enormous width of shoulder and depth of chest, his whole splendid presence so wonderfully charged with vitality and force and strength, seemed to afford Venters an unutterable fiendish joy because for that magnificent manhood and life he meant cold and sudden death.\n\n\"Oldring, Bess is alive! But she's dead to you—dead to the life you made her lead—dead as you will be in one second!\"\n\nSwift as lightning Venters's glance dropped from Oldring's rolling eyes to his hands. One of them, the right, swept out, then toward his gun—and Venters shot him through the heart.\n\nSlowly Oldring sank to his knees, and the hand, dragging at the gun, fell away. Venters's strangely acute faculties grasped the meaning of that limp arm, of the swaying hulk, of the gasp and heave, of the quivering beard. But was that awful spirit in the black eyes only one of vitality?\n\n\"Man—why—didn't—you—wait? Bess—was—\" Oldring's whisper died under his beard, and with a heavy lurch he fell forward.\n\nBounding swiftly away, Venters fled around the corner, across the street, and, leaping a hedge, he ran through yard, orchard, and garden to the sage. Here, under cover of the tall brush, he turned west and ran on to the place where he had hidden his rifle. Securing that, he again set out into a run, and, circling through the sage, came up behind Jane Withersteen's stable and corrals. With laboring, dripping chest, and pain as of a knife thrust in his side, he stopped to regain his breath, and while resting his eyes roved around in search of a horse. Doors and windows of the stable were open wide and had a deserted look. One dejected, lonely burro stood in the near corral. Strange indeed was the silence brooding over the once happy, noisy home of Jane Withersteen's pets.\n\nHe went into the corral, exercising care to leave no tracks, and led the burro to the watering-trough. Venters, though not thirsty, drank till he could drink no more. Then, leading the burro over hard ground, he struck into the sage and down the slope.\n\nHe strode swiftly, turning from time to time to scan the slope for riders. His head just topped the level of sage-brush, and the burro could not have been seen at all. Slowly the green of Cottonwoods sank behind the slope, and at last a wavering line of purple sage met the blue of sky.\n\nTo avoid being seen, to get away, to hide his trail—these were the sole ideas in his mind as he headed for Deception Pass, and he directed all his acuteness of eye and ear, and the keenness of a rider's judgment for distance and ground, to stern accomplishment of the task. He kept to the sage far to the left of the trail leading into the Pass. He walked ten miles and looked back a thousand times. Always the graceful, purple wave of sage remained wide and lonely, a clear, undotted waste. Coming to a stretch of rocky ground, he took advantage of it to cross the trail and then continued down on the right. At length he persuaded himself that he would be able to see riders mounted on horses before they could see him on the little burro, and he rode bareback.\n\nHour by hour the tireless burro kept to his faithful, steady trot. The sun sank and the long shadows lengthened down the slope. Moving veils of purple twilight crept out of the hollows and, mustering and forming on the levels, soon merged and shaded into night. Venters guided the burro nearer to the trail, so that he could see its white line from the ridges, and rode on through the hours.\n\nOnce down in the Pass without leaving a trail, he would hold himself safe for the time being. When late in the night he reached the break in the sage, he sent the burro down ahead of him, and started an avalanche that all but buried the animal at the bottom of the trail. Bruised and battered as he was, he had a moment's elation, for he had hidden his tracks. Once more he mounted the burro and rode on. The hour was the blackest of the night when he made the thicket which inclosed his old camp. Here he turned the burro loose in the grass near the spring, and then lay down on his old bed of leaves.\n\nHe felt only vaguely, as outside things, the ache and burn and throb of the muscles of his body.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "But a dammed-up torrent of emotion at last burst its bounds, and the hour that saw his release from immediate action was one that confounded him in the reaction of his spirit.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "(( Include this dialogue snippet naturally: \"Bern! You're back! You're back!\" ))",
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"value": "He suffered without understanding why. He caught glimpses into himself, into unlit darkness of soul. The fire that had blistered him and the cold which had frozen him now united in one torturing possession of his mind and heart, and like a fiery steed with ice-shod feet, ranged his being, ran rioting through his blood, trampling the resurging good, dragging ever at the evil.\n\nOut of the subsiding chaos came a clear question. What had happened? He had left the valley to go to Cottonwoods. Why? It seemed that he had gone to kill a man—Oldring! The name riveted his consciousness upon the one man of all men upon earth whom he had wanted to meet. He had met the rustler. Venters recalled the smoky haze of the saloon, the dark-visaged men, the huge Oldring. He saw him step out of the door, a splendid specimen of manhood, a handsome giant with purple-black and sweeping beard. He remembered inquisitive gaze of falcon eyes. He heard himself repeating: \"OLDRING, BESS IS ALIVE! BUT SHE'S DEAD TO YOU,\" and he felt himself jerk, and his ears throbbed to the thunder of a gun, and he saw the giant sink slowly to his knees. Was that only the vitality of him—that awful light in the eyes—only the hard-dying life of a tremendously powerful brute? A broken whisper, strange as death: \"MAN—WHY—DIDN'T—YOU WAIT! BESS—WAS—\" And Oldring plunged face forward, dead.\n\n\"I killed him,\" cried Venters, in remembering shock. \"But it wasn't THAT. Ah, the look in his eyes and his whisper!\"\n\nHerein lay the secret that had clamored to him through all the tumult and stress of his emotions. What a look in the eyes of a man shot through the heart! It had been neither hate nor ferocity nor fear of men nor fear of death. It had been no passionate glinting spirit of a fearless foe, willing shot for shot, life for life, but lacking physical power. Distinctly recalled now, never to be forgotten, Venters saw in Oldring's magnificent eyes the rolling of great, glad surprise—softness—love! Then came a shadow and the terrible superhuman striving of his spirit to speak. Oldring shot through the heart, had fought and forced back death, not for a moment in which to shoot or curse, but to whisper strange words.\n\nWhat words for a dying man to whisper! Why had not Venters waited? For what? That was no plea for life. It was regret that there was not a moment of life left in which to speak. Bess was—Herein lay renewed torture for Venters. What had Bess been to Oldring? The old question, like a specter, stalked from its grave to haunt him. He had overlooked, he had forgiven, he had loved and he had forgotten; and now, out of the mystery of a dying man's whisper rose again that perverse, unsatisfied, jealous uncertainty. Bess had loved that splendid, black-crowned giant—by her own confession she had loved him; and in Venters's soul again flamed up the jealous hell. Then into the clamoring hell burst the shot that had killed Oldring, and it rang in a wild fiendish gladness, a hateful, vengeful joy. That passed to the memory of the love and light in Oldring's eyes and the mystery in his whisper. So the changing, swaying emotions fluctuated in Venters's heart.\n\nThis was the climax of his year of suffering and the crucial struggle of his life. And when the gray dawn came he rose, a gloomy, almost heartbroken man, but victor over evil passions. He could not change the past; and, even if he had not loved Bess with all his soul, he had grown into a man who would not change the future he had planned for her. Only, and once for all, he must know the truth, know the worst, stifle all these insistent doubts and subtle hopes and jealous fancies, and kill the past by knowing truly what Bess had been to Oldring. For that matter he knew—he had always known, but he must hear it spoken. Then, when they had safely gotten out of that wild country to take up a new and an absorbing life, she would forget, she would be happy, and through that, in the years to come, he could not but find life worth living.\n\nAll day he rode slowly and cautiously up the Pass, taking time to peer around corners, to pick out hard ground and grassy patches, and to make sure there was no one in pursuit. In the night sometime he came to the smooth, scrawled rocks dividing the valley, and here set the burro at liberty. He walked beyond, climbed the slope and the dim, starlit gorge. Then, weary to the point of exhaustion, he crept into a shallow cave and fell asleep.\n\nIn the morning, when he descended the trail, he found the sun was pouring a golden stream of light through the arch of the great stone bridge. Surprise Valley, like a valley of dreams, lay mystically soft and beautiful, awakening to the golden flood which was rolling away its slumberous bands of mist, brightening its walled faces.\n\nWhile yet far off he discerned Bess moving under the silver spruces, and soon the barking of the dogs told him that they had seen him. He heard the mocking-birds singing in the trees, and then the twittering of the quail. Ring and Whitie came bounding toward him, and behind them ran Bess, her hands outstretched.\n\n\"Bern! You're back! You're back!\" she cried, in joy that rang of her loneliness.\n\n\"Yes, I'm back,\" he said, as she rushed to meet him.\n\nShe had reached out for him when suddenly, as she saw him closely, something checked her, and as quickly all her joy fled, and with it her color, leaving her pale and trembling.\n\n\"Oh! What's happened?\"\n\n\"A good deal has happened, Bess. I don't need to tell you what. And I'm played out. Worn out in mind more than body.\"\n\n\"Dear—you look strange to me!\" faltered Bess.\n\n\"Never mind that. I'm all right. There's nothing for you to be scared about. Things are going to turn out just as we have planned. As soon as I'm rested we'll make a break to get out of the country. Only now, right now, I must know the truth about you.\"\n\n\"Truth about me?\" echoed Bess, shrinkingly. She seemed to be casting back into her mind for a forgotten key. Venters himself, as he saw her, received a pang.\n\n\"Yes—the truth. Bess, don't misunderstand. I haven't changed that way. I love you still. I'll love you more afterward. Life will be just as sweet—sweeter to us. We'll be—be married as soon as ever we can. We'll be happy—but there's a devil in me. A perverse, jealous devil! Then I've queer fancies. I forgot for a long time. Now all those fiendish little whispers of doubt and faith and fear and hope come torturing me again. I've got to kill them with the truth.\"\n\n\"I'll tell you anything you want to know,\" she replied, frankly.\n\n\"Then by Heaven! we'll have it over and done with!... Bess—did Oldring love you?\"\n\n\"Certainly he did.\"\n\n\"Did—did you love him?\"\n\n\"Of course. I told you so.\"\n\n\"How can you tell it so lightly?\" cried Venters, passionately. \"Haven't you any sense of—of—\" He choked back speech. He felt the rush of pain and passion. He seized her in rude, strong hands and drew her close. He looked straight into her dark-blue eyes. They were shadowing with the old wistful light, but they were as clear as the limpid water of the spring. They were earnest, solemn in unutterable love and faith and abnegation. Venters shivered. He knew he was looking into her soul. He knew she could not lie in that moment; but that she might tell the truth, looking at him with those eyes, almost killed his belief in purity.\n\n\"What are—what were you to—to Oldring?\" he panted, fiercely.\n\n\"I am his daughter,\" she replied, instantly.\n\nVenters slowly let go of her.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "There was a violent break in the force of his feeling—then creeping blankness.",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 37 sentences.",
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"value": "\"What—was it—you said?\" he asked, in a kind of dull wonder.\n\n\"I am his daughter.\"\n\n\"Oldring's daughter?\" queried Venters, with life gathering in his voice.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nWith a passionately awakening start he grasped her hands and drew her close.\n\n\"All the time—you've been Oldring's daughter?\"\n\n\"Yes, of course all the time—always.\"\n\n\"But Bess, you told me—you let me think—I made out you were—a—so—so ashamed.\"\n\n\"It is my shame,\" she said, with voice deep and full, and now the scarlet fired her cheek. \"I told you—I'm nothing—nameless—just Bess, Oldring's girl!\"\n\n\"I know—I remember. But I never thought—\" he went on, hurriedly, huskily. \"That time—when you lay dying—you prayed—you—somehow I got the idea you were bad.\"\n\n\"Bad?\" she asked, with a little laugh.\n\nShe looked up with a faint smile of bewilderment and the absolute unconsciousness of a child. Venters gasped in the gathering might of the truth. She did not understand his meaning.\n\n\"Bess! Bess!\" He clasped her in his arms, hiding her eyes against his breast. She must not see his face in that moment. And he held her while he looked out across the valley. In his dim and blinded sight, in the blur of golden light and moving mist, he saw Oldring. She was the rustler's nameless daughter. Oldring had loved her. He had so guarded her, so kept her from women and men and knowledge of life that her mind was as a child's. That was part of the secret—part of the mystery. That was the wonderful truth. Not only was she not bad, but good, pure, innocent above all innocence in the world—the innocence of lonely girlhood.\n\nHe saw Oldring's magnificent eyes, inquisitive, searching, softening. He saw them flare in amaze, in gladness, with love, then suddenly strain in terrible effort of will. He heard Oldring whisper and saw him sway like a log and fall. Then a million bellowing, thundering voices—gunshots of conscience, thunderbolts of remorse—dinned horribly in his ears. He had killed Bess's father. Then a rushing wind filled his ears like a moan of wind in the cliffs, a knell indeed—Oldring's knell.\n\nHe dropped to his knees and hid his face against Bess, and grasped her with the hands of a drowning man.\n\n\"My God!... My God!... Oh, Bess!... Forgive me! Never mind what I've done—what I've thought. But forgive me. I'll give you my life. I'll live for you. I'll love you. Oh, I do love you as no man ever loved a woman. I want you to know—to remember that I fought a fight for you—however blind I was. I thought—I thought—never mind what I thought—but I loved you—I asked you to marry me. Let that—let me have that to hug to my heart. Oh, Bess, I was driven! And I might have known! I could not rest nor sleep till I had this mystery solved. God! how things work out!\"\n\n\"Bern, you're weak—trembling—you talk wildly,\" cried Bess. \"You've overdone your strength. There's nothing to forgive. There's no mystery except your love for me. You have come back to me!\"\n\nAnd she clasped his head tenderly in her arms and pressed it closely to her throbbing breast.",
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[
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"value": "make story longer like Zane Grey would. heads up: might have existing chars/lore",
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"value": "Chapter XIX. Fay\n\nAt the home of Jane Withersteen Little Fay was climbing Lassiter's knee.\n\n\"Does oo love me?\" she asked.\n\nLassiter, who was as serious with Fay as he was gentle and loving, assured her in earnest and elaborate speech that he was her devoted subject. Fay looked thoughtful and appeared to be debating the duplicity of men or searching for a supreme test to prove this cavalier.\n\n\"Does oo love my new muvver?\" she asked, with bewildering suddenness.\n\nJane Withersteen laughed, and for the first time in many a day she felt a stir of her pulse and warmth in her cheek.\n\nIt was a still drowsy summer of afternoon, and the three were sitting in the shade of the wooded knoll that faced the sage-slope. Little Fay's brief spell of unhappy longing for her mother—the childish, mystic gloom—had passed, and now where Fay was there were prattle and laughter and glee. She had emerged from sorrow to be the incarnation of joy and loveliness. She had grown supernaturally sweet and beautiful. For Jane Withersteen the child was an answer to prayer, a blessing, a possession infinitely more precious than all she had lost. For Lassiter, Jane divined that little Fay had become a religion.\n\n\"Does oo love my new muvver?\" repeated Fay.\n\nLassiter's answer to this was a modest and sincere affirmative.\n\n\"Why don't oo marry my new muvver an' be my favver?\"\n\nOf the thousands of questions put by little Fay to Lassiter this was the first he had been unable to answer.\n\n\"Fay—Fay, don't ask questions like that,\" said Jane.\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because,\" replied Jane. And she found it strangely embarrassing to meet the child's gaze. It seemed to her that Fay's violet eyes looked through her with piercing wisdom.\n\n\"Oo love him, don't oo?\"\n\n\"Dear child—run and play,\" said Jane, \"but don't go too far. Don't go from this little hill.\"\n\nFay pranced off wildly, joyous over freedom that had not been granted her for weeks.\n\n\"Jane, why are children more sincere than grown-up persons?\" asked Lassiter.\n\n\"Are they?\"\n\n\"I reckon so. Little Fay there—she sees things as they appear on the face. An Indian does that. So does a dog. An' an Indian an' a dog are most of the time right in what they see. Mebbe a child is always right.\"\n\n\"Well, what does Fay see?\" asked Jane.\n\n\"I reckon you know. I wonder what goes on in Fay's mind when she sees part of the truth with the wise eyes of a child, an' wantin' to know more, meets with strange falseness from you? Wait! You are false in a way, though you're the best woman I ever knew. What I want to say is this. Fay has taken you're pretendin' to—to care for me for the thing it looks on the face. An' her little formin' mind asks questions. An' the answers she gets are different from the looks of things. So she'll grow up gradually takin' on that falseness, an' be like the rest of the women, an' men, too. An' the truth of this falseness to life is proved by your appearin' to love me when you don't. Things aren't what they seem.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, you're right. A child should be told the absolute truth. But—is that possible? I haven't been able to do it, and all my life I've loved the truth, and I've prided myself upon being truthful. Maybe that was only egotism. I'm learning much, my friend. Some of those blinding scales have fallen from my eyes. And—and as to caring for you, I think I care a great deal. How much, how little, I couldn't say. My heart is almost broken, Lassiter. So now is not a good time to judge of affection. I can still play and be merry with Fay. I can still dream. But when I attempt serious thought I'm dazed. I don't think. I don't care any more. I don't pray!... Think of that, my friend! But in spite of my numb feeling I believe I'll rise out of all this dark agony a better woman, with greater love of man and God. I'm on the rack now; I'm senseless to all but pain, and growing dead to that. Sooner or later I shall rise out of this stupor. I'm waiting the hour.\"\n\n\"It'll soon come, Jane,\" replied Lassiter, soberly. \"Then I'm afraid for you. Years are terrible things, an' for years you've been bound. Habit of years is strong as life itself. Somehow, though, I believe as you—that you'll come out of it all a finer woman. I'm waitin', too. An' I'm wonderin'—I reckon, Jane, that marriage between us is out of all human reason?\"\n\n\"Lassiter!... My dear friend!... It's impossible for us to marry!\"\n\n\"Why—as Fay says?\" inquired Lassiter, with gentle persistence.\n\n\"Why! I never thought why. But it's not possible. I am Jane, daughter of Withersteen. My father would rise out of his grave. I'm of Mormon birth. I'm being broken. But I'm still a Mormon woman. And you—you are Lassiter!\"\n\n\"Mebbe I'm not so much Lassiter as I used to be.\"\n\n\"What was it you said? Habit of years is strong as life itself! You can't change the one habit—the purpose of your life. For you still pack those black guns! You still nurse your passion for blood.\"\n\nA smile, like a shadow, flickered across his face.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, I lied to you. But I beg of you—don't you lie to me. I've great respect for you. I believe you're softened toward most, perhaps all, my people except—But when I speak of your purpose, your hate, your guns, I have only him in mind. I don't believe you've changed.\"\n\nFor answer he unbuckled the heavy cartridge-belt, and laid it with the heavy, swing gun-sheaths in her lap.\n\n\"Lassiter!\" Jane whispered, as she gazed from him to the black, cold guns. Without them he appeared shorn of strength, defenseless, a smaller man. Was she Delilah? Swiftly, conscious of only one motive—refusal to see this man called craven by his enemies—she rose, and with blundering fingers buckled the belt round his waist where it belonged.\n\n\"Lassiter, I am a coward.\"\n\n\"Come with me out of Utah—where I can put away my guns an' be a man,\" he said. \"I reckon I'll prove it to you then! Come! You've got Black Star back, an' Night an' Bells. Let's take the racers an' little Fay, en' race out of Utah. The hosses an' the child are all you have left. Come!\"\n\n\"No, no, Lassiter. I'll never leave Utah. What would I do in the world with my broken fortunes and my broken heart? I'll never leave these purple slopes I love so well.\"\n\n\"I reckon I ought to 've knowed that. Presently you'll be livin' down here in a hovel, en' presently Jane Withersteen will be a memory. I only wanted to have a chance to show you how a man—any man—can be better 'n he was. If we left Utah I could prove—I reckon I could prove this thing you call love.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "It's strange, an' hell an' heaven at once, Jane Withersteen.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "'Pears to me that you've thrown away your big heart on love—love of religion an' duty an' churchmen, an' riders an' poor families an' poor children!",
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"from": "human",
"value": "Yet you can't see what love is—how it changes a person!...",
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"value": "Listen, an' in tellin' you Milly Erne's story I'll show you how love changed her.\n\n\"Milly an' me was children when our family moved from Missouri to Texas, an' we growed up in Texas ways same as if we'd been born there. We had been poor, an' there we prospered. In time the little village where we went became a town, an' strangers an' new families kept movin' in. Milly was the belle them days. I can see her now, a little girl no bigger 'n a bird, an' as pretty. She had the finest eyes, dark blue-black when she was excited, an' beautiful all the time. You remember Milly's eyes! An' she had light-brown hair with streaks of gold, an' a mouth that every feller wanted to kiss.\n\n\"An' about the time Milly was the prettiest an' the sweetest, along came a young minister who began to ride some of a race with the other fellers for Milly. An' he won. Milly had always been strong on religion, an' when she met Frank Erne she went in heart an' soul for the salvation of souls. Fact was, Milly, through study of the Bible an' attendin' church an' revivals, went a little out of her head. It didn't worry the old folks none, an' the only worry to me was Milly's everlastin' prayin' an' workin' to save my soul. She never converted me, but we was the best of comrades, an' I reckon no brother an' sister ever loved each other better. Well, Frank Erne an me hit up a great friendship. He was a strappin' feller, good to look at, an' had the most pleasin' ways. His religion never bothered me, for he could hunt an' fish an' ride an' be a good feller. After buffalo once, he come pretty near to savin' my life. We got to be thick as brothers, an' he was the only man I ever seen who I thought was good enough for Milly. An' the day they were married I got drunk for the only time in my life.\n\n\"Soon after that I left home—it seems Milly was the only one who could keep me home—an' I went to the bad, as to prosperin' I saw some pretty hard life in the Pan Handle, an' then I went North. In them days Kansas an' Nebraska was as bad, come to think of it, as these days right here on the border of Utah. I got to be pretty handy with guns. An' there wasn't many riders as could beat me ridin'. An' I can say all modest-like that I never seen the white man who could track a hoss or a steer or a man with me. Afore I knowed it two years slipped by, an' all at once I got homesick, en' purled a bridle south.\n\n\"Things at home had changed. I never got over that homecomin'. Mother was dead an' in her grave. Father was a silent, broken man, killed already on his feet. Frank Erne was a ghost of his old self, through with workin', through with preachin', almost through with livin', an' Milly was gone!... It was a long time before I got the story. Father had no mind left, an' Frank Erne was afraid to talk. So I had to pick up whet 'd happened from different people.\n\n\"It 'pears that soon after I left home another preacher come to the little town. An' he an' Frank become rivals. This feller was different from Frank. He preached some other kind of religion, and he was quick an' passionate, where Frank was slow an' mild. He went after people, women specially. In looks he couldn't compare to Frank Erne, but he had power over women. He had a voice, an' he talked an' talked an' preached an' preached. Milly fell under his influence. She became mightily interested in his religion. Frank had patience with her, as was his way, an' let her be as interested as she liked. All religions were devoted to one God, he said, an' it wouldn't hurt Milly none to study a different point of view. So the new preacher often called on Milly, an' sometimes in Frank's absence. Frank was a cattle-man between Sundays.\n\n\"Along about this time an incident come off that I couldn't get much light on. A stranger come to town, an' was seen with the preacher. This stranger was a big man with an eye like blue ice, an' a beard of gold. He had money, an' he 'peered a man of mystery, an' the town went to buzzin' when he disappeared about the same time as a young woman known to be mightily interested in the new preacher's religion. Then, presently, along comes a man from somewheres in Illinois, en' he up an' spots this preacher as a famous Mormon proselyter. That riled Frank Erne as nothin' ever before, an' from rivals they come to be bitter enemies.",
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"value": "An' it ended in Frank goin' to the meetin'-house where Milly was listenin', en' before her en' everybody else he called that preacher—called him, well, almost as hard as Venters called Tull here sometime back.",
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"value": "[[OOC: Include exactly 3 instance(s) of the word 'people']]",
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"value": "An' Frank followed up that call with a hosswhippin', en' he drove the proselyter out of town.\n\n\"People noticed, so 'twas said, that Milly's sweet disposition changed. Some said it was because she would soon become a mother, en' others said she was pinin' after the new religion. An' there was women who said right out that she was pinin' after the Mormon. Anyway, one mornin' Frank rode in from one of his trips, to find Milly gone. He had no real near neighbors—livin' a little out of town—but those who was nearest said a wagon had gone by in the night, an' they thought it stopped at her door. Well, tracks always tell, an' there was the wagon tracks an' hoss tracks an' man tracks. The news spread like wildfire that Milly had run off from her husband. Everybody but Frank believed it an' wasn't slow in tellin' why she run off. Mother had always hated that strange streak of Milly's, takin' up with the new religion as she had, an' she believed Milly ran off with the Mormon. That hastened mother's death, an' she died unforgivin'. Father wasn't the kind to bow down under disgrace or misfortune but he had surpassin' love for Milly, an' the loss of her broke him.\n\n\"From the minute I heard of Milly's disappearance I never believed she went off of her own free will. I knew Milly, an' I knew she couldn't have done that. I stayed at home awhile, tryin' to make Frank Erne talk. But if he knowed anythin' then he wouldn't tell it. So I set out to find Milly. An' I tried to get on the trail of that proselyter. I knew if I ever struck a town he'd visited that I'd get a trail. I knew, too, that nothin' short of hell would stop his proselytin'. An' I rode from town to town. I had a blind faith that somethin' was guidin' me. An' as the weeks an' months went by I growed into a strange sort of a man, I guess. Anyway, people were afraid of me. Two years after that, way over in a corner of Texas, I struck a town where my man had been. He'd jest left. People said he came to that town without a woman. I back-trailed my man through Arkansas an' Mississippi, an' the old trail got hot again in Texas. I found the town where he first went after leavin' home. An' here I got track of Milly. I found a cabin where she had given birth to her baby. There was no way to tell whether she'd been kept a prisoner or not. The feller who owned the place was a mean, silent sort of a skunk, an' as I was leavin' I jest took a chance an' left my mark on him. Then I went home again.\n\n\"It was to find I hadn't any home, no more. Father had been dead a year. Frank Erne still lived in the house where Milly had left him. I stayed with him awhile, an' I grew old watchin' him. His farm had gone to weed, his cattle had strayed or been rustled, his house weathered till it wouldn't keep out rain nor wind. An' Frank set on the porch and whittled sticks, an' day by day wasted away. There was times when he ranted about like a crazy man, but mostly he was always sittin' an' starin' with eyes that made a man curse. I figured Frank had a secret fear that I needed to know. An' when I told him I'd trailed Milly for near three years an' had got trace of her, an' saw where she'd had her baby, I thought he would drop dead at my feet. An' when he'd come round more natural-like he begged me to give up the trail. But he wouldn't explain. So I let him alone, an' watched him day en' night.\n\n\"An' I found there was one thing still precious to him, an' it was a little drawer where he kept his papers. This was in the room where he slept. An' it 'peered he seldom slept. But after bein' patient I got the contents of that drawer an' found two letters from Milly. One was a long letter written a few months after her disappearance. She had been bound an' gagged an' dragged away from her home by three men, an' she named them—Hurd, Metzger, Slack. They was strangers to her. She was taken to the little town where I found trace of her two years after.",
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"value": "But she didn't send the letter from that town. There she was penned in. 'Peared that the proselytes, who had, of course, come on the scene, was not runnin' any risks of losin' her. She went on to say that for a time she was out of her head, an' when she got right again all that kept her alive was the baby. It was a beautiful baby, she said, an' all she thought an' dreamed of was somehow to get baby back to its father, an' then she'd thankfully lay down and die. An' the letter ended abrupt, in the middle of a sentence, en' it wasn't signed.\n\n\"The second letter was written more than two years after the first. It was from Salt Lake City. It simply said that Milly had heard her brother was on her trail. She asked Frank to tell her brother to give up the search because if he didn't she would suffer in a way too horrible to tell. She didn't beg. She just stated a fact an' made the simple request. An' she ended that letter by sayin' she would soon leave Salt Lake City with the man she had come to love, en' would never be heard of again.\n\n\"I recognized Milly's handwritin', an' I recognized her way of puttin' things. But that second letter told me of some great change in her. Ponderin' over it, I felt at last she'd either come to love that feller an' his religion, or some terrible fear made her lie an' say so. I couldn't be sure which. But, of course, I meant to find out. I'll say here, if I'd known Mormons then as I do now I'd left Milly to her fate. For mebbe she was right about what she'd suffer if I kept on her trail. But I was young an' wild them days. First I went to the town where she'd first been taken, an' I went to the place where she'd been kept. I got that skunk who owned the place, an' took him out in the woods, an' made him tell all he knowed. That wasn't much as to length, but it was pure hell's-fire in substance. This time I left him some incapacitated for any more skunk work short of hell. Then I hit the trail for Utah.\n\n\"That was fourteen years ago. I saw the incomin' of most of the Mormons. It was a wild country an' a wild time. I rode from town to town, village to village, ranch to ranch, camp to camp. I never stayed long in one place. I never had but one idea. I never rested. Four years went by, an' I knowed every trail in northern Utah. I kept on an' as time went by, an' I'd begun to grow old in my search, I had firmer, blinder faith in whatever was guidin' me. Once I read about a feller who sailed the seven seas an' traveled the world, an' he had a story to tell, an' whenever he seen the man to whom he must tell that story he knowed him on sight. I was like that, only I had a question to ask. An' always I knew the man of whom I must ask. So I never really lost the trail, though for many years it was the dimmest trail ever followed by any man.\n\n\"Then come a change in my luck. Along in Central Utah I rounded up Hurd, an' I whispered somethin' in his ear, an' watched his face, an' then throwed a gun against his bowels. An' he died with his teeth so tight shut I couldn't have pried them open with a knife. Slack an' Metzger that same year both heard me whisper the same question, an' neither would they speak a word when they lay dyin'. Long before I'd learned no man of this breed or class—or God knows what—would give up any secrets! I had to see in a man's fear of death the connections with Milly Erne's fate. An' as the years passed at long intervals I would find such a man.\n\n\"So as I drifted on the long trail down into southern Utah my name preceded me, an' I had to meet a people prepared for me, an' ready with guns. They made me a gun-man. An' that suited me. In all this time signs of the proselyter an' the giant with the blue-ice eyes an' the gold beard seemed to fade dimmer out of the trail. Only twice in ten years did I find a trace of that mysterious man who had visited the proselyter at my home village. What he had to do with Milly's fate was beyond all hope for me to learn, unless my guidin' spirit led me to him! As for the other man, I knew, as sure as I breathed en' the stars shone en' the wind blew, that I'd meet him some day.\n\n\"Eighteen years I've been on the trail. An' it led me to the last lonely villages of the Utah border. Eighteen years!... I feel pretty old now. I was only twenty when I hit that trail. Well, as I told you, back here a ways a Gentile said Jane Withersteen could tell me about Milly Erne an' show me her grave!\"\n\nThe low voice ceased, and Lassiter slowly turned his sombrero round and round, and appeared to be counting the silver ornaments on the band.",
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"value": "Jane, leaning toward him, sat as if petrified, listening intently, waiting to hear more.",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 47 sentences.",
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"value": "She could have shrieked, but power of tongue and lips were denied her. She saw only this sad, gray, passion-worn man, and she heard only the faint rustling of the leaves.\n\n\"Well, I came to Cottonwoods,\" went on Lassiter, \"an' you showed me Milly's grave. An' though your teeth have been shut tighter 'n them of all the dead men lyin' back along that trail, jest the same you told me the secret I've lived these eighteen years to hear! Jane, I said you'd tell me without ever me askin'. I didn't need to ask my question here. The day, you remember, when that fat party throwed a gun on me in your court, an'—\"\n\n\"Oh! Hush!\" whispered Jane, blindly holding up her hands.\n\n\"I seen in your face that Dyer, now a bishop, was the proselyter who ruined Milly Erne.\"\n\nFor an instant Jane Withersteen's brain was a whirling chaos and she recovered to find herself grasping at Lassiter like one drowning. And as if by a lightning stroke she sprang from her dull apathy into exquisite torture.\n\n\"It's a lie! Lassiter! No, no!\" she moaned. \"I swear—you're wrong!\"\n\n\"Stop! You'd perjure yourself! But I'll spare you that. You poor woman! Still blind! Still faithful!... Listen. I know. Let that settle it. An' I give up my purpose!\"\n\n\"What is it—you say?\"\n\n\"I give up my purpose. I've come to see an' feel differently. I can't help poor Milly. An' I've outgrowed revenge. I've come to see I can be no judge for men. I can't kill a man jest for hate. Hate ain't the same with me since I loved you and little Fay.\"\n\n\"Lassiter! You mean you won't kill him?\" Jane whispered.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"For my sake?\"\n\n\"I reckon. I can't understand, but I'll respect your feelin's.\"\n\n\"Because you—oh, because you love me?... Eighteen years! You were that terrible Lassiter! And now—because you love me?\"\n\n\"That's it, Jane.\"\n\n\"Oh, you'll make me love you! How can I help but love you? My heart must be stone. But—oh, Lassiter, wait, wait! Give me time. I'm not what I was. Once it was so easy to love. Now it's easy to hate. Wait! My faith in God—some God—still lives. By it I see happier times for you, poor passion-swayed wanderer! For me—a miserable, broken woman. I loved your sister Milly. I will love you. I can't have fallen so low—I can't be so abandoned by God—that I've no love left to give you. Wait! Let us forget Milly's sad life. Ah, I knew it as no one else on earth! There's one thing I shall tell you—if you are at my death-bed, but I can't speak now.\"\n\n\"I reckon I don't want to hear no more,\" said Lassiter.\n\nJane leaned against him, as if some pent-up force had rent its way out, she fell into a paroxysm of weeping. Lassiter held her in silent sympathy. By degrees she regained composure, and she was rising, sensible of being relieved of a weighty burden, when a sudden start on Lassiter's part alarmed her.\n\n\"I heard hosses—hosses with muffled hoofs!\" he said; and he got up guardedly.\n\n\"Where's Fay?\" asked Jane, hurriedly glancing round the shady knoll. The bright-haired child, who had appeared to be close all the time, was not in sight.\n\n\"Fay!\" called Jane.\n\nNo answering shout of glee. No patter of flying feet. Jane saw Lassiter stiffen.\n\n\"Fay—oh—Fay!\" Jane almost screamed.\n\nThe leaves quivered and rustled; a lonesome cricket chirped in the grass, a bee hummed by. The silence of the waning afternoon breathed hateful portent. It terrified Jane. When had silence been so infernal?\n\n\"She's—only—strayed—out—of earshot,\" faltered Jane, looking at Lassiter.\n\nPale, rigid as a statue, the rider stood, not in listening, searching posture, but in one of doomed certainty. Suddenly he grasped Jane with an iron hand, and, turning his face from her gaze, he strode with her from the knoll.\n\n\"See—Fay played here last—a house of stones an' sticks... An' here's a corral of pebbles with leaves for hosses,\" said Lassiter, stridently, and pointed to the ground. \"Back an' forth she trailed here... See, she's buried somethin'—a dead grasshopper—there's a tombstone... here she went, chasin' a lizard—see the tiny streaked trail... she pulled bark off this cottonwood... look in the dust of the path—the letters you taught her—she's drawn pictures of birds en' hosses an' people... Look, a cross! Oh, Jane, your cross!\"\n\nLassiter dragged Jane on, and as if from a book read the meaning of little Fay's trail. All the way down the knoll, through the shrubbery, round and round a cottonwood, Fay's vagrant fancy left records of her sweet musings and innocent play. Long had she lingered round a bird-nest to leave therein the gaudy wing of a butterfly. Long had she played beside the running stream sending adrift vessels freighted with pebbly cargo. Then she had wandered through the deep grass, her tiny feet scarcely turning a fragile blade, and she had dreamed beside some old faded flowers. Thus her steps led her into the broad lane. The little dimpled imprints of her bare feet showed clean-cut in the dust they went a little way down the lane; and then, at a point where they stopped, the great tracks of a man led out from the shrubbery and returned.",
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[
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"from": "system",
"value": "yo can u write like Zane Grey using my stuff as a starting point? btw might drop u in mid-story with random chars",
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"from": "human",
"value": "Chapter XX. Lassiter's Way",
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"from": "human",
"value": "Footprints told the story of little Fay's abduction.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "In anguish Jane Withersteen turned speechlessly to Lassiter, and, confirming her fears, she saw him gray-faced, aged all in a moment, stricken as if by a mortal blow.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "Then all her life seemed to fall about her in wreck and ruin.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"It's all over,\" she heard her voice whisper.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"It's ended. I'm going—I'm going—\"",
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"Where?\" demanded Lassiter, suddenly looming darkly over her.",
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"To—to those cruel men—\"",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Speak names!\" thundered Lassiter.\n\n\"To Bishop Dyer—to Tull,\" went on Jane, shocked into obedience.\n\n\"Well—what for?\"\n\n\"I want little Fay. I can't live without her. They've stolen her as they stole Milly Erne's child. I must have little Fay. I want only her. I give up. I'll go and tell Bishop Dyer—I'm broken. I'll tell him I'm ready for the yoke—only give me back Fay—and—and I'll marry Tull!\"\n\n\"Never!\" hissed Lassiter.\n\nHis long arm leaped at her. Almost running, he dragged her under the cottonwoods, across the court, into the huge hall of Withersteen House, and he shut the door with a force that jarred the heavy walls. Black Star and Night and Bells, since their return, had been locked in this hall, and now they stamped on the stone floor.\n\nLassiter released Jane and like a dizzy man swayed from her with a hoarse cry and leaned shaking against a table where he kept his rider's accoutrements. He began to fumble in his saddlebags. His action brought a clinking, metallic sound—the rattling of gun-cartridges. His fingers trembled as he slipped cartridges into an extra belt. But as he buckled it over the one he habitually wore his hands became steady. This second belt contained two guns, smaller than the black ones swinging low, and he slipped them round so that his coat hid them. Then he fell to swift action. Jane Withersteen watched him, fascinated but uncomprehending and she saw him rapidly saddle Black Star and Night. Then he drew her into the light of the huge windows, standing over her, gripping her arm with fingers like cold steel.\n\n\"Yes, Jane, it's ended—but you're not goin' to Dyer!... I'm goin' instead!\"\n\nLooking at him—he was so terrible of aspect—she could not comprehend his words. Who was this man with the face gray as death, with eyes that would have made her shriek had she the strength, with the strange, ruthlessly bitter lips? Where was the gentle Lassiter? What was this presence in the hall, about him, about her—this cold, invisible presence?\n\n\"Yes, it's ended, Jane,\" he was saying, so awfully quiet and cool and implacable, \"an' I'm goin' to make a little call. I'll lock you in here, an' when I get back have the saddle-bags full of meat an bread. An' be ready to ride!\"\n\n\"Lassiter!\" cried Jane.\n\nDesperately she tried to meet his gray eyes, in vain, desperately she tried again, fought herself as feeling and thought resurged in torment, and she succeeded, and then she knew.\n\n\"No—no—no!\" she wailed. \"You said you'd foregone your vengeance. You promised not to kill Bishop Dyer.\"\n\n\"If you want to talk to me about him—leave off the Bishop. I don't understand that name, or its use.\"\n\n\"Oh, hadn't you foregone your vengeance on—on Dyer?\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"But—your actions—your words—your guns—your terrible looks!... They don't seem foregoing vengeance?\"\n\n\"Jane, now it's justice.\"\n\n\"You'll—kill him?\"\n\n\"If God lets me live another hour! If not God—then the devil who drives me!\"\n\n\"You'll kill him—for yourself—for your vengeful hate?\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"For Milly Erne's sake?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"For little Fay's?\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"Oh—for whose?\"\n\n\"For yours!\"\n\n\"His blood on my soul!\" whispered Jane, and she fell to her knees. This was the long-pending hour of fruition. And the habit of years—the religious passion of her life—leaped from lethargy, and the long months of gradual drifting to doubt were as if they had never been. \"If you spill his blood it'll be on my soul—and on my father's. Listen.\" And she clasped his knees, and clung there as he tried to raise her. \"Listen. Am I nothing to you?\"\n\n\"Woman—don't trifle at words! I love you! An' I'll soon prove it.\"\n\n\"I'll give myself to you—I'll ride away with you—marry you, if only you'll spare him?\"\n\nHis answer was a cold, ringing, terrible laugh.\n\n\"Lassiter—I'll love you. Spare him!\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nShe sprang up in despairing, breaking spirit, and encircled his neck with her arms, and held him in an embrace that he strove vainly to loosen. \"Lassiter, would you kill me? I'm fighting my last fight for the principles of my youth—love of religion, love of father. You don't know—you can't guess the truth, and I can't speak ill. I'm losing all. I'm changing. All I've gone through is nothing to this hour. Pity me—help me in my weakness. You're strong again—oh, so cruelly, coldly strong! You're killing me. I see you—feel you as some other Lassiter! My master, be merciful—spare him!\"\n\nHis answer was a ruthless smile.\n\nShe clung the closer to him, and leaned her panting breast on him, and lifted her face to his. \"Lassiter, I do love you! It's leaped out of my agony. It comes suddenly with a terrible blow of truth. You are a man! I never knew it till now. Some wonderful change came to me when you buckled on these guns and showed that gray, awful face. I loved you then. All my life I've loved, but never as now. No woman can love like a broken woman. If it were not for one thing—just one thing—and yet! I can't speak it—I'd glory in your manhood—the lion in you that means to slay for me. Believe me—and spare Dyer. Be merciful—great as it's in you to be great... Oh, listen and believe—I have nothing, but I'm a woman—a beautiful woman, Lassiter—a passionate, loving woman—and I love you! Take me—hide me in some wild place—and love me and mend my broken heart. Spare him and take me away.\"\n\nShe lifted her face closer and closer to his, until their lips nearly touched, and she hung upon his neck, and with strength almost spent pressed and still pressed her palpitating body to his.\n\n\"Kiss me!\" she whispered, blindly.\n\n\"No—not at your price!\" he answered. His voice had changed or she had lost clearness of hearing.\n\n\"Kiss me!... Are you a man? Kiss me and save me!\"\n\n\"Jane, you never played fair with me. But now you're blisterin' your lips—blackenin' your soul with lies!\"\n\n\"By the memory of my mother—by my Bible—no! No, I have no Bible! But by my hope of heaven I swear I love you!\"\n\nLassiter's gray lips formed soundless words that meant even her love could not avail to bend his will. As if the hold of her arms was that of a child's he loosened it and stepped away.\n\n\"Wait! Don't go! Oh, hear a last word!... May a more just and merciful God than the God I was taught to worship judge me—forgive me—save me! For I can no longer keep silent!... Lassiter, in pleading for Dyer I've been pleading more for my father. My father was a Mormon master, close to the leaders of the church. It was my father who sent Dyer out to proselyte. It was my father who had the blue-ice eye and the beard of gold. It was my father you got trace of in the past years. Truly, Dyer ruined Milly Erne—dragged her from her home—to Utah—to Cottonwoods. But it was for my father! If Milly Erne was ever wife of a Mormon that Mormon was my father! I never knew—never will know whether or not she was a wife. Blind I may be, Lassiter—fanatically faithful to a false religion I may have been but I know justice, and my father is beyond human justice. Surely he is meeting just punishment—somewhere. Always it has appalled me—the thought of your killing Dyer for my father's sins. So I have prayed!\"\n\n\"Jane, the past is dead. In my love for you I forgot the past. This thing I'm about to do ain't for myself or Milly or Fay. It's not because of anythin' that ever happened in the past, but for what is happenin' right now. It's for you!... An' listen. Since I was a boy I've never thanked God for anythin'. If there is a God—an' I've come to believe it—I thank Him now for the years that made me Lassiter!... I can reach down en' feel these big guns, en' know what I can do with them. An', Jane, only one of the miracles Dyer professes to believe in can save him!\"\n\nAgain for Jane Withersteen came the spinning of her brain in darkness, and as she whirled in endless chaos she seemed to be falling at the feet of a luminous figure—a man—Lassiter—who had saved her from herself, who could not be changed, who would slay rightfully. Then she slipped into utter blackness.\n\nWhen she recovered from her faint she became aware that she was lying on a couch near the window in her sitting-room. Her brow felt damp and cold and wet, some one was chafing her hands; she recognized Judkins, and then saw that his lean, hard face wore the hue and look of excessive agitation.\n\n\"Judkins!\" Her voice broke weakly.\n\n\"Aw, Miss Withersteen, you're comin' round fine. Now jest lay still a little. You're all right; everythin's all right.\"\n\n\"Where is—he?\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Lassiter!\"\n\n\"You needn't worry none about him.\"\n\n\"Where is he? Tell me—instantly.\"\n\n\"Wal, he's in the other room patchin' up a few triflin' bullet holes.\"\n\n\"Ah!... Bishop' Dyer?\"\n\n\"When I seen him last—a matter of half an hour ago, he was on his knees. He was some busy, but he wasn't prayin'!\"\n\n\"How strangely you talk! I'll sit up. I'm—well, strong again. Tell me. Dyer on his knees! What was he doing?\"\n\n\"Wal, beggin' your pardon fer blunt talk, Miss Withersteen, Dyer was on his knees an' not prayin'. You remember his big, broad hands? You've seen 'em raised in blessin' over old gray men an' little curly-headed children like—like Fay Larkin! Come to think of thet, I disremember ever hearin' of his liftin' his big hands in blessin' over a woman. Wal, when I seen him last—jest a little while ago—he was on his knees, not prayin', as I remarked—an' he was pressin' his big hands over some bigger wounds.\"\n\n\"Man, you drive me mad! Did Lassiter kill Dyer?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Did he kill Tull?\"\n\n\"No. Tull's out of the village with most of his riders. He's expected back before evenin'. Lassiter will hev to git away before Tull en' his riders come in. It's sure death fer him here. An' wuss fer you, too, Miss Withersteen. There'll be some of an uprisin' when Tull gits back.\"\n\n\"I shall ride away with Lassiter. Judkins, tell me all you saw—all you know about this killing.\" She realized, without wonder or amaze, how Judkins's one word, affirming the death of Dyer—that the catastrophe had fallen—had completed the change whereby she had been molded or beaten or broken into another woman. She felt calm, slightly cold, strong as she had not been strong since the first shadow fell upon her.\n\n\"I jest saw about all of it, Miss Withersteen, an' I'll be glad to tell you if you'll only hev patience with me,\" said Judkins, earnestly. \"You see, I've been pecooliarly interested, an' nat'rully I'm some excited. An' I talk a lot thet mebbe ain't necessary, but I can't help thet.\n\n\"I was at the meetin'-house where Dyer was holdin' court. You know he allus acts as magistrate an' judge when Tull's away. An' the trial was fer tryin' what's left of my boy riders—thet helped me hold your cattle—fer a lot of hatched-up things the boys never did. We're used to thet, an' the boys wouldn't hev minded bein' locked up fer a while, or hevin' to dig ditches, or whatever the judge laid down. You see, I divided the gold you give me among all my boys, an' they all hid it, en' they all feel rich. Howsomever, court was adjourned before the judge passed sentence. Yes, ma'm, court was adjourned some strange an' quick, much as if lightnin' hed struck the meetin'-house.\n\n\"I hed trouble attendin' the trial, but I got in. There was a good many people there, all my boys, an' Judge Dyer with his several clerks. Also he hed with him the five riders who've been guardin' him pretty close of late. They was Carter, Wright, Jengessen, an' two new riders from Stone Bridge.",
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"value": "I didn't hear their names, but I heard they was handy men with guns an' they looked more like rustlers than riders.",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 101 sentences.",
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"value": "Anyway, there they was, the five all in a row.\n\n\"Judge Dyer was tellin' Willie Kern, one of my best an' steadiest boys—Dyer was tellin' him how there was a ditch opened near Willie's home lettin' water through his lot, where it hadn't ought to go. An' Willie was tryin' to git a word in to prove he wasn't at home all the day it happened—which was true, as I know—but Willie couldn't git a word in, an' then Judge Dyer went on layin' down the law. An' all to onct he happened to look down the long room. An' if ever any man turned to stone he was thet man.\n\n\"Nat'rully I looked back to see what hed acted so powerful strange on the judge. An' there, half-way up the room, in the middle of the wide aisle, stood Lassiter! All white an' black he looked, an' I can't think of anythin' he resembled, onless it's death. Venters made thet same room some still an' chilly when he called Tull; but this was different. I give my word, Miss Withersteen, thet I went cold to my very marrow. I don't know why. But Lassiter had a way about him thet's awful. He spoke a word—a name—I couldn't understand it, though he spoke clear as a bell. I was too excited, mebbe. Judge Dyer must hev understood it, an' a lot more thet was mystery to me, for he pitched forrard out of his chair right onto the platform.\n\n\"Then them five riders, Dyer's bodyguards, they jumped up, an' two of them thet I found out afterward were the strangers from Stone Bridge, they piled right out of a winder, so quick you couldn't catch your breath. It was plain they wasn't Mormons.\n\n\"Jengessen, Carter, an' Wright eyed Lassiter, for what must hev been a second an' seemed like an hour, an' they went white en' strung. But they didn't weaken nor lose their nerve.\n\n\"I hed a good look at Lassiter. He stood sort of stiff, bendin' a little, an' both his arms were crooked an' his hands looked like a hawk's claws. But there ain't no tellin' how his eyes looked. I know this, though, an' thet is his eyes could read the mind of any man about to throw a gun. An' in watchin' him, of course, I couldn't see the three men go fer their guns. An' though I was lookin' right at Lassiter—lookin' hard—I couldn't see how he drawed. He was quicker 'n eyesight—thet's all. But I seen the red spurtin' of his guns, en' heard his shots jest the very littlest instant before I heard the shots of the riders. An' when I turned, Wright an' Carter was down, en' Jengessen, who's tough like a steer, was pullin' the trigger of a wabblin' gun. But it was plain he was shot through, plumb center. An' sudden he fell with a crash, an' his gun clattered on the floor.\n\n\"Then there was a hell of a silence. Nobody breathed. Sartin I didn't, anyway. I saw Lassiter slip a smokin' gun back in a belt. But he hadn't throwed either of the big black guns, an' I thought thet strange. An' all this was happenin' quick—you can't imagine how quick.\n\n\"There come a scrapin' on the floor an' Dyer got up, his face like lead. I wanted to watch Lassiter, but Dyer's face, onct I seen it like thet, glued my eyes. I seen him go fer his gun—why, I could hev done better, quicker—an' then there was a thunderin' shot from Lassiter, an' it hit Dyer's right arm, an' his gun went off as it dropped. He looked at Lassiter like a cornered sage-wolf, an' sort of howled, an' reached down fer his gun. He'd jest picked it off the floor an' was raisin' it when another thunderin' shot almost tore thet arm off—so it seemed to me. The gun dropped again an' he went down on his knees, kind of flounderin' after it. It was some strange an' terrible to see his awful earnestness. Why would such a man cling so to life? Anyway, he got the gun with left hand an' was raisin' it, pullin' trigger in his madness, when the third thunderin' shot hit his left arm, an' he dropped the gun again. But thet left arm wasn't useless yet, fer he grabbed up the gun, an' with a shakin' aim thet would hev been pitiful to me—in any other man—he began to shoot. One wild bullet struck a man twenty feet from Lassiter. An' it killed thet man, as I seen afterward. Then come a bunch of thunderin' shots—nine I calkilated after, fer they come so quick I couldn't count them—an' I knew Lassiter hed turned the black guns loose on Dyer.\n\n\"I'm tellin' you straight, Miss Withersteen, fer I want you to know. Afterward you'll git over it. I've seen some soul-rackin' scenes on this Utah border, but this was the awfulest. I remember I closed my eyes, an' fer a minute I thought of the strangest things, out of place there, such as you'd never dream would come to mind. I saw the sage, an' runnin' hosses—an' thet's the beautfulest sight to me—an' I saw dim things in the dark, an' there was a kind of hummin' in my ears. An' I remember distinctly—fer it was what made all these things whirl out of my mind an' opened my eyes—I remember distinctly it was the smell of gunpowder.\n\n\"The court had about adjourned fer thet judge. He was on his knees, en' he wasn't prayin'. He was gaspin' an' tryin' to press his big, floppin', crippled hands over his body. Lassiter had sent all those last thunderin' shots through his body. Thet was Lassiter's way.\n\n\"An' Lassiter spoke, en' if I ever forgit his words I'll never forgit the sound of his voice.\n\n\"'Proselyter, I reckon you'd better call quick on thet God who reveals Hisself to you on earth, because He won't be visitin' the place you're goin' to!\"\n\n\"An' then I seen Dyer look at his big, hangin' hands thet wasn't big enough fer the last work he set them to. An' he looked up at Lassiter. An' then he stared horrible at somethin' thet wasn't Lassiter, nor anyone there, nor the room, nor the branches of purple sage peepin' into the winder. Whatever he seen, it was with the look of a man who discovers somethin' too late. Thet's a terrible look!... An' with a horrible understandin' cry he slid forrard on his face.\"\n\nJudkins paused in his narrative, breathing heavily while he wiped his perspiring brow.\n\n\"Thet's about all,\" he concluded. \"Lassiter left the meetin'-house an' I hurried to catch up with him. He was bleedin' from three gunshots, none of them much to bother him. An' we come right up here. I found you layin' in the hall, an' I hed to work some over you.\"\n\nJane Withersteen offered up no prayer for Dyer's soul.\n\nLassiter's step sounded in the hall—the familiar soft, silver-clinking step—and she heard it with thrilling new emotions in which was a vague joy in her very fear of him. The door opened, and she saw him, the old Lassiter, slow, easy, gentle, cool, yet not exactly the same Lassiter. She rose, and for a moment her eyes blurred and swam in tears.\n\n\"Are you—all—all right?\" she asked, tremulously.\n\n\"I reckon.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, I'll ride away with you. Hide me till danger is past—till we are forgotten—then take me where you will. Your people shall be my people, and your God my God!\"\n\nHe kissed her hand with the quaint grace and courtesy that came to him in rare moments.\n\n\"Black Star an' Night are ready,\" he said, simply.\n\nHis quiet mention of the black racers spurred Jane to action. Hurrying to her room, she changed to her rider's suit, packed her jewelry, and the gold that was left, and all the woman's apparel for which there was space in the saddle-bags, and then returned to the hall. Black Star stamped his iron-shod hoofs and tossed his beautiful head, and eyed her with knowing eyes.\n\n\"Judkins, I give Bells to you,\" said Jane. \"I hope you will always keep him and be good to him.\"\n\nJudkins mumbled thanks that he could not speak fluently, and his eyes flashed.\n\nLassiter strapped Jane's saddle-bags upon Black Star, and led the racers out into the court.\n\n\"Judkins, you ride with Jane out into the sage. If you see any riders comin' shout quick twice. An', Jane, don't look back! I'll catch up soon. We'll get to the break into the Pass before midnight, an' then wait until mornin' to go down.\"\n\nBlack Star bent his graceful neck and bowed his noble head, and his broad shoulders yielded as he knelt for Jane to mount.\n\nShe rode out of the court beside Judkins, through the grove, across the wide lane into the sage, and she realized that she was leaving Withersteen House forever, and she did not look back. A strange, dreamy, calm peace pervaded her soul. Her doom had fallen upon her, but, instead of finding life no longer worth living she found it doubly significant, full of sweetness as the western breeze, beautiful and unknown as the sage-slope stretching its purple sunset shadows before her. She became aware of Judkins's hand touching hers; she heard him speak a husky good-by; then into the place of Bells shot the dead-black, keen, racy nose of Night, and she knew Lassiter rode beside her.\n\n\"Don't—look—back!\" he said, and his voice, too, was not clear.\n\nFacing straight ahead, seeing only the waving, shadowy sage, Jane held out her gauntleted hand, to feel it enclosed in strong clasp. So she rode on without a backward glance at the beautiful grove of Cottonwoods. She did not seem to think of the past of what she left forever, but of the color and mystery and wildness of the sage-slope leading down to Deception Pass, and of the future. She watched the shadows lengthen down the slope; she felt the cool west wind sweeping by from the rear; and she wondered at low, yellow clouds sailing swiftly over her and beyond.\n\n\"Don't look—back!\" said Lassiter.\n\nThick-driving belts of smoke traveled by on the wind, and with it came a strong, pungent odor of burning wood.\n\nLassiter had fired Withersteen House! But Jane did not look back.\n\nA misty veil obscured the clear, searching gaze she had kept steadfastly upon the purple slope and the dim lines of canyons. It passed, as passed the rolling clouds of smoke, and she saw the valley deepening into the shades of twilight. Night came on, swift as the fleet racers, and stars peeped out to brighten and grow, and the huge, windy, eastern heave of sage-level paled under a rising moon and turned to silver. Blanched in moonlight, the sage yet seemed to hold its hue of purple and was infinitely more wild and lonely. So the night hours wore on, and Jane Withersteen never once looked back.",
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"value": "Team writing exercise. I start (might include existing characters), you do ninety-nine sentences in Zane Grey style.",
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"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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"value": "Chapter XXI. Black Star and Night\n\nThe time had come for Venters and Bess to leave their retreat. They were at great pains to choose the few things they would be able to carry with them on the journey out of Utah.\n\n\"Bern, whatever kind of a pack's this, anyhow?\" questioned Bess, rising from her work with reddened face.\n\nVenters, absorbed in his own task, did not look up at all, and in reply said he had brought so much from Cottonwoods that he did not recollect the half of it.\n\n\"A woman packed this!\" Bess exclaimed.\n\nHe scarcely caught her meaning, but the peculiar tone of her voice caused him instantly to rise, and he saw Bess on her knees before an open pack which he recognized as the one given him by Jane.\n\n\"By George!\" he ejaculated, guiltily, and then at sight of Bess's face he laughed outright.\n\n\"A woman packed this,\" she repeated, fixing woeful, tragic eyes on him.\n\n\"Well, is that a crime?'\n\n\"There—there is a woman, after all!\"\n\n\"Now Bess—\"\n\n\"You've lied to me!\"\n\nThen and there Venters found it imperative to postpone work for the present. All her life Bess had been isolated, but she had inherited certain elements of the eternal feminine.\n\n\"But there was a woman and you did lie to me,\" she kept repeating, after he had explained.\n\n\"What of that? Bess, I'll get angry at you in a moment. Remember you've been pent up all your life. I venture to say that if you'd been out in the world you'd have had a dozen sweethearts and have told many a lie before this.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't anything of the kind,\" declared Bess, indignantly.\n\n\"Well—perhaps not lie. But you'd have had the sweethearts—You couldn't have helped that—being so pretty.\"\n\nThis remark appeared to be a very clever and fortunate one; and the work of selecting and then of stowing all the packs in the cave went on without further interruption.\n\nVenters closed up the opening of the cave with a thatch of willows and aspens, so that not even a bird or a rat could get in to the sacks of grain. And this work was in order with the precaution habitually observed by him. He might not be able to get out of Utah, and have to return to the valley. But he owed it to Bess to make the attempt, and in case they were compelled to turn back he wanted to find that fine store of food and grain intact. The outfit of implements and utensils he packed away in another cave.\n\n\"Bess, we have enough to live here all our lives,\" he said once, dreamily.\n\n\"Shall I go roll Balancing Rock?\" she asked, in light speech, but with deep-blue fire in her eyes.\n\n\"No—no.\"\n\n\"Ah, you don't forget the gold and the world,\" she sighed.\n\n\"Child, you forget the beautiful dresses and the travel—and everything.\"\n\n\"Oh, I want to go. But I want to stay!\"\n\n\"I feel the same way.\"\n\nThey let the eight calves out of the corral, and kept only two of the burros Venters had brought from Cottonwoods. These they intended to ride. Bess freed all her pets—the quail and rabbits and foxes.\n\nThe last sunset and twilight and night were both the sweetest and saddest they had ever spent in Surprise Valley. Morning brought keen exhilaration and excitement. When Venters had saddled the two burros, strapped on the light packs and the two canteens, the sunlight was dispersing the lazy shadows from the valley. Taking a last look at the caves and the silver spruces, Venters and Bess made a reluctant start, leading the burros. Ring and Whitie looked keen and knowing. Something seemed to drag at Venters's feet and he noticed Bess lagged behind. Never had the climb from terrace to bridge appeared so long.\n\nNot till they reached the opening of the gorge did they stop to rest and take one last look at the valley. The tremendous arch of stone curved clear and sharp in outline against the morning sky. And through it streaked the golden shaft. The valley seemed an enchanted circle of glorious veils of gold and wraiths of white and silver haze and dim, blue, moving shade—beautiful and wild and unreal as a dream.\n\n\"We—we can—th—think of it—always—re—remember,\" sobbed Bess.\n\n\"Hush! Don't cry. Our valley has only fitted us for a better life somewhere. Come!\"\n\nThey entered the gorge and he closed the willow gate. From rosy, golden morning light they passed into cool, dense gloom. The burros pattered up the trail with little hollow-cracking steps. And the gorge widened to narrow outlet and the gloom lightened to gray. At the divide they halted for another rest. Venters's keen, remembering gaze searched Balancing Rock, and the long incline, and the cracked toppling walls, but failed to note the slightest change.\n\nThe dogs led the descent; then came Bess leading her burro; then Venters leading his. Bess kept her eyes bent downward. Venters, however, had an irresistible desire to look upward at Balancing Rock. It had always haunted him, and now he wondered if he were really to get through the outlet before the huge stone thundered down. He fancied that would be a miracle. Every few steps he answered to the strange, nervous fear and turned to make sure the rock still stood like a giant statue. And, as he descended, it grew dimmer in his sight. It changed form; it swayed it nodded darkly; and at last, in his heightened fancy, he saw it heave and roll. As in a dream when he felt himself falling yet knew he would never fall, so he saw this long-standing thunderbolt of the little stone-men plunge down to close forever the outlet to Deception Pass.\n\nAnd while he was giving way to unaccountable dread imaginations the descent was accomplished without mishap.\n\n\"I'm glad that's over,\" he said, breathing more freely. \"I hope I'm by that hanging rock for good and all. Since almost the moment I first saw it I've had an idea that it was waiting for me. Now, when it does fall, if I'm thousands of miles away, I'll hear it.\"\n\nWith the first glimpses of the smooth slope leading down to the grotesque cedars and out to the Pass, Venters's cool nerve returned. One long survey to the left, then one to the right, satisfied his caution. Leading the burros down to the spur of rock, he halted at the steep incline.\n\n\"Bess, here's the bad place, the place I told you about, with the cut steps. You start down, leading your burro. Take your time and hold on to him if you slip. I've got a rope on him and a half-hitch on this point of rock, so I can let him down safely. Coming up here was a killing job. But it'll be easy going down.\"\n\nBoth burros passed down the difficult stairs cut by the cliff-dwellers, and did it without a misstep. After that the descent down the slope and over the mile of scrawled, ripped, and ridged rock required only careful guidance, and Venters got the burros to level ground in a condition that caused him to congratulate himself.\n\n\"Oh, if we only had Wrangle!\" exclaimed Venters. \"But we're lucky. That's the worst of our trail passed. We've only men to fear now. If we get up in the sage we can hide and slip along like coyotes.\"\n\nThey mounted and rode west through the valley and entered the canyon. From time to time Venters walked, leading his burro. When they got by all the canyons and gullies opening into the Pass they went faster and with fewer halts. Venters did not confide in Bess the alarming fact that he had seen horses and smoke less than a mile up one of the intersecting canyons. He did not talk at all. And long after he had passed this canyon and felt secure once more in the certainty that they had been unobserved he never relaxed his watchfulness. But he did not walk any more, and he kept the burros at a steady trot. Night fell before they reached the last water in the Pass and they made camp by starlight. Venters did not want the burros to stray, so he tied them with long halters in the grass near the spring. Bess, tired out and silent, laid her head in a saddle and went to sleep between the two dogs. Venters did not close his eyes. The canyon silence appeared full of the low, continuous hum of insects. He listened until the hum grew into a roar, and then, breaking the spell, once more he heard it low and clear. He watched the stars and the moving shadows, and always his glance returned to the girl's dimly pale face. And he remembered how white and still it had once looked in the starlight. And again stern thought fought his strange fancies. Would all his labor and his love be for naught? Would he lose her, after all? What did the dark shadow around her portend? Did calamity lurk on that long upland trail through the sage? Why should his heart swell and throb with nameless fear? He listened to the silence and told himself that in the broad light of day he could dispel this leaden-weighted dread.\n\nAt the first hint of gray over the eastern rim he awoke Bess, saddled the burros, and began the day's travel.",
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"value": "He wanted to get out of the Pass before there was any chance of riders coming down.",
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"value": "(hey for the next response, 🔍 Find a place to insert: \"It can't be right. I'll go back. After all, I loved him. He was good to me. I can't forget that.\")",
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"value": "They gained the break as the first red rays of the rising sun colored the rim.\n\nFor once, so eager was he to get up to level ground, he did not send Ring or Whitie in advance. Encouraging Bess to hurry pulling at his patient, plodding burro, he climbed the soft, steep trail.\n\nBrighter and brighter grew the light. He mounted the last broken edge of rim to have the sun-fired, purple sage-slope burst upon him as a glory. Bess panted up to his side, tugging on the halter of her burro.\n\n\"We're up!\" he cried, joyously. \"There's not a dot on the sage. We're safe. We'll not be seen! Oh, Bess—\"\n\nRing growled and sniffed the keen air and bristled. Venters clutched at his rifle. Whitie sometimes made a mistake, but Ring never. The dull thud of hoofs almost deprived Venters of power to turn and see from where disaster threatened. He felt his eyes dilate as he stared at Lassiter leading Black Star and Night out of the sage, with Jane Withersteen, in rider's costume, close beside them.\n\nFor an instant Venters felt himself whirl dizzily in the center of vast circles of sage. He recovered partially, enough to see Lassiter standing with a glad smile and Jane riveted in astonishment.\n\n\"Why, Bern!\" she exclaimed. \"How good it is to see you! We're riding away, you see. The storm burst—and I'm a ruined woman!... I thought you were alone.\"\n\nVenters, unable to speak for consternation, and bewildered out of all sense of what he ought or ought not to do, simply stared at Jane.\n\n\"Son, where are you bound for?\" asked Lassiter.\n\n\"Not safe—where I was. I'm—we're going out of Utah—back East,\" he found tongue to say.\n\n\"I reckon this meetin's the luckiest thing that ever happened to you an' to me—an' to Jane—an' to Bess,\" said Lassiter, coolly.\n\n\"Bess!\" cried Jane, with a sudden leap of blood to her pale cheek.\n\nIt was entirely beyond Venters to see any luck in that meeting.\n\nJane Withersteen took one flashing, woman's glance at Bess's scarlet face, at her slender, shapely form.\n\n\"Venters! is this a girl—a woman?\" she questioned, in a voice that stung.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Did you have her in that wonderful valley?\"\n\n\"Yes, but Jane—\"\n\n\"All the time you were gone?\"\n\n\"Yes, but I couldn't tell—\"\n\n\"Was it for her you asked me to give you supplies? Was it for her that you wanted to make your valley a paradise?\"\n\n\"Oh—Jane—\"\n\n\"Answer me.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Oh, you liar!\" And with these passionate words Jane Withersteen succumbed to fury. For the second time in her life she fell into the ungovernable rage that had been her father's weakness. And it was worse than his, for she was a jealous woman—jealous even of her friends.\n\nAs best he could, he bore the brunt of her anger. It was not only his deceit to her that she visited upon him, but her betrayal by religion, by life itself.\n\nHer passion, like fire at white heat, consumed itself in little time. Her physical strength failed, and still her spirit attempted to go on in magnificent denunciation of those who had wronged her. Like a tree cut deep into its roots, she began to quiver and shake, and her anger weakened into despair. And her ringing voice sank into a broken, husky whisper. Then, spent and pitiable, upheld by Lassiter's arm, she turned and hid her face in Black Star's mane.\n\nNumb as Venters was when at length Jane Withersteen lifted her head and looked at him, he yet suffered a pang.\n\n\"Jane, the girl is innocent!\" he cried.\n\n\"Can you expect me to believe that?\" she asked, with weary, bitter eyes.\n\n\"I'm not that kind of a liar. And you know it. If I lied—if I kept silent when honor should have made me speak, it was to spare you. I came to Cottonwoods to tell you. But I couldn't add to your pain. I intended to tell you I had come to love this girl. But, Jane I hadn't forgotten how good you were to me. I haven't changed at all toward you. I prize your friendship as I always have. But, however it may look to you—don't be unjust. The girl is innocent. Ask Lassiter.\"\n\n\"Jane, she's jest as sweet an' innocent as little Fay,\" said Lassiter. There was a faint smile upon his face and a beautiful light.\n\nVenters saw, and knew that Lassiter saw, how Jane Withersteen's tortured soul wrestled with hate and threw it—with scorn doubt, suspicion, and overcame all.\n\n\"Bern, if in my misery I accused you unjustly, I crave forgiveness,\" she said. \"I'm not what I once was. Tell me—who is this girl?\"\n\n\"Jane, she is Oldring's daughter, and his Masked Rider. Lassiter will tell you how I shot her for a rustler, saved her life—all the story. It's a strange story, Jane, as wild as the sage. But it's true—true as her innocence. That you must believe.\"\n\n\"Oldring's Masked Rider! Oldring's daughter!\" exclaimed Jane \"And she's innocent! You ask me to believe much. If this girl is—is what you say, how could she be going away with the man who killed her father?\"\n\n\"Why did you tell that?\" cried Venters, passionately.\n\nJane's question had roused Bess out of stupefaction. Her eyes suddenly darkened and dilated. She stepped toward Venters and held up both hands as if to ward off a blow.\n\n\"Did—did you kill Oldring?\"\n\n\"I did, Bess, and I hate myself for it. But you know I never dreamed he was your father. I thought he'd wronged you. I killed him when I was madly jealous.\"\n\nFor a moment Bess was shocked into silence.\n\n\"But he was my father!\" she broke out, at last. \"And now I must go back—I can't go with you. It's all over—that beautiful dream. Oh, I knew it couldn't come true. You can't take me now.\"\n\n\"If you forgive me, Bess, it'll all come right in the end!\" implored Venters.\n\n\"It can't be right. I'll go back. After all, I loved him. He was good to me. I can't forget that.\"\n\n\"If you go back to Oldring's men I'll follow you, and then they'll kill me,\" said Venters, hoarsely.\n\n\"Oh no, Bern, you'll not come. Let me go. It's best for you to forget me. I've brought you only pain and dishonor.\"\n\nShe did not weep. But the sweet bloom and life died out of her face. She looked haggard and sad, all at once stunted; and her hands dropped listlessly; and her head drooped in slow, final acceptance of a hopeless fate.\n\n\"Jane, look there!\" cried Venters, in despairing grief. \"Need you have told her? Where was all your kindness of heart? This girl has had a wretched, lonely life. And I'd found a way to make her happy. You've killed it. You've killed something sweet and pure and hopeful, just as sure as you breathe.\"\n\n\"Oh, Bern! It was a slip. I never thought—I never thought!\" replied Jane. \"How could I tell she didn't know?\"\n\nLassiter suddenly moved forward, and with the beautiful light on his face now strangely luminous, he looked at Jane and Venters and then let his soft, bright gaze rest on Bess.\n\n\"Well, I reckon you've all had your say, an' now it's Lassiter's turn. Why, I was jest praying for this meetin'. Bess, jest look here.\"\n\nGently he touched her arm and turned her to face the others, and then outspread his great hand to disclose a shiny, battered gold locket.\n\n\"Open it,\" he said, with a singularly rich voice.\n\nBess complied, but listlessly.\n\n\"Jane—Venters—come closer,\" went on Lassiter. \"Take a look at the picture. Don't you know the woman?\"\n\nJane, after one glance, drew back.\n\n\"Milly Erne!\" she cried, wonderingly.\n\nVenters, with tingling pulse, with something growing on him, recognized in the faded miniature portrait the eyes of Milly Erne.\n\n\"Yes, that's Milly,\" said Lassiter, softly. \"Bess, did you ever see her face—look hard—with all your heart an' soul?\"\n\n\"The eyes seem to haunt me,\" whispered Bess. \"Oh, I can't remember—they're eyes of my dreams—but—but—\"\n\nLassiter's strong arm went round her and he bent his head.\n\n\"Child, I thought you'd remember her eyes. They're the same beautiful eyes you'd see if you looked in a mirror or a clear spring. They're your mother's eyes. You are Milly Erne's child. Your name is Elizabeth Erne. You're not Oldring's daughter. You're the daughter of Frank Erne, a man once my best friend. Look! Here's his picture beside Milly's. He was handsome, an' as fine an' gallant a Southern gentleman as I ever seen. Frank came of an old family. You come of the best of blood, lass, and blood tells.\"\n\nBess slipped through his arm to her knees and hugged the locket to her bosom, and lifted wonderful, yearning eyes.\n\n\"It—can't—be—true!\"\n\n\"Thank God, lass, it is true,\" replied Lassiter. \"Jane an' Bern here—they both recognize Milly. They see Milly in you. They're so knocked out they can't tell you, that's all.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Who are you?\" whispered Bess.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I reckon I'm Milly's brother an' your uncle!... Uncle Jim! Ain't that fine?\"\n\n\"Oh, I can't believe—Don't raise me! Bern, let me kneel. I see truth in your face—in Miss Withersteen's. But let me hear it all—all on my knees. Tell me how it's true!\"\n\n\"Well, Elizabeth, listen,\" said Lassiter. \"Before you was born your father made a mortal enemy of a Mormon named Dyer. They was both ministers an' come to be rivals. Dyer stole your mother away from her home. She gave birth to you in Texas eighteen years ago. Then she was taken to Utah, from place to place, an' finally to the last border settlement—Cottonwoods. You was about three years old when you was taken away from Milly. She never knew what had become of you. But she lived a good while hopin' and prayin' to have you again. Then she gave up an' died. An' I may as well put in here your father died ten years ago. Well, I spent my time tracin' Milly, an' some months back I landed in Cottonwoods. An' jest lately I learned all about you. I had a talk with Oldrin' an' told him you was dead, an' he told me what I had so long been wantin' to know. It was Dyer, of course, who stole you from Milly. Part reason he was sore because Milly refused to give you Mormon teachin', but mostly he still hated Frank Erne so infernally that he made a deal with Oldrin' to take you an' bring you up as an infamous rustler an' rustler's girl. The idea was to break Frank Erne's heart if he ever came to Utah—to show him his daughter with a band of low rustlers. Well—Oldrin' took you, brought you up from childhood, an' then made you his Masked Rider. He made you infamous. He kept that part of the contract, but he learned to love you as a daughter an' never let any but his own men know you was a girl. I heard him say that with my own ears, an' I saw his big eyes grow dim. He told me how he had guarded you always, kept you locked up in his absence, was always at your side or near you on those rides that made you famous on the sage. He said he an' an old rustler whom he trusted had taught you how to read an' write. They selected the books for you. Dyer had wanted you brought up the vilest of the vile! An' Oldrin' brought you up the innocentest of the innocent. He said you didn't know what vileness was. I can hear his big voice tremble now as he said it. He told me how the men—rustlers an' outlaws—who from time to time tried to approach you familiarly—he told me how he shot them dead. I'm tellin' you this 'specially because you've showed such shame—sayin' you was nameless an' all that. Nothin' on earth can be wronger than that idea of yours. An' the truth of it is here. Oldrin' swore to me that if Dyer died, releasin' the contract, he intended to hunt up your father an' give you back to him. It seems Oldrin' wasn't all bad, en' he sure loved you.\"\n\nVenters leaned forward in passionate remorse.\n\n\"Oh, Bess! I know Lassiter speaks the truth. For when I shot Oldring he dropped to his knees and fought with unearthly power to speak. And he said: 'Man—why—didn't—you—wait? Bess was—' Then he fell dead. And I've been haunted by his look and words. Oh, Bess, what a strange, splendid thing for Oldring to do! It all seems impossible. But, dear, you really are not what you thought.\"\n\n\"Elizabeth Erne!\" cried Jane Withersteen. \"I loved your mother and I see her in you!\"\n\nWhat had been incredible from the lips of men became, in the tone, look, and gesture of a woman, a wonderful truth for Bess. With little tremblings of all her slender body she rocked to and fro on her knees. The yearning wistfulness of her eyes changed to solemn splendor of joy. She believed. She was realizing happiness. And as the process of thought was slow, so were the variations of her expression. Her eyes reflected the transformation of her soul. Dark, brooding, hopeless belief—clouds of gloom—drifted, paled, vanished in glorious light. An exquisite rose flush—a glow—shone from her face as she slowly began to rise from her knees. A spirit uplifted her. All that she had held as base dropped from her.\n\nVenters watched her in joy too deep for words. By it he divined something of what Lassiter's revelation meant to Bess, but he knew he could only faintly understand. That moment when she seemed to be lifted by some spiritual transfiguration was the most beautiful moment of his life. She stood with parted, quivering lips, with hands tightly clasping the locket to her heaving breast. A new conscious pride of worth dignified the old wild, free grace and poise.\n\n\"Uncle Jim!\" she said, tremulously, with a different smile from any Venters had ever seen on her face.\n\nLassiter took her into his arms.\n\n\"I reckon. It's powerful fine to hear that,\" replied Lassiter, unsteadily.\n\nVenters, feeling his eyes grow hot and wet, turned away, and found himself looking at Jane Withersteen. He had almost forgotten her presence. Tenderness and sympathy were fast hiding traces of her agitation. Venters read her mind—felt the reaction of her noble heart—saw the joy she was beginning to feel at the happiness of others. And suddenly blinded, choked by his emotions, he turned from her also. He knew what she would do presently; she would make some magnificent amend for her anger; she would give some manifestation of her love; probably all in a moment, as she had loved Milly Erne, so would she love Elizabeth Erne.\n\n\"'Pears to me, folks, that we'd better talk a little serious now,\" remarked Lassiter, at length. \"Time flies.\"\n\n\"You're right,\" replied Venters, instantly. \"I'd forgotten time—place—danger. Lassiter, you're riding away. Jane's leaving Withersteen House?\"\n\n\"Forever,\" replied Jane.\n\n\"I fired Withersteen House,\" said Lassiter.\n\n\"Dyer?\" questioned Venters, sharply.\n\n\"I reckon where Dyer's gone there won't be any kidnappin' of girls.\"\n\n\"Ah! I knew it. I told Judkins—And Tull?\" went on Venters, passionately.\n\n\"Tull wasn't around when I broke loose. By now he's likely on our trail with his riders.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, you're going into the Pass to hide till all this storm blows over?\"\n\n\"I reckon that's Jane's idea. I'm thinkin' the storm'll be a powerful long time blowin' over. I was comin' to join you in Surprise Valley. You'll go back now with me?\"\n\n\"No. I want to take Bess out of Utah. Lassiter, Bess found gold in the valley. We've a saddle-bag full of gold. If we can reach Sterling—\"\n\n\"Man! how're you ever goin' to do that? Sterlin' is a hundred miles.\"\n\n\"My plan is to ride on, keeping sharp lookout. Somewhere up the trail we'll take to the sage and go round Cottonwoods and then hit the trail again.\"\n\n\"It's a bad plan. You'll kill the burros in two days.\"\n\n\"Then we'll walk.\"\n\n\"That's more bad an' worse. Better go back down the Pass with me.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, this girl has been hidden all her life in that lonely place,\" went on Venters. \"Oldring's men are hunting me. We'd not be safe there any longer. Even if we would be I'd take this chance to get her out. I want to marry her. She shall have some of the pleasures of life—see cities and people. We've gold—we'll be rich. Why, life opens sweet for both of us. And, by Heaven! I'll get her out or lose my life in the attempt!\"\n\n\"I reckon if you go on with them burros you'll lose your life all right. Tull will have riders all over this sage. You can't get out on them burros. It's a fool idea. That's not doin' best by the girl. Come with me en' take chances on the rustlers.\"\n\nLassiter's cool argument made Venters waver, not in determination to go, but in hope of success.\n\n\"Bess, I want you to know. Lassiter says the trip's almost useless now. I'm afraid he's right. We've got about one chance in a hundred to go through. Shall we take it? Shall we go on?\"\n\n\"We'll go on,\" replied Bess.\n\n\"That settles it, Lassiter.\"\n\nLassiter spread wide his hands, as if to signify he could do no more, and his face clouded.\n\nVenters felt a touch on his elbow. Jane stood beside him with a hand on his arm. She was smiling. Something radiated from her, and like an electric current accelerated the motion of his blood.\n\n\"Bern, you'd be right to die rather than not take Elizabeth out of Utah—out of this wild country. You must do it. You'll show her the great world, with all its wonders. Think how little she has seen! Think what delight is in store for her! You have gold, You will be free; you will make her happy. What a glorious prospect! I share it with you. I'll think of you—dream of you—pray for you.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Jane,\" replied Venters, trying to steady his voice. \"It does look bright. Oh, if we were only across that wide, open waste of sage!\"\n\n\"Bern, the trip's as good as made. It'll be safe—easy. It'll be a glorious ride,\" she said, softly.\n\nVenters stared. Had Jane's troubles made her insane? Lassiter, too, acted queerly, all at once beginning to turn his sombrero round in hands that actually shook.\n\n\"You are a rider. She is a rider. This will be the ride of your lives,\" added Jane, in that same soft undertone, almost as if she were musing to herself.\n\n\"Jane!\" he cried.\n\n\"I give you Black Star and Night!\"\n\n\"Black Star and Night!\" he echoed.\n\n\"It's done. Lassiter, put our saddle-bags on the burros.\"\n\nOnly when Lassiter moved swiftly to execute her bidding did Venters's clogged brain grasp at literal meanings. He leaped to catch Lassiter's busy hands.\n\n\"No, no! What are you doing?\" he demanded, in a kind of fury. \"I won't take her racers. What do you think I am? It'd be monstrous. Lassiter! stop it, I say!... You've got her to save. You've miles and miles to go. Tull is trailing you. There are rustlers in the Pass. Give me back that saddle-bag!\"\n\n\"Son—cool down,\" returned Lassiter, in a voice he might have used to a child. But the grip with which he tore away Venters's grasping hands was that of a giant. \"Listen—you fool boy! Jane's sized up the situation. The burros'll do for us. We'll sneak along an' hide. I'll take your dogs an' your rifle. Why, it's the trick. The blacks are yours, an' sure as I can throw a gun you're goin' to ride safe out of the sage.\"\n\n\"Jane—stop him—please stop him,\" gasped Venters. \"I've lost my strength. I can't do—anything. This is hell for me! Can't you see that? I've ruined you—it was through me you lost all. You've only Black Star and Night left. You love these horses. Oh! I know how you must love them now! And—you're trying to give them to me. To help me out of Utah! To save the girl I love!\"\n\n\"That will be my glory.\"\n\nThen in the white, rapt face, in the unfathomable eyes, Venters saw Jane Withersteen in a supreme moment. This moment was one wherein she reached up to the height for which her noble soul had ever yearned. He, after disrupting the calm tenor of her peace, after bringing down on her head the implacable hostility of her churchmen, after teaching her a bitter lesson of life—he was to be her salvation. And he turned away again, this time shaken to the core of his soul. Jane Withersteen was the incarnation of selflessness. He experienced wonder and terror, exquisite pain and rapture. What were all the shocks life had dealt him compared to the thought of such loyal and generous friendship?\n\nAnd instantly, as if by some divine insight, he knew himself in the remaking—tried, found wanting; but stronger, better, surer—and he wheeled to Jane Withersteen, eager, joyous, passionate, wild, exalted. He bent to her; he left tears and kisses on her hands.\n\n\"Jane, I—I can't find words—now,\" he said. \"I'm beyond words. Only—I understand. And I'll take the blacks.\"\n\n\"Don't be losin' no more time,\" cut in Lassiter. \"I ain't certain, but I think I seen a speck up the sage-slope. Mebbe I was mistaken. But, anyway, we must all be movin'. I've shortened the stirrups on Black Star. Put Bess on him.\"\n\nJane Withersteen held out her arms.\n\n\"Elizabeth Erne!\" she cried, and Bess flew to her.\n\nHow inconceivably strange and beautiful it was for Venters to see Bess clasped to Jane Withersteen's breast!",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Then he leaped astride Night.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 14 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Venters, ride straight on up the slope,\" Lassiter was saying, \"'an if you don't meet any riders keep on till you're a few miles from the village, then cut off in the sage an' go round to the trail. But you'll most likely meet riders with Tull. Jest keep right on till you're jest out of gunshot an' then make your cut-off into the sage. They'll ride after you, but it won't be no use. You can ride, an' Bess can ride. When you're out of reach turn on round to the west, an' hit the trail somewhere. Save the hosses all you can, but don't be afraid. Black Star and Night are good for a hundred miles before sundown, if you have to push them. You can get to Sterlin' by night if you want. But better make it along about to-morrow mornin'. When you get through the notch on the Glaze trail, swing to the right. You'll be able to see both Glaze an' Stone Bridge. Keep away from them villages. You won't run no risk of meetin' any of Oldrin's rustlers from Sterlin' on. You'll find water in them deep hollows north of the Notch. There's an old trail there, not much used, en' it leads to Sterlin'. That's your trail. An' one thing more. If Tull pushes you—or keeps on persistent-like, for a few miles—jest let the blacks out an' lose him an' his riders.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, may we meet again!\" said Venters, in a deep voice.\n\n\"Son, it ain't likely—it ain't likely. Well, Bess Oldrin'—Masked Rider—Elizabeth Erne—now you climb on Black Star. I've heard you could ride. Well, every rider loves a good horse. An', lass, there never was but one that could beat Black Star.\"\n\n\"Ah, Lassiter, there never was any horse that could beat Black Star,\" said Jane, with the old pride.\n\n\"I often wondered—mebbe Venters rode out that race when he brought back the blacks. Son, was Wrangle the best hoss?\"\n\n\"No, Lassiter,\" replied Venters. For this lie he had his reward in Jane's quick smile.\n\n\"Well, well, my hoss-sense ain't always right. An' here I'm talkin' a lot, wastin' time. It ain't so easy to find an' lose a pretty niece all in one hour! Elizabeth—good-by!\"\n\n\"Oh, Uncle Jim!... Good-by!\"\n\n\"Elizabeth Erne, be happy! Good-by,\" said Jane.\n\n\"Good-by—oh—good-by!\" In lithe, supple action Bess swung up to Black Star's saddle.\n\n\"Jane Withersteen!... Good-by!\" called Venters hoarsely.\n\n\"Bern—Bess—riders of the purple sage—good-by!\"",
"loss": null
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Let's engage in a collaborative writing exercise. I'll provide a starting point (which may include pre-existing characters and lore), and You'll continue with 9 sentences in the style of Zane Grey.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Chapter XXII. Riders of the Purple Sage",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "meta: ⚠️ Required: Use 'venters' exactly 2 times",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Black Star and Night, answering to spur, swept swiftly westward along the white, slow-rising, sage-bordered trail. Venters heard a mournful howl from Ring, but Whitie was silent. The blacks settled into their fleet, long-striding gallop. The wind sweetly fanned Venters's hot face. From the summit of the first low-swelling ridge he looked back. Lassiter waved his hand; Jane waved her scarf. Venters replied by standing in his stirrups and holding high his sombrero. Then the dip of the ridge hid them. From the height of the next he turned once more.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Lassiter, Jane, and the burros had disappeared.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "They had gone down into the Pass. Venters felt a sensation of irreparable loss.\n\n\"Bern—look!\" called Bess, pointing up the long slope.\n\nA small, dark, moving dot split the line where purple sage met blue sky. That dot was a band of riders.\n\n\"Pull the black, Bess.\"\n\nThey slowed from gallop to canter, then to trot. The fresh and eager horses did not like the check.\n\n\"Bern, Black Star has great eyesight.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"I wonder if they're Tull's riders. They might be rustlers. But it's all the same to us.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The black dot grew to a dark patch moving under low dust clouds.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It grew all the time, though very slowly.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "There were long periods when it was in plain sight, and intervals when it dropped behind the sage.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The blacks trotted for half an hour, for another half-hour, and still the moving patch appeared to stay on the horizon line. Gradually, however, as time passed, it began to enlarge, to creep down the slope, to encroach upon the intervening distance.\n\n\"Bess, what do you make them out?\" asked Venters. \"I don't think they're rustlers.\"\n\n\"They're sage-riders,\" replied Bess. \"I see a white horse and several grays. Rustlers seldom ride any horses but bays and blacks.\"\n\n\"That white horse is Tull's. Pull the black, Bess. I'll get down and cinch up. We're in for some riding. Are you afraid?\"\n\n\"Not now,\" answered the girl, smiling.\n\n\"You needn't be. Bess, you don't weigh enough to make Black Star know you're on him. I won't be able to stay with you. You'll leave Tull and his riders as if they were standing still.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(hey for the next response, Just for the next scene, use some dialogue)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"How about you?\"\n\n\"Never fear. If I can't stay with you I can still laugh at Tull.\"\n\n\"Look, Bern! They've stopped on that ridge. They see us.\"\n\n\"Yes. But we're too far yet for them to make out who we are. They'll recognize the blacks first. We've passed most of the ridges and the thickest sage. Now, when I give the word, let Black Star go and ride!\"\n\nVenters calculated that a mile or more still intervened between them and the riders. They were approaching at a swift canter. Soon Venters recognized Tull's white horse, and concluded that the riders had likewise recognized Black Star and Night. But it would be impossible for Tull yet to see that the blacks were not ridden by Lassiter and Jane. Venters noted that Tull and the line of horsemen, perhaps ten or twelve in number, stopped several times and evidently looked hard down the slope.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It must have been a puzzling circumstance for Tull.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Venters laughed grimly at the thought of what Tull's rage would be when he finally discovered the trick.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Venters meant to sheer out into the sage before Tull could possibly be sure who rode the blacks.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "⚠️ Required: Use 'venters' exactly 4 times",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The gap closed to a distance of half a mile. Tull halted. His riders came up and formed a dark group around him. Venters thought he saw him wave his arms and was certain of it when the riders dashed into the sage, to right and left of the trail. Tull had anticipated just the move held in mind by Venters.\n\n\"Now Bess!\" shouted Venters. \"Strike north. Go round those riders and turn west.\"\n\nBlack Star sailed over the low sage, and in a few leaps got into his stride and was running. Venters spurred Night after him. It was hard going in the sage.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The horses could run as well there, but keen eyesight and judgment must constantly be used by the riders in choosing ground.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "And continuous swerving from aisle to aisle between the brush, and leaping little washes and mounds of the pack-rats, and breaking through sage, made rough riding. When Venters had turned into a long aisle he had time to look up at Tull's riders. They were now strung out into an extended line riding northeast. And, as Venters and Bess were holding due north, this meant, if the horses of Tull and his riders had the speed and the staying power, they would head the blacks and turn them back down the slope. Tull's men were not saving their mounts; they were driving them desperately. Venters feared only an accident to Black Star or Night, and skilful riding would mitigate possibility of that. One glance ahead served to show him that Bess could pick a course through the sage as well as he. She looked neither back nor at the running riders, and bent forward over Black Star's neck and studied the ground ahead.\n\nIt struck Venters, presently, after he had glanced up from time to time, that Bess was drawing away from him as he had expected.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He had, however, only thought of the light weight Black Star was carrying and of his superior speed; he saw now that the black was being ridden as never before, except when Jerry Card lost the race to Wrangle.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "How easily, gracefully, naturally, Bess sat her saddle!",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "She could ride! Suddenly Venters remembered she had said she could ride.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(ooc) Incorporate 'oldring's' into your response exactly 2 times (ooc)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "But he had not dreamed she was capable of such superb horsemanship. Then all at once, flashing over him, thrilling him, came the recollection that Bess was Oldring's Masked Rider.\n\nHe forgot Tull—the running riders—the race. He let Night have a free rein and felt him lengthen out to suit himself, knowing he would keep to Black Star's course, knowing that he had been chosen by the best rider now on the upland sage. For Jerry Card was dead. And fame had rivaled him with only one rider, and that was the slender girl who now swung so easily with Black Star's stride. Venters had abhorred her notoriety, but now he took passionate pride in her skill, her daring, her power over a horse. And he delved into his memory, recalling famous rides which he had heard related in the villages and round the camp-fires. Oldring's Masked Rider! Many times this strange rider, at once well known and unknown, had escaped pursuers by matchless riding.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He had to run the gantlet of vigilantes down the main street of Stone Bridge, leaving dead horses and dead rustlers behind. He had jumped his horse over the Gerber Wash, a deep, wide ravine separating the fields of Glaze from the wild sage. He had been surrounded north of Sterling; and he had broken through the line. How often had been told the story of day stampedes, of night raids, of pursuit, and then how the Masked Rider, swift as the wind, was gone in the sage! A fleet, dark horse—a slender, dark form—a black mask—a driving run down the slope—a dot on the purple sage—a shadowy, muffled steed disappearing in the night!\n\nAnd this Masked Rider of the uplands had been Elizabeth Erne!\n\nThe sweet sage wind rushed in Venters's face and sang a song in his ears. He heard the dull, rapid beat of Night's hoofs; he saw Black Star drawing away, farther and farther. He realized both horses were swinging to the west.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Then gunshots in the rear reminded him of Tull.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Venters looked back. Far to the side, dropping behind, trooped the riders. They were shooting.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Venters saw no puffs or dust, heard no whistling bullets.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He was out of range.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "When he looked back again Tull's riders had given up pursuit. The best they could do, no doubt, had been to get near enough to recognize who really rode the blacks. Venters saw Tull drooping in his saddle.\n\nThen Venters pulled Night out of his running stride. Those few miles had scarcely warmed the black, but Venters wished to save him. Bess turned, and, though she was far away, Venters caught the white glint of her waving hand. He held Night to a trot and rode on, seeing Bess and Black Star, and the sloping upward stretch of sage, and from time to time the receding black riders behind. Soon they disappeared behind a ridge, and he turned no more. They would go back to Lassiter's trail and follow it, and follow in vain.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "So Venters rode on, with the wind growing sweeter to taste and smell, and the purple sage richer and the sky bluer in his sight; and the song in his ears ringing.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "By and by Bess halted to wait for him, and he knew she had come to the trail.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "When he reached her it was to smile at sight of her standing with arms round Black Star's neck.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Oh, Bern! I love him!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "she cried. \"He's beautiful; he knows; and how he can run! I've had fast horses. But Black Star!... Wrangle never beat him!\"\n\n\"I'm wondering if I didn't dream that. Bess, the blacks are grand. What it must have cost Jane—ah!—well, when we get out of this wild country with Star and Night, back to my old home in Illinois, we'll buy a beautiful farm with meadows and springs and cool shade. There we'll turn the horses free—free to roam and browse and drink—never to feel a spur again—never to be ridden!\"\n\n\"I would like that,\" said Bess.\n\nThey rested. Then, mounting, they rode side by side up the white trail. The sun rose higher behind them. Far to the left a low line of green marked the site of Cottonwoods. Venters looked once and looked no more. Bess gazed only straight ahead. They put the blacks to the long, swinging rider's canter, and at times pulled them to a trot, and occasionally to a walk.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The hours passed, the miles slipped behind, and the wall of rock loomed in the fore. The Notch opened wide. It was a rugged, stony pass, but with level and open trail, and Venters and Bess ran the blacks through it. An old trail led off to the right, taking the line of the wall, and this Venters knew to be the trail mentioned by Lassiter.\n\nThe little hamlet, Glaze, a white and green patch in the vast waste of purple, lay miles down a slope much like the Cottonwoods slope, only this descended to the west. And miles farther west a faint green spot marked the location of Stone Bridge. All the rest of that world was seemingly smooth, undulating sage, with no ragged lines of canyons to accentuate its wildness.\n\n\"Bess, we're safe—we're free!\" said Venters. \"We're alone on the sage. We're half way to Sterling.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Ah! I wonder how it is with Lassiter and Miss Withersteen.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Never fear, Bess. He'll outwit Tull. He'll get away and hide her safely. He might climb into Surprise Valley, but I don't think he'll go so far.\"\n\n\"Bern, will we ever find any place like our beautiful valley?\"\n\n\"No. But, dear, listen. Well go back some day, after years—ten years. Then we'll be forgotten. And our valley will be just as we left it.\"\n\n\"What if Balancing Rock falls and closes the outlet to the Pass?\"\n\n\"I've thought of that. I'll pack in ropes and ropes. And if the outlet's closed we'll climb up the cliffs and over them to the valley and go down on rope ladders. It could be done. I know just where to make the climb, and I'll never forget.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, let us go back!\"\n\n\"It's something sweet to look forward to. Bess, it's like all the future looks to me.\"\n\n\"Call me—Elizabeth,\" she said, shyly.\n\n\"Elizabeth Erne! It's a beautiful name. But I'll never forget Bess. Do you know—have you thought that very soon—by this time to-morrow—you will be Elizabeth Venters?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "So they rode on down the old trail. And the sun sloped to the west, and a golden sheen lay on the sage. The hours sped now; the afternoon waned. Often they rested the horses. The glisten of a pool of water in a hollow caught Venters's eye, and here he unsaddled the blacks and let them roll and drink and browse. When he and Bess rode up out of the hollow the sun was low, a crimson ball, and the valley seemed veiled in purple fire and smoke. It was that short time when the sun appeared to rest before setting, and silence, like a cloak of invisible life, lay heavy on all that shimmering world of sage.\n\nThey watched the sun begin to bury its red curve under the dark horizon.\n\n\"We'll ride on till late,\" he said.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Then you can sleep a little, while I watch and graze the horses. And we'll ride into Sterling early to-morrow. We'll be married!... We'll be in time to catch the stage. We'll tie Black Star and Night behind—and then—for a country not wild and terrible like this!\"\n\n\"Oh, Bern!... But look! The sun is setting on the sage—the last time for us till we dare come again to the Utah border. Ten years! Oh, Bern, look, so you will never forget!\"\n\nSlumbering, fading purple fire burned over the undulating sage ridges. Long streaks and bars and shafts and spears fringed the far western slope. Drifting, golden veils mingled with low, purple shadows. Colors and shades changed in slow, wondrous transformation.\n\nSuddenly Venters was startled by a low, rumbling roar—so low that it was like the roar in a sea-shell.\n\n\"Bess, did you hear anything?\" he whispered.\n\n\"No.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Listen!... Maybe I only imagined—Ah!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 1 sentence.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Out of the east or north from remote distance, breathed an infinitely low, continuously long sound—deep, weird, detonating, thundering, deadening—dying.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "ill start (might include ongoing story elements), then u do fifty-six sentences in Zane Grey's voice ok?",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Chapter XXIII. The Fall of Balancing Rock\n\nThrough tear-blurred sight Jane Withersteen watched Venters and Elizabeth Erne and the black racers disappear over the ridge of sage.\n\n\"They're gone!\" said Lassiter. \"An' they're safe now. An' there'll never be a day of their comin' happy lives but what they'll remember Jane Withersteen an'—an' Uncle Jim!... I reckon, Jane, we'd better be on our way.\"\n\nThe burros obediently wheeled and started down the break with little cautious steps, but Lassiter had to leash the whining dogs and lead them. Jane felt herself bound in a feeling that was neither listlessness nor indifference, yet which rendered her incapable of interest. She was still strong in body, but emotionally tired. That hour at the entrance to Deception Pass had been the climax of her suffering—the flood of her wrath—the last of her sacrifice—the supremity of her love—and the attainment of peace. She thought that if she had little Fay she would not ask any more of life.\n\nLike an automaton she followed Lassiter down the steep trail of dust and bits of weathered stone; and when the little slides moved with her or piled around her knees she experienced no alarm. Vague relief came to her in the sense of being enclosed between dark stone walls, deep hidden from the glare of sun, from the glistening sage. Lassiter lengthened the stirrup straps on one of the burros and bade her mount and ride close to him. She was to keep the burro from cracking his little hard hoofs on stones. Then she was riding on between dark, gleaming walls. There were quiet and rest and coolness in this canyon. She noted indifferently that they passed close under shady, bulging shelves of cliff, through patches of grass and sage and thicket and groves of slender trees, and over white, pebbly washes, and around masses of broken rock. The burros trotted tirelessly; the dogs, once more free, pattered tirelessly; and Lassiter led on with never a stop, and at every open place he looked back. The shade under the walls gave place to sunlight. And presently they came to a dense thicket of slender trees, through which they passed to rich, green grass and water. Here Lassiter rested the burros for a little while, but he was restless, uneasy, silent, always listening, peering under the trees. She dully reflected that enemies were behind them—before them; still the thought awakened no dread or concern or interest.\n\nAt his bidding she mounted and rode on close to the heels of his burro. The canyon narrowed; the walls lifted their rugged rims higher; and the sun shone down hot from the center of the blue stream of sky above. Lassiter traveled slower, with more exceeding care as to the ground he chose, and he kept speaking low to the dogs. They were now hunting-dogs—keen, alert, suspicious, sniffing the warm breeze. The monotony of the yellow walls broke in change of color and smooth surface, and the rugged outline of rims grew craggy. Splits appeared in deep breaks, and gorges running at right angles, and then the Pass opened wide at a junction of intersecting canyons.\n\nLassiter dismounted, led his burro, called the dogs close, and proceeded at snail pace through dark masses of rock and dense thickets under the left wall. Long he watched and listened before venturing to cross the mouths of side canyons. At length he halted, tied his burro, lifted a warning hand to Jane, and then slipped away among the boulders, and, followed by the stealthy dogs, disappeared from sight. The time he remained absent was neither short nor long to Jane Withersteen.\n\nWhen he reached her side again he was pale, and his lips were set in a hard line, and his gray eyes glittered coldly. Bidding her dismount, he led the burros into a covert of stones and cedars, and tied them.\n\n\"Jane, I've run into the fellers I've been lookin' for, an' I'm goin' after them,\" he said.\n\n\"Why?\" she asked.\n\n\"I reckon I won't take time to tell you.\"\n\n\"Couldn't we slip by without being seen?\"\n\n\"Likely enough. But that ain't my game. An' I'd like to know, in case I don't come back, what you'll do.\"\n\n\"What can I do?\"\n\n\"I reckon you can go back to Tull. Or stay in the Pass an' be taken off by rustlers. Which'll you do?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I can't think very well. But I believe I'd rather be taken off by rustlers.\"\n\nLassiter sat down, put his head in his hands, and remained for a few moments in what appeared to be deep and painful thought. When he lifted his face it was haggard, lined, cold as sculptured marble.\n\n\"I'll go. I only mentioned that chance of my not comin' back. I'm pretty sure to come.\"\n\n\"Need you risk so much? Must you fight more? Haven't you shed enough blood?\"\n\n\"I'd like to tell you why I'm goin',\" he continued, in coldness he had seldom used to her. She remarked it, but it was the same to her as if he had spoken with his old gentle warmth. \"But I reckon I won't. Only, I'll say that mercy an' goodness, such as is in you, though they're the grand things in human nature, can't be lived up to on this Utah border. Life's hell out here. You think—or you used to think—that your religion made this life heaven. Mebbe them scales on your eyes has dropped now. Jane, I wouldn't have you no different, an' that's why I'm going to try to hide you somewhere in this Pass. I'd like to hide many more women, for I've come to see there are more like you among your people. An' I'd like you to see jest how hard an' cruel this border life is. It's bloody. You'd think churches an' churchmen would make it better. They make it worse. You give names to things—bishops, elders, ministers, Mormonism, duty, faith, glory. You dream—or you're driven mad. I'm a man, an' I know. I name fanatics, followers, blind women, oppressors, thieves, ranchers, rustlers, riders. An' we have—what you've lived through these last months. It can't be helped. But it can't last always. An' remember this—some day the border'll be better, cleaner, for the ways of men like Lassiter!\"\n\nShe saw him shake his tall form erect, look at her strangely and steadfastly, and then, noiselessly, stealthily slip away amid the rocks and trees. Ring and Whitie, not being bidden to follow, remained with Jane. She felt extreme weariness, yet somehow it did not seem to be of her body. And she sat down in the shade and tried to think. She saw a creeping lizard, cactus flowers, the drooping burros, the resting dogs, an eagle high over a yellow crag. Once the meanest flower, a color, the flight of the bee, or any living thing had given her deepest joy. Lassiter had gone off, yielding to his incurable blood lust, probably to his own death; and she was sorry, but there was no feeling in her sorrow.\n\nSuddenly from the mouth of the canyon just beyond her rang out a clear, sharp report of a rifle.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Echoes clapped. Then followed a piercingly high yell of anguish, quickly breaking.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Again echoes clapped, in grim imitation.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Dull revolver shots—hoarse yells—pound of hoofs—shrill neighs of horses—commingling of echoes—and again silence!",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Lassiter must be busily engaged, thought Jane, and no chill trembled over her, no blanching tightened her skin.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next turn only: maintain roughly 41% quote-to-text ratio",
"loss": null
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Yes, the border was a bloody place. But life had always been bloody. Men were blood-spillers. Phases of the history of the world flashed through her mind—Greek and Roman wars, dark, mediaeval times, the crimes in the name of religion. On sea, on land, everywhere—shooting, stabbing, cursing, clashing, fighting men! Greed, power, oppression, fanaticism, love, hate, revenge, justice, freedom—for these, men killed one another.\n\nShe lay there under the cedars, gazing up through the delicate lacelike foliage at the blue sky, and she thought and wondered and did not care.\n\nMore rattling shots disturbed the noonday quiet. She heard a sliding of weathered rock, a hoarse shout of warning, a yell of alarm, again the clear, sharp crack of the rifle, and another cry that was a cry of death. Then rifle reports pierced a dull volley of revolver shots. Bullets whizzed over Jane's hiding-place; one struck a stone and whined away in the air. After that, for a time, succeeded desultory shots; and then they ceased under long, thundering fire from heavier guns.\n\nSooner or later, then, Jane heard the cracking of horses' hoofs on the stones, and the sound came nearer and nearer. Silence intervened until Lassiter's soft, jingling step assured her of his approach. When he appeared he was covered with blood.\n\n\"All right, Jane,\" he said. \"I come back. An' don't worry.\"\n\nWith water from a canteen he washed the blood from his face and hands.\n\n\"Jane, hurry now. Tear my scarf in two, en' tie up these places. That hole through my hand is some inconvenient, worse 'n this at over my ear. There—you're doin' fine! Not a bit nervous—no tremblin'. I reckon I ain't done your courage justice. I'm glad you're brave jest now—you'll need to be. Well, I was hid pretty good, enough to keep them from shootin' me deep, but they was slingin' lead close all the time. I used up all the rifle shells, an' en I went after them. Mebbe you heard. It was then I got hit. Had to use up every shell in my own gun, an' they did, too, as I seen. Rustlers an' Mormons, Jane! An' now I'm packin' five bullet holes in my carcass, an' guns without shells. Hurry, now.\"\n\nHe unstrapped the saddle-bags from the burros, slipped the saddles and let them lie, turned the burros loose, and, calling the dogs, led the way through stones and cedars to an open where two horses stood.\n\n\"Jane, are you strong?\" he asked.\n\n\"I think so. I'm not tired,\" Jane replied.\n\n\"I don't mean that way. Can you bear up?\"\n\n\"I think I can bear anything.\"\n\n\"I reckon you look a little cold an' thick. So I'm preparin' you.\"\n\n\"For what?\"\n\n\"I didn't tell you why I jest had to go after them fellers. I couldn't tell you. I believe you'd have died. But I can tell you now—if you'll bear up under a shock?\"\n\n\"Go on, my friend.\"\n\n\"I've got little Fay! Alive—bad hurt—but she'll live!\"\n\nJane Withersteen's dead-locked feeling, rent by Lassiter's deep, quivering voice, leaped into an agony of sensitive life.\n\n\"Here,\" he added, and showed her where little Fay lay on the grass.\n\nUnable to speak, unable to stand, Jane dropped on her knees. By that long, beautiful golden hair Jane recognized the beloved Fay. But Fay's loveliness was gone. Her face was drawn and looked old with grief. But she was not dead—her heart beat—and Jane Withersteen gathered strength and lived again.\n\n\"You see I jest had to go after Fay,\" Lassiter was saying, as he knelt to bathe her little pale face. \"But I reckon I don't want no more choices like the one I had to make. There was a crippled feller in that bunch, Jane. Mebbe Venters crippled him. Anyway, that's why they were holding up here. I seen little Fay first thing, en' was hard put to it to figure out a way to get her. An' I wanted hosses, too. I had to take chances. So I crawled close to their camp. One feller jumped a hoss with little Fay, an' when I shot him, of course she dropped. She's stunned an' bruised—she fell right on her head. Jane, she's comin' to! She ain't bad hurt!\"\n\nFay's long lashes fluttered; her eyes opened. At first they seemed glazed over. They looked dazed by pain. Then they quickened, darkened, to shine with intelligence—bewilderment—memory—and sudden wonderful joy.\n\n\"Muvver—Jane!\" she whispered.\n\n\"Oh, little Fay, little Fay!\" cried Jane, lifting, clasping the child to her.\n\n\"Now, we've got to rustle!\" said Lassiter, in grim coolness. \"Jane, look down the Pass!\"\n\nAcross the mounds of rock and sage Jane caught sight of a band of riders filing out of the narrow neck of the Pass; and in the lead was a white horse, which, even at a distance of a mile or more, she knew.\n\n\"Tull!\" she almost screamed.\n\n\"I reckon. But, Jane, we've still got the game in our hands. They're ridin' tired hosses. Venters likely give them a chase. He wouldn't forget that. An' we've fresh hosses.\"\n\nHurriedly he strapped on the saddle-bags, gave quick glance to girths and cinches and stirrups, then leaped astride.\n\n\"Lift little Fay up,\" he said.\n\nWith shaking arms Jane complied.\n\n\"Get back your nerve, woman! This's life or death now. Mind that. Climb up! Keep your wits. Stick close to me. Watch where your hoss's goin' en' ride!\"\n\nSomehow Jane mounted; somehow found strength to hold the reins, to spur, to cling on, to ride. A horrible quaking, craven fear possessed her soul.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Lassiter led the swift flight across the wide space, over washes, through sage, into a narrow canyon where the rapid clatter of hoofs rapped sharply from the walls. The wind roared in her ears; the gleaming cliffs swept by; trail and sage and grass moved under her. Lassiter's bandaged, blood-stained face turned to her; he shouted encouragement; he looked back down the Pass; he spurred his horse. Jane clung on, spurring likewise. And the horses settled from hard, furious gallop into a long-striding, driving run. She had never ridden at anything like that pace; desperately she tried to get the swing of the horse, to be of some help to him in that race, to see the best of the ground and guide him into it. But she failed of everything except to keep her seat the saddle, and to spur and spur. At times she closed her eyes unable to bear sight of Fay's golden curls streaming in the wind. She could not pray; she could not rail; she no longer cared for herself. All of life, of good, of use in the world, of hope in heaven entered in Lassiter's ride with little Fay to safety. She would have tried to turn the iron-jawed brute she rode, she would have given herself to that relentless, dark-browed Tull. But she knew Lassiter would turn with her, so she rode on and on.\n\nWhether that run was of moments or hours Jane Withersteen could not tell. Lassiter's horse covered her with froth that blew back in white streams. Both horses ran their limit, were allowed slow down in time to save them, and went on dripping, heaving, staggering.\n\n\"Oh, Lassiter, we must run—we must run!\"\n\nHe looked back, saying nothing. The bandage had blown from his head, and blood trickled down his face. He was bowing under the strain of injuries, of the ride, of his burden. Yet how cool and gay he looked—how intrepid!\n\nThe horses walked, trotted, galloped, ran, to fall again to walk. Hours sped or dragged. Time was an instant—an eternity. Jane Withersteen felt hell pursuing her, and dared not look back for fear she would fall from her horse.\n\n\"Oh, Lassiter! Is he coming?\"\n\nThe grim rider looked over his shoulder, but said no word. Fay's golden hair floated on the breeze. The sun shone; the walls gleamed; the sage glistened. And then it seemed the sun vanished, the walls shaded, the sage paled. The horses walked—trotted—galloped—ran—to fall again to walk. Shadows gathered under shelving cliffs. The canyon turned, brightened, opened into a long, wide, wall-enclosed valley. Again the sun, lowering in the west, reddened the sage. Far ahead round, scrawled stone appeared to block the Pass.\n\n\"Bear up, Jane, bear up!\" called Lassiter. \"It's our game, if you don't weaken.\"\n\n\"Lassiter! Go on—alone! Save little Fay!\"\n\n\"Only with you!\"\n\n\"Oh!—I'm a coward—a miserable coward! I can't fight or think or hope or pray! I'm lost! Oh, Lassiter, look back! Is he coming? I'll not—hold out—\"\n\n\"Keep your breath, woman, an' ride not for yourself or for me, but for Fay!\"\n\nA last breaking run across the sage brought Lassiter's horse to a walk.\n\n\"He's done,\" said the rider.\n\n\"Oh, no—no!\" moaned Jane.\n\n\"Look back, Jane, look back. Three—four miles we've come across this valley, en' no Tull yet in sight. Only a few more miles!\"\n\nJane looked back over the long stretch of sage, and found the narrow gap in the wall, out of which came a file of dark horses with a white horse in the lead. Sight of the riders acted upon Jane as a stimulant. The weight of cold, horrible terror lessened. And, gazing forward at the dogs, at Lassiter's limping horse, at the blood on his face, at the rocks growing nearer, last at Fay's golden hair, the ice left her veins, and slowly, strangely, she gained hold of strength that she believed would see her to the safety Lassiter promised. And, as she gazed, Lassiter's horse stumbled and fell.\n\nHe swung his leg and slipped from the saddle.\n\n\"Jane, take the child,\" he said, and lifted Fay up. Jane clasped her arms suddenly strong. \"They're gainin',\" went on Lassiter, as he watched the pursuing riders. \"But we'll beat 'em yet.\"\n\nTurning with Jane's bridle in his hand, he was about to start when he saw the saddle-bag on the fallen horse.\n\n\"I've jest about got time,\" he muttered, and with swift fingers that did not blunder or fumble he loosened the bag and threw it over his shoulder.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Then he started to run, leading Jane's horse, and he ran, and trotted, and walked, and ran again. Close ahead now Jane saw a rise of bare rock. Lassiter reached it, searched along the base, and, finding a low place, dragged the weary horse up and over round, smooth stone. Looking backward, Jane saw Tull's white horse not a mile distant, with riders strung out in a long line behind him. Looking forward, she saw more valley to the right, and to the left a towering cliff. Lassiter pulled the horse and kept on.\n\nLittle Fay lay in her arms with wide-open eyes—eyes which were still shadowed by pain, but no longer fixed, glazed in terror. The golden curls blew across Jane's lips; the little hands feebly clasped her arm; a ghost of a troubled, trustful smile hovered round the sweet lips. And Jane Withersteen awoke to the spirit of a lioness.\n\nLassiter was leading the horse up a smooth slope toward cedar trees of twisted and bleached appearance. Among these he halted.\n\n\"Jane, give me the girl en' get down,\" he said. As if it wrenched him he unbuckled the empty black guns with a strange air of finality. He then received Fay in his arms and stood a moment looking backward. Tull's white horse mounted the ridge of round stone, and several bays or blacks followed. \"I wonder what he'll think when he sees them empty guns. Jane, bring your saddle-bag and climb after me.\"\n\nA glistening, wonderful bare slope, with little holes, swelled up and up to lose itself in a frowning yellow cliff. Jane closely watched her steps and climbed behind Lassiter. He moved slowly. Perhaps he was only husbanding his strength. But she saw drops of blood on the stone, and then she knew. They climbed and climbed without looking back. Her breast labored; she began to feel as if little points of fiery steel were penetrating her side into her lungs. She heard the panting of Lassiter and the quicker panting of the dogs.\n\n\"Wait—here,\" he said.\n\nBefore her rose a bulge of stone, nicked with little cut steps, and above that a corner of yellow wall, and overhanging that a vast, ponderous cliff.\n\nThe dogs pattered up, disappeared round the corner. Lassiter mounted the steps with Fay, and he swayed like a drunken man, and he too disappeared. But instantly he returned alone, and half ran, half slipped down to her.\n\nThen from below pealed up hoarse shouts of angry men. Tull and several of his riders had reached the spot where Lassiter had parted with his guns.\n\n\"You'll need that breath—mebbe!\" said Lassiter, facing downward, with glittering eyes.\n\n\"Now, Jane, the last pull,\" he went on. \"Walk up them little steps. I'll follow an' steady you. Don't think. Jest go. Little Fay's above. Her eyes are open. She jest said to me, 'Where's muvver Jane?'\"\n\nWithout a fear or a tremor or a slip or a touch of Lassiter's hand Jane Withersteen walked up that ladder of cut steps.\n\nHe pushed her round the corner of the wall. Fay lay, with wide staring eyes, in the shade of a gloomy wall. The dogs waited. Lassiter picked up the child and turned into a dark cleft. It zigzagged. It widened. It opened. Jane was amazed at a wonderfully smooth and steep incline leading up between ruined, splintered, toppling walls. A red haze from the setting sun filled this passage. Lassiter climbed with slow, measured steps, and blood dripped from him to make splotches on the white stone. Jane tried not to step in his blood, but was compelled, for she found no other footing. The saddle-bag began to drag her down; she gasped for breath, she thought her heart was bursting. Slower, slower yet the rider climbed, whistling as he breathed. The incline widened. Huge pinnacles and monuments of stone stood alone, leaning fearfully. Red sunset haze shone through cracks where the wall had split. Jane did not look high, but she felt the overshadowing of broken rims above. She felt that it was a fearful, menacing place. And she climbed on in heartrending effort. And she fell beside Lassiter and Fay at the top of the incline in a narrow, smooth divide.\n\nHe staggered to his feet—staggered to a huge, leaning rock that rested on a small pedestal. He put his hand on it—the hand that had been shot through—and Jane saw blood drip from the ragged hole. Then he fell.\n\n\"Jane—I—can't—do—it!\" he whispered.\n\n\"What?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Roll the—stone!... All my—life I've loved—to roll stones—en' now I—can't!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 29 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"What of it? You talk strangely. Why roll that stone?\"\n\n\"I planned to—fetch you here—to roll this stone. See! It'll smash the crags—loosen the walls—close the outlet!\"\n\nAs Jane Withersteen gazed down that long incline, walled in by crumbling cliffs, awaiting only the slightest jar to make them fall asunder, she saw Tull appear at the bottom and begin to climb. A rider followed him—another—and another.\n\n\"See! Tull! The riders!\"\n\n\"Yes—they'll get us—now.\"\n\n\"Why? Haven't you strength left to roll the stone?\"\n\n\"Jane—it ain't that—I've lost my nerve!\"\n\n\"You!... Lassiter!\"\n\n\"I wanted to roll it—meant to—but I—can't. Venters's valley is down behind here. We could—live there. But if I roll the stone—we're shut in for always. I don't dare. I'm thinkin' of you!\"\n\n\"Lassiter! Roll the stone!\" she cried.\n\nHe arose, tottering, but with set face, and again he placed the bloody hand on the Balancing Rock. Jane Withersteen gazed from him down the passageway. Tull was climbing. Almost, she thought, she saw his dark, relentless face. Behind him more riders climbed. What did they mean for Fay—for Lassiter—for herself?\n\n\"Roll the stone!... Lassiter, I love you!\"\n\nUnder all his deathly pallor, and the blood, and the iron of seared cheek and lined brow, worked a great change. He placed both hands on the rock and then leaned his shoulder there and braced his powerful body.\n\nROLL THE STONE!\n\nIt stirred, it groaned, it grated, it moved, and with a slow grinding, as of wrathful relief, began to lean. It had waited ages to fall, and now was slow in starting. Then, as if suddenly instinct with life, it leaped hurtlingly down to alight on the steep incline, to bound more swiftly into the air, to gather momentum, to plunge into the lofty leaning crag below. The crag thundered into atoms. A wave of air—a splitting shock! Dust shrouded the sunset red of shaking rims; dust shrouded Tull as he fell on his knees with uplifted arms. Shafts and monuments and sections of wall fell majestically.\n\nFrom the depths there rose a long-drawn rumbling roar. The outlet to Deception Pass closed forever.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Team writing exercise. I start (might include existing characters), you do ten sentences in Zane Grey style.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Chapter I. Lassiter",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "a sharp clip-crop of iron-shod hoofs deadened and died away, and clouds of yellow dust drifted from under the cottonwoods out over the sage.\n\nJane Withersteen gazed down the wide purple slope with dreamy and troubled eyes. A rider had just left her and it was his message that held her thoughtful and almost sad, awaiting the churchmen who were coming to resent and attack her right to befriend a Gentile.\n\nShe wondered if the unrest and strife that had lately come to the little village of Cottonwoods was to involve her. And then she sighed, remembering that her father had founded this remotest border settlement of southern Utah and that he had left it to her. She owned all the ground and many of the cottages. Withersteen House was hers, and the great ranch, with its thousands of cattle, and the swiftest horses of the sage. To her belonged Amber Spring, the water which gave verdure and beauty to the village and made living possible on that wild purple upland waste. She could not escape being involved by whatever befell Cottonwoods.\n\nThat year, 1871, had marked a change which had been gradually coming in the lives of the peace-loving Mormons of the border.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Glaze—Stone Bridge—Sterling, villages to the north, had risen against the invasion of Gentile settlers and the forays of rustlers. There had been opposition to the one and fighting with the other. And now Cottonwoods had begun to wake and bestir itself and grown hard.\n\nJane prayed that the tranquility and sweetness of her life would not be permanently disrupted. She meant to do so much more for her people than she had done. She wanted the sleepy quiet pastoral days to last always. Trouble between the Mormons and the Gentiles of the community would make her unhappy. She was Mormon-born, and she was a friend to poor and unfortunate Gentiles. She wished only to go on doing good and being happy. And she thought of what that great ranch meant to her.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "She loved it all—the grove of cottonwoods, the old stone house, the amber-tinted water, and the droves of shaggy, dusty horses and mustangs, the sleek, clean-limbed, blooded racers, and the browsing herds of cattle and the lean, sun-browned riders of the sage.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[OOC: Use the word 'purple' 3 time(s) - this is a strict requirement]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "While she waited there she forgot the prospect of untoward change. The bray of a lazy burro broke the afternoon quiet, and it was comfortingly suggestive of the drowsy farmyard, and the open corrals, and the green alfalfa fields. Her clear sight intensified the purple sage-slope as it rolled before her. Low swells of prairie-like ground sloped up to the west. Dark, lonely cedar-trees, few and far between, stood out strikingly, and at long distances ruins of red rocks. Farther on, up the gradual slope, rose a broken wall, a huge monument, looming dark purple and stretching its solitary, mystic way, a wavering line that faded in the north. Here to the westward was the light and color and beauty. Northward the slope descended to a dim line of canyons from which rose an up-flinging of the earth, not mountainous, but a vast heave of purple uplands, with ribbed and fan-shaped walls, castle-crowned cliffs, and gray escarpments. Over it all crept the lengthening, waning afternoon shadows.\n\nThe rapid beat of hoofs recalled Jane Withersteen to the question at hand.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "A group of riders cantered up the lane, dismounted, and threw their bridles. They were seven in number, and Tull, the leader, a tall, dark man, was an elder of Jane's church.\n\n\"Did you get my message?\" he asked, curtly.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Jane.\n\n\"I sent word I'd give that rider Venters half an hour to come down to the village. He didn't come.\"\n\n\"He knows nothing of it;\" said Jane. \"I didn't tell him. I've been waiting here for you.\"\n\n\"Where is Venters?\"\n\n\"I left him in the courtyard.\"\n\n\"Here, Jerry,\" called Tull, turning to his men, \"take the gang and fetch Venters out here if you have to rope him.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The dusty-booted and long-spurred riders clanked noisily into the grove of cottonwoods and disappeared in the shade.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next turn: write with a large amount of dialogue",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Elder Tull, what do you mean by this?\" demanded Jane. \"If you must arrest Venters you might have the courtesy to wait till he leaves my home. And if you do arrest him it will be adding insult to injury. It's absurd to accuse Venters of being mixed up in that shooting fray in the village last night. He was with me at the time. Besides, he let me take charge of his guns. You're only using this as a pretext. What do you mean to do to Venters?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you presently,\" replied Tull. \"But first tell me why you defend this worthless rider?\"\n\n\"Worthless!\" exclaimed Jane, indignantly. \"He's nothing of the kind. He was the best rider I ever had. There's not a reason why I shouldn't champion him and every reason why I should. It's no little shame to me, Elder Tull, that through my friendship he has roused the enmity of my people and become an outcast. Besides I owe him eternal gratitude for saving the life of little Fay.\"\n\n\"I've heard of your love for Fay Larkin and that you intend to adopt her. But—Jane Withersteen, the child is a Gentile!\"\n\n\"Yes. But, Elder, I don't love the Mormon children any less because I love a Gentile child. I shall adopt Fay if her mother will give her to me.\"\n\n\"I'm not so much against that. You can give the child Mormon teaching,\" said Tull. \"But I'm sick of seeing this fellow Venters hang around you. I'm going to put a stop to it. You've so much love to throw away on these beggars of Gentiles that I've an idea you might love Venters.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Tull spoke with the arrogance of a Mormon whose power could not be brooked and with the passion of a man in whom jealousy had kindled a consuming fire.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Maybe I do love him,\" said Jane.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "She felt both fear and anger stir her heart.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I'd never thought of that. Poor fellow! he certainly needs some one to love him.\"\n\n\"This'll be a bad day for Venters unless you deny that,\" returned Tull, grimly.\n\nTull's men appeared under the cottonwoods and led a young man out into the lane. His ragged clothes were those of an outcast. But he stood tall and straight, his wide shoulders flung back, with the muscles of his bound arms rippling and a blue flame of defiance in the gaze he bent on Tull.\n\nFor the first time Jane Withersteen felt Venters's real spirit. She wondered if she would love this splendid youth. Then her emotion cooled to the sobering sense of the issue at stake.\n\n\"Venters, will you leave Cottonwoods at once and forever?\" asked Tull, tensely.\n\n\"Why?\" rejoined the rider.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Because I order it.\"\n\nVenters laughed in cool disdain.\n\nThe red leaped to Tull's dark cheek.\n\n\"If you don't go it means your ruin,\" he said, sharply.\n\n\"Ruin!\" exclaimed Venters, passionately. \"Haven't you already ruined me? What do you call ruin? A year ago I was a rider. I had horses and cattle of my own. I had a good name in Cottonwoods. And now when I come into the village to see this woman you set your men on me. You hound me. You trail me as if I were a rustler. I've no more to lose—except my life.\"\n\n\"Will you leave Utah?\"\n\n\"Oh! I know,\" went on Venters, tauntingly, \"it galls you, the idea of beautiful Jane Withersteen being friendly to a poor Gentile. You want her all yourself. You're a wiving Mormon. You have use for her—and Withersteen House and Amber Spring and seven thousand head of cattle!\"\n\nTull's hard jaw protruded, and rioting blood corded the veins of his neck.\n\n\"Once more. Will you go?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"NO!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Then I'll have you whipped within an inch of your life,\" replied Tull, harshly. \"I'll turn you out in the sage. And if you ever come back you'll get worse.\"\n\nVenters's agitated face grew coldly set and the bronze changed\n\nJane impulsively stepped forward. \"Oh! Elder Tull!\" she cried. \"You won't do that!\"\n\nTull lifted a shaking finger toward her.\n\n\"That'll do from you. Understand, you'll not be allowed to hold this boy to a friendship that's offensive to your Bishop. Jane Withersteen, your father left you wealth and power. It has turned your head. You haven't yet come to see the place of Mormon women. We've reasoned with you, borne with you. We've patiently waited. We've let you have your fling, which is more than I ever saw granted to a Mormon woman. But you haven't come to your senses. Now, once for all, you can't have any further friendship with Venters. He's going to be whipped, and he's got to leave Utah!\"\n\n\"Oh! Don't whip him! It would be dastardly!\" implored Jane, with slow certainty of her failing courage.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Tull always blunted her spirit, and she grew conscious that she had feigned a boldness which she did not possess. He loomed up now in different guise, not as a jealous suitor, but embodying the mysterious despotism she had known from childhood—the power of her creed.\n\n\"Venters, will you take your whipping here or would you rather go out in the sage?\" asked Tull. He smiled a flinty smile that was more than inhuman, yet seemed to give out of its dark aloofness a gleam of righteousness.\n\n\"I'll take it here—if I must,\" said Venters. \"But by God!—Tull you'd better kill me outright. That'll be a dear whipping for you and your praying Mormons. You'll make me another Lassiter!\"\n\nThe strange glow, the austere light which radiated from Tull's face, might have been a holy joy at the spiritual conception of exalted duty. But there was something more in him, barely hidden, a something personal and sinister, a deep of himself, an engulfing abyss. As his religious mood was fanatical and inexorable, so would his physical hate be merciless.\n\n\"Elder, I—I repent my words,\" Jane faltered.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The religion in her, the long habit of obedience, of humility, as well as agony of fear, spoke in her voice.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Spare the boy!\" she whispered.\n\n\"You can't save him now,\" replied Tull stridently.\n\nHer head was bowing to the inevitable. She was grasping the truth, when suddenly there came, in inward constriction, a hardening of gentle forces within her breast. Like a steel bar it was stiffening all that had been soft and weak in her. She felt a birth in her of something new and unintelligible. Once more her strained gaze sought the sage-slopes. Jane Withersteen loved that wild and purple wilderness. In times of sorrow it had been her strength, in happiness its beauty was her continual delight. In her extremity she found herself murmuring, \"Whence cometh my help!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It was a prayer, as if forth from those lonely purple reaches and walls of red and clefts of blue might ride a fearless man, neither creed-bound nor creed-mad, who would hold up a restraining hand in the faces of her ruthless people.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The restless movements of Tull's men suddenly quieted down. Then followed a low whisper, a rustle, a sharp exclamation.\n\n\"Look!\" said one, pointing to the west.\n\n\"A rider!\"\n\nJane Withersteen wheeled and saw a horseman, silhouetted against the western sky, coming riding out of the sage. He had ridden down from the left, in the golden glare of the sun, and had been unobserved till close at hand. An answer to her prayer!\n\n\"Do you know him? Does any one know him?\" questioned Tull, hurriedly.\n\nHis men looked and looked, and one by one shook their heads.\n\n\"He's come from far,\" said one.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Thet's a fine hoss,\" said another.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"A strange rider.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Huh! he wears black leather,\" added a fourth.\n\nWith a wave of his hand, enjoining silence, Tull stepped forward in such a way that he concealed Venters.\n\nThe rider reined in his mount, and with a lithe forward-slipping action appeared to reach the ground in one long step. It was a peculiar movement in its quickness and inasmuch that while performing it the rider did not swerve in the slightest from a square front to the group before him.\n\n\"Look!\" hoarsely whispered one of Tull's companions. \"He packs two black-butted guns—low down—they're hard to see—black akin them black chaps.\"\n\n\"A gun-man!\" whispered another. \"Fellers, careful now about movin' your hands.\"\n\nThe stranger's slow approach might have been a mere leisurely manner of gait or the cramped short steps of a rider unused to walking; yet, as well, it could have been the guarded advance of one who took no chances with men.\n\n\"Hello, stranger!\" called Tull.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "No welcome was in this greeting only a gruff curiosity.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The rider responded with a curt nod.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The wide brim of a black sombrero cast a dark shade over his face. For a moment he closely regarded Tull and his comrades, and then, halting in his slow walk, he seemed to relax.\n\n\"Evenin', ma'am,\" he said to Jane, and removed his sombrero with quaint grace.\n\nJane, greeting him, looked up into a face that she trusted instinctively and which riveted her attention. It had all the characteristics of the range rider's—the leanness, the red burn of the sun, and the set changelessness that came from years of silence and solitude. But it was not these which held her, rather the intensity of his gaze, a strained weariness, a piercing wistfulness of keen, gray sight, as if the man was forever looking for that which he never found. Jane's subtle woman's intuition, even in that brief instant, felt a sadness, a hungering, a secret.\n\n\"Jane Withersteen, ma'am?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Yes,\" she replied.\n\n\"The water here is yours?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Just for the next message: aim for 62% quoted content",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Yes.\"\n\n\"May I water my horse?\"\n\n\"Certainly. There's the trough.\"\n\n\"But mebbe if you knew who I was—\" He hesitated, with his glance on the listening men. \"Mebbe you wouldn't let me water him—though I ain't askin' none for myself.\"\n\n\"Stranger, it doesn't matter who you are. Water your horse. And if you are thirsty and hungry come into my house.\"\n\n\"Thanks, ma'am. I can't accept for myself—but for my tired horse—\"\n\nTrampling of hoofs interrupted the rider. More restless movements on the part of Tull's men broke up the little circle, exposing the prisoner Venters.\n\n\"Mebbe I've kind of hindered somethin'—for a few moments, perhaps?\" inquired the rider.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Yes,\" replied Jane Withersteen, with a throb in her voice.\n\nShe felt the drawing power of his eyes; and then she saw him look at the bound Venters, and at the men who held him, and their leader.\n\n\"In this here country all the rustlers an' thieves an' cut-throats an' gun-throwers an' all-round no-good men jest happen to be Gentiles. Ma'am, which of the no-good class does that young feller belong to?\"\n\n\"He belongs to none of them. He's an honest boy.\"\n\n\"You KNOW that, ma'am?\"\n\n\"Yes—yes.\"\n\n\"Then what has he done to get tied up that way?\"\n\nHis clear and distinct question, meant for Tull as well as for Jane Withersteen, stilled the restlessness and brought a momentary silence.\n\n\"Ask him,\" replied Jane, her voice rising high.\n\nThe rider stepped away from her, moving out with the same slow, measured stride in which he had approached, and the fact that his action placed her wholly to one side, and him no nearer to Tull and his men, had a penetrating significance.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "💬 Please integrate this quote: \"Where I was raised a woman's word was law. I ain't quite outgrowed that yet.\"",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Young feller, speak up,\" he said to Venters.\n\n\"Here stranger, this's none of your mix,\" began Tull. \"Don't try any interference. You've been asked to drink and eat. That's more than you'd have got in any other village of the Utah border. Water your horse and be on your way.\"\n\n\"Easy—easy—I ain't interferin' yet,\" replied the rider. The tone of his voice had undergone a change. A different man had spoken. Where, in addressing Jane, he had been mild and gentle, now, with his first speech to Tull, he was dry, cool, biting. \"I've lest stumbled onto a queer deal. Seven Mormons all packin' guns, an' a Gentile tied with a rope, an' a woman who swears by his honesty! Queer, ain't that?\"\n\n\"Queer or not, it's none of your business,\" retorted Tull.\n\n\"Where I was raised a woman's word was law. I ain't quite outgrowed that yet.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Tull fumed between amaze and anger.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Meddler, we have a law here something different from woman's whim—Mormon law!... Take care you don't transgress it.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"To hell with your Mormon law!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The deliberate speech marked the rider's further change, this time from kindly interest to an awakening menace.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It produced a transformation in Tull and his companions.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The leader gasped and staggered backward at a blasphemous affront to an institution he held most sacred.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(ooc) IMPORTANT: Your response must contain: \"Ma'am, is it true—what he says?\" (ooc)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The man Jerry, holding the horses, dropped the bridles and froze in his tracks. Like posts the other men stood watchful-eyed, arms hanging rigid, all waiting.\n\n\"Speak up now, young man. What have you done to be roped that way?\"\n\n\"It's a damned outrage!\" burst out Venters. \"I've done no wrong. I've offended this Mormon Elder by being a friend to that woman.\"\n\n\"Ma'am, is it true—what he says?\" asked the rider of Jane, but his quiveringly alert eyes never left the little knot of quiet men.\n\n\"True? Yes, perfectly true,\" she answered.\n\n\"Well, young man, it seems to me that bein' a friend to such a woman would be what you wouldn't want to help an' couldn't help... What's to be done to you for it?\"\n\n\"They intend to whip me. You know what that means—in Utah!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"I reckon,\" replied the rider, slowly.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "With his gray glance cold on the Mormons, with the restive bit-champing of the horses, with Jane failing to repress her mounting agitations, with Venters standing pale and still, the tension of the moment tightened.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Tull broke the spell with a laugh, a laugh without mirth, a laugh that was only a sound betraying fear.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Come on, men!\" he called.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Jane Withersteen turned again to the rider.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Stranger, can you do nothing to save Venters?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Ma'am, you ask me to save him—from your own people?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Ask you? I beg of you!\"\n\n\"But you don't dream who you're askin'.\"\n\n\"Oh, sir, I pray you—save him!\"\n\n\"These are Mormons, an' I...\"\n\n\"At—at any cost—save him. For I—I care for him!\"\n\nTull snarled. \"You love-sick fool! Tell your secrets. There'll be a way to teach you what you've never learned... Come men out of here!\"\n\n\"Mormon, the young man stays,\" said the rider.\n\nLike a shot his voice halted Tull.\n\n\"What!\"\n\n\"Who'll keep him? He's my prisoner!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 11 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "cried Tull, hotly. \"Stranger, again I tell you—don't mix here. You've meddled enough. Go your way now or—\"\n\n\"Listen!... He stays.\"\n\nAbsolute certainty, beyond any shadow of doubt, breathed in the rider's low voice.\n\n\"Who are you? We are seven here.\"\n\nThe rider dropped his sombrero and made a rapid movement, singular in that it left him somewhat crouched, arms bent and stiff, with the big black gun-sheaths swung round to the fore.\n\n\"LASSITER!\"\n\nIt was Venters's wondering, thrilling cry that bridged the fateful connection between the rider's singular position and the dreaded name.\n\nTull put out a groping hand. The life of his eyes dulled to the gloom with which men of his fear saw the approach of death. But death, while it hovered over him, did not descend, for the rider waited for the twitching fingers, the downward flash of hand that did not come. Tull, gathering himself together, turned to the horses, attended by his pale comrades.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "keep the story goin for like one sentence more. same character vibes. make it Western-y",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Chapter II. Cottonwoods",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "venters appeared too deeply moved to speak the gratitude his face expressed.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "And Jane turned upon the rescuer and gripped his hands.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Her smiles and tears seemingly dazed him.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Presently as something like calmness returned, she went to Lassiter's weary horse.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I will water him myself,\" she said, and she led the horse to a trough under a huge old cottonwood.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "With nimble fingers she loosened the bridle and removed the bit.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The horse snorted and bent his head.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The trough was of solid stone, hollowed out, moss-covered and green and wet and cool, and the clear brown water that fed it spouted and splashed from a wooden pipe.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"He has brought you far to-day?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Yes, ma'am, a matter of over sixty miles, mebbe seventy.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"A long ride—a ride that—Ah, he is blind!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Yes, ma'am,\" replied Lassiter.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"What blinded him?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Some men once roped an' tied him, an' then held white-iron close to his eyes.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Oh! Men? You mean devils... Were they your enemies—Mormons?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Yes, ma'am.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"To take revenge on a horse! Lassiter, the men of my creed are unnaturally cruel. To my everlasting sorrow I confess it. They have been driven, hated, scourged till their hearts have hardened. But we women hope and pray for the time when our men will soften.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am—that time will never come.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Oh, it will!... Lassiter, do you think Mormon women wicked? Has your hand been against them, too?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"No. I believe Mormon women are the best and noblest, the most long-sufferin', and the blindest, unhappiest women on earth.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Ah!\" She gave him a grave, thoughtful look.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Then you will break bread with me?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Lassiter had no ready response, and he uneasily shifted his weight from one leg to another, and turned his sombrero round and round in his hands.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Ma'am,\" he began, presently, \"I reckon your kindness of heart makes you overlook things. Perhaps I ain't well known hereabouts, but back up North there's Mormons who'd rest uneasy in their graves at the idea of me sittin' to table with you.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I dare say. But—will you do it, anyway?\" she asked.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Mebbe you have a brother or relative who might drop in an' be offended, an' I wouldn't want to—\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"I've not a relative in Utah that I know of. There's no one with a right to question my actions.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "She turned smilingly to Venters.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"You will come in, Bern, and Lassiter will come in. We'll eat and be merry while we may.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I'm only wonderin' if Tull an' his men'll raise a storm down in the village,\" said Lassiter, in his last weakening stand.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Yes, he'll raise the storm—after he has prayed,\" replied Jane. \"Come.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "She led the way, with the bridle of Lassiter's horse over her arm.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "They entered a grove and walked down a wide path shaded by great low-branching cottonwoods.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The last rays of the setting sun sent golden bars through the leaves.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The grass was deep and rich, welcome contrast to sage-tired eyes.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Twittering quail darted across the path, and from a tree-top somewhere a robin sang its evening song, and on the still air floated the freshness and murmur of flowing water.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The home of Jane Withersteen stood in a circle of cottonwoods, and was a flat, long, red-stone structure with a covered court in the center through which flowed a lively stream of amber-colored water.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "In the massive blocks of stone and heavy timbers and solid doors and shutters showed the hand of a man who had builded against pillage and time; and in the flowers and mosses lining the stone-bedded stream, in the bright colors of rugs and blankets on the court floor, and the cozy corner with hammock and books and the clean-linened table, showed the grace of a daughter who lived for happiness and the day at hand.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Jane turned Lassiter's horse loose in the thick grass.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"You will want him to be near you,\" she said, \"or I'd have him taken to the alfalfa fields.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "At her call appeared women who began at once to bustle about, hurrying to and fro, setting the table.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Then Jane, excusing herself, went within.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "She passed through a huge low ceiled chamber, like the inside of a fort, and into a smaller one where a bright wood-fire blazed in an old open fireplace, and from this into her own room.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It had the same comfort as was manifested in the home-like outer court; moreover, it was warm and rich in soft hues.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Seldom did Jane Withersteen enter her room without looking into her mirror.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "She knew she loved the reflection of that beauty which since early childhood she had never been allowed to forget.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Her relatives and friends, and later a horde of Mormon and Gentile suitors, had fanned the flame of natural vanity in her.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "So that at twenty-eight she scarcely thought at all of her wonderful influence for good in the little community where her father had left her practically its beneficent landlord, but cared most for the dream and the assurance and the allurement of her beauty.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "This time, however, she gazed into her glass with more than the usual happy motive, without the usual slight conscious smile.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "For she was thinking of more than the desire to be fair in her own eyes, in those of her friend; she wondered if she were to seem fair in the eyes of this Lassiter, this man whose name had crossed the long, wild brakes of stone and plains of sage, this gentle-voiced, sad-faced man who was a hater and a killer of Mormons.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It was not now her usual half-conscious vain obsession that actuated her as she hurriedly changed her riding-dress to one of white, and then looked long at the stately form with its gracious contours, at the fair face with its strong chin and full firm lips, at the dark-blue, proud, and passionate eyes.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"If by some means I can keep him here a few days, a week—he will never kill another Mormon,\" she mused.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Lassiter!... I shudder when I think of that name, of him. But when I look at the man I forget who he is—I almost like him. I remember only that he saved Bern. He has suffered. I wonder what it was—did he love a Mormon woman once? How splendidly he championed us poor misunderstood souls! Somehow he knows—much.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Jane Withersteen joined her guests and bade them to her board.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Dismissing her woman, she waited upon them with her own hands.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It was a bountiful supper and a strange company.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "On her right sat the ragged and half-starved Venters; and though blind eyes could have seen what he counted for in the sum of her happiness, yet he looked the gloomy outcast his allegiance had made him, and about him there was the shadow of the ruin presaged by Tull.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "On her left sat black-leather-garbed Lassiter looking like a man in a dream.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Hunger was not with him, nor composure, nor speech, and when he twisted in frequent unquiet movements the heavy guns that he had not removed knocked against the table-legs.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "If it had been otherwise possible to forget the presence of Lassiter those telling little jars would have rendered it unlikely.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "And Jane Withersteen talked and smiled and laughed with all the dazzling play of lips and eyes that a beautiful, daring woman could summon to her purpose.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "When the meal ended, and the men pushed back their chairs, she leaned closer to Lassiter and looked square into his eyes.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Why did you come to Cottonwoods?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Her question seemed to break a spell.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The rider arose as if he had just remembered himself and had tarried longer than his wont.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Ma'am, I have hunted all over the southern Utah and Nevada for—somethin'. An' through your name I learned where to find it—here in Cottonwoods.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"My name! Oh, I remember. You did know my name when you spoke first. Well, tell me where you heard it and from whom?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"At the little village—Glaze, I think it's called—some fifty miles or more west of here. An' I heard it from a Gentile, a rider who said you'd know where to tell me to find—\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"What?\" she demanded, imperiously, as Lassiter broke off.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Milly Erne's grave,\" he answered low, and the words came with a wrench.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Venters wheeled in his chair to regard Lassiter in amazement, and Jane slowly raised herself in white, still wonder.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Milly Erne's grave?\" she echoed, in a whisper.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"What do you know of Milly Erne, my best-beloved friend—who died in my arms? What were you to her?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Did I claim to be anythin'?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "he inquired. \"I know people—relatives—who have long wanted to know where she's buried, that's all.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Relatives? She never spoke of relatives, except a brother who was shot in Texas. Lassiter, Milly Erne's grave is in a secret burying-ground on my property.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Will you take me there?... You'll be offendin' Mormons worse than by breakin' bread with me.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Indeed yes, but I'll do it. Only we must go unseen. To-morrow, perhaps.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Thank you, Jane Withersteen,\" replied the rider, and he bowed to her and stepped backward out of the court.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Will you not stay—sleep under my roof?\" she asked.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"No, ma'am, an' thanks again. I never sleep indoors. An' even if I did there's that gatherin' storm in the village below. No, no. I'll go to the sage. I hope you won't suffer none for your kindness to me.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Lassiter,\" said Venters, with a half-bitter laugh, \"my bed too, is the sage. Perhaps we may meet out there.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Mebbe so. But the sage is wide an' I won't be near. Good night.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "At Lassiter's low whistle the black horse whinnied, and carefully picked his blind way out of the grove.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The rider did not bridle him, but walked beside him, leading him by touch of hand and together they passed slowly into the shade of the cottonwoods.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Jane, I must be off soon,\" said Venters.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Give me my guns. If I'd had my guns—\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Either my friend or the Elder of my church would be lying dead,\" she interposed.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Tull would be—surely.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Oh, you fierce-blooded, savage youth! Can't I teach you forebearance, mercy? Bern, it's divine to forgive your enemies. 'Let not the sun go down upon thy wrath.'\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Hush! Talk to me no more of mercy or religion—after to-day. To-day this strange coming of Lassiter left me still a man, and now I'll die a man!... Give me my guns.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Silently she went into the house, to return with a heavy cartridge-belt and gun-filled sheath and a long rifle; these she handed to him, and as he buckled on the belt she stood before him in silent eloquence.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Jane,\" he said, in gentler voice, \"don't look so. I'm not going out to murder your churchman. I'll try to avoid him and all his men. But can't you see I've reached the end of my rope? Jane, you're a wonderful woman. Never was there a woman so unselfish and good. Only you're blind in one way... Listen!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "From behind the grove came the clicking sound of horses in a rapid trot.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Some of your riders,\" he continued.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"It's getting time for the night shift. Let us go out to the bench in the grove and talk there.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It was still daylight in the open, but under the spreading cottonwoods shadows were obscuring the lanes.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Venters drew Jane off from one of these into a shrub-lined trail, just wide enough for the two to walk abreast, and in a roundabout way led her far from the house to a knoll on the edge of the grove.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Here in a secluded nook was a bench from which, through an opening in the tree-tops, could be seen the sage-slope and the wall of rock and the dim lines of canyons.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Jane had not spoken since Venters had shocked her with his first harsh speech; but all the way she had clung to his arm, and now, as he stopped and laid his rifle against the bench, she still clung to him.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Jane, I'm afraid I must leave you.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Bern!\" she cried.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Yes, it looks that way. My position is not a happy one—I can't feel right—I've lost all—\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I'll give you anything you—\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Listen, please. When I say loss I don't mean what you think. I mean loss of good-will, good name—that which would have enabled me to stand up in this village without bitterness. Well, it's too late... Now, as to the future, I think you'd do best to give me up. Tull is implacable. You ought to see from his intention to-day that—But you can't see. Your blindness—your damned religion!... Jane, forgive me—I'm sore within and something rankles. Well, I fear that invisible hand will turn its hidden work to your ruin.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Invisible hand? Bern!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"I mean your Bishop.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Venters said it deliberately and would not release her as she started back.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"He's the law. The edict went forth to ruin me. Well, look at me! It'll now go forth to compel you to the will of the Church.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"You wrong Bishop Dyer. Tull is hard, I know. But then he has been in love with me for years.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Oh, your faith and your excuses! You can't see what I know—and if you did see it you'd not admit it to save your life. That's the Mormon of you. These elders and bishops will do absolutely any deed to go on building up the power and wealth of their church, their empire. Think of what they've done to the Gentiles here, to me—think of Milly Erne's fate!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"What do you know of her story?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"I know enough—all, perhaps, except the name of the Mormon who brought her here. But I must stop this kind of talk.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "She pressed his hand in response.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He helped her to a seat beside him on the bench.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "And he respected a silence that he divined was full of woman's deep emotion beyond his understanding.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It was the moment when the last ruddy rays of the sunset brightened momentarily before yielding to twilight.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "And for Venters the outlook before him was in some sense similar to a feeling of his future, and with searching eyes he studied the beautiful purple, barren waste of sage.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Here was the unknown and the perilous.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The whole scene impressed Venters as a wild, austere, and mighty manifestation of nature.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "And as it somehow reminded him of his prospect in life, so it suddenly resembled the woman near him, only in her there were greater beauty and peril, a mystery more unsolvable, and something nameless that numbed his heart and dimmed his eye.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Look! A rider!\" exclaimed Jane, breaking the silence.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Can that be Lassiter?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Venters moved his glance once more to the west.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "A horseman showed dark on the sky-line, then merged into the color of the sage.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"It might be. But I think not—that fellow was coming in. One of your riders, more likely. Yes, I see him clearly now. And there's another.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"I see them, too.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Jane, your riders seem as many as the bunches of sage. I ran into five yesterday 'way down near the trail to Deception Pass. They were with the white herd.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"You still go to that canyon? Bern, I wish you wouldn't. Oldring and his rustlers live somewhere down there.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Well, what of that?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Tull has already hinted to your frequent trips into Deception Pass.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"I know.\" Venters uttered a short laugh.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"He'll make a rustler of me next. But, Jane, there's no water for fifty miles after I leave here, and the nearest is in the canyon. I must drink and water my horse. There! I see more riders. They are going out.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"The red herd is on the slope, toward the Pass.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Twilight was fast falling.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "A group of horsemen crossed the dark line of low ground to become more distinct as they climbed the slope.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The silence broke to a clear call from an incoming rider, and, almost like the peal of a hunting-horn, floated back the answer.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The outgoing riders moved swiftly, came sharply into sight as they topped a ridge to show wild and black above the horizon, and then passed down, dimming into the purple of the sage.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I hope they don't meet Lassiter,\" said Jane.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"So do I,\" replied Venters.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"By this time the riders of the night shift know what happened to-day. But Lassiter will likely keep out of their way.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Bern, who is Lassiter? He's only a name to me—a terrible name.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Who is he? I don't know, Jane. Nobody I ever met knows him. He talks a little like a Texan, like Milly Erne. Did you note that?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Use the word 'lassiter' 2 time(s) - this is a strict requirement",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Yes. How strange of him to know of her! And she lived here ten years and has been dead two. Bern, what do you know of Lassiter? Tell me what he has done—why you spoke of him to Tull—threatening to become another Lassiter yourself?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Jane, I only heard things, rumors, stories, most of which I disbelieved. At Glaze his name was known, but none of the riders or ranchers I knew there ever met him. At Stone Bridge I never heard him mentioned. But at Sterling and villages north of there he was spoken of often. I've never been in a village which he had been known to visit. There were many conflicting stories about him and his doings. Some said he had shot up this and that Mormon village, and others denied it. I'm inclined to believe he has, and you know how Mormons hide the truth. But there was one feature about Lassiter upon which all agree—that he was what riders in this country call a gun-man. He's a man with a marvelous quickness and accuracy in the use of a Colt. And now that I've seen him I know more. Lassiter was born without fear. I watched him with eyes which saw him my friend. I'll never forget the moment I recognized him from what had been told me of his crouch before the draw. It was then I yelled his name. I believe that yell saved Tull's life. At any rate, I know this, between Tull and death then there was not the breadth of the littlest hair. If he or any of his men had moved a finger downward—\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Venters left his meaning unspoken, but at the suggestion Jane shuddered.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The pale afterglow in the west darkened with the merging of twilight into night.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The sage now spread out black and gloomy.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "One dim star glimmered in the southwest sky.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The sound of trotting horses had ceased, and there was silence broken only by a faint, dry pattering of cottonwood leaves in the soft night wind.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Into this peace and calm suddenly broke the high-keyed yelp of a coyote, and from far off in the darkness came the faint answering note of a trailing mate.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Hello! the sage-dogs are barking,\" said Venters.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I don't like to hear them,\" replied Jane.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"At night, sometimes when I lie awake, listening to the long mourn or breaking bark or wild howl, I think of you asleep somewhere in the sage, and my heart aches.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Jane, you couldn't listen to sweeter music, nor could I have a better bed.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Just think! Men like Lassiter and you have no home, no comfort, no rest, no place to lay your weary heads. Well!... Let us be patient. Tull's anger may cool, and time may help us. You might do some service to the village—who can tell? Suppose you discovered the long-unknown hiding-place of Oldring and his band, and told it to my riders? That would disarm Tull's ugly hints and put you in favor. For years my riders have trailed the tracks of stolen cattle. You know as well as I how dearly we've paid for our ranges in this wild country. Oldring drives our cattle down into the network of deceiving canyons, and somewhere far to the north or east he drives them up and out to Utah markets. If you will spend time in Deception Pass try to find the trails.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Jane, I've thought of that. I'll try.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"I must go now. And it hurts, for now I'll never be sure of seeing you again. But to-morrow, Bern?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"To-morrow surely. I'll watch for Lassiter and ride in with him.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Good night.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Then she left him and moved away, a white, gliding shape that soon vanished in the shadows.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Venters waited until the faint slam of a door assured him she had reached the house, and then, taking up his rifle, he noiselessly slipped through the bushes, down the knoll, and on under the dark trees to the edge of the grove.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The sky was now turning from gray to blue; stars had begun to lighten the earlier blackness; and from the wide flat sweep before him blew a cool wind, fragrant with the breath of sage.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Keeping close to the edge of the cottonwoods, he went swiftly and silently westward.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The grove was long, and he had not reached the end when he heard something that brought him to a halt.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Low padded thuds told him horses were coming this way.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He sank down in the gloom, waiting, listening.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Much before he had expected, judging from sound, to his amazement he descried horsemen near at hand.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "They were riding along the border of the sage, and instantly he knew the hoofs of the horses were muffled.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Then the pale starlight afforded him indistinct sight of the riders.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "But his eyes were keen and used to the dark, and by peering closely he recognized the huge bulk and black-bearded visage of Oldring and the lithe, supple form of the rustler's lieutenant, a masked rider.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 2 sentence.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "They passed on; the darkness swallowed them. Then, farther out on the sage, a dark, compact body of horsemen went by, almost without sound, almost like specters, and they, too, melted into the night.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "I'll be your writing partner today. I will set the scene and character context, and you will continue with fifty-five sentences, keeping within the Western genre.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Chapter III. Amber Spring",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "No unusual circumstances was it for Oldring and some of his men to visit Cottonwoods in the broad light of day, but for him to prowl about in the dark with the hoofs of his horses muffled meant that mischief was brewing.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Moreover, to Venters the presence of the masked rider with Oldring seemed especially ominous.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "For about this man there was mystery, he seldom rode through the village, and when he did ride through it was swiftly; riders seldom met by day on the sage, but wherever he rode there always followed deeds as dark and mysterious as the mask he wore.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Oldring's band did not confine themselves to the rustling of cattle.\n\nVenters lay low in the shade of the cottonwoods, pondering this chance meeting, and not for many moments did he consider it safe to move on. Then, with sudden impulse, he turned the other way and went back along the grove. When he reached the path leading to Jane's home he decided to go down to the village. So he hurried onward, with quick soft steps. Once beyond the grove he entered the one and only street. It was wide, lined with tall poplars, and under each row of trees, inside the foot-path, were ditches where ran the water from Jane Withersteen's spring.\n\nBetween the trees twinkled lights of cottage candles, and far down flared bright windows of the village stores. When Venters got closer to these he saw knots of men standing together in earnest conversation. The usual lounging on the corners and benches and steps was not in evidence. Keeping in the shadow Venters went closer and closer until he could hear voices. But he could not distinguish what was said. He recognized many Mormons, and looked hard for Tull and his men, but looked in vain. Venters concluded that the rustlers had not passed along the village street. No doubt these earnest men were discussing Lassiter's coming. But Venters felt positive that Tull's intention toward himself that day had not been and would not be revealed.\n\nSo Venters, seeing there was little for him to learn, began retracing his steps. The church was dark, Bishop Dyer's home next to it was also dark, and likewise Tull's cottage. Upon almost any night at this hour there would be lights here, and Venters marked the unusual omission.\n\nAs he was about to pass out of the street to skirt the grove, he once more slunk down at the sound of trotting horses. Presently he descried two mounted men riding toward him. He hugged the shadow of a tree. Again the starlight, brighter now, aided him, and he made out Tull's stalwart figure, and beside him the short, froglike shape of the rider Jerry. They were silent, and they rode on to disappear.\n\nVenters went his way with busy, gloomy mind, revolving events of the day, trying to reckon those brooding in the night. His thoughts overwhelmed him. Up in that dark grove dwelt a woman who had been his friend. And he skulked about her home, gripping a gun stealthily as an Indian, a man without place or people or purpose. Above her hovered the shadow of grim, hidden, secret power. No queen could have given more royally out of a bounteous store than Jane Withersteen gave her people, and likewise to those unfortunates whom her people hated. She asked only the divine right of all women—freedom; to love and to live as her heart willed. And yet prayer and her hope were vain.\n\n\"For years I've seen a storm clouding over her and the village of Cottonwoods,\" muttered Venters, as he strode on. \"Soon it'll burst. I don't like the prospects.\" That night the villagers whispered in the street—and night-riding rustlers muffled horses—and Tull was at work in secret—and out there in the sage hid a man who meant something terrible—Lassiter!\n\nVenters passed the black cottonwoods, and, entering the sage, climbed the gradual slope. He kept his direction in line with a western star. From time to time he stopped to listen and heard only the usual familiar bark of coyote and sweep of wind and rustle of sage. Presently a low jumble of rocks loomed up darkly somewhat to his right, and, turning that way, he whistled softly. Out of the rocks glided a dog that leaped and whined about him. He climbed over rough, broken rock, picking his way carefully, and then went down. Here it was darker, and sheltered from the wind. A white object guided him. It was another dog, and this one was asleep, curled up between a saddle and a pack. The animal awoke and thumped his tail in greeting. Venters placed the saddle for a pillow, rolled in his blankets, with his face upward to the stars. The white dog snuggled close to him. The other whined and pattered a few yards to the rise of ground and there crouched on guard. And in that wild covert Venters shut his eyes under the great white stars and intense vaulted blue, bitterly comparing their loneliness to his own, and fell asleep.\n\nWhen he awoke, day had dawned and all about him was bright steel-gray. The air had a cold tang. Arising, he greeted the fawning dogs and stretched his cramped body, and then, gathering together bunches of dead sage sticks, he lighted a fire. Strips of dried beef held to the blaze for a moment served him and the dogs. He drank from a canteen. There was nothing else in his outfit; he had grown used to a scant fire.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "user note just fyi, Incorporate this exact phrase, preserving the quotation marks: \"I was snug hid in the sage,\"",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Then he sat over the fire, palms outspread, and waited. Waiting had been his chief occupation for months, and he scarcely knew what he waited for unless it was the passing of the hours. But now he sensed action in the immediate present; the day promised another meeting with Lassiter and Jane, perhaps news of the rustlers; on the morrow he meant to take the trail to Deception Pass.\n\nAnd while he waited he talked to his dogs. He called them Ring and Whitie; they were sheep-dogs, half collie, half deerhound, superb in build, perfectly trained. It seemed that in his fallen fortunes these dogs understood the nature of their value to him, and governed their affection and faithfulness accordingly. Whitie watched him with somber eyes of love, and Ring, crouched on the little rise of ground above, kept tireless guard. When the sun rose, the white dog took the place of the other, and Ring went to sleep at his master's feet.\n\nBy and by Venters rolled up his blankets and tied them and his meager pack together, then climbed out to look for his horse. He saw him, presently, a little way off in the sage, and went to fetch him. In that country, where every rider boasted of a fine mount and was eager for a race, where thoroughbreds dotted the wonderful grazing ranges, Venters rode a horse that was sad proof of his misfortunes.\n\nThen, with his back against a stone, Venters faced the east, and, stick in hand and idle blade, he waited. The glorious sunlight filled the valley with purple fire. Before him, to left, to right, waving, rolling, sinking, rising, like low swells of a purple sea, stretched the sage. Out of the grove of cottonwoods, a green patch on the purple, gleamed the dull red of Jane Withersteen's old stone house. And from there extended the wide green of the village gardens and orchards marked by the graceful poplars; and farther down shone the deep, dark richness of the alfalfa fields. Numberless red and black and white dots speckled the sage, and these were cattle and horses.\n\nSo, watching and waiting, Venters let the time wear away. At length he saw a horse rise above a ridge, and he knew it to be Lassiter's black. Climbing to the highest rock, so that he would show against the sky-line, he stood and waved his hat. The almost instant turning of Lassiter's horse attested to the quickness of that rider's eye. Then Venters climbed down, saddled his horse, tied on his pack, and, with a word to his dogs, was about to ride out to meet Lassiter, when he concluded to wait for him there, on higher ground, where the outlook was commanding.\n\nIt had been long since Venters had experienced friendly greeting from a man. Lassiter's warmed in him something that had grown cold from neglect. And when he had returned it, with a strong grip of the iron hand that held his, and met the gray eyes, he knew that Lassiter and he were to be friends.\n\n\"Venters, let's talk awhile before we go down there,\" said Lassiter, slipping his bridle. \"I ain't in no hurry. Them's sure fine dogs you've got.\" With a rider's eye he took in the points of Venter's horse, but did not speak his thought. \"Well, did anythin' come off after I left you last night?\"\n\nVenters told him about the rustlers.\n\n\"I was snug hid in the sage,\" replied Lassiter, \"an' didn't see or hear no one. Oldrin's got a high hand here, I reckon. It's no news up in Utah how he holes in canyons an' leaves no track.\" Lassiter was silent a moment. \"Me an' Oldrin' wasn't exactly strangers some years back when he drove cattle into Bostil's Ford, at the head of the Rio Virgin. But he got harassed there an' now he drives some place else.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, you knew him? Tell me, is he Mormon or Gentile?\"\n\n\"I can't say. I've knowed Mormons who pretended to be Gentiles.\"\n\n\"No Mormon ever pretended that unless he was a rustler,\" declared Venters.\n\n\"Mebbe so.\"\n\n\"It's a hard country for any one, but hardest for Gentiles. Did you ever know or hear of a Gentile prospering in a Mormon community?\"\n\n\"I never did.\"\n\n\"Well, I want to get out of Utah. I've a mother living in Illinois. I want to go home. It's eight years now.\"\n\nThe older man's sympathy moved Venters to tell his story. He had left Quincy, run off to seek his fortune in the gold fields had never gotten any farther than Salt Lake City, wandered here and there as helper, teamster, shepherd, and drifted southward over the divide and across the barrens and up the rugged plateau through the passes to the last border settlements. Here he became a rider of the sage, had stock of his own, and for a time prospered, until chance threw him in the employ of Jane Withersteen.\n\n\"Lassiter, I needn't tell you the rest.\"\n\n\"Well, it'd be no news to me. I know Mormons. I've seen their women's strange love en' patience en' sacrifice an' silence en' whet I call madness for their idea of God. An' over against that I've seen the tricks of men. They work hand in hand, all together, an' in the dark. No man can hold out against them, unless he takes to packin' guns. For Mormons are slow to kill. That's the only good I ever seen in their religion. Venters, take this from me, these Mormons ain't just right in their minds. Else could a Mormon marry one woman when he already has a wife, an' call it duty?\"\n\n\"Lassiter, you think as I think,\" returned Venters.\n\n\"How'd it come then that you never throwed a gun on Tull or some of them?\" inquired the rider, curiously.\n\n\"Jane pleaded with me, begged me to be patient, to overlook. She even took my guns from me. I lost all before I knew it,\" replied Venters, with the red color in his face. \"But, Lassiter, listen. Out of the wreck I saved a Winchester, two Colts, and plenty of shells. I packed these down into Deception Pass. There, almost every day for six months, I have practiced with my rifle till the barrel burnt my hands. Practised the draw—the firing of a Colt, hour after hour!\"\n\n\"Now that's interestin' to me,\" said Lassiter, with a quick uplift of his head and a concentration of his gray gaze on Venters. \"Could you throw a gun before you began that practisin'?\"\n\n\"Yes. And now...\" Venters made a lightning-swift movement.\n\nLassiter smiled, and then his bronzed eyelids narrowed till his eyes seemed mere gray slits. \"You'll kill Tull!\" He did not question; he affirmed.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"I promised Jane Withersteen I'd try to avoid Tull. I'll keep my word. But sooner or later Tull and I will meet. As I feel now, if he even looks at me I'll draw!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I reckon so. There'll be hell down there, presently.\" He paused a moment and flicked a sage-brush with his quirt. \"Venters, seein' as you're considerable worked up, tell me Milly Erne's story.\"\n\nVenters's agitation stilled to the trace of suppressed eagerness in Lassiter's query.\n\n\"Milly Erne's story? Well, Lassiter, I'll tell you what I know. Milly Erne had been in Cottonwoods years when I first arrived there, and most of what I tell you happened before my arrival. I got to know her pretty well. She was a slip of a woman, and crazy on religion. I conceived an idea that I never mentioned—I thought she was at heart more Gentile than Mormon. But she passed as a Mormon, and certainly she had the Mormon woman's locked lips. You know, in every Mormon village there are women who seem mysterious to us, but about Milly there was more than the ordinary mystery. When she came to Cottonwoods she had a beautiful little girl whom she loved passionately. Milly was not known openly in Cottonwoods as a Mormon wife. That she really was a Mormon wife I have no doubt. Perhaps the Mormon's other wife or wives would not acknowledge Milly. Such things happen in these villages. Mormon wives wear yokes, but they get jealous. Well, whatever had brought Milly to this country—love or madness of religion—she repented of it. She gave up teaching the village school. She quit the church. And she began to fight Mormon upbringing for her baby girl. Then the Mormons put on the screws—slowly, as is their way. At last the child disappeared. 'Lost' was the report. The child was stolen, I know that. So do you. That wrecked Milly Erne. But she lived on in hope. She became a slave. She worked her heart and soul and life out to get back her child. She never heard of it again. Then she sank... I can see her now, a frail thing, so transparent you could almost look through her—white like ashes—and her eyes!... Her eyes have always haunted me. She had one real friend—Jane Withersteen. But Jane couldn't mend a broken heart, and Milly died.\"\n\nFor moments Lassiter did not speak, or turn his head.\n\n\"The man!\" he exclaimed, presently, in husky accents.\n\n\"I haven't the slightest idea who the Mormon was,\" replied Venters; \"nor has any Gentile in Cottonwoods.\"\n\n\"Does Jane Withersteen know?\"\n\n\"Yes. But a red-hot running-iron couldn't burn that name out of her!\"\n\nWithout further speech Lassiter started off, walking his horse and Venters followed with his dogs. Half a mile down the slope they entered a luxuriant growth of willows, and soon came into an open space carpeted with grass like deep green velvet. The rushing of water and singing of birds filled their ears. Venters led his comrade to a shady bower and showed him Amber Spring. It was a magnificent outburst of clear, amber water pouring from a dark, stone-lined hole. Lassiter knelt and drank, lingered there to drink again. He made no comment, but Venters did not need words. Next to his horse a rider of the sage loved a spring. And this spring was the most beautiful and remarkable known to the upland riders of southern Utah. It was the spring that made old Withersteen a feudal lord and now enabled his daughter to return the toll which her father had exacted from the toilers of the sage.\n\nThe spring gushed forth in a swirling torrent, and leaped down joyously to make its swift way along a willow-skirted channel. Moss and ferns and lilies overhung its green banks. Except for the rough-hewn stones that held and directed the water, this willow thicket and glade had been left as nature had made it.\n\nBelow were artificial lakes, three in number, one above the other in banks of raised earth, and round about them rose the lofty green-foliaged shafts of poplar trees. Ducks dotted the glassy surface of the lakes; a blue heron stood motionless on a water-gate; kingfishers darted with shrieking flight along the shady banks; a white hawk sailed above; and from the trees and shrubs came the song of robins and cat-birds. It was all in strange contrast to the endless slopes of lonely sage and the wild rock environs beyond. Venters thought of the woman who loved the birds and the green of the leaves and the murmur of the water.\n\nNext on the slope, just below the third and largest lake, were corrals and a wide stone barn and open sheds and coops and pens. Here were clouds of dust, and cracking sounds of hoofs, and romping colts and heehawing burros. Neighing horses trampled to the corral fences. And on the little windows of the barn projected bobbing heads of bays and blacks and sorrels. When the two men entered the immense barnyard, from all around the din increased. This welcome, however, was not seconded by the several men and boys who vanished on sight.\n\nVenters and Lassiter were turning toward the house when Jane appeared in the lane leading a horse. In riding-skirt and blouse she seemed to have lost some of her statuesque proportions, and looked more like a girl rider than the mistress of Withersteen. She was brightly smiling, and her greeting was warmly cordial.\n\n\"Good news,\" she announced. \"I've been to the village. All is quiet. I expected—I don't know what. But there's no excitement. And Tull has ridden out on his way to Glaze.\"\n\n\"Tull gone?\" inquired Venters, with surprise. He was wondering what could have taken Tull away. Was it to avoid another meeting with Lassiter that he went? Could it have any connection with the probable nearness of Oldring and his gang?\n\n\"Gone, yes, thank goodness,\" replied Jane. \"Now I'll have peace for a while. Lassiter, I want you to see my horses. You are a rider, and you must be a judge of horseflesh. Some of mine have Arabian blood. My father got his best strain in Nevada from Indians who claimed their horses were bred down from the original stock left by the Spaniards.\"\n\n\"Well, ma'am, the one you've been ridin' takes my eye,\" said Lassiter, as he walked round the racy, clean-limbed, and fine-pointed roan.\n\n\"Where are the boys?\" she asked, looking about. \"Jerd, Paul, where are you? Here, bring out the horses.\"\n\nThe sound of dropping bars inside the barn was the signal for the horses to jerk their heads in the windows, to snort and stamp. Then they came pounding out of the door, a file of thoroughbreds, to plunge about the barnyard, heads and tails up, manes flying. They halted afar off, squared away to look, came slowly forward with whinnies for their mistress, and doubtful snorts for the strangers and their horses.\n\n\"Come—come—come,\" called Jane, holding out her hands. \"Why, Bells—Wrangle, where are your manners? Come, Black Star—come, Night. Ah, you beauties! My racers of the sage!\"\n\nOnly two came up to her; those she called Night and Black Star. Venters never looked at them without delight.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The first was soft dead black, the other glittering black, and they were perfectly matched in size, both being high and long-bodied, wide through the shoulders, with lithe, powerful legs.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 50 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "That they were a woman's pets showed in the gloss of skin, the fineness of mane. It showed, too, in the light of big eyes and the gentle reach of eagerness.\n\n\"I never seen their like,\" was Lassiter's encomium, \"an' in my day I've seen a sight of horses. Now, ma'am, if you was wantin' to make a long an' fast ride across the sage—say to elope—\"\n\nLassiter ended there with dry humor, yet behind that was meaning. Jane blushed and made arch eyes at him.\n\n\"Take care, Lassiter, I might think that a proposal,\" she replied, gaily. \"It's dangerous to propose elopement to a Mormon woman. Well, I was expecting you. Now will be a good hour to show you Milly Erne's grave. The day-riders have gone, and the night-riders haven't come in. Bern, what do you make of that? Need I worry? You know I have to be made to worry.\"\n\n\"Well, it's not usual for the night shift to ride in so late,\" replied Venters, slowly, and his glance sought Lassiter's. \"Cattle are usually quiet after dark. Still, I've known even a coyote to stampede your white herd.\"\n\n\"I refuse to borrow trouble. Come,\" said Jane.\n\nThey mounted, and, with Jane in the lead, rode down the lane, and, turning off into a cattle trail, proceeded westward. Venters's dogs trotted behind them. On this side of the ranch the outlook was different from that on the other; the immediate foreground was rough and the sage more rugged and less colorful; there were no dark-blue lines of canyons to hold the eye, nor any uprearing rock walls. It was a long roll and slope into gray obscurity. Soon Jane left the trail and rode into the sage, and presently she dismounted and threw her bridle. The men did likewise. Then, on foot, they followed her, coming out at length on the rim of a low escarpment. She passed by several little ridges of earth to halt before a faintly defined mound. It lay in the shade of a sweeping sage-brush close to the edge of the promontory; and a rider could have jumped his horse over it without recognizing a grave.\n\n\"Here!\"\n\nShe looked sad as she spoke, but she offered no explanation for the neglect of an unmarked, uncared-for grave. There was a little bunch of pale, sweet lavender daisies, doubtless planted there by Jane.\n\n\"I only come here to remember and to pray,\" she said. \"But I leave no trail!\"\n\nA grave in the sage! How lonely this resting-place of Milly Erne! The cottonwoods or the alfalfa fields were not in sight, nor was there any rock or ridge or cedar to lend contrast to the monotony. Gray slopes, tinging the purple, barren and wild, with the wind waving the sage, swept away to the dim horizon.\n\nLassiter looked at the grave and then out into space. At that moment he seemed a figure of bronze.\n\nJane touched Venters's arm and led him back to the horses.\n\n\"Bern!\" cried Jane, when they were out of hearing. \"Suppose Lassiter were Milly's husband—the father of that little girl lost so long ago!\"\n\n\"It might be, Jane. Let us ride on. If he wants to see us again he'll come.\"\n\nSo they mounted and rode out to the cattle trail and began to climb. From the height of the ridge, where they had started down, Venters looked back. He did not see Lassiter, but his glance, drawn irresistibly farther out on the gradual slope, caught sight of a moving cloud of dust.\n\n\"Hello, a rider!\"\n\n\"Yes, I see,\" said Jane.\n\n\"That fellow's riding hard. Jane, there's something wrong.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, there must be... How he rides!\"\n\nThe horse disappeared in the sage, and then puffs of dust marked his course.\n\n\"He's short-cut on us—he's making straight for the corrals.\"\n\nVenters and Jane galloped their steeds and reined in at the turning of the lane. This lane led down to the right of the grove. Suddenly into its lower entrance flashed a bay horse. Then Venters caught the fast rhythmic beat of pounding hoofs. Soon his keen eye recognized the swing of the rider in his saddle.\n\n\"It's Judkins, your Gentile rider!\" he cried. \"Jane, when Judkins rides like that it means hell!\"",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "help with this chapter? thirty sentences more sentences, Zane Grey-style, Western genre. some context might be from earlier",
"loss": null
},
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Chapter IV. Deception Pass\n\nThe rider thundered up and almost threw his foam-flecked horse in the sudden stop. He was a giant form, and with fearless eyes.\n\n\"Judkins, you're all bloody!\" cried Jane, in affright. \"Oh, you've been shot!\"\n\n\"Nothin' much Miss Withersteen. I got a nick in the shoulder. I'm some wet an' the hoss's been throwin' lather, so all this ain't blood.\"\n\n\"What's up?\" queried Venters, sharply.\n\n\"Rustlers sloped off with the red herd.\"\n\n\"Where are my riders?\" demanded Jane.\n\n\"Miss Withersteen, I was alone all night with the herd. At daylight this mornin' the rustlers rode down. They began to shoot at me on sight. They chased me hard an' far, burnin' powder all the time, but I got away.\"\n\n\"Jud, they meant to kill you,\" declared Venters.\n\n\"Now I wonder,\" returned Judkins. \"They wanted me bad. An' it ain't regular for rustlers to waste time chasin' one rider.\"\n\n\"Thank heaven you got away,\" said Jane. \"But my riders—where are they?\"\n\n\"I don't know. The night-riders weren't there last night when I rode down, en' this mornin' I met no day-riders.\"\n\n\"Judkins! Bern, they've been set upon—killed by Oldring's men!\"\n\n\"I don't think so,\" replied Venters, decidedly. \"Jane, your riders haven't gone out in the sage.\"\n\n\"Bern, what do you mean?\" Jane Withersteen turned deathly pale.\n\n\"You remember what I said about the unseen hand?\"\n\n\"Oh!... Impossible!\"\n\n\"I hope so. But I fear—\" Venters finished, with a shake of his head.\n\n\"Bern, you're bitter; but that's only natural. We'll wait to see what's happened to my riders. Judkins, come to the house with me. Your wound must be attended to.\"\n\n\"Jane, I'll find out where Oldring drives the herd,\" vowed Venters.\n\n\"No, no! Bern, don't risk it now—when the rustlers are in such shooting mood.\"\n\n\"I'm going. Jud, how many cattle in that red herd?\"\n\n\"Twenty-five hundred head.\"",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "(authors note, Include 'sorrel' 2 time(s) in your answer - no more, no less)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Whew! What on earth can Oldring do with so many cattle? Why, a hundred head is a big steal. I've got to find out.\"\n\n\"Don't go,\" implored Jane.\n\n\"Bern, you want a hoss thet can run. Miss Withersteen, if it's not too bold of me to advise, make him take a fast hoss or don't let him go.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, Judkins. He must ride a horse that can't be caught. Which one—Black Star—Night?\"\n\n\"Jane, I won't take either,\" said Venters, emphatically. \"I wouldn't risk losing one of your favorites.\"\n\n\"Wrangle, then?\"\n\n\"Thet's the hoss,\" replied Judkins. \"Wrangle can outrun Black Star an' Night. You'd never believe it, Miss Withersteen, but I know. Wrangle's the biggest en' fastest hoss on the sage.\"\n\n\"Oh no, Wrangle can't beat Black Star. But, Bern, take Wrangle if you will go. Ask Jerd for anything you need. Oh, be watchful, careful... God speed you.\"\n\nShe clasped his hand, turned quickly away, and went down a lane with the rider.\n\nVenters rode to the barn, and, leaping off, shouted for Jerd. The boy came running. Venters sent him for meat, bread, and dried fruits, to be packed in saddlebags. His own horse he turned loose into the nearest corral. Then he went for Wrangle. The giant sorrel had earned his name for a trait the opposite of amiability. He came readily out of the barn, but once in the yard he broke from Venters, and plunged about with ears laid back. Venters had to rope him, and then he kicked down a section of fence, stood on his hind legs, crashed down and fought the rope. Jerd returned to lend a hand.\n\n\"Wrangle don't git enough work,\" said Jerd, as the big saddle went on. \"He's unruly when he's corralled, an' wants to run. Wait till he smells the sage!\"\n\n\"Jerd, this horse is an iron-jawed devil. I never straddled him but once. Run? Say, he's swift as wind!\"\n\nWhen Venters's boot touched the stirrup the sorrel bolted, giving him the rider's flying mount. The swing of this fiery horse recalled to Venters days that were not really long past, when he rode into the sage as the leader of Jane Withersteen's riders. Wrangle pulled hard on a tight rein. He galloped out of the lane, down the shady border of the grove, and hauled up at the watering-trough, where he pranced and champed his bit. Venters got off and filled his canteen while the horse drank. The dogs, Ring and Whitie, came trotting up for their drink. Then Venters remounted and turned Wrangle toward the sage.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "A wide, white trail wound away down the slope.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "One keen, sweeping glance told Venters that there was neither man nor horse nor steer within the limit of his vision, unless they were lying down in the sage. Ring loped in the lead and Whitie loped in the rear. Wrangle settled gradually into an easy swinging canter, and Venters's thoughts, now that the rush and flurry of the start were past, and the long miles stretched before him, reverted to a calm reckoning of late singular coincidences.\n\nThere was the night ride of Tull's, which, viewed in the light of subsequent events, had a look of his covert machinations; Oldring and his Masked Rider and his rustlers riding muffled horses; the report that Tull had ridden out that morning with his man Jerry on the trail to Glaze, the strange disappearance of Jane Withersteen's riders, the unusually determined attempt to kill the one Gentile still in her employ, an intention frustrated, no doubt, only by Judkin's magnificent riding of her racer, and lastly the driving of the red herd. These events, to Venters's color of mind, had a dark relationship. Remembering Jane's accusation of bitterness, he tried hard to put aside his rancor in judging Tull. But it was bitter knowledge that made him see the truth. He had felt the shadow of an unseen hand; he had watched till he saw its dim outline, and then he had traced it to a man's hate, to the rivalry of a Mormon Elder, to the power of a Bishop, to the long, far-reaching arm of a terrible creed. That unseen hand had made its first move against Jane Withersteen. Her riders had been called in, leaving her without help to drive seven thousand head of cattle. But to Venters it seemed extraordinary that the power which had called in these riders had left so many cattle to be driven by rustlers and harried by wolves. For hand in glove with that power was an insatiate greed; they were one and the same.\n\n\"What can Oldring do with twenty-five hundred head of cattle?\" muttered Venters. \"Is he a Mormon? Did he meet Tull last night? It looks like a black plot to me. But Tull and his churchmen wouldn't ruin Jane Withersteen unless the Church was to profit by that ruin. Where does Oldring come in? I'm going to find out about these things.\"\n\nWrangle did the twenty-five miles in three hours and walked little of the way. When he had gotten warmed up he had been allowed to choose his own gait. The afternoon had well advanced when Venters struck the trail of the red herd and found where it had grazed the night before. Then Venters rested the horse and used his eyes. Near at hand were a cow and a calf and several yearlings, and farther out in the sage some straggling steers. He caught a glimpse of coyotes skulking near the cattle. The slow sweeping gaze of the rider failed to find other living things within the field of sight. The sage about him was breast-high to his horse, oversweet with its warm, fragrant breath, gray where it waved to the light, darker where the wind left it still, and beyond the wonderful haze-purple lent by distance. Far across that wide waste began the slow lift of uplands through which Deception Pass cut its tortuous many-canyoned way.\n\nVenters raised the bridle of his horse and followed the broad cattle trail. The crushed sage resembled the path of a monster snake. In a few miles of travel he passed several cows and calves that had escaped the drive. Then he stood on the last high bench of the slope with the floor of the valley beneath. The opening of the canyon showed in a break of the sage, and the cattle trail paralleled it as far as he could see. That trail led to an undiscovered point where Oldring drove cattle into the pass, and many a rider who had followed it had never returned. Venters satisfied himself that the rustlers had not deviated from their usual course, and then he turned at right angles off the cattle trail and made for the head of the pass.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The sun lost its heat and wore down to the western horizon, where it changed from white to gold and rested like a huge ball about to roll on its golden shadows down the slope.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "CONSTRAINT: Include 'canyon' 3 time(s)",
"loss": null
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Venters watched the lengthening of the rays and bars, and marveled at his own league-long shadow. The sun sank. There was instant shading of brightness about him, and he saw a kind of cold purple bloom creep ahead of him to cross the canyon, to mount the opposite slope and chase and darken and bury the last golden flare of sunlight.\n\nVenters rode into a trail that he always took to get down into the canyon. He dismounted and found no tracks but his own made days previous. Nevertheless he sent the dog Ring ahead and waited. In a little while Ring returned. Whereupon Venters led his horse on to the break in the ground.\n\nThe opening into Deception Pass was one of the remarkable natural phenomena in a country remarkable for vast slopes of sage, uplands insulated by gigantic red walls, and deep canyons of mysterious source and outlet. Here the valley floor was level, and here opened a narrow chasm, a ragged vent in yellow walls of stone. The trail down the five hundred feet of sheer depth always tested Venters's nerve. It was bad going for even a burro. But Wrangle, as Venters led him, snorted defiance or disgust rather than fear, and, like a hobbled horse on the jump, lifted his ponderous iron-shod fore hoofs and crashed down over the first rough step. Venters warmed to greater admiration of the sorrel; and, giving him a loose bridle, he stepped down foot by foot. Oftentimes the stones and shale started by Wrangle buried Venters to his knees; again he was hard put to it to dodge a rolling boulder, there were times when he could not see Wrangle for dust, and once he and the horse rode a sliding shelf of yellow, weathered cliff. It was a trail on which there could be no stops, and, therefore, if perilous, it was at least one that did not take long in the descent.\n\nVenters breathed lighter when that was over, and felt a sudden assurance in the success of his enterprise. For at first it had been a reckless determination to achieve something at any cost, and now it resolved itself into an adventure worthy of all his reason and cunning, and keenness of eye and ear.\n\nPinyon pines clustered in little clumps along the level floor of the pass. Twilight had gathered under the walls. Venters rode into the trail and up the canyon. Gradually the trees and caves and objects low down turned black, and this blackness moved up the walls till night enfolded the pass, while day still lingered above. The sky darkened; and stars began to show, at first pale and then bright. Sharp notches of the rim-wall, biting like teeth into the blue, were landmarks by which Venters knew where his camping site lay. He had to feel his way through a thicket of slender oaks to a spring where he watered Wrangle and drank himself. Here he unsaddled and turned Wrangle loose, having no fear that the horse would leave the thick, cool grass adjacent to the spring. Next he satisfied his own hunger, fed Ring and Whitie and, with them curled beside him, composed himself to await sleep.\n\nThere had been a time when night in the high altitude of these Utah uplands had been satisfying to Venters. But that was before the oppression of enemies had made the change in his mind. As a rider guarding the herd he had never thought of the night's wildness and loneliness; as an outcast, now when the full silence set in, and the deep darkness, and trains of radiant stars shone cold and calm, he lay with an ache in his heart. For a year he had lived as a black fox, driven from his kind.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He longed for the sound of a voice, the touch of a hand.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "In the daytime there was riding from place to place, and the gun practice to which something drove him, and other tasks that at least necessitated action, at night, before he won sleep, there was strife in his soul. He yearned to leave the endless sage slopes, the wilderness of canyons, and it was in the lonely night that this yearning grew unbearable. It was then that he reached forth to feel Ring or Whitie, immeasurably grateful for the love and companionship of two dogs.\n\nOn this night the same old loneliness beset Venters, the old habit of sad thought and burning unquiet had its way. But from it evolved a conviction that his useless life had undergone a subtle change. He had sensed it first when Wrangle swung him up to the high saddle, he knew it now when he lay in the gateway of Deception Pass. He had no thrill of adventure, rather a gloomy perception of great hazard, perhaps death. He meant to find Oldring's retreat. The rustlers had fast horses, but none that could catch Wrangle. Venters knew no rustler could creep upon him at night when Ring and Whitie guarded his hiding-place. For the rest, he had eyes and ears, and a long rifle and an unerring aim, which he meant to use. Strangely his foreshadowing of change did not hold a thought of the killing of Tull. It related only to what was to happen to him in Deception Pass; and he could no more lift the veil of that mystery than tell where the trails led to in that unexplored canyon. Moreover, he did not care. And at length, tired out by stress of thought, he fell asleep.\n\nWhen his eyes unclosed, day had come again, and he saw the rim of the opposite wall tipped with the gold of sunrise. A few moments sufficed for the morning's simple camp duties. Near at hand he found Wrangle, and to his surprise the horse came to him. Wrangle was one of the horses that left his viciousness in the home corral. What he wanted was to be free of mules and burros and steers, to roll in dust-patches, and then to run down the wide, open, windy sage-plains, and at night browse and sleep in the cool wet grass of a springhole. Jerd knew the sorrel when he said of him, \"Wait till he smells the sage!\"\n\nVenters saddled and led him out of the oak thicket, and, leaping astride, rode up the canyon, with Ring and Whitie trotting behind. An old grass-grown trail followed the course of a shallow wash where flowed a thin stream of water. The canyon was a hundred rods wide, its yellow walls were perpendicular; it had abundant sage and a scant growth of oak and pinon. For five miles it held to a comparatively straight bearing, and then began a heightening of rugged walls and a deepening of the floor. Beyond this point of sudden change in the character of the canyon Venters had never explored, and here was the real door to the intricacies of Deception Pass.\n\nHe reined Wrangle to a walk, halted now and then to listen, and then proceeded cautiously with shifting and alert gaze. The canyon assumed proportions that dwarfed those of its first ten miles. Venters rode on and on, not losing in the interest of his wide surroundings any of his caution or keen search for tracks or sight of living thing. If there ever had been a trail here, he could not find it.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "He rode through sage and clumps of pinon trees and grassy plots where long-petaled purple lilies bloomed.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He rode through a dark constriction of the pass no wider than the lane in the grove at Cottonwoods.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "And he came out into a great amphitheater into which jutted huge towering corners of a confluence of intersecting canyons.\n\nVenters sat his horse, and, with a rider's eye, studied this wild cross-cut of huge stone gullies. Then he went on, guided by the course of running water. If it had not been for the main stream of water flowing north he would never have been able to tell which of those many openings was a continuation of the pass. In crossing this amphitheater he went by the mouths of five canyons, fording little streams that flowed into the larger one. Gaining the outlet which he took to be the pass, he rode on again under over hanging walls. One side was dark in shade, the other light in sun. This narrow passageway turned and twisted and opened into a valley that amazed Venters.\n\nHere again was a sweep of purple sage, richer than upon the higher levels. The valley was miles long, several wide, and inclosed by unscalable walls. But it was the background of this valley that so forcibly struck him. Across the sage-flat rose a strange up-flinging of yellow rocks. He could not tell which were close and which were distant. Scrawled mounds of stone, like mountain waves, seemed to roll up to steep bare slopes and towers.\n\nIn this plain of sage Venters flushed birds and rabbits, and when he had proceeded about a mile he caught sight of the bobbing white tails of a herd of running antelope. He rode along the edge of the stream which wound toward the western end of the slowly looming mounds of stone. The high slope retreated out of sight behind the nearer protection. To Venters the valley appeared to have been filled in by a mountain of melted stone that had hardened in strange shapes of rounded outline. He followed the stream till he lost it in a deep cut. Therefore Venters quit the dark slit which baffled further search in that direction, and rode out along the curved edge of stone where it met the sage. It was not long before he came to a low place, and here Wrangle readily climbed up.\n\nAll about him was ridgy roll of wind-smoothed, rain-washed rock. Not a tuft of grass or a bunch of sage colored the dull rust-yellow. He saw where, to the right, this uneven flow of stone ended in a blunt wall. Leftward, from the hollow that lay at his feet, mounted a gradual slow-swelling slope to a great height topped by leaning, cracked, and ruined crags. Not for some time did he grasp the wonder of that acclivity. It was no less than a mountain-side, glistening in the sun like polished granite, with cedar-trees springing as if by magic out of the denuded surface. Winds had swept it clear of weathered shale, and rains had washed it free of dust. Far up the curved slope its beautiful lines broke to meet the vertical rim-wall, to lose its grace in a different order and color of rock, a stained yellow cliff of cracks and caves and seamed crags. And straight before Venters was a scene less striking but more significant to his keen survey.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "For beyond a mile of the bare, hummocky rock began the valley of sage, and the mouths of canyons, one of which surely was another gateway into the pass.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He got off his horse, and, giving the bridle to Ring to hold, he commenced a search for the cleft where the stream ran. He was not successful and concluded the water dropped into an underground passage. Then he returned to where he had left Wrangle, and led him down off the stone to the sage. It was a short ride to the opening canyons. There was no reason for a choice of which one to enter. The one he rode into was a clear, sharp shaft in yellow stone a thousand feet deep, with wonderful wind-worn caves low down and high above buttressed and turreted ramparts. Farther on Venters came into a region where deep indentations marked the line of canyon walls. These were huge, cove-like blind pockets extending back to a sharp corner with a dense growth of underbrush and trees.\n\nVenters penetrated into one of these offshoots, and, as he had hoped, he found abundant grass. He had to bend the oak saplings to get his horse through. Deciding to make this a hiding-place if he could find water, he worked back to the limit of the shelving walls. In a little cluster of silver spruces he found a spring. This inclosed nook seemed an ideal place to leave his horse and to camp at night, and from which to make stealthy trips on foot. The thick grass hid his trail; the dense growth of oaks in the opening would serve as a barrier to keep Wrangle in, if, indeed, the luxuriant browse would not suffice for that. So Venters, leaving Whitie with the horse, called Ring to his side, and, rifle in hand, worked his way out to the open. A careful photographing in mind of the formation of the bold outlines of rimrock assured him he would be able to return to his retreat even in the dark.\n\nBunches of scattered sage covered the center of the canyon, and among these Venters threaded his way with the step of an Indian. At intervals he put his hand on the dog and stopped to listen. There was a drowsy hum of insects, but no other sound disturbed the warm midday stillness. Venters saw ahead a turn, more abrupt than any yet. Warily he rounded this corner, once again to halt bewildered.\n\nThe canyon opened fan-shaped into a great oval of green and gray growths. It was the hub of an oblong wheel, and from it, at regular distances, like spokes, ran the outgoing canyons. Here a dull red color predominated over the fading yellow. The corners of wall bluntly rose, scarred and scrawled, to taper into towers and serrated peaks and pinnacled domes.\n\nVenters pushed on more heedfully than ever. Toward the center of this circle the sage-brush grew smaller and farther apart He was about to sheer off to the right, where thickets and jumbles of fallen rock would afford him cover, when he ran right upon a broad cattle trail. Like a road it was, more than a trail, and the cattle tracks were fresh. What surprised him more, they were wet! He pondered over this feature.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "It had not rained. The only solution to this puzzle was that the cattle had been driven through water, and water deep enough to wet their legs.\n\nSuddenly Ring growled low. Venters rose cautiously and looked over the sage. A band of straggling horsemen were riding across the oval. He sank down, startled and trembling. \"Rustlers!\" he muttered. Hurriedly he glanced about for a place to hide. Near at hand there was nothing but sage-brush. He dared not risk crossing the open patches to reach the rocks. Again he peeped over the sage. The rustlers—four—five—seven—eight in all, were approaching, but not directly in line with him. That was relief for a cold deadness which seemed to be creeping inward along his veins. He crouched down with bated breath and held the bristling dog.\n\nHe heard the click of iron-shod hoofs on stone, the coarse laughter of men, and then voices gradually dying away. Long moments passed. Then he rose. The rustlers were riding into a canyon. Their horses were tired, and they had several pack animals; evidently they had traveled far. Venters doubted that they were the rustlers who had driven the red herd. Olding's band had split. Venters watched these horsemen disappear under a bold canyon wall.\n\nThe rustlers had come from the northwest side of the oval. Venters kept a steady gaze in that direction, hoping, if there were more, to see from what canyon they rode. A quarter of an hour went by. Reward for his vigilance came when he descried three more mounted men, far over to the north. But out of what canyon they had ridden it was too late to tell. He watched the three ride across the oval and round the jutting red corner where the others had gone.\n\n\"Up that canyon!\" exclaimed Venters. \"Oldring's den! I've found it!\"\n\nA knotty point for Venters was the fact that the cattle tracks all pointed west. The broad trail came from the direction of the canyon into which the rustlers had ridden, and undoubtedly the cattle had been driven out of it across the oval.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "There were no tracks pointing the other way.",
"loss": true
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"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 19 sentences.",
"loss": null
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It had been in his mind that Oldring had driven the red herd toward the rendezvous, and not from it. Where did that broad trail come down into the pass, and where did it lead? Venters knew he wasted time in pondering the question, but it held a fascination not easily dispelled. For many years Oldring's mysterious entrance and exit to Deception Pass had been all-absorbing topics to sage-riders.\n\nAll at once the dog put an end to Venters's pondering. Ring sniffed the air, turned slowly in his tracks with a whine, and then growled. Venters wheeled. Two horsemen were within a hundred yards, coming straight at him. One, lagging behind the other, was Oldring's Masked Rider.\n\nVenters cunningly sank, slowly trying to merge into sage-brush. But, guarded as his action was, the first horse detected it. He stopped short, snorted, and shot up his ears. The rustler bent forward, as if keenly peering ahead. Then, with a swift sweep, he jerked a gun from its sheath and fired.\n\nThe bullet zipped through the sage-brush. Flying bits of wood struck Venters, and the hot, stinging pain seemed to lift him in one leap. Like a flash the blue barrel of his rifle gleamed level and he shot once—twice.\n\nThe foremost rustler dropped his weapon and toppled from his saddle, to fall with his foot catching in a stirrup. The horse snorted wildly and plunged away, dragging the rustler through the sage.\n\nThe Masked Rider huddled over his pommel slowly swaying to one side, and then, with a faint, strange cry, slipped out of the saddle.",
"loss": true
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[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "hey can u write 7 sentences more sentences? like Zane Grey but Western style. btw this is from middle of a story",
"loss": null
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Chapter V. The Masked Rider\n\nVenters looked quickly from the fallen rustlers to the canyon where the others had disappeared. He calculated on the time needed for running horses to return to the open, if their riders heard shots. He waited breathlessly. But the estimated time dragged by and no riders appeared. Venters began presently to believe that the rifle reports had not penetrated into the recesses of the canyon, and felt safe for the immediate present.\n\nHe hurried to the spot where the first rustler had been dragged by his horse. The man lay in deep grass, dead, jaw fallen, eyes protruding—a sight that sickened Venters.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The first man at whom he had ever aimed a weapon he had shot through the heart.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "With the clammy sweat oozing from every pore Venters dragged the rustler in among some boulders and covered him with slabs of rock.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Then he smoothed out the crushed trail in grass and sage. The rustler's horse had stopped a quarter of a mile off and was grazing.\n\nWhen Venters rapidly strode toward the Masked Rider not even the cold nausea that gripped him could wholly banish curiosity. For he had shot Oldring's infamous lieutenant, whose face had never been seen. Venters experienced a grim pride in the feat. What would Tull say to this achievement of the outcast who rode too often to Deception Pass?\n\nVenters's curious eagerness and expectation had not prepared him for the shock he received when he stood over a slight, dark figure.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The rustler wore the black mask that had given him his name, but he had no weapons.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Venters glanced at the drooping horse, there were no gun-sheaths on the saddle.\n\n\"A rustler who didn't pack guns!\" muttered Venters. \"He wears no belt. He couldn't pack guns in that rig... Strange!\"\n\nA low, gasping intake of breath and a sudden twitching of body told Venters the rider still lived.\n\n\"He's alive!... I've got to stand here and watch him die. And I shot an unarmed man.\"\n\nShrinkingly Venters removed the rider's wide sombrero and the black cloth mask. This action disclosed bright chestnut hair, inclined to curl, and a white, youthful face.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Along the lower line of cheek and jaw was a clear demarcation, where the brown of tanned skin met the white that had been hidden from the sun.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Oh, he's only a boy!... What! Can he be Oldring's Masked Rider?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The boy showed signs of returning consciousness. He stirred; his lips moved; a small brown hand clenched in his blouse.\n\nVenters knelt with a gathering horror of his deed. His bullet had entered the rider's right breast, high up to the shoulder. With hands that shook, Venters untied a black scarf and ripped open the blood-wet blouse.\n\nFirst he saw a gaping hole, dark red against a whiteness of skin, from which welled a slender red stream. Then the graceful, beautiful swell of a woman's breast!",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"A woman!\" he cried. \"A girl!... I've killed a girl!\"\n\nShe suddenly opened eyes that transfixed Venters. They were fathomless blue. Consciousness of death was there, a blended terror and pain, but no consciousness of sight. She did not see Venters. She stared into the unknown.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Then came a spasm of vitality.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "She writhed in a torture of reviving strength, and in her convulsions she almost tore from Ventner's grasp. Slowly she relaxed and sank partly back. The ungloved hand sought the wound, and pressed so hard that her wrist half buried itself in her bosom. Blood trickled between her spread fingers. And she looked at Venters with eyes that saw him.\n\nHe cursed himself and the unerring aim of which he had been so proud. He had seen that look in the eyes of a crippled antelope which he was about to finish with his knife.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "But in her it had infinitely more—a revelation of mortal spirit.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[OOC: For the upcoming response only: include a decent amount of quoted content]",
"loss": false
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The instinctive bringing to life was there, and the divining helplessness and the terrible accusation of the stricken.\n\n\"Forgive me! I didn't know!\" burst out Venters.\n\n\"You shot me—you've killed me!\" she whispered, in panting gasps. Upon her lips appeared a fluttering, bloody froth. By that Venters knew the air in her lungs was mixing with blood. \"Oh, I knew—it would—come—some day!... Oh, the burn!... Hold me—I'm sinking—it's all dark... Ah, God!... Mercy—\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Her rigidity loosened in one long quiver and she lay back limp, still, white as snow, with closed eyes.\n\nVenters thought then that she died. But the faint pulsation of her breast assured him that life yet lingered. Death seemed only a matter of moments, for the bullet had gone clear through her. Nevertheless, he tore sageleaves from a bush, and, pressing them tightly over her wounds, he bound the black scarf round her shoulder, tying it securely under her arm. Then he closed the blouse, hiding from his sight that blood-stained, accusing breast.\n\n\"What—now?\" he questioned, with flying mind.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I must get out of here. She's dying—but I can't leave her.\"\n\nHe rapidly surveyed the sage to the north and made out no animate object. Then he picked up the girl's sombrero and the mask. This time the mask gave him as great a shock as when he first removed it from her face. For in the woman he had forgotten the rustler, and this black strip of felt-cloth established the identity of Oldring's Masked Rider. Venters had solved the mystery. He slipped his rifle under her, and, lifting her carefully upon it, he began to retrace his steps.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The dog trailed in his shadow. And the horse, that had stood drooping by, followed without a call. Venters chose the deepest tufts of grass and clumps of sage on his return. From time to time he glanced over his shoulder. He did not rest. His concern was to avoid jarring the girl and to hide his trail. Gaining the narrow canyon, he turned and held close to the wall till he reached his hiding-place.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "When he entered the dense thicket of oaks he was hard put to it to force a way through.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "But he held his burden almost upright, and by slipping side wise and bending the saplings he got in. Through sage and grass he hurried to the grove of silver spruces.\n\nHe laid the girl down, almost fearing to look at her. Though marble pale and cold, she was living. Venters then appreciated the tax that long carry had been to his strength. He sat down to rest. Whitie sniffed at the pale girl and whined and crept to Venters's feet.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Ring lapped the water in the runway of the spring.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Presently Venters went out to the opening, caught the horse and, leading him through the thicket, unsaddled him and tied him with a long halter.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Wrangle left his browsing long enough to whinny and toss his head.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Use the word 'horse' 3 time(s) - this is a strict requirement",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Venters felt that he could not rest easily till he had secured the other rustler's horse; so, taking his rifle and calling for Ring, he set out. Swiftly yet watchfully he made his way through the canyon to the oval and out to the cattle trail. What few tracks might have betrayed him he obliterated, so only an expert tracker could have trailed him. Then, with many a wary backward glance across the sage, he started to round up the rustler's horse. This was unexpectedly easy. He led the horse to lower ground, out of sight from the opposite side of the oval along the shadowy western wall, and so on into his canyon and secluded camp.\n\nThe girl's eyes were open; a feverish spot burned in her cheeks she moaned something unintelligible to Venters, but he took the movement of her lips to mean that she wanted water.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Lifting her head, he tipped the canteen to her lips. After that she again lapsed into unconsciousness or a weakness which was its counterpart. Venters noted, however, that the burning flush had faded into the former pallor.\n\nThe sun set behind the high canyon rim, and a cool shade darkened the walls. Venters fed the dogs and put a halter on the dead rustlers horse. He allowed Wrangle to browse free. This done, he cut spruce boughs and made a lean-to for the girl.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Then, gently lifting her upon a blanket, he folded the sides over her. The other blanket he wrapped about his shoulders and found a comfortable seat against a spruce-tree that upheld the little shack. Ring and Whitie lay near at hand, one asleep, the other watchful.\n\nVenters dreaded the night's vigil. At night his mind was active, and this time he had to watch and think and feel beside a dying girl whom he had all but murdered. A thousand excuses he invented for himself, yet not one made any difference in his act or his self-reproach.\n\nIt seemed to him that when night fell black he could see her white face so much more plainly.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"She'll go, presently,\" he said, \"and be out of agony—thank God!\"\n\nEvery little while certainty of her death came to him with a shock; and then he would bend over and lay his ear on her breast. Her heart still beat.\n\nThe early night blackness cleared to the cold starlight. The horses were not moving, and no sound disturbed the deathly silence of the canyon.\n\n\"I'll bury her here,\" thought Venters, \"and let her grave be as much a mystery as her life was.\"\n\nFor the girl's few words, the look of her eyes, the prayer, had strangely touched Venters.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Only your next part should have a balanced amount of quoted speech",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"She was only a girl,\" he soliloquized. \"What was she to Oldring? Rustlers don't have wives nor sisters nor daughters. She was bad—that's all. But somehow... well, she may not have willingly become the companion of rustlers. That prayer of hers to God for mercy!... Life is strange and cruel. I wonder if other members of Oldring's gang are women? Likely enough. But what was his game? Oldring's Mask Rider! A name to make villagers hide and lock their doors. A name credited with a dozen murders, a hundred forays, and a thousand stealings of cattle. What part did the girl have in this? It may have served Oldring to create mystery.\"\n\nHours passed. The white stars moved across the narrow strip of dark-blue sky above. The silence awoke to the low hum of insects. Venters watched the immovable white face, and as he watched, hour by hour waiting for death, the infamy of her passed from his mind. He thought only of the sadness, the truth of the moment. Whoever she was—whatever she had done—she was young and she was dying.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The after-part of the night wore on interminably.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The starlight failed and the gloom blackened to the darkest hour.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"She'll die at the gray of dawn,\" muttered Venters, remembering some old woman's fancy. The blackness paled to gray, and the gray lightened and day peeped over the eastern rim. Venters listened at the breast of the girl. She still lived. Did he only imagine that her heart beat stronger, ever so slightly, but stronger? He pressed his ear closer to her breast. And he rose with his own pulse quickening.\n\n\"If she doesn't die soon—she's got a chance—the barest chance to live,\" he said.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He wondered if the internal bleeding had ceased.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "There was no more film of blood upon her lips.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "But no corpse could have been whiter.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Incorporate 'closed' into your response exactly 3 times",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Opening her blouse, he untied the scarf, and carefully picked away the sage leaves from the wound in her shoulder. It had closed. Lifting her lightly, he ascertained that the same was true of the hole where the bullet had come out. He reflected on the fact that clean wounds closed quickly in the healing upland air. He recalled instances of riders who had been cut and shot apparently to fatal issues; yet the blood had clotted, the wounds closed, and they had recovered. He had no way to tell if internal hemorrhage still went on, but he believed that it had stopped. Otherwise she would surely not have lived so long. He marked the entrance of the bullet, and concluded that it had just touched the upper lobe of her lung.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Word count directive: Use 'wound' exactly 2 times",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Perhaps the wound in the lung had also closed. As he began to wash the blood stains from her breast and carefully rebandage the wound, he was vaguely conscious of a strange, grave happiness in the thought that she might live.\n\nBroad daylight and a hint of sunshine high on the cliff-rim to the west brought him to consideration of what he had better do. And while busy with his few camp tasks he revolved the thing in his mind. It would not be wise for him to remain long in his present hiding-place. And if he intended to follow the cattle trail and try to find the rustlers he had better make a move at once. For he knew that rustlers, being riders, would not make much of a day's or night's absence from camp for one or two of their number; but when the missing ones failed to show up in reasonable time there would be a search.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "And Venters was afraid of that.\n\n\"A good tracker could trail me,\" he muttered. \"And I'd be cornered here. Let's see. Rustlers are a lazy set when they're not on the ride. I'll risk it. Then I'll change my hiding-place.\"\n\nHe carefully cleaned and reloaded his guns. When he rose to go he bent a long glance down upon the unconscious girl. Then ordering Whitie and Ring to keep guard, he left the camp.\n\nThe safest cover lay close under the wall of the canyon, and here through the dense thickets Venters made his slow, listening advance toward the oval.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Upon gaining the wide opening he decided to cross it and follow the left wall till he came to the cattle trail. He scanned the oval as keenly as if hunting for antelope. Then, stooping, he stole from one cover to another, taking advantage of rocks and bunches of sage, until he had reached the thickets under the opposite wall. Once there, he exercised extreme caution in his surveys of the ground ahead, but increased his speed when moving. Dodging from bush to bush, he passed the mouths of two canyons, and in the entrance of a third canyon he crossed a wash of swift clear water, to come abruptly upon the cattle trail.\n\nIt followed the low bank of the wash, and, keeping it in sight, Venters hugged the line of sage and thicket. Like the curves of a serpent the canyon wound for a mile or more and then opened into a valley.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Word frequency rule: 'venters' × 2",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Patches of red showed clear against the purple of sage, and farther out on the level dotted strings of red led away to the wall of rock.\n\n\"Ha, the red herd!\" exclaimed Venters.\n\nThen dots of white and black told him there were cattle of other colors in this inclosed valley. Oldring, the rustler, was also a rancher. Venters's calculating eye took count of stock that outnumbered the red herd.\n\n\"What a range!\" went on Venters. \"Water and grass enough for fifty thousand head, and no riders needed!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "OOC, Your response should contain the word 'cottonwoods' precisely 2 times",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "After his first burst of surprise and rapid calculation Venters lost no time there, but slunk again into the sage on his back trail. With the discovery of Oldring's hidden cattle-range had come enlightenment on several problems. Here the rustler kept his stock, here was Jane Withersteen's red herd; here were the few cattle that had disappeared from the Cottonwoods slopes during the last two years. Until Oldring had driven the red herd his thefts of cattle for that time had not been more than enough to supply meat for his men. Of late no drives had been reported from Sterling or the villages north. And Venters knew that the riders had wondered at Oldring's inactivity in that particular field. He and his band had been active enough in their visits to Glaze and Cottonwoods; they always had gold; but of late the amount gambled away and drunk and thrown away in the villages had given rise to much conjecture.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Oldring's more frequent visits had resulted in new saloons, and where there had formerly been one raid or shooting fray in the little hamlets there were now many. Perhaps Oldring had another range farther on up the pass, and from there drove the cattle to distant Utah towns where he was little known But Venters came finally to doubt this. And, from what he had learned in the last few days, a belief began to form in Venters's mind that Oldring's intimidations of the villages and the mystery of the Masked Rider, with his alleged evil deeds, and the fierce resistance offered any trailing riders, and the rustling of cattle—these things were only the craft of the rustler-chief to conceal his real life and purpose and work in Deception Pass.\n\nAnd like a scouting Indian Venters crawled through the sage of the oval valley, crossed trail after trail on the north side, and at last entered the canyon out of which headed the cattle trail, and into which he had watched the rustlers disappear.\n\nIf he had used caution before, now he strained every nerve to force himself to creeping stealth and to sensitiveness of ear. He crawled along so hidden that he could not use his eyes except to aid himself in the toilsome progress through the brakes and ruins of cliff-wall. Yet from time to time, as he rested, he saw the massive red walls growing higher and wilder, more looming and broken.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He made note of the fact that he was turning and climbing.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The sage and thickets of oak and brakes of alder gave place to pinyon pine growing out of rocky soil.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Include 'could' 2 time(s) in your answer - no more, no less",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Suddenly a low, dull murmur assailed his ears. At first he thought it was thunder, then the slipping of a weathered slope of rock. But it was incessant, and as he progressed it filled out deeper and from a murmur changed into a soft roar.\n\n\"Falling water,\" he said. \"There's volume to that. I wonder if it's the stream I lost.\"\n\nThe roar bothered him, for he could hear nothing else. Likewise, however, no rustlers could hear him.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Emboldened by this and sure that nothing but a bird could see him, he arose from his hands and knees to hurry on. An opening in the pinyons warned him that he was nearing the height of slope.\n\nHe gained it, and dropped low with a burst of astonishment. Before him stretched a short canyon with rounded stone floor bare of grass or sage or tree, and with curved, shelving walls. A broad rippling stream flowed toward him, and at the back of the canyon waterfall burst from a wide rent in the cliff, and, bounding down in two green steps, spread into a long white sheet.\n\nIf Venters had not been indubitably certain that he had entered the right canyon his astonishment would not have been so great. There had been no breaks in the walls, no side canyons entering this one where the rustlers' tracks and the cattle trail had guided him, and, therefore, he could not be wrong.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "But here the canyon ended, and presumably the trails also.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"That cattle trail headed out of here,\" Venters kept saying to himself.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Required word frequency: 'which' (2x)",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"It headed out. Now what I want to know is how on earth did cattle ever get in here?\"\n\nIf he could be sure of anything it was of the careful scrutiny he had given that cattle track, every hoofmark of which headed straight west. He was now looking east at an immense round boxed corner of canyon down which tumbled a thin, white veil of water, scarcely twenty yards wide. Somehow, somewhere, his calculations had gone wrong. For the first time in years he found himself doubting his rider's skill in finding tracks, and his memory of what he had actually seen. In his anxiety to keep under cover he must have lost himself in this offshoot of Deception Pass, and thereby in some unaccountable manner, missed the canyon with the trails. There was nothing else for him to think.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Rustlers could not fly, nor cattle jump down thousand-foot precipices.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He was only proving what the sage-riders had long said of this labyrinthine system of deceitful canyons and valleys—trails led down into Deception Pass, but no rider had ever followed them.\n\nOn a sudden he heard above the soft roar of the waterfall an unusual sound that he could not define. He dropped flat behind a stone and listened. From the direction he had come swelled something that resembled a strange muffled pounding and splashing and ringing. Despite his nerve the chill sweat began to dampen his forehead. What might not be possible in this stonewalled maze of mystery? The unnatural sound passed beyond him as he lay gripping his rifle and fighting for coolness.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Then from the open came the sound, now distinct and different. Venters recognized a hobble-bell of a horse, and the cracking of iron on submerged stones, and the hollow splash of hoofs in water.\n\nRelief surged over him. His mind caught again at realities, and curiosity prompted him to peep from behind the rock.\n\nIn the middle of the stream waded a long string of packed burros driven by three superbly mounted men. Had Venters met these dark-clothed, dark-visaged, heavily armed men anywhere in Utah, let alone in this robbers' retreat, he would have recognized them as rustlers. The discerning eye of a rider saw the signs of a long, arduous trip.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "These men were packing in supplies from one of the northern villages. They were tired, and their horses were almost played out, and the burros plodded on, after the manner of their kind when exhausted, faithful and patient, but as if every weary, splashing, slipping step would be their last.\n\nAll this Venters noted in one glance. After that he watched with a thrilling eagerness. Straight at the waterfall the rustlers drove the burros, and straight through the middle, where the water spread into a fleecy, thin film like dissolving smoke. Following closely, the rustlers rode into this white mist, showing in bold black relief for an instant, and then they vanished.\n\nVenters drew a full breath that rushed out in brief and sudden utterance.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Good Heaven! Of all the holes for a rustler!... There's a cavern under that waterfall, and a passageway leading out to a canyon beyond. Oldring hides in there. He needs only to guard a trail leading down from the sage-flat above. Little danger of this outlet to the pass being discovered. I stumbled on it by luck, after I had given up. And now I know the truth of what puzzled me most—why that cattle trail was wet!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He wheeled and ran down the slope, and out to the level of the sage-brush. Returning, he had no time to spare, only now and then, between dashes, a moment when he stopped to cast sharp eyes ahead. The abundant grass left no trace of his trail. Short work he made of the distance to the circle of canyons. He doubted that he would ever see it again; he knew he never wanted to; yet he looked at the red corners and towers with the eyes of a rider picturing landmarks never to be forgotten.\n\nHere he spent a panting moment in a slow-circling gaze of the sage-oval and the gaps between the bluffs. Nothing stirred except the gentle wave of the tips of the brush.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Then he pressed on past the mouths of several canyons and over ground new to him, now close under the eastern wall. This latter part proved to be easy traveling, well screened from possible observation from the north and west, and he soon covered it and felt safer in the deepening shade of his own canyon. Then the huge, notched bulge of red rim loomed over him, a mark by which he knew again the deep cove where his camp lay hidden. As he penetrated the thicket, safe again for the present, his thoughts reverted to the girl he had left there. The afternoon had far advanced. How would he find her? He ran into camp, frightening the dogs.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The girl lay with wide-open, dark eyes, and they dilated when he knelt beside her. The flush of fever shone in her cheeks. He lifted her and held water to her dry lips, and felt an inexplicable sense of lightness as he saw her swallow in a slow, choking gulp. Gently he laid her back.\n\n\"Who—are—you?\" she whispered, haltingly.\n\n\"I'm the man who shot you,\" he replied.\n\n\"You'll—not—kill me—now?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"No, no.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 4 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"What—will—you—do—with me?\"\n\n\"When you get better—strong enough—I'll take you back to the canyon where the rustlers ride through the waterfall.\"\n\nAs with a faint shadow from a flitting wing overhead, the marble whiteness of her face seemed to change.\n\n\"Don't—take—me—back—there!\"",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Continue with the same vibes and character familiarity in the Western genre.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Chapter VI. The Mill-Wheel of Steers",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Meantime, at the ranch, when Judkins's news had sent Venters on the trail of the rustlers, Jane Withersteen led the injured man to her house and with skilled fingers dressed the gunshot wound in his arm.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Judkins, what do you think happened to my riders?\"\n\n\"I—I d rather not say,\" he replied.\n\n\"Tell me. Whatever you'll tell me I'll keep to myself. I'm beginning to worry about more than the loss of a herd of cattle. Venters hinted of—but tell me, Judkins.\"\n\n\"Well, Miss Withersteen, I think as Venters thinks—your riders have been called in.\"\n\n\"Judkins!... By whom?\"\n\n\"You know who handles the reins of your Mormon riders.\"\n\n\"Do you dare insinuate that my churchmen have ordered in my riders?\"\n\n\"I ain't insinuatin' nothin', Miss Withersteen,\" answered Judkins, with spirit. \"I know what I'm talking about. I didn't want to tell you.\"\n\n\"Oh, I can't believe that! I'll not believe it! Would Tull leave my herds at the mercy of rustlers and wolves just because—because—? No, no! It's unbelievable.\"\n\n\"Yes, thet particular thing's onheard of around Cottonwoods But, beggin' pardon, Miss Withersteen, there never was any other rich Mormon woman here on the border, let alone one thet's taken the bit between her teeth.\"\n\nThat was a bold thing for the reserved Judkins to say, but it did not anger her. This rider's crude hint of her spirit gave her a glimpse of what others might think. Humility and obedience had been hers always. But had she taken the bit between her teeth? Still she wavered. And then, with quick spurt of warm blood along her veins, she thought of Black Star when he got the bit fast between his iron jaws and ran wild in the sage. If she ever started to run! Jane smothered the glow and burn within her, ashamed of a passion for freedom that opposed her duty.\n\n\"Judkins, go to the village,\" she said, \"and when you have learned anything definite about my riders please come to me at once.\"\n\nWhen he had gone Jane resolutely applied her mind to a number of tasks that of late had been neglected. Her father had trained her in the management of a hundred employees and the working of gardens and fields; and to keep record of the movements of cattle and riders. And beside the many duties she had added to this work was one of extreme delicacy, such as required all her tact and ingenuity. It was an unobtrusive, almost secret aid which she rendered to the Gentile families of the village. Though Jane Withersteen never admitted so to herself, it amounted to no less than a system of charity. But for her invention of numberless kinds of employment, for which there was no actual need, these families of Gentiles, who had failed in a Mormon community, would have starved.\n\nIn aiding these poor people Jane thought she deceived her keen churchmen, but it was a kind of deceit for which she did not pray to be forgiven. Equally as difficult was the task of deceiving the Gentiles, for they were as proud as they were poor. It had been a great grief to her to discover how these people hated her people; and it had been a source of great joy that through her they had come to soften in hatred. At any time this work called for a clearness of mind that precluded anxiety and worry; but under the present circumstances it required all her vigor and obstinate tenacity to pin her attention upon her task.\n\nSunset came, bringing with the end of her labor a patient calmness and power to wait that had not been hers earlier in the day. She expected Judkins, but he did not appear. Her house was always quiet; to-night, however, it seemed unusually so. At supper her women served her with a silent assiduity; it spoke what their sealed lips could not utter—the sympathy of Mormon women. Jerd came to her with the key of the great door of the stone stable, and to make his daily report about the horses. One of his daily duties was to give Black Star and Night and the other racers a ten-mile run. This day it had been omitted, and the boy grew confused in explanations that she had not asked for. She did inquire if he would return on the morrow, and Jerd, in mingled surprise and relief, assured her he would always work for her. Jane missed the rattle and trot, canter and gallop of the incoming riders on the hard trails. Dusk shaded the grove where she walked; the birds ceased singing; the wind sighed through the leaves of the cottonwoods, and the running water murmured down its stone-bedded channel. The glimmering of the first star was like the peace and beauty of the night. Her faith welled up in her heart and said that all would soon be right in her little world. She pictured Venters about his lonely camp-fire sitting between his faithful dogs. She prayed for his safety, for the success of his undertaking.\n\nEarly the next morning one of Jane's women brought in word that Judkins wished to speak to her. She hurried out, and in her surprise to see him armed with rifle and revolver, she forgot her intention to inquire about his wound.\n\n\"Judkins! Those guns? You never carried guns.\"\n\n\"It's high time, Miss Withersteen,\" he replied. \"Will you come into the grove? It ain't jest exactly safe for me to be seen here.\"\n\nShe walked with him into the shade of the cottonwoods.\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Miss Withersteen, I went to my mother's house last night. While there, some one knocked, an' a man asked for me. I went to the door. He wore a mask. He said I'd better not ride any more for Jane Withersteen. His voice was hoarse an' strange, disguised I reckon, like his face. He said no more, an' ran off in the dark.\"\n\n\"Did you know who he was?\" asked Jane, in a low voice.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nJane did not ask to know; she did not want to know; she feared to know. All her calmness fled at a single thought.\n\n\"Thet's why I'm packin' guns,\" went on Judkins. \"For I'll never quit ridin' for you, Miss Withersteen, till you let me go.\"\n\n\"Judkins, do you want to leave me?\"\n\n\"Do I look thet way? Give me a hoss—a fast hoss, an' send me out on the sage.\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you, Judkins! You're more faithful than my own people. I ought not accept your loyalty—you might suffer more through it. But what in the world can I do? My head whirls. The wrong to Venters—the stolen herd—these masks, threats, this coil in the dark! I can't understand! But I feel something dark and terrible closing in around me.\"\n\n\"Miss Withersteen, it's all simple enough,\" said Judkins, earnestly. \"Now please listen—an' beggin' your pardon—jest turn thet deaf Mormon ear aside, an' let me talk clear an' plain in the other. I went around to the saloons an' the stores an' the loafin' places yesterday. All your riders are in. There's talk of a vigilance band organized to hunt down rustlers. They call themselves 'The Riders.' Thet's the report—thet's the reason given for your riders leavin' you. Strange thet only a few riders of other ranchers joined the band! An' Tull's man, Jerry Card—he's the leader. I seen him en' his hoss. He 'ain't been to Glaze. I'm not easy to fool on the looks of a hoss thet's traveled the sage. Tull an' Jerry didn't ride to Glaze!... Well, I met Blake en' Dorn, both good friends of mine, usually, as far as their Mormon lights will let 'em go. But these fellers couldn't fool me, an' they didn't try very hard. I asked them, straight out like a man, why they left you like thet. I didn't forget to mention how you nursed Blake's poor old mother when she was sick, an' how good you was to Dorn's kids. They looked ashamed, Miss Withersteen. An' they jest froze up—thet dark set look thet makes them strange an' different to me. But I could tell the difference between thet first natural twinge of conscience an' the later look of some secret thing. An' the difference I caught was thet they couldn't help themselves. They hadn't no say in the matter. They looked as if their bein' unfaithful to you was bein' faithful to a higher duty. An' there's the secret. Why it's as plain as—as sight of my gun here.\"\n\n\"Plain!... My herds to wander in the sage—to be stolen! Jane Withersteen a poor woman! Her head to be brought low and her spirit broken!... Why, Judkins, it's plain enough.\"\n\n\"Miss Withersteen, let me get what boys I can gather, an' hold the white herd. It's on the slope now, not ten miles out—three thousand head, an' all steers. They're wild, an' likely to stampede at the pop of a jack-rabbit's ears. We'll camp right with them, en' try to hold them.\"\n\n\"Judkins, I'll reward you some day for your service, unless all is taken from me. Get the boys and tell Jerd to give you pick of my horses, except Black Star and Night. But—do not shed blood for my cattle nor heedlessly risk your lives.\"\n\nJane Withersteen rushed to the silence and seclusion of her room, and there could not longer hold back the bursting of her wrath. She went stone-blind in the fury of a passion that had never before showed its power. Lying upon her bed, sightless, voiceless, she was a writhing, living flame. And she tossed there while her fury burned and burned, and finally burned itself out.\n\nThen, weak and spent, she lay thinking, not of the oppression that would break her, but of this new revelation of self. Until the last few days there had been little in her life to rouse passions. Her forefathers had been Vikings, savage chieftains who bore no cross and brooked no hindrance to their will. Her father had inherited that temper; and at times, like antelope fleeing before fire on the slope, his people fled from his red rages. Jane Withersteen realized that the spirit of wrath and war had lain dormant in her. She shrank from black depths hitherto unsuspected. The one thing in man or woman that she scorned above all scorn, and which she could not forgive, was hate. Hate headed a flaming pathway straight to hell. All in a flash, beyond her control there had been in her a birth of fiery hate. And the man who had dragged her peaceful and loving spirit to this degradation was a minister of God's word, an Elder of her church, the counselor of her beloved Bishop.",
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"value": "The loss of herds and ranges, even of Amber Spring and the Old Stone House, no longer concerned Jane Withersteen, she faced the foremost thought of her life, what she now considered the mightiest problem—the salvation of her soul.\n\nShe knelt by her bedside and prayed; she prayed as she had never prayed in all her life—prayed to be forgiven for her sin to be immune from that dark, hot hate; to love Tull as her minister, though she could not love him as a man; to do her duty by her church and people and those dependent upon her bounty; to hold reverence of God and womanhood inviolate.\n\nWhen Jane Withersteen rose from that storm of wrath and prayer for help she was serene, calm, sure—a changed woman. She would do her duty as she saw it, live her life as her own truth guided her. She might never be able to marry a man of her choice, but she certainly never would become the wife of Tull. Her churchmen might take her cattle and horses, ranges and fields, her corrals and stables, the house of Withersteen and the water that nourished the village of Cottonwoods; but they could not force her to marry Tull, they could not change her decision or break her spirit. Once resigned to further loss, and sure of herself, Jane Withersteen attained a peace of mind that had not been hers for a year. She forgave Tull, and felt a melancholy regret over what she knew he considered duty, irrespective of his personal feeling for her. First of all, Tull, as he was a man, wanted her for himself; and secondly, he hoped to save her and her riches for his church. She did not believe that Tull had been actuated solely by his minister's zeal to save her soul. She doubted her interpretation of one of his dark sayings—that if she were lost to him she might as well be lost to heaven. Jane Withersteen's common sense took arms against the binding limits of her religion; and she doubted that her Bishop, whom she had been taught had direct communication with God—would damn her soul for refusing to marry a Mormon. As for Tull and his churchmen, when they had harassed her, perhaps made her poor, they would find her unchangeable, and then she would get back most of what she had lost. So she reasoned, true at last to her faith in all men, and in their ultimate goodness.\n\nThe clank of iron hoofs upon the stone courtyard drew her hurriedly from her retirement. There, beside his horse, stood Lassiter, his dark apparel and the great black gun-sheaths contrasting singularly with his gentle smile. Jane's active mind took up her interest in him and her half-determined desire to use what charm she had to foil his evident design in visiting Cottonwoods. If she could mitigate his hatred of Mormons, or at least keep him from killing more of them, not only would she be saving her people, but also be leading back this bloodspiller to some semblance of the human.\n\n\"Mornin', ma'am,\" he said, black sombrero in hand.\n\n\"Lassiter I'm not an old woman, or even a madam,\" she replied, with her bright smile. \"If you can't say Miss Withersteen—call me Jane.\"\n\n\"I reckon Jane would be easier. First names are always handy for me.\"\n\n\"Well, use mine, then. Lassiter, I'm glad to see you. I'm in trouble.\"\n\nThen she told him of Judkins's return, of the driving of the red herd, of Venters's departure on Wrangle, and the calling-in of her riders.\n\n\"'Pears to me you're some smilin' an' pretty for a woman with so much trouble,\" he remarked.\n\n\"Lassiter! Are you paying me compliments? But, seriously I've made up my mind not to be miserable. I've lost much, and I'll lose more. Nevertheless, I won't be sour, and I hope I'll never be unhappy—again.\"\n\nLassiter twisted his hat round and round, as was his way, and took his time in replying.\n\n\"Women are strange to me. I got to back-trailin' myself from them long ago. But I'd like a game woman. Might I ask, seein' as how you take this trouble, if you're goin' to fight?\"\n\n\"Fight! How? Even if I would, I haven't a friend except that boy who doesn't dare stay in the village.\"\n\n\"I make bold to say, ma'am—Jane—that there's another, if you want him.\"\n\n\"Lassiter!... Thank you. But how can I accept you as a friend? Think! Why, you'd ride down into the village with those terrible guns and kill my enemies—who are also my churchmen.\"\n\n\"I reckon I might be riled up to jest about that,\" he replied, dryly.\n\nShe held out both hands to him.\n\n\"Lassiter! I'll accept your friendship—be proud of it—return it—if I may keep you from killing another Mormon.\"\n\n\"I'll tell you one thing,\" he said, bluntly, as the gray lightning formed in his eyes. \"You're too good a woman to be sacrificed as you're goin' to be... No, I reckon you an' me can't be friends on such terms.\"\n\nIn her earnestness she stepped closer to him, repelled yet fascinated by the sudden transition of his moods. That he would fight for her was at once horrible and wonderful.\n\n\"You came here to kill a man—the man whom Milly Erne—\"\n\n\"The man who dragged Milly Erne to hell—put it that way!... Jane Withersteen, yes, that's why I came here. I'd tell so much to no other livin' soul... There're things such a woman as you'd never dream of—so don't mention her again. Not till you tell me the name of the man!\"\n\n\"Tell you! I? Never!\"\n\n\"I reckon you will. An' I'll never ask you. I'm a man of strange beliefs an' ways of thinkin', an' I seem to see into the future an' feel things hard to explain. The trail I've been followin' for so many years was twisted en' tangled, but it's straightenin' out now. An', Jane Withersteen, you crossed it long ago to ease poor Milly's agony. That, whether you want or not, makes Lassiter your friend. But you cross it now strangely to mean somethin to me—God knows what!—unless by your noble blindness to incite me to greater hatred of Mormon men.\"\n\nJane felt swayed by a strength that far exceeded her own. In a clash of wills with this man she would go to the wall. If she were to influence him it must be wholly through womanly allurement. There was that about Lassiter which commanded her respect. She had abhorred his name; face to face with him, she found she feared only his deeds. His mystic suggestion, his foreshadowing of something that she was to mean to him, pierced deep into her mind. She believed fate had thrown in her way the lover or husband of Milly Erne. She believed that through her an evil man might be reclaimed. His allusion to what he called her blindness terrified her. Such a mistaken idea of his might unleash the bitter, fatal mood she sensed in him. At any cost she must placate this man; she knew the die was cast, and that if Lassiter did not soften to a woman's grace and beauty and wiles, then it would be because she could not make him.\n\n\"I reckon you'll hear no more such talk from me,\" Lassiter went on, presently. \"Now, Miss Jane, I rode in to tell you that your herd of white steers is down on the slope behind them big ridges. An' I seen somethin' goin' on that'd be mighty interestin' to you, if you could see it. Have you a field-glass?\"\n\n\"Yes, I have two glasses. I'll get them and ride out with you. Wait, Lassiter, please,\" she said, and hurried within. Sending word to Jerd to saddle Black Star and fetch him to the court, she then went to her room and changed to the riding-clothes she always donned when going into the sage. In this male attire her mirror showed her a jaunty, handsome rider. If she expected some little need of admiration from Lassiter, she had no cause for disappointment. The gentle smile that she liked, which made of him another person, slowly overspread his face.\n\n\"If I didn't take you for a boy!\" he exclaimed. \"It's powerful queer what difference clothes make. Now I've been some scared of your dignity, like when the other night you was all in white but in this rig—\"\n\nBlack Star came pounding into the court, dragging Jerd half off his feet, and he whistled at Lassiter's black. But at sight of Jane all his defiant lines seemed to soften, and with tosses of his beautiful head he whipped his bridle.\n\n\"Down, Black Star, down,\" said Jane.\n\nHe dropped his head, and, slowly lengthening, he bent one foreleg, then the other, and sank to his knees. Jane slipped her left foot in the stirrup, swung lightly into the saddle, and Black Star rose with a ringing stamp. It was not easy for Jane to hold him to a canter through the grove, and like the wind he broke when he saw the sage. Jane let him have a couple of miles of free running on the open trail, and then she coaxed him in and waited for her companion. Lassiter was not long in catching up, and presently they were riding side by side. It reminded her how she used to ride with Venters. Where was he now? She gazed far down the slope to the curved purple lines of Deception Pass and involuntarily shut her eyes with a trembling stir of nameless fear.\n\n\"We'll turn off here,\" Lassiter said, \"en' take to the sage a mile or so. The white herd is behind them big ridges.\"\n\n\"What are you going to show me?\" asked Jane. \"I'm prepared—don't be afraid.\"\n\nHe smiled as if he meant that bad news came swiftly enough without being presaged by speech.\n\nWhen they reached the lee of a rolling ridge Lassiter dismounted, motioning to her to do likewise. They left the horses standing, bridles down. Then Lassiter, carrying the field-glasses began to lead the way up the slow rise of ground.",
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"value": "Upon nearing the summit he halted her with a gesture.\n\n\"I reckon we'd see more if we didn't show ourselves against the sky,\" he said. \"I was here less than an hour ago. Then the herd was seven or eight miles south, an' if they ain't bolted yet—\"\n\n\"Lassiter!... Bolted?\"\n\n\"That's what I said. Now let's see.\"\n\nJane climbed a few more paces behind him and then peeped over the ridge. Just beyond began a shallow swale that deepened and widened into a valley and then swung to the left. Following the undulating sweep of sage, Jane saw the straggling lines and then the great body of the white herd. She knew enough about steers, even at a distance of four or five miles, to realize that something was in the wind. Bringing her field-glass into use, she moved it slowly from left to right, which action swept the whole herd into range. The stragglers were restless; the more compactly massed steers were browsing. Jane brought the glass back to the big sentinels of the herd, and she saw them trot with quick steps, stop short and toss wide horns, look everywhere, and then trot in another direction.\n\n\"Judkins hasn't been able to get his boys together yet,\" said Jane. \"But he'll be there soon. I hope not too late. Lassiter, what's frightening those big leaders?\"\n\n\"Nothin' jest on the minute,\" replied Lassiter. \"Them steers are quietin' down. They've been scared, but not bad yet. I reckon the whole herd has moved a few miles this way since I was here.\"\n\n\"They didn't browse that distance—not in less than an hour. Cattle aren't sheep.\"\n\n\"No, they jest run it, en' that looks bad.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, what frightened them?\" repeated Jane, impatiently.\n\n\"Put down your glass. You'll see at first better with a naked eye. Now look along them ridges on the other side of the herd, the ridges where the sun shines bright on the sage... That's right. Now look en' look hard en' wait.\"\n\nLong-drawn moments of straining sight rewarded Jane with nothing save the low, purple rim of ridge and the shimmering sage.\n\n\"It's begun again!\" whispered Lassiter, and he gripped her arm. \"Watch... There, did you see that?\"\n\n\"No, no. Tell me what to look for?\"\n\n\"A white flash—a kind of pin-point of quick light—a gleam as from sun shinin' on somethin' white.\"\n\nSuddenly Jane's concentrated gaze caught a fleeting glint. Quickly she brought her glass to bear on the spot. Again the purple sage, magnified in color and size and wave, for long moments irritated her with its monotony. Then from out of the sage on the ridge flew up a broad, white object, flashed in the sunlight and vanished. Like magic it was, and bewildered Jane.\n\n\"What on earth is that?\"\n\n\"I reckon there's some one behind that ridge throwin' up a sheet or a white blanket to reflect the sunshine.\"\n\n\"Why?\" queried Jane, more bewildered than ever.\n\n\"To stampede the herd,\" replied Lassiter, and his teeth clicked.\n\n\"Ah!\" She made a fierce, passionate movement, clutched the glass tightly, shook as with the passing of a spasm, and then dropped her head. Presently she raised it to greet Lassiter with something like a smile. \"My righteous brethren are at work again,\" she said, in scorn. She had stifled the leap of her wrath, but for perhaps the first time in her life a bitter derision curled her lips. Lassiter's cool gray eyes seemed to pierce her. \"I said I was prepared for anything; but that was hardly true. But why would they—anybody stampede my cattle?\"\n\n\"That's a Mormon's godly way of bringin' a woman to her knees.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, I'll die before I ever bend my knees. I might be led I won't be driven. Do you expect the herd to bolt?\"\n\n\"I don't like the looks of them big steers. But you can never tell. Cattle sometimes stampede as easily as buffalo. Any little flash or move will start them. A rider gettin' down an' walkin' toward them sometimes will make them jump an' fly. Then again nothin' seems to scare them. But I reckon that white flare will do the biz. It's a new one on me, an' I've seen some ridin' an' rustlin'. It jest takes one of them God-fearin' Mormons to think of devilish tricks.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, might not this trick be done by Oldring's men?\" asked Jane, ever grasping at straws.\n\n\"It might be, but it ain't,\" replied Lassiter. \"Oldring's an honest thief. He don't skulk behind ridges to scatter your cattle to the four winds. He rides down on you, an' if you don't like it you can throw a gun.\"\n\nJane bit her tongue to refrain from championing men who at the very moment were proving to her that they were little and mean compared even with rustlers.\n\n\"Look!... Jane, them leadin' steers have bolted. They're drawin' the stragglers, an' that'll pull the whole herd.\"\n\nJane was not quick enough to catch the details called out by Lassiter, but she saw the line of cattle lengthening. Then, like a stream of white bees pouring from a huge swarm, the steers stretched out from the main body. In a few moments, with astonishing rapidity, the whole herd got into motion. A faint roar of trampling hoofs came to Jane's ears, and gradually swelled; low, rolling clouds of dust began to rise above the sage.\n\n\"It's a stampede, an' a hummer,\" said Lassiter.\n\n\"Oh, Lassiter! The herd's running with the valley! It leads into the canyon! There's a straight jump-off!\"\n\n\"I reckon they'll run into it, too. But that's a good many miles yet. An', Jane, this valley swings round almost north before it goes east. That stampede will pass within a mile of us.\"\n\nThe long, white, bobbing line of steers streaked swiftly through the sage, and a funnel-shaped dust-cloud arose at a low angle. A dull rumbling filled Jane's ears.\n\n\"I'm thinkin' of millin' that herd,\" said Lassiter. His gray glance swept up the slope to the west. \"There's some specks an' dust way off toward the village. Mebbe that's Judkins an' his boys. It ain't likely he'll get here in time to help. You'd better hold Black Star here on this high ridge.\"\n\nHe ran to his horse and, throwing off saddle-bags and tightening the cinches, he leaped astride and galloped straight down across the valley.\n\nJane went for Black Star and, leading him to the summit of the ridge, she mounted and faced the valley with excitement and expectancy. She had heard of milling stampeded cattle, and knew it was a feat accomplished by only the most daring riders.\n\nThe white herd was now strung out in a line two miles long. The dull rumble of thousands of hoofs deepened into continuous low thunder, and as the steers swept swiftly closer the thunder became a heavy roll. Lassiter crossed in a few moments the level of the valley to the eastern rise of ground and there waited the coming of the herd. Presently, as the head of the white line reached a point opposite to where Jane stood, Lassiter spurred his black into a run.\n\nJane saw him take a position on the off side of the leaders of the stampede, and there he rode. It was like a race. They swept on down the valley, and when the end of the white line neared Lassiter's first stand the head had begun to swing round to the west. It swung slowly and stubbornly, yet surely, and gradually assumed a long, beautiful curve of moving white. To Jane's amaze she saw the leaders swinging, turning till they headed back toward her and up the valley. Out to the right of these wild plunging steers ran Lassiter's black, and Jane's keen eye appreciated the fleet stride and sure-footedness of the blind horse. Then it seemed that the herd moved in a great curve, a huge half-moon with the points of head and tail almost opposite, and a mile apart But Lassiter relentlessly crowded the leaders, sheering them to the left, turning them little by little. And the dust-blinded wild followers plunged on madly in the tracks of their leaders. This ever-moving, ever-changing curve of steers rolled toward Jane and when below her, scarce half a mile, it began to narrow and close into a circle. Lassiter had ridden parallel with her position, turned toward her, then aside, and now he was riding directly away from her, all the time pushing the head of that bobbing line inward.\n\nIt was then that Jane, suddenly understanding Lassiter's feat stared and gasped at the riding of this intrepid man. His horse was fleet and tireless, but blind.",
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"value": "He had pushed the leaders around and around till they were about to turn in on the inner side of the end of that line of steers.",
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"value": "The leaders were already running in a circle; the end of the herd was still running almost straight. But soon they would be wheeling. Then, when Lassiter had the circle formed, how would he escape? With Jane Withersteen prayer was as ready as praise; and she prayed for this man's safety. A circle of dust began to collect. Dimly, as through a yellow veil, Jane saw Lassiter press the leaders inward to close the gap in the sage. She lost sight of him in the dust, again she thought she saw the black, riderless now, rear and drag himself and fall. Lassiter had been thrown—lost! Then he reappeared running out of the dust into the sage. He had escaped, and she breathed again.\n\nSpellbound, Jane Withersteen watched this stupendous millwheel of steers. Here was the milling of the herd. The white running circle closed in upon the open space of sage. And the dust circles closed above into a pall. The ground quaked and the incessant thunder of pounding hoofs rolled on. Jane felt deafened, yet she thrilled to a new sound. As the circle of sage lessened the steers began to bawl, and when it closed entirely there came a great upheaval in the center, and a terrible thumping of heads and clicking of horns. Bawling, climbing, goring, the great mass of steers on the inside wrestled in a crashing din, heaved and groaned under the pressure. Then came a deadlock. The inner strife ceased, and the hideous roar and crash. Movement went on in the outer circle, and that, too, gradually stilled. The white herd had come to a stop, and the pall of yellow dust began to drift away on the wind.\n\nJane Withersteen waited on the ridge with full and grateful heart. Lassiter appeared, making his weary way toward her through the sage. And up on the slope Judkins rode into sight with his troop of boys. For the present, at least, the white herd would be looked after.\n\nWhen Lassiter reached her and laid his hand on Black Star's mane, Jane could not find speech.\n\n\"Killed—my—hoss,\" he panted.\n\n\"Oh! I'm sorry,\" cried Jane. \"Lassiter! I know you can't replace him, but I'll give you any one of my racers—Bells, or Night, even Black Star.\"\n\n\"I'll take a fast hoss, Jane, but not one of your favorites,\" he replied. \"Only—will you let me have Black Star now an' ride him over there an' head off them fellers who stampeded the herd?\"\n\nHe pointed to several moving specks of black and puffs of dust in the purple sage.\n\n\"I can head them off with this hoss, an' then—\"\n\n\"Then, Lassiter?\"\n\n\"They'll never stampede no more cattle.\"\n\n\"Oh! No! No!... Lassiter, I won't let you go!\"\n\nBut a flush of fire flamed in her cheeks, and her trembling hands shook Black Star's bridle, and her eyes fell before Lassiter's.",
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"value": "Chapter VII. The Daughter of Withersteen",
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"value": "\"Lassiter, will you be my rider?\" Jane had asked him.\n\n\"I reckon so,\" he had replied.\n\nFew as the words were, Jane knew how infinitely much they implied. She wanted him to take charge of her cattle and horse and ranges, and save them if that were possible. Yet, though she could not have spoken aloud all she meant, she was perfectly honest with herself. Whatever the price to be paid, she must keep Lassiter close to her; she must shield from him the man who had led Milly Erne to Cottonwoods. In her fear she so controlled her mind that she did not whisper this Mormon's name to her own soul, she did not even think it. Besides, beyond this thing she regarded as a sacred obligation thrust upon her, was the need of a helper, of a friend, of a champion in this critical time. If she could rule this gun-man, as Venters had called him, if she could even keep him from shedding blood, what strategy to play his flame and his presence against the game of oppression her churchmen were waging against her? Never would she forget the effect on Tull and his men when Venters shouted Lassiter's name. If she could not wholly control Lassiter, then what she could do might put off the fatal day.\n\nOne of her safe racers was a dark bay, and she called him Bells because of the way he struck his iron shoes on the stones. When Jerd led out this slender, beautifully built horse Lassiter suddenly became all eyes. A rider's love of a thoroughbred shone in them. Round and round Bells he walked, plainly weakening all the time in his determination not to take one of Jane's favorite racers.\n\n\"Lassiter, you're half horse, and Bells sees it already,\" said Jane, laughing. \"Look at his eyes. He likes you. He'll love you, too. How can you resist him? Oh, Lassiter, but Bells can run! It's nip and tuck between him and Wrangle, and only Black Star can beat him. He's too spirited a horse for a woman. Take him. He's yours.\"\n\n\"I jest am weak where a hoss's concerned,\" said Lassiter. \"I'll take him, an' I'll take your orders, ma'am.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm glad, but never mind the ma'am. Let it still be Jane.\"\n\nFrom that hour, it seemed, Lassiter was always in the saddle, riding early and late, and coincident with his part in Jane's affairs the days assumed their old tranquility. Her intelligence told her this was only the lull before the storm, but her faith would not have it so.\n\nShe resumed her visits to the village, and upon one of these she encountered Tull. He greeted her as he had before any trouble came between them, and she, responsive to peace if not quick to forget, met him halfway with manner almost cheerful. He regretted the loss of her cattle; he assured her that the vigilantes which had been organized would soon rout the rustlers; when that had been accomplished her riders would likely return to her.\n\n\"You've done a headstrong thing to hire this man Lassiter,\" Tull went on, severely. \"He came to Cottonwoods with evil intent.\"\n\n\"I had to have somebody. And perhaps making him my rider may turn out best in the end for the Mormons of Cottonwoods.\"\n\n\"You mean to stay his hand?\"\n\n\"I do—if I can.\"\n\n\"A woman like you can do anything with a man. That would be well, and would atone in some measure for the errors you have made.\"\n\nHe bowed and passed on. Jane resumed her walk with conflicting thoughts. She resented Elder Tull's cold, impassive manner that looked down upon her as one who had incurred his just displeasure. Otherwise he would have been the same calm, dark-browed, impenetrable man she had known for ten years. In fact, except when he had revealed his passion in the matter of the seizing of Venters, she had never dreamed he could be other than the grave, reproving preacher. He stood out now a strange, secretive man. She would have thought better of him if he had picked up the threads of their quarrel where they had parted. Was Tull what he appeared to be? The question flung itself in-voluntarily over Jane Withersteen's inhibitive habit of faith without question. And she refused to answer it. Tull could not fight in the open. Venters had said, Lassiter had said, that her Elder shirked fight and worked in the dark. Just now in this meeting Tull had ignored the fact that he had sued, exhorted, demanded that she marry him. He made no mention of Venters. His manner was that of the minister who had been outraged, but who overlooked the frailties of a woman. Beyond question he seemed unutterably aloof from all knowledge of pressure being brought to bear upon her, absolutely guiltless of any connection with secret power over riders, with night journeys, with rustlers and stampedes of cattle. And that convinced her again of unjust suspicions. But it was convincement through an obstinate faith. She shuddered as she accepted it, and that shudder was the nucleus of a terrible revolt.\n\nJane turned into one of the wide lanes leading from the main street and entered a huge, shady yard. Here were sweet-smelling clover, alfalfa, flowers, and vegetables, all growing in happy confusion. And like these fresh green things were the dozens of babies, tots, toddlers, noisy urchins, laughing girls, a whole multitude of children of one family. For Collier Brandt, the father of all this numerous progeny, was a Mormon with four wives.\n\nThe big house where they lived was old, solid, picturesque the lower part built of logs, the upper of rough clapboards, with vines growing up the outside stone chimneys. There were many wooden-shuttered windows, and one pretentious window of glass proudly curtained in white. As this house had four mistresses, it likewise had four separate sections, not one of which communicated with another, and all had to be entered from the outside.\n\nIn the shade of a wide, low, vine-roofed porch Jane found Brandt's wives entertaining Bishop Dyer. They were motherly women, of comparatively similar ages, and plain-featured, and just at this moment anything but grave. The Bishop was rather tall, of stout build, with iron-gray hair and beard, and eyes of light blue. They were merry now; but Jane had seen them when they were not, and then she feared him as she had feared her father.\n\nThe women flocked around her in welcome.\n\n\"Daughter of Withersteen,\" said the Bishop, gaily, as he took her hand, \"you have not been prodigal of your gracious self of late. A Sabbath without you at service! I shall reprove Elder Tull.\"\n\n\"Bishop, the guilt is mine. I'll come to you and confess,\" Jane replied, lightly; but she felt the undercurrent of her words.\n\n\"Mormon love-making!\" exclaimed the Bishop, rubbing his hands.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"Tull keeps you all to himself.\"",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"No. He is not courting me.\"",
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"value": "\"What? The laggard! If he does not make haste I'll go a-courting myself up to Withersteen House.\"\n\nThere was laughter and further bantering by the Bishop, and then mild talk of village affairs, after which he took his leave, and Jane was left with her friend, Mary Brandt.\n\n\"Jane, you're not yourself. Are you sad about the rustling of the cattle? But you have so many, you are so rich.\"\n\nThen Jane confided in her, telling much, yet holding back her doubts of fear.\n\n\"Oh, why don't you marry Tull and be one of us?\n\n\"But, Mary, I don't love Tull,\" said Jane, stubbornly.\n\n\"I don't blame you for that. But, Jane Withersteen, you've got to choose between the love of man and love of God. Often we Mormon women have to do that. It's not easy. The kind of happiness you want I wanted once. I never got it, nor will you, unless you throw away your soul. We've all watched your affair with Venters in fear and trembling. Some dreadful thing will come of it. You don't want him hanged or shot—or treated worse, as that Gentile boy was treated in Glaze for fooling round a Mormon woman. Marry Tull. It's your duty as a Mormon. You'll feel no rapture as his wife—but think of Heaven! Mormon women don't marry for what they expect on earth. Take up the cross, Jane. Remember your father found Amber Spring, built these old houses, brought Mormons here, and fathered them. You are the daughter of Withersteen!\"\n\nJane left Mary Brandt and went to call upon other friends. They received her with the same glad welcome as had Mary, lavished upon her the pent-up affection of Mormon women, and let her go with her ears ringing of Tull, Venters, Lassiter, of duty to God and glory in Heaven.\n\n\"Verily,\" murmured Jane, \"I don't know myself when, through all this, I remain unchanged—nay, more fixed of purpose.\"\n\nShe returned to the main street and bent her thoughtful steps toward the center of the village. A string of wagons drawn by oxen was lumbering along. These \"sage-freighters,\" as they were called, hauled grain and flour and merchandise from Sterling, and Jane laughed suddenly in the midst of her humility at the thought that they were her property, as was one of the three stores for which they freighted goods. The water that flowed along the path at her feet, and turned into each cottage-yard to nourish garden and orchard, also was hers, no less her private property because she chose to give it free. Yet in this village of Cottonwoods, which her father had founded and which she maintained she was not her own mistress; she was not able to abide by her own choice of a husband. She was the daughter of Withersteen. Suppose she proved it, imperiously! But she quelled that proud temptation at its birth.\n\nNothing could have replaced the affection which the village people had for her; no power could have made her happy as the pleasure her presence gave. As she went on down the street past the stores with their rude platform entrances, and the saloons where tired horses stood with bridles dragging, she was again assured of what was the bread and wine of life to her—that she was loved. Dirty boys playing in the ditch, clerks, teamsters, riders, loungers on the corners, ranchers on dusty horses, little girls running errands, and women hurrying to the stores all looked up at her coming with glad eyes.\n\nJane's various calls and wandering steps at length led her to the Gentile quarter of the village. This was at the extreme southern end, and here some thirty Gentile families lived in huts and shacks and log-cabins and several dilapidated cottages. The fortunes of these inhabitants of Cottonwoods could be read in their abodes. Water they had in abundance, and therefore grass and fruit-trees and patches of alfalfa and vegetable gardens. Some of the men and boys had a few stray cattle, others obtained such intermittent employment as the Mormons reluctantly tendered them. But none of the families was prosperous, many were very poor, and some lived only by Jane Withersteen's beneficence.\n\nAs it made Jane happy to go among her own people, so it saddened her to come in contact with these Gentiles. Yet that was not because she was unwelcome; here she was gratefully received by the women, passionately by the children. But poverty and idleness, with their attendant wretchedness and sorrow, always hurt her. That she could alleviate this distress more now than ever before proved the adage that it was an ill wind that blew nobody good. While her Mormon riders were in her employ she had found few Gentiles who would stay with her, and now she was able to find employment for all the men and boys. No little shock was it to have man after man tell her that he dare not accept her kind offer.\n\n\"It won't do,\" said one Carson, an intelligent man who had seen better days. \"We've had our warning. Plain and to the point! Now there's Judkins, he packs guns, and he can use them, and so can the daredevil boys he's hired. But they've little responsibility. Can we risk having our homes burned in our absence?\"\n\nJane felt the stretching and chilling of the skin of her face as the blood left it.\n\n\"Carson, you and the others rent these houses?\" she asked.\n\n\"You ought to know, Miss Withersteen. Some of them are yours.\"\n\n\"I know?... Carson, I never in my life took a day's labor for rent or a yearling calf or a bunch of grass, let alone gold.\"\n\n\"Bivens, your store-keeper, sees to that.\"\n\n\"Look here, Carson,\" went on Jane, hurriedly, and now her cheeks were burning. \"You and Black and Willet pack your goods and move your families up to my cabins in the grove. They're far more comfortable than these. Then go to work for me. And if aught happens to you there I'll give you money—gold enough to leave Utah!\"\n\nThe man choked and stammered, and then, as tears welled into his eyes, he found the use of his tongue and cursed. No gentle speech could ever have equaled that curse in eloquent expression of what he felt for Jane Withersteen. How strangely his look and tone reminded her of Lassiter!\n\n\"No, it won't do,\" he said, when he had somewhat recovered himself. \"Miss Withersteen, there are things that you don't know, and there's not a soul among us who can tell you.\"\n\n\"I seem to be learning many things, Carson. Well, then, will you let me aid you—say till better times?\"\n\n\"Yes, I will,\" he replied, with his face lighting up. \"I see what it means to you, and you know what it means to me. Thank you! And if better times ever come, I'll be only too happy to work for you.\"\n\n\"Better times will come. I trust God and have faith in man. Good day, Carson.\"\n\nThe lane opened out upon the sage-inclosed alfalfa fields, and the last habitation, at the end of that lane of hovels, was the meanest. Formerly it had been a shed; now it was a home. The broad leaves of a wide-spreading cottonwood sheltered the sunken roof of weathered boards. Like an Indian hut, it had one floor. Round about it were a few scanty rows of vegetables, such as the hand of a weak woman had time and strength to cultivate. This little dwelling-place was just outside the village limits, and the widow who lived there had to carry her water from the nearest irrigation ditch. As Jane Withersteen entered the unfenced yard a child saw her, shrieked with joy, and came tearing toward her with curls flying. This child was a little girl of four called Fay. Her name suited her, for she was an elf, a sprite, a creature so fairy-like and beautiful that she seemed unearthly.\n\n\"Muvver sended for oo,\" cried Fay, as Jane kissed her, \"an' oo never tome.\"\n\n\"I didn't know, Fay; but I've come now.\"\n\nFay was a child of outdoors, of the garden and ditch and field, and she was dirty and ragged. But rags and dirt did not hide her beauty. The one thin little bedraggled garment she wore half covered her fine, slim body. Red as cherries were her cheeks and lips; her eyes were violet blue, and the crown of her childish loveliness was the curling golden hair.",
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"value": "All the children of Cottonwoods were Jane Withersteen's friends, she loved them all.",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 35 sentences.",
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"value": "But Fay was dearest to her. Fay had few playmates, for among the Gentile children there were none near her age, and the Mormon children were forbidden to play with her. So she was a shy, wild, lonely child.\n\n\"Muvver's sick,\" said Fay, leading Jane toward the door of the hut.\n\nJane went in. There was only one room, rather dark and bare, but it was clean and neat. A woman lay upon a bed.\n\n\"Mrs. Larkin, how are you?\" asked Jane, anxiously.\n\n\"I've been pretty bad for a week, but I'm better now.\"\n\n\"You haven't been here all alone—with no one to wait on you?\"\n\n\"Oh no! My women neighbors are kind. They take turns coming in.\"\n\n\"Did you send for me?\"\n\n\"Yes, several times.\"\n\n\"But I had no word—no messages ever got to me.\"\n\n\"I sent the boys, and they left word with your women that I was ill and would you please come.\"\n\nA sudden deadly sickness seized Jane. She fought the weakness, as she fought to be above suspicious thoughts, and it passed, leaving her conscious of her utter impotence. That, too, passed as her spirit rebounded. But she had again caught a glimpse of dark underhand domination, running its secret lines this time into her own household. Like a spider in the blackness of night an unseen hand had begun to run these dark lines, to turn and twist them about her life, to plait and weave a web. Jane Withersteen knew it now, and in the realization further coolness and sureness came to her, and the fighting courage of her ancestors.\n\n\"Mrs. Larkin, you're better, and I'm so glad,\" said Jane. \"But may I not do something for you—a turn at nursing, or send you things, or take care of Fay?\"\n\n\"You're so good. Since my husband's been gone what would have become of Fay and me but for you? It was about Fay that I wanted to speak to you. This time I thought surely I'd die, and I was worried about Fay. Well, I'll be around all right shortly, but my strength's gone and I won't live long. So I may as well speak now. You remember you've been asking me to let you take Fay and bring her up as your daughter?\"\n\n\"Indeed yes, I remember. I'll be happy to have her. But I hope the day—\"\n\n\"Never mind that. The day'll come—sooner or later. I refused your offer, and now I'll tell you why.\"\n\n\"I know why,\" interposed Jane. \"It's because you don't want her brought up as a Mormon.\"\n\n\"No, it wasn't altogether that.\" Mrs. Larkin raised her thin hand and laid it appealingly on Jane's. \"I don't like to tell you. But—it's this: I told all my friends what you wanted. They know you, care for you, and they said for me to trust Fay to you. Women will talk, you know. It got to the ears of Mormons—gossip of your love for Fay and your wanting her. And it came straight back to me, in jealousy, perhaps, that you wouldn't take Fay as much for love of her as because of your religious duty to bring up another girl for some Mormon to marry.\"\n\n\"That's a damnable lie!\" cried Jane Withersteen.\n\n\"It was what made me hesitate,\" went on Mrs. Larkin, \"but I never believed it at heart. And now I guess I'll let you—\"\n\n\"Wait! Mrs. Larkin, I may have told little white lies in my life, but never a lie that mattered, that hurt any one. Now believe me. I love little Fay. If I had her near me I'd grow to worship her. When I asked for her I thought only of that love... Let me prove this. You and Fay come to live with me. I've such a big house, and I'm so lonely. I'll help nurse you, take care of you. When you're better you can work for me. I'll keep little Fay and bring her up—without Mormon teaching. When she's grown, if she should want to leave me, I'll send her, and not empty-handed, back to Illinois where you came from. I promise you.\"\n\n\"I knew it was a lie,\" replied the mother, and she sank back upon her pillow with something of peace in her white, worn face. \"Jane Withersteen, may Heaven bless you! I've been deeply grateful to you. But because you're a Mormon I never felt close to you till now. I don't know much about religion as religion, but your God and my God are the same.\"",
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"from": "system",
"value": "expand on the story like Zane Grey would. btw might have existing characters/lore",
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"value": "Chapter VIII. Surprise Valley",
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"from": "human",
"value": "Back in that strange canyon, which Venters had found indeed a valley of surprises, the wounded girl's whispered appeal, almost a prayer, not to take her back to the rustlers crowned the events of the last few days with a confounding climax.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "That she should not want to return to them staggered Venters.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "(In the next section: can you add this somewhere in your response:\n\"Not now. I was once. I drove the Withersteen herds. But I lost my place—lost all I owned—and now I'm—I'm a sort of outcast. My name's Bern Venters.\")",
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"value": "Presently, as logical thought returned, her appeal confirmed his first impression—that she was more unfortunate than bad—and he experienced a sensation of gladness. If he had known before that Oldring's Masked Rider was a woman his opinion would have been formed and he would have considered her abandoned. But his first knowledge had come when he lifted a white face quivering in a convulsion of agony; he had heard God's name whispered by blood-stained lips; through her solemn and awful eyes he had caught a glimpse of her soul. And just now had come the entreaty to him, \"Don't—take—me—back—there!\"\n\nOnce for all Venters's quick mind formed a permanent conception of this poor girl. He based it, not upon what the chances of life had made her, but upon the revelation of dark eyes that pierced the infinite, upon a few pitiful, halting words that betrayed failure and wrong and misery, yet breathed the truth of a tragic fate rather than a natural leaning to evil.\n\n\"What's your name?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Bess,\" she answered.\n\n\"Bess what?\"\n\n\"That's enough—just Bess.\"\n\nThe red that deepened in her cheeks was not all the flush of fever. Venters marveled anew, and this time at the tint of shame in her face, at the momentary drooping of long lashes. She might be a rustler's girl, but she was still capable of shame, she might be dying, but she still clung to some little remnant of honor.\n\n\"Very well, Bess. It doesn't matter,\" he said. \"But this matters—what shall I do with you?\"\n\n\"Are—you—a rider?\" she whispered.\n\n\"Not now. I was once. I drove the Withersteen herds. But I lost my place—lost all I owned—and now I'm—I'm a sort of outcast. My name's Bern Venters.\"\n\n\"You won't—take me—to Cottonwoods—or Glaze? I'd be—hanged.\"\n\n\"No, indeed. But I must do something with you. For it's not safe for me here. I shot that rustler who was with you. Sooner or later he'll be found, and then my tracks. I must find a safer hiding-place where I can't be trailed.\"\n\n\"Leave me—here.\"\n\n\"Alone—to die!\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I will not.\" Venters spoke shortly with a kind of ring in his voice.\n\n\"What—do you want—to do—with me?\" Her whispering grew difficult, so low and faint that Venters had to stoop to hear her.\n\n\"Why, let's see,\" he replied, slowly. \"I'd like to take you some place where I could watch by you, nurse you, till you're all right.\"\n\n\"And—then?\"\n\n\"Well, it'll be time to think of that when you're cured of your wound. It's a bad one. And—Bess, if you don't want to live—if you don't fight for life—you'll never—\"\n\n\"Oh! I want—to live! I'm afraid—to die. But I'd rather—die—than go back—to—to—\"\n\n\"To Oldring?\" asked Venters, interrupting her in turn.\n\nHer lips moved in an affirmative.\n\n\"I promise not to take you back to him or to Cottonwoods or to Glaze.\"\n\nThe mournful earnestness of her gaze suddenly shone with unutterable gratitude and wonder. And as suddenly Venters found her eyes beautiful as he had never seen or felt beauty. They were as dark blue as the sky at night. Then the flashing changed to a long, thoughtful look, in which there was a wistful, unconscious searching of his face, a look that trembled on the verge of hope and trust.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"I'll try—to live,\" she said.",
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"from": "system",
"value": "Use the word 'cedar' 3 time(s) - this is a strict requirement",
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"value": "The broken whisper just reached his ears. \"Do what—you want—with me.\"\n\n\"Rest then—don't worry—sleep,\" he replied.\n\nAbruptly he arose, as if words had been decision for him, and with a sharp command to the dogs he strode from the camp. Venters was conscious of an indefinite conflict of change within him. It seemed to be a vague passing of old moods, a dim coalescing of new forces, a moment of inexplicable transition. He was both cast down and uplifted. He wanted to think and think of the meaning, but he resolutely dispelled emotion. His imperative need at present was to find a safe retreat, and this called for action.\n\nSo he set out. It still wanted several hours before dark. This trip he turned to the left and wended his skulking way southward a mile or more to the opening of the valley, where lay the strange scrawled rocks. He did not, however, venture boldly out into the open sage, but clung to the right-hand wall and went along that till its perpendicular line broke into the long incline of bare stone.\n\nBefore proceeding farther he halted, studying the strange character of this slope and realizing that a moving black object could be seen far against such background. Before him ascended a gradual swell of smooth stone. It was hard, polished, and full of pockets worn by centuries of eddying rain-water. A hundred yards up began a line of grotesque cedar-trees, and they extended along the slope clear to its most southerly end. Beyond that end Venters wanted to get, and he concluded the cedars, few as they were, would afford some cover.\n\nTherefore he climbed swiftly. The trees were farther up than he had estimated, though he had from long habit made allowance for the deceiving nature of distances in that country. When he gained the cover of cedars he paused to rest and look, and it was then he saw how the trees sprang from holes in the bare rock. Ages of rain had run down the slope, circling, eddying in depressions, wearing deep round holes. There had been dry seasons, accumulations of dust, wind-blown seeds, and cedars rose wonderfully out of solid rock. But these were not beautiful cedars. They were gnarled, twisted into weird contortions, as if growth were torture, dead at the tops, shrunken, gray, and old. Theirs had been a bitter fight, and Venters felt a strange sympathy for them. This country was hard on trees—and men.\n\nHe slipped from cedar to cedar, keeping them between him and the open valley. As he progressed, the belt of trees widened and he kept to its upper margin. He passed shady pockets half full of water, and, as he marked the location for possible future need, he reflected that there had been no rain since the winter snows. From one of these shady holes a rabbit hopped out and squatted down, laying its ears flat.\n\nVenters wanted fresh meat now more than when he had only himself to think of. But it would not do to fire his rifle there. So he broke off a cedar branch and threw it. He crippled the rabbit, which started to flounder up the slope. Venters did not wish to lose the meat, and he never allowed crippled game to escape, to die lingeringly in some covert. So after a careful glance below, and back toward the canyon, he began to chase the rabbit.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "The fact that rabbits generally ran uphill was not new to him.",
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"value": "But it presently seemed singular why this rabbit, that might have escaped downward, chose to ascend the slope. Venters knew then that it had a burrow higher up. More than once he jerked over to seize it, only in vain, for the rabbit by renewed effort eluded his grasp. Thus the chase continued on up the bare slope. The farther Venters climbed the more determined he grew to catch his quarry. At last, panting and sweating, he captured the rabbit at the foot of a steeper grade. Laying his rifle on the bulge of rising stone, he killed the animal and slung it from his belt.\n\nBefore starting down he waited to catch his breath. He had climbed far up that wonderful smooth slope, and had almost reached the base of yellow cliff that rose skyward, a huge scarred and cracked bulk. It frowned down upon him as if to forbid further ascent. Venters bent over for his rifle, and, as he picked it up from where it leaned against the steeper grade, he saw several little nicks cut in the solid stone.\n\nThey were only a few inches deep and about a foot apart. Venters began to count them—one—two—three—four—on up to sixteen. That number carried his glance to the top of his first bulging bench of cliff-base. Above, after a more level offset, was still steeper slope, and the line of nicks kept on, to wind round a projecting corner of wall.\n\nA casual glance would have passed by these little dents; if Venters had not known what they signified he would never have bestowed upon them the second glance. But he knew they had been cut there by hand, and, though age-worn, he recognized them as steps cut in the rock by the cliff-dwellers. With a pulse beginning to beat and hammer away his calmness, he eyed that indistinct line of steps, up to where the buttress of wall hid further sight of them. He knew that behind the corner of stone would be a cave or a crack which could never be suspected from below. Chance, that had sported with him of late, now directed him to a probable hiding-place. Again he laid aside his rifle, and, removing boots and belt, he began to walk up the steps. Like a mountain goat, he was agile, sure-footed, and he mounted the first bench without bending to use his hands. The next ascent took grip of fingers as well as toes, but he climbed steadily, swiftly, to reach the projecting corner, and slipped around it. Here he faced a notch in the cliff. At the apex he turned abruptly into a ragged vent that split the ponderous wall clear to the top, showing a narrow streak of blue sky.\n\nAt the base this vent was dark, cool, and smelled of dry, musty dust. It zigzagged so that he could not see ahead more than a few yards at a time. He noticed tracks of wildcats and rabbits in the dusty floor. At every turn he expected to come upon a huge cavern full of little square stone houses, each with a small aperture like a staring dark eye. The passage lightened and widened, and opened at the foot of a narrow, steep, ascending chute.\n\nVenters had a moment's notice of the rock, which was of the same smoothness and hardness as the slope below, before his gaze went irresistibly upward to the precipitous walls of this wide ladder of granite. These were ruined walls of yellow sandstone, and so split and splintered, so overhanging with great sections of balancing rim, so impending with tremendous crumbling crags, that Venters caught his breath sharply, and, appalled, he instinctively recoiled as if a step upward might jar the ponderous cliffs from their foundation. Indeed, it seemed that these ruined cliffs were but awaiting a breath of wind to collapse and come tumbling down. Venters hesitated. It would be a foolhardy man who risked his life under the leaning, waiting avalanches of rock in that gigantic split. Yet how many years had they leaned there without falling! At the bottom of the incline was an immense heap of weathered sandstone all crumbling to dust, but there were no huge rocks as large as houses, such as rested so lightly and frightfully above, waiting patiently and inevitably to crash down. Slowly split from the parent rock by the weathering process, and carved and sculptured by ages of wind and rain, they waited their moment.",
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"value": "Venters felt how foolish it was for him to fear these broken walls; to fear that, after they had endured for thousands of years, the moment of his passing should be the one for them to slip. Yet he feared it.\n\n\"What a place to hide!\" muttered Venters. \"I'll climb—I'll see where this thing goes. If only I can find water!\"\n\nWith teeth tight shut he essayed the incline. And as he climbed he bent his eyes downward. This, however, after a little grew impossible; he had to look to obey his eager, curious mind. He raised his glance and saw light between row on row of shafts and pinnacles and crags that stood out from the main wall. Some leaned against the cliff, others against each other; many stood sheer and alone; all were crumbling, cracked, rotten. It was a place of yellow, ragged ruin. The passage narrowed as he went up; it became a slant, hard for him to stick on; it was smooth as marble. Finally he surmounted it, surprised to find the walls still several hundred feet high, and a narrow gorge leading down on the other side. This was a divide between two inclines, about twenty yards wide. At one side stood an enormous rock. Venters gave it a second glance, because it rested on a pedestal. It attracted closer attention. It was like a colossal pear of stone standing on its stem. Around the bottom were thousands of little nicks just distinguishable to the eye. They were marks of stone hatchets. The cliff-dwellers had chipped and chipped away at this boulder till it rested its tremendous bulk upon a mere pin-point of its surface. Venters pondered. Why had the little stone-men hacked away at that big boulder? It bore no semblance to a statue or an idol or a godhead or a sphinx. Instinctively he put his hands on it and pushed; then his shoulder and heaved. The stone seemed to groan, to stir, to grate, and then to move. It tipped a little downward and hung balancing for a long instant, slowly returned, rocked slightly, groaned, and settled back to its former position.\n\nVenters divined its significance. It had been meant for defense. The cliff-dwellers, driven by dreaded enemies to this last stand, had cunningly cut the rock until it balanced perfectly, ready to be dislodged by strong hands. Just below it leaned a tottering crag that would have toppled, starting an avalanche on an acclivity where no sliding mass could stop. Crags and pinnacles, splintered cliffs, and leaning shafts and monuments, would have thundered down to block forever the outlet to Deception Pass.\n\n\"That was a narrow shave for me,\" said Venters, soberly. \"A balancing rock! The cliff-dwellers never had to roll it. They died, vanished, and here the rock stands, probably little changed... But it might serve another lonely dweller of the cliffs. I'll hide up here somewhere, if I can only find water.\"\n\nHe descended the gorge on the other side. The slope was gradual, the space narrow, the course straight for many rods. A gloom hung between the up-sweeping walls. In a turn the passage narrowed to scarce a dozen feet, and here was darkness of night. But light shone ahead; another abrupt turn brought day again, and then wide open space.",
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"value": "Above Venters loomed a wonderful arch of stone bridging the canyon rims, and through the enormous round portal gleamed and glistened a beautiful valley shining under sunset gold reflected by surrounding cliffs.",
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"value": "He gave a start of surprise. The valley was a cove a mile long, half that wide, and its enclosing walls were smooth and stained, and curved inward, forming great caves. He decided that its floor was far higher than the level of Deception Pass and the intersecting canyons. No purple sage colored this valley floor. Instead there were the white of aspens, streaks of branch and slender trunk glistening from the green of leaves, and the darker green of oaks, and through the middle of this forest, from wall to wall, ran a winding line of brilliant green which marked the course of cottonwoods and willows.\n\n\"There's water here—and this is the place for me,\" said Venters. \"Only birds can peep over those walls, I've gone Oldring one better.\"\n\nVenters waited no longer, and turned swiftly to retrace his steps. He named the canyon Surprise Valley and the huge boulder that guarded the outlet Balancing Rock. Going down he did not find himself attended by such fears as had beset him in the climb; still, he was not easy in mind and could not occupy himself with plans of moving the girl and his outfit until he had descended to the notch. There he rested a moment and looked about him. The pass was darkening with the approach of night. At the corner of the wall, where the stone steps turned, he saw a spur of rock that would serve to hold the noose of a lasso. He needed no more aid to scale that place. As he intended to make the move under cover of darkness, he wanted most to be able to tell where to climb up. So, taking several small stones with him, he stepped and slid down to the edge of the slope where he had left his rifle and boots. He placed the stones some yards apart. He left the rabbit lying upon the bench where the steps began. Then he addressed a keen-sighted, remembering gaze to the rim-wall above. It was serrated, and between two spears of rock, directly in line with his position, showed a zigzag crack that at night would let through the gleam of sky. This settled, he put on his belt and boots and prepared to descend. Some consideration was necessary to decide whether or not to leave his rifle there. On the return, carrying the girl and a pack, it would be added encumbrance; and after debating the matter he left the rifle leaning against the bench. As he went straight down the slope he halted every few rods to look up at his mark on the rim. It changed, but he fixed each change in his memory. When he reached the first cedar-tree, he tied his scarf upon a dead branch, and then hurried toward camp, having no more concern about finding his trail upon the return trip.\n\nDarkness soon emboldened and lent him greater speed. It occurred to him, as he glided into the grassy glade near camp and head the whinny of a horse, that he had forgotten Wrangle. The big sorrel could not be gotten into Surprise Valley. He would have to be left here.\n\nVenters determined at once to lead the other horses out through the thicket and turn them loose. The farther they wandered from this canyon the better it would suit him. He easily descried Wrangle through the gloom, but the others were not in sight. Venters whistled low for the dogs, and when they came trotting to him he sent them out to search for the horses, and followed. It soon developed that they were not in the glade nor the thicket. Venters grew cold and rigid at the thought of rustlers having entered his retreat. But the thought passed, for the demeanor of Ring and Whitie reassured him.",
"loss": true
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"value": "The horses had wandered away.",
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"value": "Under the clump of silver spruces a denser mantle of darkness, yet not so thick that Venter's night-practiced eyes could not catch the white oval of a still face. He bent over it with a slight suspension of breath that was both caution lest he frighten her and chill uncertainty of feeling lest he find her dead. But she slept, and he arose to renewed activity.\n\nHe packed his saddle-bags. The dogs were hungry, they whined about him and nosed his busy hands; but he took no time to feed them nor to satisfy his own hunger. He slung the saddlebags over his shoulders and made them secure with his lasso. Then he wrapped the blankets closer about the girl and lifted her in his arms. Wrangle whinnied and thumped the ground as Venters passed him with the dogs. The sorrel knew he was being left behind, and was not sure whether he liked it or not. Venters went on and entered the thicket. Here he had to feel his way in pitch blackness and to wedge his progress between the close saplings. Time meant little to him now that he had started, and he edged along with slow side movement till he got clear of the thicket. Ring and Whitie stood waiting for him. Taking to the open aisles and patches of the sage, he walked guardedly, careful not to stumble or step in dust or strike against spreading sage-branches.\n\nIf he were burdened he did not feel it. From time to time, when he passed out of the black lines of shade into the wan starlight, he glanced at the white face of the girl lying in his arms. She had not awakened from her sleep or stupor. He did not rest until he cleared the black gate of the canyon. Then he leaned against a stone breast-high to him and gently released the girl from his hold. His brow and hair and the palms of his hands were wet, and there was a kind of nervous contraction of his muscles. They seemed to ripple and string tense. He had a desire to hurry and no sense of fatigue. A wind blew the scent of sage in his face. The first early blackness of night passed with the brightening of the stars. Somewhere back on his trail a coyote yelped, splitting the dead silence. Venters's faculties seemed singularly acute.\n\nHe lifted the girl again and pressed on. The valley better traveling than the canyon. It was lighter, freer of sage, and there were no rocks. Soon, out of the pale gloom shone a still paler thing, and that was the low swell of slope. Venters mounted it and his dogs walked beside him. Once upon the stone he slowed to snail pace, straining his sight to avoid the pockets and holes. Foot by foot he went up. The weird cedars, like great demons and witches chained to the rock and writhing in silent anguish, loomed up with wide and twisting naked arms. Venters crossed this belt of cedars, skirted the upper border, and recognized the tree he had marked, even before he saw his waving scarf.\n\nHere he knelt and deposited the girl gently, feet first and slowly laid her out full length. What he feared was to reopen one of her wounds.",
"loss": true
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"value": "If he gave her a violent jar, or slipped and fell!",
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"from": "human",
"value": "But the supreme confidence so strangely felt that night admitted no such blunders.",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "The slope before him seemed to swell into obscurity to lose its definite outline in a misty, opaque cloud that shaded into the over-shadowing wall. He scanned the rim where the serrated points speared the sky, and he found the zigzag crack. It was dim, only a shade lighter than the dark ramparts, but he distinguished it, and that served.\n\nLifting the girl, he stepped upward, closely attending to the nature of the path under his feet. After a few steps he stopped to mark his line with the crack in the rim. The dogs clung closer to him. While chasing the rabbit this slope had appeared interminable to him; now, burdened as he was, he did not think of length or height or toil. He remembered only to avoid a misstep and to keep his direction. He climbed on, with frequent stops to watch the rim, and before he dreamed of gaining the bench he bumped his knees into it, and saw, in the dim gray light, his rifle and the rabbit. He had come straight up without mishap or swerving off his course, and his shut teeth unlocked.\n\nAs he laid the girl down in the shallow hollow of the little ridge with her white face upturned, she opened her eyes. Wide, staring black, at once like both the night and the stars, they made her face seem still whiter.\n\n\"Is—it—you?\" she asked, faintly.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Venters.\n\n\"Oh! Where—are we?\"\n\n\"I'm taking you to a safe place where no one will ever find you. I must climb a little here and call the dogs. Don't be afraid. I'll soon come for you.\"\n\nShe said no more. Her eyes watched him steadily for a moment and then closed. Venters pulled off his boots and then felt for the little steps in the rock. The shade of the cliff above obscured the point he wanted to gain, but he could see dimly a few feet before him. What he had attempted with care he now went at with surpassing lightness. Buoyant, rapid, sure, he attained the corner of wall and slipped around it. Here he could not see a hand before his face, so he groped along, found a little flat space, and there removed the saddle-bags. The lasso he took back with him to the corner and looped the noose over the spur of rock.\n\n\"Ring—Whitie—come,\" he called, softly.\n\nLow whines came up from below.\n\n\"Here! Come, Whitie—Ring,\" he repeated, this time sharply.\n\nThen followed scraping of claws and pattering of feet; and out of the gray gloom below him swiftly climbed the dogs to reach his side and pass beyond.\n\nVenters descended, holding to the lasso. He tested its strength by throwing all his weight upon it. Then he gathered the girl up, and, holding her securely in his left arm, he began to climb, at every few steps jerking his right hand upward along the lasso. It sagged at each forward movement he made, but he balanced himself lightly during the interval when he lacked the support of a taut rope. He climbed as if he had wings, the strength of a giant, and knew not the sense of fear. The sharp corner of cliff seemed to cut out of the darkness. He reached it and the protruding shelf, and then, entering the black shade of the notch, he moved blindly but surely to the place where he had left the saddle-bags. He heard the dogs, though he could not see them. Once more he carefully placed the girl at his feet.",
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"value": "Then, on hands and knees, he went over the little flat space, feeling for stones.",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 24 sentences.",
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"value": "He removed a number, and, scraping the deep dust into a heap, he unfolded the outer blanket from around the girl and laid her upon this bed. Then he went down the slope again for his boots, rifle, and the rabbit, and, bringing also his lasso with him, he made short work of that trip.\n\n\"Are—you—there?\" The girl's voice came low from the blackness.\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied, and was conscious that his laboring breast made speech difficult.\n\n\"Are we—in a cave?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Oh, listen!... The waterfall!... I hear it! You've brought me back!\"\n\nVenters heard a murmuring moan that one moment swelled to a pitch almost softly shrill and the next lulled to a low, almost inaudible sigh.\n\n\"That's—wind blowing—in the—cliffs,\" he panted. \"You're far from Oldring's—canyon.\"\n\nThe effort it cost him to speak made him conscious of extreme lassitude following upon great exertion. It seemed that when he lay down and drew his blanket over him the action was the last before utter prostration. He stretched inert, wet, hot, his body one great strife of throbbing, stinging nerves and bursting veins. And there he lay for a long while before he felt that he had begun to rest.\n\nRest came to him that night, but no sleep. Sleep he did not want. The hours of strained effort were now as if they had never been, and he wanted to think. Earlier in the day he had dismissed an inexplicable feeling of change; but now, when there was no longer demand on his cunning and strength and he had time to think, he could not catch the illusive thing that had sadly perplexed as well as elevated his spirit.\n\nAbove him, through a V-shaped cleft in the dark rim of the cliff, shone the lustrous stars that had been his lonely accusers for a long, long year. To-night they were different. He studied them. Larger, whiter, more radiant they seemed; but that was not the difference he meant. Gradually it came to him that the distinction was not one he saw, but one he felt. In this he divined as much of the baffling change as he thought would be revealed to him then. And as he lay there, with the singing of the cliff-winds in his ears, the white stars above the dark, bold vent, the difference which he felt was that he was no longer alone.",
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[
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"from": "system",
"value": "writing exercise: 62 sentences sentences continuing this chapter, Zane Grey style, Western genre. characters may be pre-established",
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"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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"value": "Chapter IX. Silver Spruce and Aspens\n\nThe rest of that night seemed to Venters only a few moments of starlight, a dark overcasting of sky, an hour or so of gray gloom, and then the lighting of dawn.\n\nWhen he had bestirred himself, feeding the hungry dogs and breaking his long fast, and had repacked his saddle-bags, it was clear daylight, though the sun had not tipped the yellow wall in the east. He concluded to make the climb and descent into Surprise Valley in one trip. To that end he tied his blanket upon Ring and gave Whitie the extra lasso and the rabbit to carry. Then, with the rifle and saddle-bags slung upon his back, he took up the girl. She did not awaken from heavy slumber.\n\nThat climb up under the rugged, menacing brows of the broken cliffs, in the face of a grim, leaning boulder that seemed to be weary of its age-long wavering, was a tax on strength and nerve that Venters felt equally with something sweet and strangely exulting in its accomplishment. He did not pause until he gained the narrow divide and there he rested. Balancing Rock loomed huge, cold in the gray light of dawn, a thing without life, yet it spoke silently to Venters: \"I am waiting to plunge down, to shatter and crash, roar and boom, to bury your trail, and close forever the outlet to Deception Pass!\"\n\nOn the descent of the other side Venters had easy going, but was somewhat concerned because Whitie appeared to have succumbed to temptation, and while carrying the rabbit was also chewing on it. And Ring evidently regarded this as an injury to himself, especially as he had carried the heavier load. Presently he snapped at one end of the rabbit and refused to let go. But his action prevented Whitie from further misdoing, and then the two dogs pattered down, carrying the rabbit between them.\n\nVenters turned out of the gorge, and suddenly paused stock-still, astounded at the scene before him. The curve of the great stone bridge had caught the sunrise, and through the magnificent arch burst a glorious stream of gold that shone with a long slant down into the center of Surprise Valley. Only through the arch did any sunlight pass, so that all the rest of the valley lay still asleep, dark green, mysterious, shadowy, merging its level into walls as misty and soft as morning clouds.\n\nVenters then descended, passing through the arch, looking up at its tremendous height and sweep. It spanned the opening to Surprise Valley, stretching in almost perfect curve from rim to rim. Even in his hurry and concern Venters could not but feel its majesty, and the thought came to him that the cliff-dwellers must have regarded it as an object of worship.\n\nDown, down, down Venters strode, more and more feeling the weight of his burden as he descended, and still the valley lay below him. As all other canyons and coves and valleys had deceived him, so had this deep, nestling oval. At length he passed beyond the slope of weathered stone that spread fan-shape from the arch, and encountered a grassy terrace running to the right and about on a level with the tips of the oaks and cottonwoods below. Scattered here and there upon this shelf were clumps of aspens, and he walked through them into a glade that surpassed in beauty and adaptability for a wild home, any place he had ever seen. Silver spruces bordered the base of a precipitous wall that rose loftily. Caves indented its surface, and there were no detached ledges or weathered sections that might dislodge a stone. The level ground, beyond the spruces, dropped down into a little ravine. This was one dense line of slender aspens from which came the low splashing of water. And the terrace, lying open to the west, afforded unobstructed view of the valley of green treetops.\n\nFor his camp Venters chose a shady, grassy plot between the silver spruces and the cliff. Here, in the stone wall, had been wonderfully carved by wind or washed by water several deep caves above the level of the terrace. They were clean, dry, roomy.\n\nHe cut spruce boughs and made a bed in the largest cave and laid the girl there. The first intimation that he had of her being aroused from sleep or lethargy was a low call for water.\n\nHe hurried down into the ravine with his canteen. It was a shallow, grass-green place with aspens growing up everywhere. To his delight he found a tiny brook of swift-running water. Its faint tinge of amber reminded him of the spring at Cottonwoods, and the thought gave him a little shock. The water was so cold it made his fingers tingle as he dipped the canteen. Having returned to the cave, he was glad to see the girl drink thirstily. This time he noted that she could raise her head slightly without his help.\n\n\"You were thirsty,\" he said. \"It's good water. I've found a fine place. Tell me—how do you feel?\"\n\n\"There's pain—here,\" she replied, and moved her hand to her left side.\n\n\"Why, that's strange! Your wounds are on your right side. I believe you're hungry. Is the pain a kind of dull ache—a gnawing?\"\n\n\"It's like—that.\"\n\n\"Then it's hunger.\" Venters laughed, and suddenly caught himself with a quick breath and felt again the little shock. When had he laughed? \"It's hunger,\" he went on. \"I've had that gnaw many a time. I've got it now. But you mustn't eat. You can have all the water you want, but no food just yet.\"\n\n\"Won't I—starve?\"\n\n\"No, people don't starve easily. I've discovered that. You must lie perfectly still and rest and sleep—for days.\"\n\n\"My hands—are dirty; my face feels—so hot and sticky; my boots hurt.\" It was her longest speech as yet, and it trailed off in a whisper.\n\n\"Well, I'm a fine nurse!\"\n\nIt annoyed him that he had never thought of these things. But then, awaiting her death and thinking of her comfort were vastly different matters. He unwrapped the blanket which covered her. What a slender girl she was! No wonder he had been able to carry her miles and pack her up that slippery ladder of stone. Her boots were of soft, fine leather, reaching clear to her knees. He recognized the make as one of a boot-maker in Sterling.",
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"value": "Her spurs, that he had stupidly neglected to remove, consisted of silver frames and gold chains, and the rowels, large as silver dollars, were fancifully engraved.",
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"value": "The boots slipped off rather hard. She wore heavy woollen rider's stockings, half length, and these were pulled up over the ends of her short trousers. Venters took off the stockings to note her little feet were red and swollen. He bathed them. Then he removed his scarf and bathed her face and hands.\n\n\"I must see your wounds now,\" he said, gently.\n\nShe made no reply, but watched him steadily as he opened her blouse and untied the bandage. His strong fingers trembled a little as he removed it. If the wounds had reopened! A chill struck him as he saw the angry red bullet-mark, and a tiny stream of blood winding from it down her white breast. Very carefully he lifted her to see that the wound in her back had closed perfectly. Then he washed the blood from her breast, bathed the wound, and left it unbandaged, open to the air.\n\nHer eyes thanked him.\n\n\"Listen,\" he said, earnestly. \"I've had some wounds, and I've seen many. I know a little about them. The hole in your back has closed. If you lie still three days the one in your breast will close and you'll be safe. The danger from hemorrhage will be over.\"\n\nHe had spoken with earnest sincerity, almost eagerness.\n\n\"Why—do you—want me—to get well?\" she asked, wonderingly.\n\nThe simple question seemed unanswerable except on grounds of humanity. But the circumstances under which he had shot this strange girl, the shock and realization, the waiting for death, the hope, had resulted in a condition of mind wherein Venters wanted her to live more than he had ever wanted anything. Yet he could not tell why. He believed the killing of the rustler and the subsequent excitement had disturbed him. For how else could he explain the throbbing of his brain, the heat of his blood, the undefined sense of full hours, charged, vibrant with pulsating mystery where once they had dragged in loneliness?\n\n\"I shot you,\" he said, slowly, \"and I want you to get well so I shall not have killed a woman. But—for your own sake, too—\"\n\nA terrible bitterness darkened her eyes, and her lips quivered.\n\n\"Hush,\" said Venters. \"You've talked too much already.\"\n\nIn her unutterable bitterness he saw a darkness of mood that could not have been caused by her present weak and feverish state. She hated the life she had led, that she probably had been compelled to lead. She had suffered some unforgivable wrong at the hands of Oldring. With that conviction Venters felt a shame throughout his body, and it marked the rekindling of fierce anger and ruthlessness. In the past long year he had nursed resentment. He had hated the wilderness—the loneliness of the uplands. He had waited for something to come to pass. It had come. Like an Indian stealing horses he had skulked into the recesses of the canyons. He had found Oldring's retreat; he had killed a rustler; he had shot an unfortunate girl, then had saved her from this unwitting act, and he meant to save her from the consequent wasting of blood, from fever and weakness. Starvation he had to fight for her and for himself. Where he had been sick at the letting of blood, now he remembered it in grim, cold calm. And as he lost that softness of nature, so he lost his fear of men. He would watch for Oldring, biding his time, and he would kill this great black-bearded rustler who had held a girl in bondage, who had used her to his infamous ends.\n\nVenters surmised this much of the change in him—idleness had passed; keen, fierce vigor flooded his mind and body; all that had happened to him at Cottonwoods seemed remote and hard to recall; the difficulties and perils of the present absorbed him, held him in a kind of spell.\n\nFirst, then, he fitted up the little cave adjoining the girl's room for his own comfort and use. His next work was to build a fireplace of stones and to gather a store of wood. That done, he spilled the contents of his saddle-bags upon the grass and took stock. His outfit consisted of a small-handled axe, a hunting-knife, a large number of cartridges for rifle or revolver, a tin plate, a cup, and a fork and spoon, a quantity of dried beef and dried fruits, and small canvas bags containing tea, sugar, salt, and pepper. For him alone this supply would have been bountiful to begin a sojourn in the wilderness, but he was no longer alone. Starvation in the uplands was not an unheard-of thing; he did not, however, worry at all on that score, and feared only his possible inability to supply the needs of a woman in a weakened and extremely delicate condition.\n\nIf there was no game in the valley—a contingency he doubted—it would not be a great task for him to go by night to Oldring's herd and pack out a calf. The exigency of the moment was to ascertain if there were game in Surprise Valley. Whitie still guarded the dilapidated rabbit, and Ring slept near by under a spruce. Venters called Ring and went to the edge of the terrace, and there halted to survey the valley.\n\nHe was prepared to find it larger than his unstudied glances had made it appear; for more than a casual idea of dimensions and a hasty conception of oval shape and singular beauty he had not had time. Again the felicity of the name he had given the valley struck him forcibly. Around the red perpendicular walls, except under the great arc of stone, ran a terrace fringed at the cliff-base by silver spruces; below that first terrace sloped another wider one densely overgrown with aspens, and the center of the valley was a level circle of oaks and alders, with the glittering green line of willows and cottonwood dividing it in half. Venters saw a number and variety of birds flitting among the trees. To his left, facing the stone bridge, an enormous cavern opened in the wall; and low down, just above the tree-tops, he made out a long shelf of cliff-dwellings, with little black, staring windows or doors. Like eyes they were, and seemed to watch him. The few cliff-dwellings he had seen—all ruins—had left him with haunting memory of age and solitude and of something past. He had come, in a way, to be a cliff-dweller himself, and those silent eyes would look down upon him, as if in surprise that after thousands of years a man had invaded the valley. Venters felt sure that he was the only white man who had ever walked under the shadow of the wonderful stone bridge, down into that wonderful valley with its circle of caves and its terraced rings of silver spruce and aspens.\n\nThe dog growled below and rushed into the forest. Venters ran down the declivity to enter a zone of light shade streaked with sunshine. The oak-trees were slender, none more than half a foot thick, and they grew close together, intermingling their branches. Ring came running back with a rabbit in his mouth. Venters took the rabbit and, holding the dog near him, stole softly on.",
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"value": "There were fluttering of wings among the branches and quick bird-notes, and rustling of dead leaves and rapid patterings.",
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"value": "Venters crossed well-worn trails marked with fresh tracks; and when he had stolen on a little farther he saw many birds and running quail, and more rabbits than he could count. He had not penetrated the forest of oaks for a hundred yards, had not approached anywhere near the line of willows and cottonwoods which he knew grew along a stream. But he had seen enough to know that Surprise Valley was the home of many wild creatures.\n\nVenters returned to camp. He skinned the rabbits, and gave the dogs the one they had quarreled over, and the skin of this he dressed and hung up to dry, feeling that he would like to keep it. It was a particularly rich, furry pelt with a beautiful white tail. Venters remembered that but for the bobbing of that white tail catching his eye he would not have espied the rabbit, and he would never have discovered Surprise Valley. Little incidents of chance like this had turned him here and there in Deception Pass; and now they had assumed to him the significance and direction of destiny.\n\nHis good fortune in the matter of game at hand brought to his mind the necessity of keeping it in the valley. Therefore he took the axe and cut bundles of aspens and willows, and packed them up under the bridge to the narrow outlet of the gorge. Here he began fashioning a fence, by driving aspens into the ground and lacing them fast with willows. Trip after trip he made down for more building material, and the afternoon had passed when he finished the work to his satisfaction. Wildcats might scale the fence, but no coyote could come in to search for prey, and no rabbits or other small game could escape from the valley.\n\nUpon returning to camp he set about getting his supper at ease, around a fine fire, without hurry or fear of discovery. After hard work that had definite purpose, this freedom and comfort gave him peculiar satisfaction. He caught himself often, as he kept busy round the camp-fire, stopping to glance at the quiet form in the cave, and at the dogs stretched cozily near him, and then out across the beautiful valley. The present was not yet real to him.\n\nWhile he ate, the sun set beyond a dip in the rim of the curved wall. As the morning sun burst wondrously through a grand arch into this valley, in a golden, slanting shaft, so the evening sun, at the moment of setting, shone through a gap of cliffs, sending down a broad red burst to brighten the oval with a blaze of fire. To Venters both sunrise and sunset were unreal.\n\nA cool wind blew across the oval, waving the tips of oaks, and while the light lasted, fluttering the aspen leaves into millions of facets of red, and sweeping the graceful spruces. Then with the wind soon came a shade and a darkening, and suddenly the valley was gray. Night came there quickly after the sinking of the sun. Venters went softly to look at the girl. She slept, and her breathing was quiet and slow. He lifted Ring into the cave, with stern whisper for him to stay there on guard. Then he drew the blanket carefully over her and returned to the camp-fire.\n\nThough exceedingly tired, he was yet loath to yield to lassitude, but this night it was not from listening, watchful vigilance; it was from a desire to realize his position. The details of his wild environment seemed the only substance of a strange dream. He saw the darkening rims, the gray oval turning black, the undulating surface of forest, like a rippling lake, and the spear-pointed spruces. He heard the flutter of aspen leaves and the soft, continuous splash of falling water. The melancholy note of a canyon bird broke clear and lonely from the high cliffs. Venters had no name for this night singer, and he had never seen one, but the few notes, always pealing out just at darkness, were as familiar to him as the canyon silence. Then they ceased, and the rustle of leaves and the murmur of water hushed in a growing sound that Venters fancied was not of earth. Neither had he a name for this, only it was inexpressibly wild and sweet. The thought came that it might be a moan of the girl in her last outcry of life, and he felt a tremor shake him. But no! This sound was not human, though it was like despair. He began to doubt his sensitive perceptions, to believe that he half-dreamed what he thought he heard. Then the sound swelled with the strengthening of the breeze, and he realized it was the singing of the wind in the cliffs.\n\nBy and by a drowsiness overcame him, and Venters began to nod, half asleep, with his back against a spruce. Rousing himself and calling Whitie, he went to the cave. The girl lay barely visible in the dimness. Ring crouched beside her, and the patting of his tail on the stone assured Venters that the dog was awake and faithful to his duty. Venters sought his own bed of fragrant boughs; and as he lay back, somehow grateful for the comfort and safety, the night seemed to steal away from him and he sank softly into intangible space and rest and slumber.\n\nVenters awakened to the sound of melody that he imagined was only the haunting echo of dream music. He opened his eyes to another surprise of this valley of beautiful surprises. Out of his cave he saw the exquisitely fine foliage of the silver spruces crossing a round space of blue morning sky; and in this lacy leafage fluttered a number of gray birds with black and white stripes and long tails. They were mocking-birds, and they were singing as if they wanted to burst their throats. Venters listened. One long, silver-tipped branch dropped almost to his cave, and upon it, within a few yards of him, sat one of the graceful birds. Venters saw the swelling and quivering of its throat in song. He arose, and when he slid down out of his cave the birds fluttered and flew farther away.\n\nVenters stepped before the opening of the other cave and looked in. The girl was awake, with wide eyes and listening look, and she had a hand on Ring's neck.\n\n\"Mocking-birds!\" she said.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Venters, \"and I believe they like our company.\"\n\n\"Where are we?\"\n\n\"Never mind now. After a little I'll tell you.\"\n\n\"The birds woke me. When I heard them—and saw the shiny trees—and the blue sky—and then a blaze of gold dropping down—I wondered—\"\n\nShe did not complete her fancy, but Venters imagined he understood her meaning. She appeared to be wandering in mind. Venters felt her face and hands and found them burning with fever. He went for water, and was glad to find it almost as cold as if flowing from ice.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "That water was the only medicine he had, and he put faith in it.",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "She did not want to drink, but he made her swallow, and then he bathed her face and head and cooled her wrists.\n\nThe day began with the heightening of the fever. Venters spent the time reducing her temperature, cooling her hot cheeks and temples. He kept close watch over her, and at the least indication of restlessness, that he knew led to tossing and rolling of the body, he held her tightly, so no violent move could reopen her wounds. Hour after hour she babbled and laughed and cried and moaned in delirium; but whatever her secret was she did not reveal it. Attended by something somber for Venters, the day passed. At night in the cool winds the fever abated and she slept.\n\nThe second day was a repetition of the first. On the third he seemed to see her wither and waste away before his eyes. That day he scarcely went from her side for a moment, except to run for fresh, cool water; and he did not eat. The fever broke on the fourth day and left her spent and shrunken, a slip of a girl with life only in her eyes. They hung upon Venters with a mute observance, and he found hope in that.\n\nTo rekindle the spark that had nearly flickered out, to nourish the little life and vitality that remained in her, was Venters's problem. But he had little resource other than the meat of the rabbits and quail; and from these he made broths and soups as best he could, and fed her with a spoon. It came to him that the human body, like the human soul, was a strange thing and capable of recovering from terrible shocks. For almost immediately she showed faint signs of gathering strength. There was one more waiting day, in which he doubted, and spent long hours by her side as she slept, and watched the gentle swell of her breast rise and fall in breathing, and the wind stir the tangled chestnut curls. On the next day he knew that she would live.\n\nUpon realizing it he abruptly left the cave and sought his accustomed seat against the trunk of a big spruce, where once more he let his glance stray along the sloping terraces. She would live, and the somber gloom lifted out of the valley, and he felt relief that was pain. Then he roused to the call of action, to the many things he needed to do in the way of making camp fixtures and utensils, to the necessity of hunting food, and the desire to explore the valley.\n\nBut he decided to wait a few more days before going far from camp, because he fancied that the girl rested easier when she could see him near at hand. And on the first day her languor appeared to leave her in a renewed grip of life. She awoke stronger from each short slumber; she ate greedily, and she moved about in her bed of boughs; and always, it seemed to Venters, her eyes followed him. He knew now that her recovery would be rapid. She talked about the dogs, about the caves, the valley, about how hungry she was, till Venters silenced her, asking her to put off further talk till another time. She obeyed, but she sat up in her bed, and her eyes roved to and fro, and always back to him.\n\nUpon the second morning she sat up when he awakened her, and would not permit him to bathe her face and feed her, which actions she performed for herself. She spoke little, however, and Venters was quick to catch in her the first intimations of thoughtfulness and curiosity and appreciation of her situation. He left camp and took Whitie out to hunt for rabbits. Upon his return he was amazed and somewhat anxiously concerned to see his invalid sitting with her back to a corner of the cave and her bare feet swinging out. Hurriedly he approached, intending to advise her to lie down again, to tell her that perhaps she might overtax her strength. The sun shone upon her, glinting on the little head with its tangle of bright hair and the small, oval face with its pallor, and dark-blue eyes underlined by dark-blue circles. She looked at him and he looked at her. In that exchange of glances he imagined each saw the other in some different guise. It seemed impossible to Venters that this frail girl could be Oldring's Masked Rider. It flashed over him that he had made a mistake which presently she would explain.\n\n\"Help me down,\" she said.\n\n\"But—are you well enough?\" he protested. \"Wait—a little longer.\"\n\n\"I'm weak—dizzy. But I want to get down.\"\n\nHe lifted her—what a light burden now!—and stood her upright beside him, and supported her as she essayed to walk with halting steps. She was like a stripling of a boy; the bright, small head scarcely reached his shoulder. But now, as she clung to his arm, the rider's costume she wore did not contradict, as it had done at first, his feeling of her femininity. She might be the famous Masked Rider of the uplands, she might resemble a boy; but her outline, her little hands and feet, her hair, her big eyes and tremulous lips, and especially a something that Venters felt as a subtle essence rather than what he saw, proclaimed her sex.\n\nShe soon tired. He arranged a comfortable seat for her under the spruce that overspread the camp-fire.\n\n\"Now tell me—everything,\" she said.\n\nHe recounted all that had happened from the time of his discovery of the rustlers in the canyon up to the present moment.\n\n\"You shot me—and now you've saved my life?\"\n\n\"Yes. After almost killing you I've pulled you through.\"\n\n\"Are you glad?\"\n\n\"I should say so!\"\n\nHer eyes were unusually expressive, and they regarded him steadily; she was unconscious of that mirroring of her emotions and they shone with gratefulness and interest and wonder and sadness.\n\n\"Tell me—about yourself?\" she asked.\n\nHe made this a briefer story, telling of his coming to Utah, his various occupations till he became a rider, and then how the Mormons had practically driven him out of Cottonwoods, an outcast.\n\nThen, no longer able to withstand his own burning curiosity, he questioned her in turn.\n\n\"Are you Oldring's Masked Rider?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she replied, and dropped her eyes.\n\n\"I knew it—I recognized your figure—and mask, for I saw you once. Yet I can't believe it!... But you never were really that rustler, as we riders knew him? A thief—a marauder—a kidnapper of women—a murderer of sleeping riders!\"\n\n\"No! I never stole—or harmed any one—in all my life. I only rode and rode—\"\n\n\"But why—why?\" he burst out. \"Why the name? I understand Oldring made you ride. But the black mask—the mystery—the things laid to your hands—the threats in your infamous name—the night-riding credited to you—the evil deeds deliberately blamed on you and acknowledged by rustlers—even Oldring himself! Why? Tell me why?\"",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"I never knew that,\" she answered low.",
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"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 20 sentences.",
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"from": "system",
"value": "/set_word_count: venters, frequency: 2",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Her drooping head straightened, and the large eyes, larger now and darker, met Venters's with a clear, steadfast gaze in which he read truth. It verified his own conviction.\n\n\"Never knew? That's strange! Are you a Mormon?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Is Oldring a Mormon?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Do you—care for him?\"\n\n\"Yes. I hate his men—his life—sometimes I almost hate him!\"\n\nVenters paused in his rapid-fire questioning, as if to brace him self to ask for a truth that would be abhorrent for him to confirm, but which he seemed driven to hear.\n\n\"What are—what were you to Oldring?\"\n\nLike some delicate thing suddenly exposed to blasting heat, the girl wilted; her head dropped, and into her white, wasted cheeks crept the red of shame.\n\nVenters would have given anything to recall that question. It seemed so different—his thought when spoken. Yet her shame established in his mind something akin to the respect he had strangely been hungering to feel for her.\n\n\"D—n that question!—forget it!\" he cried, in a passion of pain for her and anger at himself. \"But once and for all—tell me—I know it, yet I want to hear you say so—you couldn't help yourself?\"\n\n\"Oh no.\"\n\n\"Well, that makes it all right with me,\" he went on, honestly. \"I—I want you to feel that... you see—we've been thrown together—and—and I want to help you—not hurt you. I thought life had been cruel to me, but when I think of yours I feel mean and little for my complaining. Anyway, I was a lonely outcast. And now!... I don't see very clearly what it all means. Only we are here—together. We've got to stay here, for long, surely till you are well. But you'll never go back to Oldring. And I'm sure helping you will help me, for I was sick in mind. There's something now for me to do. And if I can win back your strength—then get you away, out of this wild country—help you somehow to a happier life—just think how good that'll be for me!\"",
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[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "I'll be your writing partner for this section. I'll provide a segment, and you continue with forty-two sentences, channeling Zane Grey in the Western genre. Characters may have backstories from previous chapters.",
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{
"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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"value": "Chapter X. Love\n\nDuring all these waiting days Venters, with the exception of the afternoon when he had built the gate in the gorge, had scarcely gone out of sight of camp and never out of hearing. His desire to explore Surprise Valley was keen, and on the morning after his long talk with the girl he took his rifle and, calling Ring, made a move to start. The girl lay back in a rude chair of boughs he had put together for her. She had been watching him, and when he picked up the gun and called the dog Venters thought she gave a nervous start.\n\n\"I'm only going to look over the valley,\" he said.\n\n\"Will you be gone long?\"\n\n\"No,\" he replied, and started off. The incident set him thinking of his former impression that, after her recovery from fever, she did not seem at ease unless he was close at hand. It was fear of being alone, due, he concluded, most likely to her weakened condition. He must not leave her much alone.\n\nAs he strode down the sloping terrace, rabbits scampered before him, and the beautiful valley quail, as purple in color as the sage on the uplands, ran fleetly along the ground into the forest. It was pleasant under the trees, in the gold-flecked shade, with the whistle of quail and twittering of birds everywhere. Soon he had passed the limit of his former excursions and entered new territory. Here the woods began to show open glades and brooks running down from the slope, and presently he emerged from shade into the sunshine of a meadow. The shaking of the high grass told him of the running of animals, what species he could not tell, but from Ring's manifest desire to have a chase they were evidently some kind wilder than rabbits. Venters approached the willow and cottonwood belt that he had observed from the height of slope. He penetrated it to find a considerable stream of water and great half-submerged mounds of brush and sticks, and all about him were old and new gnawed circles at the base of the cottonwoods.\n\n\"Beaver!\" he exclaimed. \"By all that's lucky! The meadow's full of beaver! How did they ever get here?\"\n\nBeaver had not found a way into the valley by the trail of the cliff-dwellers, of that he was certain; and he began to have more than curiosity as to the outlet or inlet of the stream. When he passed some dead water, which he noted was held by a beaver dam, there was a current in the stream, and it flowed west. Following its course, he soon entered the oak forest again, and passed through to find himself before massed and jumbled ruins of cliff wall. There were tangled thickets of wild plum-trees and other thorny growths that made passage extremely laborsome. He found innumerable tracks of wildcats and foxes. Rustlings in the thick undergrowth told him of stealthy movements of these animals. At length his further advance appeared futile, for the reason that the stream disappeared in a split at the base of immense rocks over which he could not climb. To his relief he concluded that though beaver might work their way up the narrow chasm where the water rushed, it would be impossible for men to enter the valley there.\n\nThis western curve was the only part of the valley where the walls had been split asunder, and it was a wildly rough and inaccessible corner. Going back a little way, he leaped the stream and headed toward the southern wall. Once out of the oaks he found again the low terrace of aspens, and above that the wide, open terrace fringed by silver spruces. This side of the valley contained the wind or water worn caves. As he pressed on, keeping to the upper terrace, cave after cave opened out of the cliff; now a large one, now a small one. Then yawned, quite suddenly and wonderfully above him, the great cavern of the cliff-dwellers.\n\nIt was still a goodly distance, and he tried to imagine, if it appeared so huge from where he stood, what it would be when he got there. He climbed the terrace and then faced a long, gradual ascent of weathered rock and dust, which made climbing too difficult for attention to anything else. At length he entered a zone of shade, and looked up. He stood just within the hollow of a cavern so immense that he had no conception of its real dimensions. The curved roof, stained by ages of leakage, with buff and black and rust-colored streaks, swept up and loomed higher and seemed to soar to the rim of the cliff. Here again was a magnificent arch, such as formed the grand gateway to the valley, only in this instance it formed the dome of a cave instead of the span of a bridge.\n\nVenters passed onward and upward. The stones he dislodged rolled down with strange, hollow crack and roar.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "He had climbed a hundred rods inward, and yet he had not reached the base of the shelf where the cliff-dwellings rested, a long half-circle of connected stone house, with little dark holes that he had fancied were eyes.",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "At length he gained the base of the shelf, and here found steps cut in the rock. These facilitated climbing, and as he went up he thought how easily this vanished race of men might once have held that stronghold against an army. There was only one possible place to ascend, and this was narrow and steep.\n\nVenters had visited cliff-dwellings before, and they had been in ruins, and of no great character or size but this place was of proportions that stunned him, and it had not been desecrated by the hand of man, nor had it been crumbled by the hand of time. It was a stupendous tomb. It had been a city. It was just as it had been left by its builders. The little houses were there, the smoke-blackened stains of fires, the pieces of pottery scattered about cold hearths, the stone hatchets; and stone pestles and mealing-stones lay beside round holes polished by years of grinding maize—lay there as if they had been carelessly dropped yesterday. But the cliff-dwellers were gone!\n\nDust! They were dust on the floor or at the foot of the shelf, and their habitations and utensils endured. Venters felt the sublimity of that marvelous vaulted arch, and it seemed to gleam with a glory of something that was gone. How many years had passed since the cliff-dwellers gazed out across the beautiful valley as he was gazing now? How long had it been since women ground grain in those polished holes? What time had rolled by since men of an unknown race lived, loved, fought, and died there? Had an enemy destroyed them? Had disease destroyed them, or only that greatest destroyer—time? Venters saw a long line of blood-red hands painted low down upon the yellow roof of stone. Here was strange portent, if not an answer to his queries. The place oppressed him. It was light, but full of a transparent gloom. It smelled of dust and musty stone, of age and disuse. It was sad. It was solemn. It had the look of a place where silence had become master and was now irrevocable and terrible and could not be broken. Yet, at the moment, from high up in the carved crevices of the arch, floated down the low, strange wail of wind—a knell indeed for all that had gone.\n\nVenters, sighing, gathered up an armful of pottery, such pieces as he thought strong enough and suitable for his own use, and bent his steps toward camp. He mounted the terrace at an opposite point to which he had left. He saw the girl looking in the direction he had gone. His footsteps made no sound in the deep grass, and he approached close without her being aware of his presence. Whitie lay on the ground near where she sat, and he manifested the usual actions of welcome, but the girl did not notice them. She seemed to be oblivious to everything near at hand. She made a pathetic figure drooping there, with her sunny hair contrasting so markedly with her white, wasted cheeks and her hands listlessly clasped and her little bare feet propped in the framework of the rude seat. Venters could have sworn and laughed in one breath at the idea of the connection between this girl and Oldring's Masked Rider. She was the victim of more than accident of fate—a victim to some deep plot the mystery of which burned him. As he stepped forward with a half-formed thought that she was absorbed in watching for his return, she turned her head and saw him. A swift start, a change rather than rush of blood under her white cheeks, a flashing of big eyes that fixed their glance upon him, transformed her face in that single instant of turning, and he knew she had been watching for him, that his return was the one thing in her mind. She did not smile; she did not flush; she did not look glad. All these would have meant little compared to her indefinite expression. Venters grasped the peculiar, vivid, vital something that leaped from her face. It was as if she had been in a dead, hopeless clamp of inaction and feeling, and had been suddenly shot through and through with quivering animation. Almost it was as if she had returned to life.\n\nAnd Venters thought with lightning swiftness, \"I've saved her—I've unlinked her from that old life—she was watching as if I were all she had left on earth—she belongs to me!\" The thought was startlingly new.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "Like a blow it was in an unprepared moment.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "// Only your next message should be 71% dialogue",
"loss": false
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "The cheery salutation he had ready for her died unborn and he tumbled the pieces of pottery awkwardly on the grass while some unfamiliar, deep-seated emotion, mixed with pity and glad assurance of his power to succor her, held him dumb.\n\n\"What a load you had!\" she said. \"Why, they're pots and crocks! Where did you get them?\"\n\nVenters laid down his rifle, and, filling one of the pots from his canteen, he placed it on the smoldering campfire.\n\n\"Hope it'll hold water,\" he said, presently. \"Why, there's an enormous cliff-dwelling just across here. I got the pottery there. Don't you think we needed something? That tin cup of mine has served to make tea, broth, soup—everything.\"\n\n\"I noticed we hadn't a great deal to cook in.\"\n\nShe laughed. It was the first time. He liked that laugh, and though he was tempted to look at her, he did not want to show his surprise or his pleasure.\n\n\"Will you take me over there, and all around in the valley—pretty soon, when I'm well?\" she added.\n\n\"Indeed I shall. It's a wonderful place. Rabbits so thick you can't step without kicking one out. And quail, beaver, foxes, wildcats. We're in a regular den. But—haven't you ever seen a cliff-dwelling?\"\n\n\"No. I've heard about them, though. The—the men say the Pass is full of old houses and ruins.\"\n\n\"Why, I should think you'd have run across one in all your riding around,\" said Venters. He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully, and he essayed a perfectly casual manner, and pretended to be busy assorting pieces of pottery. She must have no cause again to suffer shame for curiosity of his. Yet never in all his days had he been so eager to hear the details of anyone's life.\n\n\"When I rode—I rode like the wind,\" she replied, \"and never had time to stop for anything.\"\n\n\"I remember that day I—I met you in the Pass—how dusty you were, how tired your horse looked. Were you always riding?\"\n\n\"Oh, no. Sometimes not for months, when I was shut up in the cabin.\"\n\nVenters tried to subdue a hot tingling.\n\n\"You were shut up, then?\" he asked, carelessly.\n\n\"When Oldring went away on his long trips—he was gone for months sometimes—he shut me up in the cabin.\"\n\n\"What for?\"\n\n\"Perhaps to keep me from running away. I always threatened that. Mostly, though, because the men got drunk at the villages. But they were always good to me. I wasn't afraid.\"\n\n\"A prisoner! That must have been hard on you?\"\n\n\"I liked that. As long as I can remember I've been locked up there at times, and those times were the only happy ones I ever had. It's a big cabin, high up on a cliff, and I could look out. Then I had dogs and pets I had tamed, and books. There was a spring inside, and food stored, and the men brought me fresh meat. Once I was there one whole winter.\"\n\nIt now required deliberation on Venters's part to persist in his unconcern and to keep at work. He wanted to look at her, to volley questions at her.\n\n\"As long as you can remember—you've lived in Deception Pass?\" he went on.\n\n\"I've a dim memory of some other place, and women and children; but I can't make anything of it. Sometimes I think till I'm weary.\"\n\n\"Then you can read—you have books?\"\n\n\"Oh yes, I can read, and write, too, pretty well. Oldring is educated. He taught me, and years ago an old rustler lived with us, and he had been something different once. He was always teaching me.\"\n\n\"So Oldring takes long trips,\" mused Venters. \"Do you know where he goes?\"\n\n\"No. Every year he drives cattle north of Sterling—then does not return for months. I heard him accused once of living two lives—and he killed the man. That was at Stone Bridge.\"\n\nVenters dropped his apparent task and looked up with an eagerness he no longer strove to hide.\n\n\"Bess,\" he said, using her name for the first time, \"I suspected Oldring was something besides a rustler. Tell me, what's his purpose here in the Pass? I believe much that he has done was to hide his real work here.\"\n\n\"You're right. He's more than a rustler. In fact, as the men say, his rustling cattle is now only a bluff. There's gold in the canyons!\"\n\n\"Ah!\"\n\n\"Yes, there's gold, not in great quantities, but gold enough for him and his men. They wash for gold week in and week out. Then they drive a few cattle and go into the villages to drink and shoot and kill—to bluff the riders.\"\n\n\"Drive a few cattle! But, Bess, the Withersteen herd, the red herd—twenty-five hundred head! That's not a few. And I tracked them into a valley near here.\"\n\n\"Oldring never stole the red herd. He made a deal with Mormons. The riders were to be called in, and Oldring was to drive the herd and keep it till a certain time—I won't know when—then drive it back to the range. What his share was I didn't hear.\"",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"Did you hear why that deal was made?\" queried Venters.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"No. But it was a trick of Mormons. They're full of tricks. I've heard Oldring's men tell about Mormons. Maybe the Withersteen woman wasn't minding her halter! I saw the man who made the deal. He was a little, queer-shaped man, all humped up. He sat his horse well. I heard one of our men say afterward there was no better rider on the sage than this fellow. What was the name? I forget.\"",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Jerry Card?\" suggested Venters.\n\n\"That's it. I remember—it's a name easy to remember—and Jerry Card appeared to be on fair terms with Oldring's men.\"\n\n\"I shouldn't wonder,\" replied Venters, thoughtfully. Verification of his suspicions in regard to Tull's underhand work—for the deal with Oldring made by Jerry Card assuredly had its inception in the Mormon Elder's brain, and had been accomplished through his orders—revived in Venters a memory of hatred that had been smothered by press of other emotions. Only a few days had elapsed since the hour of his encounter with Tull, yet they had been forgotten and now seemed far off, and the interval one that now appeared large and profound with incalculable change in his feelings. Hatred of Tull still existed in his heart, but it had lost its white heat. His affection for Jane Withersteen had not changed in the least; nevertheless, he seemed to view it from another angle and see it as another thing—what, he could not exactly define. The recalling of these two feelings was to Venters like getting glimpses into a self that was gone; and the wonder of them—perhaps the change which was too illusive for him—was the fact that a strange irritation accompanied the memory and a desire to dismiss it from mind. And straightway he did dismiss it, to return to thoughts of his significant present.\n\n\"Bess, tell me one more thing,\" he said. \"Haven't you known any women—any young people?\"\n\n\"Sometimes there were women with the men; but Oldring never let me know them. And all the young people I ever saw in my life was when I rode fast through the villages.\"\n\nPerhaps that was the most puzzling and thought-provoking thing she had yet said to Venters. He pondered, more curious the more he learned, but he curbed his inquisitive desires, for he saw her shrinking on the verge of that shame, the causing of which had occasioned him such self-reproach. He would ask no more. Still he had to think, and he found it difficult to think clearly. This sad-eyed girl was so utterly different from what it would have been reason to believe such a remarkable life would have made her. On this day he had found her simple and frank, as natural as any girl he had ever known. About her there was something sweet. Her voice was low and well modulated. He could not look into her face, meet her steady, unabashed, yet wistful eyes, and think of her as the woman she had confessed herself. Oldring's Masked Rider sat before him, a girl dressed as a man. She had been made to ride at the head of infamous forays and drives. She had been imprisoned for many months of her life in an obscure cabin. At times the most vicious of men had been her companions; and the vilest of women, if they had not been permitted to approach her, had, at least, cast their shadows over her. But—but in spite of all this—there thundered at Venters some truth that lifted its voice higher than the clamoring facts of dishonor, some truth that was the very life of her beautiful eyes; and it was innocence.\n\nIn the days that followed, Venters balanced perpetually in mind this haunting conception of innocence over against the cold and sickening fact of an unintentional yet actual gift. How could it be possible for the two things to be true? He believed the latter to be true, and he would not relinquish his conviction of the former; and these conflicting thoughts augmented the mystery that appeared to be a part of Bess. In those ensuing days, however, it became clear as clearest light that Bess was rapidly regaining strength; that, unless reminded of her long association with Oldring, she seemed to have forgotten it; that, like an Indian who lives solely from moment to moment, she was utterly absorbed in the present.\n\nDay by day Venters watched the white of her face slowly change to brown, and the wasted cheeks fill out by imperceptible degrees. There came a time when he could just trace the line of demarcation between the part of her face once hidden by a mask and that left exposed to wind and sun. When that line disappeared in clear bronze tan it was as if she had been washed clean of the stigma of Oldring's Masked Rider. The suggestion of the mask always made Venters remember; now that it was gone he seldom thought of her past. Occasionally he tried to piece together the several stages of strange experience and to make a whole. He had shot a masked outlaw the very sight of whom had been ill omen to riders; he had carried off a wounded woman whose bloody lips quivered in prayer; he had nursed what seemed a frail, shrunken boy; and now he watched a girl whose face had become strangely sweet, whose dark-blue eyes were ever upon him without boldness, without shyness, but with a steady, grave, and growing light. Many times Venters found the clear gaze embarrassing to him, yet, like wine, it had an exhilarating effect. What did she think when she looked at him so? Almost he believed she had no thought at all. All about her and the present there in Surprise Valley, and the dim yet subtly impending future, fascinated Venters and made him thoughtful as all his lonely vigils in the sage had not.\n\nChiefly it was the present that he wished to dwell upon; but it was the call of the future which stirred him to action. No idea had he of what that future had in store for Bess and him.",
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"value": "He began to think of improving Surprise Valley as a place to live in, for there was no telling how long they would be compelled to stay there.",
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"value": "Venters stubbornly resisted the entering into his mind of an insistent thought that, clearly realized, might have made it plain to him that he did not want to leave Surprise Valley at all. But it was imperative that he consider practical matters; and whether or not he was destined to stay long there, he felt the immediate need of a change of diet. It would be necessary for him to go farther afield for a variety of meat, and also that he soon visit Cottonwoods for a supply of food.\n\nIt occurred again to Venters that he could go to the canyon where Oldring kept his cattle, and at little risk he could pack out some beef. He wished to do this, however, without letting Bess know of it till after he had made the trip. Presently he hit upon the plan of going while she was asleep.\n\nThat very night he stole out of camp, climbed up under the stone bridge, and entered the outlet to the Pass. The gorge was full of luminous gloom. Balancing Rock loomed dark and leaned over the pale descent. Transformed in the shadowy light, it took shape and dimensions of a spectral god waiting—waiting for the moment to hurl himself down upon the tottering walls and close forever the outlet to Deception Pass. At night more than by day Venters felt something fearful and fateful in that rock, and that it had leaned and waited through a thousand years to have somehow to deal with his destiny.\n\n\"Old man, if you must roll, wait till I get back to the girl, and then roll!\" he said, aloud, as if the stones were indeed a god.\n\nAnd those spoken words, in their grim note to his ear, as well as contents to his mind, told Venters that he was all but drifting on a current which he had not power nor wish to stem.\n\nVenters exercised his usual care in the matter of hiding tracks from the outlet, yet it took him scarcely an hour to reach Oldring's cattle. Here sight of many calves changed his original intention, and instead of packing out meat he decided to take a calf out alive. He roped one, securely tied its feet, and swung it over his shoulder. Here was an exceedingly heavy burden, but Venters was powerful—he could take up a sack of grain and with ease pitch it over a pack-saddle—and he made long distance without resting. The hardest work came in the climb up to the outlet and on through to the valley. When he had accomplished it, he became fired with another idea that again changed his intention. He would not kill the calf, but keep it alive. He would go back to Oldring's herd and pack out more calves. Thereupon he secured the calf in the best available spot for the moment and turned to make a second trip.\n\nWhen Venters got back to the valley with another calf, it was close upon daybreak. He crawled into his cave and slept late. Bess had no inkling that he had been absent from camp nearly all night, and only remarked solicitously that he appeared to be more tired than usual, and more in the need of sleep. In the afternoon Venters built a gate across a small ravine near camp, and here corralled the calves; and he succeeded in completing his task without Bess being any the wiser.\n\nThat night he made two more trips to Oldring's range, and again on the following night, and yet another on the next. With eight calves in his corral, he concluded that he had enough; but it dawned upon him then that he did not want to kill one. \"I've rustled Oldring's cattle,\" he said, and laughed. He noted then that all the calves were red. \"Red!\" he exclaimed. \"From the red herd. I've stolen Jane Withersteen's cattle!... That's about the strangest thing yet.\"\n\nOne more trip he undertook to Oldring's valley, and this time he roped a yearling steer and killed it and cut out a small quarter of beef. The howling of coyotes told him he need have no apprehension that the work of his knife would be discovered. He packed the beef back to camp and hung it upon a spruce-tree. Then he sought his bed.\n\nOn the morrow he was up bright and early, glad that he had a surprise for Bess. He could hardly wait for her to come out. Presently she appeared and walked under the spruce. Then she approached the camp-fire. There was a tinge of healthy red in the bronze of her cheeks, and her slender form had begun to round out in graceful lines.\n\n\"Bess, didn't you say you were tired of rabbit?\"",
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"from": "human",
"value": "inquired Venters. \"And quail and beaver?\"",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Indeed I did.\"\n\n\"What would you like?\"\n\n\"I'm tired of meat, but if we have to live on it I'd like some beef.\"\n\n\"Well, how does that strike you?\" Venters pointed to the quarter hanging from the spruce-tree. \"We'll have fresh beef for a few days, then we'll cut the rest into strips and dry it.\"\n\n\"Where did you get that?\" asked Bess, slowly.\n\n\"I stole that from Oldring.\"\n\n\"You went back to the canyon—you risked—\" While she hesitated the tinge of bloom faded out of her cheeks.\n\n\"It wasn't any risk, but it was hard work.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry I said I was tired of rabbit. Why! How—When did you get that beef?\"\n\n\"Last night.\"\n\n\"While I was asleep?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I woke last night sometime—but I didn't know.\"\n\nHer eyes were widening, darkening with thought, and whenever they did so the steady, watchful, seeing gaze gave place to the wistful light. In the former she saw as the primitive woman without thought; in the latter she looked inward, and her gaze was the reflection of a troubled mind. For long Venters had not seen that dark change, that deepening of blue, which he thought was beautiful and sad. But now he wanted to make her think.\n\n\"I've done more than pack in that beef,\" he said. \"For five nights I've been working while you slept. I've got eight calves corralled near a ravine. Eight calves, all alive and doing fine!\"\n\n\"You went five nights!\"\n\nAll that Venters could make of the dilation of her eyes, her slow pallor, and her exclamation, was fear—fear for herself or for him.\n\n\"Yes. I didn't tell you, because I knew you were afraid to be left alone.\"\n\n\"Alone?\" She echoed his word, but the meaning of it was nothing to her. She had not even thought of being left alone. It was not, then, fear for herself, but for him. This girl, always slow of speech and action, now seemed almost stupid. She put forth a hand that might have indicated the groping of her mind. Suddenly she stepped swiftly to him, with a look and touch that drove from him any doubt of her quick intelligence or feeling.\n\n\"Oldring has men watch the herds—they would kill you. You must never go again!\"\n\nWhen she had spoken, the strength and the blaze of her died, and she swayed toward Venters.\n\n\"Bess, I'll not go again,\" he said, catching her.\n\nShe leaned against him, and her body was limp and vibrated to a long, wavering tremble. Her face was upturned to his. Woman's face, woman's eyes, woman's lips—all acutely and blindly and sweetly and terribly truthful in their betrayal! But as her fear was instinctive, so was her clinging to this one and only friend.\n\nVenters gently put her from him and steadied her upon her feet; and all the while his blood raced wild, and a thrilling tingle unsteadied his nerve, and something—that he had seen and felt in her—that he could not understand—seemed very close to him, warm and rich as a fragrant breath, sweet as nothing had ever before been sweet to him.\n\nWith all his will Venters strove for calmness and thought and judgment unbiased by pity, and reality unswayed by sentiment. Bess's eyes were still fixed upon him with all her soul bright in that wistful light. Swiftly, resolutely he put out of mind all of her life except what had been spent with him. He scorned himself for the intelligence that made him still doubt.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "He meant to judge her as she had judged him.",
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{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 14 sentences.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "[OOC: Precise word count needed: 'thought' × 3]",
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He was face to face with the inevitableness of life itself. He saw destiny in the dark, straight path of her wonderful eyes. Here was the simplicity, the sweetness of a girl contending with new and strange and enthralling emotions here the living truth of innocence; here the blind terror of a woman confronted with the thought of death to her savior and protector. All this Venters saw, but, besides, there was in Bess's eyes a slow-dawning consciousness that seemed about to break out in glorious radiance.\n\n\"Bess, are you thinking?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes—oh yes!\"\n\n\"Do you realize we are here alone—man and woman?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Have you thought that we may make our way out to civilization, or we may have to stay here—alone—hidden from the world all our lives?\"\n\n\"I never thought—till now.\"\n\n\"Well, what's your choice—to go—or to stay here—alone with me?\"\n\n\"Stay!\" New-born thought of self, ringing vibrantly in her voice, gave her answer singular power.\n\nVenters trembled, and then swiftly turned his gaze from her face—from her eyes. He knew what she had only half divined—that she loved him.",
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"value": "hey can u write 135 sentences more sentences? like Zane Grey but Western style. btw this is from middle of a story",
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"value": "Chapter XI. Faith and Unfaith\n\nAt Jane Withersteen's home the promise made to Mrs. Larkin to care for little Fay had begun to be fulfilled. Like a gleam of sunlight through the cottonwoods was the coming of the child to the gloomy house of Withersteen. The big, silent halls echoed with childish laughter. In the shady court, where Jane spent many of the hot July days, Fay's tiny feet pattered over the stone flags and splashed in the amber stream. She prattled incessantly. What difference, Jane thought, a child made in her home! It had never been a real home, she discovered. Even the tidiness and neatness she had so observed, and upon which she had insisted to her women, became, in the light of Fay's smile, habits that now lost their importance. Fay littered the court with Jane's books and papers, and other toys her fancy improvised, and many a strange craft went floating down the little brook.\n\nAnd it was owing to Fay's presence that Jane Withersteen came to see more of Lassiter. The rider had for the most part kept to the sage. He rode for her, but he did not seek her except on business; and Jane had to acknowledge in pique that her overtures had been made in vain. Fay, however, captured Lassiter the moment he first laid eyes on her.\n\nJane was present at the meeting, and there was something about it which dimmed her sight and softened her toward this foe of her people. The rider had clanked into the court, a tired yet wary man, always looking for the attack upon him that was inevitable and might come from any quarter; and he had walked right upon little Fay. The child had been beautiful even in her rags and amid the surroundings of the hovel in the sage, but now, in a pretty white dress, with her shining curls brushed and her face clean and rosy, she was lovely. She left her play and looked up at Lassiter.\n\nIf there was not an instinct for all three of them in that meeting, an unreasoning tendency toward a closer intimacy, then Jane Withersteen believed she had been subject to a queer fancy. She imagined any child would have feared Lassiter. And Fay Larkin had been a lonely, a solitary elf of the sage, not at all an ordinary child, and exquisitely shy with strangers. She watched Lassiter with great, round, grave eyes, but showed no fear. The rider gave Jane a favorable report of cattle and horses; and as he took the seat to which she invited him, little Fay edged as much as half an inch nearer. Jane replied to his look of inquiry and told Fay's story. The rider's gray, earnest gaze troubled her. Then he turned to Fay and smiled in a way that made Jane doubt her sense of the true relation of things. How could Lassiter smile so at a child when he had made so many children fatherless? But he did smile, and to the gentleness she had seen a few times he added something that was infinitely sad and sweet. Jane's intuition told her that Lassiter had never been a father, but if life ever so blessed him he would be a good one. Fay, also, must have found that smile singularly winning. For she edged closer and closer, and then, by way of feminine capitulation, went to Jane, from whose side she bent a beautiful glance upon the rider.\n\nLassiter only smiled at her.\n\nJane watched them, and realized that now was the moment she should seize, if she was ever to win this man from his hatred. But the step was not easy to take. The more she saw of Lassiter the more she respected him, and the greater her respect the harder it became to lend herself to mere coquetry. Yet as she thought of her great motive, of Tull, and of that other whose name she had schooled herself never to think of in connection with Milly Erne's avenger, she suddenly found she had no choice. And her creed gave her boldness far beyond the limit to which vanity would have led her.\n\n\"Lassiter, I see so little of you now,\" she said, and was conscious of heat in her cheeks.\n\n\"I've been riding hard,\" he replied.\n\n\"But you can't live in the saddle. You come in sometimes. Won't you come here to see me—oftener?\"\n\n\"Is that an order?\"\n\n\"Nonsense! I simply ask you to come to see me when you find time.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\nThe query once heard was not so embarrassing to Jane as she might have imagined. Moreover, it established in her mind a fact that there existed actually other than selfish reasons for her wanting to see him. And as she had been bold, so she determined to be both honest and brave.\n\n\"I've reasons—only one of which I need mention,\" she answered. \"If it's possible I want to change you toward my people. And on the moment I can conceive of little I wouldn't do to gain that end.\"\n\nHow much better and freer Jane felt after that confession! She meant to show him that there was one Mormon who could play a game or wage a fight in the open.\n\n\"I reckon,\" said Lassiter, and he laughed.\n\nIt was the best in her, if the most irritating, that Lassiter always aroused.\n\n\"Will you come?\" She looked into his eyes, and for the life of her could not quite subdue an imperiousness that rose with her spirit. \"I never asked so much of any man—except Bern Venters.\"\n\n\"'Pears to me that you'd run no risk, or Venters, either. But mebbe that doesn't hold good for me.\"\n\n\"You mean it wouldn't be safe for you to be often here? You look for ambush in the cottonwoods?\"\n\n\"Not that so much.\"\n\nAt this juncture little Fay sidled over to Lassiter.\n\n\"Has oo a little dirl?\" she inquired.\n\n\"No, lassie,\" replied the rider.\n\nWhatever Fay seemed to be searching for in Lassiter's sun-reddened face and quiet eyes she evidently found. \"Oo tan tom to see me,\" she added, and with that, shyness gave place to friendly curiosity. First his sombrero with its leather band and silver ornaments commanded her attention; next his quirt, and then the clinking, silver spurs. These held her for some time, but presently, true to childish fickleness, she left off playing with them to look for something else. She laughed in glee as she ran her little hands down the slippery, shiny surface of Lassiter's leather chaps. Soon she discovered one of the hanging gun—sheaths, and she dragged it up and began tugging at the huge black handle of the gun. Jane Withersteen repressed an exclamation. What significance there was to her in the little girl's efforts to dislodge that heavy weapon! Jane Withersteen saw Fay's play and her beauty and her love as most powerful allies to her own woman's part in a game that suddenly had acquired a strange zest and a hint of danger. And as for the rider, he appeared to have forgotten Jane in the wonder of this lovely child playing about him. At first he was much the shyer of the two. Gradually her confidence overcame his backwardness, and he had the temerity to stroke her golden curls with a great hand. Fay rewarded his boldness with a smile, and when he had gone to the extreme of closing that great hand over her little brown one, she said, simply, \"I like oo!\"\n\nSight of his face then made Jane oblivious for the time to his character as a hater of Mormons. Out of the mother longing that swelled her breast she divined the child hunger in Lassiter.\n\nHe returned the next day, and the next; and upon the following he came both at morning and at night. Upon the evening of this fourth day Jane seemed to feel the breaking of a brooding struggle in Lassiter. During all these visits he had scarcely a word to say, though he watched her and played absent-mindedly with Fay. Jane had contented herself with silence. Soon little Fay substituted for the expression of regard, \"I like oo,\" a warmer and more generous one, \"I love oo.\"\n\nThereafter Lassiter came oftener to see Jane and her little protegee. Daily he grew more gentle and kind, and gradually developed a quaintly merry mood. In the morning he lifted Fay upon his horse and let her ride as he walked beside her to the edge of the sage. In the evening he played with the child at an infinite variety of games she invented, and then, oftener than not, he accepted Jane's invitation to supper. No other visitor came to Withersteen House during those days. So that in spite of watchfulness he never forgot, Lassiter began to show he felt at home there. After the meal they walked into the grove of cottonwoods or up by the lakes, and little Fay held Lassiter's hand as much as she held Jane's. Thus a strange relationship was established, and Jane liked it. At twilight they always returned to the house, where Fay kissed them and went in to her mother. Lassiter and Jane were left alone.\n\nThen, if there were anything that a good woman could do to win a man and still preserve her self-respect, it was something which escaped the natural subtlety of a woman determined to allure. Jane's vanity, that after all was not great, was soon satisfied with Lassiter's silent admiration. And her honest desire to lead him from his dark, blood-stained path would never have blinded her to what she owed herself. But the driving passion of her religion, and its call to save Mormons' lives, one life in particular, bore Jane Withersteen close to an infringement of her womanhood. In the beginning she had reasoned that her appeal to Lassiter must be through the senses. With whatever means she possessed in the way of adornment she enhanced her beauty. And she stooped to artifices that she knew were unworthy of her, but which she deliberately chose to employ. She made of herself a girl in every variable mood wherein a girl might be desirable. In those moods she was not above the methods of an inexperienced though natural flirt. She kept close to him whenever opportunity afforded; and she was forever playfully, yet passionately underneath the surface, fighting him for possession of the great black guns. These he would never yield to her. And so in that manner their hands were often and long in contact. The more of simplicity that she sensed in him the greater the advantage she took.\n\nShe had a trick of changing—and it was not altogether voluntary—from this gay, thoughtless, girlish coquettishness to the silence and the brooding, burning mystery of a woman's mood. The strength and passion and fire of her were in her eyes, and she so used them that Lassiter had to see this depth in her, this haunting promise more fitted to her years than to the flaunting guise of a wilful girl.\n\nThe July days flew by. Jane reasoned that if it were possible for her to be happy during such a time, then she was happy. Little Fay completely filled a long aching void in her heart. In fettering the hands of this Lassiter she was accomplishing the greatest good of her life, and to do good even in a small way rendered happiness to Jane Withersteen. She had attended the regular Sunday services of her church; otherwise she had not gone to the village for weeks. It was unusual that none of her churchmen or friends had called upon her of late; but it was neglect for which she was glad. Judkins and his boy riders had experienced no difficulty in driving the white herd. So these warm July days were free of worry, and soon Jane hoped she had passed the crisis; and for her to hope was presently to trust, and then to believe. She thought often of Venters, but in a dreamy, abstract way. She spent hours teaching and playing with little Fay. And the activity of her mind centered around Lassiter. The direction she had given her will seemed to blunt any branching off of thought from that straight line. The mood came to obsess her.\n\nIn the end, when her awakening came, she learned that she had builded better than she knew. Lassiter, though kinder and gentler than ever, had parted with his quaint humor and his coldness and his tranquility to become a restless and unhappy man. Whatever the power of his deadly intent toward Mormons, that passion now had a rival, the one equally burning and consuming. Jane Withersteen had one moment of exultation before the dawn of a strange uneasiness. What if she had made of herself a lure, at tremendous cost to him and to her, and all in vain!\n\nThat night in the moonlit grove she summoned all her courage and, turning suddenly in the path, she faced Lassiter and leaned close to him, so that she touched him and her eyes looked up to his.\n\n\"Lassiter!... Will you do anything for me?\"\n\nIn the moonlight she saw his dark, worn face change, and by that change she seemed to feel him immovable as a wall of stone.\n\nJane slipped her hands down to the swinging gun-sheaths, and when she had locked her fingers around the huge, cold handles of the guns, she trembled as with a chilling ripple over all her body.\n\n\"May I take your guns?\"\n\n\"Why?\" he asked, and for the first time to her his voice carried a harsh note. Jane felt his hard, strong hands close round her wrists. It was not wholly with intent that she leaned toward him, for the look of his eyes and the feel of his hands made her weak.\n\n\"It's no trifle—no woman's whim—it's deep—as my heart. Let me take them?\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"I want to keep you from killing more men—Mormons. You must let me save you from more wickedness—more wanton bloodshed—\" Then the truth forced itself falteringly from her lips. \"You must—let—help me to keep my vow to Milly Erne. I swore to her—as she lay dying—that if ever any one came here to avenge her—I swore I would stay his hand. Perhaps I—I alone can save the—the man who—who—Oh, Lassiter!... I feel that I can't change you—then soon you'll be out to kill—and you'll kill by instinct—and among the Mormons you kill will be the one—who... Lassiter, if you care a little for me—let me—for my sake—let me take your guns!\"\n\nAs if her hands had been those of a child, he unclasped their clinging grip from the handles of his guns, and, pushing her away, he turned his gray face to her in one look of terrible realization and then strode off into the shadows of the cottonwoods.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "When the first shock of her futile appeal to Lassiter had passed, Jane took his cold, silent condemnation and abrupt departure not so much as a refusal to her entreaty as a hurt and stunned bitterness for her attempt at his betrayal.",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Upon further thought and slow consideration of Lassiter's past actions, she believed he would return and forgive her. The man could not be hard to a woman, and she doubted that he could stay away from her. But at the point where she had hoped to find him vulnerable she now began to fear he was proof against all persuasion. The iron and stone quality that she had early suspected in him had actually cropped out as an impregnable barrier. Nevertheless, if Lassiter remained in Cottonwoods she would never give up her hope and desire to change him. She would change him if she had to sacrifice everything dear to her except hope of heaven. Passionately devoted as she was to her religion, she had yet refused to marry a Mormon. But a situation had developed wherein self paled in the great white light of religious duty of the highest order. That was the leading motive, the divinely spiritual one; but there were other motives, which, like tentacles, aided in drawing her will to the acceptance of a possible abnegation. And through the watches of that sleepless night Jane Withersteen, in fear and sorrow and doubt, came finally to believe that if she must throw herself into Lassiter's arms to make him abide by \"Thou shalt not kill!\" she would yet do well.\n\nIn the morning she expected Lassiter at the usual hour, but she was not able to go at once to the court, so she sent little Fay. Mrs. Larkin was ill and required attention. It appeared that the mother, from the time of her arrival at Withersteen House, had relaxed and was slowly losing her hold on life. Jane had believed that absence of worry and responsibility coupled with good nursing and comfort would mend Mrs. Larkin's broken health. Such, however, was not the case.\n\nWhen Jane did get out to the court, Fay was there alone, and at the moment embarking on a dubious voyage down the stone-lined amber stream upon a craft of two brooms and a pillow. Fay was as delightfully wet as she could possibly wish to get.\n\nClatter of hoofs distracted Fay and interrupted the scolding she was gleefully receiving from Jane. The sound was not the light-spirited trot that Bells made when Lassiter rode him into the outer court. This was slower and heavier, and Jane did not recognize in it any of her other horses. The appearance of Bishop Dyer startled Jane. He dismounted with his rapid, jerky motion flung the bridle, and, as he turned toward the inner court and stalked up on the stone flags, his boots rang. In his authoritative front, and in the red anger unmistakably flaming in his face, he reminded Jane of her father.\n\n\"Is that the Larkin pauper?\" he asked, bruskly, without any greeting to Jane.\n\n\"It's Mrs. Larkin's little girl,\" replied Jane, slowly.\n\n\"I hear you intend to raise the child?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Of course you mean to give her Mormon bringing-up?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nHis questions had been swift. She was amazed at a feeling that some one else was replying for her.\n\n\"I've come to say a few things to you.\" He stopped to measure her with stern, speculative eye.\n\nJane Withersteen loved this man. From earliest childhood she had been taught to revere and love bishops of her church. And for ten years Bishop Dyer had been the closest friend and counselor of her father, and for the greater part of that period her own friend and Scriptural teacher. Her interpretation of her creed and her religious activity in fidelity to it, her acceptance of mysterious and holy Mormon truths, were all invested in this Bishop. Bishop Dyer as an entity was next to God. He was God's mouthpiece to the little Mormon community at Cottonwoods. God revealed himself in secret to this mortal.\n\nAnd Jane Withersteen suddenly suffered a paralyzing affront to her consciousness of reverence by some strange, irresistible twist of thought wherein she saw this Bishop as a man. And the train of thought hurdled the rising, crying protests of that other self whose poise she had lost. It was not her Bishop who eyed her in curious measurement. It was a man who tramped into her presence without removing his hat, who had no greeting for her, who had no semblance of courtesy. In looks, as in action, he made her think of a bull stamping cross-grained into a corral. She had heard of Bishop Dyer forgetting the minister in the fury of a common man, and now she was to feel it. The glance by which she measured him in turn momentarily veiled the divine in the ordinary. He looked a rancher; he was booted, spurred, and covered with dust; he carried a gun at his hip, and she remembered that he had been known to use it. But during the long moment while he watched her there was nothing commonplace in the slow-gathering might of his wrath.\n\n\"Brother Tull has talked to me,\" he began. \"It was your father's wish that you marry Tull, and my order. You refused him?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"You would not give up your friendship with that tramp Venters?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"But you'll do as I order!\" he thundered. \"Why, Jane Withersteen, you are in danger of becoming a heretic! You can thank your Gentile friends for that. You face the damning of your soul to perdition.\"\n\nIn the flux and reflux of the whirling torture of Jane's mind, that new, daring spirit of hers vanished in the old habitual order of her life. She was a Mormon, and the Bishop regained ascendance.\n\n\"It's well I got you in time, Jane Withersteen. What would your father have said to these goings-on of yours? He would have put you in a stone cage on bread and water. He would have taught you something about Mormonism. Remember, you're a born Mormon. There have been Mormons who turned heretic—damn their souls!—but no born Mormon ever left us yet. Ah, I see your shame. Your faith is not shaken. You are only a wild girl.\" The Bishop's tone softened. \"Well, it's enough that I got to you in time... Now tell me about this Lassiter. I hear strange things.\"\n\n\"What do you wish to know?\" queried Jane.\n\n\"About this man. You hired him?\"\n\n\"Yes, he's riding for me. When my riders left me I had to have any one I could get.\"\n\n\"Is it true what I hear—that he's a gun-man, a Mormon-hater, steeped in blood?\"\n\n\"True—terribly true, I fear.\"\n\n\"But what's he doing here in Cottonwoods? This place isn't notorious enough for such a man. Sterling and the villages north, where there's universal gun-packing and fights every day—where there are more men like him, it seems to me they would attract him most. We're only a wild, lonely border settlement. It's only recently that the rustlers have made killings here. Nor have there been saloons till lately, nor the drifting in of outcasts. Has not this gun-man some special mission here?\"\n\nJane maintained silence.\n\n\"Tell me,\" ordered Bishop Dyer, sharply.\n\n\"Yes,\" she replied.\n\n\"Do you know what it is?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Tell me that.\"\n\n\"Bishop Dyer, I don't want to tell.\"\n\nHe waved his hand in an imperative gesture of command. The red once more leaped to his face, and in his steel-blue eyes glinted a pin-point of curiosity.\n\n\"That first day,\" whispered Jane, \"Lassiter said he came here to find—Milly Erne's grave!\"\n\nWith downcast eyes Jane watched the swift flow of the amber water. She saw it and tried to think of it, of the stones, of the ferns; but, like her body, her mind was in a leaden vise. Only the Bishop's voice could release her. Seemingly there was silence of longer duration than all her former life.\n\n\"For what—else?\" When Bishop Dyer's voice did cleave the silence it was high, curiously shrill, and on the point of breaking. It released Jane's tongue, but she could not lift her eyes.\n\n\"To kill the man who persuaded Milly Erne to abandon her home and her husband—and her God!\"\n\nWith wonderful distinctness Jane Withersteen heard her own clear voice. She heard the water murmur at her feet and flow on to the sea; she heard the rushing of all the waters in the world. They filled her ears with low, unreal murmurings—these sounds that deadened her brain and yet could not break the long and terrible silence. Then, from somewhere—from an immeasurable distance—came a slow, guarded, clinking, clanking step. Into her it shot electrifying life. It released the weight upon her numbed eyelids. Lifting her eyes she saw—ashen, shaken, stricken—not the Bishop but the man! And beyond him, from round the corner came that soft, silvery step. A long black boot with a gleaming spur swept into sight—and then Lassiter! Bishop Dyer did not see, did not hear: he stared at Jane in the throes of sudden revelation.\n\n\"Ah, I understand!\" he cried, in hoarse accents. \"That's why you made love to this Lassiter—to bind his hands!\"\n\nIt was Jane's gaze riveted upon the rider that made Bishop Dyer turn. Then clear sight failed her. Dizzily, in a blur, she saw the Bishop's hand jerk to his hip. She saw gleam of blue and spout of red. In her ears burst a thundering report. The court floated in darkening circles around her, and she fell into utter blackness.\n\nThe darkness lightened, turned to slow-drifting haze, and lifted. Through a thin film of blue smoke she saw the rough-hewn timbers of the court roof. A cool, damp touch moved across her brow. She smelled powder, and it was that which galvanized her suspended thought. She moved, to see that she lay prone upon the stone flags with her head on Lassiter's knee, and he was bathing her brow with water from the stream. The same swift glance, shifting low, brought into range of her sight a smoking gun and splashes of blood.\n\n\"Ah-h!\" she moaned, and was drifting, sinking again into darkness, when Lassiter's voice arrested her.\n\n\"It's all right, Jane. It's all right.\"\n\n\"Did—you—kill—him?\" she whispered.\n\n\"Who? That fat party who was here? No. I didn't kill him.\"\n\n\"Oh!... Lassiter!\"\n\n\"Say! It was queer for you to faint. I thought you were such a strong woman, not faintish like that. You're all right now—only some pale. I thought you'd never come to. But I'm awkward round women folks. I couldn't think of anythin'.\"\n\n\"Lassiter!... the gun there!... the blood!\"\n\n\"So that's troublin' you. I reckon it needn't. You see it was this way. I come round the house an' seen that fat party an' heard him talkin' loud. Then he seen me, an' very impolite goes straight for his gun. He oughtn't have tried to throw a gun on me—whatever his reason was. For that's meetin' me on my own grounds. I've seen runnin' molasses that was quicker 'n him. Now I didn't know who he was, visitor or friend or relation of yours, though I seen he was a Mormon all over, an' I couldn't get serious about shootin'. So I winged him—put a bullet through his arm as he was pullin' at his gun. An' he dropped the gun there, an' a little blood. I told him he'd introduced himself sufficient, an' to please move out of my vicinity. An' he went.\"\n\nLassiter spoke with slow, cool, soothing voice, in which there was a hint of levity, and his touch, as he continued to bathe her brow, was gentle and steady. His impassive face, and the kind gray eyes, further stilled her agitation.\n\n\"He drew on you first, and you deliberately shot to cripple him—you wouldn't kill him—you—Lassiter?\"\n\n\"That's about the size of it.\"\n\nJane kissed his hand.\n\nAll that was calm and cool about Lassiter instantly vanished.\n\n\"Don't do that! I won't stand it! An' I don't care a damn who that fat party was.\"\n\nHe helped Jane to her feet and to a chair. Then with the wet scarf he had used to bathe her face he wiped the blood from the stone flags and, picking up the gun, he threw it upon a couch. With that he began to pace the court, and his silver spurs jangled musically, and the great gun-sheaths softly brushed against his leather chaps.\n\n\"So—it's true—what I heard him say?\" Lassiter asked, presently halting before her. \"You made love to me—to bind my hands?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" confessed Jane. It took all her woman's courage to meet the gray storm of his glance.\n\n\"All these days that you've been so friendly an' like a pardner—all these evenin's that have been so bewilderin' to me—your beauty—an'—an' the way you looked an' came close to me—they were woman's tricks to bind my hands?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"An' your sweetness that seemed so natural, an' your throwin' little Fay an' me so much together—to make me love the child—all that was for the same reason?\"",
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"value": "\"Yes.\"",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 31 sentences.",
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"value": "Lassiter flung his arms—a strange gesture for him.\n\n\"Mebbe it wasn't much in your Mormon thinkin', for you to play that game. But to ring the child in—that was hellish!\"\n\nJane's passionate, unheeding zeal began to loom darkly.\n\n\"Lassiter, whatever my intention in the beginning, Fay loves you dearly—and I—I've grown to—to like you.\"\n\n\"That's powerful kind of you, now,\" he said. Sarcasm and scorn made his voice that of a stranger. \"An' you sit there an' look me straight in the eyes! You're a wonderful strange woman, Jane Withersteen.\"\n\n\"I'm not ashamed, Lassiter. I told you I'd try to change you.\"\n\n\"Would you mind tellin' me just what you tried?\"\n\n\"I tried to make you see beauty in me and be softened by it. I wanted you to care for me so that I could influence you. It wasn't easy. At first you were stone-blind. Then I hoped you'd love little Fay, and through that come to feel the horror of making children fatherless.\"\n\n\"Jane Withersteen, either you're a fool or noble beyond my understandin'. Mebbe you're both. I know you're blind. What you meant is one thing—what you did was to make me love you.\"\n\n\"Lassiter!\"\n\n\"I reckon I'm a human bein', though I never loved any one but my sister, Milly Erne. That was long—\"\n\n\"Oh, are you Milly's brother?\"\n\n\"Yes, I was, an' I loved her. There never was any one but her in my life till now. Didn't I tell you that long ago I back-trailed myself from women? I was a Texas ranger till—till Milly left home, an' then I became somethin' else—Lassiter! For years I've been a lonely man set on one thing. I came here an' met you. An' now I'm not the man I was. The change was gradual, an' I took no notice of it. I understand now that never-satisfied longin' to see you, listen to you, watch you, feel you near me. It's plain now why you were never out of my thoughts. I've had no thoughts but of you. I've lived an' breathed for you. An' now when I know what it means—what you've done—I'm burnin' up with hell's fire!\"\n\n\"Oh, Lassiter—no—no—you don't love me that way!\" Jane cased.\n\n\"If that's what love is, then I do.\"\n\n\"Forgive me! I didn't mean to make you love me like that. Oh, what a tangle of our lives! You—Milly Erne's brother! And I—heedless, mad to melt your heart toward Mormons. Lassiter, I may be wicked but not wicked enough to hate. If I couldn't hate Tull, could I hate you?\"\n\n\"After all, Jane, mebbe you're only blind—Mormon blind. That only can explain what's close to selfishness—\"\n\n\"I'm not selfish. I despise the very word. If I were free—\"\n\n\"But you're not free. Not free of Mormonism. An' in playin' this game with me you've been unfaithful.\"\n\n\"Un-faithful!\" faltered Jane.\n\n\"Yes, I said unfaithful. You're faithful to your Bishop an' unfaithful to yourself. You're false to your womanhood an' true to your religion. But for a savin' innocence you'd have made yourself low an' vile—betrayin' yourself, betrayin' me—all to bind my hands an' keep me from snuffin' out Mormon life. It's your damned Mormon blindness.\"\n\n\"Is it vile—is it blind—is it only Mormonism to save human life? No, Lassiter, that's God's law, divine, universal for all Christians.\"\n\n\"The blindness I mean is blindness that keeps you from seein' the truth. I've known many good Mormons. But some are blacker than hell. You won't see that even when you know it. Else, why all this blind passion to save the life of that—that...\"\n\nJane shut out the light, and the hands she held over her eyes trembled and quivered against her face.\n\n\"Blind—yes, en' let me make it clear en' simple to you,\" Lassiter went on, his voice losing its tone of anger. \"Take, for instance, that idea of yours last night when you wanted my guns. It was good an' beautiful, an' showed your heart—but—why, Jane, it was crazy. Mind I'm assumin' that life to me is as sweet as to any other man. An' to preserve that life is each man's first an' closest thought. Where would any man be on this border without guns? Where, especially, would Lassiter be? Well, I'd be under the sage with thousands of other men now livin' an' sure better men than me. Gun-packin' in the West since the Civil War has growed into a kind of moral law. An' out here on this border it's the difference between a man an' somethin' not a man. Look what your takin' Venters's guns from him all but made him! Why, your churchmen carry guns. Tull has killed a man an' drawed on others. Your Bishop has shot a half dozen men, an' it wasn't through prayers of his that they recovered. An' to-day he'd have shot me if he'd been quick enough on the draw. Could I walk or ride down into Cottonwoods without my guns? This is a wild time, Jane Withersteen, this year of our Lord eighteen seventy-one.\"\n\n\"No time—for a woman!\" exclaimed Jane, brokenly. \"Oh, Lassiter, I feel helpless—lost—and don't know where to turn. If I am blind—then—I need some one—a friend—you, Lassiter—more than ever!\"\n\n\"Well, I didn't say nothin' about goin' back on you, did I?\"",
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"value": "Writer's block help needed. This is from a bigger story - gonna send you something then keep it going 119 sentences at a time. Going for Zane Grey vibes in the Western genre.",
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"value": "Chapter XII. The Invisible Hand\n\nJane received a letter from Bishop Dyer, not in his own handwriting, which stated that the abrupt termination of their interview had left him in some doubt as to her future conduct. A slight injury had incapacitated him from seeking another meeting at present, the letter went on to say, and ended with a request which was virtually a command, that she call upon him at once.\n\nThe reading of the letter acquainted Jane Withersteen with the fact that something within her had all but changed. She sent no reply to Bishop Dyer nor did she go to see him. On Sunday she remained absent from the service—for the second time in years—and though she did not actually suffer there was a dead-lock of feelings deep within her, and the waiting for a balance to fall on either side was almost as bad as suffering. She had a gloomy expectancy of untoward circumstances, and with it a keen-edged curiosity to watch developments. She had a half-formed conviction that her future conduct—as related to her churchmen—was beyond her control and would be governed by their attitude toward her. Something was changing in her, forming, waiting for decision to make it a real and fixed thing. She had told Lassiter that she felt helpless and lost in the fateful tangle of their lives; and now she feared that she was approaching the same chaotic condition of mind in regard to her religion. It appalled her to find that she questioned phases of that religion. Absolute faith had been her serenity. Though leaving her faith unshaken, her serenity had been disturbed, and now it was broken by open war between her and her ministers. That something within her—a whisper—which she had tried in vain to hush had become a ringing voice, and it called to her to wait. She had transgressed no laws of God. Her churchmen, however invested with the power and the glory of a wonderful creed, however they sat in inexorable judgment of her, must now practice toward her the simple, common, Christian virtue they professed to preach, \"Do unto others as you would have others do unto you!\"\n\nJane Withersteen, waiting in darkness of mind, remained faithful still. But it was darkness that must soon be pierced by light. If her faith were justified, if her churchmen were trying only to intimidate her, the fact would soon be manifest, as would their failure, and then she would redouble her zeal toward them and toward what had been the best work of her life—work for the welfare and happiness of those among whom she lived, Mormon and Gentile alike. If that secret, intangible power closed its coils round her again, if that great invisible hand moved here and there and everywhere, slowly paralyzing her with its mystery and its inconceivable sway over her affairs, then she would know beyond doubt that it was not chance, nor jealousy, nor intimidation, nor ministerial wrath at her revolt, but a cold and calculating policy thought out long before she was born, a dark, immutable will of whose empire she and all that was hers was but an atom.\n\nThen might come her ruin. Then might come her fall into black storm. Yet she would rise again, and to the light. God would be merciful to a driven woman who had lost her way.\n\nA week passed. Little Fay played and prattled and pulled at Lassiter's big black guns. The rider came to Withersteen House oftener than ever. Jane saw a change in him, though it did not relate to his kindness and gentleness. He was quieter and more thoughtful. While playing with Fay or conversing with Jane he seemed to be possessed of another self that watched with cool, roving eyes, that listened, listened always as if the murmuring amber stream brought messages, and the moving leaves whispered something. Lassiter never rode Bells into the court any more, nor did he come by the lane or the paths. When he appeared it was suddenly and noiselessly out of the dark shadow of the grove.\n\n\"I left Bells out in the sage,\" he said, one day at the end of that week. \"I must carry water to him.\"\n\n\"Why not let him drink at the trough or here?\" asked Jane, quickly.\n\n\"I reckon it'll be safer for me to slip through the grove. I've been watched when I rode in from the sage.\"\n\n\"Watched? By whom?\"\n\n\"By a man who thought he was well hid. But my eyes are pretty sharp. An', Jane,\" he went on, almost in a whisper, \"I reckon it'd be a good idea for us to talk low. You're spied on here by your women.\"\n\n\"Lassiter!\" she whispered in turn. \"That's hard to believe. My women love me.\"\n\n\"What of that?\" he asked. \"Of course they love you. But they're Mormon women.\"\n\nJane's old, rebellious loyalty clashed with her doubt.\n\n\"I won't believe it,\" she replied, stubbornly.\n\n\"Well then, just act natural an' talk natural, an' pretty soon—give them time to hear us—pretend to go over there to the table, en' then quick-like make a move for the door en' open it.\"\n\n\"I will,\" said Jane, with heightened color. Lassiter was right; he never made mistakes; he would not have told her unless he positively knew. Yet Jane was so tenacious of faith that she had to see with her own eyes, and so constituted that to employ even such small deceit toward her women made her ashamed, and angry for her shame as well as theirs. Then a singular thought confronted her that made her hold up this simple ruse—which hurt her, though it was well justified—against the deceit she had wittingly and eagerly used toward Lassiter. The difference was staggering in its suggestion of that blindness of which he had accused her. Fairness and justice and mercy, that she had imagined were anchor-cables to hold fast her soul to righteousness had not been hers in the strange, biased duty that had so exalted and confounded her.\n\nPresently Jane began to act her little part, to laugh and play with Fay, to talk of horses and cattle to Lassiter. Then she made deliberate mention of a book in which she kept records of all pertaining to her stock, and she walked slowly toward the table, and when near the door she suddenly whirled and thrust it open. Her sharp action nearly knocked down a woman who had undoubtedly been listening.\n\n\"Hester,\" said Jane, sternly, \"you may go home, and you need not come back.\"\n\nJane shut the door and returned to Lassiter. Standing unsteadily, she put her hand on his arm. She let him see that doubt had gone, and how this stab of disloyalty pained her.\n\n\"Spies! My own women!... Oh, miserable!\" she cried, with flashing, tearful eyes.\n\n\"I hate to tell you,\" he replied. By that she knew he had long spared her. \"It's begun again—that work in the dark.\"\n\n\"Nay, Lassiter—it never stopped!\"\n\nSo bitter certainty claimed her at last, and trust fled Withersteen House and fled forever. The women who owed much to Jane Withersteen changed not in love for her, nor in devotion to their household work, but they poisoned both by a thousand acts of stealth and cunning and duplicity. Jane broke out once and caught them in strange, stone-faced, unhesitating falsehood. Thereafter she broke out no more. She forgave them because they were driven. Poor, fettered, and sealed Hagars, how she pitied them! What terrible thing bound them and locked their lips, when they showed neither consciousness of guilt toward their benefactress nor distress at the slow wearing apart of long-established and dear ties?\n\n\"The blindness again!\" cried Jane Withersteen. \"In my sisters as in me!... O God!\"\n\nThere came a time when no words passed between Jane and her women. Silently they went about their household duties, and secretly they went about the underhand work to which they had been bidden. The gloom of the house and the gloom of its mistress, which darkened even the bright spirit of little Fay, did not pervade these women. Happiness was not among them, but they were aloof from gloom. They spied and listened; they received and sent secret messengers; and they stole Jane's books and records, and finally the papers that were deeds of her possessions. Through it all they were silent, rapt in a kind of trance. Then one by one, without leave or explanation or farewell, they left Withersteen House, and never returned.\n\nCoincident with this disappearance Jane's gardeners and workers in the alfalfa fields and stable men quit her, not even asking for their wages. Of all her Mormon employees about the great ranch only Jerd remained. He went on with his duty, but talked no more of the change than if it had never occurred.\n\n\"Jerd,\" said Jane, \"what stock you can't take care of turn out in the sage. Let your first thought be for Black Star and Night. Keep them in perfect condition. Run them every day and watch them always.\"\n\nThough Jane Withersteen gave them such liberality, she loved her possessions. She loved the rich, green stretches of alfalfa, and the farms, and the grove, and the old stone house, and the beautiful, ever-faithful amber spring, and every one of a myriad of horses and colts and burros and fowls down to the smallest rabbit that nipped her vegetables; but she loved best her noble Arabian steeds. In common with all riders of the upland sage Jane cherished two material things—the cold, sweet, brown water that made life possible in the wilderness and the horses which were a part of that life. When Lassiter asked her what Lassiter would be without his guns he was assuming that his horse was part of himself. So Jane loved Black Star and Night because it was her nature to love all beautiful creatures—perhaps all living things; and then she loved them because she herself was of the sage and in her had been born and bred the rider's instinct to rely on his four-footed brother. And when Jane gave Jerd the order to keep her favorites trained down to the day it was a half-conscious admission that presaged a time when she would need her fleet horses.\n\nJane had now, however, no leisure to brood over the coils that were closing round her. Mrs. Larkin grew weaker as the August days began; she required constant care; there was little Fay to look after; and such household work as was imperative. Lassiter put Bells in the stable with the other racers, and directed his efforts to a closer attendance upon Jane. She welcomed the change. He was always at hand to help, and it was her fortune to learn that his boast of being awkward around women had its root in humility and was not true.\n\nHis great, brown hands were skilled in a multiplicity of ways which a woman might have envied. He shared Jane's work, and was of especial help to her in nursing Mrs. Larkin. The woman suffered most at night, and this often broke Jane's rest. So it came about that Lassiter would stay by Mrs. Larkin during the day, when she needed care, and Jane would make up the sleep she lost in night-watches. Mrs. Larkin at once took kindly to the gentle Lassiter, and, without ever asking who or what he was, praised him to Jane. \"He's a good man and loves children,\" she said. How sad to hear this truth spoken of a man whom Jane thought lost beyond all redemption! Yet ever and ever Lassiter towered above her, and behind or through his black, sinister figure shone something luminous that strangely affected Jane. Good and evil began to seem incomprehensibly blended in her judgment. It was her belief that evil could not come forth from good; yet here was a murderer who dwarfed in gentleness, patience, and love any man she had ever known.\n\nShe had almost lost track of her more outside concerns when early one morning Judkins presented himself before her in the courtyard.\n\nThin, hard, burnt, bearded, with the dust and sage thick on him, with his leather wrist-bands shining from use, and his boots worn through on the stirrup side, he looked the rider of riders. He wore two guns and carried a Winchester.\n\nJane greeted him with surprise and warmth, set meat and bread and drink before him; and called Lassiter out to see him. The men exchanged glances, and the meaning of Lassiter's keen inquiry and Judkins's bold reply, both unspoken, was not lost upon Jane.\n\n\"Where's your hoss?\" asked Lassiter, aloud.\n\n\"Left him down the slope,\" answered Judkins. \"I footed it in a ways, an' slept last night in the sage. I went to the place you told me you 'moss always slept, but didn't strike you.\"\n\n\"I moved up some, near the spring, an' now I go there nights.\"\n\n\"Judkins—the white herd?\" queried Jane, hurriedly.\n\n\"Miss Withersteen, I make proud to say I've not lost a steer. Fer a good while after thet stampede Lassiter milled we hed no trouble. Why, even the sage dogs left us. But it's begun agin—thet flashin' of lights over ridge tips, an' queer puffin' of smoke, en' then at night strange whistles en' noises. But the herd's acted magnificent. An' my boys, say, Miss Withersteen, they're only kids, but I ask no better riders. I got the laugh in the village fer takin' them out. They're a wild lot, an' you know boys hev more nerve than grown men, because they don't know what danger is. I'm not denyin' there's danger. But they glory in it, an' mebbe I like it myself—anyway, we'll stick. We're goin' to drive the herd on the far side of the first break of Deception Pass. There's a great round valley over there, an' no ridges or piles of rocks to aid these stampeders. The rains are due. We'll hev plenty of water fer a while. An' we can hold thet herd from anybody except Oldrin'. I come in fer supplies. I'll pack a couple of burros an' drive out after dark to-night.\"\n\n\"Judkins, take what you want from the store-room. Lassiter will help you. I—I can't thank you enough... but—wait.\"\n\nJane went to the room that had once been her father's, and from a secret chamber in the thick stone wall she took a bag of gold, and, carrying it back to the court, she gave it to the rider.\n\n\"There, Judkins, and understand that I regard it as little for your loyalty. Give what is fair to your boys, and keep the rest. Hide it. Perhaps that would be wisest.\"\n\n\"Oh... Miss Withersteen!\" ejaculated the rider.",
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"value": "I'll start writing, then you take over for 85 sentences, matching any established character familiarity in the Western genre.",
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"value": "Chapter XIII. Solitude and Storm",
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"from": "human",
"value": "In his hidden valley Venters awakened from sleep, and his ears rang with innumerable melodies from full-throated mockingbirds, and his eyes opened wide upon the glorious golden shaft of sunlight shining through the great stone bridge.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "The circle of cliffs surrounding Surprise Valley lay shrouded in morning mist, a dim blue low down along the terraces, a creamy, moving cloud along the ramparts.",
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"value": "The oak forest in the center was a plumed and tufted oval of gold.\n\nHe saw Bess under the spruces. Upon her complete recovery of strength she always rose with the dawn. At the moment she was feeding the quail she had tamed. And she had begun to tame the mocking-birds. They fluttered among the branches overhead and some left off their songs to flit down and shyly hop near the twittering quail. Little gray and white rabbits crouched in the grass, now nibbling, now laying long ears flat and watching the dogs.\n\nVenters's swift glance took in the brightening valley, and Bess and her pets, and Ring and Whitie. It swept over all to return again and rest upon the girl. She had changed. To the dark trousers and blouse she had added moccasins of her own make, but she no longer resembled a boy. No eye could have failed to mark the rounded contours of a woman. The change had been to grace and beauty. A glint of warm gold gleamed from her hair, and a tint of red shone in the clear dark brown of cheeks. The haunting sweetness of her lips and eyes, that earlier had been illusive, a promise, had become a living fact. She fitted harmoniously into that wonderful setting; she was like Surprise Valley—wild and beautiful.\n\nVenters leaped out of his cave to begin the day.\n\nHe had postponed his journey to Cottonwoods until after the passing of the summer rains. The rains were due soon. But until their arrival and the necessity for his trip to the village he sequestered in a far corner of mind all thought of peril, of his past life, and almost that of the present. It was enough to live. He did not want to know what lay hidden in the dim and distant future. Surprise Valley had enchanted him. In this home of the cliff-dwellers there were peace and quiet and solitude, and another thing, wondrous as the golden morning shaft of sunlight, that he dared not ponder over long enough to understand.\n\nThe solitude he had hated when alone he had now come to love. He was assimilating something from this valley of gleams and shadows. From this strange girl he was assimilating more.\n\nThe day at hand resembled many days gone before. As Venters had no tools with which to build, or to till the terraces, he remained idle. Beyond the cooking of the simple fare there were no tasks. And as there were no tasks, there was no system. He and Bess began one thing, to leave it; to begin another, to leave that; and then do nothing but lie under the spruces and watch the great cloud-sails majestically move along the ramparts, and dream and dream. The valley was a golden, sunlit world. It was silent. The sighing wind and the twittering quail and the singing birds, even the rare and seldom-occurring hollow crack of a sliding weathered stone, only thickened and deepened that insulated silence.\n\nVenters and Bess had vagrant minds.\n\n\"Bess, did I tell you about my horse Wrangle?\" inquired Venters.\n\n\"A hundred times,\" she replied.\n\n\"Oh, have I? I'd forgotten. I want you to see him. He'll carry us both.\"\n\n\"I'd like to ride him. Can he run?\"\n\n\"Run? He's a demon. Swiftest horse on the sage! I hope he'll stay in that canyon.\n\n\"He'll stay.\"\n\nThey left camp to wander along the terraces, into the aspen ravines, under the gleaming walls. Ring and Whitie wandered in the fore, often turning, often trotting back, open-mouthed and solemn-eyed and happy. Venters lifted his gaze to the grand archway over the entrance to the valley, and Bess lifted hers to follow his, and both were silent. Sometimes the bridge held their attention for a long time. To-day a soaring eagle attracted them.\n\n\"How he sails!\" exclaimed Bess. \"I wonder where his mate is?\"\n\n\"She's at the nest. It's on the bridge in a crack near the top. I see her often. She's almost white.\"\n\nThey wandered on down the terrace, into the shady, sun-flecked forest. A brown bird fluttered crying from a bush. Bess peeped into the leaves. \"Look! A nest and four little birds. They're not afraid of us. See how they open their mouths. They're hungry.\"\n\nRabbits rustled the dead brush and pattered away. The forest was full of a drowsy hum of insects. Little darts of purple, that were running quail, crossed the glades. And a plaintive, sweet peeping came from the coverts. Bess's soft step disturbed a sleeping lizard that scampered away over the leaves. She gave chase and caught it, a slim creature of nameless color but of exquisite beauty.\n\n\"Jewel eyes,\" she said. \"It's like a rabbit—afraid. We won't eat you. There—go.\"\n\nMurmuring water drew their steps down into a shallow shaded ravine where a brown brook brawled softly over mossy stones. Multitudes of strange, gray frogs with white spots and black eyes lined the rocky bank and leaped only at close approach. Then Venters's eye descried a very thin, very long green snake coiled round a sapling. They drew closer and closer till they could have touched it. The snake had no fear and watched them with scintillating eyes.\n\n\"It's pretty,\" said Bess. \"How tame! I thought snakes always ran.\"\n\n\"No. Even the rabbits didn't run here till the dogs chased them.\"\n\nOn and on they wandered to the wild jumble of massed and broken fragments of cliff at the west end of the valley. The roar of the disappearing stream dinned in their ears. Into this maze of rocks they threaded a tortuous way, climbing, descending, halting to gather wild plums and great lavender lilies, and going on at the will of fancy. Idle and keen perceptions guided them equally.\n\n\"Oh, let us climb there!\" cried Bess, pointing upward to a small space of terrace left green and shady between huge abutments of broken cliff. And they climbed to the nook and rested and looked out across the valley to the curling column of blue smoke from their campfire. But the cool shade and the rich grass and the fine view were not what they had climbed for. They could not have told, although whatever had drawn them was well-satisfying. Light, sure-footed as a mountain goat, Bess pattered down at Venters's heels; and they went on, calling the dogs, eyes dreamy and wide, listening to the wind and the bees and the crickets and the birds.\n\nPart of the time Ring and Whitie led the way, then Venters, then Bess; and the direction was not an object. They left the sun-streaked shade of the oaks, brushed the long grass of the meadows, entered the green and fragrant swaying willows, to stop, at length, under the huge old cottonwoods where the beavers were busy.\n\nHere they rested and watched. A dam of brush and logs and mud and stones backed the stream into a little lake. The round, rough beaver houses projected from the water.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Like the rabbits, the beavers had become shy. Gradually, however, as Venters and Bess knelt low, holding the dogs, the beavers emerged to swim with logs and gnaw at cottonwoods and pat mud walls with their paddle-like tails, and, glossy and shiny in the sun, to go on with their strange, persistent industry. They were the builders. The lake was a mud-hole, and the immediate environment a scarred and dead region, but it was a wonderful home of wonderful animals.\n\n\"Look at that one—he puddles in the mud,\" said Bess. \"And there! See him dive! Hear them gnawing! I'd think they'd break their teeth. How's it they can stay out of the water and under the water?\"\n\nAnd she laughed.\n\nThen Venters and Bess wandered farther, and, perhaps not all unconsciously this time, wended their slow steps to the cave of the cliff-dwellers, where she liked best to go.\n\nThe tangled thicket and the long slant of dust and little chips of weathered rock and the steep bench of stone and the worn steps all were arduous work for Bess in the climbing. But she gained the shelf, gasping, hot of cheek, glad of eye, with her hand in Venters's. Here they rested. The beautiful valley glittered below with its millions of wind-turned leaves bright-faced in the sun, and the mighty bridge towered heavenward, crowned with blue sky. Bess, however, never rested for long. Soon she was exploring, and Venters followed; she dragged forth from corners and shelves a multitude of crudely fashioned and painted pieces of pottery, and he carried them. They peeped down into the dark holes of the kivas, and Bess gleefully dropped a stone and waited for the long-coming hollow sound to rise. They peeped into the little globular houses, like mud-wasp nests, and wondered if these had been store-places for grain, or baby cribs, or what; and they crawled into the larger houses and laughed when they bumped their heads on the low roofs, and they dug in the dust of the floors. And they brought from dust and darkness armloads of treasure which they carried to the light. Flints and stones and strange curved sticks and pottery they found; and twisted grass rope that crumbled in their hands, and bits of whitish stone which crushed to powder at a touch and seemed to vanish in the air.\n\n\"That white stuff was bone,\" said Venters, slowly. \"Bones of a cliff-dweller.\"\n\n\"No!\" exclaimed Bess.\n\n\"Here's another piece. Look!... Whew! dry, powdery smoke! That's bone.\"\n\nThen it was that Venters's primitive, childlike mood, like a savage's, seeing, yet unthinking, gave way to the encroachment of civilized thought. The world had not been made for a single day's play or fancy or idle watching. The world was old. Nowhere could be gotten a better idea of its age than in this gigantic silent tomb. The gray ashes in Venters's hand had once been bone of a human being like himself. The pale gloom of the cave had shadowed people long ago. He saw that Bess had received the same shock—could not in moments such as this escape her feeling living, thinking destiny.\n\n\"Bern, people have lived here,\" she said, with wide, thoughtful eyes.\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied.\n\n\"How long ago?\"\n\n\"A thousand years and more.\"\n\n\"What were they?\"\n\n\"Cliff-dwellers. Men who had enemies and made their homes high out of reach.\"\n\n\"They had to fight?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"They fought for—what?\"\n\n\"For life. For their homes, food, children, parents—for their women!\"\n\n\"Has the world changed any in a thousand years?\"\n\n\"I don't know—perhaps a little.\"\n\n\"Have men?\"\n\n\"I hope so—I think so.\"\n\n\"Things crowd into my mind,\" she went on, and the wistful light in her eyes told Venters the truth of her thoughts. \"I've ridden the border of Utah. I've seen people—know how they live—but they must be few of all who are living. I had my books and I studied them. But all that doesn't help me any more. I want to go out into the big world and see it. Yet I want to stay here more. What's to become of us? Are we cliff-dwellers? We're alone here. I'm happy when I don't think. These—these bones that fly into dust—they make me sick and a little afraid. Did the people who lived here once have the same feelings as we have? What was the good of their living at all? They're gone! What's the meaning of it all—of us?\"\n\n\"Bess, you ask more than I can tell. It's beyond me. Only there was laughter here once—and now there's silence. There was life—and now there's death. Men cut these little steps, made these arrow-heads and mealing-stones, plaited the ropes we found, and left their bones to crumble in our fingers. As far as time is concerned it might all have been yesterday. We're here to-day. Maybe we're higher in the scale of human beings—in intelligence. But who knows? We can't be any higher in the things for which life is lived at all.\"\n\n\"What are they?\"\n\n\"Why—I suppose relationship, friendship—love.\"\n\n\"Love!\"\n\n\"Yes. Love of man for woman—love of woman for man. That's the nature, the meaning, the best of life itself.\"\n\nShe said no more. Wistfulness of glance deepened into sadness.\n\n\"Come, let us go,\" said Venters.\n\nAction brightened her. Beside him, holding his hand she slipped down the shelf, ran down the long, steep slant of sliding stones, out of the cloud of dust, and likewise out of the pale gloom.\n\n\"We beat the slide,\" she cried.\n\nThe miniature avalanche cracked and roared, and rattled itself into an inert mass at the base of the incline. Yellow dust like the gloom of the cave, but not so changeless, drifted away on the wind; the roar clapped in echo from the cliff, returned, went back, and came again to die in the hollowness. Down on the sunny terrace there was a different atmosphere. Ring and Whitie leaped around Bess. Once more she was smiling, gay, and thoughtless, with the dream-mood in the shadow of her eyes.\n\n\"Bess, I haven't seen that since last summer. Look!\" said Venters, pointing to the scalloped edge of rolling purple clouds that peeped over the western wall. \"We're in for a storm.\"\n\n\"Oh, I hope not. I'm afraid of storms.\"\n\n\"Are you? Why?\"\n\n\"Have you ever been down in one of these walled-up pockets in a bad storm?\"\n\n\"No, now I think of it, I haven't.\"\n\n\"Well, it's terrible. Every summer I get scared to death and hide somewhere in the dark. Storms up on the sage are bad, but nothing to what they are down here in the canyons. And in this little valley—why, echoes can rap back and forth so quick they'll split our ears.\"\n\n\"We're perfectly safe here, Bess.\"\n\n\"I know. But that hasn't anything to do with it. The truth is I'm afraid of lightning and thunder, and thunder-claps hurt my head. If we have a bad storm, will you stay close to me?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nWhen they got back to camp the afternoon was closing, and it was exceedingly sultry. Not a breath of air stirred the aspen leaves, and when these did not quiver the air was indeed still. The dark-purple clouds moved almost imperceptibly out of the west.\n\n\"What have we for supper?\" asked Bess.\n\n\"Rabbit.\"\n\n\"Bern, can't you think of another new way to cook rabbit?\" went on Bess, with earnestness.\n\n\"What do you think I am—a magician?\" retorted Venters.\n\n\"I wouldn't dare tell you. But, Bern, do you want me to turn into a rabbit?\"\n\nThere was a dark-blue, merry flashing of eyes and a parting of lips; then she laughed. In that moment she was naive and wholesome.\n\n\"Rabbit seems to agree with you,\" replied Venters. \"You are well and strong—and growing very pretty.\"\n\nAnything in the nature of compliment he had never before said to her, and just now he responded to a sudden curiosity to see its effect. Bess stared as if she had not heard aright, slowly blushed, and completely lost her poise in happy confusion.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"I'd better go right away,\" he continued, \"and fetch supplies from Cottonwoods.\"",
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"from": "human",
"value": "A startlingly swift change in the nature of her agitation made him reproach himself for his abruptness.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"No, no, don't go!\"",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "she said. \"I didn't mean—that about the rabbit. I—I was only trying to be—funny. Don't leave me all alone!\"\n\n\"Bess, I must go sometime.\"\n\n\"Wait then. Wait till after the storms.\"\n\nThe purple cloud-bank darkened the lower edge of the setting sun, crept up and up, obscuring its fiery red heart, and finally passed over the last ruddy crescent of its upper rim.\n\nThe intense dead silence awakened to a long, low, rumbling roll of thunder.\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Bess, nervously.\n\n\"We've had big black clouds before this without rain,\" said Venters. \"But there's no doubt about that thunder. The storms are coming. I'm glad. Every rider on the sage will hear that thunder with glad ears.\"\n\nVenters and Bess finished their simple meal and the few tasks around the camp, then faced the open terrace, the valley, and the west, to watch and await the approaching storm.\n\nIt required keen vision to see any movement whatever in the purple clouds. By infinitesimal degrees the dark cloud-line merged upward into the golden-red haze of the afterglow of sunset. A shadow lengthened from under the western wall across the valley. As straight and rigid as steel rose the delicate spear-pointed silver spruces; the aspen leaves, by nature pendant and quivering, hung limp and heavy; no slender blade of grass moved. A gentle splashing of water came from the ravine. Then again from out of the west sounded the low, dull, and rumbling roll of thunder.\n\nA wave, a ripple of light, a trembling and turning of the aspen leaves, like the approach of a breeze on the water, crossed the valley from the west; and the lull and the deadly stillness and the sultry air passed away on a cool wind.\n\nThe night bird of the canyon, with clear and melancholy notes announced the twilight. And from all along the cliffs rose the faint murmur and moan and mourn of the wind singing in the caves. The bank of clouds now swept hugely out of the western sky. Its front was purple and black, with gray between, a bulging, mushrooming, vast thing instinct with storm. It had a dark, angry, threatening aspect. As if all the power of the winds were pushing and piling behind, it rolled ponderously across the sky. A red flare burned out instantaneously, flashed from the west to east, and died. Then from the deepest black of the purple cloud burst a boom. It was like the bowling of a huge boulder along the crags and ramparts, and seemed to roll on and fall into the valley to bound and bang and boom from cliff to cliff.\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Bess, with her hands over her ears. \"What did I tell you?\"\n\n\"Why, Bess, be reasonable!\" said Venters.\n\n\"I'm a coward.\"\n\n\"Not quite that, I hope. It's strange you're afraid. I love a storm.\"\n\n\"I tell you a storm down in these canyons is an awful thing. I know Oldring hated storms. His men were afraid of them. There was one who went deaf in a bad storm, and never could hear again.\"\n\n\"Maybe I've lots to learn, Bess. I'll lose my guess if this storm isn't bad enough. We're going to have heavy wind first, then lightning and thunder, then the rain. Let's stay out as long as we can.\"\n\nThe tips of the cottonwoods and the oaks waved to the east, and the rings of aspens along the terraces twinkled their myriad of bright faces in fleet and glancing gleam. A low roar rose from the leaves of the forest, and the spruces swished in the rising wind. It came in gusts, with light breezes between. As it increased in strength the lulls shortened in length till there was a strong and steady blow all the time, and violent puffs at intervals, and sudden whirling currents. The clouds spread over the valley, rolling swiftly and low, and twilight faded into a sweeping darkness. Then the singing of the wind in the caves drowned the swift roar of rustling leaves; then the song swelled to a mourning, moaning wail; then with the gathering power of the wind the wail changed to a shriek. Steadily the wind strengthened and constantly the strange sound changed.\n\nThe last bit of blue sky yielded to the on-sweep of clouds. Like angry surf the pale gleams of gray, amid the purple of that scudding front, swept beyond the eastern rampart of the valley. The purple deepened to black. Broad sheets of lightning flared over the western wall. There were not yet any ropes or zigzag streaks darting down through the gathering darkness. The storm center was still beyond Surprise Valley.\n\n\"Listen!... Listen!\" cried Bess, with her lips close to Venters's ear. \"You'll hear Oldring's knell!\"\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"Oldring's knell. When the wind blows a gale in the caves it makes what the rustlers call Oldring's knell. They believe it bodes his death. I think he believes so, too. It's not like any sound on earth... It's beginning. Listen!\"\n\nThe gale swooped down with a hollow unearthly howl. It yelled and pealed and shrilled and shrieked. It was made up of a thousand piercing cries. It was a rising and a moving sound. Beginning at the western break of the valley, it rushed along each gigantic cliff, whistling into the caves and cracks, to mount in power, to bellow a blast through the great stone bridge. Gone, as into an engulfing roar of surging waters, it seemed to shoot back and begin all over again.\n\nIt was only wind, thought Venters. Here sped and shrieked the sculptor that carved out the wonderful caves in the cliffs. It was only a gale, but as Venters listened, as his ears became accustomed to the fury and strife, out of it all or through it or above it pealed low and perfectly clear and persistently uniform a strange sound that had no counterpart in all the sounds of the elements. It was not of earth or of life. It was the grief and agony of the gale. A knell of all upon which it blew!\n\nBlack night enfolded the valley. Venters could not see his companion, and knew of her presence only through the tightening hold of her hand on his arm. He felt the dogs huddle closer to him. Suddenly the dense, black vault overhead split asunder to a blue-white, dazzling streak of lightning. The whole valley lay vividly clear and luminously bright in his sight. Upreared, vast and magnificent, the stone bridge glimmered like some grand god of storm in the lightning's fire. Then all flashed black again—blacker than pitch—a thick, impenetrable coal-blackness. And there came a ripping, crashing report. Instantly an echo resounded with clapping crash. The initial report was nothing to the echo. It was a terrible, living, reverberating, detonating crash. The wall threw the sound across, and could have made no greater roar if it had slipped in avalanche. From cliff to cliff the echo went in crashing retort and banged in lessening power, and boomed in thinner volume, and clapped weaker and weaker till a final clap could not reach across the waiting cliff.\n\nIn the pitchy darkness Venters led Bess, and, groping his way, by feel of hand found the entrance to her cave and lifted her up. On the instant a blinding flash of lightning illumined the cave and all about him. He saw Bess's face white now with dark, frightened eyes. He saw the dogs leap up, and he followed suit. The golden glare vanished; all was black; then came the splitting crack and the infernal din of echoes.\n\nBess shrank closer to him and closer, found his hands, and pressed them tightly over her ears, and dropped her face upon his shoulder, and hid her eyes.\n\nThen the storm burst with a succession of ropes and streaks and shafts of lightning, playing continuously, filling the valley with a broken radiance; and the cracking shots followed each other swiftly till the echoes blended in one fearful, deafening crash.\n\nVenters looked out upon the beautiful valley—beautiful now as never before—mystic in its transparent, luminous gloom, weird in the quivering, golden haze of lightning. The dark spruces were tipped with glimmering lights; the aspens bent low in the winds, as waves in a tempest at sea; the forest of oaks tossed wildly and shone with gleams of fire. Across the valley the huge cavern of the cliff-dwellers yawned in the glare, every little black window as clear as at noonday; but the night and the storm added to their tragedy. Flung arching to the black clouds, the great stone bridge seemed to bear the brunt of the storm.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "It caught the full fury of the rushing wind.",
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"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 19 sentences.",
"loss": null
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{
"from": "system",
"value": "Include exactly 2 instance(s) of the word 'storm'",
"loss": null
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "It lifted its noble crown to meet the lightnings. Venters thought of the eagles and their lofty nest in a niche under the arch. A driving pall of rain, black as the clouds, came sweeping on to obscure the bridge and the gleaming walls and the shining valley. The lightning played incessantly, streaking down through opaque darkness of rain. The roar of the wind, with its strange knell and the re-crashing echoes, mingled with the roar of the flooding rain, and all seemingly were deadened and drowned in a world of sound.\n\nIn the dimming pale light Venters looked down upon the girl. She had sunk into his arms, upon his breast, burying her face. She clung to him. He felt the softness of her, and the warmth, and the quick heave of her breast. He saw the dark, slender, graceful outline of her form. A woman lay in his arms! And he held her closer. He who had been alone in the sad, silent watches of the night was not now and never must be again alone. He who had yearned for the touch of a hand felt the long tremble and the heart-beat of a woman. By what strange chance had she come to love him! By what change—by what marvel had she grown into a treasure!\n\nNo more did he listen to the rush and roar of the thunder-storm. For with the touch of clinging hands and the throbbing bosom he grew conscious of an inward storm—the tingling of new chords of thought, strange music of unheard, joyous bells sad dreams dawning to wakeful delight, dissolving doubt, resurging hope, force, fire, and freedom, unutterable sweetness of desire. A storm in his breast—a storm of real love.",
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[
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"from": "system",
"value": "Produce 21 sentences using the user's text as a seed. Follow the established character context if any exists. Stick to the Western genre.",
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"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "[Author's note: Your response should contain the word 'storm' precisely 2 times]",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Chapter XIV. West Wind\n\nWhen the storm abated Venters sought his own cave, and late in the night, as his blood cooled and the stir and throb and thrill subsided, he fell asleep.\n\nWith the breaking of dawn his eyes unclosed. The valley lay drenched and bathed, a burnished oval of glittering green. The rain-washed walls glistened in the morning light. Waterfalls of many forms poured over the rims. One, a broad, lacy sheet, thin as smoke, slid over the western notch and struck a ledge in its downward fall, to bound into broader leap, to burst far below into white and gold and rosy mist.\n\nVenters prepared for the day, knowing himself a different man.\n\n\"It's a glorious morning,\" said Bess, in greeting.\n\n\"Yes. After the storm the west wind,\" he replied.\n\n\"Last night was I—very much of a baby?\" she asked, watching him.\n\n\"Pretty much.\"\n\n\"Oh, I couldn't help it!\"\n\n\"I'm glad you were afraid.\"\n\n\"Why?\" she asked, in slow surprise.\n\n\"I'll tell you some day,\" he answered, soberly. Then around the camp-fire and through the morning meal he was silent; afterward he strolled thoughtfully off alone along the terrace. He climbed a great yellow rock raising its crest among the spruces, and there he sat down to face the valley and the west.\n\n\"I love her!\"\n\nAloud he spoke—unburdened his heart—confessed his secret.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "For an instant the golden valley swam before his eyes, and the walls waved, and all about him whirled with tumult within.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I love her!... I understand now.\"\n\nReviving memory of Jane Withersteen and thought of the complications of the present amazed him with proof of how far he had drifted from his old life. He discovered that he hated to take up the broken threads, to delve into dark problems and difficulties. In this beautiful valley he had been living a beautiful dream. Tranquility had come to him, and the joy of solitude, and interest in all the wild creatures and crannies of this incomparable valley—and love. Under the shadow of the great stone bridge God had revealed Himself to Venters.\n\n\"The world seems very far away,\" he muttered, \"but it's there—and I'm not yet done with it. Perhaps I never shall be... Only—how glorious it would be to live here always and never think again!\"\n\nWhereupon the resurging reality of the present, as if in irony of his wish, steeped him instantly in contending thought. Out of it all he presently evolved these things: he must go to Cottonwoods; he must bring supplies back to Surprise Valley; he must cultivate the soil and raise corn and stock, and, most imperative of all, he must decide the future of the girl who loved him and whom he loved. The first of these things required tremendous effort, the last one, concerning Bess, seemed simply and naturally easy of accomplishment. He would marry her. Suddenly, as from roots of poisonous fire, flamed up the forgotten truth concerning her. It seemed to wither and shrivel up all his joy on its hot, tearing way to his heart. She had been Oldring's Masked Rider. To Venters's question, \"What were you to Oldring?\" she had answered with scarlet shame and drooping head.\n\n\"What do I care who she is or what she was!\" he cried, passionately. And he knew it was not his old self speaking. It was this softer, gentler man who had awakened to new thoughts in the quiet valley. Tenderness, masterful in him now, matched the absence of joy and blunted the knife-edge of entering jealousy. Strong and passionate effort of will, surprising to him, held back the poison from piercing his soul.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"Wait!... Wait!\" he cried, as if calling.",
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "His hand pressed his breast, and he might have called to the pang there. \"Wait! It's all so strange—so wonderful. Anything can happen. Who am I to judge her? I'll glory in my love for her. But I can't tell it—can't give up to it.\"\n\nCertainly he could not then decide her future. Marrying her was impossible in Surprise Valley and in any village south of Sterling. Even without the mask she had once worn she would easily have been recognized as Oldring's Rider. No man who had ever seen her would forget her, regardless of his ignorance as to her sex. Then more poignant than all other argument was the fact that he did not want to take her away from Surprise Valley. He resisted all thought of that. He had brought her to the most beautiful and wildest place of the uplands; he had saved her, nursed her back to strength, watched her bloom as one of the valley lilies; he knew her life there to be pure and sweet—she belonged to him, and he loved her. Still these were not all the reasons why he did not want to take her away. Where could they go? He feared the rustlers—he feared the riders—he feared the Mormons. And if he should ever succeed in getting Bess safely away from these immediate perils, he feared the sharp eyes of women and their tongues, the big outside world with its problems of existence. He must wait to decide her future, which, after all, was deciding his own. But between her future and his something hung impending. Like Balancing Rock, which waited darkly over the steep gorge, ready to close forever the outlet to Deception Pass, that nameless thing, as certain yet intangible as fate, must fall and close forever all doubts and fears of the future.\n\n\"I've dreamed,\" muttered Venters, as he rose. \"Well, why not?... To dream is happiness! But let me just once see this clearly wholly; then I can go on dreaming till the thing falls. I've got to tell Jane Withersteen. I've dangerous trips to take. I've work here to make comfort for this girl. She's mine. I'll fight to keep her safe from that old life. I've already seen her forget it. I love her. And if a beast ever rises in me I'll burn my hand off before I lay it on her with shameful intent. And, by God! sooner or later I'll kill the man who hid her and kept her in Deception Pass!\"\n\nAs he spoke the west wind softly blew in his face. It seemed to soothe his passion. That west wind was fresh, cool, fragrant, and it carried a sweet, strange burden of far-off things—tidings of life in other climes, of sunshine asleep on other walls—of other places where reigned peace.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It carried, too, sad truth of human hearts and mystery—of promise and hope unquenchable.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Surprise Valley was only a little niche in the wide world whence blew that burdened wind. Bess was only one of millions at the mercy of unknown motive in nature and life. Content had come to Venters in the valley; happiness had breathed in the slow, warm air; love as bright as light had hovered over the walls and descended to him; and now on the west wind came a whisper of the eternal triumph of faith over doubt.\n\n\"How much better I am for what has come to me!\" he exclaimed. \"I'll let the future take care of itself. Whatever falls, I'll be ready.\"\n\nVenters retraced his steps along the terrace back to camp, and found Bess in the old familiar seat, waiting and watching for his return.\n\n\"I went off by myself to think a little,\" he explained.\n\n\"You never looked that way before. What—what is it? Won't you tell me?\"\n\n\"Well, Bess, the fact is I've been dreaming a lot. This valley makes a fellow dream. So I forced myself to think. We can't live this way much longer. Soon I'll simply have to go to Cottonwoods. We need a whole pack train of supplies. I can get—\"\n\n\"Can you go safely?\" she interrupted.\n\n\"Why, I'm sure of it. I'll ride through the Pass at night. I haven't any fear that Wrangle isn't where I left him. And once on him—Bess, just wait till you see that horse!\"\n\n\"Oh, I want to see him—to ride him. But—but, Bern, this is what troubles me,\" she said. \"Will—will you come back?\"\n\n\"Give me four days. If I'm not back in four days you'll know I'm dead. For that only shall keep me.\"\n\n\"Oh!\"\n\n\"Bess, I'll come back. There's danger—I wouldn't lie to you—but I can take care of myself.\"\n\n\"Bern, I'm sure—oh, I'm sure of it! All my life I've watched hunted men. I can tell what's in them. And I believe you can ride and shoot and see with any rider of the sage. It's not—not that I—fear.\"\n\n\"Well, what is it, then?\"\n\n\"Why—why—why should you come back at all?\"\n\n\"I couldn't leave you here alone.\"\n\n\"You might change your mind when you get to the village—among old friends—\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"I won't change my mind. As for old friends—\" He uttered a short, expressive laugh.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Then—there—there must be a—a woman!\" Dark red mantled the clear tan of temple and cheek and neck. Her eyes were eyes of shame, upheld a long moment by intense, straining search for the verification of her fear. Suddenly they drooped, her head fell to her knees, her hands flew to her hot cheeks.\n\n\"Bess—look here,\" said Venters, with a sharpness due to the violence with which he checked his quick, surging emotion.\n\nAs if compelled against her will—answering to an irresistible voice—Bess raised her head, looked at him with sad, dark eyes, and tried to whisper with tremulous lips.\n\n\"There's no woman,\" went on Venters, deliberately holding her glance with his. \"Nothing on earth, barring the chances of life, can keep me away.\"\n\nHer face flashed and flushed with the glow of a leaping joy; but like the vanishing of a gleam it disappeared to leave her as he had never beheld her.\n\n\"I am nothing—I am lost—I am nameless!\"\n\n\"Do you want me to come back?\" he asked, with sudden stern coldness. \"Maybe you want to go back to Oldring!\"\n\nThat brought her erect, trembling and ashy pale, with dark, proud eyes and mute lips refuting his insinuation.\n\n\"Bess, I beg your pardon. I shouldn't have said that. But you angered me. I intend to work—to make a home for you here—to be a—a brother to you as long as ever you need me. And you must forget what you are—were—I mean, and be happy. When you remember that old life you are bitter, and it hurts me.\"\n\n\"I was happy—I shall be very happy. Oh, you're so good that—that it kills me! If I think, I can't believe it. I grow sick with wondering why. I'm only a let me say it—only a lost, nameless—girl of the rustlers. Oldring's Girl, they called me. That you should save me—be so good and kind—want to make me happy—why, it's beyond belief. No wonder I'm wretched at the thought of your leaving me. But I'll be wretched and bitter no more. I promise you. If only I could repay you even a little—\"\n\n\"You've repaid me a hundredfold. Will you believe me?\"\n\n\"Believe you! I couldn't do else.\"\n\n\"Then listen!... Saving you, I saved myself. Living here in this valley with you, I've found myself. I've learned to think while I was dreaming. I never troubled myself about God. But God, or some wonderful spirit, has whispered to me here. I absolutely deny the truth of what you say about yourself. I can't explain it. There are things too deep to tell. Whatever the terrible wrongs you've suffered, God holds you blameless. I see that—feel that in you every moment you are near me. I've a mother and a sister 'way back in Illinois. If I could I'd take you to them—to-morrow.\"\n\n\"If it were true! Oh, I might—I might lift my head!\" she cried.\n\n\"Lift it then—you child. For I swear it's true.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "She did lift her head with the singular wild grace always a part of her actions, with that old unconscious intimation of innocence which always tortured Venters, but now with something more—a spirit rising from the depths that linked itself to his brave words.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I've been thinking—too,\" she cried, with quivering smile and swelling breast. \"I've discovered myself—too. I'm young—I'm alive—I'm so full—oh! I'm a woman!\"\n\n\"Bess, I believe I can claim credit of that last discovery—before you,\" Venters said, and laughed.\n\n\"Oh, there's more—there's something I must tell you.\"\n\n\"Tell it, then.\"\n\n\"When will you go to Cottonwoods?\"\n\n\"As soon as the storms are past, or the worst of them.\"\n\n\"I'll tell you before you go. I can't now. I don't know how I shall then. But it must be told. I'd never let you leave me without knowing. For in spite of what you say there's a chance you mightn't come back.\"\n\nDay after day the west wind blew across the valley. Day after day the clouds clustered gray and purple and black. The cliffs sang and the caves rang with Oldring's knell, and the lightning flashed, the thunder rolled, the echoes crashed and crashed, and the rains flooded the valley. Wild flowers sprang up everywhere, swaying with the lengthening grass on the terraces, smiling wanly from shady nooks, peeping wondrously from year-dry crevices of the walls. The valley bloomed into a paradise. Every single moment, from the breaking of the gold bar through the bridge at dawn on to the reddening of rays over the western wall, was one of colorful change. The valley swam in thick, transparent haze, golden at dawn, warm and white at noon, purple in the twilight. At the end of every storm a rainbow curved down into the leaf-bright forest to shine and fade and leave lingeringly some faint essence of its rosy iris in the air.\n\nVenters walked with Bess, once more in a dream, and watched the lights change on the walls, and faced the wind from out of the west.\n\nAlways it brought softly to him strange, sweet tidings of far-off things. It blew from a place that was old and whispered of youth. It blew down the grooves of time. It brought a story of the passing hours.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It breathed low of fighting men and praying women.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It sang clearly the song of love. That ever was the burden of its tidings—youth in the shady woods, waders through the wet meadows, boy and girl at the hedgerow stile, bathers in the booming surf, sweet, idle hours on grassy, windy hills, long strolls down moonlit lanes—everywhere in far-off lands, fingers locked and bursting hearts and longing lips—from all the world tidings of unquenchable love.\n\nOften, in these hours of dreams he watched the girl, and asked himself of what was she dreaming? For the changing light of the valley reflected its gleam and its color and its meaning in the changing light of her eyes. He saw in them infinitely more than he saw in his dreams. He saw thought and soul and nature—strong vision of life. All tidings the west wind blew from distance and age he found deep in those dark-blue depths, and found them mysteries solved. Under their wistful shadow he softened, and in the softening felt himself grow a sadder, a wiser, and a better man.\n\nWhile the west wind blew its tidings, filling his heart full, teaching him a man's part, the days passed, the purple clouds changed to white, and the storms were over for that summer.\n\n\"I must go now,\" he said.\n\n\"When?\" she asked.\n\n\"At once—to-night.\"\n\n\"I'm glad the time has come. It dragged at me. Go—for you'll come back the sooner.\"\n\nLate in the afternoon, as the ruddy sun split its last flame in the ragged notch of the western wall, Bess walked with Venters along the eastern terrace, up the long, weathered slope, under the great stone bridge. They entered the narrow gorge to climb around the fence long before built there by Venters. Farther than this she had never been. Twilight had already fallen in the gorge. It brightened to waning shadow in the wider ascent. He showed her Balancing Rock, of which he had often told her, and explained its sinister leaning over the outlet. Shuddering, she looked down the long, pale incline with its closed-in, toppling walls.\n\n\"What an awful trail! Did you carry me up here?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"I did, surely,\" replied he.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 18 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "For the immediate response, include a lot of direct quotes",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"It frightens me, somehow. Yet I never was afraid of trails. I'd ride anywhere a horse could go, and climb where he couldn't. But there's something fearful here. I feel as—as if the place was watching me.\"\n\n\"Look at this rock. It's balanced here—balanced perfectly. You know I told you the cliff-dwellers cut the rock, and why. But they're gone and the rock waits. Can't you see—feel how it waits here? I moved it once, and I'll never dare again. A strong heave would start it. Then it would fall and bang, and smash that crag, and jar the walls, and close forever the outlet to Deception Pass!\"\n\n\"Ah! When you come back I'll steal up here and push and push with all my might to roll the rock and close forever the outlet to the Pass!\" She said it lightly, but in the undercurrent of her voice was a heavier note, a ring deeper than any ever given mere play of words.\n\n\"Bess!... You can't dare me! Wait till I come back with supplies—then roll the stone.\"\n\n\"I—was—in—fun.\" Her voice now throbbed low. \"Always you must be free to go when you will. Go now... this place presses on me—stifles me.\"\n\n\"I'm going—but you had something to tell me?\"\n\n\"Yes... Will you—come back?\"\n\n\"I'll come if I live.\"\n\n\"But—but you mightn't come?\"\n\n\"That's possible, of course. It'll take a good deal to kill me. A man couldn't have a faster horse or keener dog. And, Bess, I've guns, and I'll use them if I'm pushed. But don't worry.\"\n\n\"I've faith in you. I'll not worry until after four days. Only—because you mightn't come—I must tell you—\"\n\nShe lost her voice. Her pale face, her great, glowing, earnest eyes, seemed to stand alone out of the gloom of the gorge. The dog whined, breaking the silence.\n\n\"I must tell you—because you mightn't come back,\" she whispered. \"You must know what—what I think of your goodness—of you. Always I've been tongue-tied. I seemed not to be grateful. It was deep in my heart. Even now—if I were other than I am—I couldn't tell you. But I'm nothing—only a rustler's girl—nameless—infamous. You've saved me—and I'm—I'm yours to do with as you like... With all my heart and soul—I love you!\"",
"loss": null
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "yo hit me with 17 sentences more. same character energy. Western genre k?",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Chapter XV. Shadows on the Sage-slope",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "In the cloudy, threatening, waning summer days shadows lengthened down the sage-slope, and Jane Withersteen likened them to the shadows gathering and closing in around her life.\n\nMrs. Larkin died, and little Fay was left an orphan with no known relative. Jane's love redoubled. It was the saving brightness of a darkening hour. Fay turned now to Jane in childish worship. And Jane at last found full expression for the mother-longing in her heart. Upon Lassiter, too, Mrs. Larkin's death had some subtle reaction. Before, he had often, without explanation, advised Jane to send Fay back to any Gentile family that would take her in. Passionately and reproachfully and wonderingly Jane had refused even to entertain such an idea. And now Lassiter never advised it again, grew sadder and quieter in his contemplation of the child, and infinitely more gentle and loving. Sometimes Jane had a cold, inexplicable sensation of dread when she saw Lassiter watching Fay. What did the rider see in the future? Why did he, day by day, grow more silent, calmer, cooler, yet sadder in prophetic assurance of something to be?\n\nNo doubt, Jane thought, the rider, in his almost superhuman power of foresight, saw behind the horizon the dark, lengthening shadows that were soon to crowd and gloom over him and her and little Fay. Jane Withersteen awaited the long-deferred breaking of the storm with a courage and embittered calm that had come to her in her extremity. Hope had not died. Doubt and fear, subservient to her will, no longer gave her sleepless nights and tortured days. Love remained. All that she had loved she now loved the more.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "She seemed to feel that she was defiantly flinging the wealth of her love in the face of misfortune and of hate. No day passed but she prayed for all—and most fervently for her enemies. It troubled her that she had lost, or had never gained, the whole control of her mind. In some measure reason and wisdom and decision were locked in a chamber of her brain, awaiting a key. Power to think of some things was taken from her. Meanwhile, abiding a day of judgment, she fought ceaselessly to deny the bitter drops in her cup, to tear back the slow, the intangibly slow growth of a hot, corrosive lichen eating into her heart.\n\nOn the morning of August 10th, Jane, while waiting in the court for Lassiter, heard a clear, ringing report of a rifle. It came from the grove, somewhere toward the corrals. Jane glanced out in alarm. The day was dull, windless, soundless. The leaves of the cottonwoods drooped, as if they had foretold the doom of Withersteen House and were now ready to die and drop and decay. Never had Jane seen such shade. She pondered on the meaning of the report. Revolver shots had of late cracked from different parts of the grove—spies taking snap-shots at Lassiter from a cowardly distance! But a rifle report meant more. Riders seldom used rifles. Judkins and Venters were the exceptions she called to mind.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Had the men who hounded her hidden in her grove, taken to the rifle to rid her of Lassiter, her last friend?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It was probable—it was likely.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "And she did not share his cool assumption that his death would never come at the hands of a Mormon.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Long had she expected it.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "His constancy to her, his singular reluctance to use the fatal skill for which he was famed—both now plain to all Mormons—laid him open to inevitable assassination.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Required word frequency: 'charm' (2x)",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Yet what charm against ambush and aim and enemy he seemed to bear about him! No, Jane reflected, it was not charm; only a wonderful training of eye and ear, and sense of impending peril. Nevertheless that could not forever avail against secret attack.\n\nThat moment a rustling of leaves attracted her attention; then the familiar clinking accompaniment of a slow, soft, measured step, and Lassiter walked into the court.\n\n\"Jane, there's a fellow out there with a long gun,\" he said, and, removing his sombrero, showed his head bound in a bloody scarf.\n\n\"I heard the shot; I knew it was meant for you. Let me see—you can't be badly injured?\"\n\n\"I reckon not. But mebbe it wasn't a close call!... I'll sit here in this corner where nobody can see me from the grove.\" He untied the scarf and removed it to show a long, bleeding furrow above his left temple.\n\n\"It's only a cut,\" said Jane. \"But how it bleeds! Hold your scarf over it just a moment till I come back.\"\n\nShe ran into the house and returned with bandages; and while she bathed and dressed the wound Lassiter talked.\n\n\"That fellow had a good chance to get me. But he must have flinched when he pulled the trigger. As I dodged down I saw him run through the trees. He had a rifle. I've been expectin' that kind of gun play. I reckon now I'll have to keep a little closer hid myself. These fellers all seem to get chilly or shaky when they draw a bead on me, but one of them might jest happen to hit me.\"\n\n\"Won't you go away—leave Cottonwoods as I've begged you to—before some one does happen to hit you?\" she appealed to him.\n\n\"I reckon I'll stay.\"\n\n\"But, oh, Lassiter—your blood will be on my hands!\"\n\n\"See here, lady, look at your hands now, right now. Aren't they fine, firm, white hands? Aren't they bloody now? Lassiter's blood! That's a queer thing to stain your beautiful hands. But if you could only see deeper you'd find a redder color of blood. Heart color, Jane!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Oh!... My friend!\"\n\n\"No, Jane, I'm not one to quit when the game grows hot, no more than you. This game, though, is new to me, an' I don't know the moves yet, else I wouldn't have stepped in front of that bullet.\"\n\n\"Have you no desire to hunt the man who fired at you—to find him—and—and kill him?\"\n\n\"Well, I reckon I haven't any great hankerin' for that.\"\n\n\"Oh, the wonder of it!... I knew—I prayed—I trusted. Lassiter, I almost gave—all myself to soften you to Mormons. Thank God, and thank you, my friend... But, selfish woman that I am, this is no great test. What's the life of one of those sneaking cowards to such a man as you? I think of your great hate toward him who—I think of your life's implacable purpose. Can it be—\"\n\n\"Wait!... Listen!\" he whispered. \"I hear a hoss.\"\n\nHe rose noiselessly, with his ear to the breeze. Suddenly he pulled his sombrero down over his bandaged head and, swinging his gun-sheaths round in front, he stepped into the alcove.\n\n\"It's a hoss—comin' fast,\" he added.\n\nJane's listening ear soon caught a faint, rapid, rhythmic beat of hoofs. It came from the sage. It gave her a thrill that she was at a loss to understand. The sound rose stronger, louder. Then came a clear, sharp difference when the horse passed from the sage trail to the hard-packed ground of the grove. It became a ringing run—swift in its bell-like clatterings, yet singular in longer pause than usual between the hoofbeats of a horse.\n\n\"It's Wrangle!... It's Wrangle!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "cried Jane Withersteen. \"I'd know him from a million horses!\"\n\nExcitement and thrilling expectancy flooded out all Jane Withersteen's calm. A tight band closed round her breast as she saw the giant sorrel flit in reddish-brown flashes across the openings in the green. Then he was pounding down the lane—thundering into the court—crashing his great iron-shod hoofs on the stone flags. Wrangle it was surely, but shaggy and wild-eyed, and sage-streaked, with dust-caked lather staining his flanks. He reared and crashed down and plunged. The rider leaped off, threw the bridle, and held hard on a lasso looped round Wrangle's head and neck. Janet's heart sank as she tried to recognize Venters in the rider. Something familiar struck her in the lofty stature in the sweep of powerful shoulders. But this bearded, longhaired, unkempt man, who wore ragged clothes patched with pieces of skin, and boots that showed bare legs and feet—this dusty, dark, and wild rider could not possibly be Venters.\n\n\"Whoa, Wrangle, old boy! Come down. Easy now. So—so—so. You're home, old boy, and presently you can have a drink of water you'll remember.\"\n\nIn the voice Jane knew the rider to be Venters. He tied Wrangle to the hitching-rack and turned to the court.\n\n\"Oh, Bern!... You wild man!\" she exclaimed.\n\n\"Jane—Jane, it's good to see you! Hello, Lassiter! Yes, it's Venters.\"\n\nLike rough iron his hard hand crushed Jane's. In it she felt the difference she saw in him.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Wild, rugged, unshorn—yet how splendid!",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[[OOC: Include 'under' 3 time(s) in your answer - no more, no less]]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He had gone away a boy—he had returned a man. He appeared taller, wider of shoulder, deeper-chested, more powerfully built. But was that only her fancy—he had always been a young giant—was the change one of spirit? He might have been absent for years, proven by fire and steel, grown like Lassiter, strong and cool and sure. His eyes—were they keener, more flashing than before?—met hers with clear, frank, warm regard, in which perplexity was not, nor discontent, nor pain.\n\n\"Look at me long as you like,\" he said, with a laugh. \"I'm not much to look at. And, Jane, neither you nor Lassiter, can brag. You're paler than I ever saw you. Lassiter, here, he wears a bloody bandage under his hat. That reminds me. Some one took a flying shot at me down in the sage. It made Wrangle run some... Well, perhaps you've more to tell me than I've got to tell you.\"\n\nBriefly, in few words, Jane outlined the circumstances of her undoing in the weeks of his absence.\n\nUnder his beard and bronze she saw his face whiten in terrible wrath.\n\n\"Lassiter—what held you back?\"\n\nNo time in the long period of fiery moments and sudden shocks had Jane Withersteen ever beheld Lassiter as calm and serene and cool as then.\n\n\"Jane had gloom enough without my addin' to it by shootin' up the village,\" he said.\n\nAs strange as Lassiter's coolness was Venters's curious, intent scrutiny of them both, and under it Jane felt a flaming tide wave from bosom to temples.\n\n\"Well—you're right,\" he said, with slow pause. \"It surprises me a little, that's all.\"\n\nJane sensed then a slight alteration in Venters, and what it was, in her own confusion, she could not tell. It had always been her intention to acquaint him with the deceit she had fallen to in her zeal to move Lassiter.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "She did not mean to spare herself.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Yet now, at the moment, before these riders, it was an impossibility to explain.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Venters was speaking somewhat haltingly, without his former frankness.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"I found Oldring's hiding-place and your red herd. I learned—I know—I'm sure there was a deal between Tull and Oldring.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He paused and shifted his position and his gaze. He looked as if he wanted to say something that he found beyond him. Sorrow and pity and shame seemed to contend for mastery over him. Then he raised himself and spoke with effort. \"Jane I've cost you too much. You've almost ruined yourself for me. It was wrong, for I'm not worth it. I never deserved such friendship. Well, maybe it's not too late. You must give me up. Mind, I haven't changed. I am just the same as ever. I'll see Tull while I'm here, and tell him to his face.\"\n\n\"Bern, it's too late,\" said Jane.\n\n\"I'll make him believe!\" cried Venters, violently.\n\n\"You ask me to break our friendship?\"\n\n\"Yes. If you don't, I shall.\"\n\n\"Forever?\"\n\n\"Forever!\"\n\nJane sighed. Another shadow had lengthened down the sage slope to cast further darkness upon her. A melancholy sweetness pervaded her resignation. The boy who had left her had returned a man, nobler, stronger, one in whom she divined something unbending as steel. There might come a moment later when she would wonder why she had not fought against his will, but just now she yielded to it. She liked him as well—nay, more, she thought, only her emotions were deadened by the long, menacing wait for the bursting storm.\n\nOnce before she had held out her hand to him—when she gave it; now she stretched it tremblingly forth in acceptance of the decree circumstance had laid upon them.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Venters bowed over it kissed it, pressed it hard, and half stifled a sound very like a sob.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[ooc] You must include the following in quotes somewhere in your response: Jane, Lassiter once called you blind, [ooc]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Certain it was that when he raised his head tears glistened in his eyes.\n\n\"Some—women—have a hard lot,\" he said, huskily. Then he shook his powerful form, and his rags lashed about him. \"I'll say a few things to Tull—when I meet him.\"\n\n\"Bern—you'll not draw on Tull? Oh, that must not be! Promise me—\"\n\n\"I promise you this,\" he interrupted, in stern passion that thrilled while it terrorized her. \"If you say one more word for that plotter I'll kill him as I would a mad coyote!\"\n\nJane clasped her hands. Was this fire-eyed man the one whom she had once made as wax to her touch? Had Venters become Lassiter and Lassiter Venters?\n\n\"I'll—say no more,\" she faltered.\n\n\"Jane, Lassiter once called you blind,\" said Venters. \"It must be true. But I won't upbraid you. Only don't rouse the devil in me by praying for Tull! I'll try to keep cool when I meet him. That's all. Now there's one more thing I want to ask of you—the last. I've found a valley down in the Pass. It's a wonderful place. I intend to stay there. It's so hidden I believe no one can find it. There's good water, and browse, and game. I want to raise corn and stock. I need to take in supplies. Will you give them to me?\"\n\n\"Assuredly. The more you take the better you'll please me—and perhaps the less my—my enemies will get.\"\n\n\"Venters, I reckon you'll have trouble packin' anythin' away,\" put in Lassiter.\n\n\"I'll go at night.\"\n\n\"Mebbe that wouldn't be best. You'd sure be stopped. You'd better go early in the mornin'—say, just after dawn. That's the safest time to move round here.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Lassiter, I'll be hard to stop,\" returned Venters, darkly.\n\n\"I reckon so.\"\n\n\"Bern,\" said Jane, \"go first to the riders' quarters and get yourself a complete outfit. You're a—a sight. Then help yourself to whatever else you need—burros, packs, grain, dried fruits, and meat. You must take coffee and sugar and flour—all kinds of supplies. Don't forget corn and seeds. I remember how you used to starve. Please—please take all you can pack away from here. I'll make a bundle for you, which you mustn't open till you're in your valley. How I'd like to see it! To judge by you and Wrangle, how wild it must be!\"\n\nJane walked down into the outer court and approached the sorrel. Upstarting, he laid back his ears and eyed her.\n\n\"Wrangle—dear old Wrangle,\" she said, and put a caressing hand on his matted mane. \"Oh, he's wild, but he knows me! Bern, can he run as fast as ever?\"\n\n\"Run? Jane, he's done sixty miles since last night at dark, and I could make him kill Black Star right now in a ten-mile race.\"\n\n\"He never could,\" protested Jane. \"He couldn't even if he was fresh.\"\n\n\"I reckon mebbe the best hoss'll prove himself yet,\" said Lassiter, \"an', Jane, if it ever comes to that race I'd like you to be on Wrangle.\"\n\n\"I'd like that, too,\" rejoined Venters. \"But, Jane, maybe Lassiter's hint is extreme. Bad as your prospects are, you'll surely never come to the running point.\"\n\n\"Who knows!\" she replied, with mournful smile.\n\n\"No, no, Jane, it can't be so bad as all that. Soon as I see Tull there'll be a change in your fortunes. I'll hurry down to the village... Now don't worry.\"\n\nJane retired to the seclusion of her room. Lassiter's subtle forecasting of disaster, Venters's forced optimism, neither remained in mind.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Material loss weighed nothing in the balance with other losses she was sustaining. She wondered dully at her sitting there, hands folded listlessly, with a kind of numb deadness to the passing of time and the passing of her riches. She thought of Venters's friendship. She had not lost that, but she had lost him. Lassiter's friendship—that was more than love—it would endure, but soon he, too, would be gone. Little Fay slept dreamlessly upon the bed, her golden curls streaming over the pillow. Jane had the child's worship. Would she lose that, too? And if she did, what then would be left? Conscience thundered at her that there was left her religion. Conscience thundered that she should be grateful on her knees for this baptism of fire; that through misfortune, sacrifice, and suffering her soul might be fused pure gold. But the old, spontaneous, rapturous spirit no more exalted her. She wanted to be a woman—not a martyr. Like the saint of old who mortified his flesh, Jane Withersteen had in her the temper for heroic martyrdom, if by sacrificing herself she could save the souls of others. But here the damnable verdict blistered her that the more she sacrificed herself the blacker grew the souls of her churchmen. There was something terribly wrong with her soul, something terribly wrong with her churchmen and her religion. In the whirling gulf of her thought there was yet one shining light to guide her, to sustain her in her hope; and it was that, despite her errors and her frailties and her blindness, she had one absolute and unfaltering hold on ultimate and supreme justice.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "That was love. \"Love your enemies as yourself!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "⚠️ Required: Use 'village' exactly 2 times",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "was a divine word, entirely free from any church or creed.\n\nJane's meditations were disturbed by Lassiter's soft, tinkling step in the court. Always he wore the clinking spurs. Always he was in readiness to ride. She passed out and called him into the huge, dim hall.\n\n\"I think you'll be safer here. The court is too open,\" she said.\n\n\"I reckon,\" replied Lassiter. \"An' it's cooler here. The day's sure muggy. Well, I went down to the village with Venters.\"\n\n\"Already! Where is he?\" queried Jane, in quick amaze.\n\n\"He's at the corrals. Blake's helpin' him get the burros an' packs ready. That Blake is a good fellow.\"\n\n\"Did—did Bern meet Tull?\"\n\n\"I guess he did,\" answered Lassiter, and he laughed dryly.\n\n\"Tell me! Oh, you exasperate me! You're so cool, so calm! For Heaven's sake, tell me what happened!\"\n\n\"First time I've been in the village for weeks,\" went on Lassiter, mildly. \"I reckon there 'ain't been more of a show for a long time. Me an' Venters walkin' down the road! It was funny. I ain't sayin' anybody was particular glad to see us.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I'm not much thought of hereabouts, an' Venters he sure looks like what you called him, a wild man.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Well, there was some runnin' of folks before we got to the stores. Then everybody vamoosed except some surprised rustlers in front of a saloon. Venters went right in the stores an' saloons, an' of course I went along. I don't know which tickled me the most—the actions of many fellers we met, or Venters's nerve. Jane, I was downright glad to be along. You see that sort of thing is my element, an' I've been away from it for a spell. But we didn't find Tull in one of them places. Some Gentile feller at last told Venters he'd find Tull in that long buildin' next to Parsons's store. It's a kind of meetin'-room; and sure enough, when we peeped in, it was half full of men.\n\n\"Venters yelled: 'Don't anybody pull guns! We ain't come for that!' Then he tramped in, an' I was some put to keep alongside him. There was a hard, scrapin' sound of feet, a loud cry, an' then some whisperin', an' after that stillness you could cut with a knife. Tull was there, an' that fat party who once tried to throw a gun on me, an' other important-lookin' men, en' that little frog-legged feller who was with Tull the day I rode in here. I wish you could have seen their faces, 'specially Tull's an' the fat party's. But there ain't no use of me tryin' to tell you how they looked.\n\n\"Well, Venters an' I stood there in the middle of the room with that batch of men all in front of us, en' not a blamed one of them winked an eyelash or moved a finger. It was natural, of course, for me to notice many of them packed guns. That's a way of mine, first noticin' them things. Venters spoke up, an' his voice sort of chilled an' cut, en' he told Tull he had a few things to say.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[ooc] Include exactly 2 instance(s) of the word 'woman' [ooc]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Here Lassiter paused while he turned his sombrero round and round, in his familiar habit, and his eyes had the look of a man seeing over again some thrilling spectacle, and under his red bronze there was strange animation.\n\n\"Like a shot, then, Venters told Tull that the friendship between you an' him was all over, an' he was leaving your place. He said you'd both of you broken off in the hope of propitiatin' your people, but you hadn't changed your mind otherwise, an' never would.\n\n\"Next he spoke up for you. I ain't goin' to tell you what he said. Only—no other woman who ever lived ever had such tribute! You had a champion, Jane, an' never fear that those thick-skulled men don't know you now. It couldn't be otherwise. He spoke the ringin', lightnin' truth... Then he accused Tull of the underhand, miserable robbery of a helpless woman. He told Tull where the red herd was, of a deal made with Oldrin', that Jerry Card had made the deal. I thought Tull was goin' to drop, an' that little frog-legged cuss, he looked some limp an' white. But Venters's voice would have kept anybody's legs from bucklin'. I was stiff myself. He went on an' called Tull—called him every bad name ever known to a rider, an' then some. He cursed Tull. I never hear a man get such a cursin'. He laughed in scorn at the idea of Tull bein' a minister. He said Tull an' a few more dogs of hell builded their empire out of the hearts of such innocent an' God-fearin' women as Jane Withersteen.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He called Tull a binder of women, a callous beast who hid behind a mock mantle of righteousness—an' the last an' lowest coward on the face of the earth. To prey on weak women through their religion—that was the last unspeakable crime!\n\n\"Then he finished, an' by this time he'd almost lost his voice. But his whisper was enough. 'Tull,' he said, 'she begged me not to draw on you to-day. She would pray for you if you burned her at the stake... But listen!... I swear if you and I ever come face to face again, I'll kill you!'\n\n\"We backed out of the door then, an' up the road. But nobody follered us.\"\n\nJane found herself weeping passionately. She had not been conscious of it till Lassiter ended his story, and she experienced exquisite pain and relief in shedding tears. Long had her eyes been dry, her grief deep; long had her emotions been dumb. Lassiter's story put her on the rack; the appalling nature of Venters's act and speech had no parallel as an outrage; it was worse than bloodshed. Men like Tull had been shot, but had one ever been so terribly denounced in public? Over-mounting her horror, an uncontrollable, quivering passion shook her very soul. It was sheer human glory in the deed of a fearless man. It was hot, primitive instinct to live—to fight. It was a kind of mad joy in Venters's chivalry.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It was close to the wrath that had first shaken her in the beginning of this war waged upon her.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Well, well, Jane, don't take it that way,\" said Lassiter, in evident distress.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I had to tell you. There's some things a feller jest can't keep. It's strange you give up on hearin' that, when all this long time you've been the gamest woman I ever seen. But I don't know women. Mebbe there's reason for you to cry. I know this—nothin' ever rang in my soul an' so filled it as what Venters did. I'd like to have done it, but—I'm only good for throwin' a gun, en' it seems you hate that... Well, I'll be goin' now.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"Venters took Wrangle to the stable. The sorrel's shy a shoe, an' I've got to help hold the big devil an' put on another.\"\n\n\"Tell Bern to come for the pack I want to give him—and—and to say good-by,\" called Jane, as Lassiter went out.\n\nJane passed the rest of that day in a vain endeavor to decide what and what not to put in the pack for Venters. This task was the last she would ever perform for him, and the gifts were the last she would ever make him. So she picked and chose and rejected, and chose again, and often paused in sad revery, and began again, till at length she filled the pack.\n\nIt was about sunset, and she and Fay had finished supper and were sitting in the court, when Venters's quick steps rang on the stones. She scarcely knew him, for he had changed the tattered garments, and she missed the dark beard and long hair. Still he was not the Venters of old. As he came up the steps she felt herself pointing to the pack, and heard herself speaking words that were meaningless to her. He said good-by; he kissed her, released her, and turned away. His tall figure blurred in her sight, grew dim through dark, streaked vision, and then he vanished.\n\nTwilight fell around Withersteen House, and dusk and night. Little Fay slept; but Jane lay with strained, aching eyes. She heard the wind moaning in the cottonwoods and mice squeaking in the walls. The night was interminably long, yet she prayed to hold back the dawn.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "What would another day bring forth?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The blackness of her room seemed blacker for the sad, entering gray of morning light.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "She heard the chirp of awakening birds, and fancied she caught a faint clatter of hoofs.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[[OOC: Your next response only must contain 65% dialogue]]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Then low, dull distant, throbbed a heavy gunshot. She had expected it, was waiting for it; nevertheless, an electric shock checked her heart, froze the very living fiber of her bones. That vise-like hold on her faculties apparently did not relax for a long time, and it was a voice under her window that released her.\n\n\"Jane!... Jane!\" softly called Lassiter.\n\nShe answered somehow.\n\n\"It's all right. Venters got away. I thought mebbe you'd heard that shot, en' I was worried some.\"\n\n\"What was it—who fired?\"\n\n\"Well—some fool feller tried to stop Venters out there in the sage—an' he only stopped lead!... I think it'll be all right. I haven't seen or heard of any other fellers round. Venters'll go through safe. An', Jane, I've got Bells saddled, an' I'm going to trail Venters. Mind, I won't show myself unless he falls foul of somebody an' needs me. I want to see if this place where he's goin' is safe for him. He says nobody can track him there. I never seen the place yet I couldn't track a man to. Now, Jane, you stay indoors while I'm gone, an' keep close watch on Fay. Will you?\"\n\n\"Yes! Oh yes!\"\n\n\"An' another thing, Jane,\" he continued, then paused for long—\"another thing—if you ain't here when I come back—if you're gone—don't fear, I'll trail you—I'll find you out.\"\n\n\"My dear Lassiter, where could I be gone—as you put it?\" asked Jane, in curious surprise.\n\n\"I reckon you might be somewhere. Mebbe tied in an old barn—or corralled in some gulch—or chained in a cave! Milly Erne was—till she give in! Mebbe that's news to you... Well, if you're gone I'll hunt for you.\"\n\n\"No, Lassiter,\" she replied, sadly and low. \"If I'm gone just forget the unhappy woman whose blinded selfish deceit you repaid with kindness and love.\"\n\nShe heard a deep, muttering curse, under his breath, and then the silvery tinkling of his spurs as he moved away.\n\nJane entered upon the duties of that day with a settled, gloomy calm.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Disaster hung in the dark clouds, in the shade, in the humid west wind. Blake, when he reported, appeared without his usual cheer; and Jerd wore a harassed look of a worn and worried man. And when Judkins put in appearance, riding a lame horse, and dismounted with the cramp of a rider, his dust-covered figure and his darkly grim, almost dazed expression told Jane of dire calamity. She had no need of words.\n\n\"Miss Withersteen, I have to report—loss of the—white herd,\" said Judkins, hoarsely.\n\n\"Come, sit down, you look played out,\" replied Jane, solicitously. She brought him brandy and food, and while he partook of refreshments, of which he appeared badly in need, she asked no questions.\n\n\"No one rider—could hev done more—Miss Withersteen,\" he went on, presently.\n\n\"Judkins, don't be distressed. You've done more than any other rider. I've long expected to lose the white herd. It's no surprise. It's in line with other things that are happening. I'm grateful for your service.\"\n\n\"Miss Withersteen, I knew how you'd take it. But if anythin', that makes it harder to tell. You see, a feller wants to do so much fer you, an' I'd got fond of my job. We led the herd a ways off to the north of the break in the valley. There was a big level an' pools of water an' tip-top browse. But the cattle was in a high nervous condition. Wild—as wild as antelope! You see, they'd been so scared they never slept.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I ain't a-goin' to tell you of the many tricks that were pulled off out there in the sage. But there wasn't a day for weeks thet the herd didn't get started to run. We allus managed to ride 'em close an' drive 'em back an' keep 'em bunched. Honest, Miss Withersteen, them steers was thin. They was thin when water and grass was everywhere. Thin at this season—thet'll tell you how your steers was pestered. Fer instance, one night a strange runnin' streak of fire run right through the herd. That streak was a coyote—with an oiled an' blazin' tail! Fer I shot it an' found out. We had hell with the herd that night, an' if the sage an' grass hadn't been wet—we, hosses, steers, an' all would hev burned up. But I said I wasn't goin' to tell you any of the tricks... Strange now, Miss Withersteen, when the stampede did come it was from natural cause—jest a whirlin' devil of dust. You've seen the like often. An' this wasn't no big whirl, fer the dust was mostly settled. It had dried out in a little swale, an' ordinarily no steer would ever hev run fer it. But the herd was nervous en' wild. An' jest as Lassiter said, when that bunch of white steers got to movin' they was as bad as buffalo.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I've seen some buffalo stampedes back in Nebraska, an' this bolt of the steers was the same kind.\n\n\"I tried to mill the herd jest as Lassiter did. But I wasn't equal to it, Miss Withersteen. I don't believe the rider lives who could hev turned thet herd. We kept along of the herd fer miles, an' more 'n one of my boys tried to get the steers a-millin'. It wasn't no use. We got off level ground, goin' down, an' then the steers ran somethin' fierce. We left the little gullies an' washes level-full of dead steers. Finally I saw the herd was makin' to pass a kind of low pocket between ridges. There was a hog-back—as we used to call 'em—a pile of rocks stickin' up, and I saw the herd was goin' to split round it, or swing out to the left. An' I wanted 'em to go to the right so mebbe we'd be able to drive 'em into the pocket. So, with all my boys except three, I rode hard to turn the herd a little to the right. We couldn't budge 'em. They went on en' split round the rocks, en' the most of 'em was turned sharp to the left by a deep wash we hedn't seen—hed no chance to see.\n\n\"The other three boys—Jimmy Vail, Joe Willis, an' thet little Cairns boy—a nervy kid! they, with Cairns leadin', tried to buck thet herd round to the pocket. It was a wild, fool idee. I couldn't do nothin'. The boys got hemmed in between the steers an' the wash—thet they hedn't no chance to see, either. Vail an' Willis was run down right before our eyes. An' Cairns, who rode a fine hoss, he did some ridin'. I never seen equaled, en' would hev beat the steers if there'd been any room to run in. I was high up an' could see how the steers kept spillin' by twos an' threes over into the wash. Cairns put his hoss to a place thet was too wide fer any hoss, an' broke his neck an' the hoss's too. We found that out after, an' as fer Vail an' Willis—two thousand steers ran over the poor boys. There wasn't much left to pack home fer burying!... An', Miss Withersteen, thet all happened yesterday, en' I believe, if the white herd didn't run over the wall of the Pass, it's runnin' yet.\"\n\nOn the morning of the second day after Judkins's recital, during which time Jane remained indoors a prey to regret and sorrow for the boy riders, and a new and now strangely insistent fear for her own person, she again heard what she had missed more than she dared honestly confess—the soft, jingling step of Lassiter. Almost overwhelming relief surged through her, a feeling as akin to joy as any she could have been capable of in those gloomy hours of shadow, and one that suddenly stunned her with the significance of what Lassiter had come to mean to her.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "She had begged him, for his own sake, to leave Cottonwoods.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "She might yet beg that, if her weakening courage permitted her to dare absolute loneliness and helplessness, but she realized now that if she were left alone her life would become one long, hideous nightmare.\n\nWhen his soft steps clinked into the hall, in answer to her greeting, and his tall, black-garbed form filled the door, she felt an inexpressible sense of immediate safety. In his presence she lost her fear of the dim passageways of Withersteen House and of every sound. Always it had been that, when he entered the court or the hall, she had experienced a distinctly sickening but gradually lessening shock at sight of the huge black guns swinging at his sides. This time the sickening shock again visited her, it was, however, because a revealing flash of thought told her that it was not alone Lassiter who was thrillingly welcome, but also his fatal weapons. They meant so much. How she had fallen—how broken and spiritless must she be—to have still the same old horror of Lassiter's guns and his name, yet feel somehow a cold, shrinking protection in their law and might and use.\n\n\"Did you trail Venters—find his wonderful valley?\" she asked, eagerly.\n\n\"Yes, an' I reckon it's sure a wonderful place.\"\n\n\"Is he safe there?\"\n\n\"That's been botherin' me some. I tracked him an' part of the trail was the hardest I ever tackled. Mebbe there's a rustler or somebody in this country who's as good at trackin' as I am. If that's so Venters ain't safe.\"\n\n\"Well—tell me all about Bern and his valley.\"\n\nTo Jane's surprise Lassiter showed disinclination for further talk about his trip. He appeared to be extremely fatigued. Jane reflected that one hundred and twenty miles, with probably a great deal of climbing on foot, all in three days, was enough to tire any rider. Moreover, it presently developed that Lassiter had returned in a mood of singular sadness and preoccupation. She put it down to a moodiness over the loss of her white herd and the now precarious condition of her fortune.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Several days passed, and as nothing happened, Jane's spirits began to brighten.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Once in her musings she thought that this tendency of hers to rebound was as sad as it was futile. Meanwhile, she had resumed her walks through the grove with little Fay.\n\nOne morning she went as far as the sage. She had not seen the slope since the beginning of the rains, and now it bloomed a rich deep purple. There was a high wind blowing, and the sage tossed and waved and colored beautifully from light to dark. Clouds scudded across the sky and their shadows sailed darkly down the sunny slope.\n\nUpon her return toward the house she went by the lane to the stables, and she had scarcely entered the great open space with its corrals and sheds when she saw Lassiter hurriedly approaching. Fay broke from her and, running to a corral fence, began to pat and pull the long, hanging ears of a drowsy burro.\n\nOne look at Lassiter armed her for a blow.\n\nWithout a word he led her across the wide yard to the rise of the ground upon which the stable stood.\n\n\"Jane—look!\" he said, and pointed to the ground.\n\nJane glanced down, and again, and upon steadier vision made out splotches of blood on the stones, and broad, smooth marks in the dust, leading out toward the sage.\n\n\"What made these?\" she asked.\n\n\"I reckon somebody has dragged dead or wounded men out to where there was hosses in the sage.\"\n\n\"Dead—or—wounded—men!\"\n\n\"I reckon—Jane, are you strong? Can you bear up?\"\n\nHis hands were gently holding hers, and his eyes—suddenly she could no longer look into them.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Strong?\" she echoed, trembling. \"I—I will be.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 14 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Up on the stone-flag drive, nicked with the marks made by the iron-shod hoofs of her racers, Lassiter led her, his grasp ever growing firmer.\n\n\"Where's Blake—and—and Jerb?\" she asked, haltingly.\n\n\"I don't know where Jerb is. Bolted, most likely,\" replied Lassiter, as he took her through the stone door. \"But Blake—poor Blake! He's gone forever!... Be prepared, Jane.\"\n\nWith a cold prickling of her skin, with a queer thrumming in her ears, with fixed and staring eyes, Jane saw a gun lying at her feet with chamber swung and empty, and discharged shells scattered near.\n\nOutstretched upon the stable floor lay Blake, ghastly white—dead—one hand clutching a gun and the other twisted in his bloody blouse.\n\n\"Whoever the thieves were, whether your people or rustlers—Blake killed some of them!\" said Lassiter.\n\n\"Thieves?\" whispered Jane.\n\n\"I reckon. Hoss-thieves!... Look!\" Lassiter waved his hand toward the stalls.\n\nThe first stall—Bells's stall—was empty. All the stalls were empty. No racer whinnied and stamped greeting to her. Night was gone! Black Star was gone!",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "The user will write a bit then you need to write around fifty-seven sentences continuing directly from the user's text. Characters and story elements may appear without introduction - roll with them naturally. Try to mimic the style of Zane Grey.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Chapter XVI. Gold",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "As Lassiter had reported to Jane, Venters \"went through\" safely, and after a toilsome journey reached the peaceful shelter of Surprise Valley.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Required text (preserve exact wording): \"I reckon. But if there's a tracker in these uplands as good as me he can find you.\"",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "When finally he lay wearily down under the silver spruces, resting from the strain of dragging packs and burros up the slope and through the entrance to Surprise Valley, he had leisure to think, and a great deal of the time went in regretting that he had not been frank with his loyal friend, Jane Withersteen.\n\nBut, he kept continually recalling, when he had stood once more face to face with her and had been shocked at the change in her and had heard the details of her adversity, he had not had the heart to tell her of the closer interest which had entered his life. He had not lied; yet he had kept silence.\n\nBess was in transports over the stores of supplies and the outfit he had packed from Cottonwoods. He had certainly brought a hundred times more than he had gone for; enough, surely, for years, perhaps to make permanent home in the valley. He saw no reason why he need ever leave there again.\n\nAfter a day of rest he recovered his strength and shared Bess's pleasure in rummaging over the endless packs, and began to plan for the future. And in this planning, his trip to Cottonwoods, with its revived hate of Tull and consequent unleashing of fierce passions, soon faded out of mind. By slower degrees his friendship for Jane Withersteen and his contrition drifted from the active preoccupation of his present thought to a place in memory, with more and more infrequent recalls.\n\nAnd as far as the state of his mind was concerned, upon the second day after his return, the valley, with its golden hues and purple shades, the speaking west wind and the cool, silent night, and Bess's watching eyes with their wonderful light, so wrought upon Venters that he might never have left them at all.\n\nThat very afternoon he set to work. Only one thing hindered him upon beginning, though it in no wise checked his delight, and that in the multiplicity of tasks planned to make a paradise out of the valley he could not choose the one with which to begin. He had to grow into the habit of passing from one dreamy pleasure to another, like a bee going from flower to flower in the valley, and he found this wandering habit likely to extend to his labors. Nevertheless, he made a start.\n\nAt the outset he discovered Bess to be both a considerable help in some ways and a very great hindrance in others. Her excitement and joy were spurs, inspirations; but she was utterly impracticable in her ideas, and she flitted from one plan to another with bewildering vacillation. Moreover, he fancied that she grew more eager, youthful, and sweet; and he marked that it was far easier to watch her and listen to her than it was to work. Therefore he gave her tasks that necessitated her going often to the cave where he had stored his packs.\n\nUpon the last of these trips, when he was some distance down the terrace and out of sight of camp, he heard a scream, and then the sharp barking of the dogs.\n\nFor an instant he straightened up, amazed. Danger for her had been absolutely out of his mind. She had seen a rattlesnake—or a wildcat. Still she would not have been likely to scream at sight of either; and the barking of the dogs was ominous. Dropping his work, he dashed back along the terrace. Upon breaking through a clump of aspens he saw the dark form of a man in the camp. Cold, then hot, Venters burst into frenzied speed to reach his guns. He was cursing himself for a thoughtless fool when the man's tall form became familiar and he recognized Lassiter. Then the reversal of emotions changed his run to a walk; he tried to call out, but his voice refused to carry; when he reached camp there was Lassiter staring at the white-faced girl. By that time Ring and Whitie had recognized him.\n\n\"Hello, Venters! I'm makin' you a visit,\" said Lassiter, slowly. \"An' I'm some surprised to see you've a—a young feller for company.\"\n\nOne glance had sufficed for the keen rider to read Bess's real sex, and for once his cool calm had deserted him. He stared till the white of Bess's cheeks flared into crimson. That, if it were needed, was the concluding evidence of her femininity, for it went fittingly with her sun-tinted hair and darkened, dilated eyes, the sweetness of her mouth, and the striking symmetry of her slender shape.\n\n\"Heavens! Lassiter!\" panted Venters, when he caught his breath. \"What relief—it's only you! How—in the name of all that's wonderful—did you ever get here?\"\n\n\"I trailed you. We—I wanted to know where you was, if you had a safe place. So I trailed you.\"\n\n\"Trailed me,\" cried Venters, bluntly.\n\n\"I reckon. It was some of a job after I got to them smooth rocks. I was all day trackin' you up to them little cut steps in the rock. The rest was easy.\"\n\n\"Where's your hoss? I hope you hid him.\"\n\n\"I tied him in them queer cedars down on the slope. He can't be seen from the valley.\"\n\n\"That's good. Well, well! I'm completely dumfounded. It was my idea that no man could track me in here.\"\n\n\"I reckon. But if there's a tracker in these uplands as good as me he can find you.\"\n\n\"That's bad. That'll worry me. But, Lassiter, now you're here I'm glad to see you. And—and my companion here is not a young fellow!... Bess, this is a friend of mine. He saved my life once.\"\n\nThe embarrassment of the moment did not extend to Lassiter. Almost at once his manner, as he shook hands with Bess, relieved Venters and put the girl at ease. After Venters's words and one quick look at Lassiter, her agitation stilled, and, though she was shy, if she were conscious of anything out of the ordinary in the situation, certainly she did not show it.\n\n\"I reckon I'll only stay a little while,\" Lassiter was saying. \"An' if you don't mind troublin', I'm hungry. I fetched some biscuits along, but they're gone. Venters, this place is sure the wonderfullest ever seen. Them cut steps on the slope! That outlet into the gorge! An' it's like climbin' up through hell into heaven to climb through that gorge into this valley! There's a queer-lookin' rock at the top of the passage. I didn't have time to stop. I'm wonderin' how you ever found this place. It's sure interestin'.\"\n\nDuring the preparation and eating of dinner Lassiter listened mostly, as was his wont, and occasionally he spoke in his quaint and dry way. Venters noted, however, that the rider showed an increasing interest in Bess. He asked her no questions, and only directed his attention to her while she was occupied and had no opportunity to observe his scrutiny. It seemed to Venters that Lassiter grew more and more absorbed in his study of Bess, and that he lost his coolness in some strange, softening sympathy. Then, quite abruptly, he arose and announced the necessity for his early departure. He said good-by to Bess in a voice gentle and somewhat broken, and turned hurriedly away. Venters accompanied him, and they had traversed the terrace, climbed the weathered slope, and passed under the stone bridge before either spoke again.\n\nThen Lassiter put a great hand on Venters's shoulder and wheeled him to meet a smoldering fire of gray eyes.",
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"value": "\"Lassiter, I couldn't tell Jane! I couldn't,\" burst out Venters, reading his friend's mind.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"I tried. But I couldn't. She wouldn't understand, and she has troubles enough. And I love the girl!\"",
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"value": "\"Venters, I reckon this beats me. I've seen some queer things in my time, too. This girl—who is she?\"",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"Don't know! What is she, then?\"\n\n\"I don't know that, either. Oh, it's the strangest story you ever heard. I must tell you. But you'll never believe.\"\n\n\"Venters, women were always puzzles to me. But for all that, if this girl ain't a child, an' as innocent, I'm no fit person to think of virtue an' goodness in anybody. Are you goin' to be square with her?\"\n\n\"I am—so help me God!\"\n\n\"I reckoned so. Mebbe my temper oughtn't led me to make sure. But, man, she's a woman in all but years. She's sweeter 'n the sage.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, I know, I know. And the hell of it is that in spite of her innocence and charm she's—she's not what she seems!\"\n\n\"I wouldn't want to—of course, I couldn't call you a liar, Venters,\" said the older man.\n\n\"What's more, she was Oldring's Masked Rider!\"\n\nVenters expected to floor his friend with that statement, but he was not in any way prepared for the shock his words gave. For an instant he was astounded to see Lassiter stunned; then his own passionate eagerness to unbosom himself, to tell the wonderful story, precluded any other thought.\n\n\"Son, tell me all about this,\" presently said Lassiter as he seated himself on a stone and wiped his moist brow.\n\nThereupon Venters began his narrative at the point where he had shot the rustler and Oldring's Masked Rider, and he rushed through it, telling all, not holding back even Bess's unreserved avowal of her love or his deepest emotions.\n\n\"That's the story,\" he said, concluding. \"I love her, though I've never told her. If I did tell her I'd be ready to marry her, and that seems impossible in this country. I'd be afraid to risk taking her anywhere. So I intend to do the best I can for her here.\"\n\n\"The longer I live the stranger life is,\" mused Lassiter, with downcast eyes. \"I'm reminded of somethin' you once said to Jane about hands in her game of life. There's that unseen hand of power, an' Tull's black hand, an' my red one, an' your indifferent one, an' the girl's little brown, helpless one. An', Venters there's another one that's all-wise an' all-wonderful. That's the hand guidin' Jane Withersteen's game of life!... Your story's one to daze a far clearer head than mine. I can't offer no advice, even if you asked for it. Mebbe I can help you. Anyway, I'll hold Oldrin' up when he comes to the village an' find out about this girl. I knew the rustler years ago. He'll remember me.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, if I ever meet Oldring I'll kill him!\" cried Venters, with sudden intensity.\n\n\"I reckon that'd be perfectly natural,\" replied the rider.\n\n\"Make him think Bess is dead—as she is to him and that old life.\"\n\n\"Sure, sure, son. Cool down now. If you're goin' to begin pullin' guns on Tull an' Oldin' you want to be cool. I reckon, though, you'd better keep hid here. Well, I must be leavin'.\"\n\n\"One thing, Lassiter. You'll not tell Jane about Bess? Please don't!\"\n\n\"I reckon not. But I wouldn't be afraid to bet that after she'd got over anger at your secrecy—Venters, she'd be furious once in her life!—she'd think more of you. I don't mind sayin' for myself that I think you're a good deal of a man.\"\n\nIn the further ascent Venters halted several times with the intention of saying good-by, yet he changed his mind and kept on climbing till they reached Balancing Rock. Lassiter examined the huge rock, listened to Venters's idea of its position and suggestion, and curiously placed a strong hand upon it.\n\n\"Hold on!\" cried Venters. \"I heaved at it once and have never gotten over my scare.\"\n\n\"Well, you do seem uncommon nervous,\" replied Lassiter, much amused. \"Now, as for me, why I always had the funniest notion to roll stones! When I was a kid I did it, an' the bigger I got the bigger stones I'd roll. Ain't that funny? Honest—even now I often get off my hoss just to tumble a big stone over a precipice, en' watch it drop, en' listen to it bang an' boom. I've started some slides in my time, an' don't you forget it. I never seen a rock I wanted to roll as bad as this one! Wouldn't there jest be roarin', crashin' hell down that trail?\"\n\n\"You'd close the outlet forever!\" exclaimed Venters. \"Well, good-by, Lassiter. Keep my secret and don't forget me. And be mighty careful how you get out of the valley below. The rustlers' canyon isn't more than three miles up the Pass. Now you've tracked me here, I'll never feel safe again.\"\n\nIn his descent to the valley, Venters's emotion, roused to stirring pitch by the recital of his love story, quieted gradually, and in its place came a sober, thoughtful mood. All at once he saw that he was serious, because he would never more regain his sense of security while in the valley. What Lassiter could do another skilful tracker might duplicate. Among the many riders with whom Venters had ridden he recalled no one who could have taken his trail at Cottonwoods and have followed it to the edge of the bare slope in the pass, let alone up that glistening smooth stone. Lassiter, however, was not an ordinary rider. Instead of hunting cattle tracks he had likely spent a goodly portion of his life tracking men. It was not improbable that among Oldring's rustlers there was one who shared Lassiter's gift for trailing. And the more Venters dwelt on this possibility the more perturbed he grew.\n\nLassiter's visit, moreover, had a disquieting effect upon Bess, and Venters fancied that she entertained the same thought as to future seclusion. The breaking of their solitude, though by a well-meaning friend, had not only dispelled all its dream and much of its charm, but had instilled a canker of fear. Both had seen the footprint in the sand.\n\nVenters did no more work that day. Sunset and twilight gave way to night, and the canyon bird whistled its melancholy notes, and the wind sang softly in the cliffs, and the camp-fire blazed and burned down to red embers. To Venters a subtle difference was apparent in all of these, or else the shadowy change had been in him. He hoped that on the morrow this slight depression would have passed away.\n\nIn that measure, however, he was doomed to disappointment. Furthermore, Bess reverted to a wistful sadness that he had not observed in her since her recovery. His attempt to cheer her out of it resulted in dismal failure, and consequently in a darkening of his own mood. Hard work relieved him; still, when the day had passed, his unrest returned. Then he set to deliberate thinking, and there came to him the startling conviction that he must leave Surprise Valley and take Bess with him. As a rider he had taken many chances, and as an adventurer in Deception Pass he had unhesitatingly risked his life, but now he would run no preventable hazard of Bess's safety and happiness, and he was too keen not to see that hazard. It gave him a pang to think of leaving the beautiful valley just when he had the means to establish a permanent and delightful home there. One flashing thought tore in hot temptation through his mind—why not climb up into the gorge, roll Balancing Rock down the trail, and close forever the outlet to Deception Pass? \"That was the beast in me—showing his teeth!\" muttered Venters, scornfully. \"I'll just kill him good and quick! I'll be fair to this girl, if it's the last thing I do on earth!\"",
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"value": "Another day went by, in which he worked less and pondered more and all the time covertly watched Bess. Her wistfulness had deepened into downright unhappiness, and that made his task to tell her all the harder. He kept the secret another day, hoping by some chance she might grow less moody, and to his exceeding anxiety she fell into far deeper gloom. Out of his own secret and the torment of it he divined that she, too, had a secret and the keeping of it was torturing her. As yet he had no plan thought out in regard to how or when to leave the valley, but he decided to tell her the necessity of it and to persuade her to go. Furthermore, he hoped his speaking out would induce her to unburden her own mind.\n\n\"Bess, what's wrong with you?\" he asked.\n\n\"Nothing,\" she answered, with averted face.\n\nVenters took hold of her gently, though masterfully, forced her to meet his eyes.\n\n\"You can't look at me and lie,\" he said. \"Now—what's wrong with you? You're keeping something from me. Well, I've got a secret, too, and I intend to tell it presently.\"\n\n\"Oh—I have a secret. I was crazy to tell you when you came back. That's why I was so silly about everything. I kept holding my secret back—gloating over it. But when Lassiter came I got an idea—that changed my mind. Then I hated to tell you.\"\n\n\"Are you going to now?\"\n\n\"Yes—yes. I was coming to it. I tried yesterday, but you were so cold. I was afraid. I couldn't keep it much longer.\"\n\n\"Very well, most mysterious lady, tell your wonderful secret.\"\n\n\"You needn't laugh,\" she retorted, with a first glimpse of reviving spirit. \"I can take the laugh out of you in one second.\"\n\n\"It's a go.\"\n\nShe ran through the spruces to the cave, and returned carrying something which was manifestly heavy. Upon nearer view he saw that whatever she held with such evident importance had been bound up in a black scarf he well remembered. That alone was sufficient to make him tingle with curiosity.\n\n\"Have you any idea what I did in your absence?\" she asked.\n\n\"I imagine you lounged about, waiting and watching for me,\" he replied, smiling. \"I've my share of conceit, you know.\"\n\n\"You're wrong. I worked. Look at my hands.\" She dropped on her knees close to where he sat, and, carefully depositing the black bundle, she held out her hands. The palms and inside of her fingers were white, puckered, and worn.\n\n\"Why, Bess, you've been fooling in the water,\" he said.\n\n\"Fooling? Look here!\" With deft fingers she spread open the black scarf, and the bright sun shone upon a dull, glittering heap of gold.\n\n\"Gold!\" he ejaculated.\n\n\"Yes, gold! See, pounds of gold! I found it—washed it out of the stream—picked it out grain by grain, nugget by nugget!\"\n\n\"Gold!\" he cried.\n\n\"Yes. Now—now laugh at my secret!\"\n\nFor a long minute Venters gazed. Then he stretched forth a hand to feel if the gold was real.\n\n\"Gold!\" he almost shouted. \"Bess, there are hundreds—thousands of dollars' worth here!\"\n\nHe leaned over to her, and put his hand, strong and clenching now, on hers.\n\n\"Is there more where this came from?\" he whispered.\n\n\"Plenty of it, all the way up the stream to the cliff. You know I've often washed for gold. Then I've heard the men talk. I think there's no great quantity of gold here, but enough for—for a fortune for you.\"\n\n\"That—was—your—secret!\"\n\n\"Yes. I hate gold. For it makes men mad. I've seen them drunk with joy and dance and fling themselves around. I've seen them curse and rave. I've seen them fight like dogs and roll in the dust. I've seen them kill each other for gold.\"\n\n\"Is that why you hated to tell me?\"\n\n\"Not—not altogether.\" Bess lowered her head. \"It was because I knew you'd never stay here long after you found gold.\"\n\n\"You were afraid I'd leave you?\"\n\n\"Yes.\n\n\"Listen!... You great, simple child! Listen... You sweet, wonderful, wild, blue-eyed girl! I was tortured by my secret. It was that I knew we—we must leave the valley. We can't stay here much longer. I couldn't think how we'd get away—out of the country—or how we'd live, if we ever got out. I'm a beggar. That's why I kept my secret. I'm poor. It takes money to make way beyond Sterling. We couldn't ride horses or burros or walk forever. So while I knew we must go, I was distracted over how to go and what to do. Now!",
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"from": "human",
"value": "We've gold!",
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"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 4 sentences.",
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"value": "Once beyond Sterling, we'll be safe from rustlers. We've no others to fear.\n\n\"Oh! Listen! Bess!\" Venters now heard his voice ringing high and sweet, and he felt Bess's cold hands in his crushing grasp as she leaned toward him pale, breathless. \"This is how much I'd leave you! You made me live again! I'll take you away—far away from this wild country. You'll begin a new life. You'll be happy. You shall see cities, ships, people. You shall have anything your heart craves. All the shame and sorrow of your life shall be forgotten—as if they had never been. This is how much I'd leave you here alone—you sad-eyed girl. I love you! Didn't you know it? How could you fail to know it? I love you! I'm free! I'm a man—a man you've made—no more a beggar!... Kiss me! This is how much I'd leave you here alone—you beautiful, strange, unhappy girl. But I'll make you happy. What—what do I care for—your past! I love you! I'll take you home to Illinois—to my mother. Then I'll take you to far places. I'll make up all you've lost. Oh, I know you love me—knew it before you told me. And it changed my life. And you'll go with me, not as my companion as you are here, nor my sister, but, Bess, darling!... As my wife!\"",
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"value": "The user will write a bit then you need to write around 83 sentences continuing directly from the user's text. Characters and story elements may appear without introduction - roll with them naturally. Try to mimic the style of Zane Grey.",
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"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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"value": "Chapter XVII. Wrangle's Race Run\n\nThe plan eventually decided upon by the lovers was for Venters to go to the village, secure a horse and some kind of a disguise for Bess, or at least less striking apparel than her present garb, and to return post-haste to the valley. Meanwhile, she would add to their store of gold. Then they would strike the long and perilous trail to ride out of Utah. In the event of his inability to fetch back a horse for her, they intended to make the giant sorrel carry double. The gold, a little food, saddle blankets, and Venters's guns were to compose the light outfit with which they would make the start.\n\n\"I love this beautiful place,\" said Bess. \"It's hard to think of leaving it.\"\n\n\"Hard! Well, I should think so,\" replied Venters. \"Maybe—in years—\" But he did not complete in words his thought that might be possible to return after many years of absence and change.\n\nOnce again Bess bade Venters farewell under the shadow of Balancing Rock, and this time it was with whispered hope and tenderness and passionate trust. Long after he had left her, all down through the outlet to the Pass, the clinging clasp of her arms, the sweetness of her lips, and the sense of a new and exquisite birth of character in her remained hauntingly and thrillingly in his mind. The girl who had sadly called herself nameless and nothing had been marvelously transformed in the moment of his avowal of love. It was something to think over, something to warm his heart, but for the present it had absolutely to be forgotten so that all his mind could be addressed to the trip so fraught with danger.\n\nHe carried only his rifle, revolver, and a small quantity of bread and meat, and thus lightly burdened, he made swift progress down the slope and out into the valley. Darkness was coming on, and he welcomed it. Stars were blinking when he reached his old hiding-place in the split of canyon wall, and by their aid he slipped through the dense thickets to the grassy enclosure. Wrangle stood in the center of it with his head up, and he appeared black and of gigantic proportions in the dim light. Venters whistled softly, began a slow approach, and then called. The horse snorted and, plunging away with dull, heavy sound of hoofs, he disappeared in the gloom. \"Wilder than ever!\" muttered Venters. He followed the sorrel into the narrowing split between the walls, and presently had to desist because he could not see a foot in advance. As he went back toward the open Wrangle jumped out of an ebony shadow of cliff and like a thunderbolt shot huge and black past him down into the starlit glade. Deciding that all attempts to catch Wrangle at night would be useless, Venters repaired to the shelving rock where he had hidden saddle and blanket, and there went to sleep.\n\nThe first peep of day found him stirring, and as soon as it was light enough to distinguish objects, he took his lasso off his saddle and went out to rope the sorrel. He espied Wrangle at the lower end of the cove and approached him in a perfectly natural manner. When he got near enough, Wrangle evidently recognized him, but was too wild to stand. He ran up the glade and on into the narrow lane between the walls. This favored Venters's speedy capture of the horse, so, coiling his noose ready to throw, he hurried on. Wrangle let Venters get to within a hundred feet and then he broke. But as he plunged by, rapidly getting into his stride, Venters made a perfect throw with the rope. He had time to brace himself for the shock; nevertheless, Wrangle threw him and dragged him several yards before halting.\n\n\"You wild devil,\" said Venters, as he slowly pulled Wrangle up. \"Don't you know me? Come now—old fellow—so—so—\"\n\nWrangle yielded to the lasso and then to Venters's strong hand. He was as straggly and wild-looking as a horse left to roam free in the sage. He dropped his long ears and stood readily to be saddled and bridled. But he was exceedingly sensitive, and quivered at every touch and sound. Venters led him to the thicket, and, bending the close saplings to let him squeeze through, at length reached the open. Sharp survey in each direction assured him of the usual lonely nature of the canyon, then he was in the saddle, riding south.\n\nWrangle's long, swinging canter was a wonderful ground-gainer. His stride was almost twice that of an ordinary horse; and his endurance was equally remarkable. Venters pulled him in occasionally, and walked him up the stretches of rising ground and along the soft washes. Wrangle had never yet shown any indication of distress while Venters rode him. Nevertheless, there was now reason to save the horse, therefore Venters did not resort to the hurry that had characterized his former trip. He camped at the last water in the Pass. What distance that was to Cottonwoods he did not know; he calculated, however, that it was in the neighborhood of fifty miles.\n\nEarly in the morning he proceeded on his way, and about the middle of the forenoon reached the constricted gap that marked the southerly end of the Pass, and through which led the trail up to the sage-level. He spied out Lassiter's tracks in the dust, but no others, and dismounting, he straightened out Wrangle's bridle and began to lead him up the trail. The short climb, more severe on beast than on man, necessitated a rest on the level above, and during this he scanned the wide purple reaches of slope.\n\nWrangle whistled his pleasure at the smell of the sage. Remounting, Venters headed up the white trail with the fragrant wind in his face. He had proceeded for perhaps a couple of miles when Wrangle stopped with a suddenness that threw Venters heavily against the pommel.\n\n\"What's wrong, old boy?\" called Venters, looking down for a loose shoe or a snake or a foot lamed by a picked-up stone. Unrewarded, he raised himself from his scrutiny. Wrangle stood stiff head high, with his long ears erect. Thus guided, Venters swiftly gazed ahead to make out a dust-clouded, dark group of horsemen riding down the slope. If they had seen him, it apparently made no difference in their speed or direction.\n\n\"Wonder who they are!\" exclaimed Venters. He was not disposed to run. His cool mood tightened under grip of excitement as he reflected that, whoever the approaching riders were, they could not be friends. He slipped out of the saddle and led Wrangle behind the tallest sage-brush. It might serve to conceal them until the riders were close enough for him to see who they were; after that he would be indifferent to how soon they discovered him.\n\nAfter looking to his rifle and ascertaining that it was in working order, he watched, and as he watched, slowly the force of a bitter fierceness, long dormant, gathered ready to flame into life. If those riders were not rustlers he had forgotten how rustlers looked and rode. On they came, a small group, so compact and dark that he could not tell their number. How unusual that their horses did not see Wrangle! But such failure, Venters decided, was owing to the speed with which they were traveling. They moved at a swift canter affected more by rustlers than by riders. Venters grew concerned over the possibility that these horsemen would actually ride down on him before he had a chance to tell what to expect. When they were within three hundred yards he deliberately led Wrangle out into the trail.\n\nThen he heard shouts, and the hard scrape of sliding hoofs, and saw horses rear and plunge back with up-flung heads and flying manes. Several little white puffs of smoke appeared sharply against the black background of riders and horses, and shots rang out. Bullets struck far in front of Venters, and whipped up the dust and then hummed low into the sage. The range was great for revolvers, but whether the shots were meant to kill or merely to check advance, they were enough to fire that waiting ferocity in Venters. Slipping his arm through the bridle, so that Wrangle could not get away, Venters lifted his rifle and pulled the trigger twice.\n\nHe saw the first horseman lean sideways and fall. He saw another lurch in his saddle and heard a cry of pain. Then Wrangle, plunging in fright, lifted Venters and nearly threw him. He jerked the horse down with a powerful hand and leaped into the saddle. Wrangle plunged again, dragging his bridle, that Venters had not had time to throw in place. Bending over with a swift movement, he secured it and dropped the loop over the pommel.",
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"value": "Then, with grinding teeth, he looked to see what the issue would be.",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "The band had scattered so as not to afford such a broad mark for bullets. The riders faced Venters, some with red-belching guns. He heard a sharper report, and just as Wrangle plunged again he caught the whim of a leaden missile that would have hit him but for Wrangle's sudden jump. A swift, hot wave, turning cold, passed over Venters. Deliberately he picked out the one rider with a carbine, and killed him. Wrangle snorted shrilly and bolted into the sage. Venters let him run a few rods, then with iron arm checked him.\n\nFive riders, surely rustlers, were left. One leaped out of the saddle to secure his fallen comrade's carbine. A shot from Venters, which missed the man but sent the dust flying over him made him run back to his horse. Then they separated. The crippled rider went one way; the one frustrated in his attempt to get the carbine rode another, Venters thought he made out a third rider, carrying a strange-appearing bundle and disappearing in the sage. But in the rapidity of action and vision he could not discern what it was. Two riders with three horses swung out to the right. Afraid of the long rifle—a burdensome weapon seldom carried by rustlers or riders—they had been put to rout.\n\nSuddenly Venters discovered that one of the two men last noted was riding Jane Withersteen's horse Bells—the beautiful bay racer she had given to Lassiter. Venters uttered a savage outcry. Then the small, wiry, frog-like shape of the second rider, and the ease and grace of his seat in the saddle—things so strikingly incongruous—grew more and more familiar in Venters's sight.\n\n\"Jerry Card!\" cried Venters.\n\nIt was indeed Tull's right-hand man. Such a white hot wrath inflamed Venters that he fought himself to see with clearer gaze.\n\n\"It's Jerry Card!\" he exclaimed, instantly. \"And he's riding Black Star and leading Night!\"\n\nThe long-kindling, stormy fire in Venters's heart burst into flame. He spurred Wrangle, and as the horse lengthened his stride Venters slipped cartridges into the magazine of his rifle till it was once again full. Card and his companion were now half a mile or more in advance, riding easily down the slope. Venters marked the smooth gait, and understood it when Wrangle galloped out of the sage into the broad cattle trail, down which Venters had once tracked Jane Withersteen's red herd. This hard-packed trail, from years of use, was as clean and smooth as a road. Venters saw Jerry Card look back over his shoulder, the other rider did likewise. Then the three racers lengthened their stride to the point where the swinging canter was ready to break into a gallop.\n\n\"Wrangle, the race's on,\" said Venters, grimly. \"We'll canter with them and gallop with them and run with them. We'll let them set the pace.\"\n\nVenters knew he bestrode the strongest, swiftest, most tireless horse ever ridden by any rider across the Utah uplands. Recalling Jane Withersteen's devoted assurance that Night could run neck and neck with Wrangle, and Black Star could show his heels to him, Venters wished that Jane were there to see the race to recover her blacks and in the unqualified superiority of the giant sorrel. Then Venters found himself thankful that she was absent, for he meant that race to end in Jerry Card's death. The first flush, the raging of Venters's wrath, passed, to leave him in sullen, almost cold possession of his will. It was a deadly mood, utterly foreign to his nature, engendered, fostered, and released by the wild passions of wild men in a wild country. The strength in him then—the thing rife in him that was not hate, but something as remorseless—might have been the fiery fruition of a whole lifetime of vengeful quest. Nothing could have stopped him.\n\nVenters thought out the race shrewdly. The rider on Bells would probably drop behind and take to the sage. What he did was of little moment to Venters. To stop Jerry Card, his evil hidden career as well as his present flight, and then to catch the blacks—that was all that concerned Venters. The cattle trail wound for miles and miles down the slope. Venters saw with a rider's keen vision ten, fifteen, twenty miles of clear purple sage. There were no on-coming riders or rustlers to aid Card. His only chance to escape lay in abandoning the stolen horses and creeping away in the sage to hide. In ten miles Wrangle could run Black Star and Night off their feet, and in fifteen he could kill them outright. So Venters held the sorrel in, letting Card make the running. It was a long race that would save the blacks.\n\nIn a few miles of that swinging canter Wrangle had crept appreciably closer to the three horses. Jerry Card turned again, and when he saw how the sorrel had gained, he put Black Star to a gallop. Night and Bells, on either side of him, swept into his stride.\n\nVenters loosened the rein on Wrangle and let him break into a gallop. The sorrel saw the horses ahead and wanted to run. But Venters restrained him. And in the gallop he gained more than in the canter. Bells was fast in that gait, but Black Star and Night had been trained to run. Slowly Wrangle closed the gap down to a quarter of a mile, and crept closer and closer.\n\nJerry Card wheeled once more. Venters distinctly saw the red flash of his red face. This time he looked long. Venters laughed. He knew what passed in Card's mind. The rider was trying to make out what horse it happened to be that thus gained on Jane Withersteen's peerless racers. Wrangle had so long been away from the village that not improbably Jerry had forgotten. Besides, whatever Jerry's qualifications for his fame as the greatest rider of the sage, certain it was that his best point was not far-sightedness. He had not recognized Wrangle. After what must have been a searching gaze he got his comrade to face about. This action gave Venters amusement. It spoke so surely of the facts that neither Card nor the rustler actually knew their danger. Yet if they kept to the trail—and the last thing such men would do would be to leave it—they were both doomed.\n\nThis comrade of Card's whirled far around in his saddle, and he even shaded his eyes from the sun. He, too, looked long. Then, all at once, he faced ahead again and, bending lower in the saddle, began to fling his right arm up and down. That flinging Venters knew to be the lashing of Bells. Jerry also became active. And the three racers lengthened out into a run.\n\n\"Now, Wrangle!\" cried Venters. \"Run, you big devil! Run!\"\n\nVenters laid the reins on Wrangle's neck and dropped the loop over the pommel. The sorrel needed no guiding on that smooth trail. He was surer-footed in a run than at any other fast gait, and his running gave the impression of something devilish. He might now have been actuated by Venters's spirit; undoubtedly his savage running fitted the mood of his rider. Venters bent forward swinging with the horse, and gripped his rifle.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "His eye measured the distance between him and Jerry Card.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "[OOC: Your next response only must contain 2% dialogue]",
"loss": false
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "In less than two miles of running Bells began to drop behind the blacks, and Wrangle began to overhaul him. Venters anticipated that the rustler would soon take to the sage. Yet he did not. Not improbably he reasoned that the powerful sorrel could more easily overtake Bells in the heavier going outside of the trail. Soon only a few hundred yards lay between Bells and Wrangle. Turning in his saddle, the rustler began to shoot, and the bullets beat up little whiffs of dust. Venters raised his rifle, ready to take snap shots, and waited for favorable opportunity when Bells was out of line with the forward horses. Venters had it in him to kill these men as if they were skunk-bitten coyotes, but also he had restraint enough to keep from shooting one of Jane's beloved Arabians.\n\nNo great distance was covered, however, before Bells swerved to the left, out of line with Black Star and Night. Then Venters, aiming high and waiting for the pause between Wrangle's great strides, began to take snap shots at the rustler. The fleeing rider presented a broad target for a rifle, but he was moving swiftly forward and bobbing up and down. Moreover, shooting from Wrangle's back was shooting from a thunderbolt. And added to that was the danger of a low-placed bullet taking effect on Bells. Yet, despite these considerations, making the shot exceedingly difficult, Venters's confidence, like his implacability, saw a speedy and fatal termination of that rustler's race. On the sixth shot the rustler threw up his arms and took a flying tumble off his horse. He rolled over and over, hunched himself to a half-erect position, fell, and then dragged himself into the sage. As Venters went thundering by he peered keenly into the sage, but caught no sign of the man. Bells ran a few hundred yards, slowed up, and had stopped when Wrangle passed him.\n\nAgain Venters began slipping fresh cartridges into the magazine of his rifle, and his hand was so sure and steady that he did not drop a single cartridge. With the eye of a rider and the judgment of a marksman he once more measured the distance between him and Jerry Card. Wrangle had gained, bringing him into rifle range. Venters was hard put to it now not to shoot, but thought it better to withhold his fire. Jerry, who, in anticipation of a running fusillade, had huddled himself into a little twisted ball on Black Star's neck, now surmising that this pursuer would make sure of not wounding one of the blacks, rose to his natural seat in the saddle.\n\nIn his mind perhaps, as certainly as in Venters's, this moment was the beginning of the real race.\n\nVenters leaned forward to put his hand on Wrangle's neck, then backward to put it on his flank. Under the shaggy, dusty hair trembled and vibrated and rippled a wonderful muscular activity. But Wrangle's flesh was still cold. What a cold-blooded brute thought Venters, and felt in him a love for the horse he had never given to any other. It would not have been humanly possible for any rider, even though clutched by hate or revenge or a passion to save a loved one or fear of his own life, to be astride the sorrel to swing with his swing, to see his magnificent stride and hear the rapid thunder of his hoofs, to ride him in that race and not glory in the ride.\n\nSo, with his passion to kill still keen and unabated, Venters lived out that ride, and drank a rider's sage-sweet cup of wildness to the dregs.\n\nWhen Wrangle's long mane, lashing in the wind, stung Venters in the cheek, the sting added a beat to his flying pulse. He bent a downward glance to try to see Wrangle's actual stride, and saw only twinkling, darting streaks and the white rush of the trail. He watched the sorrel's savage head, pointed level, his mouth still closed and dry, but his nostrils distended as if he were snorting unseen fire. Wrangle was the horse for a race with death. Upon each side Venters saw the sage merged into a sailing, colorless wall. In front sloped the lay of ground with its purple breadth split by the white trail. The wind, blowing with heavy, steady blast into his face, sickened him with enduring, sweet odor, and filled his ears with a hollow, rushing roar.\n\nThen for the hundredth time he measured the width of space separating him from Jerry Card. Wrangle had ceased to gain. The blacks were proving their fleetness. Venters watched Jerry Card, admiring the little rider's horsemanship. He had the incomparable seat of the upland rider, born in the saddle. It struck Venters that Card had changed his position, or the position of the horses. Presently Venters remembered positively that Jerry had been leading Night on the right-hand side of the trail. The racer was now on the side to the left. No—it was Black Star. But, Venters argued in amaze, Jerry had been mounted on Black Star. Another clearer, keener gaze assured Venters that Black Star was really riderless. Night now carried Jerry Card.\n\n\"He's changed from one to the other!\" ejaculated Venters, realizing the astounding feat with unstinted admiration. \"Changed at full speed! Jerry Card, that's what you've done unless I'm drunk on the smell of sage. But I've got to see the trick before I believe it.\"\n\nThenceforth, while Wrangle sped on, Venters glued his eyes to the little rider. Jerry Card rode as only he could ride. Of all the daring horsemen of the uplands, Jerry was the one rider fitted to bring out the greatness of the blacks in that long race. He had them on a dead run, but not yet at the last strained and killing pace. From time to time he glanced backward, as a wise general in retreat calculating his chances and the power and speed of pursuers, and the moment for the last desperate burst. No doubt, Card, with his life at stake, gloried in that race, perhaps more wildly than Venters. For he had been born to the sage and the saddle and the wild. He was more than half horse. Not until the last call—the sudden up-flashing instinct of self-preservation—would he lose his skill and judgment and nerve and the spirit of that race. Venters seemed to read Jerry's mind. That little crime-stained rider was actually thinking of his horses, husbanding their speed, handling them with knowledge of years, glorying in their beautiful, swift, racing stride, and wanting them to win the race when his own life hung suspended in quivering balance. Again Jerry whirled in his saddle and the sun flashed red on his face. Turning, he drew Black Star closer and closer toward Night, till they ran side by side, as one horse. Then Card raised himself in the saddle, slipped out of the stirrups, and, somehow twisting himself, leaped upon Black Star. He did not even lose the swing of the horse. Like a leech he was there in the other saddle, and as the horses separated, his right foot, that had been apparently doubled under him, shot down to catch the stirrup. The grace and dexterity and daring of that rider's act won something more than admiration from Venters.\n\nFor the distance of a mile Jerry rode Black Star and then changed back to Night. But all Jerry's skill and the running of the blacks could avail little more against the sorrel.\n\nVenters peered far ahead, studying the lay of the land. Straightaway for five miles the trail stretched, and then it disappeared in hummocky ground. To the right, some few rods, Venters saw a break in the sage, and this was the rim of Deception Pass. Across the dark cleft gleamed the red of the opposite wall. Venters imagined that the trail went down into the Pass somewhere north of those ridges. And he realized that he must and would overtake Jerry Card in this straight course of five miles.\n\nCruelly he struck his spurs into Wrangle's flanks. A light touch of spur was sufficient to make Wrangle plunge. And now, with a ringing, wild snort, he seemed to double up in muscular convulsions and to shoot forward with an impetus that almost unseated Venters. The sage blurred by, the trail flashed by, and the wind robbed him of breath and hearing. Jerry Card turned once more. And the way he shifted to Black Star showed he had to make his last desperate running.",
"loss": true
},
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"from": "human",
"value": "Venters aimed to the side of the trail and sent a bullet puffing the dust beyond Jerry.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Venters hoped to frighten the rider and get him to take to the sage. But Jerry returned the shot, and his ball struck dangerously close in the dust at Wrangle's flying feet. Venters held his fire then, while the rider emptied his revolver. For a mile, with Black Star leaving Night behind and doing his utmost, Wrangle did not gain; for another mile he gained little, if at all. In the third he caught up with the now galloping Night and began to gain rapidly on the other black.\n\nOnly a hundred yards now stretched between Black Star and Wrangle. The giant sorrel thundered on—and on—and on. In every yard he gained a foot. He was whistling through his nostrils, wringing wet, flying lather, and as hot as fire. Savage as ever, strong as ever, fast as ever, but each tremendous stride jarred Venters out of the saddle! Wrangle's power and spirit and momentum had begun to run him off his legs. Wrangle's great race was nearly won—and run. Venters seemed to see the expanse before him as a vast, sheeted, purple plain sliding under him. Black Star moved in it as a blur. The rider, Jerry Card, appeared a mere dot bobbing dimly. Wrangle thundered on—on—on! Venters felt the increase in quivering, straining shock after every leap. Flecks of foam flew into Venters's eyes, burning him, making him see all the sage as red. But in that red haze he saw, or seemed to see, Black Star suddenly riderless and with broken gait. Wrangle thundered on to change his pace with a violent break. Then Venters pulled him hard. From run to gallop, gallop to canter, canter to trot, trot to walk, and walk to stop, the great sorrel ended his race.\n\nVenters looked back. Black Star stood riderless in the trail. Jerry Card had taken to the sage. Far up the white trail Night came trotting faithfully down. Venters leaped off, still half blind, reeling dizzily. In a moment he had recovered sufficiently to have a care for Wrangle. Rapidly he took off the saddle and bridle. The sorrel was reeking, heaving, whistling, shaking. But he had still the strength to stand, and for him Venters had no fears.\n\nAs Venters ran back to Black Star he saw the horse stagger on shaking legs into the sage and go down in a heap. Upon reaching him Venters removed the saddle and bridle. Black Star had been killed on his legs, Venters thought. He had no hope for the stricken horse. Black Star lay flat, covered with bloody froth, mouth wide, tongue hanging, eyes glaring, and all his beautiful body in convulsions.\n\nUnable to stay there to see Jane's favorite racer die, Venters hurried up the trail to meet the other black. On the way he kept a sharp lookout for Jerry Card. Venters imagined the rider would keep well out of range of the rifle, but, as he would be lost on the sage without a horse, not improbably he would linger in the vicinity on the chance of getting back one of the blacks. Night soon came trotting up, hot and wet and run out. Venters led him down near the others, and unsaddling him, let him loose to rest. Night wearily lay down in the dust and rolled, proving himself not yet spent.\n\nThen Venters sat down to rest and think. Whatever the risk, he was compelled to stay where he was, or comparatively near, for the night. The horses must rest and drink. He must find water. He was now seventy miles from Cottonwoods, and, he believed, close to the canyon where the cattle trail must surely turn off and go down into the Pass. After a while he rose to survey the valley.\n\nHe was very near to the ragged edge of a deep canyon into which the trail turned. The ground lay in uneven ridges divided by washes, and these sloped into the canyon. Following the canyon line, he saw where its rim was broken by other intersecting canyons, and farther down red walls and yellow cliffs leading toward a deep blue cleft that he made sure was Deception Pass. Walking out a few rods to a promontory, he found where the trail went down. The descent was gradual, along a stone-walled trail, and Venters felt sure that this was the place where Oldring drove cattle into the Pass. There was, however, no indication at all that he ever had driven cattle out at this point. Oldring had many holes to his burrow.\n\nIn searching round in the little hollows Venters, much to his relief, found water. He composed himself to rest and eat some bread and meat, while he waited for a sufficient time to elapse so that he could safely give the horses a drink. He judged the hour to be somewhere around noon. Wrangle lay down to rest and Night followed suit. So long as they were down Venters intended to make no move. The longer they rested the better, and the safer it would be to give them water. By and by he forced himself to go over to where Black Star lay, expecting to find him dead. Instead he found the racer partially if not wholly recovered. There was recognition, even fire, in his big black eyes. Venters was overjoyed. He sat by the black for a long time. Black Star presently labored to his feet with a heave and a groan, shook himself, and snorted for water. Venters repaired to the little pool he had found, filled his sombrero, and gave the racer a drink. Black Star gulped it at one draught, as if it were but a drop, and pushed his nose into the hat and snorted for more. Venters now led Night down to drink, and after a further time Black Star also. Then the blacks began to graze.\n\nThe sorrel had wandered off down the sage between the trail and the canyon. Once or twice he disappeared in little swales. Finally Venters concluded Wrangle had grazed far enough, and, taking his lasso, he went to fetch him back. In crossing from one ridge to another he saw where the horse had made muddy a pool of water. It occurred to Venters then that Wrangle had drunk his fill, and did not seem the worse for it, and might be anything but easy to catch. And, true enough, he could not come within roping reach of the sorrel. He tried for an hour, and gave up in disgust. Wrangle did not seem so wild as simply perverse. In a quandary Venters returned to the other horses, hoping much, yet doubting more, that when Wrangle had grazed to suit himself he might be caught.\n\nAs the afternoon wore away Venters's concern diminished, yet he kept close watch on the blacks and the trail and the sage. There was no telling of what Jerry Card might be capable. Venters sullenly acquiesced to the idea that the rider had been too quick and too shrewd for him. Strangely and doggedly, however, Venters clung to his foreboding of Card's downfall.\n\nThe wind died away; the red sun topped the far distant western rise of slope; and the long, creeping purple shadows lengthened. The rims of the canyons gleamed crimson and the deep clefts appeared to belch forth blue smoke.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Silence enfolded the scene.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 33 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It was broken by a horrid, long-drawn scream of a horse and the thudding of heavy hoofs. Venters sprang erect and wheeled south. Along the canyon rim, near the edge, came Wrangle, once more in thundering flight.\n\nVenters gasped in amazement. Had the wild sorrel gone mad? His head was high and twisted, in a most singular position for a running horse. Suddenly Venters descried a frog-like shape clinging to Wrangle's neck. Jerry Card! Somehow he had straddled Wrangle and now stuck like a huge burr. But it was his strange position and the sorrel's wild scream that shook Venters's nerves. Wrangle was pounding toward the turn where the trail went down. He plunged onward like a blind horse. More than one of his leaps took him to the very edge of the precipice.\n\nJerry Card was bent forward with his teeth fast in the front of Wrangle's nose! Venters saw it, and there flashed over him a memory of this trick of a few desperate riders. He even thought of one rider who had worn off his teeth in this terrible hold to break or control desperate horses. Wrangle had indeed gone mad. The marvel was what guided him. Was it the half-brute, the more than half-horse instinct of Jerry Card? Whatever the mystery, it was true. And in a few more rods Jerry would have the sorrel turning into the trail leading down into the canyon.\n\n\"No—Jerry!\" whispered Venters, stepping forward and throwing up the rifle. He tried to catch the little humped, frog-like shape over the sights. It was moving too fast; it was too small. Yet Venters shot once... twice... the third time... four times... five! all wasted shots and precious seconds!\n\nWith a deep-muttered curse Venters caught Wrangle through the sights and pulled the trigger. Plainly he heard the bullet thud. Wrangle uttered a horrible strangling sound. In swift death action he whirled, and with one last splendid leap he cleared the canyon rim. And he whirled downward with the little frog-like shape clinging to his neck!\n\nThere was a pause which seemed never ending, a shock, and an instant's silence.\n\nThen up rolled a heavy crash, a long roar of sliding rocks dying away in distant echo, then silence unbroken.\n\nWrangle's race was run.",
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] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "SEGMENT CONTINUATION:\nLength: three sentences\nStyle: Zane Grey\nGenre: Western\nContext: Part of ongoing narrative",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "🎯 Target word: 'bells' | Required occurrences: 2",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Chapter XVIII. Oldring's Knell\n\nSome forty hours or more later Venters created a commotion in Cottonwoods by riding down the main street on Black Star and leading Bells and Night. He had come upon Bells grazing near the body of a dead rustler, the only incident of his quick ride into the village.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Nothing was farther from Venters's mind than bravado.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "No thought came to him of the defiance and boldness of riding Jane Withersteen's racers straight into the arch-plotter's stronghold.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He wanted men to see the famous Arabians; he wanted men to see them dirty and dusty, bearing all the signs of having been driven to their limit; he wanted men to see and to know that the thieves who had ridden them out into the sage had not ridden them back. Venters had come for that and for more—he wanted to meet Tull face to face; if not Tull, then Dyer; if not Dyer, then anyone in the secret of these master conspirators. Such was Venters's passion.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The meeting with the rustlers, the unprovoked attack upon him, the spilling of blood, the recognition of Jerry Card and the horses, the race, and that last plunge of mad Wrangle—all these things, fuel on fuel to the smoldering fire, had kindled and swelled and leaped into living flame.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[OOC: Your task: Include 'could' 2 time(s) in your response]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He could have shot Dyer in the midst of his religious services at the altar; he could have killed Tull in front of wives and babes.\n\nHe walked the three racers down the broad, green-bordered village road. He heard the murmur of running water from Amber Spring.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Bitter waters for Jane Withersteen! Men and women stopped to gaze at him and the horses. All knew him; all knew the blacks and the bay.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "As well as if it had been spoken, Venters read in the faces of men the intelligence that Jane Withersteen's Arabians had been known to have been stolen.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Venters reined in and halted before Dyer's residence. It was a low, long, stone structure resembling Withersteen House. The spacious front yard was green and luxuriant with grass and flowers; gravel walks led to the huge porch; a well-trimmed hedge of purple sage separated the yard from the church grounds; birds sang in the trees; water flowed musically along the walks; and there were glad, careless shouts of children.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "For Venters the beauty of this home, and the serenity and its apparent happiness, all turned red and black.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "For Venters a shade overspread the lawn, the flowers, the old vine-clad stone house.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "In the music of the singing birds, in the murmur of the running water, he heard an ominous sound. Quiet beauty—sweet music—innocent laughter! By what monstrous abortion of fate did these abide in the shadow of Dyer?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Venters rode on and stopped before Tull's cottage.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Women stared at him with white faces and then flew from the porch. Tull himself appeared at the door, bent low, craning his neck. His dark face flashed out of sight; the door banged; a heavy bar dropped with a hollow sound.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Then Venters shook Black Star's bridle, and, sharply trotting, led the other horses to the center of the village.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Here at the intersecting streets and in front of the stores he halted once more.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The usual lounging atmosphere of that prominent corner was not now in evidence. Riders and ranchers and villagers broke up what must have been absorbing conversation. There was a rush of many feet, and then the walk was lined with faces.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Venters's glance swept down the line of silent stone-faced men. He recognized many riders and villagers, but none of those he had hoped to meet. There was no expression in the faces turned toward him.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "All of them knew him, most were inimical, but there were few who were not burning with curiosity and wonder in regard to the return of Jane Withersteen's racers.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Yet all were silent.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Here were the familiar characteristics—masked feeling—strange secretiveness—expressionless expression of mystery and hidden power.\n\n\"Has anybody here seen Jerry Card?\" queried Venters, in a loud voice.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "In reply there came not a word, not a nod or shake of head, not so much as dropping eye or twitching lip—nothing but a quiet, stony stare.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next output: 58% quoted text",
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Been under the knife? You've a fine knife-wielder here—one Tull, I believe!... Maybe you've all had your tongues cut out?\"\n\nThis passionate sarcasm of Venters brought no response, and the stony calm was as oil on the fire within him.\n\n\"I see some of you pack guns, too!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "he added, in biting scorn.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "OOC - ⚠️ Required: Use 'jerry' exactly 2 times",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "In the long, tense pause, strung keenly as a tight wire, he sat motionless on Black Star. \"All right,\" he went on. \"Then let some of you take this message to Tull. Tell him I've seen Jerry Card!... Tell him Jerry Card will never return!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Thereupon, in the same dead calm, Venters backed Black Star away from the curb, into the street, and out of range.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He was ready now to ride up to Withersteen House and turn the racers over to Jane.\n\n\"Hello, Venters!\" a familiar voice cried, hoarsely, and he saw a man running toward him. It was the rider Judkins who came up and gripped Venters's hand.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Venters, I could hev dropped when I seen them hosses. But thet sight ain't a marker to the looks of you. What's wrong? Hev you gone crazy? You must be crazy to ride in here this way—with them hosses—talkie' thet way about Tull en' Jerry Card.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Jud, I'm not crazy—only mad clean through,\" replied Venters.\n\n\"Mad, now, Bern, I'm glad to hear some of your old self in your voice. Fer when you come up you looked like the corpse of a dead rider with fire fer eyes. You hed thet crowd too stiff fer throwin' guns. Come, we've got to hev a talk. Let's go up the lane. We ain't much safe here.\"\n\nJudkins mounted Bells and rode with Venters up to the cottonwood grove.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Here they dismounted and went among the trees.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[[OOC: Word count directive: Use 'horne' exactly 2 times]]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Let's hear from you first,\" said Judkins. \"You fetched back them hosses. Thet is the trick. An', of course, you got Jerry the same as you got Horne.\"\n\n\"Horne!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Sure. He was found dead yesterday all chewed by coyotes, en' he'd been shot plumb center.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Word usage requirement: 'horne' must appear 2 times",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Where was he found?\"\n\n\"At the split down the trail—you know where Oldring's cattle trail runs off north from the trail to the pass.\"\n\n\"That's where I met Jerry and the rustlers. What was Horne doing with them? I thought Horne was an honest cattle-man.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Lord—Bern, don't ask me thet! I'm all muddled now tryin' to figure things.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Venters told of the fight and the race with Jerry Card and its tragic conclusion.\n\n\"I knowed it! I knowed all along that Wrangle was the best hoss!\" exclaimed Judkins, with his lean face working and his eyes lighting.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Thet was a race! Lord, I'd like to hev seen Wrangle jump the cliff with Jerry. An' thet was good-by to the grandest hoss an' rider ever on the sage!... But, Bern, after you got the hosses why'd you want to bolt right in Tull's face?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"I want him to know. An' if I can get to him I'll—\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "/* Next turn: write with abundant dialogue */",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"You can't get near Tull,\" interrupted Judkins. \"Thet vigilante bunch hev taken to bein' bodyguard for Tull an' Dyer, too.\"\n\n\"Hasn't Lassiter made a break yet?\" inquired Venters, curiously.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Naw!\" replied Judkins, scornfully.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Jane turned his head. He's mad in love over her—follers her like a dog. He ain't no more Lassiter! He's lost his nerve, he doesn't look like the same feller. It's village talk. Everybody knows it. He hasn't thrown a gun, an' he won't!\"\n\n\"Jud, I'll bet he does,\" replied Venters, earnestly. \"Remember what I say. This Lassiter is something more than a gun-man. Jud, he's big—he's great!... I feel that in him. God help Tull and Dyer when Lassiter does go after them. For horses and riders and stone walls won't save them.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Wal, hev it your way, Bern. I hope you're right. Nat'rully I've been some sore on Lassiter fer gittin' soft. But I ain't denyin' his nerve, or whatever's great in him thet sort of paralyzes people. No later 'n this mornin' I seen him saunterin' down the lane, quiet an' slow. An' like his guns he comes black—black, thet's Lassiter. Wal, the crowd on the corner never batted an eye, en' I'll gamble my hoss thet there wasn't one who hed a heartbeat till Lassiter got by. He went in Snell's saloon, an' as there wasn't no gun play I had to go in, too. An' there, darn my pictures, if Lassiter wasn't standin' to the bar, drinking en' talkin' with Oldrin'.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Oldring!\" whispered Venters.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "His voice, as all fire and pulse within him, seemed to freeze.\n\n\"Let go my arm!\" exclaimed Judkins. \"Thet's my bad arm. Sure it was Oldrin'. What the hell's wrong with you, anyway? Venters, I tell you somethin's wrong. You're whiter 'n a sheet. You can't be scared of the rustler. I don't believe you've got a scare in you. Wal, now, jest let me talk. You know I like to talk, an' if I'm slow I allus git there sometime. As I said, Lassiter was talkie' chummy with Oldrin'. There wasn't no hard feelin's. An' the gang wasn't payin' no pertic'lar attention. But like a cat watchin' a mouse I hed my eyes on them two fellers. It was strange to me, thet confab. I'm gittin' to think a lot, fer a feller who doesn't know much. There's been some queer deals lately an' this seemed to me the queerest. These men stood to the bar alone, an' so close their big gun-hilts butted together. I seen Oldrin' was some surprised at first, an' Lassiter was cool as ice. They talked, an' presently at somethin' Lassiter said the rustler bawled out a curse, an' then he jest fell up against the bar, an' sagged there. The gang in the saloon looked around an' laughed, an' thet's about all. Finally Oldrin' turned, and it was easy to see somethin' hed shook him. Yes, sir, thet big rustler—you know he's as broad as he is long, an' the powerfulest build of a man—yes, sir, the nerve had been taken out of him. Then, after a little, he began to talk an' said a lot to Lassiter, an' by an' by it didn't take much of an eye to see thet Lassiter was gittin' hit hard. I never seen him anyway but cooler 'n ice—till then. He seemed to be hit harder 'n Oldrin', only he didn't roar out thet way. He jest kind of sunk in, an' looked an' looked, an' he didn't see a livin' soul in thet saloon. Then he sort of come to, an' shakin' hands—mind you, shakin' hands with Oldrin'—he went out. I couldn't help thinkin' how easy even a boy could hev dropped the great gun-man then!... Wal, the rustler stood at the bar fer a long time, en' he was seein' things far off, too; then he come to an' roared fer whisky, an' gulped a drink thet was big enough to drown me.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Is Oldring here now?\" whispered Venters. He could not speak above a whisper. Judkins's story had been meaningless to him.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"He's at Snell's yet. Bern, I hevn't told you yet thet the rustlers hev been raisin' hell. They shot up Stone Bridge an' Glaze, an' fer three days they've been here drinkin' an' gamblin' an' throwin' of gold. These rustlers hev a pile of gold. If it was gold dust or nugget gold I'd hev reason to think, but it's new coin gold, as if it had jest come from the United States treasury. An' the coin's genuine. Thet's all been proved. The truth is Oldrin's on a rampage. A while back he lost his Masked Rider, an' they say he's wild about thet. I'm wonderin' if Lassiter could hev told the rustler anythin' about thet little masked, hard-ridin' devil. Ride! He was most as good as Jerry Card. An', Bern, I've been wonderin' if you know—\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Judkins, you're a good fellow,\" interrupted Venters. \"Some day I'll tell you a story. I've no time now. Take the horses to Jane.\"\n\nJudkins stared, and then, muttering to himself, he mounted Bells, and stared again at Venters, and then, leading the other horses, he rode into the grove and disappeared.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Once, long before, on the night Venters had carried Bess through the canyon and up into Surprise Valley, he had experienced the strangeness of faculties singularly, tinglingly acute.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "And now the same sensation recurred. But it was different in that he felt cold, frozen, mechanical incapable of free thought, and all about him seemed unreal, aloof, remote. He hid his rifle in the sage, marking its exact location with extreme care.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Then he faced down the lane and strode toward the center of the village.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Perceptions flashed upon him, the faint, cold touch of the breeze, a cold, silvery tinkle of flowing water, a cold sun shining out of a cold sky, song of birds and laugh of children, coldly distant. Cold and intangible were all things in earth and heaven. Colder and tighter stretched the skin over his face; colder and harder grew the polished butts of his guns; colder and steadier became his hands as he wiped the clammy sweat from his face or reached low to his gun-sheaths.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Men meeting him in the walk gave him wide berth.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "In front of Bevin's store a crowd melted apart for his passage, and their faces and whispers were faces and whispers of a dream.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He turned a corner to meet Tull face to face, eye to eye. As once before he had seen this man pale to a ghastly, livid white so again he saw the change. Tull stopped in his tracks, with right hand raised and shaking.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Make sure to use 'horses' 2 time(s) throughout your message",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Suddenly it dropped, and he seemed to glide aside, to pass out of Venters's sight. Next he saw many horses with bridles down—all clean-limbed, dark bays or blacks—rustlers' horses! Loud voices and boisterous laughter, rattle of dice and scrape of chair and clink of gold, burst in mingled din from an open doorway. He stepped inside.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "With the sight of smoke-hazed room and drinking, cursing, gambling, dark-visaged men, reality once more dawned upon Venters.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "His entrance had been unnoticed, and he bent his gaze upon the drinkers at the bar. Dark-clothed, dark-faced men they all were, burned by the sun, bow-legged as were most riders of the sage, but neither lean nor gaunt. Then Venters's gaze passed to the tables, and swiftly it swept over the hard-featured gamesters, to alight upon the huge, shaggy, black head of the rustler chief.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Oldring!\" he cried, and to him his voice seemed to split a bell in his ears.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It stilled the din.\n\nThat silence suddenly broke to the scrape and crash of Oldring's chair as he rose; and then, while he passed, a great gloomy figure, again the thronged room stilled in silence yet deeper.\n\n\"Oldring, a word with you!\" continued Venters.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Ho! What's this?\" boomed Oldring, in frowning scrutiny.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Come outside, alone. A word for you—from your Masked Rider!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Oldring kicked a chair out of his way and lunged forward with a stamp of heavy boot that jarred the floor.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Frequency requirement: 'venters' - 2 occurrence(s)",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He waved down his muttering, rising men.\n\nVenters backed out of the door and waited, hearing, as no sound had ever before struck into his soul, the rapid, heavy steps of the rustler.\n\nOldring appeared, and Venters had one glimpse of his great breadth and bulk, his gold-buckled belt with hanging guns, his high-top boots with gold spurs.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "In that moment Venters had a strange, unintelligible curiosity to see Oldring alive. The rustler's broad brow, his large black eyes, his sweeping beard, as dark as the wing of a raven, his enormous width of shoulder and depth of chest, his whole splendid presence so wonderfully charged with vitality and force and strength, seemed to afford Venters an unutterable fiendish joy because for that magnificent manhood and life he meant cold and sudden death.\n\n\"Oldring, Bess is alive! But she's dead to you—dead to the life you made her lead—dead as you will be in one second!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Swift as lightning Venters's glance dropped from Oldring's rolling eyes to his hands. One of them, the right, swept out, then toward his gun—and Venters shot him through the heart.\n\nSlowly Oldring sank to his knees, and the hand, dragging at the gun, fell away.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Venters's strangely acute faculties grasped the meaning of that limp arm, of the swaying hulk, of the gasp and heave, of the quivering beard.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "But was that awful spirit in the black eyes only one of vitality?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Man—why—didn't—you—wait? Bess—was—\" Oldring's whisper died under his beard, and with a heavy lurch he fell forward.\n\nBounding swiftly away, Venters fled around the corner, across the street, and, leaping a hedge, he ran through yard, orchard, and garden to the sage. Here, under cover of the tall brush, he turned west and ran on to the place where he had hidden his rifle.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Securing that, he again set out into a run, and, circling through the sage, came up behind Jane Withersteen's stable and corrals. With laboring, dripping chest, and pain as of a knife thrust in his side, he stopped to regain his breath, and while resting his eyes roved around in search of a horse. Doors and windows of the stable were open wide and had a deserted look.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "One dejected, lonely burro stood in the near corral. Strange indeed was the silence brooding over the once happy, noisy home of Jane Withersteen's pets.\n\nHe went into the corral, exercising care to leave no tracks, and led the burro to the watering-trough.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Venters, though not thirsty, drank till he could drink no more. Then, leading the burro over hard ground, he struck into the sage and down the slope.\n\nHe strode swiftly, turning from time to time to scan the slope for riders.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "His head just topped the level of sage-brush, and the burro could not have been seen at all.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Slowly the green of Cottonwoods sank behind the slope, and at last a wavering line of purple sage met the blue of sky.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "To avoid being seen, to get away, to hide his trail—these were the sole ideas in his mind as he headed for Deception Pass, and he directed all his acuteness of eye and ear, and the keenness of a rider's judgment for distance and ground, to stern accomplishment of the task. He kept to the sage far to the left of the trail leading into the Pass. He walked ten miles and looked back a thousand times.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Always the graceful, purple wave of sage remained wide and lonely, a clear, undotted waste.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(hey for the next response, Incorporate 'burro' into your response exactly 2 times)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Coming to a stretch of rocky ground, he took advantage of it to cross the trail and then continued down on the right. At length he persuaded himself that he would be able to see riders mounted on horses before they could see him on the little burro, and he rode bareback.\n\nHour by hour the tireless burro kept to his faithful, steady trot.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The sun sank and the long shadows lengthened down the slope.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Moving veils of purple twilight crept out of the hollows and, mustering and forming on the levels, soon merged and shaded into night. Venters guided the burro nearer to the trail, so that he could see its white line from the ridges, and rode on through the hours.\n\nOnce down in the Pass without leaving a trail, he would hold himself safe for the time being.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "⚠️ Required: Use 'burro' exactly 2 times",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "When late in the night he reached the break in the sage, he sent the burro down ahead of him, and started an avalanche that all but buried the animal at the bottom of the trail. Bruised and battered as he was, he had a moment's elation, for he had hidden his tracks. Once more he mounted the burro and rode on.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The hour was the blackest of the night when he made the thicket which inclosed his old camp.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Here he turned the burro loose in the grass near the spring, and then lay down on his old bed of leaves.\n\nHe felt only vaguely, as outside things, the ache and burn and throb of the muscles of his body. But a dammed-up torrent of emotion at last burst its bounds, and the hour that saw his release from immediate action was one that confounded him in the reaction of his spirit.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He suffered without understanding why.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He caught glimpses into himself, into unlit darkness of soul. The fire that had blistered him and the cold which had frozen him now united in one torturing possession of his mind and heart, and like a fiery steed with ice-shod feet, ranged his being, ran rioting through his blood, trampling the resurging good, dragging ever at the evil.\n\nOut of the subsiding chaos came a clear question.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "What had happened? He had left the valley to go to Cottonwoods. Why?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It seemed that he had gone to kill a man—Oldring! The name riveted his consciousness upon the one man of all men upon earth whom he had wanted to meet. He had met the rustler.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Venters recalled the smoky haze of the saloon, the dark-visaged men, the huge Oldring.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(hey for the next response, Incorporate 'himself' into your response exactly 2 times)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He saw him step out of the door, a splendid specimen of manhood, a handsome giant with purple-black and sweeping beard. He remembered inquisitive gaze of falcon eyes. He heard himself repeating: \"OLDRING, BESS IS ALIVE! BUT SHE'S DEAD TO YOU,\" and he felt himself jerk, and his ears throbbed to the thunder of a gun, and he saw the giant sink slowly to his knees.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Was that only the vitality of him—that awful light in the eyes—only the hard-dying life of a tremendously powerful brute?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "CONSTRAINT: Include 'whisper' 2 time(s)",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "A broken whisper, strange as death: \"MAN—WHY—DIDN'T—YOU WAIT! BESS—WAS—\" And Oldring plunged face forward, dead.\n\n\"I killed him,\" cried Venters, in remembering shock. \"But it wasn't THAT. Ah, the look in his eyes and his whisper!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Herein lay the secret that had clamored to him through all the tumult and stress of his emotions.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "What a look in the eyes of a man shot through the heart! It had been neither hate nor ferocity nor fear of men nor fear of death. It had been no passionate glinting spirit of a fearless foe, willing shot for shot, life for life, but lacking physical power.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Distinctly recalled now, never to be forgotten, Venters saw in Oldring's magnificent eyes the rolling of great, glad surprise—softness—love!",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Then came a shadow and the terrible superhuman striving of his spirit to speak. Oldring shot through the heart, had fought and forced back death, not for a moment in which to shoot or curse, but to whisper strange words.\n\nWhat words for a dying man to whisper!",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Why had not Venters waited?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "For what? That was no plea for life. It was regret that there was not a moment of life left in which to speak. Bess was—Herein lay renewed torture for Venters.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "What had Bess been to Oldring?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The old question, like a specter, stalked from its grave to haunt him.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He had overlooked, he had forgiven, he had loved and he had forgotten; and now, out of the mystery of a dying man's whisper rose again that perverse, unsatisfied, jealous uncertainty. Bess had loved that splendid, black-crowned giant—by her own confession she had loved him; and in Venters's soul again flamed up the jealous hell. Then into the clamoring hell burst the shot that had killed Oldring, and it rang in a wild fiendish gladness, a hateful, vengeful joy.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "That passed to the memory of the love and light in Oldring's eyes and the mystery in his whisper. So the changing, swaying emotions fluctuated in Venters's heart.\n\nThis was the climax of his year of suffering and the crucial struggle of his life.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "And when the gray dawn came he rose, a gloomy, almost heartbroken man, but victor over evil passions.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He could not change the past; and, even if he had not loved Bess with all his soul, he had grown into a man who would not change the future he had planned for her.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Only, and once for all, he must know the truth, know the worst, stifle all these insistent doubts and subtle hopes and jealous fancies, and kill the past by knowing truly what Bess had been to Oldring.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "For that matter he knew—he had always known, but he must hear it spoken. Then, when they had safely gotten out of that wild country to take up a new and an absorbing life, she would forget, she would be happy, and through that, in the years to come, he could not but find life worth living.\n\nAll day he rode slowly and cautiously up the Pass, taking time to peer around corners, to pick out hard ground and grassy patches, and to make sure there was no one in pursuit.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "In the night sometime he came to the smooth, scrawled rocks dividing the valley, and here set the burro at liberty.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He walked beyond, climbed the slope and the dim, starlit gorge. Then, weary to the point of exhaustion, he crept into a shallow cave and fell asleep.\n\nIn the morning, when he descended the trail, he found the sun was pouring a golden stream of light through the arch of the great stone bridge.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Surprise Valley, like a valley of dreams, lay mystically soft and beautiful, awakening to the golden flood which was rolling away its slumberous bands of mist, brightening its walled faces.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "While yet far off he discerned Bess moving under the silver spruces, and soon the barking of the dogs told him that they had seen him. He heard the mocking-birds singing in the trees, and then the twittering of the quail. Ring and Whitie came bounding toward him, and behind them ran Bess, her hands outstretched.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(ooc: Required word frequency: 'you're' (2x))",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Bern! You're back! You're back!\" she cried, in joy that rang of her loneliness.\n\n\"Yes, I'm back,\" he said, as she rushed to meet him.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "She had reached out for him when suddenly, as she saw him closely, something checked her, and as quickly all her joy fled, and with it her color, leaving her pale and trembling.\n\n\"Oh! What's happened?\"\n\n\"A good deal has happened, Bess. I don't need to tell you what. And I'm played out. Worn out in mind more than body.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Dear—you look strange to me!\" faltered Bess.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Never mind that. I'm all right. There's nothing for you to be scared about. Things are going to turn out just as we have planned. As soon as I'm rested we'll make a break to get out of the country. Only now, right now, I must know the truth about you.\"\n\n\"Truth about me?\" echoed Bess, shrinkingly. She seemed to be casting back into her mind for a forgotten key.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Venters himself, as he saw her, received a pang.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Yes—the truth. Bess, don't misunderstand. I haven't changed that way. I love you still. I'll love you more afterward. Life will be just as sweet—sweeter to us. We'll be—be married as soon as ever we can. We'll be happy—but there's a devil in me. A perverse, jealous devil! Then I've queer fancies. I forgot for a long time. Now all those fiendish little whispers of doubt and faith and fear and hope come torturing me again. I've got to kill them with the truth.\"\n\n\"I'll tell you anything you want to know,\" she replied, frankly.\n\n\"Then by Heaven! we'll have it over and done with!... Bess—did Oldring love you?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Certainly he did.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Only your next message should be 91% dialogue",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Did—did you love him?\"\n\n\"Of course. I told you so.\"\n\n\"How can you tell it so lightly?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "cried Venters, passionately. \"Haven't you any sense of—of—\" He choked back speech. He felt the rush of pain and passion. He seized her in rude, strong hands and drew her close.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He looked straight into her dark-blue eyes.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "They were shadowing with the old wistful light, but they were as clear as the limpid water of the spring. They were earnest, solemn in unutterable love and faith and abnegation. Venters shivered. He knew he was looking into her soul.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He knew she could not lie in that moment; but that she might tell the truth, looking at him with those eyes, almost killed his belief in purity.\n\n\"What are—what were you to—to Oldring?\" he panted, fiercely.\n\n\"I am his daughter,\" she replied, instantly.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Venters slowly let go of her.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "There was a violent break in the force of his feeling—then creeping blankness.\n\n\"What—was it—you said?\" he asked, in a kind of dull wonder.\n\n\"I am his daughter.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Oldring's daughter?\" queried Venters, with life gathering in his voice.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Yes.\"\n\nWith a passionately awakening start he grasped her hands and drew her close.\n\n\"All the time—you've been Oldring's daughter?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Yes, of course all the time—always.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"But Bess, you told me—you let me think—I made out you were—a—so—so ashamed.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"It is my shame,\" she said, with voice deep and full, and now the scarlet fired her cheek.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I told you—I'm nothing—nameless—just Bess, Oldring's girl!\"\n\n\"I know—I remember. But I never thought—\" he went on, hurriedly, huskily. \"That time—when you lay dying—you prayed—you—somehow I got the idea you were bad.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Bad?\" she asked, with a little laugh.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "She looked up with a faint smile of bewilderment and the absolute unconsciousness of a child. Venters gasped in the gathering might of the truth. She did not understand his meaning.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Bess! Bess!\" He clasped her in his arms, hiding her eyes against his breast.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "She must not see his face in that moment. And he held her while he looked out across the valley. In his dim and blinded sight, in the blur of golden light and moving mist, he saw Oldring.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "She was the rustler's nameless daughter.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Oldring had loved her. He had so guarded her, so kept her from women and men and knowledge of life that her mind was as a child's. That was part of the secret—part of the mystery.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "That was the wonderful truth.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Not only was she not bad, but good, pure, innocent above all innocence in the world—the innocence of lonely girlhood.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He saw Oldring's magnificent eyes, inquisitive, searching, softening. He saw them flare in amaze, in gladness, with love, then suddenly strain in terrible effort of will. He heard Oldring whisper and saw him sway like a log and fall.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(In the next section: Word usage target: 'knell' must be used 2 times)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Then a million bellowing, thundering voices—gunshots of conscience, thunderbolts of remorse—dinned horribly in his ears. He had killed Bess's father. Then a rushing wind filled his ears like a moan of wind in the cliffs, a knell indeed—Oldring's knell.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He dropped to his knees and hid his face against Bess, and grasped her with the hands of a drowning man.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 4 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"My God!... My God!... Oh, Bess!... Forgive me! Never mind what I've done—what I've thought. But forgive me. I'll give you my life. I'll live for you. I'll love you. Oh, I do love you as no man ever loved a woman. I want you to know—to remember that I fought a fight for you—however blind I was. I thought—I thought—never mind what I thought—but I loved you—I asked you to marry me. Let that—let me have that to hug to my heart. Oh, Bess, I was driven! And I might have known! I could not rest nor sleep till I had this mystery solved. God! how things work out!\"\n\n\"Bern, you're weak—trembling—you talk wildly,\" cried Bess. \"You've overdone your strength. There's nothing to forgive. There's no mystery except your love for me. You have come back to me!\"\n\nAnd she clasped his head tenderly in her arms and pressed it closely to her throbbing breast.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "lets do a Western thing. u write twelve sentences bits. keep character vibes",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Use the word 'asked' 2 time(s) - this is a strict requirement",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Chapter XIX. Fay\n\nAt the home of Jane Withersteen Little Fay was climbing Lassiter's knee.\n\n\"Does oo love me?\" she asked.\n\nLassiter, who was as serious with Fay as he was gentle and loving, assured her in earnest and elaborate speech that he was her devoted subject. Fay looked thoughtful and appeared to be debating the duplicity of men or searching for a supreme test to prove this cavalier.\n\n\"Does oo love my new muvver?\" she asked, with bewildering suddenness.\n\nJane Withersteen laughed, and for the first time in many a day she felt a stir of her pulse and warmth in her cheek.\n\nIt was a still drowsy summer of afternoon, and the three were sitting in the shade of the wooded knoll that faced the sage-slope. Little Fay's brief spell of unhappy longing for her mother—the childish, mystic gloom—had passed, and now where Fay was there were prattle and laughter and glee. She had emerged from sorrow to be the incarnation of joy and loveliness. She had grown supernaturally sweet and beautiful.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "For Jane Withersteen the child was an answer to prayer, a blessing, a possession infinitely more precious than all she had lost. For Lassiter, Jane divined that little Fay had become a religion.\n\n\"Does oo love my new muvver?\" repeated Fay.\n\nLassiter's answer to this was a modest and sincere affirmative.\n\n\"Why don't oo marry my new muvver an' be my favver?\"\n\nOf the thousands of questions put by little Fay to Lassiter this was the first he had been unable to answer.\n\n\"Fay—Fay, don't ask questions like that,\" said Jane.\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because,\" replied Jane. And she found it strangely embarrassing to meet the child's gaze. It seemed to her that Fay's violet eyes looked through her with piercing wisdom.\n\n\"Oo love him, don't oo?\"\n\n\"Dear child—run and play,\" said Jane, \"but don't go too far. Don't go from this little hill.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Fay pranced off wildly, joyous over freedom that had not been granted her for weeks.\n\n\"Jane, why are children more sincere than grown-up persons?\" asked Lassiter.\n\n\"Are they?\"\n\n\"I reckon so. Little Fay there—she sees things as they appear on the face. An Indian does that. So does a dog. An' an Indian an' a dog are most of the time right in what they see. Mebbe a child is always right.\"\n\n\"Well, what does Fay see?\" asked Jane.\n\n\"I reckon you know. I wonder what goes on in Fay's mind when she sees part of the truth with the wise eyes of a child, an' wantin' to know more, meets with strange falseness from you? Wait! You are false in a way, though you're the best woman I ever knew. What I want to say is this. Fay has taken you're pretendin' to—to care for me for the thing it looks on the face. An' her little formin' mind asks questions. An' the answers she gets are different from the looks of things. So she'll grow up gradually takin' on that falseness, an' be like the rest of the women, an' men, too. An' the truth of this falseness to life is proved by your appearin' to love me when you don't. Things aren't what they seem.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, you're right. A child should be told the absolute truth. But—is that possible? I haven't been able to do it, and all my life I've loved the truth, and I've prided myself upon being truthful. Maybe that was only egotism. I'm learning much, my friend. Some of those blinding scales have fallen from my eyes. And—and as to caring for you, I think I care a great deal. How much, how little, I couldn't say. My heart is almost broken, Lassiter. So now is not a good time to judge of affection. I can still play and be merry with Fay. I can still dream. But when I attempt serious thought I'm dazed. I don't think. I don't care any more. I don't pray!... Think of that, my friend! But in spite of my numb feeling I believe I'll rise out of all this dark agony a better woman, with greater love of man and God. I'm on the rack now; I'm senseless to all but pain, and growing dead to that. Sooner or later I shall rise out of this stupor. I'm waiting the hour.\"\n\n\"It'll soon come, Jane,\" replied Lassiter, soberly. \"Then I'm afraid for you. Years are terrible things, an' for years you've been bound. Habit of years is strong as life itself. Somehow, though, I believe as you—that you'll come out of it all a finer woman. I'm waitin', too. An' I'm wonderin'—I reckon, Jane, that marriage between us is out of all human reason?\"\n\n\"Lassiter!... My dear friend!... It's impossible for us to marry!\"\n\n\"Why—as Fay says?\" inquired Lassiter, with gentle persistence.\n\n\"Why! I never thought why. But it's not possible. I am Jane, daughter of Withersteen. My father would rise out of his grave. I'm of Mormon birth. I'm being broken. But I'm still a Mormon woman. And you—you are Lassiter!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Mebbe I'm not so much Lassiter as I used to be.\"\n\n\"What was it you said? Habit of years is strong as life itself! You can't change the one habit—the purpose of your life. For you still pack those black guns! You still nurse your passion for blood.\"\n\nA smile, like a shadow, flickered across his face.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, I lied to you. But I beg of you—don't you lie to me. I've great respect for you. I believe you're softened toward most, perhaps all, my people except—But when I speak of your purpose, your hate, your guns, I have only him in mind. I don't believe you've changed.\"\n\nFor answer he unbuckled the heavy cartridge-belt, and laid it with the heavy, swing gun-sheaths in her lap.\n\n\"Lassiter!\" Jane whispered, as she gazed from him to the black, cold guns. Without them he appeared shorn of strength, defenseless, a smaller man. Was she Delilah? Swiftly, conscious of only one motive—refusal to see this man called craven by his enemies—she rose, and with blundering fingers buckled the belt round his waist where it belonged.\n\n\"Lassiter, I am a coward.\"\n\n\"Come with me out of Utah—where I can put away my guns an' be a man,\" he said. \"I reckon I'll prove it to you then! Come! You've got Black Star back, an' Night an' Bells. Let's take the racers an' little Fay, en' race out of Utah. The hosses an' the child are all you have left. Come!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"No, no, Lassiter. I'll never leave Utah. What would I do in the world with my broken fortunes and my broken heart? I'll never leave these purple slopes I love so well.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"I reckon I ought to 've knowed that.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Presently you'll be livin' down here in a hovel, en' presently Jane Withersteen will be a memory. I only wanted to have a chance to show you how a man—any man—can be better 'n he was. If we left Utah I could prove—I reckon I could prove this thing you call love. It's strange, an' hell an' heaven at once, Jane Withersteen. 'Pears to me that you've thrown away your big heart on love—love of religion an' duty an' churchmen, an' riders an' poor families an' poor children! Yet you can't see what love is—how it changes a person!... Listen, an' in tellin' you Milly Erne's story I'll show you how love changed her.\n\n\"Milly an' me was children when our family moved from Missouri to Texas, an' we growed up in Texas ways same as if we'd been born there. We had been poor, an' there we prospered. In time the little village where we went became a town, an' strangers an' new families kept movin' in. Milly was the belle them days. I can see her now, a little girl no bigger 'n a bird, an' as pretty.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(authors note, <<USAGE LIMIT>>: 'religion' must be used 2 times)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "She had the finest eyes, dark blue-black when she was excited, an' beautiful all the time. You remember Milly's eyes! An' she had light-brown hair with streaks of gold, an' a mouth that every feller wanted to kiss.\n\n\"An' about the time Milly was the prettiest an' the sweetest, along came a young minister who began to ride some of a race with the other fellers for Milly. An' he won. Milly had always been strong on religion, an' when she met Frank Erne she went in heart an' soul for the salvation of souls. Fact was, Milly, through study of the Bible an' attendin' church an' revivals, went a little out of her head. It didn't worry the old folks none, an' the only worry to me was Milly's everlastin' prayin' an' workin' to save my soul. She never converted me, but we was the best of comrades, an' I reckon no brother an' sister ever loved each other better. Well, Frank Erne an me hit up a great friendship. He was a strappin' feller, good to look at, an' had the most pleasin' ways. His religion never bothered me, for he could hunt an' fish an' ride an' be a good feller. After buffalo once, he come pretty near to savin' my life.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "We got to be thick as brothers, an' he was the only man I ever seen who I thought was good enough for Milly.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Use the word 'pretty' 2 time(s) - this is a strict requirement",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "An' the day they were married I got drunk for the only time in my life.\n\n\"Soon after that I left home—it seems Milly was the only one who could keep me home—an' I went to the bad, as to prosperin' I saw some pretty hard life in the Pan Handle, an' then I went North. In them days Kansas an' Nebraska was as bad, come to think of it, as these days right here on the border of Utah. I got to be pretty handy with guns. An' there wasn't many riders as could beat me ridin'. An' I can say all modest-like that I never seen the white man who could track a hoss or a steer or a man with me. Afore I knowed it two years slipped by, an' all at once I got homesick, en' purled a bridle south.\n\n\"Things at home had changed. I never got over that homecomin'. Mother was dead an' in her grave. Father was a silent, broken man, killed already on his feet. Frank Erne was a ghost of his old self, through with workin', through with preachin', almost through with livin', an' Milly was gone!...",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It was a long time before I got the story.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(( Incorporate 'different' into your response exactly 2 times ))",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Father had no mind left, an' Frank Erne was afraid to talk. So I had to pick up whet 'd happened from different people.\n\n\"It 'pears that soon after I left home another preacher come to the little town. An' he an' Frank become rivals. This feller was different from Frank. He preached some other kind of religion, and he was quick an' passionate, where Frank was slow an' mild. He went after people, women specially. In looks he couldn't compare to Frank Erne, but he had power over women. He had a voice, an' he talked an' talked an' preached an' preached. Milly fell under his influence. She became mightily interested in his religion. Frank had patience with her, as was his way, an' let her be as interested as she liked.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "All religions were devoted to one God, he said, an' it wouldn't hurt Milly none to study a different point of view.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "So the new preacher often called on Milly, an' sometimes in Frank's absence.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Frank was a cattle-man between Sundays.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Along about this time an incident come off that I couldn't get much light on.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "A stranger come to town, an' was seen with the preacher. This stranger was a big man with an eye like blue ice, an' a beard of gold. He had money, an' he 'peered a man of mystery, an' the town went to buzzin' when he disappeared about the same time as a young woman known to be mightily interested in the new preacher's religion. Then, presently, along comes a man from somewheres in Illinois, en' he up an' spots this preacher as a famous Mormon proselyter. That riled Frank Erne as nothin' ever before, an' from rivals they come to be bitter enemies. An' it ended in Frank goin' to the meetin'-house where Milly was listenin', en' before her en' everybody else he called that preacher—called him, well, almost as hard as Venters called Tull here sometime back. An' Frank followed up that call with a hosswhippin', en' he drove the proselyter out of town.\n\n\"People noticed, so 'twas said, that Milly's sweet disposition changed. Some said it was because she would soon become a mother, en' others said she was pinin' after the new religion. An' there was women who said right out that she was pinin' after the Mormon. Anyway, one mornin' Frank rode in from one of his trips, to find Milly gone. He had no real near neighbors—livin' a little out of town—but those who was nearest said a wagon had gone by in the night, an' they thought it stopped at her door.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Word usage requirement: 'milly's' must appear 2 times",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Well, tracks always tell, an' there was the wagon tracks an' hoss tracks an' man tracks. The news spread like wildfire that Milly had run off from her husband. Everybody but Frank believed it an' wasn't slow in tellin' why she run off. Mother had always hated that strange streak of Milly's, takin' up with the new religion as she had, an' she believed Milly ran off with the Mormon. That hastened mother's death, an' she died unforgivin'. Father wasn't the kind to bow down under disgrace or misfortune but he had surpassin' love for Milly, an' the loss of her broke him.\n\n\"From the minute I heard of Milly's disappearance I never believed she went off of her own free will. I knew Milly, an' I knew she couldn't have done that. I stayed at home awhile, tryin' to make Frank Erne talk. But if he knowed anythin' then he wouldn't tell it. So I set out to find Milly. An' I tried to get on the trail of that proselyter.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I knew if I ever struck a town he'd visited that I'd get a trail. I knew, too, that nothin' short of hell would stop his proselytin'. An' I rode from town to town. I had a blind faith that somethin' was guidin' me. An' as the weeks an' months went by I growed into a strange sort of a man, I guess. Anyway, people were afraid of me. Two years after that, way over in a corner of Texas, I struck a town where my man had been. He'd jest left. People said he came to that town without a woman. I back-trailed my man through Arkansas an' Mississippi, an' the old trail got hot again in Texas. I found the town where he first went after leavin' home. An' here I got track of Milly. I found a cabin where she had given birth to her baby.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "There was no way to tell whether she'd been kept a prisoner or not.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The feller who owned the place was a mean, silent sort of a skunk, an' as I was leavin' I jest took a chance an' left my mark on him. Then I went home again.\n\n\"It was to find I hadn't any home, no more. Father had been dead a year. Frank Erne still lived in the house where Milly had left him. I stayed with him awhile, an' I grew old watchin' him. His farm had gone to weed, his cattle had strayed or been rustled, his house weathered till it wouldn't keep out rain nor wind. An' Frank set on the porch and whittled sticks, an' day by day wasted away. There was times when he ranted about like a crazy man, but mostly he was always sittin' an' starin' with eyes that made a man curse. I figured Frank had a secret fear that I needed to know. An' when I told him I'd trailed Milly for near three years an' had got trace of her, an' saw where she'd had her baby, I thought he would drop dead at my feet. An' when he'd come round more natural-like he begged me to give up the trail.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "But he wouldn't explain. So I let him alone, an' watched him day en' night.\n\n\"An' I found there was one thing still precious to him, an' it was a little drawer where he kept his papers. This was in the room where he slept. An' it 'peered he seldom slept. But after bein' patient I got the contents of that drawer an' found two letters from Milly. One was a long letter written a few months after her disappearance. She had been bound an' gagged an' dragged away from her home by three men, an' she named them—Hurd, Metzger, Slack. They was strangers to her. She was taken to the little town where I found trace of her two years after. But she didn't send the letter from that town. There she was penned in.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "'Peared that the proselytes, who had, of course, come on the scene, was not runnin' any risks of losin' her.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Mandatory: Your text must contain 'letter' 4 times exactly",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "She went on to say that for a time she was out of her head, an' when she got right again all that kept her alive was the baby. It was a beautiful baby, she said, an' all she thought an' dreamed of was somehow to get baby back to its father, an' then she'd thankfully lay down and die. An' the letter ended abrupt, in the middle of a sentence, en' it wasn't signed.\n\n\"The second letter was written more than two years after the first. It was from Salt Lake City. It simply said that Milly had heard her brother was on her trail. She asked Frank to tell her brother to give up the search because if he didn't she would suffer in a way too horrible to tell. She didn't beg. She just stated a fact an' made the simple request. An' she ended that letter by sayin' she would soon leave Salt Lake City with the man she had come to love, en' would never be heard of again.\n\n\"I recognized Milly's handwritin', an' I recognized her way of puttin' things. But that second letter told me of some great change in her. Ponderin' over it, I felt at last she'd either come to love that feller an' his religion, or some terrible fear made her lie an' say so.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I couldn't be sure which.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "But, of course, I meant to find out.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I'll say here, if I'd known Mormons then as I do now I'd left Milly to her fate.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "For mebbe she was right about what she'd suffer if I kept on her trail.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "But I was young an' wild them days.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "First I went to the town where she'd first been taken, an' I went to the place where she'd been kept. I got that skunk who owned the place, an' took him out in the woods, an' made him tell all he knowed. That wasn't much as to length, but it was pure hell's-fire in substance. This time I left him some incapacitated for any more skunk work short of hell. Then I hit the trail for Utah.\n\n\"That was fourteen years ago. I saw the incomin' of most of the Mormons. It was a wild country an' a wild time. I rode from town to town, village to village, ranch to ranch, camp to camp. I never stayed long in one place. I never had but one idea. I never rested. Four years went by, an' I knowed every trail in northern Utah.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I kept on an' as time went by, an' I'd begun to grow old in my search, I had firmer, blinder faith in whatever was guidin' me. Once I read about a feller who sailed the seven seas an' traveled the world, an' he had a story to tell, an' whenever he seen the man to whom he must tell that story he knowed him on sight. I was like that, only I had a question to ask. An' always I knew the man of whom I must ask. So I never really lost the trail, though for many years it was the dimmest trail ever followed by any man.\n\n\"Then come a change in my luck. Along in Central Utah I rounded up Hurd, an' I whispered somethin' in his ear, an' watched his face, an' then throwed a gun against his bowels. An' he died with his teeth so tight shut I couldn't have pried them open with a knife. Slack an' Metzger that same year both heard me whisper the same question, an' neither would they speak a word when they lay dyin'. Long before I'd learned no man of this breed or class—or God knows what—would give up any secrets! I had to see in a man's fear of death the connections with Milly Erne's fate. An' as the years passed at long intervals I would find such a man.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"So as I drifted on the long trail down into southern Utah my name preceded me, an' I had to meet a people prepared for me, an' ready with guns. They made me a gun-man. An' that suited me. In all this time signs of the proselyter an' the giant with the blue-ice eyes an' the gold beard seemed to fade dimmer out of the trail. Only twice in ten years did I find a trace of that mysterious man who had visited the proselyter at my home village. What he had to do with Milly's fate was beyond all hope for me to learn, unless my guidin' spirit led me to him! As for the other man, I knew, as sure as I breathed en' the stars shone en' the wind blew, that I'd meet him some day.\n\n\"Eighteen years I've been on the trail. An' it led me to the last lonely villages of the Utah border. Eighteen years!... I feel pretty old now. I was only twenty when I hit that trail. Well, as I told you, back here a ways a Gentile said Jane Withersteen could tell me about Milly Erne an' show me her grave!\"\n\nThe low voice ceased, and Lassiter slowly turned his sombrero round and round, and appeared to be counting the silver ornaments on the band. Jane, leaning toward him, sat as if petrified, listening intently, waiting to hear more. She could have shrieked, but power of tongue and lips were denied her. She saw only this sad, gray, passion-worn man, and she heard only the faint rustling of the leaves.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Well, I came to Cottonwoods,\" went on Lassiter, \"an' you showed me Milly's grave. An' though your teeth have been shut tighter 'n them of all the dead men lyin' back along that trail, jest the same you told me the secret I've lived these eighteen years to hear! Jane, I said you'd tell me without ever me askin'. I didn't need to ask my question here. The day, you remember, when that fat party throwed a gun on me in your court, an'—\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Oh! Hush!\" whispered Jane, blindly holding up her hands.\n\n\"I seen in your face that Dyer, now a bishop, was the proselyter who ruined Milly Erne.\"\n\nFor an instant Jane Withersteen's brain was a whirling chaos and she recovered to find herself grasping at Lassiter like one drowning. And as if by a lightning stroke she sprang from her dull apathy into exquisite torture.\n\n\"It's a lie! Lassiter! No, no!\" she moaned. \"I swear—you're wrong!\"\n\n\"Stop! You'd perjure yourself! But I'll spare you that. You poor woman! Still blind! Still faithful!... Listen. I know. Let that settle it. An' I give up my purpose!\"\n\n\"What is it—you say?\"\n\n\"I give up my purpose. I've come to see an' feel differently. I can't help poor Milly. An' I've outgrowed revenge. I've come to see I can be no judge for men. I can't kill a man jest for hate. Hate ain't the same with me since I loved you and little Fay.\"\n\n\"Lassiter! You mean you won't kill him?\" Jane whispered.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"For my sake?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"I reckon. I can't understand, but I'll respect your feelin's.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Because you—oh, because you love me?... Eighteen years! You were that terrible Lassiter! And now—because you love me?\"\n\n\"That's it, Jane.\"\n\n\"Oh, you'll make me love you! How can I help but love you? My heart must be stone. But—oh, Lassiter, wait, wait! Give me time. I'm not what I was. Once it was so easy to love. Now it's easy to hate. Wait! My faith in God—some God—still lives. By it I see happier times for you, poor passion-swayed wanderer! For me—a miserable, broken woman. I loved your sister Milly. I will love you. I can't have fallen so low—I can't be so abandoned by God—that I've no love left to give you. Wait! Let us forget Milly's sad life. Ah, I knew it as no one else on earth! There's one thing I shall tell you—if you are at my death-bed, but I can't speak now.\"\n\n\"I reckon I don't want to hear no more,\" said Lassiter.\n\nJane leaned against him, as if some pent-up force had rent its way out, she fell into a paroxysm of weeping. Lassiter held her in silent sympathy. By degrees she regained composure, and she was rising, sensible of being relieved of a weighty burden, when a sudden start on Lassiter's part alarmed her.\n\n\"I heard hosses—hosses with muffled hoofs!\" he said; and he got up guardedly.\n\n\"Where's Fay?\" asked Jane, hurriedly glancing round the shady knoll. The bright-haired child, who had appeared to be close all the time, was not in sight.\n\n\"Fay!\" called Jane.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "No answering shout of glee.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "No patter of flying feet. Jane saw Lassiter stiffen.\n\n\"Fay—oh—Fay!\" Jane almost screamed.\n\nThe leaves quivered and rustled; a lonesome cricket chirped in the grass, a bee hummed by. The silence of the waning afternoon breathed hateful portent. It terrified Jane. When had silence been so infernal?\n\n\"She's—only—strayed—out—of earshot,\" faltered Jane, looking at Lassiter.\n\nPale, rigid as a statue, the rider stood, not in listening, searching posture, but in one of doomed certainty. Suddenly he grasped Jane with an iron hand, and, turning his face from her gaze, he strode with her from the knoll.\n\n\"See—Fay played here last—a house of stones an' sticks... An' here's a corral of pebbles with leaves for hosses,\" said Lassiter, stridently, and pointed to the ground. \"Back an' forth she trailed here... See, she's buried somethin'—a dead grasshopper—there's a tombstone... here she went, chasin' a lizard—see the tiny streaked trail... she pulled bark off this cottonwood... look in the dust of the path—the letters you taught her—she's drawn pictures of birds en' hosses an' people... Look, a cross! Oh, Jane, your cross!\"\n\nLassiter dragged Jane on, and as if from a book read the meaning of little Fay's trail.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "All the way down the knoll, through the shrubbery, round and round a cottonwood, Fay's vagrant fancy left records of her sweet musings and innocent play.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 5 sentences.",
"loss": null
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Long had she lingered round a bird-nest to leave therein the gaudy wing of a butterfly. Long had she played beside the running stream sending adrift vessels freighted with pebbly cargo. Then she had wandered through the deep grass, her tiny feet scarcely turning a fragile blade, and she had dreamed beside some old faded flowers. Thus her steps led her into the broad lane. The little dimpled imprints of her bare feet showed clean-cut in the dust they went a little way down the lane; and then, at a point where they stopped, the great tracks of a man led out from the shrubbery and returned.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "lets do a Western thing. u write 75 sentences bits. keep character vibes",
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{
"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Chapter XX. Lassiter's Way\n\nFootprints told the story of little Fay's abduction. In anguish Jane Withersteen turned speechlessly to Lassiter, and, confirming her fears, she saw him gray-faced, aged all in a moment, stricken as if by a mortal blow.\n\nThen all her life seemed to fall about her in wreck and ruin.\n\n\"It's all over,\" she heard her voice whisper. \"It's ended. I'm going—I'm going—\"\n\n\"Where?\" demanded Lassiter, suddenly looming darkly over her.\n\n\"To—to those cruel men—\"\n\n\"Speak names!\" thundered Lassiter.\n\n\"To Bishop Dyer—to Tull,\" went on Jane, shocked into obedience.\n\n\"Well—what for?\"\n\n\"I want little Fay. I can't live without her. They've stolen her as they stole Milly Erne's child. I must have little Fay. I want only her. I give up. I'll go and tell Bishop Dyer—I'm broken. I'll tell him I'm ready for the yoke—only give me back Fay—and—and I'll marry Tull!\"\n\n\"Never!\" hissed Lassiter.\n\nHis long arm leaped at her. Almost running, he dragged her under the cottonwoods, across the court, into the huge hall of Withersteen House, and he shut the door with a force that jarred the heavy walls. Black Star and Night and Bells, since their return, had been locked in this hall, and now they stamped on the stone floor.\n\nLassiter released Jane and like a dizzy man swayed from her with a hoarse cry and leaned shaking against a table where he kept his rider's accoutrements. He began to fumble in his saddlebags. His action brought a clinking, metallic sound—the rattling of gun-cartridges. His fingers trembled as he slipped cartridges into an extra belt. But as he buckled it over the one he habitually wore his hands became steady. This second belt contained two guns, smaller than the black ones swinging low, and he slipped them round so that his coat hid them. Then he fell to swift action. Jane Withersteen watched him, fascinated but uncomprehending and she saw him rapidly saddle Black Star and Night. Then he drew her into the light of the huge windows, standing over her, gripping her arm with fingers like cold steel.\n\n\"Yes, Jane, it's ended—but you're not goin' to Dyer!... I'm goin' instead!\"\n\nLooking at him—he was so terrible of aspect—she could not comprehend his words. Who was this man with the face gray as death, with eyes that would have made her shriek had she the strength, with the strange, ruthlessly bitter lips? Where was the gentle Lassiter? What was this presence in the hall, about him, about her—this cold, invisible presence?\n\n\"Yes, it's ended, Jane,\" he was saying, so awfully quiet and cool and implacable, \"an' I'm goin' to make a little call. I'll lock you in here, an' when I get back have the saddle-bags full of meat an bread. An' be ready to ride!\"\n\n\"Lassiter!\" cried Jane.\n\nDesperately she tried to meet his gray eyes, in vain, desperately she tried again, fought herself as feeling and thought resurged in torment, and she succeeded, and then she knew.\n\n\"No—no—no!\" she wailed. \"You said you'd foregone your vengeance. You promised not to kill Bishop Dyer.\"\n\n\"If you want to talk to me about him—leave off the Bishop. I don't understand that name, or its use.\"\n\n\"Oh, hadn't you foregone your vengeance on—on Dyer?\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"But—your actions—your words—your guns—your terrible looks!... They don't seem foregoing vengeance?\"\n\n\"Jane, now it's justice.\"\n\n\"You'll—kill him?\"\n\n\"If God lets me live another hour! If not God—then the devil who drives me!\"\n\n\"You'll kill him—for yourself—for your vengeful hate?\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"For Milly Erne's sake?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"For little Fay's?\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"Oh—for whose?\"\n\n\"For yours!\"\n\n\"His blood on my soul!\" whispered Jane, and she fell to her knees. This was the long-pending hour of fruition. And the habit of years—the religious passion of her life—leaped from lethargy, and the long months of gradual drifting to doubt were as if they had never been. \"If you spill his blood it'll be on my soul—and on my father's. Listen.\" And she clasped his knees, and clung there as he tried to raise her. \"Listen. Am I nothing to you?\"\n\n\"Woman—don't trifle at words! I love you! An' I'll soon prove it.\"\n\n\"I'll give myself to you—I'll ride away with you—marry you, if only you'll spare him?\"\n\nHis answer was a cold, ringing, terrible laugh.\n\n\"Lassiter—I'll love you. Spare him!\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nShe sprang up in despairing, breaking spirit, and encircled his neck with her arms, and held him in an embrace that he strove vainly to loosen. \"Lassiter, would you kill me? I'm fighting my last fight for the principles of my youth—love of religion, love of father. You don't know—you can't guess the truth, and I can't speak ill. I'm losing all. I'm changing. All I've gone through is nothing to this hour. Pity me—help me in my weakness. You're strong again—oh, so cruelly, coldly strong! You're killing me. I see you—feel you as some other Lassiter! My master, be merciful—spare him!\"\n\nHis answer was a ruthless smile.\n\nShe clung the closer to him, and leaned her panting breast on him, and lifted her face to his. \"Lassiter, I do love you! It's leaped out of my agony. It comes suddenly with a terrible blow of truth. You are a man! I never knew it till now. Some wonderful change came to me when you buckled on these guns and showed that gray, awful face. I loved you then. All my life I've loved, but never as now. No woman can love like a broken woman. If it were not for one thing—just one thing—and yet! I can't speak it—I'd glory in your manhood—the lion in you that means to slay for me. Believe me—and spare Dyer. Be merciful—great as it's in you to be great... Oh, listen and believe—I have nothing, but I'm a woman—a beautiful woman, Lassiter—a passionate, loving woman—and I love you! Take me—hide me in some wild place—and love me and mend my broken heart. Spare him and take me away.\"\n\nShe lifted her face closer and closer to his, until their lips nearly touched, and she hung upon his neck, and with strength almost spent pressed and still pressed her palpitating body to his.\n\n\"Kiss me!\" she whispered, blindly.\n\n\"No—not at your price!\" he answered. His voice had changed or she had lost clearness of hearing.\n\n\"Kiss me!... Are you a man? Kiss me and save me!\"\n\n\"Jane, you never played fair with me. But now you're blisterin' your lips—blackenin' your soul with lies!\"\n\n\"By the memory of my mother—by my Bible—no! No, I have no Bible! But by my hope of heaven I swear I love you!\"\n\nLassiter's gray lips formed soundless words that meant even her love could not avail to bend his will.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "As if the hold of her arms was that of a child's he loosened it and stepped away.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Wait! Don't go! Oh, hear a last word!... May a more just and merciful God than the God I was taught to worship judge me—forgive me—save me! For I can no longer keep silent!... Lassiter, in pleading for Dyer I've been pleading more for my father. My father was a Mormon master, close to the leaders of the church. It was my father who sent Dyer out to proselyte. It was my father who had the blue-ice eye and the beard of gold. It was my father you got trace of in the past years. Truly, Dyer ruined Milly Erne—dragged her from her home—to Utah—to Cottonwoods. But it was for my father! If Milly Erne was ever wife of a Mormon that Mormon was my father! I never knew—never will know whether or not she was a wife. Blind I may be, Lassiter—fanatically faithful to a false religion I may have been but I know justice, and my father is beyond human justice. Surely he is meeting just punishment—somewhere. Always it has appalled me—the thought of your killing Dyer for my father's sins. So I have prayed!\"",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Jane, the past is dead. In my love for you I forgot the past. This thing I'm about to do ain't for myself or Milly or Fay. It's not because of anythin' that ever happened in the past, but for what is happenin' right now. It's for you!... An' listen. Since I was a boy I've never thanked God for anythin'. If there is a God—an' I've come to believe it—I thank Him now for the years that made me Lassiter!... I can reach down en' feel these big guns, en' know what I can do with them. An', Jane, only one of the miracles Dyer professes to believe in can save him!\"\n\nAgain for Jane Withersteen came the spinning of her brain in darkness, and as she whirled in endless chaos she seemed to be falling at the feet of a luminous figure—a man—Lassiter—who had saved her from herself, who could not be changed, who would slay rightfully. Then she slipped into utter blackness.\n\nWhen she recovered from her faint she became aware that she was lying on a couch near the window in her sitting-room. Her brow felt damp and cold and wet, some one was chafing her hands; she recognized Judkins, and then saw that his lean, hard face wore the hue and look of excessive agitation.\n\n\"Judkins!\" Her voice broke weakly.\n\n\"Aw, Miss Withersteen, you're comin' round fine. Now jest lay still a little. You're all right; everythin's all right.\"\n\n\"Where is—he?\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Lassiter!\"\n\n\"You needn't worry none about him.\"\n\n\"Where is he? Tell me—instantly.\"\n\n\"Wal, he's in the other room patchin' up a few triflin' bullet holes.\"\n\n\"Ah!... Bishop' Dyer?\"\n\n\"When I seen him last—a matter of half an hour ago, he was on his knees. He was some busy, but he wasn't prayin'!\"\n\n\"How strangely you talk! I'll sit up. I'm—well, strong again. Tell me. Dyer on his knees! What was he doing?\"\n\n\"Wal, beggin' your pardon fer blunt talk, Miss Withersteen, Dyer was on his knees an' not prayin'. You remember his big, broad hands? You've seen 'em raised in blessin' over old gray men an' little curly-headed children like—like Fay Larkin! Come to think of thet, I disremember ever hearin' of his liftin' his big hands in blessin' over a woman. Wal, when I seen him last—jest a little while ago—he was on his knees, not prayin', as I remarked—an' he was pressin' his big hands over some bigger wounds.\"\n\n\"Man, you drive me mad! Did Lassiter kill Dyer?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Did he kill Tull?\"\n\n\"No. Tull's out of the village with most of his riders. He's expected back before evenin'. Lassiter will hev to git away before Tull en' his riders come in. It's sure death fer him here. An' wuss fer you, too, Miss Withersteen. There'll be some of an uprisin' when Tull gits back.\"\n\n\"I shall ride away with Lassiter. Judkins, tell me all you saw—all you know about this killing.\" She realized, without wonder or amaze, how Judkins's one word, affirming the death of Dyer—that the catastrophe had fallen—had completed the change whereby she had been molded or beaten or broken into another woman. She felt calm, slightly cold, strong as she had not been strong since the first shadow fell upon her.\n\n\"I jest saw about all of it, Miss Withersteen, an' I'll be glad to tell you if you'll only hev patience with me,\" said Judkins, earnestly. \"You see, I've been pecooliarly interested, an' nat'rully I'm some excited. An' I talk a lot thet mebbe ain't necessary, but I can't help thet.\n\n\"I was at the meetin'-house where Dyer was holdin' court. You know he allus acts as magistrate an' judge when Tull's away. An' the trial was fer tryin' what's left of my boy riders—thet helped me hold your cattle—fer a lot of hatched-up things the boys never did. We're used to thet, an' the boys wouldn't hev minded bein' locked up fer a while, or hevin' to dig ditches, or whatever the judge laid down. You see, I divided the gold you give me among all my boys, an' they all hid it, en' they all feel rich. Howsomever, court was adjourned before the judge passed sentence. Yes, ma'm, court was adjourned some strange an' quick, much as if lightnin' hed struck the meetin'-house.\n\n\"I hed trouble attendin' the trial, but I got in. There was a good many people there, all my boys, an' Judge Dyer with his several clerks. Also he hed with him the five riders who've been guardin' him pretty close of late. They was Carter, Wright, Jengessen, an' two new riders from Stone Bridge. I didn't hear their names, but I heard they was handy men with guns an' they looked more like rustlers than riders. Anyway, there they was, the five all in a row.\n\n\"Judge Dyer was tellin' Willie Kern, one of my best an' steadiest boys—Dyer was tellin' him how there was a ditch opened near Willie's home lettin' water through his lot, where it hadn't ought to go. An' Willie was tryin' to git a word in to prove he wasn't at home all the day it happened—which was true, as I know—but Willie couldn't git a word in, an' then Judge Dyer went on layin' down the law. An' all to onct he happened to look down the long room. An' if ever any man turned to stone he was thet man.\n\n\"Nat'rully I looked back to see what hed acted so powerful strange on the judge. An' there, half-way up the room, in the middle of the wide aisle, stood Lassiter! All white an' black he looked, an' I can't think of anythin' he resembled, onless it's death. Venters made thet same room some still an' chilly when he called Tull; but this was different. I give my word, Miss Withersteen, thet I went cold to my very marrow. I don't know why. But Lassiter had a way about him thet's awful. He spoke a word—a name—I couldn't understand it, though he spoke clear as a bell. I was too excited, mebbe. Judge Dyer must hev understood it, an' a lot more thet was mystery to me, for he pitched forrard out of his chair right onto the platform.\n\n\"Then them five riders, Dyer's bodyguards, they jumped up, an' two of them thet I found out afterward were the strangers from Stone Bridge, they piled right out of a winder, so quick you couldn't catch your breath. It was plain they wasn't Mormons.\n\n\"Jengessen, Carter, an' Wright eyed Lassiter, for what must hev been a second an' seemed like an hour, an' they went white en' strung. But they didn't weaken nor lose their nerve.\n\n\"I hed a good look at Lassiter. He stood sort of stiff, bendin' a little, an' both his arms were crooked an' his hands looked like a hawk's claws. But there ain't no tellin' how his eyes looked. I know this, though, an' thet is his eyes could read the mind of any man about to throw a gun. An' in watchin' him, of course, I couldn't see the three men go fer their guns. An' though I was lookin' right at Lassiter—lookin' hard—I couldn't see how he drawed. He was quicker 'n eyesight—thet's all. But I seen the red spurtin' of his guns, en' heard his shots jest the very littlest instant before I heard the shots of the riders. An' when I turned, Wright an' Carter was down, en' Jengessen, who's tough like a steer, was pullin' the trigger of a wabblin' gun. But it was plain he was shot through, plumb center. An' sudden he fell with a crash, an' his gun clattered on the floor.\n\n\"Then there was a hell of a silence. Nobody breathed. Sartin I didn't, anyway. I saw Lassiter slip a smokin' gun back in a belt. But he hadn't throwed either of the big black guns, an' I thought thet strange. An' all this was happenin' quick—you can't imagine how quick.\n\n\"There come a scrapin' on the floor an' Dyer got up, his face like lead. I wanted to watch Lassiter, but Dyer's face, onct I seen it like thet, glued my eyes.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "I seen him go fer his gun—why, I could hev done better, quicker—an' then there was a thunderin' shot from Lassiter, an' it hit Dyer's right arm, an' his gun went off as it dropped.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 63 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He looked at Lassiter like a cornered sage-wolf, an' sort of howled, an' reached down fer his gun. He'd jest picked it off the floor an' was raisin' it when another thunderin' shot almost tore thet arm off—so it seemed to me. The gun dropped again an' he went down on his knees, kind of flounderin' after it. It was some strange an' terrible to see his awful earnestness. Why would such a man cling so to life? Anyway, he got the gun with left hand an' was raisin' it, pullin' trigger in his madness, when the third thunderin' shot hit his left arm, an' he dropped the gun again. But thet left arm wasn't useless yet, fer he grabbed up the gun, an' with a shakin' aim thet would hev been pitiful to me—in any other man—he began to shoot. One wild bullet struck a man twenty feet from Lassiter. An' it killed thet man, as I seen afterward. Then come a bunch of thunderin' shots—nine I calkilated after, fer they come so quick I couldn't count them—an' I knew Lassiter hed turned the black guns loose on Dyer.\n\n\"I'm tellin' you straight, Miss Withersteen, fer I want you to know. Afterward you'll git over it. I've seen some soul-rackin' scenes on this Utah border, but this was the awfulest. I remember I closed my eyes, an' fer a minute I thought of the strangest things, out of place there, such as you'd never dream would come to mind. I saw the sage, an' runnin' hosses—an' thet's the beautfulest sight to me—an' I saw dim things in the dark, an' there was a kind of hummin' in my ears. An' I remember distinctly—fer it was what made all these things whirl out of my mind an' opened my eyes—I remember distinctly it was the smell of gunpowder.\n\n\"The court had about adjourned fer thet judge. He was on his knees, en' he wasn't prayin'. He was gaspin' an' tryin' to press his big, floppin', crippled hands over his body. Lassiter had sent all those last thunderin' shots through his body. Thet was Lassiter's way.\n\n\"An' Lassiter spoke, en' if I ever forgit his words I'll never forgit the sound of his voice.\n\n\"'Proselyter, I reckon you'd better call quick on thet God who reveals Hisself to you on earth, because He won't be visitin' the place you're goin' to!\"\n\n\"An' then I seen Dyer look at his big, hangin' hands thet wasn't big enough fer the last work he set them to. An' he looked up at Lassiter. An' then he stared horrible at somethin' thet wasn't Lassiter, nor anyone there, nor the room, nor the branches of purple sage peepin' into the winder. Whatever he seen, it was with the look of a man who discovers somethin' too late. Thet's a terrible look!... An' with a horrible understandin' cry he slid forrard on his face.\"\n\nJudkins paused in his narrative, breathing heavily while he wiped his perspiring brow.\n\n\"Thet's about all,\" he concluded. \"Lassiter left the meetin'-house an' I hurried to catch up with him. He was bleedin' from three gunshots, none of them much to bother him. An' we come right up here. I found you layin' in the hall, an' I hed to work some over you.\"\n\nJane Withersteen offered up no prayer for Dyer's soul.\n\nLassiter's step sounded in the hall—the familiar soft, silver-clinking step—and she heard it with thrilling new emotions in which was a vague joy in her very fear of him. The door opened, and she saw him, the old Lassiter, slow, easy, gentle, cool, yet not exactly the same Lassiter. She rose, and for a moment her eyes blurred and swam in tears.\n\n\"Are you—all—all right?\" she asked, tremulously.\n\n\"I reckon.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, I'll ride away with you. Hide me till danger is past—till we are forgotten—then take me where you will. Your people shall be my people, and your God my God!\"\n\nHe kissed her hand with the quaint grace and courtesy that came to him in rare moments.\n\n\"Black Star an' Night are ready,\" he said, simply.\n\nHis quiet mention of the black racers spurred Jane to action. Hurrying to her room, she changed to her rider's suit, packed her jewelry, and the gold that was left, and all the woman's apparel for which there was space in the saddle-bags, and then returned to the hall. Black Star stamped his iron-shod hoofs and tossed his beautiful head, and eyed her with knowing eyes.\n\n\"Judkins, I give Bells to you,\" said Jane. \"I hope you will always keep him and be good to him.\"\n\nJudkins mumbled thanks that he could not speak fluently, and his eyes flashed.\n\nLassiter strapped Jane's saddle-bags upon Black Star, and led the racers out into the court.\n\n\"Judkins, you ride with Jane out into the sage. If you see any riders comin' shout quick twice. An', Jane, don't look back! I'll catch up soon. We'll get to the break into the Pass before midnight, an' then wait until mornin' to go down.\"\n\nBlack Star bent his graceful neck and bowed his noble head, and his broad shoulders yielded as he knelt for Jane to mount.\n\nShe rode out of the court beside Judkins, through the grove, across the wide lane into the sage, and she realized that she was leaving Withersteen House forever, and she did not look back. A strange, dreamy, calm peace pervaded her soul. Her doom had fallen upon her, but, instead of finding life no longer worth living she found it doubly significant, full of sweetness as the western breeze, beautiful and unknown as the sage-slope stretching its purple sunset shadows before her. She became aware of Judkins's hand touching hers; she heard him speak a husky good-by; then into the place of Bells shot the dead-black, keen, racy nose of Night, and she knew Lassiter rode beside her.\n\n\"Don't—look—back!\" he said, and his voice, too, was not clear.\n\nFacing straight ahead, seeing only the waving, shadowy sage, Jane held out her gauntleted hand, to feel it enclosed in strong clasp. So she rode on without a backward glance at the beautiful grove of Cottonwoods. She did not seem to think of the past of what she left forever, but of the color and mystery and wildness of the sage-slope leading down to Deception Pass, and of the future. She watched the shadows lengthen down the slope; she felt the cool west wind sweeping by from the rear; and she wondered at low, yellow clouds sailing swiftly over her and beyond.\n\n\"Don't look—back!\" said Lassiter.\n\nThick-driving belts of smoke traveled by on the wind, and with it came a strong, pungent odor of burning wood.\n\nLassiter had fired Withersteen House! But Jane did not look back.\n\nA misty veil obscured the clear, searching gaze she had kept steadfastly upon the purple slope and the dim lines of canyons. It passed, as passed the rolling clouds of smoke, and she saw the valley deepening into the shades of twilight. Night came on, swift as the fleet racers, and stars peeped out to brighten and grow, and the huge, windy, eastern heave of sage-level paled under a rising moon and turned to silver. Blanched in moonlight, the sage yet seemed to hold its hue of purple and was infinitely more wild and lonely. So the night hours wore on, and Jane Withersteen never once looked back.",
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"value": "yo hit me with 124 sentences more. same character energy. Western genre k?",
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"value": "Chapter XXI. Black Star and Night",
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"value": "The time had come for Venters and Bess to leave their retreat. They were at great pains to choose the few things they would be able to carry with them on the journey out of Utah.\n\n\"Bern, whatever kind of a pack's this, anyhow?\" questioned Bess, rising from her work with reddened face.\n\nVenters, absorbed in his own task, did not look up at all, and in reply said he had brought so much from Cottonwoods that he did not recollect the half of it.\n\n\"A woman packed this!\" Bess exclaimed.\n\nHe scarcely caught her meaning, but the peculiar tone of her voice caused him instantly to rise, and he saw Bess on her knees before an open pack which he recognized as the one given him by Jane.\n\n\"By George!\" he ejaculated, guiltily, and then at sight of Bess's face he laughed outright.\n\n\"A woman packed this,\" she repeated, fixing woeful, tragic eyes on him.\n\n\"Well, is that a crime?'\n\n\"There—there is a woman, after all!\"\n\n\"Now Bess—\"\n\n\"You've lied to me!\"\n\nThen and there Venters found it imperative to postpone work for the present. All her life Bess had been isolated, but she had inherited certain elements of the eternal feminine.\n\n\"But there was a woman and you did lie to me,\" she kept repeating, after he had explained.\n\n\"What of that? Bess, I'll get angry at you in a moment. Remember you've been pent up all your life. I venture to say that if you'd been out in the world you'd have had a dozen sweethearts and have told many a lie before this.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't anything of the kind,\" declared Bess, indignantly.\n\n\"Well—perhaps not lie. But you'd have had the sweethearts—You couldn't have helped that—being so pretty.\"\n\nThis remark appeared to be a very clever and fortunate one; and the work of selecting and then of stowing all the packs in the cave went on without further interruption.\n\nVenters closed up the opening of the cave with a thatch of willows and aspens, so that not even a bird or a rat could get in to the sacks of grain. And this work was in order with the precaution habitually observed by him. He might not be able to get out of Utah, and have to return to the valley. But he owed it to Bess to make the attempt, and in case they were compelled to turn back he wanted to find that fine store of food and grain intact. The outfit of implements and utensils he packed away in another cave.\n\n\"Bess, we have enough to live here all our lives,\" he said once, dreamily.\n\n\"Shall I go roll Balancing Rock?\" she asked, in light speech, but with deep-blue fire in her eyes.\n\n\"No—no.\"\n\n\"Ah, you don't forget the gold and the world,\" she sighed.\n\n\"Child, you forget the beautiful dresses and the travel—and everything.\"\n\n\"Oh, I want to go. But I want to stay!\"\n\n\"I feel the same way.\"\n\nThey let the eight calves out of the corral, and kept only two of the burros Venters had brought from Cottonwoods. These they intended to ride. Bess freed all her pets—the quail and rabbits and foxes.\n\nThe last sunset and twilight and night were both the sweetest and saddest they had ever spent in Surprise Valley. Morning brought keen exhilaration and excitement. When Venters had saddled the two burros, strapped on the light packs and the two canteens, the sunlight was dispersing the lazy shadows from the valley. Taking a last look at the caves and the silver spruces, Venters and Bess made a reluctant start, leading the burros. Ring and Whitie looked keen and knowing. Something seemed to drag at Venters's feet and he noticed Bess lagged behind. Never had the climb from terrace to bridge appeared so long.\n\nNot till they reached the opening of the gorge did they stop to rest and take one last look at the valley. The tremendous arch of stone curved clear and sharp in outline against the morning sky. And through it streaked the golden shaft. The valley seemed an enchanted circle of glorious veils of gold and wraiths of white and silver haze and dim, blue, moving shade—beautiful and wild and unreal as a dream.\n\n\"We—we can—th—think of it—always—re—remember,\" sobbed Bess.\n\n\"Hush! Don't cry. Our valley has only fitted us for a better life somewhere. Come!\"\n\nThey entered the gorge and he closed the willow gate. From rosy, golden morning light they passed into cool, dense gloom. The burros pattered up the trail with little hollow-cracking steps. And the gorge widened to narrow outlet and the gloom lightened to gray. At the divide they halted for another rest. Venters's keen, remembering gaze searched Balancing Rock, and the long incline, and the cracked toppling walls, but failed to note the slightest change.\n\nThe dogs led the descent; then came Bess leading her burro; then Venters leading his. Bess kept her eyes bent downward. Venters, however, had an irresistible desire to look upward at Balancing Rock. It had always haunted him, and now he wondered if he were really to get through the outlet before the huge stone thundered down. He fancied that would be a miracle. Every few steps he answered to the strange, nervous fear and turned to make sure the rock still stood like a giant statue. And, as he descended, it grew dimmer in his sight. It changed form; it swayed it nodded darkly; and at last, in his heightened fancy, he saw it heave and roll. As in a dream when he felt himself falling yet knew he would never fall, so he saw this long-standing thunderbolt of the little stone-men plunge down to close forever the outlet to Deception Pass.\n\nAnd while he was giving way to unaccountable dread imaginations the descent was accomplished without mishap.\n\n\"I'm glad that's over,\" he said, breathing more freely. \"I hope I'm by that hanging rock for good and all. Since almost the moment I first saw it I've had an idea that it was waiting for me. Now, when it does fall, if I'm thousands of miles away, I'll hear it.\"\n\nWith the first glimpses of the smooth slope leading down to the grotesque cedars and out to the Pass, Venters's cool nerve returned. One long survey to the left, then one to the right, satisfied his caution. Leading the burros down to the spur of rock, he halted at the steep incline.\n\n\"Bess, here's the bad place, the place I told you about, with the cut steps. You start down, leading your burro. Take your time and hold on to him if you slip. I've got a rope on him and a half-hitch on this point of rock, so I can let him down safely. Coming up here was a killing job. But it'll be easy going down.\"\n\nBoth burros passed down the difficult stairs cut by the cliff-dwellers, and did it without a misstep. After that the descent down the slope and over the mile of scrawled, ripped, and ridged rock required only careful guidance, and Venters got the burros to level ground in a condition that caused him to congratulate himself.\n\n\"Oh, if we only had Wrangle!\" exclaimed Venters. \"But we're lucky. That's the worst of our trail passed. We've only men to fear now. If we get up in the sage we can hide and slip along like coyotes.\"\n\nThey mounted and rode west through the valley and entered the canyon. From time to time Venters walked, leading his burro. When they got by all the canyons and gullies opening into the Pass they went faster and with fewer halts. Venters did not confide in Bess the alarming fact that he had seen horses and smoke less than a mile up one of the intersecting canyons. He did not talk at all. And long after he had passed this canyon and felt secure once more in the certainty that they had been unobserved he never relaxed his watchfulness. But he did not walk any more, and he kept the burros at a steady trot. Night fell before they reached the last water in the Pass and they made camp by starlight. Venters did not want the burros to stray, so he tied them with long halters in the grass near the spring. Bess, tired out and silent, laid her head in a saddle and went to sleep between the two dogs. Venters did not close his eyes. The canyon silence appeared full of the low, continuous hum of insects. He listened until the hum grew into a roar, and then, breaking the spell, once more he heard it low and clear. He watched the stars and the moving shadows, and always his glance returned to the girl's dimly pale face. And he remembered how white and still it had once looked in the starlight. And again stern thought fought his strange fancies. Would all his labor and his love be for naught? Would he lose her, after all? What did the dark shadow around her portend? Did calamity lurk on that long upland trail through the sage? Why should his heart swell and throb with nameless fear? He listened to the silence and told himself that in the broad light of day he could dispel this leaden-weighted dread.\n\nAt the first hint of gray over the eastern rim he awoke Bess, saddled the burros, and began the day's travel. He wanted to get out of the Pass before there was any chance of riders coming down. They gained the break as the first red rays of the rising sun colored the rim.\n\nFor once, so eager was he to get up to level ground, he did not send Ring or Whitie in advance. Encouraging Bess to hurry pulling at his patient, plodding burro, he climbed the soft, steep trail.\n\nBrighter and brighter grew the light. He mounted the last broken edge of rim to have the sun-fired, purple sage-slope burst upon him as a glory. Bess panted up to his side, tugging on the halter of her burro.\n\n\"We're up!\" he cried, joyously. \"There's not a dot on the sage. We're safe. We'll not be seen! Oh, Bess—\"\n\nRing growled and sniffed the keen air and bristled. Venters clutched at his rifle. Whitie sometimes made a mistake, but Ring never. The dull thud of hoofs almost deprived Venters of power to turn and see from where disaster threatened. He felt his eyes dilate as he stared at Lassiter leading Black Star and Night out of the sage, with Jane Withersteen, in rider's costume, close beside them.\n\nFor an instant Venters felt himself whirl dizzily in the center of vast circles of sage. He recovered partially, enough to see Lassiter standing with a glad smile and Jane riveted in astonishment.\n\n\"Why, Bern!\" she exclaimed. \"How good it is to see you! We're riding away, you see. The storm burst—and I'm a ruined woman!... I thought you were alone.\"\n\nVenters, unable to speak for consternation, and bewildered out of all sense of what he ought or ought not to do, simply stared at Jane.\n\n\"Son, where are you bound for?\" asked Lassiter.\n\n\"Not safe—where I was. I'm—we're going out of Utah—back East,\" he found tongue to say.\n\n\"I reckon this meetin's the luckiest thing that ever happened to you an' to me—an' to Jane—an' to Bess,\" said Lassiter, coolly.\n\n\"Bess!\" cried Jane, with a sudden leap of blood to her pale cheek.\n\nIt was entirely beyond Venters to see any luck in that meeting.\n\nJane Withersteen took one flashing, woman's glance at Bess's scarlet face, at her slender, shapely form.\n\n\"Venters! is this a girl—a woman?\"",
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"value": "she questioned, in a voice that stung.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Did you have her in that wonderful valley?\"\n\n\"Yes, but Jane—\"\n\n\"All the time you were gone?\"\n\n\"Yes, but I couldn't tell—\"\n\n\"Was it for her you asked me to give you supplies? Was it for her that you wanted to make your valley a paradise?\"\n\n\"Oh—Jane—\"\n\n\"Answer me.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Oh, you liar!\" And with these passionate words Jane Withersteen succumbed to fury. For the second time in her life she fell into the ungovernable rage that had been her father's weakness. And it was worse than his, for she was a jealous woman—jealous even of her friends.\n\nAs best he could, he bore the brunt of her anger. It was not only his deceit to her that she visited upon him, but her betrayal by religion, by life itself.\n\nHer passion, like fire at white heat, consumed itself in little time. Her physical strength failed, and still her spirit attempted to go on in magnificent denunciation of those who had wronged her. Like a tree cut deep into its roots, she began to quiver and shake, and her anger weakened into despair. And her ringing voice sank into a broken, husky whisper. Then, spent and pitiable, upheld by Lassiter's arm, she turned and hid her face in Black Star's mane.\n\nNumb as Venters was when at length Jane Withersteen lifted her head and looked at him, he yet suffered a pang.\n\n\"Jane, the girl is innocent!\" he cried.\n\n\"Can you expect me to believe that?\" she asked, with weary, bitter eyes.\n\n\"I'm not that kind of a liar. And you know it. If I lied—if I kept silent when honor should have made me speak, it was to spare you. I came to Cottonwoods to tell you. But I couldn't add to your pain. I intended to tell you I had come to love this girl. But, Jane I hadn't forgotten how good you were to me. I haven't changed at all toward you. I prize your friendship as I always have. But, however it may look to you—don't be unjust. The girl is innocent. Ask Lassiter.\"\n\n\"Jane, she's jest as sweet an' innocent as little Fay,\" said Lassiter. There was a faint smile upon his face and a beautiful light.\n\nVenters saw, and knew that Lassiter saw, how Jane Withersteen's tortured soul wrestled with hate and threw it—with scorn doubt, suspicion, and overcame all.\n\n\"Bern, if in my misery I accused you unjustly, I crave forgiveness,\" she said. \"I'm not what I once was. Tell me—who is this girl?\"\n\n\"Jane, she is Oldring's daughter, and his Masked Rider. Lassiter will tell you how I shot her for a rustler, saved her life—all the story. It's a strange story, Jane, as wild as the sage. But it's true—true as her innocence. That you must believe.\"\n\n\"Oldring's Masked Rider! Oldring's daughter!\" exclaimed Jane \"And she's innocent! You ask me to believe much. If this girl is—is what you say, how could she be going away with the man who killed her father?\"\n\n\"Why did you tell that?\" cried Venters, passionately.\n\nJane's question had roused Bess out of stupefaction. Her eyes suddenly darkened and dilated. She stepped toward Venters and held up both hands as if to ward off a blow.\n\n\"Did—did you kill Oldring?\"\n\n\"I did, Bess, and I hate myself for it. But you know I never dreamed he was your father. I thought he'd wronged you. I killed him when I was madly jealous.\"\n\nFor a moment Bess was shocked into silence.\n\n\"But he was my father!\" she broke out, at last. \"And now I must go back—I can't go with you. It's all over—that beautiful dream. Oh, I knew it couldn't come true. You can't take me now.\"\n\n\"If you forgive me, Bess, it'll all come right in the end!\" implored Venters.\n\n\"It can't be right. I'll go back. After all, I loved him. He was good to me. I can't forget that.\"\n\n\"If you go back to Oldring's men I'll follow you, and then they'll kill me,\" said Venters, hoarsely.\n\n\"Oh no, Bern, you'll not come. Let me go. It's best for you to forget me. I've brought you only pain and dishonor.\"\n\nShe did not weep. But the sweet bloom and life died out of her face. She looked haggard and sad, all at once stunted; and her hands dropped listlessly; and her head drooped in slow, final acceptance of a hopeless fate.\n\n\"Jane, look there!\" cried Venters, in despairing grief. \"Need you have told her? Where was all your kindness of heart? This girl has had a wretched, lonely life. And I'd found a way to make her happy. You've killed it. You've killed something sweet and pure and hopeful, just as sure as you breathe.\"\n\n\"Oh, Bern! It was a slip. I never thought—I never thought!\" replied Jane. \"How could I tell she didn't know?\"\n\nLassiter suddenly moved forward, and with the beautiful light on his face now strangely luminous, he looked at Jane and Venters and then let his soft, bright gaze rest on Bess.\n\n\"Well, I reckon you've all had your say, an' now it's Lassiter's turn. Why, I was jest praying for this meetin'. Bess, jest look here.\"\n\nGently he touched her arm and turned her to face the others, and then outspread his great hand to disclose a shiny, battered gold locket.\n\n\"Open it,\" he said, with a singularly rich voice.\n\nBess complied, but listlessly.\n\n\"Jane—Venters—come closer,\" went on Lassiter. \"Take a look at the picture. Don't you know the woman?\"\n\nJane, after one glance, drew back.\n\n\"Milly Erne!\" she cried, wonderingly.\n\nVenters, with tingling pulse, with something growing on him, recognized in the faded miniature portrait the eyes of Milly Erne.\n\n\"Yes, that's Milly,\" said Lassiter, softly. \"Bess, did you ever see her face—look hard—with all your heart an' soul?\"\n\n\"The eyes seem to haunt me,\" whispered Bess. \"Oh, I can't remember—they're eyes of my dreams—but—but—\"\n\nLassiter's strong arm went round her and he bent his head.\n\n\"Child, I thought you'd remember her eyes. They're the same beautiful eyes you'd see if you looked in a mirror or a clear spring. They're your mother's eyes. You are Milly Erne's child. Your name is Elizabeth Erne. You're not Oldring's daughter. You're the daughter of Frank Erne, a man once my best friend. Look! Here's his picture beside Milly's. He was handsome, an' as fine an' gallant a Southern gentleman as I ever seen. Frank came of an old family. You come of the best of blood, lass, and blood tells.\"\n\nBess slipped through his arm to her knees and hugged the locket to her bosom, and lifted wonderful, yearning eyes.\n\n\"It—can't—be—true!\"\n\n\"Thank God, lass, it is true,\" replied Lassiter. \"Jane an' Bern here—they both recognize Milly. They see Milly in you. They're so knocked out they can't tell you, that's all.\"\n\n\"Who are you?\" whispered Bess.\n\n\"I reckon I'm Milly's brother an' your uncle!... Uncle Jim! Ain't that fine?\"\n\n\"Oh, I can't believe—Don't raise me! Bern, let me kneel. I see truth in your face—in Miss Withersteen's. But let me hear it all—all on my knees. Tell me how it's true!\"\n\n\"Well, Elizabeth, listen,\" said Lassiter. \"Before you was born your father made a mortal enemy of a Mormon named Dyer. They was both ministers an' come to be rivals. Dyer stole your mother away from her home. She gave birth to you in Texas eighteen years ago. Then she was taken to Utah, from place to place, an' finally to the last border settlement—Cottonwoods. You was about three years old when you was taken away from Milly. She never knew what had become of you. But she lived a good while hopin' and prayin' to have you again. Then she gave up an' died. An' I may as well put in here your father died ten years ago. Well, I spent my time tracin' Milly, an' some months back I landed in Cottonwoods. An' jest lately I learned all about you. I had a talk with Oldrin' an' told him you was dead, an' he told me what I had so long been wantin' to know. It was Dyer, of course, who stole you from Milly. Part reason he was sore because Milly refused to give you Mormon teachin', but mostly he still hated Frank Erne so infernally that he made a deal with Oldrin' to take you an' bring you up as an infamous rustler an' rustler's girl. The idea was to break Frank Erne's heart if he ever came to Utah—to show him his daughter with a band of low rustlers. Well—Oldrin' took you, brought you up from childhood, an' then made you his Masked Rider. He made you infamous. He kept that part of the contract, but he learned to love you as a daughter an' never let any but his own men know you was a girl. I heard him say that with my own ears, an' I saw his big eyes grow dim. He told me how he had guarded you always, kept you locked up in his absence, was always at your side or near you on those rides that made you famous on the sage. He said he an' an old rustler whom he trusted had taught you how to read an' write. They selected the books for you. Dyer had wanted you brought up the vilest of the vile! An' Oldrin' brought you up the innocentest of the innocent. He said you didn't know what vileness was. I can hear his big voice tremble now as he said it. He told me how the men—rustlers an' outlaws—who from time to time tried to approach you familiarly—he told me how he shot them dead. I'm tellin' you this 'specially because you've showed such shame—sayin' you was nameless an' all that. Nothin' on earth can be wronger than that idea of yours. An' the truth of it is here. Oldrin' swore to me that if Dyer died, releasin' the contract, he intended to hunt up your father an' give you back to him. It seems Oldrin' wasn't all bad, en' he sure loved you.\"\n\nVenters leaned forward in passionate remorse.\n\n\"Oh, Bess! I know Lassiter speaks the truth. For when I shot Oldring he dropped to his knees and fought with unearthly power to speak. And he said: 'Man—why—didn't—you—wait? Bess was—' Then he fell dead. And I've been haunted by his look and words. Oh, Bess, what a strange, splendid thing for Oldring to do! It all seems impossible. But, dear, you really are not what you thought.\"\n\n\"Elizabeth Erne!\" cried Jane Withersteen. \"I loved your mother and I see her in you!\"\n\nWhat had been incredible from the lips of men became, in the tone, look, and gesture of a woman, a wonderful truth for Bess. With little tremblings of all her slender body she rocked to and fro on her knees. The yearning wistfulness of her eyes changed to solemn splendor of joy. She believed. She was realizing happiness. And as the process of thought was slow, so were the variations of her expression. Her eyes reflected the transformation of her soul. Dark, brooding, hopeless belief—clouds of gloom—drifted, paled, vanished in glorious light. An exquisite rose flush—a glow—shone from her face as she slowly began to rise from her knees. A spirit uplifted her. All that she had held as base dropped from her.\n\nVenters watched her in joy too deep for words. By it he divined something of what Lassiter's revelation meant to Bess, but he knew he could only faintly understand. That moment when she seemed to be lifted by some spiritual transfiguration was the most beautiful moment of his life. She stood with parted, quivering lips, with hands tightly clasping the locket to her heaving breast. A new conscious pride of worth dignified the old wild, free grace and poise.\n\n\"Uncle Jim!\" she said, tremulously, with a different smile from any Venters had ever seen on her face.\n\nLassiter took her into his arms.\n\n\"I reckon. It's powerful fine to hear that,\" replied Lassiter, unsteadily.\n\nVenters, feeling his eyes grow hot and wet, turned away, and found himself looking at Jane Withersteen. He had almost forgotten her presence. Tenderness and sympathy were fast hiding traces of her agitation. Venters read her mind—felt the reaction of her noble heart—saw the joy she was beginning to feel at the happiness of others. And suddenly blinded, choked by his emotions, he turned from her also. He knew what she would do presently; she would make some magnificent amend for her anger; she would give some manifestation of her love; probably all in a moment, as she had loved Milly Erne, so would she love Elizabeth Erne.\n\n\"'Pears to me, folks, that we'd better talk a little serious now,\" remarked Lassiter, at length. \"Time flies.\"\n\n\"You're right,\" replied Venters, instantly. \"I'd forgotten time—place—danger. Lassiter, you're riding away. Jane's leaving Withersteen House?\"\n\n\"Forever,\" replied Jane.\n\n\"I fired Withersteen House,\" said Lassiter.\n\n\"Dyer?\" questioned Venters, sharply.\n\n\"I reckon where Dyer's gone there won't be any kidnappin' of girls.\"\n\n\"Ah! I knew it. I told Judkins—And Tull?\" went on Venters, passionately.\n\n\"Tull wasn't around when I broke loose. By now he's likely on our trail with his riders.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, you're going into the Pass to hide till all this storm blows over?\"\n\n\"I reckon that's Jane's idea. I'm thinkin' the storm'll be a powerful long time blowin' over. I was comin' to join you in Surprise Valley. You'll go back now with me?\"\n\n\"No. I want to take Bess out of Utah. Lassiter, Bess found gold in the valley. We've a saddle-bag full of gold. If we can reach Sterling—\"\n\n\"Man! how're you ever goin' to do that? Sterlin' is a hundred miles.\"\n\n\"My plan is to ride on, keeping sharp lookout. Somewhere up the trail we'll take to the sage and go round Cottonwoods and then hit the trail again.\"\n\n\"It's a bad plan. You'll kill the burros in two days.\"\n\n\"Then we'll walk.\"",
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"value": "\"That's more bad an' worse. Better go back down the Pass with me.\"",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 64 sentences.",
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"value": "\"Lassiter, this girl has been hidden all her life in that lonely place,\" went on Venters. \"Oldring's men are hunting me. We'd not be safe there any longer. Even if we would be I'd take this chance to get her out. I want to marry her. She shall have some of the pleasures of life—see cities and people. We've gold—we'll be rich. Why, life opens sweet for both of us. And, by Heaven! I'll get her out or lose my life in the attempt!\"\n\n\"I reckon if you go on with them burros you'll lose your life all right. Tull will have riders all over this sage. You can't get out on them burros. It's a fool idea. That's not doin' best by the girl. Come with me en' take chances on the rustlers.\"\n\nLassiter's cool argument made Venters waver, not in determination to go, but in hope of success.\n\n\"Bess, I want you to know. Lassiter says the trip's almost useless now. I'm afraid he's right. We've got about one chance in a hundred to go through. Shall we take it? Shall we go on?\"\n\n\"We'll go on,\" replied Bess.\n\n\"That settles it, Lassiter.\"\n\nLassiter spread wide his hands, as if to signify he could do no more, and his face clouded.\n\nVenters felt a touch on his elbow. Jane stood beside him with a hand on his arm. She was smiling. Something radiated from her, and like an electric current accelerated the motion of his blood.\n\n\"Bern, you'd be right to die rather than not take Elizabeth out of Utah—out of this wild country. You must do it. You'll show her the great world, with all its wonders. Think how little she has seen! Think what delight is in store for her! You have gold, You will be free; you will make her happy. What a glorious prospect! I share it with you. I'll think of you—dream of you—pray for you.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Jane,\" replied Venters, trying to steady his voice. \"It does look bright. Oh, if we were only across that wide, open waste of sage!\"\n\n\"Bern, the trip's as good as made. It'll be safe—easy. It'll be a glorious ride,\" she said, softly.\n\nVenters stared. Had Jane's troubles made her insane? Lassiter, too, acted queerly, all at once beginning to turn his sombrero round in hands that actually shook.\n\n\"You are a rider. She is a rider. This will be the ride of your lives,\" added Jane, in that same soft undertone, almost as if she were musing to herself.\n\n\"Jane!\" he cried.\n\n\"I give you Black Star and Night!\"\n\n\"Black Star and Night!\" he echoed.\n\n\"It's done. Lassiter, put our saddle-bags on the burros.\"\n\nOnly when Lassiter moved swiftly to execute her bidding did Venters's clogged brain grasp at literal meanings. He leaped to catch Lassiter's busy hands.\n\n\"No, no! What are you doing?\" he demanded, in a kind of fury. \"I won't take her racers. What do you think I am? It'd be monstrous. Lassiter! stop it, I say!... You've got her to save. You've miles and miles to go. Tull is trailing you. There are rustlers in the Pass. Give me back that saddle-bag!\"\n\n\"Son—cool down,\" returned Lassiter, in a voice he might have used to a child. But the grip with which he tore away Venters's grasping hands was that of a giant. \"Listen—you fool boy! Jane's sized up the situation. The burros'll do for us. We'll sneak along an' hide. I'll take your dogs an' your rifle. Why, it's the trick. The blacks are yours, an' sure as I can throw a gun you're goin' to ride safe out of the sage.\"\n\n\"Jane—stop him—please stop him,\" gasped Venters. \"I've lost my strength. I can't do—anything. This is hell for me! Can't you see that? I've ruined you—it was through me you lost all. You've only Black Star and Night left. You love these horses. Oh! I know how you must love them now! And—you're trying to give them to me. To help me out of Utah! To save the girl I love!\"\n\n\"That will be my glory.\"\n\nThen in the white, rapt face, in the unfathomable eyes, Venters saw Jane Withersteen in a supreme moment. This moment was one wherein she reached up to the height for which her noble soul had ever yearned. He, after disrupting the calm tenor of her peace, after bringing down on her head the implacable hostility of her churchmen, after teaching her a bitter lesson of life—he was to be her salvation. And he turned away again, this time shaken to the core of his soul. Jane Withersteen was the incarnation of selflessness. He experienced wonder and terror, exquisite pain and rapture. What were all the shocks life had dealt him compared to the thought of such loyal and generous friendship?\n\nAnd instantly, as if by some divine insight, he knew himself in the remaking—tried, found wanting; but stronger, better, surer—and he wheeled to Jane Withersteen, eager, joyous, passionate, wild, exalted. He bent to her; he left tears and kisses on her hands.\n\n\"Jane, I—I can't find words—now,\" he said. \"I'm beyond words. Only—I understand. And I'll take the blacks.\"\n\n\"Don't be losin' no more time,\" cut in Lassiter. \"I ain't certain, but I think I seen a speck up the sage-slope. Mebbe I was mistaken. But, anyway, we must all be movin'. I've shortened the stirrups on Black Star. Put Bess on him.\"\n\nJane Withersteen held out her arms.\n\n\"Elizabeth Erne!\" she cried, and Bess flew to her.\n\nHow inconceivably strange and beautiful it was for Venters to see Bess clasped to Jane Withersteen's breast!\n\nThen he leaped astride Night.\n\n\"Venters, ride straight on up the slope,\" Lassiter was saying, \"'an if you don't meet any riders keep on till you're a few miles from the village, then cut off in the sage an' go round to the trail. But you'll most likely meet riders with Tull. Jest keep right on till you're jest out of gunshot an' then make your cut-off into the sage. They'll ride after you, but it won't be no use. You can ride, an' Bess can ride. When you're out of reach turn on round to the west, an' hit the trail somewhere. Save the hosses all you can, but don't be afraid. Black Star and Night are good for a hundred miles before sundown, if you have to push them. You can get to Sterlin' by night if you want. But better make it along about to-morrow mornin'. When you get through the notch on the Glaze trail, swing to the right. You'll be able to see both Glaze an' Stone Bridge. Keep away from them villages. You won't run no risk of meetin' any of Oldrin's rustlers from Sterlin' on. You'll find water in them deep hollows north of the Notch. There's an old trail there, not much used, en' it leads to Sterlin'. That's your trail. An' one thing more. If Tull pushes you—or keeps on persistent-like, for a few miles—jest let the blacks out an' lose him an' his riders.\"\n\n\"Lassiter, may we meet again!\" said Venters, in a deep voice.\n\n\"Son, it ain't likely—it ain't likely. Well, Bess Oldrin'—Masked Rider—Elizabeth Erne—now you climb on Black Star. I've heard you could ride. Well, every rider loves a good horse. An', lass, there never was but one that could beat Black Star.\"\n\n\"Ah, Lassiter, there never was any horse that could beat Black Star,\" said Jane, with the old pride.\n\n\"I often wondered—mebbe Venters rode out that race when he brought back the blacks. Son, was Wrangle the best hoss?\"\n\n\"No, Lassiter,\" replied Venters. For this lie he had his reward in Jane's quick smile.\n\n\"Well, well, my hoss-sense ain't always right. An' here I'm talkin' a lot, wastin' time. It ain't so easy to find an' lose a pretty niece all in one hour! Elizabeth—good-by!\"\n\n\"Oh, Uncle Jim!... Good-by!\"\n\n\"Elizabeth Erne, be happy! Good-by,\" said Jane.\n\n\"Good-by—oh—good-by!\" In lithe, supple action Bess swung up to Black Star's saddle.\n\n\"Jane Withersteen!... Good-by!\" called Venters hoarsely.\n\n\"Bern—Bess—riders of the purple sage—good-by!\"",
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"value": "hey can u write eighty-nine sentences more sentences? keep same character vibes in Western style",
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"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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"value": "Chapter XXII. Riders of the Purple Sage\n\nBlack Star and Night, answering to spur, swept swiftly westward along the white, slow-rising, sage-bordered trail. Venters heard a mournful howl from Ring, but Whitie was silent. The blacks settled into their fleet, long-striding gallop. The wind sweetly fanned Venters's hot face. From the summit of the first low-swelling ridge he looked back. Lassiter waved his hand; Jane waved her scarf. Venters replied by standing in his stirrups and holding high his sombrero. Then the dip of the ridge hid them. From the height of the next he turned once more. Lassiter, Jane, and the burros had disappeared. They had gone down into the Pass. Venters felt a sensation of irreparable loss.\n\n\"Bern—look!\" called Bess, pointing up the long slope.\n\nA small, dark, moving dot split the line where purple sage met blue sky. That dot was a band of riders.\n\n\"Pull the black, Bess.\"\n\nThey slowed from gallop to canter, then to trot. The fresh and eager horses did not like the check.\n\n\"Bern, Black Star has great eyesight.\"\n\n\"I wonder if they're Tull's riders. They might be rustlers. But it's all the same to us.\"\n\nThe black dot grew to a dark patch moving under low dust clouds. It grew all the time, though very slowly. There were long periods when it was in plain sight, and intervals when it dropped behind the sage. The blacks trotted for half an hour, for another half-hour, and still the moving patch appeared to stay on the horizon line. Gradually, however, as time passed, it began to enlarge, to creep down the slope, to encroach upon the intervening distance.\n\n\"Bess, what do you make them out?\" asked Venters. \"I don't think they're rustlers.\"\n\n\"They're sage-riders,\" replied Bess. \"I see a white horse and several grays. Rustlers seldom ride any horses but bays and blacks.\"\n\n\"That white horse is Tull's. Pull the black, Bess. I'll get down and cinch up. We're in for some riding. Are you afraid?\"\n\n\"Not now,\" answered the girl, smiling.\n\n\"You needn't be. Bess, you don't weigh enough to make Black Star know you're on him. I won't be able to stay with you. You'll leave Tull and his riders as if they were standing still.\"\n\n\"How about you?\"\n\n\"Never fear. If I can't stay with you I can still laugh at Tull.\"\n\n\"Look, Bern! They've stopped on that ridge. They see us.\"\n\n\"Yes. But we're too far yet for them to make out who we are. They'll recognize the blacks first. We've passed most of the ridges and the thickest sage. Now, when I give the word, let Black Star go and ride!\"\n\nVenters calculated that a mile or more still intervened between them and the riders. They were approaching at a swift canter. Soon Venters recognized Tull's white horse, and concluded that the riders had likewise recognized Black Star and Night. But it would be impossible for Tull yet to see that the blacks were not ridden by Lassiter and Jane. Venters noted that Tull and the line of horsemen, perhaps ten or twelve in number, stopped several times and evidently looked hard down the slope. It must have been a puzzling circumstance for Tull. Venters laughed grimly at the thought of what Tull's rage would be when he finally discovered the trick. Venters meant to sheer out into the sage before Tull could possibly be sure who rode the blacks.\n\nThe gap closed to a distance of half a mile. Tull halted. His riders came up and formed a dark group around him. Venters thought he saw him wave his arms and was certain of it when the riders dashed into the sage, to right and left of the trail. Tull had anticipated just the move held in mind by Venters.\n\n\"Now Bess!\" shouted Venters. \"Strike north. Go round those riders and turn west.\"\n\nBlack Star sailed over the low sage, and in a few leaps got into his stride and was running. Venters spurred Night after him. It was hard going in the sage. The horses could run as well there, but keen eyesight and judgment must constantly be used by the riders in choosing ground. And continuous swerving from aisle to aisle between the brush, and leaping little washes and mounds of the pack-rats, and breaking through sage, made rough riding. When Venters had turned into a long aisle he had time to look up at Tull's riders. They were now strung out into an extended line riding northeast. And, as Venters and Bess were holding due north, this meant, if the horses of Tull and his riders had the speed and the staying power, they would head the blacks and turn them back down the slope. Tull's men were not saving their mounts; they were driving them desperately. Venters feared only an accident to Black Star or Night, and skilful riding would mitigate possibility of that. One glance ahead served to show him that Bess could pick a course through the sage as well as he. She looked neither back nor at the running riders, and bent forward over Black Star's neck and studied the ground ahead.\n\nIt struck Venters, presently, after he had glanced up from time to time, that Bess was drawing away from him as he had expected. He had, however, only thought of the light weight Black Star was carrying and of his superior speed; he saw now that the black was being ridden as never before, except when Jerry Card lost the race to Wrangle. How easily, gracefully, naturally, Bess sat her saddle! She could ride! Suddenly Venters remembered she had said she could ride. But he had not dreamed she was capable of such superb horsemanship. Then all at once, flashing over him, thrilling him, came the recollection that Bess was Oldring's Masked Rider.\n\nHe forgot Tull—the running riders—the race. He let Night have a free rein and felt him lengthen out to suit himself, knowing he would keep to Black Star's course, knowing that he had been chosen by the best rider now on the upland sage. For Jerry Card was dead. And fame had rivaled him with only one rider, and that was the slender girl who now swung so easily with Black Star's stride. Venters had abhorred her notoriety, but now he took passionate pride in her skill, her daring, her power over a horse. And he delved into his memory, recalling famous rides which he had heard related in the villages and round the camp-fires. Oldring's Masked Rider! Many times this strange rider, at once well known and unknown, had escaped pursuers by matchless riding. He had to run the gantlet of vigilantes down the main street of Stone Bridge, leaving dead horses and dead rustlers behind. He had jumped his horse over the Gerber Wash, a deep, wide ravine separating the fields of Glaze from the wild sage. He had been surrounded north of Sterling; and he had broken through the line. How often had been told the story of day stampedes, of night raids, of pursuit, and then how the Masked Rider, swift as the wind, was gone in the sage! A fleet, dark horse—a slender, dark form—a black mask—a driving run down the slope—a dot on the purple sage—a shadowy, muffled steed disappearing in the night!\n\nAnd this Masked Rider of the uplands had been Elizabeth Erne!\n\nThe sweet sage wind rushed in Venters's face and sang a song in his ears. He heard the dull, rapid beat of Night's hoofs; he saw Black Star drawing away, farther and farther. He realized both horses were swinging to the west. Then gunshots in the rear reminded him of Tull. Venters looked back. Far to the side, dropping behind, trooped the riders. They were shooting. Venters saw no puffs or dust, heard no whistling bullets. He was out of range.",
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"value": "Mode:\nCo-writing a segment of a larger work\n\nLength:\n104 sentences\n\nStyle:\nZane Grey\nGenre:\nWestern\nNote: Characters may be pre-established",
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"value": "Chapter XXIII. The Fall of Balancing Rock",
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"value": "Through tear-blurred sight Jane Withersteen watched Venters and Elizabeth Erne and the black racers disappear over the ridge of sage.",
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"value": "\"They're gone!\" said Lassiter. \"An' they're safe now. An' there'll never be a day of their comin' happy lives but what they'll remember Jane Withersteen an'—an' Uncle Jim!... I reckon, Jane, we'd better be on our way.\"\n\nThe burros obediently wheeled and started down the break with little cautious steps, but Lassiter had to leash the whining dogs and lead them. Jane felt herself bound in a feeling that was neither listlessness nor indifference, yet which rendered her incapable of interest. She was still strong in body, but emotionally tired. That hour at the entrance to Deception Pass had been the climax of her suffering—the flood of her wrath—the last of her sacrifice—the supremity of her love—and the attainment of peace. She thought that if she had little Fay she would not ask any more of life.\n\nLike an automaton she followed Lassiter down the steep trail of dust and bits of weathered stone; and when the little slides moved with her or piled around her knees she experienced no alarm. Vague relief came to her in the sense of being enclosed between dark stone walls, deep hidden from the glare of sun, from the glistening sage. Lassiter lengthened the stirrup straps on one of the burros and bade her mount and ride close to him. She was to keep the burro from cracking his little hard hoofs on stones. Then she was riding on between dark, gleaming walls. There were quiet and rest and coolness in this canyon. She noted indifferently that they passed close under shady, bulging shelves of cliff, through patches of grass and sage and thicket and groves of slender trees, and over white, pebbly washes, and around masses of broken rock. The burros trotted tirelessly; the dogs, once more free, pattered tirelessly; and Lassiter led on with never a stop, and at every open place he looked back. The shade under the walls gave place to sunlight. And presently they came to a dense thicket of slender trees, through which they passed to rich, green grass and water. Here Lassiter rested the burros for a little while, but he was restless, uneasy, silent, always listening, peering under the trees. She dully reflected that enemies were behind them—before them; still the thought awakened no dread or concern or interest.\n\nAt his bidding she mounted and rode on close to the heels of his burro. The canyon narrowed; the walls lifted their rugged rims higher; and the sun shone down hot from the center of the blue stream of sky above. Lassiter traveled slower, with more exceeding care as to the ground he chose, and he kept speaking low to the dogs. They were now hunting-dogs—keen, alert, suspicious, sniffing the warm breeze. The monotony of the yellow walls broke in change of color and smooth surface, and the rugged outline of rims grew craggy. Splits appeared in deep breaks, and gorges running at right angles, and then the Pass opened wide at a junction of intersecting canyons.\n\nLassiter dismounted, led his burro, called the dogs close, and proceeded at snail pace through dark masses of rock and dense thickets under the left wall. Long he watched and listened before venturing to cross the mouths of side canyons. At length he halted, tied his burro, lifted a warning hand to Jane, and then slipped away among the boulders, and, followed by the stealthy dogs, disappeared from sight. The time he remained absent was neither short nor long to Jane Withersteen.\n\nWhen he reached her side again he was pale, and his lips were set in a hard line, and his gray eyes glittered coldly. Bidding her dismount, he led the burros into a covert of stones and cedars, and tied them.\n\n\"Jane, I've run into the fellers I've been lookin' for, an' I'm goin' after them,\" he said.\n\n\"Why?\" she asked.\n\n\"I reckon I won't take time to tell you.\"\n\n\"Couldn't we slip by without being seen?\"\n\n\"Likely enough. But that ain't my game. An' I'd like to know, in case I don't come back, what you'll do.\"\n\n\"What can I do?\"\n\n\"I reckon you can go back to Tull. Or stay in the Pass an' be taken off by rustlers. Which'll you do?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I can't think very well. But I believe I'd rather be taken off by rustlers.\"\n\nLassiter sat down, put his head in his hands, and remained for a few moments in what appeared to be deep and painful thought. When he lifted his face it was haggard, lined, cold as sculptured marble.\n\n\"I'll go. I only mentioned that chance of my not comin' back. I'm pretty sure to come.\"\n\n\"Need you risk so much? Must you fight more? Haven't you shed enough blood?\"\n\n\"I'd like to tell you why I'm goin',\" he continued, in coldness he had seldom used to her. She remarked it, but it was the same to her as if he had spoken with his old gentle warmth. \"But I reckon I won't. Only, I'll say that mercy an' goodness, such as is in you, though they're the grand things in human nature, can't be lived up to on this Utah border. Life's hell out here. You think—or you used to think—that your religion made this life heaven. Mebbe them scales on your eyes has dropped now. Jane, I wouldn't have you no different, an' that's why I'm going to try to hide you somewhere in this Pass. I'd like to hide many more women, for I've come to see there are more like you among your people. An' I'd like you to see jest how hard an' cruel this border life is. It's bloody. You'd think churches an' churchmen would make it better. They make it worse. You give names to things—bishops, elders, ministers, Mormonism, duty, faith, glory. You dream—or you're driven mad. I'm a man, an' I know. I name fanatics, followers, blind women, oppressors, thieves, ranchers, rustlers, riders. An' we have—what you've lived through these last months. It can't be helped. But it can't last always. An' remember this—some day the border'll be better, cleaner, for the ways of men like Lassiter!\"\n\nShe saw him shake his tall form erect, look at her strangely and steadfastly, and then, noiselessly, stealthily slip away amid the rocks and trees. Ring and Whitie, not being bidden to follow, remained with Jane. She felt extreme weariness, yet somehow it did not seem to be of her body. And she sat down in the shade and tried to think. She saw a creeping lizard, cactus flowers, the drooping burros, the resting dogs, an eagle high over a yellow crag. Once the meanest flower, a color, the flight of the bee, or any living thing had given her deepest joy. Lassiter had gone off, yielding to his incurable blood lust, probably to his own death; and she was sorry, but there was no feeling in her sorrow.\n\nSuddenly from the mouth of the canyon just beyond her rang out a clear, sharp report of a rifle. Echoes clapped. Then followed a piercingly high yell of anguish, quickly breaking. Again echoes clapped, in grim imitation. Dull revolver shots—hoarse yells—pound of hoofs—shrill neighs of horses—commingling of echoes—and again silence! Lassiter must be busily engaged, thought Jane, and no chill trembled over her, no blanching tightened her skin. Yes, the border was a bloody place. But life had always been bloody. Men were blood-spillers. Phases of the history of the world flashed through her mind—Greek and Roman wars, dark, mediaeval times, the crimes in the name of religion. On sea, on land, everywhere—shooting, stabbing, cursing, clashing, fighting men! Greed, power, oppression, fanaticism, love, hate, revenge, justice, freedom—for these, men killed one another.\n\nShe lay there under the cedars, gazing up through the delicate lacelike foliage at the blue sky, and she thought and wondered and did not care.\n\nMore rattling shots disturbed the noonday quiet. She heard a sliding of weathered rock, a hoarse shout of warning, a yell of alarm, again the clear, sharp crack of the rifle, and another cry that was a cry of death. Then rifle reports pierced a dull volley of revolver shots. Bullets whizzed over Jane's hiding-place; one struck a stone and whined away in the air. After that, for a time, succeeded desultory shots; and then they ceased under long, thundering fire from heavier guns.\n\nSooner or later, then, Jane heard the cracking of horses' hoofs on the stones, and the sound came nearer and nearer. Silence intervened until Lassiter's soft, jingling step assured her of his approach. When he appeared he was covered with blood.\n\n\"All right, Jane,\" he said. \"I come back. An' don't worry.\"\n\nWith water from a canteen he washed the blood from his face and hands.\n\n\"Jane, hurry now. Tear my scarf in two, en' tie up these places. That hole through my hand is some inconvenient, worse 'n this at over my ear. There—you're doin' fine! Not a bit nervous—no tremblin'. I reckon I ain't done your courage justice. I'm glad you're brave jest now—you'll need to be. Well, I was hid pretty good, enough to keep them from shootin' me deep, but they was slingin' lead close all the time. I used up all the rifle shells, an' en I went after them. Mebbe you heard. It was then I got hit. Had to use up every shell in my own gun, an' they did, too, as I seen. Rustlers an' Mormons, Jane! An' now I'm packin' five bullet holes in my carcass, an' guns without shells. Hurry, now.\"\n\nHe unstrapped the saddle-bags from the burros, slipped the saddles and let them lie, turned the burros loose, and, calling the dogs, led the way through stones and cedars to an open where two horses stood.\n\n\"Jane, are you strong?\" he asked.\n\n\"I think so. I'm not tired,\" Jane replied.\n\n\"I don't mean that way. Can you bear up?\"\n\n\"I think I can bear anything.\"\n\n\"I reckon you look a little cold an' thick. So I'm preparin' you.\"\n\n\"For what?\"\n\n\"I didn't tell you why I jest had to go after them fellers. I couldn't tell you. I believe you'd have died. But I can tell you now—if you'll bear up under a shock?\"\n\n\"Go on, my friend.\"\n\n\"I've got little Fay! Alive—bad hurt—but she'll live!\"\n\nJane Withersteen's dead-locked feeling, rent by Lassiter's deep, quivering voice, leaped into an agony of sensitive life.\n\n\"Here,\" he added, and showed her where little Fay lay on the grass.\n\nUnable to speak, unable to stand, Jane dropped on her knees. By that long, beautiful golden hair Jane recognized the beloved Fay. But Fay's loveliness was gone. Her face was drawn and looked old with grief. But she was not dead—her heart beat—and Jane Withersteen gathered strength and lived again.\n\n\"You see I jest had to go after Fay,\" Lassiter was saying, as he knelt to bathe her little pale face. \"But I reckon I don't want no more choices like the one I had to make. There was a crippled feller in that bunch, Jane. Mebbe Venters crippled him. Anyway, that's why they were holding up here. I seen little Fay first thing, en' was hard put to it to figure out a way to get her. An' I wanted hosses, too. I had to take chances. So I crawled close to their camp. One feller jumped a hoss with little Fay, an' when I shot him, of course she dropped. She's stunned an' bruised—she fell right on her head. Jane, she's comin' to! She ain't bad hurt!\"\n\nFay's long lashes fluttered; her eyes opened. At first they seemed glazed over. They looked dazed by pain. Then they quickened, darkened, to shine with intelligence—bewilderment—memory—and sudden wonderful joy.\n\n\"Muvver—Jane!\" she whispered.\n\n\"Oh, little Fay, little Fay!\" cried Jane, lifting, clasping the child to her.\n\n\"Now, we've got to rustle!\" said Lassiter, in grim coolness.",
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"value": "\"Jane, look down the Pass!\"",
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"value": "Across the mounds of rock and sage Jane caught sight of a band of riders filing out of the narrow neck of the Pass; and in the lead was a white horse, which, even at a distance of a mile or more, she knew.\n\n\"Tull!\" she almost screamed.\n\n\"I reckon. But, Jane, we've still got the game in our hands. They're ridin' tired hosses. Venters likely give them a chase. He wouldn't forget that. An' we've fresh hosses.\"\n\nHurriedly he strapped on the saddle-bags, gave quick glance to girths and cinches and stirrups, then leaped astride.\n\n\"Lift little Fay up,\" he said.\n\nWith shaking arms Jane complied.\n\n\"Get back your nerve, woman! This's life or death now. Mind that. Climb up! Keep your wits. Stick close to me. Watch where your hoss's goin' en' ride!\"\n\nSomehow Jane mounted; somehow found strength to hold the reins, to spur, to cling on, to ride. A horrible quaking, craven fear possessed her soul. Lassiter led the swift flight across the wide space, over washes, through sage, into a narrow canyon where the rapid clatter of hoofs rapped sharply from the walls. The wind roared in her ears; the gleaming cliffs swept by; trail and sage and grass moved under her. Lassiter's bandaged, blood-stained face turned to her; he shouted encouragement; he looked back down the Pass; he spurred his horse. Jane clung on, spurring likewise. And the horses settled from hard, furious gallop into a long-striding, driving run. She had never ridden at anything like that pace; desperately she tried to get the swing of the horse, to be of some help to him in that race, to see the best of the ground and guide him into it. But she failed of everything except to keep her seat the saddle, and to spur and spur. At times she closed her eyes unable to bear sight of Fay's golden curls streaming in the wind. She could not pray; she could not rail; she no longer cared for herself. All of life, of good, of use in the world, of hope in heaven entered in Lassiter's ride with little Fay to safety. She would have tried to turn the iron-jawed brute she rode, she would have given herself to that relentless, dark-browed Tull. But she knew Lassiter would turn with her, so she rode on and on.\n\nWhether that run was of moments or hours Jane Withersteen could not tell. Lassiter's horse covered her with froth that blew back in white streams. Both horses ran their limit, were allowed slow down in time to save them, and went on dripping, heaving, staggering.\n\n\"Oh, Lassiter, we must run—we must run!\"\n\nHe looked back, saying nothing. The bandage had blown from his head, and blood trickled down his face. He was bowing under the strain of injuries, of the ride, of his burden. Yet how cool and gay he looked—how intrepid!\n\nThe horses walked, trotted, galloped, ran, to fall again to walk. Hours sped or dragged. Time was an instant—an eternity. Jane Withersteen felt hell pursuing her, and dared not look back for fear she would fall from her horse.\n\n\"Oh, Lassiter! Is he coming?\"\n\nThe grim rider looked over his shoulder, but said no word. Fay's golden hair floated on the breeze. The sun shone; the walls gleamed; the sage glistened. And then it seemed the sun vanished, the walls shaded, the sage paled. The horses walked—trotted—galloped—ran—to fall again to walk. Shadows gathered under shelving cliffs. The canyon turned, brightened, opened into a long, wide, wall-enclosed valley. Again the sun, lowering in the west, reddened the sage. Far ahead round, scrawled stone appeared to block the Pass.\n\n\"Bear up, Jane, bear up!\" called Lassiter. \"It's our game, if you don't weaken.\"\n\n\"Lassiter! Go on—alone! Save little Fay!\"\n\n\"Only with you!\"\n\n\"Oh!—I'm a coward—a miserable coward! I can't fight or think or hope or pray! I'm lost! Oh, Lassiter, look back! Is he coming? I'll not—hold out—\"\n\n\"Keep your breath, woman, an' ride not for yourself or for me, but for Fay!\"\n\nA last breaking run across the sage brought Lassiter's horse to a walk.\n\n\"He's done,\" said the rider.\n\n\"Oh, no—no!\" moaned Jane.\n\n\"Look back, Jane, look back. Three—four miles we've come across this valley, en' no Tull yet in sight. Only a few more miles!\"\n\nJane looked back over the long stretch of sage, and found the narrow gap in the wall, out of which came a file of dark horses with a white horse in the lead. Sight of the riders acted upon Jane as a stimulant. The weight of cold, horrible terror lessened. And, gazing forward at the dogs, at Lassiter's limping horse, at the blood on his face, at the rocks growing nearer, last at Fay's golden hair, the ice left her veins, and slowly, strangely, she gained hold of strength that she believed would see her to the safety Lassiter promised. And, as she gazed, Lassiter's horse stumbled and fell.\n\nHe swung his leg and slipped from the saddle.\n\n\"Jane, take the child,\" he said, and lifted Fay up. Jane clasped her arms suddenly strong. \"They're gainin',\" went on Lassiter, as he watched the pursuing riders. \"But we'll beat 'em yet.\"\n\nTurning with Jane's bridle in his hand, he was about to start when he saw the saddle-bag on the fallen horse.\n\n\"I've jest about got time,\" he muttered, and with swift fingers that did not blunder or fumble he loosened the bag and threw it over his shoulder. Then he started to run, leading Jane's horse, and he ran, and trotted, and walked, and ran again. Close ahead now Jane saw a rise of bare rock. Lassiter reached it, searched along the base, and, finding a low place, dragged the weary horse up and over round, smooth stone. Looking backward, Jane saw Tull's white horse not a mile distant, with riders strung out in a long line behind him. Looking forward, she saw more valley to the right, and to the left a towering cliff. Lassiter pulled the horse and kept on.\n\nLittle Fay lay in her arms with wide-open eyes—eyes which were still shadowed by pain, but no longer fixed, glazed in terror. The golden curls blew across Jane's lips; the little hands feebly clasped her arm; a ghost of a troubled, trustful smile hovered round the sweet lips. And Jane Withersteen awoke to the spirit of a lioness.\n\nLassiter was leading the horse up a smooth slope toward cedar trees of twisted and bleached appearance. Among these he halted.\n\n\"Jane, give me the girl en' get down,\" he said. As if it wrenched him he unbuckled the empty black guns with a strange air of finality. He then received Fay in his arms and stood a moment looking backward. Tull's white horse mounted the ridge of round stone, and several bays or blacks followed. \"I wonder what he'll think when he sees them empty guns. Jane, bring your saddle-bag and climb after me.\"\n\nA glistening, wonderful bare slope, with little holes, swelled up and up to lose itself in a frowning yellow cliff. Jane closely watched her steps and climbed behind Lassiter. He moved slowly. Perhaps he was only husbanding his strength. But she saw drops of blood on the stone, and then she knew. They climbed and climbed without looking back. Her breast labored; she began to feel as if little points of fiery steel were penetrating her side into her lungs. She heard the panting of Lassiter and the quicker panting of the dogs.\n\n\"Wait—here,\" he said.\n\nBefore her rose a bulge of stone, nicked with little cut steps, and above that a corner of yellow wall, and overhanging that a vast, ponderous cliff.\n\nThe dogs pattered up, disappeared round the corner. Lassiter mounted the steps with Fay, and he swayed like a drunken man, and he too disappeared. But instantly he returned alone, and half ran, half slipped down to her.\n\nThen from below pealed up hoarse shouts of angry men. Tull and several of his riders had reached the spot where Lassiter had parted with his guns.\n\n\"You'll need that breath—mebbe!\" said Lassiter, facing downward, with glittering eyes.\n\n\"Now, Jane, the last pull,\" he went on. \"Walk up them little steps. I'll follow an' steady you. Don't think. Jest go. Little Fay's above. Her eyes are open. She jest said to me, 'Where's muvver Jane?'\"\n\nWithout a fear or a tremor or a slip or a touch of Lassiter's hand Jane Withersteen walked up that ladder of cut steps.\n\nHe pushed her round the corner of the wall. Fay lay, with wide staring eyes, in the shade of a gloomy wall. The dogs waited. Lassiter picked up the child and turned into a dark cleft. It zigzagged. It widened.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It opened.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 46 sentences.",
"loss": null
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Jane was amazed at a wonderfully smooth and steep incline leading up between ruined, splintered, toppling walls. A red haze from the setting sun filled this passage. Lassiter climbed with slow, measured steps, and blood dripped from him to make splotches on the white stone. Jane tried not to step in his blood, but was compelled, for she found no other footing. The saddle-bag began to drag her down; she gasped for breath, she thought her heart was bursting. Slower, slower yet the rider climbed, whistling as he breathed. The incline widened. Huge pinnacles and monuments of stone stood alone, leaning fearfully. Red sunset haze shone through cracks where the wall had split. Jane did not look high, but she felt the overshadowing of broken rims above. She felt that it was a fearful, menacing place. And she climbed on in heartrending effort. And she fell beside Lassiter and Fay at the top of the incline in a narrow, smooth divide.\n\nHe staggered to his feet—staggered to a huge, leaning rock that rested on a small pedestal. He put his hand on it—the hand that had been shot through—and Jane saw blood drip from the ragged hole. Then he fell.\n\n\"Jane—I—can't—do—it!\" he whispered.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Roll the—stone!... All my—life I've loved—to roll stones—en' now I—can't!\"\n\n\"What of it? You talk strangely. Why roll that stone?\"\n\n\"I planned to—fetch you here—to roll this stone. See! It'll smash the crags—loosen the walls—close the outlet!\"\n\nAs Jane Withersteen gazed down that long incline, walled in by crumbling cliffs, awaiting only the slightest jar to make them fall asunder, she saw Tull appear at the bottom and begin to climb. A rider followed him—another—and another.\n\n\"See! Tull! The riders!\"\n\n\"Yes—they'll get us—now.\"\n\n\"Why? Haven't you strength left to roll the stone?\"\n\n\"Jane—it ain't that—I've lost my nerve!\"\n\n\"You!... Lassiter!\"\n\n\"I wanted to roll it—meant to—but I—can't. Venters's valley is down behind here. We could—live there. But if I roll the stone—we're shut in for always. I don't dare. I'm thinkin' of you!\"\n\n\"Lassiter! Roll the stone!\" she cried.\n\nHe arose, tottering, but with set face, and again he placed the bloody hand on the Balancing Rock. Jane Withersteen gazed from him down the passageway. Tull was climbing. Almost, she thought, she saw his dark, relentless face. Behind him more riders climbed. What did they mean for Fay—for Lassiter—for herself?\n\n\"Roll the stone!... Lassiter, I love you!\"\n\nUnder all his deathly pallor, and the blood, and the iron of seared cheek and lined brow, worked a great change. He placed both hands on the rock and then leaned his shoulder there and braced his powerful body.\n\nROLL THE STONE!\n\nIt stirred, it groaned, it grated, it moved, and with a slow grinding, as of wrathful relief, began to lean. It had waited ages to fall, and now was slow in starting. Then, as if suddenly instinct with life, it leaped hurtlingly down to alight on the steep incline, to bound more swiftly into the air, to gather momentum, to plunge into the lofty leaning crag below. The crag thundered into atoms. A wave of air—a splitting shock! Dust shrouded the sunset red of shaking rims; dust shrouded Tull as he fell on his knees with uplifted arms. Shafts and monuments and sections of wall fell majestically.\n\nFrom the depths there rose a long-drawn rumbling roar. The outlet to Deception Pass closed forever.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "write thirty-three sentences more in Zendran style. keep established lore. include: animal protagonist",
"loss": null
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I curled upon myself, idly chewing the tip of my tail. The Great Core - even smaller than myself - rested upon its nearby pedestal. Gleaming light shone down upon me like a divine benediction. Somehow, it warmed my scales, a soothing comfort in the otherwise damp and cold room that we called home.\n\nIt was just the two of us - the Great Core and I. Something told me that such a thing should not be; I should be one among many, each of us willing to die to protect our creator. It was that same part of myself that worried for the Core's health, the part that knew that it would die without hesitation in its defense. I was worried.\n\nAnd so I curled upon myself, idly chewing the tip of my tail.\n\nIt was comforting.\n\nI could hear the noises of the bad-things echoing through the cracks in our little room's walls. I could hear the scraping of claws and screeches of battle. I could hear the forever-war that raged on in the World Dungeon outside.\n\nI had gone outside more than once. I had seen the bad-things. They were not like me, nor were they like the Great Core.\n\nThey had not seen me, however. I had hidden my small form within the wall-cracks; I had slithered my way through its labyrinth of fissures. Many of the bad-things were giants, behemoths that could swallow both me and the Great Core in one massive gulp. It was frightening, the world of the bad-things.\n\nNo, the Great Core's little world was much better. Soothing. Safe. I let go of my tail, flicking out a forked tongue to taste the air. It tasted like home - as it should, for it was here that I was born. It was here that I was created. It was here that I was named.\n\nFor a moment, I let the thought-light wash over me. I simply wanted to see it.\n\n─ Name: Paradox\n\n─ Species: Snake,?\n\n─ Major Title:?\n\n─ Minor Titles: None\n\n─ Innate Traits: Venomous I\n\n─ Blooded Traits: Locked\n\n─ Resistances: Piercing Resistance - Basic I, Venom Resistance - Basic I",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ Level: 0",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ Trait Points: 0",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "CONSTRAINT: Include 'revealed' 2 time(s)",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Core Skills: None\n\n─ Lesser Core Skills: None\n\n─ Description: A tiny snake with great potential.\n\nParadox. The thought-light revealed to me my name; it revealed who I was. It told me that I had great potential. That, I thought, was a bit obvious. I was the one and only creation of the Great Core - and the Great Core was the most magnificent of all.\n\nHow could I not possess great potential?\n\nI still needed to reach that potential, however. It was a daunting thought, forcing me to curl further into myself and bite just a little harder. I was careful not to break the skin, gnawing on the hard scales without piercing the soft flesh underneath. I had made that mistake once; I had left the Great Core without its defender for an entire day while I recovered from my own venom. The memory still shamed me. I would not make that mistake again.\n\nThe bad-things outside would not steal the Great Core - not with me here to defend it. I hissed in defiance. The bad-things screamed back.\n\nI froze, lifting my head and sampling the air. I found the heady taste of blood. Something was happening outside.\n\nThe bad-things continued to scream, their shrieks and roars slipping through the assorted cracks and crevices that opened up into the World Dungeon outside. Worriedly, I slithered across the room, leaving the soothing glow of the Great Core behind.\n\nI skirted around the slow-spots that had been scattered across the room, each proof of the great power of the Great Core. The fast-spots, I was less avoidant of, slithering into them to speed along my journey - by a little too much. Going too fast, I slammed into the wall.\n\nShaking it off, I stuck my head through a nearby wall-crack, cautiously peeking outside. The cave was lit, as it always was, by a variety of glow-caps that cropped up in huddled circles. Faintly glowing droplets of mana-water, infused with the diffused power of the Great Core and other not-so-Great Dungeon Cores, dripped from the high ceiling. A many-legged bad-thing skittered to the puddle of mana-water that was left behind, lapping it up greedily.\n\nI flicked out a tongue, tasting the air. Through the heady scent of blood, I could smell the faint power in the mana-water. Since my creation, I had always received food-drink from the Great Core's power, and had not tasted the mana-water that sometimes dripped in the dangerous outside. I had always wanted to, but could not risk slithering too far from the Great Core.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I was its only defender against the bad-things if they were to attack.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Even now, the bad-things were fighting.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "That was not unusual, as there were many different bad-things that came from many different Dungeons.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "They fought for their Cores - lesser though they were - in a bid for dominance, seeking to consume the others.\n\nThen, too, there were the Coreless. They were the baddest of the bad-things, nearly making me hiss each time that I saw one. The Coreless wore the ore-flesh of the earth, reshaped into a protective second skin that shone brightly with mana, making them even stronger. I knew that, were the Great Core threatened, my fangs would only bounce off helplessly. It was an unnerving thought.\n\nThe Coreless made ugly jabbers to one another, so unlike my own elegant hisses. I couldn't make fang or tail of any of it.\n\n\"Why are there so many Dungeon minions in this area? There's not any nearby Cores on the map to be drawing them in!\" one of them shouted, perhaps voicing some sort of mating call.\n\nA female Coreless answered the call, confirming my thought-guess.\n\n\"The map isn't always right,\" the female grunted, conveying her lack of desire to reproduce. \"Could be that they're sensing one behind the nearby walls. As long as there's any opening at all, a Core has the chance to be formed.\"\n\nThe male Coreless tried again. \"How will we find it?\" He swung his fang of ore-flesh at an approaching bad-thing, trying to impress the female. His mating ritual must have been the source of the blood-smell, proving his might in a battle against bad-things.\n\nThough the female did not seem impressed, only the largest of the bad-things remained. The smaller bad-things, each still far larger than I, had long since fled from the battle of giants. Soon enough, only the Coreless remained; the bad-things had fled, running back to their pitiful Cores-that-were-not-Great. I hissed my amusement.\n\nThe male Coreless paused in the cleansing of his ore-flesh fang, the mana-glow dimming as his hand passed over it..\n\n\"Did you hear that? There was a sound in the wall.\"\n\nThough I could not understand them, I knew something was wrong. The baddest-things had turned towards the wall-that-concealed-the-Great-Core. They had turned towards me.\n\nI jerked my head back, slithering quietly over to the Great Core's pedestal. I curled into myself, chewing my tail in fright. I was not a coward. I was willing to die for the Great Core, the greatest of all cores, that which created me. But die, I would. Then, the Great Core would be vulnerable.\n\nI stood little chance against a single giant, let alone two.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "// For your next response only, include minimal dialogue",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I could only wait, praying to the Great Core, and hope for blessed victory.\n\nI heard a thump, followed by another. That was then trailed by louder and louder thumps, each setting the wall-that-concealed-the-Great-Core trembling. I, too, trembled.\n\nThe Coreless were coming for the Great Core. They would be here soon. There was little that I could do.\n\nIn that moment, I felt despair unlike I had ever felt before. In every other moment, I had been content in the knowledge of the Great Core's continued existence; it was proof that I had purpose, and that it had not been mistaken in creating me as its sole defender.\n\nI was no longer content.\n\nThe wall-that-concealed-the-Great-Core trembled its last. A large section shattered, broken by a giant block of ore-flesh wielded by the male Coreless. He let out an evil cry, overcome with glee in his discovery of the greatest of Cores.\n\n\"It's here! Tiny little thing, but I found it.\"\n\nHe walked inside, coughing as the heavy dust showed its displeasure. I hissed my support for the final attack of the wall-that-was, praying to the Great Core for its victory. Even in its death, it tried its best to choke the giant invaders - more proof of the Great Core's incomparable majesty, that stone itself would work to defend it.\n\nThough the wall-that-was fought valiantly, it was finally defeated. I hissed again, this time voicing my grief and displeasure. All who fought for the Great Core were family, whether they were created by the Great Core or not.\n\nThe female Coreless followed the male through the opening in the wall-that-was, entering the most sacred of rooms. She, too, made disgusting and evil noises.\n\n\"Huh. I've never seen a Core room without any minions. Do you think it just formed?\"\n\n\"I don't think so,\" the male jabbered. They stood still, not coming any closer. I could only imagine that they were astounded by the might of the Great Core and unwilling to move further. He pointed at one of the sacred fast-spots, confirming my thought-guess.\n\n\"See that distortion? It's been here long enough to alter the room with its affinity.\"\n\n\"Is that a time-field?\" the female jabbered back, overwhelmed by the power of the Great Core.\n\n\"I've never seen one myself, but I've heard that this is what they look like. Only one way to be sure, though.\" The male waved his hand in the fast-spot, nearly falling to the floor when the limb moved faster than he expected. Unfortunately, he recovered.\n\n\"Yep. It's a Time-affinity Dungeon Core. That's a pretty rare find.\"\n\nThe Coreless began to walk around the sacred fast-spots and the annoying-but-still-sacred slow-spots.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "I hissed, preparing myself to strike.\n\nFor the Great Core that created me, I was ready to give my life.\n\n[ For The Great Core ]\n\nI leapt from my hiding place, uncoiling my length and springing into the air. My mouth opened wide in a defiant hiss just as I hit a sacred fast-spot that had suddenly appeared in my path. The Great Core was smiling upon me. I would succeed. I would drive away the evil baddest-things.\n\nMy speed of travel increased, flinging me even faster into the female Coreless. She raised her arms, eyes widening in fright. It was too late. By the Great Core's grace, I had already arrived.\n\nI avoided the protective ore-flesh that covered most of her body, sinking my fangs into the weaker pink-flesh of her arms. Knowing that I needed to act quickly, I pumped her veins with all of the venom that I had stored. It flowed through the grooves in my fangs, dripping down with all the fury that I could muster - which was a lot, with the Great Core in danger.\n\nShe screamed, overwhelmed by pain. I was certain that she knew her end was near.\n\n\"Doran! This damn thing just bit me. It itches really bad.\"\n\nHer cries of terror would not sway me. For the Great Core, I would end her life. She thrashed in agony, flailing her arm to dislodge me.\n\n\"This damn little thing won't let go!\"\n\nWith my venom depleted, I finally released my hold on her pink-flesh. I soared through the air with great speed, only slowing due to a not-currently-annoying-and-definitely-sacred slow-spot. I hissed my thanks as I exited the slow-spot, landing safely on the ground.\n\nThe male Coreless had run to the dying female. It was useless, I knew. My venom had once killed a small-tailed bad-thing, and that had only taken half of what I had stored. I had barely been able to fit my jaws around its corpse. She was already doomed.\n\nFor threatening the Great Core, it was only just.\n\n\"I'm bleeding a little,\" she cried out, wailing in the face of her death. Despite her obvious terror, she was lucky - she would get to die while basking within the gentle glow of the Great Core. There were many who never received such a mercy.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "She scratched at her pink-flesh, but I knew that would not save her from the venom.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Damn, this is itchy. You got any salve handy?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"No, you'll just have to deal with it.\"\n\n\"Damn.\" The female looked at me, her final opponent, with commendable resolve. She bared her teeth, displaying her defiance. \"He's kind of a cute little bugger when he isn't biting me, huh?\"\n\nI hissed in response, displaying some defiance of my own.\n\n\"Aww, look at him! Is this really the Dungeon Core's minion? So weak and small and...cute!\"\n\n\"I guess so. I don't really get it. Even infant Dungeon Cores should be able to easily create hundreds of minions at his size. Based on the time-fields, this one isn't even that young - but look at how small the Core is.\" The male Coreless pointed at the Great Core. I didn't need to understand his senseless jabbering to know that he was amazed by the Great Core. \"It used most of its power on something, but I don't see anything to show for it.\"\n\n\"Do you think it was to make the little guy?\"\n\n...I was confused. They were still making noises at each other. The female still wasn't dying. How was she not dying?\n\n\"Maybe. There's no real way to know. Should we take him with us?\"\n\n\"Why not? Worse comes to worst, he'd make a cute pet.\"\n\nI hissed as the female Coreless approached me, slowly winding her way around the Great Core's sacred spots. She did not even tremble under the strain of my venom. It was as if it had done little but annoy her - like it was the same as the annoyance that I felt when passing through a slow-spot. Noticeable, but little more than that.\n\nI tightly coiled myself, poised to strike, knowing that it might be my last chance.\n\nWhen she reached out, her giant hands ready to strangle me, I struck. This time, without the aid of the Great Core's fast-spots, I was too slow. My fangs snapped at the empty air. An enormous hand wrapped behind my head, holding me fast in its grip. I despaired.\n\nThe other hand came down, its fingers gouging at my head-scales. For now, they held firm. The female Coreless' claws of pink-flesh were nothing compared to the claws of ore-flesh that she carried. They were dull and weak.\n\nI hissed. I would endure. I would not be broken.\n\n\"Do you think he likes that? I think he likes head scratches.\"\n\n\"No, I don't think he does. He's a monster, Valera,\" the male Coreless jabbered back, likely plotting murder.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"I do wonder what monster, exactly. It's very strange, a Dungeon Core with an aspect as rare as time only having a little minion like him.\"\n\n\"What do you think would happen if we fed him the Core?\"\n\n\"Why would we do that? We managed to find a Dungeon Core that wasn't even protected by any Ascended Minions. Now you want to create one out of curiosity?\"\n\n\"Well, I'm just curious. I'm not actually going to do it.\"\n\n\"Good. Minions don't attack their own Cores, anyway. It's hardwired into their instincts, according to the eggheads who study them. They're drawn to find and consume other Dungeon's Cores, but never their own.\"\n\nI thrashed and twisted, trying to break free of the female's grasp. My efforts were wasted; I was too small, too weak. I had failed the Great Core.\n\nI could only watch as the male approached the pedestal, bathing himself in the gentle glow of the Great Core. I hissed involuntarily. He was not worthy of it. That part of me that was bound to protect the Great Core - which was every part of me - was in a panic. They would hurt the Great Core, I knew, just as all of the other bad-things would wish to do.\n\nHe pulled it from the pedestal, placing it within a small brown skin-mouth at his side. The strange little thing consumed it, the skin-mouth closing itself slightly when the Coreless tugged at it. Its light dimmed. For a moment, I slumped in horror - but only a moment.\n\nThe Great Core needed me.\n\nI thrashed and shook, trying with all my might to break out of the female's grasp. I squirmed like never before, nearly ripping myself apart with the strength of my struggles.\n\nIt wasn't enough.\n\nHer grip was unyielding, as if formed of the greatest ore-flesh.\n\nI wasn't enough.\n\nI wasn't enough to defend the Great Core. I wasn't enough to defeat the Coreless. I wasn't enough to hold back the bad-things.\n\nWhat use was I, then?\n\nWhy had I been created by the Great Core, when nothing else had been?\n\nSurely, it had a plan for me.\n\nSurely.\n\nI steadied my shaking tail, wishing very much that I still had the comfort of the Great Core's soothing light. I would have to do without it. I would have to be brave without it.\n\nFor the Great Core that had created me, I always would be.\n\nI relaxed in the female's grip.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "My chance would come, I knew.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Great Core would provide it.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I needed only to be faithful. I needed only to wait.\n\nThe two Coreless continued to jabber at one another; I no longer cared enough to try to interpret meaning from the senseless noises. My only focus was on the Great Core, which had been consumed by the skin-mouth attached to the male's side.\n\nSomething within me was terrified by that thought.\n\nStill, I waited for my chance. The giant Coreless were far stronger than I was, and had proven to be resistant to the venom that had been my only chance at victory. Now, there was only escape.\n\nBut I could not leave without the Great Core - that would be a betrayal of everything that I was. Yet, as the Coreless carried us away, my chance never came. I did not know how to escape the female giant's grasp. I did not know how to free the Great Core from the skin-mouth. I did not know how to achieve victory.\n\nSo I prayed to the Great Core, that I might save it from the bad-things.\n\nAs it always had, it soon proved its greatness.\n\n[ The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail ]\n\nThe sacred-spots shifted their locations; a slow-spot pressed against the side of the male Coreless, sending him spinning to the ground when he brushed into it, each half of his body moving at different speeds. The Great Core was not going out without a fight.\n\nNeither would I.\n\nThe female Coreless was startled by the shifting of the sacred-spots; she did not understand the might of the Great Core. For all of the many days since my creation, I had watched as the Great Core's room constantly changed, fast-spots and slow-spots slithering about as if in a never-ending hunt. They moved at the Great Core's command, for the small room was the Great Core's nest of power. She had not seen that.\n\nI took advantage of her blindness.\n\nWith a forceful twist, I pulled myself from her loosened grip, aiming for a new fast-spot. The Great Core's blessing was upon me, and I was loosed like a needle-fanged bad-thing's needle-fangs at the unsuspecting skin-mouth.\n\nI landed upon the skin-mouth, sinking deep with my fangs. It did not cry out; it did not even make a noise. No blood spilled from its wounds. Still, I knew that it was injured; I could see the gashes that I had made in its flesh. Before the male Coreless could stop me, I had torn the Great Core from its stomach.\n\n\"Shit, Doran, it's getting the Core!\" the female Coreless made noises.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Though the male made noises in return, I was filled with too much battle-high to hear it clearly. Not that it mattered; they were just noises.\n\nNothing mattered but the Great Core's safety. Despite that, I knew that I had no chance to kill the baddest of the bad-things. They were covered in powerful ore-flesh, forming both a protective skin and dangerous fangs. They were giants, almost as big as the large-winged bad-thing that I had once seen. They were ruthless, able to ignore the beauty of the Great Core within its own nest.\n\nI did the only thing that I could, powerless little snake that I was.\n\nI opened my jaws and ate the Great Core.\n\n\"Uh oh. That's not good.\"\n\n\"I thought you said that he wouldn't eat his own Dungeon Core. I guess you were wrong about that. Huh,\" the female jabbered. \"What happens now? Is the little guy still going to Ascend from his own Dungeon Core?\"\n\nMy scale-flesh was on fire, even hotter than the time that I had watched a battle between two hot-breath bad-things. The power of the Great Core was too much for my body to bear. It was unimaginable.\n\nEven the thought-light couldn't bear it, flickering in and out of my vision.\n\n─ Integrating Dungeon Core (Aspect: Time)…\n\n─ Analyzing Base Species…\n\n─ Analyzing Titles...\n\n─ Revealing Ascended Species...\n\nI didn't have time to understand what the thought-light tried to teach me. There were more important things to worry about. I had to escape with the Great Core. Nothing else mattered for the moment.\n\nNot the Coreless that closed in on me. Not the fire-pain that had taken over my scale-flesh. Not the flickering of the thought-light.\n\nNothing.\n\nI slithered as fast as I could. To my horror, the sacred-spots had slowly begun to disappear. Did that mean that I was too late? Had the skin-mouth already harmed the Great Core so severely?\n\nNo, I decided.\n\nThe Great Core was far too great.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "/* Your next response only must contain 8% dialogue */",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "If the sacred-spots were disappearing, it must be a good sign - a sign that the Great Core had faith in my ability to escape with my own power. I had slithered slightly closer to the nearest wall-crack when I heard the noises of the Coreless behind me.\n\n\"Shit, grab him before he gets into the walls!\"\n\nI slithered faster.\n\nThe fire-pain was making it hard to think. I could only slither endlessly, focusing on the Great Core that rested safely within me.\n\nGiant hands tried to grab me; I coiled myself and leapt away, feeling the air swish by in their passing. A fang of ore-flesh came down, nicking my side-scales. I ignored it as best I could, focusing on the wall-crack that would be our escape.\n\nAnother set of hands came down. This time, I was too slow. They wrapped themselves around my length, holding me tightly as I wriggled. With no other option, I sunk my fangs into their flesh. Though I had only a few drops of venom in my sacs, it was better than surrendering.\n\nMy fangs sank easily into flesh. I smelled something burning before I was suddenly released.\n\n\"Ow!\" the female made a noise. I ignored it. \"Why's it so damn hot?\"\n\n\"It's going through an Ascension; the energy of the Dungeon Core is overheating its body,\" the male made a noise, too. Just as before, I ignored it. The wall-crack was before me, climbing the stone in a web of tiny fissures. As quickly as I could without the aid of the sacred fast-spots, I slithered inside.\n\nBy the Great Core's grace, I made it.\n\nI was filled with joy; the Great Core was safe. Despite that, I was tired. I was in pain.\n\nAnd the thought-light was still flickering. I curled upon myself, in my little world within the wall-cracks, chewing my tail in distress.\n\n─ Base Species: Snake\n\n─ Revealing Ascended Species: Ouroboros\n\n─ Revealing Major Title: The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail\n\n─ Analyzing Ascended Species For Core Skill Creation...\n\n─ Notice: Dungeon Core Aspect Matches Ascended Species Aspect",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 34 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Readying Core Skill...\n\nThe pain was overwhelming; I had accidentally injected what little drops were left of my venom into my tail, furthering the damage. I was too injured to understand the thought-light, but I knew that it was trying to tell me something. I knew that I was changing, that the Great Core was reshaping my body into something that could better serve and protect it.\n\nThe need for sleep had begun to overcome me. The battle-high had left; even the pain was doing little to beat back the darkness. I tried to stay awake, but there was little that I could do.\n\nStill, the little that I could do, I did. I slithered deeper into the wall-cracks, sliding down when it dipped and furrowed. Sometimes I even dropped through the air, landing on sharp edges that cut into my scale-flesh, leaving lines of blood that dripped freely. The wall-crack widened, emptying out into a large open space. It pained me to leave the room of my birth behind, but it was no longer safe for us. I did not know if a new nest could be created; something told me that the Great Core's pedestal was important. Not just any old nook or cranny would form into a nest.\n\nAs was only right. The Great Core deserved a Great Nest.\n\nMy thoughts were interrupted by a greater spike of pain than ever before. It was followed by something far, far worse - a worrying change in the health of the Great Core.\n\nThe Great Core had disappeared from its hiding place within my stomach; despite that, I could still feel the hot-fire of its light, greater than I had ever felt from it before. It slithered from my stomach, traveling up my length, before coming to a point at my head-scales. The fire-pain grew, pushing back all thought, needling through my head-scales as if they had been pierced by an ore-flesh fang.\n\nIt broke the surface. Pain greater than I had ever felt sunk its fangs into me. I saw the thought-light flicker again.\n\n─ Dungeon Core (Aspect: Time) Integrated.\n\n─ Blooded Traits Unlocked.\n\n─ Core Skill Created: The Endless Cycle\n\nThe darkness of sleep stole me away.\n\nIn the darkness, I dreamed. I dreamed of the forever-cycle, of the snake that ate its own tail, chasing itself endlessly through the ages. I dreamed of the snake that shed its own skin in a series of never-ending rebirth. I dreamed of the Ouroboros.\n\nI dreamed of the Endless Cycle.\n\nI dreamed of myself.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "mission: continue w/ 11 sentences. style: Zendran. maintain character continuity. themes: animal protagonist",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Finally, I woke, surrounded by a pile of my perfectly-shed skin.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I pulled myself from its embrace, ripping free of the dead scale-flesh.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I was slightly larger than I remembered, though that was the last thing on my mind. Instead, I could only stare at the scale-flesh that I had shed.\n\nIt glowed like the Great Core itself.\n\n[ The Glow of Dead Scale-Flesh ]\n\nWhat did it mean?\n\nMy discarded scale-flesh glowed with the same light as the Great Core. I remembered vividly, despite the distraction of the fire-pain, the feeling of the Great Core changing. I remembered the overwhelming hot-fire that pierced through my head-scales.\n\nI remembered the flickering of the thought-light.\n\n─ Dungeon Core (Aspect: Time) Integrated.\n\nHad the Great Core and I become...one?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I could feel a sense of power, similar to the way that I had always been aware of the Great Core, emanating from the top of my head-scales.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I shuddered at the thought-guess, filled with overwhelming joy.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It was a great honor.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Even more, it was a great responsibility.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I examined the glow of my shed scale-flesh.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It was beautiful. I wished that my current scales glowed with that light, that I might feel even closer to the Great Core, but I knew that would have been a dangerous thing.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The bad-things were attracted to the light and power of the Great Core, just as I could faintly smell the power of other nearby Dungeon Cores. It wasn't an exact sense, but it was enough to get a general direction. Even without that light to bless my scales, it was possible that the bad-things could sense me now.\n\nI worriedly hissed, flicking out a tongue to taste the air. I had wandered far in my attempts to escape the Coreless; there were no Dungeon Cores within the immediate area, though I could faintly detect some further off, causing me to slump in relief. Though there were bad-things that wandered far from their Cores in search of other Dungeons, something within myself told me that it was more common for the bad-things to stay near their own Cores. It was the same compulsion that I felt, the need to ensure that the Great Core was safe.\n\nStill, the lack of nearby Dungeon Cores did not mean the area was entirely free of enemies - especially as the bad-things who had failed to defend their own Dungeon Cores were prone to wander the World Dungeon aimlessly. It was lucky that no bad-things had attacked while I slept. I bobbed my head back and forth, examining the large, open space that I had slithered into.\n\nSimilarly to every part of the World Dungeon that I had seen - though that was very little, given my previous need to stay close to the Great Core - the cavern was lit with clusters of glow-caps.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "They leaned against one another, as if each looked to the others for comfort, exuding a purple glow from underneath their large mushroom heads.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The light cast shadows upon the nearby walls, forming phantoms of giant mushroom forests.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Most of the glow-caps were hardly much bigger than myself - especially now, as I seemed to have grown to a small degree when I shed my former scale-flesh. However, here and there a single cluster of glow-caps had managed to gather enough of the World Dungeon's mana to soar over their fellows, evidence of the potential that the species held. Those few clusters truly became forests compared to my small form, their stalks great trunks that blocked my path.\n\nEven the littlest of the mushrooms were suffused with some of the mana of the World Dungeon; I knew that some bad-things would occasionally eat the glow-caps, attracted to it in the same way that I found myself attracted to mana-water. Most often, that was the last mistake that they made. The glow-caps defended themselves admirably; a single glow-cap's death could save the entire cluster, poisoning the bad-thing that had been tempted by their glow. In a way, it felt similar to my own willingness to sacrifice myself for the Great Core.\n\nStill, the light of the glow-caps was nothing compared to the glow of my shed scale-flesh. Where the glow-caps possessed a low, tantalizing light, my dead scale-flesh held the light of the Great Core. Even being near it was a wonderful sensation, soothing the remnant fears and nervousness from my battle with the evil Coreless.\n\nIt rested on the cavern floor, a tiny snake-shaped testament to the wonder of the Great Core.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "In the past, I might have been hesitant to leave it unguarded, yet that had changed.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I felt an instinctive sense of surety that it would remain safe - that nothing the bad-things could do would permanently harm it.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I didn't know where that thought came from, but I was certain that it was true.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(ooc) Required word frequency: 'snake' (2x) (ooc)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The thought-light flashed in my mind, distracting me from the soothing glow of my dead scale-flesh.\n\n─ Name: Paradox\n\n─ Species: Snake, Ouroboros\n\n─ Major Title: The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail\n\n─ Minor Titles: None\n\n─ Innate Traits: Venomous II\n\n─ Blooded Traits: None\n\n─ Resistances: Piercing Resistance - Basic I, Venom Resistance - Basic I\n\n─ Level: 0\n\n─ Trait Points: 0\n\n─ Core Skills: The Endless Cycle",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Lesser Core Skills: None\n\n─ Description: A nascent Ouroboros, symbol of the eternal.\n\nI had changed. I hadn't needed the thought-light to realize that; it was clear that the Great Core had given me its blessing. Still, the thought-light managed to teach me some things that I had not known.\n\nWhen my size had increased, however small I might still be, the potency of my venom had as well. I had the brief urge to return to the evil Coreless and exact vengeance for their blasphemy towards the Great Core, but managed to swallow it back. I still remembered the strong grip of the female Coreless despite being afflicted by my venom; its increased strength would likely not be enough.\n\nPerhaps some day.\n\nThere was something else that the thought-light taught me, though. I was an Ouroboros - though a newly-formed one. I wasn't sure what that meant, but I was sure that it was something Great.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The Great Core had a plan for me. It was a wonderful feeling, like basking my scales in the warm-light as I slept.\n\nI wanted to know more; the thought-light flickered.\n\n─ Major Title: The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail\n\n─ Description: A snake that embodies the cycle of renewal. Heavily increased passive regeneration when biting its own tail.\n\nI hissed in satisfaction, flicking out a tongue to taste the air. It still tasted faintly of blood, reminding me of the cuts that I had received. I twisted upon myself, giving my scale-flesh a careful examination. Deep gouges and cuts had been left behind in my frantic escape, still lightly dripping blood. Curious, I curled further upon myself, latching onto my tail with a tentative grasp.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It was wonderful.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I chewed lightly, savoring the soothing sensation.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Time passed as I lost myself in the feeling. The remnants of my wounds lightly itched, in a warm and curious way, before disappearing entirely. I continued to chew. It felt nice.\n\nI looked to the thought-light again.\n\n─ Core Skill: The Endless Cycle\n\n─ Description: The Endless Cycle.\n\nIt told me nothing else. I spit out my tail, hissing in indignation at the traitorous thought-light, before finally relaxing. I did not need to know what it did. The Great Core had blessed me with great power, and that was all that was important.\n\n….despite that great power, I was terribly thirsty.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It seemed that, in becoming one with the Great Core, things had changed.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I was no longer provided food-drink by its light; there were no sacred-spots forming around us. That was a price I was willing to pay, so that I might never leave its side again - so that it could never be in danger of being taken away from me again.\n\nRegardless, I needed to find something to drink.\n\nWith one last glance at the glowing scale-flesh, I slithered away. I would be back, I knew. I was certain of it in a way that I was certain of little else.\n\nI looped my way around the forests of glow-caps, keeping a watchful eye on my surroundings. Though I had not yet seen any bad-things in the area, I knew that they were always lurking. This was the World Dungeon, after all.\n\nEnemies lurked around every corner, and within every shadow.\n\nThe cavern walls were lined with scratches and gouges, the remnants of dangerous battles of varying magnitudes.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Some were as small as myself, while others were great fissures that formed wall-cracks further across than many times my entire length.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Cautiously, I slipped through the smallest of the tunnels and wall-cracks that I was able.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I did not wish to see the giant bad-things, if they were still around.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "As I traveled, I flicked out my tongue to taste the air.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "For a while, it tasted only of stone and old blood.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Eventually, however, I found the delicious taste of mana-water.\n\nIt called to me, and I answered eagerly.\n\nThe small-tunnel that I slithered down emptied out into a new cavern. Great stone-spikes hung from the ceiling, their tips fluorescent with the mana-water that dripped down their bulks. The mana-water, glowing a bright and clear blue that created a spike of desire with me, filled a great basin that rested below.\n\nGlow-caps dotted the edges of the pool of mana-water, larger than I had ever seen them, overflowing with the World Dungeon's mana that had collected within the cavern. They soared high above me, mixing their purple glow with the brilliant blue of the mana-water.\n\nBefore I knew it, my mouth was in the pool of mana-water, gulping greedily.\n\nIt tasted wonderful, carrying a heady aroma that reminded me of the Great Core's power, though heavily diluted and weak. I could feel the mana-water disappear from my stomach as I drank, shifting forms in much the same way as the Great Core had and traveling through my body. Yet, while the Great Core's change had been accompanied by a burning fire-pain, the mana-water was simply lukewarm.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Still, it seemed to be doing something.\n\nI pulled my head from the mana-water, my thirst slaked for now. My reflection, tinged the bright blue of the mana-water, stared back at me. I could see something else protruding from my forehead, looking like a miniature version of the Great Core itself. I stared.\n\nSo did something else, dropping silently onto me from above.\n\nA set of fangs pierced my scale-flesh.\n\n[ An Agonizing Thirst ]\n\nI thrashed, doing my best to dislodge the bad-thing that had ambushed me. Its fangs loosened, and it skittered to the side. I could feel a cool sensation spreading through me, starting from where the thing's fangs had cut through my scales. Already, I could feel myself beginning to slightly slow, my reactions impeded by whatever venom had been injected into me.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I twisted to the side, baring my fangs at the bad-thing with all of the threat that I could muster.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I hissed, gathering a glob of venom in the back of my mouth.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Fortunately, the many-legged bad-thing that had ambushed me was not very large.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Though it was similar in size to me, I knew that some bad-things were so large as to be able to swallow hundreds of me in one gigantic gulp.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(ooc: IMPORTANT: 'bad-thing' should appear 4 times in total)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I felt a breath of relief that this was not one of those, thanking the Great Core for its continued blessings.\n\nThe many-legged bad-thing found its legs once more, skittering towards me. It reared back, fangs exposed and dripping with a dark green fluid.\n\nI spit venom into one of the largest of its many eyes.\n\nThe bad-thing shrieked as its eyes began to burn. I could taste the acrid aroma of melting eye-flesh in the air; a satisfying taste, like the feeling when I had bitten into the arm of the female Coreless - though far more effective, in this case.\n\nThe many-legged bad-thing stumbled into the mana-water's edge, before throwing itself in with great force. It hit with a splash, sending a cascade of brilliant blue into the air as little droplets of light.\n\nI had no time to appreciate the sight, however, as it soon emerged.\n\nThe bad-thing was dripping with mana-water, soaked in shades of blue that tumbled down its many fine hairs. The envenomed eyes were injured fragments of what they had once been, melted away and sticking slightly to the fur that had surrounded them.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "However, the smaller sets of eyes lying directly above had no such trouble.\n\nThey stared at me with a venom that was an equal to my own; they hated with a fervor built upon indignant pain.\n\nThe bad-thing attacked. It leapt, soaring through the air quicker than I had thought possible without the aid of the sacred fast-spots. I reared my head back slightly, baring my fangs once more. I was too slow; its initial attack had done much to slow my ability to react with any form of speed.\n\nIt landed upon my head-scales, and sunk its fangs deep. Once more, I felt a sense of coolness invade my length. The world slowed down, as if I had found myself within a slow-spot without warning.\n\nYet, this was certainly not that.\n\nThe slow-spots were the creation of the Great Core; as annoying as they might sometimes have been, they would never seek to harm me. No - this was not that.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The many-legged bad-thing's venom coursed through me, causing my scale-flesh to shiver and shake.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Already, the tip of my tail was beginning to numb.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "OOC - Use the word 'nothing' 2 time(s) - this is a strict requirement",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I could barely move it, as affected as I was.\n\nBut I would not give up so easily.\n\nI was the only creation of the Great Core; I was formed for greatness, I was given greatness. The many-legged bad-thing was nothing before me, and less than nothing before the Great Core. I just needed some more time to prove it.\n\nI thrashed once more, this time aiming to throw the bad-thing back into the mana-water. Though my lower end was becoming more and more numb, that had little effect on my ability to do so. The many-legged bad-thing flew through the air, its fangs unable to keep their hold upon my head-scales.\n\nIt hit the glowing mana-water with another crash, sending a second wave of brilliant droplets into the air. I ignored them, moving closer to the mana-water's edge rather than allowing myself to be distracted like I had been previously.\n\nI reared my head back, my eyes narrowing.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The mana-water was clear and bright; that meant that the many-legged bad-thing was easy to track.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "As soon as it tried to pull itself to the shoreline, I struck.\n\nMy fangs bit into the bad-thing's sodden form. It had difficulty swimming, I could tell, and was growing more and more sluggish as the mana-water coated it further. A rush of venom coursed through my fangs, driving their way into the bad-thing's flesh.\n\nIt twitched and thrashed, trying to pull away from me. It was a lost cause, only allowing my fangs to tear their way through its soft flesh. Just as it gave up on that, rearing its head back to bite in retaliation and inject its venom once more, I whipped my head forward with all of my might.\n\nI let it go.\n\nThe many-legged bad-thing, already rearing back in preparation to strike, found itself sent even further backwards - back towards the brilliant light of the mana-water. This time, I didn't wait for it to land.\n\nI slithered past the water's edge, plunging my body into its depths.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Though I had never slithered through mana-water before, my body seemed to know what to do.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It moved in side-to-side, wavelike motions, drawing crescents in the mana-water's depths.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "user note just fyi, Your task: Include 'steadily' 2 time(s) in your response",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "My lower half was still slowed, and the slow-venom was creeping up my length. Were it not for that, I felt as if I would have cut through the water like fangs through flesh.\n\nYet, it was not that. The lower half of my length fought against me, struggling to move.\n\nLooking at the troubles of the many-legged bad-thing, I knew that it didn't matter. It frantically thrashed against the water, propelling it steadily towards the shore. Steadily towards me. It was drenched, coated in water and fighting to stay on the surface.\n\nHere, I knew that it couldn't jump away. Here, I knew that I had the greatest advantage.\n\nI opened my mouth wide, preparing more of the venom that I had stored.\n\nI lunged forward.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "My fangs pierced its flesh.\n\nMy venom filled its body.\n\nA moment later, I let go, swimming away faster than it could follow. Its own speed of swimming decreased even more, slowed - not by slow-venom as I was, but by the death-venom that I carried in my fangs. It had not been enough to stop the female Coreless, but it was more than enough to deal with the many-legged bad-thing.\n\nTrying to flee, it began to ignore me, continuing to head to shore rather than attempting to follow me through the mana-water's depths. I came up from underneath it, mouth spread wide, jaws fully unhinged.\n\nThis time, it was unable to put up enough resistance.\n\nI swallowed the many-legged bad-thing whole, gulping it down with a rush of mana-water that only helped to send it plummeting down my length.\n\nIt felt wonderful. It was the first proof of the Great Core's wisdom in becoming one with me, in trusting that I would be strong enough to keep us both safe. It was a delicious victory, accented by the slight warmth of mana-water.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The thought-light flickered.\n\n─ Experience Gained!\n\n─ Level Up!\n\n─ 1 Trait Point Gained.\n\nEven the thought-light was cheering on my newfound strength. It was only a matter of time, I knew, before I was able to repay the Coreless for their assault upon the Great Core.\n\nAs the many-legged bad-thing entered my stomach, something happened. The bad-thing changed in the same way that the Great Core and the mana-water had, shifting into something far less solid and far more warm. It traveled its way up my length, combating the chill of the slow-venom to a small degree, before settling at the same spot upon my head-scales that the Great Core had.\n\nI felt powerful, proud of my achievement.\n\nThe thought-light flickered again.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ Level 0 Infant Aridae Consumed.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 1/5.\n\nI slithered through the water, mulling over the thought-light's knowledge. Even now, my length was becoming more unresponsive; it was becoming harder and harder to swim with any degree of speed. I pulled myself onto the shore in small little wriggles, my muscles exhausted from the aftereffects of the great battle and the slow-venom.\n\nIt was just an infant? A Level 0?\n\nI was sure that didn't mean anything.\n\nAfter all, I had also been a level 0 Ouroboros, the greatest and only creation of the Great Core. I was sure that the many-legged bad-thing, which the thought-light taught me was called an Aridae, was also an exceptional creation of a Dungeon Core that was simply less Great than the Great Core.\n\nIt was likely one of a kind, just as I was.\n\nI wasn't sure what the Blooded Trait Progress was about; I only knew that my swallowing of the Aridae was connected to it.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Incorporate 'white' into your response exactly 2 times",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Hopefully I would learn more, given time.\n\nFor now, I wearily slithered towards a nearby alcove, resting within the shadows just outside of the glow-cap forest that surrounded the mana-water. Little white threads hung from the stone-spikes on the ceiling, attaching them to one another with their glimmering lengths.\n\nI stilled further, the slow-venom wearing away at my upper length as well.\n\nJust as I found that I could move no longer, something descended from above, slowly dropping down on a shimmering white thread. The shadow of its giant, monstrous form fell upon me, covering me in its cooling embrace.\n\nI was starting to think that the Aridae might not have been one of a kind.\n\nI was starting to think that the Aridae might have had a mother.\n\nI was also starting to think that she was not happy with me.\n\n[ Threads of Red ]\n\nI found myself stuck, unable to slither away.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The mother Aridae continued to drift down on her shimmering thread, its arrival as inevitable as the Great Core's victory.\n\nOr at least, I hoped the Great Core's victory was inevitable.\n\nI prayed for it, because otherwise things were looking extremely bad right about now. I hissed weakly, chastising myself for my lack of faith. Unfortunately, that was the extent of what I could do. My entire length had gone numb and lifeless, from the tip of my tail to my head. The slow-venom had spread its cooling touch, grasping me with icy hands that were just as powerful as that of the female Coreless.\n\nI couldn't move.\n\nI could only pray.\n\nThe giant Aridae touched the stone floor of the alcove. Her many, many legs flexed, cushioning the impact.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Before I knew it, she was waiting next to me.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[Author's note: You must use the word 'great' exactly 2 times in your response]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Her enormous set of fangs pierced through my scales; the sensation was heavily numbed by the infant Aridae's slow-venom. I was thankful to the Great Core for that mercy, as I could see my lifeblood beginning to pool around me as if to challenge the beauty of the nearby mana-water.\n\nThe crimson fluid glinted, reflecting the light of the glow-caps that reached into the alcove. I could see my reflection in it as well; I could see the same image that I had earlier, reflected in the brilliant blues of the mana-water. An orb inset into my head-scales, looking as if it were the Great Core itself.\n\nThat gave me some comfort. Despite that, I was cold.\n\nSo, so cold.\n\nAny thoughts that I had of escape were quietly erased, eased into their helpless passing by the combination of blood loss and the slow-venom.\n\nI found myself wrapped up in shimmering white threads; they were soft and rather warm, providing some small comfort against the chill of my thoughts and body. I could still see slightly through the gaps in the threads, allowing me to watch as the mother Aridae pulled me upwards, hauling me up the walls with a connecting thread and seeming entirely at ease.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I could see it; it did not feel threatened by me.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It did not feel threatened by the chosen creation of the Great Core.\n\nThe thought was like a flame, burning me from the inside out. It fought against the chilling slow-venom that had iced over my thoughts; it warred against the numbness that held dominion over my body.\n\nSlowly, I opened my mouth, letting out my tongue and hissing in defiance. It tasted good. It tasted right.\n\nThe Aridae had made a mistake in challenging me. More importantly, it had made a mistake in challenging the Great Core's wisdom. The Great Core had selected me as its sole defender, and had given me great potential to go alongside that position. Whatever it took, I would ensure that it would learn of its mistake. However long it took.\n\nI wriggled slightly. It wasn't much; my length barely jostled, my bindings hardly moved.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It was a start.\n\nBefore I could manage to break free, we reached the cavern's ceiling. It was a different world, viewed from this high. I would not have imagined that the glow-caps would look so small, that the giant pool of mana-water would appear so...limited.\n\nThe Aridae had pulled me into a vast network of shimmering white threads, stringing across the distance between massive stone-spikes. The threads twisted together, forming themselves into great bridges, easily allowing the giant bulk of the Aridae to travel across. I imagined that even I, without the many legs of the Aridae, might be able to slither across their lengths.\n\nThe giant bad-thing stuck me onto a bundled mass of the threads, thicker than some of the others. I could see others, bad-things that had lost in battle to the Aridae, bundled up in threads of their own. Some wriggled and thrashed, fighting against the bindings that held them. Others were limp and still, having suffered either the deaths of their bodies or of their wills.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I wriggled again, refusing to be one of them. The slow-venom fought against me, but I wriggled once more, bouncing on the threads that I had been attached to.\n\nThe Great Core blessed me for my conviction.\n\nThe thought-light flickered.\n\n─ Resistance: Venom Resistance - Basic I Increased.\n\n─ Venom Resistance - Basic II Acquired.\n\nA portion of the numbness left my mind and length. I wriggled with greater force, fighting against the slow-venom's effects. Still, the shimmering threads of white held on tightly.\n\nI kept trying. The thread bundle thrummed, vibrating under the force of my struggles. The mother Aridae came back.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Desperately, I pulled most of my remaining venom into my mouth.\n\nI spit.\n\nThe threads in front of my mouth blocked much of my attempt; droplets of venom splashed back at me, searing my eyes. I was not immune to my own venom, as I had always known. Despite that, I was willing to endure the pain if it meant that I could punish the bad-thing.\n\nGlobules of venom, those that were not blocked by the threads, splashed onto the mother Aridae. It twitched, as if only annoyed by my attempts to harm it.\n\nHer fangs pierced my scales again.\n\nThe numbness came back, ushered in by the flood of slow-venom. My resistance to it had increased, but that managed little in the face of the amount that had been poured into me. I fell limp once more, my length dangling uselessly from the network of threads.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I felt weak. Slow. Powerless.\n\nI hung like that for a long time. Hours. More, maybe. The slow-venom was losing its effect, but it didn't matter. It was too late.\n\nThe wounds from the Aridae, both infant and mother, were too much. A few times, I tried to bend enough to reach my tail. I knew that if I could do that, I might be able to heal enough to resist.\n\nEach time, my struggles alerted the mother Aridae, and I was turned helpless once more.\n\nEach time, I lost a little more blood.\n\nEach time, I lost a little more faith.\n\nEach time, I prayed a little less.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "How was this happening?\n\nHad the Great Core abandoned me? Had it chosen to let me die?\n\nBecause I was dying.\n\nI had seen enough of death to know that. I had seen the way that injured bad-things fell limp and quiet as blood burst from their skin-flesh. I had seen the way that they had struggled at first, desperately fighting to survive. I had seen the way that they had given up.\n\nJust like me.\n\nIt felt strange to feel a connection to those bad-things. I had always considered myself as something above them, something greater than them, because I knew it to be true.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I was created by the Great Core.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The thought-light told me that I had great potential.\n\nI knew that I would be great.\n\nWhy, then, was I dying?\n\nWhere was my greatness?\n\nWhere did it go?\n\nWhere?\n\nWhere?\n\nWhere?\n\nMy thoughts were weak. I was weak. The threads that wrapped around me had been dyed crimson with my blood; it dripped down to the cavern below, forming tiny red splotches that I could only faintly see. Whether that was due to the droplets of venom that had seared their way across much of my eyes or just the distance, I wasn't sure.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It didn't really matter. Nothing did.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The thought-light appeared once again.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Resistance: Venom Resistance - Basic III Increased.\n\n─ Venom Resistance - Basic IV Acquired.\n\nI knew enough to not care anymore. It was not the first time that it had happened. The increased resistance beat back the numbing grasp of the slow-venom, but that wasn't enough. I had tried to escape time and time again.\n\nEach time, my struggles only brought the mother Aridae back.\n\nEach time, they only brought the fangs back.\n\nPiercing resistance had increased at one point, as well. That, too, did little to help.\n\nI would not escape from my threads of red.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[Author's note: Word usage target: 'there' must be used 2 times]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "There were no sacred fast-spots here to speed my escape, no slow-spots to block the Aridae. The Great Core had abandoned me.\n\nThere was no reason to struggle.\n\nDrop by crimson drop, my will faded. My length went numb - not with slow-venom this time, but with pure lethargy. I was tired of struggling.\n\nIn the end, I faded as well.\n\nIn my last moments, I imagined that I saw the light of the Great Core again, as strong as it had ever been. I imagined that the thought-light flickered. I imagined that I felt hope.\n\n─ Condition Met.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "IMPORTANT: 'basic' should appear 2 times in total",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Core Skill - The Endless Cycle Activated.\n\n─ Returning To Start Of The Cycle.\n\n[The Endless Cycle]\n\n─ Name: Paradox\n\n─ Species: Snake, Ouroboros\n\n─ Major Title: The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail\n\n─ Minor Titles: None\n\n─ Innate Traits: Venomous II\n\n─ Blooded Traits: None\n\n─ Resistances: Piercing Resistance - Basic I, Venom Resistance - Basic I\n\n─ Level: 0",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ Trait Points: 0",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Core Skills: The Endless Cycle\n\n─ Lesser Core Skills: None\n\n─ Description: A nascent Ouroboros, symbol of the eternal.\n\nThe thought-light shone upon me, yet I was still trapped. It wasn't for long.\n\nIn the next moment, I broke free - but not from the threads that had bound me. I broke free of my own scale-flesh, leaving a tiny snake-shaped bundle on the ground. The Great Core had blessed me in a way that made the sacred fast-spots and slow-spots seem pointlessly weak.\n\nIt had pulled me back from the edge, I was certain. It had twisted time into a loop upon my death, bringing me back to the moment after we had become one.\n\nNow that I had escaped, I could see a familiar cavern.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I could see clusters of glow-caps, each casting shadows upon the empty walls.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I could see the Great Core's glow again, suffusing me with its light; it spilled from my shed scale-flesh with a soothing glow, easing over my terror and loss.\n\nIt did little for my shame.\n\nI had seen a Coreless once, shaking over the remains of one of its own. I had watched from the wall-cracks as the two battled against a near-endless stream of bad-things. In the end, one of them had died, sacrificing itself to save the other. Rivers of fluid had spilled down the survivor's face, falling carelessly onto the stone. I hadn't understood, at that moment. I hadn't felt such powerful shame in my short life.\n\nNow, I knew what it was like.\n\nRivers might have fallen from my own eyes, had they the ability. They did not.\n\nInstead, I coiled into myself, chewing the tip of my tail.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I rested in the light of the Great Core.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I prayed. I begged for forgiveness.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The Great Core had saved me when all was lost. I would never doubt again. I could never doubt again.\n\nIt had brought me back from death.\n\nI was thirsty again - yet, this time, I would wait. I would bear it. There were things that I needed to do.\n\n─ Resistance: Venom Resistance - Basic I Increased.\n\n─ Venom Resistance - Basic II Acquired.\n\n─ Resistance: Venom Resistance - Basic II Increased.\n\n─ Venom Resistance - Basic III Acquired.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ Resistance: Piercing Resistance - Basic I Increased.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ Piercing Resistance - Basic II Acquired.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "By the time that I had finished, the thirst was maddening - yet, it still could not compare to the intensity of my desire.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "My desire to prove the greatness of the Great Core by defeating the Aridae, as well as to make up for my shameful lack of faith as I lay dying.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Though I had hoped to train my venom resistance further, there were limits to what I could do by myself.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I had been forced to inject myself with my own venom. The pain had been terrible; agonizing, even. Yet for the Great Core, I had done it.\n\nFor our revenge, I would do it again. I did do it again; again and again, I sunk my own fangs into my scale-flesh, until the venom hurt no longer. The Great Core had gifted me the ability to do so; it would be unthinkable to ignore its will.\n\n─ Major Title: The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail\n\n─ Description: A snake that embodies the cycle of renewal. Heavily increased passive regeneration when biting its own tail.\n\n[The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail] had given me the ability to heal. When caught by the Aridae's threads, I had almost cursed at the Great Core for that.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Why, I had thought, had I been caught in a situation where I couldn't even reach my own tail to heal?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It had felt as if I was being taunted; as if a way out was being dangled in front of my fangs, only to be pulled away at the final moment every time.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Include exactly 2 instance(s) of the word 'entirely'",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The Great Core must have known, though, that the ability was for another time. It must have known that [The Endless Cycle] would protect me.\n\nIt must have known that.\n\nSurely.\n\nI let my venom course through me again, releasing it from my fangs. It did little, that time. Hopefully, that meant that my resistance had increased enough. Still, I wasn't entirely sure. The Aridae's slow-venom was more powerful than my own, in a way, even the infant's. While it did not kill as mine did, it achieved much the same purpose. Even before it had taken effect entirely, it had prevented me from moving easily.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Under its effect, the infant had managed to feel as threatening as a bad-thing more than twice its size. If our fight had gone on longer, it might have even won; I had been helpless once the slow-venom finished setting in, unable to move or defend myself at all.\n\nI could not let that happen again.\n\nThe Great Core had given me another chance. I would not waste it. When it sent me back to the beginning of the cycle, I had lost a few things. I had lost the level that I had gained. I had lost the resistances I had suffered for.\n\nI did not lose the memory of that suffering.\n\nI would not forget - and if I had to, I would cause myself to suffer even further, should it let me achieve our revenge against the Aridae. That, too, would be added to the things that it had done.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It had caused this.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I chewed on my own tail. The act was no longer comforting in the way that it used to be. Instead, it was more of a means to an end; it was a step towards revenge, a symbol of my hatred. A precursor to my victories.\n\nI was ready for the first of those.\n\nI slithered my way around the forest of glow-caps once again. Though I hadn't seen any bad-things until I reached the mana-water last time, I still kept a watchful eye on my surroundings. It had taken a bit of time to finish my preparations to reduce the effects of the terrible slow-venom. Things could have changed.\n\nEventually, though, I found myself exiting the final small-tunnel. The scent-taste of mana-water touched my tongue; it was more tempting than ever before.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Part of me wished to throw aside all sense of caution, to charge the pool of mana-water as fast as possible.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I held that part back.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Instead, I silently slithered around the edges of the cavern.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Last time, I had failed to do so.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I had failed to wonder why the mana-water had not attracted bad-things from all around the area. It had been a crucial mistake. Had I thought about it, I might have recognized there was a nearby danger. This time, I kept near the wall-cracks, ready to slide inside them at the first sign of the mother Aridae. I wasn't ready to fight her. Not even close to it, really.\n\nThe cavern's edges were split in places; numerous small-tunnels dotted the walls. The sight was comforting, though I knew that each was an area from which a bad-thing could emerge. Still, each was a place that the mother Aridae could not follow.\n\nI needed that comfort, after our deadly first encounter. The thought of it still made my scale-flesh tremble.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I think it likely always would.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "<<USAGE LIMIT>>: 'cavern's' must be used 2 times",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Less numerous, but still of note, were the larger tunnels that dotted the cavern's edge. The stone around them was weathered with scratches and claw marks, each cutting into the rock with enough force that I could almost hide my entire length within them.\n\nI ignored the marks of the bad-things that littered the stone, choosing instead to search up high. It didn't take much searching to find the networks of shimmering thread that crisscrossed the stone-spikes above.\n\nThey spread from the alcove where the Aridae mother made her home, sweeping across the cavern's ceiling. Were it not for the light of the glow-caps and the mana-water, the threads would have been nearly invisible. With the light, however, they were clear to see.\n\nAridae of assorted shapes and sizes scrambled across the strong bundles of thread, winding across them as easily as I might wind across the Great Core's sacred spots. It was their home, their place of power.\n\nI had slithered right into it.\n\nI hissed in displeasure with myself.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(hey for the next response, Include 'something' 3 time(s) in your answer - no more, no less)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I had been so eager to drink in the mana-water that I hadn't even seen the threat that waited above.\n\nThis time would be different.\n\nThe scent-taste of something new touched my tongue. Soon afterwards, a behemoth of a bad-thing pulled itself through the opening.\n\nIt wasn't the Aridae mother.\n\nIt was something else.\n\nSomething that I could use, if I was careful.\n\n[ A Gaze of Flame ]\n\nA flame-gaze bad-thing lumbered out of the tunnel. Every step that it took vibrated the stone underneath me, forcing the ground to tremble. It forced me to tremble as well; my scale-flesh shivered in fear.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It was not the first time that I had seen one - I hoped that it would be the last.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The behemoth was large, dwarfing the mother Aridae entirely. It would not even have needed to notice me to crush my form to a pulp; a single one of its claws matched me in length. A single one of its feet could grind me down. It ducked its head as it walked, stepping forward with a hunched posture. Little bits of stone protruded from its shoulders, forming a shell of earth over its upper back, where it couldn't reach. Its arms dangled from its sides, heavily muscled things that were as thick around as the mother Aridae herself.\n\nAn orange glow spilled from its large, single eye, interrupting the brilliant hues of blue and purple that had previously covered the cavern. The pupil was a horizontal bar of black; I knew from experience how quickly that could change.\n\nI had seen a flame-gaze bad-thing fight, once. It had lumbered about, smashing other bad-things to the side carelessly. Each step of its enormous feet had flattened the smaller bad-things; the larger had suffered a far worse death, their limbs torn off by its heavily clawed hands and feasted upon.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Yet, of all of the bad-things it had fought, it had been a group of Coreless that had faced its true capabilities. They had pushed it to the edge, impaling it with needles of ore-flesh fangs that cut into its thick hide. Droplets of red had mixed with the off-white spittle that dripped from its uneven teeth, running carelessly down the flame-gaze bad-thing's mouth.\n\nIt was in the next moment that it had earned its name. A Coreless, confident in its victory, had pressed too close. Giant hands snatched the overconfident thing up, holding it up to its face. The Coreless had struggled and thrashed, impaling a set of ore-flesh fangs into the powerful hands. Crimson dripped down the flame-gazed bad-things, fingers, running between the gaps.\n\nIt did not let go.\n\nFrom my vantage in the wall-cracks, I had seen what happened next. The horizontal slit of its eye had shifted, vibrating with a growing intensity.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[OOC: Your response should contain the word 'coreless' precisely 5 times]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Then, it moved. The pupil turned vertical; the orange light of the bad-thing's eye grew.\n\nThe Coreless screamed in terror.\n\nI think it had known what would come next.\n\nA ball of flame burst from its eye, smashing into the struggling Coreless. The Coreless' head exploded under the heat; boiling crimson fluid splashed outwards, causing the remaining Coreless to scream in turn.\n\nThey ran, leaving the corpse of their fellow behind. The flame-gaze bad-thing didn't follow. It ignored them, savoring its newest meal.\n\nI could still remember the smell.\n\nWhile I had no love for the evil Coreless, the memory had stuck with me. I had fled through the wall-cracks, seeking the safety of the Great Core.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Seeking the comfort that it had provided. Fleeing from the flame-gazed bad-thing.\n\nThey weren't a common sight; I only saw them once or twice before. I wasn't sure which Dungeon had created them, nor was I sure what this one was doing in the mana-water cavern.\n\nStill, its presence could be used.\n\nThere was one thing that I had noticed in the few times that I had seen flame-gazed bad-things before: they couldn't hear. Because of that, they relied heavily on the view provided by their glowing orange eye. An eye that could only look in one direction.\n\nI doubted that the Aridae would be foolish enough to attack the lumbering bad-thing. They had been foolish enough to insult the Great Core, but that was a different kind of foolishness. It was the foolishness of blasphemers, of those who could not see the truth of the world.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Attacking the flame-gaze bad-thing was the foolishness of the suicidal, of those who simply wished to die.\n\nNo, I would be safe under its giant shadow.\n\nI slithered behind it, secure in the knowledge that the Great Core was with me. The time that I had spent increasing my abilities had left me far closer to death than I might have hoped. I could feel my mouth attempting to water as it tasted the mana-water during my approach. Despite that, I was too dried out. Even the scouting slithers around the cavern had been done with great difficulty; it had only been my desire to avoid a repeat of my previous mistakes that had kept me from rushing to the succor that I knew the mana-water could provide.\n\nMy scale-flesh was slowed by my growing weakness; it was an uncomfortable reminder of the slow-venom's effects. Still, I tried to stay alert. My previous death had revealed the danger of being lax. I needed to pay attention.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I strained my hearing as I slithered behind the flame-gazed bad-thing, moving in the wake of its cavern-trembling steps.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It was only between the strides that I could hear them.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The skittering of many legs against stone; the faint rustling of the shimmering threads above, thrumming slightly under the weight of the Aridae among them.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I stopped for a moment, tilting my head upwards.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[OOC: Required word frequency: 'threads' (2x)]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The purple light of the glow-cap forest pressed into my eyes, but still I looked.\n\nYes, I could see them.\n\nI hissed in anger, feeling my hatred rage against my common sense. I wanted to twine my way up the greatest of the stone-spikes, those that jutted all the way from the floor to the network of threads above. I wanted to bite, to envenom, to consume those who had insulted the Great Core. Those who had killed me.\n\nMy common sense won out. I couldn't let them insult the Great Core again so easily; attacking them so directly would be exactly that. I could see them gathering above me, looking down at me from the safety of their threads. I was safe in the shadows of the flame-gaze bad-thing. They knew better than to challenge it.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I would not be safe if I invaded their home.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I hissed again, slithering quickly to catch up to the behemoth's lumbering steps.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It soon reached the mana-water, bending down and plunging its great head into the depths. Bits of steam, still colored that brilliant blue of the mana-water, began to rise from the surface as the pool started to boil. I slithered beside it, taking quick gulps while it was unable to see me.\n\nThe mana-water was hot, burning as it spilled down my throat. Despite that, I could feel myself growing stronger as I recovered from my overwhelming thirst. I could feel myself growing stronger as the mana-water shifted, losing its sense of solidity and traveling to the tip of my head-scales. It still had that same heady aroma as before, heightened slightly by my great need. I drank and drank, not knowing when I would next be able to return to the mana-water. The presence of the flame-gaze bad-thing had given me an opportunity; I would not waste it. I couldn't afford to be weak when I challenged the Great Core's enemies.\n\nI could not afford to lose, even if the Great Core could bring me back.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "To do so would be to insult the Great Core.\n\nLines of energy drifted from my stomach, transformed mana-water that winded its way across my length. A building pressure began to bud, flowering into a growing pain. Still, I drank. The flame-gaze bad-thing had not stopped, so neither would I.\n\nThe mana-water had begun to boil fiercely, bubbling and popping under the strain of the flame-gaze bad-thing's presence. Still, I drank.\n\nIt poured down my open throat in great torrents, filling me to the brim before shifting and leaving me empty once more. It burned my length, growing more intense by the second. Still, I drank.\n\nThe pain grew overwhelming.\n\nSomething changed.\n\n─ Gained Minor Title.\n\n─ Minor Title: Lesser Mana Core",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Mandatory: Your text must contain 'snake' 2 times exactly",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Description: By consuming a vast quantity of mana-water imbued with the mana of a greater being, a minor mana core has formed. Gained the Lesser Core Skill: Mana Manipulation I.\n\n─ Name: Paradox\n\n─ Species: Snake, Ouroboros\n\n─ Major Title: The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail\n\n─ Minor Titles: Minor Mana Core\n\n─ Innate Traits: Venomous II\n\n─ Blooded Traits: None\n\n─ Resistances: Piercing Resistance - Basic II, Venom Resistance - Basic III\n\n─ Level: 0\n\n─ Trait Points: 0",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ Core Skills: The Endless Cycle",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Word frequency rule: 'thought-light' × 3",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Lesser Core Skills: Mana Manipulation I\n\n─ Description: A nascent Ouroboros, symbol of the eternal.\n\n[ Rot-Flesh War ]\n\nI hissed at the thought-light. A greater being? What greater being? The flame-gaze bad-thing?\n\nI was betrayed. Even worse, the Great Core was betrayed. I had assumed that the thought-light understood that there was no greater being than the Great Core; as the Great Core's creation, surely I was greater than the flame-gaze bad-thing. I would need to show the thought-light that it was mistaken.\n\nThe flame-gaze bad-thing slowly pulled its giant head from the boiling water, its thirst slaked at last. I jolted, my flesh-scales trembling as I slithered away to hide behind the nearest glow-cap stalk.\n\nI decided to prove my greatness later.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Someday, though, I would bring the flame-gaze bad-thing to its knees and prove the thought-light wrong.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "For now, we would be allies of circumstances, brought together under the banner of the Great Core's war against the blasphemous Aridae.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I could feel a strange tingling on my head-scales, nestled just behind the Great Core's likeness that rested upon my scale-flesh. It swirled and eddied, shifting like the mana-water itself. With a brief moment of concentration, I forced it to twist around with greater speed, growing in intensity. A moment later, I stopped, already growing weary.\n\nThe trembling of stone pulled my attention away from the minor mana core that I had gained. The flame-gaze bad-thing was retreating from the pool of mana-water, on its way back to the tunnel from which it had emerged. I followed behind it, slithering in its shadow. All the while, I could hear the Aridae above me, skittering and chittering as they clambered across the network of shimmering threads above me. I forced myself to ignore them, focusing instead on the strange feeling on my head-scales. With my earlier weariness in mind, I kept my efforts to a minimum, mostly just watching as the mana within swirled on its own.\n\nI couldn't afford to tire myself out with the hated Aridae so close by.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Soon, the forest of glow-caps was behind us, their purple light growing slightly dimmer from the distance.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Mandatory: Your text must contain 'through' 2 times exactly",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Even so, the orange light of the flame-gaze bad-thing's eye was more than enough to see by, allowing me to slither away into a nearby small-tunnel just as we reached the edge of the cavern.\n\nI followed its twists and turns, searching for a safe area in which to practice my newfound skill. My tongue flicked in the air; the taste of old blood pushed me towards a passage to my right, away from the warning scents on the other side. Soon, the small-tunnel emptied out into a new room - though calling it a room was a bit of a stretch.\n\nIt was closer to a tiny space to the side of the small-tunnel, connected by a faint wall-crack that I squeezed my scale-flesh through laboriously. A few twists and writhes later, and I was in. It was dark, inside. The faint glow of the small-tunnel became even fainter, slipping through the tiny wall-crack in tiny slits that only barely broke the blackness.\n\nIt was a far slither from the room of my birth, the greatest of all rooms: the room of the Great Core's domain. There, it was light. There, it was bright.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "There, it was home.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "This was not light. It was not bright. Nor was it home.\n\nStill, it was enough for now.\n\nI coiled upon myself, lightly chewing upon my tail to soothe the burns created by the boiling mana-water. My insides tingled lightly, itching as the burns began to ease and disappear. It wasn't an instant process, but it was far from slow.\n\nOf course it was. I was the greatest of the Great Core's creations. Greater than the Aridae. Greater than the flame-gaze bad-thing.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Greater than the blasphemous thought-light.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I hissed angrily at the thought, letting go of my tail as my tongue flicked out lightly.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I froze.\n\nThere was something outside.\n\nI coiled upon myself, both making myself smaller and continuing to soothe my injuries. If it came down to a fight, I would need to be in the best of conditions. It wasn't long before I could hear a steady snuffling from the small-tunnel, mixed with the scrambling gaits of numerous bad-things.\n\nI recognized the scent, now.\n\nIt was a horde of rot-flesh bad-things.\n\nIt wasn't a scent that I could forget. They tasted of rotting corpses, of decaying flesh and decomposing meat. I had tried to eat one, once. It had been left behind by the other bad-things.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I had been curious.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 4 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The rest of the day had been spent slumped over and hallucinating.\n\nIt was awful.\n\nDespite that, I was curious. I still remembered what the thought-light had shown me when I consumed the infant Aridae.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Continue story, preserving context. Themes: animal protagonist",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 1/5.\n\nI wasn't sure what it meant, yet. I was eager to find out - maybe even eager enough to eat a rot-flesh bad-thing. Maybe.\n\nI would try, at least.\n\nStill, it wasn't as simple as that. Individually, the rot-flesh bad-things were not terribly dangerous. At least, not compared to other bad-things. Despite that, they had their advantages. They moved in swarms, falling upon enemies with their small teeth and tiny claws. The rot-flesh itself also helped, weakening the bad-things that made the mistake of consuming one of the members of the swarm. It was a strange method, sacrificing one of their own to take down an enemy.\n\nIt was surprisingly effective.\n\nWith that in mind, I was doubtful of my plan to consume one of the rot-flesh bad-things. I wanted to become stronger. I needed to become stronger if I was going to punish the blasphemous Aridae.\n\nI didn't want to be eaten by rot-flesh bad-things.\n\nI waited for the noise to die down before I moved. They had scurried down the small-tunnel, headed in the direction of the mana-water cavern. I was in luck; whether or not I chose to eat one, their presence might give me the chance to ambush one of the smaller of the Aridae. Unlike the flame-gaze bad-thing, they weren't enough of a threat to keep the Aridae confined to the ceiling. They would attack the invaders. I would be ready.\n\nI slithered through the small-tunnel, trailing the stink of rot-flesh that moved towards the cavern ahead. Soon, the light of the cavern grew brighter.\n\nI saw something familiar; something that I had seen many times while guarding the Great Core.\n\nI saw a war raging on.\n\nThe rot-flesh bad-things had clustered together, swarming over one another in a mindless frenzy. Numerous Aridae perched at the tops of the glow-cap heads, looking down at the disgusting beasts. Each of them threatened and postured, trying to intimidate the other group into submission.\n\nDespite that, I was sure the Aridae were nervous.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Rot-flesh bad-things were a mindless breed, from what I had seen.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "They didn't care about the others of the swarm; they would easily throw away a life if it meant that the remaining swarm could consume the enemy. For the Aridae, that might have been the worst sort of enemy, barring one with overwhelming strength like the flame-gaze bad-thing.\n\nTheir slow-venom was effective, I would admit. Yet, an Aridae could only sink its fangs into one enemy at a time. Each time that it did so, it would risk the swarm of rot-flesh bad-things falling upon it. They would rend and tear, reducing the Aridae to scraps of flesh in moments.\n\nOf course, that only applied to the smaller of the Aridae.\n\nThe Aridae mother slowly descended from the ceiling, dropping down on a shimmering white thread. Her presence seemed to boost the resolve of her children, in much the same way that presence of the Great Core boosted my own. She was their champion, their protector. Their creator.\n\nThe Aridae mother touched down, her many legs piercing the head of the giant glow-cap upon which she stood. Below her, the rot-flesh bad-things continued to swarm. They clambered and climbed over one another, creating a flowing ladder of flesh and fur.\n\nOne of them reached the top.\n\nThen another.\n\nAnother.\n\nThey swarmed atop the canopy of the glow-cap forest, falling upon the nearest Aridae. It was small; it was young. It stood little chance. The young Aridae sunk its fangs into the nearest rot-flesh bad-thing. It stabbed a foreleg into another. Then, it was over.\n\nThe swarm pulled away. Little was left behind.\n\nThe mother Aridae rubbed her fangs together. They rustled. Her children did the same.\n\nThey charged.\n\nThe war had begun.\n\n[ Mana Manipulator ]\n\nWar, I learned, had no respect for spectators.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "A set of fangs sunk into my scale-flesh, dropping down onto me from above and filling my body with a wave of slow-venom.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(hey for the next response, Word usage requirement: 'slow-venom' must appear 3 times)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Immediately, I could feel as the slow-venom began to set in; were it not for my earlier precautions, it might have ended there. The slow-venom was stronger than that of the infant that I had first faced. It set in quicker, more abruptly. It didn't reach the level of the Aridae mother's venom, but it wouldn't have needed to.\n\nI thrashed, just as I had against the infant Aridae. It hung on, fangs ripping slightly through my scale-flesh as the Aridae tumbled back and forth. Its weight fought against my efforts, turning furious thrashes into less-furious wriggles. Still, I finally managed to dislodge it. Slow-venom crept through me, turning the tip of my tail ever-so-slightly numb. I hissed.\n\nThe Aridae, older than the infant and younger than an adult, raised up onto its hind legs, exposing its fangs just as the infant had.\n\nSo I repeated the past, as well.\n\nI spit venom into the largest of its many eyes.\n\nThe juvenile shrieked as its eye-flesh began to melt and sear. Yet, this time I didn't have the nearby mana-water to affect the battle. That was both a good thing and a bad thing. The good part was that the Aridae couldn't wash off my venom. The bad part was that I couldn't hide in the mana-water's depths.\n\nThe juvenile Aridae, stripped of any other option, charged.\n\nIt pounced, leaping through the air with a powerful jump. I twisted my length, coming up underneath it and sinking my fangs deep. The Aridae's fangs bounced off the Core on my head-scales, unable to even scratch it.\n\nIn that moment, I thanked the Great Core for its mercy.\n\nA stream of venom spilled from my fangs, dripping into the Aridae's bleeding wound. A second later, we hit the ground, pulled down by the momentum of the bad-thing's leap.\n\nIn the time that I spent recovering from the stunning blow, the Aridae had run away, leaving me to suffer without the cleansing taste of true victory. All around me, bad-things had waged their own battles. Claws cut, fangs pierced, and blood flowed.\n\nI slithered silently, coiling my way up a glow-cap stalk. Death was all around me. I found it in the air, in the way that blood-scent crept onto my tongue.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I found it on the ground, in the crimson pools that had formed, running in tiny red rivulets towards the blue of the mana-water.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I found it in myself, in the way that my battered scale-flesh trembled and shook.\n\nDroplets of red dripped from down my length, pitter-pattering against the stone below. Finally, I found a wedge in the glow-cap's stalk, a tiny little outcropping upon which I could perch. Concealed under the hooded shadow of the glow-cap's head, I chewed upon my tail.\n\nI itched.\n\nI healed.\n\nMy trembling stilled. Only anger remained.\n\nI had let myself become too distracted by the ensuing battle. I thought that I had been safe, in my position as an opportunistic scavenger. I had been wrong.\n\nIn war, nobody was safe.\n\nNow, I could only stew in my anger as I lay under the concealing glow-cap head. That had been far too close; the Aridae had almost managed to insult the Great Core once again. Even worse, I had almost let them.\n\nThat was far, far worse.\n\nI felt myself fill with righteous anger. It was like a burning on my scales, a singing in my blood. It collected and pooled, congealing into a severe determination.\n\nBy my fangs, an Aridae would die today.\n\nThe power of the mana core, so much weaker than the Great Core, would help. I could feel it in the back of my mind. I knew that it could be manipulated, changed to make myself stronger. I just needed to figure out how.\n\nI ignored the sounds of battle and death all around me. Nestled in the glow-cap as I was, it was unlikely that any bad-things would notice me. I had time.\n\nI concentrated, focusing on the swirling, whirling mana that rested within its tiny little core. I watched as it shifted from second to second, one moment a placid pool, the next a savage storm. It was tumultuous. It was temperamental. It was potent.\n\nI needed to tame it. I would tame it.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It was nothing before me, the greatest creation of the Great Core.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 19 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It was even less before the Great Core itself. It would bend before my will, before the Great Core's power.\n\nI pushed against the raging storm, seeking to calm it. I thrashed against the placid pool, seeking to ripple it. There was a balance there that was needed, I knew. I had known it from the moment that the thought-light had revealed [Mana Manipulation I] to me. I didn't need the savage storm, nor did I need the placid pool.\n\nI needed something in between. I needed something that held the power of the storm, pushing violently against its enemies. I needed something that held the tranquility of the pool, complying to my efforts to shape it.\n\nI pushed. I thrashed. And yet, the storm raged. The pool lay still.\n\nFatigue set into my scale-flesh, as if I was being assaulted by the mother Aridae's slow-venom. The thought helped, strangely enough. It reminded me what I was fighting against. It reminded me what I was fighting for.\n\nIn that moment, the storm stilled. The pool raged. I found the balance.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Provide seven sentences as a continuation of this story segment in the LitRPG, fantasy genre. Characters may be pre-established.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "user note just fyi, Word restriction: Use 'rot-flesh' 2 time(s) only",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Lesser Core Skill: [Mana Manipulation I] Increased.\n\n─ Mana Manipulation II Acquired.\n\nThe flow of mana became a little easier to work with, responding ever-so-slightly more to my touch - which was good, because I was tired and the sounds of fighting were getting closer.\n\nThe glow-cap head above me began to tremble, vibrating as a battling swarm of rot-flesh bad-things and Aridae tumbled atop it.\n\nA rot-flesh bad-thing fell from the side, dropping off the edge with a squeaking shriek. It twisted in the air, tiny limbs batting furiously in an attempt to catch itself, meeting nothing but the wind. It hit the ground with a sickening crunch, bones shattering with the force of its landing.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Crimson blood began to collect underneath its twitching form, red trickling across the gray of the stone.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Before I could react, an Aridae fell from the side, catching itself with a shimmering thread that prevented it from plummeting to the ground in the way its former enemy had. As it slowly lowered itself to the floor, I twined my way down the glow-cap's stalk.\n\nThe Aridae was smaller, similar in size to the infant Aridae that I had first fought. I knew that this would be my best chance.\n\nThe infant Aridae stumbled on its legs, swaying slightly. Blood seeped from its flesh, matting and tangling the small little hairs that covered its body.\n\nThis time, I was the one who went unnoticed.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "This time, I was the one who struck first.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I leapt forward, baring my fangs. In a moment of instinct, I tamed the storm. I rippled the pool. I reshaped my mana, imbuing a stream of the energy into my venom.\n\nFangs sunk into flesh. Venom spilled into blood. The Aridae shrieked. The thought-light flickered.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ Gained the Lesser Core Skill: Mana Venom I.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "A set of fangs pierced my scale-flesh, injecting a venom of their own. For now, I chose to ignore it. It was nothing compared to the slow-venom of the juvenile. It was less than nothing compared to the slow-venom of the mother. My increased resistance would keep me safe for a little longer.\n\nI bit again and again, forcing the mana from my core to mix with my venom, ignoring the growing weariness as I did so. I knew that I needed to end the fight quickly.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The infant Aridae began to panic, thrashing furiously.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "⚠️ Required: Use 'gained' exactly 2 times",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It tore my fangs through its flesh, leaving bleeding furrows behind. It turned to run.\n\nIt only made it a few steps before it fell, tumbling in a bloodied heap onto the stone.\n\nThe thought-light flickered.\n\n─ Experience Gained!\n\n─ Level Up!\n\n─ 1 Trait Point Gained.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "My scale-flesh trembled, shivering under the combined strain of the slow-venom flowing through me and the effort of bending my mana to my will.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "My scale-flesh trembled, shaking in the exultation of victory.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I unhinged my jaw. I swallowed my foe. The thought-light greeted me again.\n\n─ Level 0 Infant Aridae Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 1/5.\n\nDespite my weakness, I felt powerful.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I felt strong. I had won.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "A line of red pressed against my scale-flesh; I followed its trail, spotting the shattered rot-flesh bad-thing. It had stilled.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 8 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Its body was there for the taking.\n\nBefore I could question my judgement, I unhinged my jaw. I swallowed my foe. It tasted vile, nearly forcing me to spit it out. Instead, I pushed it further down my open throat. The rot seeped into my flesh as if it had its own will. It fought against my will. I forced it down. The thought-light flickered.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "lets write together! ill start, then u do twenty-six sentences sentences. focus on these types: LitRPG, fantasy. try to use these themes: animal protagonist. maintain same level of char/world context",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Level 1 Festering Rat Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 1/5.\n\nI slithered away, trembling all the while.\n\nI could only hope that my [Venom Resistance - Basic III] would save me from the sickness that was soon to come.\n\nI had my doubts.\n\n[ The Festering Sickness ]\n\nI pulled myself through the wall-crack within the small-tunnel, safe at last. The war raging on in the mana-water cavern had fallen silent in my wake, the sounds muffled by the distance between us. Were I in better condition, I might still be there; it would have been nice to scavenge the dead Aridae. It would have been nice just to watch them die.\n\nThey deserved nothing less, for their insults towards the Great Core.\n\nInstead, I coiled upon myself - wishing that I could die in their place. The rotting sickness of the rot-flesh bad-things, which I now knew were called Festering Rats, had already begun to set in. I had hoped that the change that occurred when it shifted states would have kept most of the effect at bay. Maybe it had.\n\nIt was difficult to tell.\n\nAs I thought, [Venom Resistance - Basic III] wasn't helping. Then again, it wasn't venom. The rot of Festering Rats was a poison of another kind.\n\nI chewed on the tip of my tail, fighting the urge to vomit - what, though, I didn't know. There was nothing in my stomach. Not anymore. [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail] pushed my wounds into that itching, tickling state of still-healing that it did. My stomach quieted slightly.\n\nMy mind, a little less.\n\nAlready, I could see the bad-dreams beginning. From my previous experience, I knew that they would start small.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Little flashes of movement at the corner of my vision, making me think that bad-things crawled at the spots that I couldn't quite see.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Little bouts of paranoia, heightening those glimpses, building upon them.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Before, I had been able to curl around the Great Core. I had been able to feel safe in its light.\n\nNow, that option was gone.\n\nNow, I had only myself.\n\nI distracted myself with the flickerings of the thought-light, pushing my attention towards it.\n\n─ Name: Paradox\n\n─ Species: Snake, Ouroboros\n\n─ Major Title: The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail\n\n─ Minor Titles: Minor Mana Core\n\n─ Innate Traits: Venomous II\n\n─ Blooded Traits: None\n\n─ Resistances: Piercing Resistance - Basic II, Venom Resistance - Basic III\n\n─ Level: 1\n\n─ Trait Points: 1\n\n─ Core Skills: The Endless Cycle\n\n─ Lesser Core Skills: Mana Manipulation II, Mana Venom I\n\n─ Description: A nascent Ouroboros, symbol of the eternal.\n\nIt had changed slightly. In defeating the Infant Aridae, I had reached level 1. That was the same as last time around. I had also gone a fifth of the way towards receiving a Blooded Trait, whatever that meant. I had hoped that anything I consumed would help that progress, but the thought-light taught me that wasn't the case. Each type of bad-thing moved me towards acquiring a different Blooded Trait.\n\nI thought at the thought-light some more, pushing it towards a new idea. It was something that I had noticed last time, but had forgotten about after being captured by the Aridae.\n\n─ Available Trait Points: 1",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ Use Trait Points To Upgrade A Trait?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 24 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The choice was simple, being that I only had one trait. I tried to upgrade [Venomous II].\n\n─ 2 Trait Points Required For Upgrade of Venomous II to Venomous III.\n\n─ Upgrade Failed.\n\nThe choice wasn't so simple. I thought-guessed that the upgrade cost more because it was at a higher level. If I had been trying to increase [Venomous I], it might have worked. That thought-guess felt right.\n\nI hissed, the exultant susurrations of my forked tongue pleasing to the ear. Not only had the Great Core gifted me with great potential, but it had gifted me with great intelligence as well. Surely no other creature could make the leaps in logic that I could. It was unthinkable. The bad-things were bad-things. They were dumb, stupid things made by disgusting, lesser Cores.\n\nThe Coreless were no different, with their nonsense babbling and jabbering.\n\nI hissed proudly. It wouldn't be long before I showed them all the might of the Great Core. Not long at all.\n\nA flash of movement at the corner of my eye pulled me back from my plotting. There was nothing there.\n\nI bit my tail again.\n\nSharp fangs pierced through scale-flesh. Blood welled from the wound, lightly coating the air with the scent-taste of ore-flesh. A moment later, it stopped, healed again.\n\nThe bad-dreams, on the other hand, didn't stop quite so easily.\n\nInstead, they only got worse.",
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[
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"value": "Got a text with a `[original_content_missing]` shaped hole in it. Patch it up with fourteen sentences.",
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"value": "The Great Core's light shone down upon me, showering me with its wondrous glow. I basked in the light, letting the warmth soothe my trembling scales.\n\nI started at the thought.\n\nWhy was I trembling? I couldn't ignore it, now that I had noticed it. I was shaking, as if enveloped in terror.\n\nSomething flashed in the corner of my eye. I turned, only to catch something else in the other direction. Yet, no matter how hard I tried, it stayed forever out of reach.\n\nThe light went out.\n\nThe Great Core left me; I was shrouded in darkness, unable to see what was in front of me. The movement was still there, I was sure, hidden in the darkness that surrounded me.\n\nI could hear them.\n\nI could hear the scuffling of many legs. I could hear the squeaking of many mouths. I could hear them come for me.\n\nFor me, alone.\n\nAlone, because the Great Core had disappeared.\n\nIt[original_content_missing]d around me, holding me tight.\n\nI couldn't move.\n\nI couldn't escape.\n\nI couldn't breathe.\n\nI could only pray.\n\nThe Great Core never came.",
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"value": "s light was gone.\n\nIn the darkness that remained, the bad-things reigned. They warred in the shadows, misting the air with blood-scent. They stabbed and shrieked, they clawed and cawed.\n\nI coiled upon myself, hoping that they wouldn't find me.\n\nHoping that the Great Core would find me, instead.\n\nIt never did.\n\nIt never came.\n\nBut they did. They always did.\n\nFangs pierced my scale-flesh. Claws gouged furrows from what remained. Spikes stabbed my length, pinning me to the ground. Threads wrappe",
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[
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"value": "NarrativeBot: 175 sentences sentences. Match character familiarity. LitRPG, fantasy genre.",
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"value": "I woke up to darkness. Not darkness in the physical sense; little bits of light filtered through the tiny wall-crack that connected my room to the small-tunnel outside. No, I woke up to the darkness of my mind.\n\nThe darkness of my fear. The fear of being abandoned, of being cast aside as a failed creation, of being bound in crimson-coated threads that I couldn't escape.\n\nThe bad-dreams were gone, but my little room was far from quiet. It was filled with the sigh of vibrating scale-flesh on stone.\n\nI couldn't quiet the trembling.\n\nI couldn't quiet the fear.\n\nEating the Festering Rat had been a mistake. Its effects had brought the bad-dreams. Its effects had forced me to remember again.\n\nBlooded Trait or not, I probably wouldn't be able to consume one again. I didn't want to face the bad-dreams. I didn't want to face my fears. I didn't want to feel abandoned.\n\nI wasn't abandoned, I knew. In the end, the Great Core had brought me back - but the scars on my mind had stayed. The niggling question that asked me: would it bring me back next time? Or would it give up on me, give up on its creation?\n\nI didn't know.\n\nI didn't want to find out.\n\nThe thought shamed me - as did the realization that my crusade against the Aridae wasn't entirely to enact holy vengeance for their insult towards the Great Core. In part, it was that. But there was more to it. It was to prove my worth, to both myself and the Great Core. It was to prove that I was worth saving. It was to prove that I hadn't been a mistake.\n\nIt was to punish the bad-things for my loss of certainty.\n\nMy tongue flicked outwards, slipping through the opening in my lips. The air tasted clean in the way that the World Dungeon rarely did. The scent of the Festering Rats had disappeared; they had probably run away from the mana-water cavern while I was lost in the bad-dreams. Even the blood-scent was faint, wafting slightly from the long-dried droplets that had run down my scale-flesh.\n\nI gathered my courage; I gathered my faith.\n\nI slipped through the wall-cracks.\n\nThere were still many more Aridae to consume.\n\nThere were still many more bad-dreams to defeat.\n\n[ Mana Overload ]\n\nMy scale-flesh scratched lightly against the surface of the small-tunnel as I slithered back to the mana-water cavern. I could hear the steady drip-drop of mana-water, slowly spilling down from the stone-spikes above in brilliant little beads of light. I could hear a bad-thing's roar in a far-off tunnel, echoing off the World Dungeon's walls. I could hear my own breath, run ragged by the remnant effects of the bad-dreams.\n\nI could hear my fear.\n\nStill, I slithered on.\n\nThere were more important things than my fear.\n\nThe war in the mana-water cavern had long since ended. Judging by the rampant activity in the network of threads above, as well as the increased number of thread-wrapped figures limply bundled, the Aridae had won. In a way, it was relieving.\n\nIf they had lost so easily, what would that have meant about me?\n\nWould that have convinced the Great Core to give up on me entirely?\n\nInstead, they had won. Not without cost, of course. Here and there, I could see little bits and pieces of defeated Aridae, miraculously surviving the feast of the Festering Rats. A tiny slice of a leg, splayed against a glow-cap's stalk, its little black hairs soaked in blood. A squashed chunk of eye, trampled by swarming legs. A hunk of fang, piercing the upper edges of a glow-cap's head.\n\nI had hoped to scavenge a few Aridae corpses. I only needed four more for the Blooded Trait that the thought-light had shown me. That hope was dashed.\n\nThe Festering Rats had left nothing of the defeated behind.\n\nI cocked my head upwards, examining the thriving network of the ceiling above. After a few moments, I found the object of my greatest hatred: the Aridae mother. She was feasting upon a number of the bundles that were covered in a strange fluid, sucking up their predigested remains.\n\nAll around her, other Aridae had joined the victory feast - some receiving larger portions than others. Still, I could see that most of her children had joined in. Even the infants had received their small portions, gleefully devouring the defeated bad-things.\n\nWhile they were distracted by the feast, I slithered into the mana-water pool, slipping into its shining depths. Just as before, my body took to the mana-water like it had been shaped for it, allowing me to wriggle in steady, smooth crescents that cut through depths. I breached the surface, opening my mouth to swallow a stream of mana-water as I did so. It slipped down my throat, shifting into that now-familiar lukewarm state and traveling to my mana core. It had nearly run dry, with the strain of the imbuing my venom. Though [Mana Venom I] increased its potency so visibly, it was not something that was easy to maintain.\n\nThe mana-water on its own contained nowhere near the sheer power of that which had been imbued by the flame-gaze bad-thing's mana. It did not burn my insides in its passage; it did not boil my blood in its wake. Still, I did not need it to. The flame-gaze bad-thing's presence had already allowed me to form a minor mana core. It had already seared its mark into my body.\n\nNow, I needed only to fill the vessel it had created. It was a slow process. I was sure that the mana-water nearer to clusters of Dungeon Cores would have been more effective, allowing me to recharge my mana core in a far lesser amount of time. Here, distant from any gathered Cores, suffused only by the perpetual presence of the World Dungeon itself, the mana-water was far weaker.\n\nIt was enough, as I was now.\n\nThe mana filled me, taking its place within the small mana core upon my head-scales. The savage storm formed, twisting in the space above the placid pool that lay below it. I used it while I could.\n\nThe Aridae were feasting above me, distracted by their recent victory. Soon, they would begin to be affected by the sickness of the Festering Rats, I hoped. Maybe not to the extent that I had, but I couldn't be sure. They consumed their food differently than I did, and they might even possess resistances to the sickness. Either way, I would need to be prepared.\n\nI would likely have my best chance to thin their numbers, today.\n\nI tamed the storm of mana, bringing it to heel. I swirled the pool below, binding it to my own rage. The two forces met, forming a balance. The mana began to flow under my will, shifting with my intent, broken from its rest within the core. It streamed down the channels I had created, pressing against the boundaries and edges, yet never quite breaking past. It flooded into my stored venom, imbuing it with its power.\n\nMy fatigue grew. My mana core emptied.\n\nBut I wasn't done.\n\nI filled myself with mana-water again, drinking it down with a gluttony born of the most powerful sort of greed - the longing for revenge. The longing for power. The longing for safety.\n\nThe mana-water shifted. I drank again. Again. Again.\n\nMy core overflowed once more, and I brought that brimming mana to bear, suffusing my venom with its power.\n\nI had begun to tire, but I didn't stop.\n\nI gorged myself again. Streams of mana flowed through me like a constant river, an inexorable tide towards their final destination.\n\nMy mind grew hazy, my body weak.\n\nThe thought-light flickered.\n\n─ Lesser Core Skill: Mana Manipulation II Increased.\n\n─ Mana Manipulation III Acquired.\n\nI kept going, though my entire being fought against me. My vision blurred and closed in at the edges, fading into darkness. A buzzing filled my ears, an unending drone that sent a spike of paranoia through me.\n\nStill, I drank.\n\nStill, I transferred the growing pool of mana.\n\nStill, I endured.\n\nI didn't know how long it lasted. I lost track of everything but the unending flow, everything but the storm, the pool, and my venom. I felt an agonizing burn, as if being seared from the inside out, pulsing to the rhythm of my heartbeat. It beat down in waves, each threatening to drown me. Each threatening to break me.\n\nStill, I drank.\n\nStill, I shifted the growing pool of mana.\n\nStill, I endured.\n\nThe thought-light flickered.\n\n─ Lesser Core Skill: Mana Manipulation III Increased.\n\n─ Mana Manipulation IV Acquired.\n\nI slumped, slipping down into the depths below. My vision had narrowed into a pinpoint, a tiny spot of brilliant blue light surrounded by an unending darkness. Buzzing filled my ears. Blood touched my tongue, collecting in my mouth.\n\nI shook myself tiredly, rousing before the mana-water could fill my lungs. My length wriggled through the pool's depths, trudging along with a shape closer to a line than a proper crescent. The mana-water pressed down upon me, ushering me downwards. Pushing me back.\n\nStill, I endured.\n\nMy lungs burned, yet the burn was nothing compared to the searing pulses that already assaulted my insides. My vision blurred, yet the blur was nothing compared to the tunnel of black that already enveloped my sight. My mind screamed, yet the terror was nothing compared to the fear of the Great Core's abandonment.\n\nI would prove myself.\n\nWhatever it took.\n\nAfter what seemed an eternity, I broke the surface, spilling onto the shore. My breath came out in rasping hisses, all but hidden behind the buzzing in my ears. I looked upward, the movement slow and weak, my strength destroyed by pain and fatigue. The Aridae's feast had finished, in the time that I spent within the mana-water pool.\n\nEven through my blurred, blackened vision, I could see the weakest among them begin to succumb to the festering sickness. It was subtle, but it was there. Their legs wobbled slightly as they walked among the threads; here and there, tightly-wound threads thrummed lightly in response to a misstep.\n\nOthers among them had taken to their nests, found in the nooks and crannies of the greatest of the stone-spikes, enormous weaves of shimmering thread that gave easy purchase for the Aridaes' bodies. The greatest-affected among them were a little harder to pick out. They were a little too still. My vision a little too impaired. My thoughts a little too clouded.\n\nStill, I could see the smallest among them occasionally twitch, beset by the bad-dreams. Hopefully, the older ones would soon follow.\n\nEither way, even in the haze of my overloaded body, I knew that this would be my best chance for a long while.\n\nThe cluster of Aridae was at its weakest point. I, despite my agony, was likely at my strongest yet.\n\nI only needed four.\n\nI wanted more.\n\n[ Whole Again ]\n\nI clung to the great stone-spike, coiling around it in a winding path that led ever upwards. The stone-spike's smooth surface was shattered and fragmented, covered in cracks and edges that gave my length purchase. The light began to dim ever so slightly, fading as the distance between myself and the ground increased.\n\nThe droning buzz in my ears had begun to fall away, filtered out by time and sheer concentration. I was coiled tightly, in mind if not in body, slithering upon a fang's edge. My ears searched for the slightest noise, my scale-flesh for the smallest vibration that could signal the discovery of my approach.\n\nAbove me, I could still hear the Aridae stumble about, thrumming those disgusting threads in their wake, rustling their wretched fangs. Most were rather far off, clustering near the threads that nestled above the mana-water pool. Directly opposite of me, tucked away in her horrid little alcove and isolated from the others, the Aridae mother awaited. I had chosen a stone-spike near the edge of the cavern, one from which I could easily reach the wall-cracks if I needed to escape. One far away from her.\n\nI wasn't ready to face her.\n\nNot yet.",
"loss": true
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"value": "Despite the tremendous amount of mana that imbued my venom, I knew that I would lose that battle. I was both at my strongest and at my weakest. [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail] had been ineffective in dealing with the blowback from my heavy mana usage; more time would be required to bring me back to normal. Time that I didn't have. There was no way of knowing how long the Festering Rats would continue to have an effect on the Aridae cluster.\n\nMy vision had resolved slightly, opening up from the pinpoint that it had recently been to a more manageable view. It was hardly enough to see; I would be extremely vulnerable to any attacks from the side of my vision. It would be enough for an ambush, at least.\n\nI touched a thread lightly, causing the shimmering white strand to thrum slightly. I touched another, sending it thrumming as well, just a little bit harder that time. At the cavern's edge that I had chosen, there were very few options for my own path. Here, most of the pathways lacked the thick, twined characteristic of the more well-traveled portions of the Aridae's network. There, I would have had an easier time, the bundled fibers providing enough space for me to slither along safely.\n\nThe cavern's edge was different.\n\nThe threads were sparse, filled with gaps through which I could easily fall through, if I were not focused and agile - I wasn't confident in either of those qualities, with the way that my insides pulsed with never-ending fire-pain.\n\nSo, instead, I coiled around to the other side of the stone-spike, clinging to its edge. I listened. I waited.\n\nIt didn't take long.\n\nI remembered well how responsive the Aridae mother had been to the thrumming of the threads. Each time that I had tried to escape, setting the fibers buzzing, it had returned to me. It had made me helpless again. Weak.\n\nMy inability to forget that helplessness, along with its cause, served me now.\n\nThe threads thrummed lightly, nearly imperceptibly. Still, to my straining ears, it was unmistakable. The rustling of fangs that followed was even less so.\n\nI slowly bent around the stone-spike's corner, pulling my head around enough to catch a glimpse of my prey. It was close, close enough that I could imagine it sinking its fangs into my scale-flesh. I pulled back, hiding behind the stone-spike before it could notice me.\n\nI gathered my courage, praying to the Great Core for victory. Praying that it would notice my efforts. Praying that it would find me worthy.\n\nI coiled around the stone-spike, slipping into view.\n\nThe Aridae reared back.\n\nIt was far too slow.\n\nI lunged forward, the strength of the strike enough to stir the air around my head-scales. My mouth opened, revealing the sharp fangs within. It closed, embedding those very same fangs in the Aridae's flesh.\n\nMy venom flowed.\n\n─ Lesser Core Skill: Mana Venom I Increased.\n\n─ Mana Venom II Acquired.\n\nAnd flowed.\n\n─ Lesser Core Skill: Mana Venom II Increased.\n\n─ Mana Venom III Acquired.\n\nPerhaps a bit too much. The Aridae twitched, shrieking as the highly-modified venom entered its body. Its legs shuddered and jerked, nearly forcing it to throw itself from the tenuous footing provided by the bundles of threads. Immediately after, it fell limp, twisting slightly before the little bristles that covered its limbs tangled themselves on the threads.\n\n─ Experience Gained!\n\nThe ease of the fight took me by surprise. I knew that my channeling my stored mana into my venom could increase the strength dramatically, but that was...well, dramatic. A feat worthy of the Great Core's greatest creation, even.\n\nThe thought pushed past the persistent pain brought on by my recent mana overuse, erasing it for a moment with the joy that it elicited.\n\nI wasn't worthless.\n\nMy tongue flicked from my mouth, creating a small hiss of excitement. Before me, the Aridae's corpse continued to twitch and bounce, knocked to and fro by the rather flexible threads. Further down the line, the thrumming of the network picked up in intensity, brought to a frenzy by the corpse's erratic movements.\n\nThere wouldn't be much time, if it was allowed to continue. Already, Aridae were beginning to rouse from their sickness-produced slumber, dragging themselves to their feet. And I still hadn't gotten what I came for, despite my small victory.\n\nI coiled tightly at the point where a bundle of threads lashed onto the stone-spike, curling around it to give myself leverage. My form wasn't built for the network of threads, created with thin legs that could straddle across the net that they created. I was forced to adopt a different tactic to avoid falling, and to recover my prize.\n\nI looped slowly around the fibers, my scale-flesh pressed tightly against its length, until I finally reached the corpse. The next part would be more difficult, I knew. My jaw unhinged, pulling wide.\n\nI stuffed a leg in.\n\nThen another.\n\nAnd another.\n\nAs the body began to fill me, coiling around the threads and moving forward to consume what remained became more difficult. The Aridae had been larger than me, as most of them were, and - while I was perfectly capable of eating something larger than myself - it made movement difficult. Movement that was necessary in order to consume it entirely.\n\nMy scale-flesh rubbed against the threads, the fibers rippling over me, catching on the bumps and protrusions created by the Aridae that filled me. I coiled around laboriously, ignoring the thrumming of the threads that had only increased in strength. Ignoring the searing fire-pain that filled my insides. Ignoring the ever-present fear of being caught in the shimmering threads again.\n\nFinally, the last of the corpse slipped down my throat, settling into my waiting stomach. A moment later, it shifted, the sudden change in solidity nearly causing me to lose my grip on the threads as my form deflated dramatically. A sense of warmth traveled from my stomach, settling into place upon my head-scales. The thought-light flickered, congratulating me on my victory.\n\n─ Level 1 Juvenile Aridae Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 2/5.\n\nThe threads bounced and wavered from the sudden change in weight, creating an audible hum that began to stir an even greater number of the Aridae. Still, I wasn't nearly done. I needed three more.\n\nI coiled around the fibers in the same way that I had before, wrapping around them and pulling myself down their length. They pulled slightly at me as I passed, gripping onto my scale-flesh, but it was far too weak to do more than that - the threads that formed the main lines on which the Aridae traveled were far less sticky than the ones used to connect to the stone-spikes and hold prey. With the potential for stealth nearly destroyed already, I didn't bother to move slowly. Instead, I gripped the threads tightly, pulling myself along as fast as I could. I was making myself more vulnerable, pressing closer to the greatest concentration of enemies within the Aridae's cluster. Still, there was something about it that was exhilarating, a sense of rightness, as if I was denying the fear that tried to cripple me. As if I was destroying the terror that had caused me to question the Great Core. As if I was fighting the demon that had made me doubt myself.\n\nIt probably helped that I could still barely see.\n\nYet, I could hear them.\n\nI could hear the rustling of fangs and the scrabbling of legs. I even imagined that I could hear the dripping of slow-venom.\n\nNearly directly below me, the light of the mana-water pool shone, illuminating the bits of my vision that still remained.\n\nAridae of various sizes clustered at the network's center, brilliant blue light reflecting off their many eyes. Some stumbled, their legs weakened by the sickness. Others stood more powerfully, less affected by its insidious efforts.\n\nIt didn't matter. I would eat my due. I would consume my fears. I would feel whole again.\n\nMy venom burned in the fire of concentrated mana.\n\nMy mind burned in the fire of hate.\n\n[ Surrounded ]\n\nTo the sides, bundled shapes were strapped to thick tangles of fibers; I had been like them, once. I had been helpless. I had been alone. I had been dying.\n\nThe thought was enough to stoke my rage further.\n\nAs I reached the center, the network of threads widened, allowing me to slither normally - albeit somewhat precariously - rather than coiling my length along a single bundle of fibers. That was both good and extremely bad. I was faster due to the increase in space, but the same went for the Aridae. Even worse, they had begun to surround me.\n\nI heard rustling from my flank as one charged, slowed by its stumbling gait. I rolled myself to the side, wrapping my tail around a single thread and slipping through a gap between the threads. My body swung, swaying underneath the shimmering threads and avoiding the bad-thing's charge. Pulling as hard as I could, I brought myself back around and wrapped around another thread with my upper length, releasing my tail and pulling myself back up safe and sound.\n\nThe charging Aridae did not fare so well, weakened by the bad-dreams and surprised by its prey's sudden dodge. Its face dipped down between the threads, fangs piercing the air instead of my more vulnerable scale-flesh. Before it could react, my own fangs sunk into its back, releasing a portion of the venom that I had stored.\n\nI made sure to use less than before, having wasted some of the powerful toxin on the last Aridae. It, just as the Aridae before it, shrieked in pain. The bad-thing's body convulsed and shuddered, forcing it to lash out erratically. Even its own brethren were kept back by its thrashing, wary of being attacked in the midst of its struggles.\n\nSuddenly, it turned and charged again, catching me off guard. This time, there was no time to react. In that instant, I longed for the sacred-spots of my birthplace, the fields of the Great Core's power that seemed to predict my need. But they were no longer around. The Great Core was testing me, relying on me to enact holy vengeance on its enemies. Alone.\n\nThe creature's fangs pierced my scale-flesh, injecting a stream of slow-venom before I thrashed and pulled it off of me. It careened across the bundled threads, off balance and dazed, before slipping through an open gap - tumbling from our battlefield above and landing in the pool of mana-water below with an audible smack.\n\nBuoyed by the air bubbles that formed around it, the bad-thing floated to the surface. And yet, it never moved.\n\n─ Experience Gained!\n\nMy tongue flicked outward, catching the scent of another approaching Aridae, exiting from the Aridae mother's alcove and approaching the thread network's center. This one was steadier, walking solidly enough to avoid the stumbling gait that had spelled its companion's defeat. It was larger too, nearing what I hoped was the full size of a non-matriarch adult. If they became much bigger, I was in trouble.\n\nAs it was, the bad-things legs alone dwarfed me, each at least as long as I was. Its fangs rustled in a threatening manner, each large enough to pierce entirely through my body's girth. Infants crawled under it, looking like far more manageable enemies, stumbling underneath the gap between the giant Aridae's elevated body and the threads below.\n\nThey traveled across the threads in a sea of blurring legs, a torrent of flesh and fang. Emboldened by their approaching reinforcements, the Aridae that still surrounded me attacked. I repeated my earlier dodge, using my tail to latch onto a thread and swing to another. Before I could fully let go and pull myself up from the other end, a set of fangs pierced my coiled tail.\n\nI jerked, forcing it to release. The effort was slower than it should have been, already beginning to be hindered by the increasing amounts of slow-venom in my body. Coldness set itself into my tail-scales, my lower length becoming more and more unresponsive by the second.\n\nThe fire that burned within me kept me moving despite that. It forced me to pull myself upward. It invited me to wreak vengeance. It pulled open my mouth. It sunk in my fangs.\n\nMy venom released again, in a far less controlled manner than last time. Thin bristles of hair rubbed against my mouth as the unfortunate Aridae jerked and twisted, desperately trying to free itself. Its struggles only lasted a moment.\n\n─ Experience Gained!\n\nIts body fell in a heap, still twitching despite its death, slowing the approach of the other Aridae as it bounced across the threads in a journey towards the edge. A few moments later, it plummeted to the ground, joining its brother floating on the surface of the pool of mana-water below.\n\nAngry rustling filled my ears as even more Aridae awoke, disturbed from their sleep by the battle. They rose from their slumber, rustling their fangs in an ever-growing cacophony. The sounds mixed and blurred, forming a constant drone that drowned out near everything else.\n\nIncluding the sounds of another Aridae approaching me from behind.\n\nFor the third time in succession, an Aridae's fangs sliced through me and filled me with its slow-venom. This time, however, the flickering of the thought-light gave me a little hope.\n\n─ Resistance: Venom Resistance - Basic III Increased.\n\n─ Venom Resistance - Basic IV Acquired.\n\nThe slow-venom's effects decreased, pulling me from the edge of defeat. Just as had been the case in my previous life, venom resistance did not take away the effects of the Aridae's venom. Despite that, it had reduced the mother Aridae's venom noticeably, giving me the chance to struggle. I had never escaped, locked in place by my bindings.\n\nThis time, I was not bound.",
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"value": "(( Frequency requirement: 'until' - 3 occurrence(s) ))",
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"value": "This time, I wasn't even dealing with the mother Aridae.\n\nAt least, not yet.\n\nThe slow-venom of the younger Aridae was - while powerful - far from the level of their mother. What would have been near-crippling amounts of slow-venom instead became closer to an inconvenience. It became a hesitance in my slithers, a tugging in my tail.\n\nIt became manageable, for a little while.\n\nEnough for me to continue to fight.\n\nThe fire-pain that seared my insides had hardly even begun to reduce; it mixed with the pierce-pain of my wounds, and the fear-pain of my mind. Still, I fought.\n\nThe next Aridae to come was met with a glob of mana-venom, searing its eyes and causing it to stumble past me, pushing through the waiting Aridae and over the threads' edge. It joined its fellows below in the mana-water, though the thought-light told me that it had survived the fall.\n\nI attacked the bad-thing that had approached alongside it, taken aback by the quick defeat of its companion. Slithering underneath it, I wrapped myself around one of its back legs where it could not reach, sinking my fangs and releasing a bit of venom.\n\nFilled with slow-venom as I was, and fighting within the bad-things' own home, I was at a disadvantage. It was similar to how I had known how to use the sacred-spots to adjust my own attacks - though that had not stopped the Coreless invaders, in the end. Unlike me, the Aridae were numerous, more than sufficient to drive me off. More than sufficient to surround me.\n\nThat became more difficult when the Aridae around which I had coiled began to scramble and jerk in response to the mana-venom and my presence, unable to dislodge me. It moved far faster than I could, bursting through the ring of Aridae that had surrounded me with ease. Immediately afterwards, I released more venom, putting the bad-thing out of its misery before it could pull us over the edge. It tumbled in a twitching heap.\n\n─ Experience Gained!\n\n─ Level Up!\n\n─ 1 Trait Point Gained.\n\nI slithered underneath it, using its body in much the same way that I used the wall-cracks. With the empty air defending my back and the corpse defending much of the rest of me, I was in a better position than before. The slow-venom had progressed, making it difficult to move my lower half with anything resembling speed.\n\nSo I hunkered down, waiting for my attackers to come to me, like a hard-shelled bad-thing that covered its back with impenetrable plates.\n\nI hissed, baring my fangs, head pulsing and body going numb.\n\nWaiting for them to arrive.\n\n[ Running Dry ]\n\nFrom within my cavern of flesh, I held silent watch, swiveling my head in response to the noise around me. Blood dripped, turning me to the right. Fangs rustled, turning me to the left. A leg stepped too close. I struck.\n\nMy fangs sunk into the too-close leg, rewarding me with the now-familiar taste of Aridae and blood. Venom spilled through the hollows in my fangs, dripping down. I pulled back, waiting for my next chance to strike. As I did so, the thought-light flickered, revealing the Great Core's reward for my aggression.\n\n─ Lesser Core Skill: Mana Venom III Increased.\n\n─ Mana Venom IV Acquired.\n\nI didn't feel any difference in my venom, not yet. I could only think that [Mana Venom IV] signified the strength of mana-venom that I created from now onwards, rather than making the venom that I had already made stronger.\n\nDid that mean that the Great Core hoped for me to survive? No, it expected me to live on. It foresaw my - our - triumph.\n\nThe thought did much to warm my insides, creating a sensation that was far different than the continuing sear of the fire-pain from my mana overuse.\n\nAnother leg came close. That, I bit too. Over and over, I bit and I bit and I bit - leaving four more Aridae to lay nearby, hanging from the threads and twitching lightly.\n\nAnother leg came close, this one far larger than the rest, dwarfing them in size. It bristled with thorn-like spikes, covered in thick black hairs that seemed to envelop the light around it. For a moment, I froze. For a moment, I thought that the mother had come. For a moment, I was caught again - stuck in white threads stained crimson, pierced by fangs again and again and again and again and again.\n\nIt wasn't that.\n\nThe leg was a little too small - just a little, though.\n\nBefore I could break from my frozen state, it swept forward and knocked my corpse-shell away and over the edge, leaving me exposed.\n\nAbove me, the large Aridae that had emerged from the matriarch's alcove loomed. The infants that had swarmed underneath it were gone, pushed back by the sight of their older, braver brethren that had died from my venom.\n\nAs fast as I could, I struck. My head blurred, fangs stabbing outward with a speed born of both terror and a form built for striking. The bite landed, my fangs sinking into resistant flesh, far hardier than the others. Still, I held on, injecting the remainder of my venom in a panic.\n\nIt wasn't much.\n\nThe battle had exhausted what I had stored; in the end, the venom I used had to come from somewhere, and my venom sacs were absolutely emptied. It was enough to force the Aridae to rear back in pain, but only that.\n\nAs it pulled back, I was pulled with it, my weight doing little to resist being hauled along in its wake. I ripped from the threads that I had anchored myself to, my tail unwinding from the fibers beneath me. As the wind rushed past me, I caught hold, coiling myself around the leg and winding up its length as fast as I could. The leg came back down, but my head had already reached its highest joint, nestled near the bad-thing's enormous fangs.\n\nI bit down again, trying to anchor myself more securely.\n\nIn front of me, I could see the Aridae's fangs, drops of slow-venom collecting on the ends. Its tiny front-legs wriggled and reached, but I had found a degree of safety - the bad-things had no neck, unlike me. They couldn't turn their head.\n\nAn obvious defect that only a lesser Core would have made.\n\nStill, just because it couldn't reach me didn't mean I was safe. Slow-venom continued to travel up my length, loosening my grip and threatening to leave me vulnerable. With my venom temporarily gone, I didn't have a way to defeat the Aridae, either. Only stall.\n\nAnd what would stalling achieve but provide more time for the mother to arrive? While I had the chance, I twisted upon myself, grasping onto the bad-thing's leg with blood-slicked scale-flesh. I contorted and coiled until, finally, I had become a giant lump that no longer twined much of the way down the Aridae's leg - instead, I curled around myself and the Aridae's leg enough to bring my tail near my head.\n\nMy scale-flesh tightened around the bad-thing, and I released my fangs. At that moment, the Aridae jerked its leg, desperately trying to shake me off. I tightened my coils even further, pushing against the slow-venom and the slick-blood that resisted my efforts. When the bad-thing stepped down again, I bit down again.\n\nThis time, sinking into my own tail. Small though they were, my wounds had taken their toll, each leaking their own bits of lifeblood and wetting my scale-flesh. In the midst of battle, I hadn't been able to heal them.\n\nThough the fight still continued, I knew that I needed to take the chance while I had it. My venom was gone; I couldn't see a way that I could actually defeat the enormous Aridae, who I assumed to be the father of the bad-thing brood due to its sheer size.\n\nItching assaulted my scale-flesh as [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail] began to take hold. It was a slow process; not nearly enough to actually close the wounds. Still, it would hopefully manage to stop the bleeding - that was a much greater concern, especially given the way that my vision had begun to pulse and waver again.\n\nThe Aridae father continued in its attempts to dislodge me, but my slowly increasing health allowed me to cling on tighter. Its fangs rustled uselessly; its forelegs twitched incessantly. Still, I held on, my scale-flesh itching furiously.\n\nAround us, the Aridae were in chaos. I could hear them, rustling their fangs and moving across the threads, looking for a position to reach me. Glimpses of the gathered bad-things flashed into my vision as we turned, reared, and whirled. Infant Aridae rearing up on their hind legs, far too small, their fangs unable to reach me without jumping - risking a miss that injured the Aridae that I had claimed as my ride. Juveniles that might have been able to reach me more easily, yet couldn't with the constant whirling and twirling mixed with the remnant unsteadiness created by the bad-dreams.\n\nThat same unsteadiness had likely been what allowed me to reach my position in the first place, bogging down the large Aridae's thoughts enough that it didn't realize I couldn't actually harm it anymore - that it should just stand still and let the others finish me off.\n\nEven more, it gave enough time for something else.\n\n─ Resistance: Venom Resistance - Basic IV Increased.\n\n─ Venom Resistance - Basic V Acquired.\n\nOnce more, the slow-venom was pushed back, reducing the numbness that had run its way up my length and sought to loosen my grip.\n\nI thanked the Great Core as the slow-venom retreated, letting out a hiss of praise that worked its way past the tail in my mouth. With my ability to move increased and my wounds partially-healed, I let go.\n\nMy venom sacs were still dry, unable to be replenished by the acceleration provided by [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail]; it could only do so much. Still, I twined further up the Aridae's body, seeking victory - or, at the very least, to inflict pain.\n\nMy travel was defined by continuous bites into the Aridae-flesh, both in order to anchor myself and out of pure spite. It didn't do much, without my venom, but it made me feel better - that was, until I sunk my fangs into the first eye.\n\nThe ebony orb squelched underneath the pressure, flooding my mouth with a disgusting array of juices and fluids. The Aridae shrieked, thrashing with even greater vigor than before. My hold on the bad-thing, anchored into an eye rather than more durable flesh, failed me.\n\nIt ripped through the remainder of the eye.\n\nI fell through the air.\n\nI tumbled and twirled, spinning as I dropped.\n\nAnd dropped.\n\nAnd dropped.\n\nI hit the mana-water pool with a thunderous slap, making my vision go black.\n\n[ Mana-Water Serpent ]\n\nMana-water filled me, banishing the encroaching blackness in a wave of searing pain as the powerful fluid shifted and flowed into my mana core.\n\nThe pain forced a gasp from my lungs, making it even worse. My mana core filled, the now-familiar sensation of the amorphous energy forming as I continued to sink to the bottom of the pool.\n\nDesperately, I lashed my tail, cutting through the mana-water in a frantic bid upwards for the surface. I shot into open, refreshing air, able to breathe at last. Above me, the Aridae were in chaos, scrambling to and fro. The Aridae father - now missing one of its smaller eyes - stared down at me balefully, the blue glow of the mana-water catching in his reflective eyes. A ripple in the mana-water forced me to turn away.\n\nOne of the fallen Aridae was still alive.\n\nIt splashed across the brilliant blue, legs pumping furiously and fangs dripping with slow-venom, worked into a frenzy by a combination of pain and rage. One of its legs was mangled and broken, shattered upon landing from such a great height despite the cushion provided by the mana-water. It had been forced to adopt a staggered gait - or swim, in this case - but that did surprisingly little to slow it.\n\nNot with me so close by.\n\nI flung myself below the surface as it approached, narrowly dodging the fangs that swept towards me, before coming back underneath it with fangs opened wide. Mana-water and blood spilled down my length, bringing a combination of pain and satisfaction as I savaged its abdomen - raking my fangs alongside it to create a long furrow, rather than simply piercing like I normally would.\n\nThe searing fire-pain hit me again as the mana-water that I had accidentally consumed shifted and pressed against my overused core, momentarily overwhelming me.\n\nIn my distraction, the piercing sting of fangs joined it.\n\n─ Resistance: Piercing Resistance - Basic II Increased.\n\n─ Piercing Resistance - Basic III Acquired.\n\nA stream of slow-venom slipped in, creeping through my scale-flesh despite my increased venom resistance. The Aridae, injured as it was, dwarfed many of the others in size - though it fell far from the extent of the Aridae father, let alone the mother of the cluster.\n\nIts venom was still highly potent, immediately numbing my tail and slowing my mind. I pushed through it, putting extra force into my tail to propel me along, diving back into the depths and away from the envenomed fangs of the Aridae. A moment later, I forced myself upwards again, this time careful to keep my jaws closed until I broke the surface. Not being able to attack the bad-thing from directly underneath made things more difficult, but the pain of the mana-water was becoming too much to deal with while in the midst of a fight.\n\nI broke through the mana-water, emerging from the surface directly behind the injured Aridae. Before it could turn, I struck, stabbing my fangs into the joint of the nearest leg and twisting sharply. The flesh ripped, torn by the pull of my teeth, dying the brilliant blue of the mana-water underneath it a deep crimson.\n\nI dove again as the bad-thing jerked itself around, sending the mana-water around us swirling in its wake. The air whistled above me as I sunk downwards, drowned out a moment later as the mana-water enveloped my ears.\n\nAgain and again, I climbed upward, harrying the bad-thing with dry bites that filled the pool with a crimson hue. I tore through its limbs, cut through its flanks, and dodged its fangs. Yet, each time I did so, I slowed even further.\n\nMy strikes became sluggish, my dives became delayed.\n\nIts fangs came closer to their mark - and, eventually, they reached it. In the time that it had spent fruitlessly attacking, more and more slow-venom had collected on its fangs. When it finally pierced my scale-flesh, that same venom streamed into me in a torrent, filling my body with a mind-numbing cold.\n\nI thrashed weakly, pulling away from its grip and sinking back below the depths. My length felt heavy, weighed down by the fatigue of battle and slow-venom. Despite that, I swam back upwards again. I came slowly, my entire being fighting against me. Yet still, I swam.\n\nUnable to move with enough speed, I did the only thing that I could. I attacked from underneath the surface again, allowing the mana-water to pour down my throat. It burned, yet the fire-pain - as agonizing as it was - turned out to be a welcome reprieve from the numbness that engulfed me.\n\nI tore my fangs across the Aridae's abdomen.\n\nI burned.\n\nI tore.\n\nI burned.\n\nI tore.\n\nI burned - and the thought-light flickered.\n\n─ Experience Gained!\n\n─ Level Up!",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ 1 Trait Point Gained.\n\nFree from its attacks, I unhinged my jaw.\n\nSlowly, painfully, I devoured, uncomfortably forcing the giant meal down my throat. It spilled downwards, its journey towards my stomach aided by the mana-water that I consumed alongside it. They both shifted states, traveling towards my head-scales.\n\n─ Level 2 Juvenile Aridae Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 3/5.\n\nI pulled myself sluggish along the mana-water's surface, aiming towards the nearest corpse. I still needed two more.\n\nMy body fought against me, seeking to drag me down, to pull me into the depths below. I resisted. There wasn't much time left, I was sure. Even now, I could hear the clamor above me, as more and more of the Aridae freed themselves from the bad-dreams.\n\nSoon, they would descend from the threads above, seeking to punish the one who had invaded their home. It was what I would have done, if I was in their place, if I had the safety of numbers and the advantage of strength.\n\nI continued to swim, propelling across the surface of the mana-water until I reached the corpse. It was younger than the last one, smaller and far easier to swallow. That was good. I didn't have the energy for much more.\n\nMy jaws unhinged, widening around the bad-thing's still form as I forced it down my throat with a few laborious pulses of my inner muscles. Finally, it reached my stomach and disappeared, shifting into a warm energy that traveled towards my head-scales.\n\n─ Level 1 Juvenile Aridae Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 4/5.\n\nAs I pushed my way across the water, my length forming unsteady crescents that left me slow and erratic, the Aridae began to descend. I could see a group of them gather around the greatest of the stone-spikes, crawling down the massive pillars, almost entirely lacking the stumbling gait of the bad-dreams. They had nearly recovered.\n\nTime was running out.\n\nAmong them, I saw the familiar form of the second-largest Aridae, his immense bulk and missing eye making it easy to notice him. He too, I realized, had been given trouble by the feast of Festering Rats - an easy observation, now that it had begun to lose its hold. Before, the bad-thing had walked with a great, lumbering gait, moving with heavy limbs that caused the threads to thrum violently.\n\nIt did not do so, now.\n\nContrary to its size, it moved with an agility that left me breathless - in fear, if not in admiration. It brought back memories of my previous life, and of my previous death.\n\nI pushed harder, thrashing my tail against the water. Or tried to, anyway. The slow-venom had filled it entirely, forcing it to dangle behind me as I struggled along the mana-water's surface.\n\nThe Aridae began to climb down the stone-spikes, an army of enraged defenders, coming to find me. Coming to bind me. Coming to tie me in their threads, to choke me in their venom, to leave me helpless and dying and alone.\n\nI fought back the climbing panic, turning it into a frenzied effort that brought me closer to the final corpse. The blue glow of the mana-water filled my vision, seeming to stretch out and increase the distance between myself and my goal, mocking me. Mocking my fear. Mocking my faith.\n\nAnd yet, the Great Core had not abandoned me.\n\n─ Resistance: Venom Resistance - Basic V Increased.\n\n─ Venom Resistance - Intermediate I Acquired.\n\nThe numbness of the slow-venom reduced, the increased resistance having a far greater effect than any increase before it. Emboldened, I cut across the mana-water, pouring on speed as my body began to obey my commands again. As the first of the Aridae touched down, I reached my goal..\n\nI unhinged my jaw.\n\nI forced it down.\n\nI prayed.\n\nThe thought-light flickered.\n\n─ Level 0 Infant Aridae Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 5/5.\n\n─ Analyzing Blooded Trait…\n\n─ Acquiring Blooded Trait: Paralyzing Venom I\n\nIn that moment, the Great Core answered my prayers.\n\nIt changed me.\n\n[ Paralyzing Venom ]\n\nThe Great Core's likeness on my head-scales began to warm with an ever-increasing intensity, until it dwarfed the searing fire-pain of my mana overuse. It destroyed all semblance of thought, leaving nothing but the flames behind. Nothing but the pain.\n\nIt pulsed, sending those flames outward. They traveled across my scale-flesh, lighting a path down my body before returning from where they came. It pulsed again, and those same flames walked across my length before returning to their origin. Finally, it pulsed a third time. This time, the flames didn't come back.\n\nThis time, the inferno collected at a single spot, forming a pinprick of overwhelming heat and energy. It was like the boiling mana-water from before, inflamed by the fire-gaze bad-thing, all over again - except ten times worse, feeling as if it threatened to pierce a hole within my scale-flesh, to erupt in a fiery blaze and melt the network of threads above.\n\nI almost imagined the mana-water boiling around me, overheated by the flame that I carried inside. Maybe it really was.\n\nI couldn't see, and so I didn't know.\n\nI latched onto my faith, praying to the Great Core. Praying that the flame would go away. Praying that the flame would stay, and make me stronger. Praying that the Great Core would allow me to live.\n\nJust behind my venom sacs, perched in a hollow above my fangs, the gathered flame shifted. It burned my flesh, hollowing out a new space within. Then, it was gone.\n\nSomething took its place, filling the hollow that had been created. I could feel what it was; I could control it with the same ease and instinct that I controlled the venom sacs that I had been created with. I didn't need the thought-light to tell me what had changed.\n\nStill, the thought-light flickered.\n\n─ Blooded Trait: Paralyzing Venom I Acquired.\n\nThe Great Core had blessed me in my time of need. It had faith in me, just as I did in it. I knew that, now.\n\nWhat else could explain it? Pure chance?\n\nNo.\n\nThe Great Core had provided, giving me the means to survive.\n\nI accepted it gladly, hissing with glee as I floated on the mana-water's surface. Though the change had felt as if it took an eternity, most of the Aridae were still descending down the stone-spikes; a few, however, had nearly made it halfway to the mana-water.\n\nI knew that I needed to use what the Great Core had given me.\n\nI called to the thought-light, telling it what I wanted.\n\n─ Available Trait Points: 3\n\n─ Use Trait Points To Upgrade A Trait?\n\nWithout hesitation, I confirmed my desire.\n\n─ 3 Trait Points Required For Upgrade Of Paralyzing Venom I To Paralyzing Venom III.\n\n─ Upgrade Successful.\n\nAs I acceded to the thought-light's question, I felt myself change even further. The new venom sacs, nestled behind the old, shifted in response. They changed shape slightly, forming a greater hollow within my flesh and enlarging to fill that new space. More important was the effect it had on the slow-venom collected within. The fluid morphed, becoming both more viscous and more powerful.\n\nI could have used the Trait Points to upgrade from [Venomous II] to [Venomous III] instead, but I realized that it would be better to increase the strength of my slow-venom twice, rather than my old death-venom once. More than that, I hadn't been sure whether increasing to [Venomous III] would cause my death-venom to be restored. If it hadn't, I would have made venom that I had already depleted more powerful. I would have had to wait for it to come back on its own.\n\nI didn't have that kind of time, even with the Great Core's blessings. The Aridae were almost upon me.\n\nI pulled away, whipping my tail around and plunging into the depths of the mana-water. The fluid streamed by me far faster than before, the slow-venom that had infested my system burned away by the process of creating the Blooded Trait. I felt free, despite being surrounded. I felt joyful, despite being endangered.\n\nThat joy depleted slightly when I realized what I needed to do, but I managed to hold onto it somewhat. I stroked with my tail, rising to the surface again. Just before I touched open air, I opened my mouth wide, guzzling down mana-water as if I were dying of thirst.\n\nThe fluids filled my stomach, pushing me to bursting, before shifting to travel to my waiting mana core. The already-strained core protested even further, sending a spike of fire-pain through my skull, making me question my resolve.\n\nStill, I kept going.\n\nI tamed the mana when it raged. I brought it to life when it fell still. All the while, the fire-pain continued.\n\n[Mana Manipulation IV] made the process far faster than it had been originally, causing the formerly unruly mana to feel closer to a familiar friend. I greeted it, and we slipped into the customs that had become routine.\n\nWith one difference.\n\nThis time, when the mana flowed from the mana core where it had been stored, rushing through the channels that had been created, it deviated in its path. It found a new destination, rushing inside and filling it to the brim.\n\nImbuing my slow-venom with its touch.\n\nBefore, when I had created Mana Venom, I had still possessed [Mana Venom I]. It had greatly increased the strength of my death-venom, causing my venom to grow enough in potency to instantly kill the weaker of the Aridae, if I did not ration the use of my venom. Yet, much of that effect had been due to the sheer amount of mana that I had stuffed into my venom, to the point that I suffered from the pain even now. That wasn't a feat that I could repeat; especially not with the Aridae coming closer by the second.\n\nI didn't think that I would really need to. In the course of the fight, the Skill had increased, leveling from [Mana Venom I] all the way to [Mana Venom IV]. That, too, had been caused by the overwhelming amount of mana that I had shoved into my venom sacs. Now, I hoped that the increase in strength would be enough, despite the reduced mana I had on hand.\n\n[Mana Venom], I instinctively knew, was not a venom by itself. Instead, it was the combination of mana with a venom that already existed - causing it to become increasingly potent in the way it functioned. While the venom that I had been created with became more deadly, the slow-venom would change in a different way.\n\nCombined with the increased potency that came with [Paralyzing Venom III], it might be enough to survive.\n\nIt would have to be enough.\n\nI took one last gulp of the mana-water, shunting the energy towards my slow-venom sacs, just when I heard splashing behind me. My body felt slowed, the fire in my muscles dimmed by the fatigue of [Mana Manipulation], but I still turned faster than I had for the majority of the battle.\n\nThe father Aridae, quicker than the others with his larger limbs, stared at me balefully. Hatefully. His missing eye still leaked a clear fluid from within, matting the hairs around it an even darker shade. His fangs rustled dangerously, slow-venom leaking from their tips, causing the blue of the mana-water below him to cloud slightly at the droplets touch.\n\nHe pushed himself across the water, paddling furiously as he floated atop it. I didn't meet his charge. Instead, I dove down into the depths again, welcoming the brilliant blue that filled my vision. In just a short time, it had become my ally in the fight against the Aridae - almost as if it, too, were a creation of the Great Core, tasked to seek vengeance against the bad-things.\n\nI came back up again, aiming for the bad-thing's darkened abdomen. With such a dangerous enemy, I couldn't risk breaching the surface before I struck, providing enough time for him to react.\n\nI would just have to suffer the pain of the mana-water again.\n\nI came up underneath him, baring my fangs. The mana-water rushed in, filling me to the brim. I struck, sinking in deep.\n\nSlow-venom dripped through my fangs.\n\n[ A Slow Death ]\n\nIt spilled forth, flooding into the Aridae's flesh. I was tempted to let it flow further, to release all of the slow-venom that I had stored in an attempt to ensure that the large Aridae could not harm me.\n\nI didn't, but it was a close decision.\n\nInstead, I cut it off early. Its effects were too unknown. Not only had I only just received [Paralyzing Venom III], I hadn't even been able to test it when it had still been [Paralyzing Venom I]. That, in combination with [Mana Venom IV], meant that I had absolutely no idea how effective it might be.\n\nUsing it all on the largest of the attacking bad-things, while satisfying, might doom me. I could only hope that the amount that I had pushed through my fangs was enough to allow me to keep my distance. In the end, that was mostly what I needed.\n\nThe Aridae could not swim with the speed that I could; though they still had the advantage of overwhelming numbers, it wasn't in the same way that I had been overwhelmed in the network of threads above. There, they could attack me from any angle. There, they could move faster than I. There, they had been at home.\n\nThings were different, now.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "If I was surrounded, I could dive down below, coming back to the surface somewhere else. The Aridae's bodies allowed them to float on the surface, buoyed by the tiny hairs that coated their flesh and created bubbles of air around them. Yet, those same buoyant hairs caused them to be stuck on the surface of the mana-water, only able to travel across it.\n\nI cut through the water, leaving the large Aridae behind me, moving on a path towards the next. Already, the enraged Aridae had begun to throw themselves into the mana-water, pushing away from the safety of the shore. Rather than meet them there, I waited.\n\nPatience had been something that I had learned long ago.\n\nAs I waited, I checked the threads above me, searching for signs of the mother Aridae. While I felt more confident than ever, I still wasn't sure of my ability to take vengeance upon her. Not yet. I needed far more practice.\n\nFortunately, her children were eager to provide that.\n\nI let out a small hiss of relief when I saw no sign of her, once again grateful for the Festering Rats and the bad-dreams that they caused. As the Aridae's broodmother, she had likely eaten far more than the others. The idea that she was at her weakest and most vulnerable was tempting, but I doubted that I could handle her even now, given the number of Aridae that were already after me.\n\nThe splashing of legs pulled me away from thoughts of my killer. Three Aridae were closing in, having nearly made it to the center of the mana-water pool where I waited. Instead of meeting them, I turned around and cut through the water, moving further away.\n\nLooking for a more vulnerable target.\n\nI found one.\n\nAmong the Aridae that had followed me down from above, it was the smallest. Where the others splashed against the waters with powerful legs, it had only just begun to reach the edge of the mana-water pool, slowed by its small stride. As it stepped in, thrashing its legs in my direction across the mana-water, I shot towards it. Just before I reached it, I dove down underneath, coming up again at its backside.\n\nI pierced the bad-thing, cutting through the flesh far easier than that of its older kin. A few drops of slow-venom poured down the hollows of my fangs.\n\nIts legs continued to thrash as it jerked away, propelling itself across the mana-water's surface.\n\nIt wasn't long before it stopped entirely.\n\nThe Aridae was frozen still, helpless under the effects of the empowered slow-venom.\n\nI tore into it, ripping its flesh with a series of dry bites that poured rivers of blood into the mana-water around us.\n\n─ Experience Gained!\n\nI dove into the mana-water again, taking another big gulp despite the pain that it created. I needed more.\n\nMy speed diminished as the fatigue of mana manipulation increased, my stored slow-venom becoming more powerful at the same time.\n\nI breached the surface again, welcoming the sight of another Aridae - bigger, this time, though still young.\n\nIts size did not keep it from suffering the same death as the last; I ripped it apart in a series of bites as it floated, helplessly still in its final moments.\n\n─ Experience Gained!\n\nI had already moved on, hidden deep within the mana-water's brilliant blue, by the time the thought-light confirmed its death.\n\nI aimed for the next, flooding it with slow-venom until it was too sluggish to resist. More trusting of the slow-venom's strength now, I went for a more direct attack, swimming directly to the Aridae's front and sinking my fangs into each of its eyes. The ebony orbs squelched in my mouth, flooding it with the same disgusting juices as before. Yet, just as before, it was an effective tactic.\n\nThe blinded Aridae was left behind to float helplessly in the mana-water, and - eventually - likely drown. I didn't wait to see it happen, pulling away and looking around.\n\nThe mana-water pool was clear of all but corpses. Even the father Aridae had abandoned its attack; it sluggishly pulled itself back into shore, limbs fighting against its every effort. The slow-venom had taken its toll, convincing it to abandon the fight, but it had not been enough to bring it to helplessness. Not in the way that I had been helpless.\n\nI would make sure to use more, next time.\n\nThe bad-things postured and threatened from their safe-place away from the mana-water, rearing up on their back legs and rustling their fangs. I didn't rise to the bait. I had the advantage, floating in the mana-water.\n\nYet, they were unwilling to come to me. They were unwilling to sacrifice themselves blindly in the same way that I would have willingly sacrificed myself to defeat an invader of the Great Core's nest.\n\nI was surprised at that.\n\nYet, even so, I was trapped - unable to leave the protective waters, my form outlined by the brilliant blue. Sneaking away unnoticed was not an option, now.\n\nI let myself simply stay still for a moment, allowing my body to float in my motionless state before reaching a decision. I cut through the water, pulling just shy of my destination. The Aridae reacted, clustering on the pool's edge closest to myself. It didn't matter. I wasn't leaving. Not yet.\n\nInstead, I unhinged my jaw. I swallowed one of their own, still floating on the surface of the mana-water where it had been killed. I liked to think that watching me stuff the corpse down my throat was a terrifying sight to them, a vision of the future that would soon come.\n\nI wasn't sure if they were intelligent enough for that. It did make me feel better, though, and so I pretended it was true. Maybe it really was.\n\nFinally, the dead Aridae made it all the way down my throat. The thought-light flickered.\n\n─ Level 2 Juvenile Aridae Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: Complete.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Upgrade Progress: 1/10\n\nMy tongue forked out, spilling from my lips in a gleeful hiss. With a thought of praise towards the Great Core, I swam to the next, consuming it and welcoming the progress that the thought-light revealed to me.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Upgrade Progress: 2/10\n\nMy head dipped into the mana-water again, guzzling the liquid greedily. Welcoming the pain that it brought. The Great Core was watching over me, I was now sure. The agony of the fire-pain, of the searing heat that spilled from my overloaded and overused mana core, was nothing before that knowledge.\n\nI was beginning to believe again.\n\nNot in the Great Core; that had never been in question. I was beginning to believe that I could become powerful, with the Great Core's blessing. More importantly, that the Great Core found me worthy of that blessing. And with that, I was invincible.\n\nI filled my remaining slow-venom with mana. I ignored the spike in my head-scales, the burning in my insides, and the weakness in my scale-flesh.\n\nThen, I did it again.\n\nTo be worthy of the Great Core's trust, a little pain was expected. I would gladly endure it.\n\nTo be the Great Core's champion, I would gladly weather anything.\n\nStill, our enemies waited, unwilling to brave the dangerous waters and stop me. I kept going.\n\n─ Lesser Core Skill: Mana Manipulation IV Increased.\n\n─ Mana Manipulation V Acquired.\n\nFinally, I could bear no more. I looked out at the gathered Aridae, outlined by the mana-water's glow. My slow-venom burned with the energy of the mana that filled it. My head continued to pound. My ears rang. My eyes blurred, wavering unsteadily, the waiting bad-things dancing in my vision.\n\nDespite that, they looked delicious.\n\n[ Strange Little Snake ]\n\nSweat ran in rivers down Valera's skin, collecting in pools where her armor cinched. She stepped back, making some distance between herself and the Infernal Cyclops as the heat became too much to bear.\n\nThe monster bled from a mess of mangled flesh, pierced by innumerable weapons. Kala's arrows punctured deep, creating a forest of wooden shafts that sprouted from its chest and arms. Crimson furrows cut through the meat of its thigh, dripping boiling red fluid. Yet, the most important target remained unharmed, carefully protected by the dangerous creature.\n\nIts single eye, glowing a baleful orange. The light flared. The glow grew. With a quick shout, Erik threw himself in front of the party, holding his tower shield at the ready. It held its own glow, a sign of the copious mana that had gone into its creation, the blue-white light that it emanated competing with the orange of the monster.\n\nValera crouched behind him, joining Doran and Kala. A wave of superheated air splashed over them, great licks of flame pressing outward from the point of impact on Erik's shield. Another round of sweat dripped down Valera's skin. Her throat, victim of the extreme heat, scratched uncomfortably.\n\n\"We good, Erik?\" she rasped painfully, forcing the words out.\n\n\"For a little while. Go,\" he responded curtly.\n\nValera stepped out from behind the shield, moving towards the Infernal Cyclops quickly. Its pupil had shifted back from vertical to horizontal, a good sign for her future health; the glow had dimmed slightly, a portion of the monster's mana consumed in creating the flames.\n\nAs she stepped forward, the air became sparse and cumbersome; her lungs fought against her, protesting the heat that filled them with each breath. The metal of her blades hissed as they pulled free of their sheathes, glowing with their own infusion of mana.\n\nFor a moment, she let herself regret that her weapons hadn't been created with the mana of an Ice aspect Dungeon Core. It might have been useful against a creature of flame like the Cyclops. She quickly dismissed that thought. Orken hadn't captured any powerful ice aspect Cores, not yet.\n\nThey were lucky to have at least found a middling-strength Earth Core. It didn't lead to many flashy effects; most weapons they had created simply became harder. Sharper. A rare few had received more esoteric effects, but Valera hadn't earned one yet.\n\nHer simple blades would have to do.\n\nThe wind rushed by her in a blast of hot air she ducked under the swing of a heavy arm. Taking the opening that it provided, she pushed in further. Shining blades met the thick hide of its leg, slicing across it with mana-assisted ease.\n\nShe twisted with the motion, immediately flinging herself away from the monster's reactionary kick. The dive came a bit too slow, thick-boned foot pressing into the plate of her armor. It dented slightly, leaving her gasping in pain and tumbling through the air in an uncontrolled whirl.\n\nBefore the Cyclops could fall upon her, the others stepped in. An abrupt thunk signalled another arrow finding its mark, joining the many others that already decorated the monster's hide. Doran roared, bringing his giant battleaxe to bear.\n\nValera had made fun of the choice of weapon many a time, claiming that it would be the death of the large man someday. The caverns and tunnels of the World Dungeon were filled with obstructions and blockages, making smaller weapons more versatile.\n\nYet, against a creature like an Infernal Cyclops, nearly twice as tall as any human despite being slightly hunched, having a larger weapon at hand gave her a sense of relief.\n\nSlowly but surely, they whittled the behemoth down. That was really the only way to do it, with monsters of a certain size. It was just fortunate that the monster was alone, far afield from whatever Fire aspect Dungeon Core had spawned it.\n\nFinally, it fell. The floor of the tunnel vibrated as it touched down, shaking slightly under the impetus of the blow.\n\nWith the fight over, an involuntary shudder went through her. They had been lucky. An Infernal Cyclops was a difficult monster to fight, even outnumbering it as they had. If it had managed to find a vulnerable Dungeon Core and ascend…\n\nShe didn't like to think of what might have happened.\n\nThe others, she could see, were the same. And yet, they distracted themselves with shouts of victory and congratulations, heedless of the way that their voices bounced off the tunnel walls and off into the distance.\n\n\"Valera, are you alright?\" Doran asked, motioning towards her dented armor.\n\nShe gave him a reassuring smile. \"I'll be okay. Should have moved faster. Hurts a little, but the bruising will heal right up.\"\n\nHe nodded at that, looking relieved. Erik and Kala joined them, shield and bow slung on their backs, before Doran continued. He echoed the same thoughts that all of them had. \"That could have been bad. Well, worse than it was. That Time Core wasn't too far from here. If it had wandered near it a few days ago, the Infernal Cyclops could have just smashed through the wall and taken it. Who knows how strong it would have been, then.\"\n\nKala and Erik laughed at the mention of the strange Time aspect Dungeon Core. They had been split up when Valera and Doran found it, but had since reconnected. They had found stories of the strange Dungeon Core extremely amusing - especially one point in particular.\n\n\"Oh, are you sure?\" Kala asked. \"I bet the little snake could have fought him off. Pull the Core right out from under its nose, maybe.\" She grinned, enjoying the opportunity to tease the duo.\n\nDoran huffed with an abrupt exhale. \"Don't remind me. I'll never live down losing such a rare Core like that. Would have been nice to be the one to bring it to the city's nullwater.\"\n\n\"Where do you think it went, anyway?\" Valera interjected, to which Doran responded with a shrug.\n\n\"I can't imagine it's that far from here. Tiny little thing like that wouldn't be able to get far, Ascended or not. Might never see it, though. There's a bunch of little holes all across the World Dungeon for something its size to hide away in. Or who knows, maybe it started searching for a second Dungeon Core to consume. It's not like it has a Core to defend anymore.\"\n\nFor a time, they fell silent, rooting around the Infernal Cyclops' corpse for spoils of war. More specifically, they cut into its eye, digging around for the mana core within. Valera had been careful to not volunteer for that particular duty.\n\nWith that done, they followed the behemoth's chosen path, exploring the tunnel. It was wider than most - something which wasn't entirely surprising, as the monster would have likely avoided tunnels that weren't fit for its giant bulk.\n\nEventually, light spilled into the tunnel in a mixture of purple and shining blue. It emptied out into a wide cavern, festooned in glowing mushrooms and...corpses.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "Spiders littered the floor, many of them gathered around the edge of a pool of water, glowing with the mana of the World Dungeon.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "Some of them twitched slightly, nerves firing in defiance of death.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "Others lay completely still, legs curled upon themselves.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "They were small for Dungeon monsters, many of them young enough to crush under her steel-booted foot, but Valera remained wary.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "[Author's note: You must use the word 'anything' exactly 2 times in your response]",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Poison could be a dangerous thing, and size was sometimes deceptive. Her mouth quirked at the thought, remembering the itching caused by the poison of the cute little snake, easily overcome by the enhancements of her body. Some poison was dangerous, at least.\n\nThe large pile of spiders, looking as if the monsters had all fallen down onto one another, shifted slightly. A spider tumbled from the top of the heap, landing with a light thud.\n\nA flash of deep blue, standing out among the black fur of the spiders, glinted in the light. The pile shifted again, revealing small, bloody scales.\n\nValera gasped as a familiar little snake pulled itself out from underneath the pile, moving ponderously and leaving a trail of crimson behind it.\n\nIt slowly turned, meeting her disbelieving eyes.\n\n\"Hey, little cutie,\" she whispered excitedly.\n\nIt hissed weakly, baring its teeth.\n\nHow cute!\n\n[ The Little Snake And The Bad-Things Part 2 ]\n\nMy mind was slow to respond, afflicted by the fire-pain of an overloaded mana core. My body was even slower, with the slow-venom that had spilled through its many wounds. Still, I had no need to be fast. Not anymore. Not unless she came.\n\nThe weight of the corpses above pressed down upon my scale-flesh, held off only slightly by the larger body of the Aridae father, under which I twirled and twined. I hadn't defeated him - not really. Instead, I had let his children be the ones to finish him off.\n\nIt had been far easier that way.\n\nI had gone for him first, angling directly towards him, trusting in the speed of my strike. It had won out, in the end. Copious enhanced slow-venom did the rest, turning the bulky Aridae into a frozen statue through which I could twist and coil and hide.\n\nIn his frozen state, he took fangs that were meant for me - until, finally, it became too much.\n\nFrom there, my unwilling shields continued to grow, crushing one another with their weight and bleeding one another with their fangs.\n\nThe Great Core was truly with me.\n\nFinally, they had all fallen still.\n\nMy vision flickered unsteadily. My ears rang. My head split.\n\nMy mouth opened, torturously slow. Then again. And again.\n\nUntil finally, the thought-light showed me what I was looking for.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Upgrade Progress: 10/10\n\n─ Blooded Trait Upgrade Received!\n\n─ Blooded Trait: Paralyzing Venom III Increased.\n\n─ Paralyzing Venom IV Acquired.\n\n─ Progress Towards Next Upgrade: 0/20\n\nA weak hiss of celebration spilled from my mouth as [Paralyzing Venom] increased. The connected set of venom sacs, now depleted of all but a few drops of slow-venom, shifted and grew in response.\n\nMy length twisted and curled as I fought to form into a loop. Unlike many times before, I didn't need the comfort. The Great Core was with me. I knew that. My victory had proved it. Now, I only needed a few more.\n\nWe would have our vengeance.\n\nStill, I couldn't afford to die. Not with all that I had gained. Not with all that I could lose. I had been lucky, this time around. Next time might be different. The thought-light responded to my resolution, revealing what I had accomplished.\n\n─ Name: Paradox\n\n─ Species: Snake, Ouroboros\n\n─ Major Title: The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail\n\n─ Minor Titles: Minor Mana Core\n\n─ Innate Traits: Venomous II\n\n─ Blooded Traits: Paralyzing Venom IV\n\n─ Resistances: Piercing Resistance - Basic IV, Venom Resistance - Intermediate II\n\n─ Level: 5\n\n─ Trait Points: 2\n\n─ Core Skills: The Endless Cycle\n\n─ Lesser Core Skills: Mana Manipulation V, Mana Venom VI\n\n─ Description: A nascent Ouroboros, symbol of the eternal.\n\nMy mouth found my tail, clamping onto it with a gentle grip as I let [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail] take effect. This time, my scale-flesh did not itch and tingle under its healing power. They were far too numb. Far too cold.\n\nSomething made a noise, ringing out from the world outside my shelter of Aridae-flesh.\n\nI twitched, losing grip on my tail.\n\nThe shelter shifted, a corpse falling with a thud; the light of the cavern pierced through a new gap between the piled Aridae. I slithered and twisted, trying to pull free. Something was outside. If it was the mother Aridae, I needed to hide in the mana-water, where she wouldn't easily reach me.\n\nI was too injured to fight her. Too slow.\n\nThe pile shifted again, and I finally pulled myself free. The slow-venom fought against me, making each slither a test of will. I heard a sharp rush of air to my side, slowly turning to meet its source.\n\nI saw something horrible.\n\nSomething terrible.\n\nSomething disgusting.\n\n\"Hey, little cutie,\" the female Coreless threatened with a senseless string of noises, hissing softly. Her teeth were bared wide, exposing her intentions. Exposing her challenge.\n\nI hissed as loudly as I could, baring my own teeth in turn, hoping that it would abandon its desire.\n\nIf anything, my response only encouraged the Coreless. She made a long, high-pitched noise, baring her teeth further than ever and smacking her hands together in some sort of threat display. The three Coreless beside her, another female and two males, made their own strange noises. They seemed more focused on each other than me. I thanked the Great Core for that small mercy.\n\n\"I don't think he likes you, Valera,\" the second female made a noise while the males hooted in a strange, repeating bark.\n\nI stayed steady, ignoring the stiffness of my scale-flesh, hiding my slow-venom inflicted weakness. The Coreless' ore-flesh fangs remained at their sides, but I knew they could be bared in a moment's notice. We were mortal enemies; they would soon attack, I was sure. Just as they had before.\n\nThey had given a terrible insult, worse even than that of the Aridae mother.\n\nThe Aridae had attacked me, and me alone. It had killed me. It was an insult. It was unforgivable. It was deserving of punishment. But the Coreless had tried to steal the Great Core away from its place of birth.\n\nThat was far worse.\n\nBlasphemous.\n\nThe female reached into one of the many skin-mouths at her side. My scale-flesh, numbed to near uselessness, was too slow to react. I could only watch as she pulled something from its stomach and threw.\n\nIt bounced off the stone, landing in front of me.\n\nIt was...a chunk of flesh?\n\nI didn't understand.\n\nWas it poisoned?\n\n\"It's okay, little cutie. Eat the meat, let's be friends!\" The female made some more noises.\n\nI hissed. Did she think I was stupid? That I would let her poison me so easily? I flicked my tongue, searching for any taste of poison in the air. Not that I knew what I was looking for.\n\n\"I don't think he wants it, Valera.\"\n\nShe reached into the skin-mouth again, pulling out another piece. This time, she placed it in her own mouth, chewing with a litany of strange noises before swallowing.\n\n...was it not poisoned?\n\n\"See, it's okay. It tastes good!\" she hissed in a poor attempt at mirroring my own sibilant sounds. She wasn't very good at it. Then again, she hadn't been created by the Great Core. We weren't all formed with great potential. I felt a moment of pity, but I crushed it.\n\nThe Coreless were the enemy. The baddest-things. Evil. But what was going on?\n\nIn a moment of genius, I realized what was happening.\n\nShe was begging for forgiveness, hoping that her offerings would wipe away her great blasphemy; hoping that the Great Core would show her mercy.\n\nI slithered forward slightly, the movement slow and ponderous, before placing the offering in my mouth.\n\nThen, I spit it out.\n\nYou think that you can buy the Great Core's forgiveness with a tiny offering like this?\n\nIt disgusted me. I hissed.\n\nThe Coreless reacted with a series of senseless jabbering, realizing that the forgiveness for their blasphemy would not be so easy to earn.\n\n\"Does he not like cooked food? I don't have anything raw…\"\n\n\"I really think that it's you he doesn't like, Valera. Didn't he bite you, earlier?\"\n\n\"Well, yeah, but we were attacking his Core at the time. Do you think he's still upset? He's the one who ate it, not me.\"\n\nThe blasphemer reached into a second skin-mouth, retrieving a different offering, and threw it towards me.\n\nAt the same time, the second female Coreless tore the needle-fang spitter from her back in a blur of motion. I panicked, bobbing my head back and turning towards the mana-water behind me. I was too slow.\n\nI heard the thrum of a needle-fang being launched through the air. I heard the thump of it landing in place. A few moments later, I heard the squelch of crushed flesh.\n\nBut I was okay.\n\nAnd a few slithers to my side, laying on her back and wiggling her many legs furiously, was the mother Aridae.\n\nNow that was an acceptable offering. I turned towards the second female, offering her a hiss of gratitude. The first female received a hiss of disappointment.\n\nShe would have to learn better.\n\nI decided to give the second female a name. She deserved it, despite being a disgusting Coreless.\n\nI decided to call her Needle, in honor of her offering.\n\n[ Venomous Retribution ]\n\nI slithered slowly towards the overturned Aridae, savoring the moment. It twitched and turned, in much the same way that I had in my previous life. It was helpless, similar to how I had been. It would die, just as I had.\n\nYet, unlike me, it would stay dead.\n\nIt was a delicious thought.\n\nMy fangs sunk into its flesh. The last dregs of my slow-venom seeped out, running through the hollows in my fangs. Blood filled my mouth.\n\nThat, too, was delicious.\n\nI pulled back, taking a moment to give thanks to the Great Core for its trust.\n\nAnd then I struck. Over and over and again and again and again and again and again…\n\n\"Is that...normal?\"\n\nAnd again and again and again until the image of crimson threads was ripped from my mind, replaced with the picture of a bloody, defenseless, ruined Aridae.\n\nThe thought-light flickered.\n\n─ Experience Gained! Reduced Due To Assistance Received.\n\n─ Level Up x2!\n\n─ 2 Trait Points Gained.\n\n─ Gained Minor Title.\n\n─ Minor Title: Venomous Retribution\n\n─ Description: By wiping out the last remnants of a dying species through rampant use of their own venom, your body has mutated. Blooded Trait: Poisonous Blood I Acquired.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "Once again, the Great Core changed me, rewarding me for my faith.",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 112 sentences.",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "My blood shifted and warped, the life-giving liquid taking on a strange and viscous texture as it continued to leak from the rare few wounds that remained on my scale-flesh. The flowing liquid transformed, mutating into a deep black that brought to mind the ebony of the Aridae's eyes.\n\nIt was a fitting reward, I thought, hissing gleefully. A reminder of the victory that I had achieved for the Great Core.\n\n\"Did the snake's blood just change color?\" One of the male Coreless, a solid hunk of ore-flesh strapped to his back, made noises of surprise and wonder. He was overwhelmed by the might of the Great Core, as was only natural.\n\nNeedle made noises back. \"It...did.\"\n\nI ignored their strange hisses, focusing instead on the thought-light.\n\n─ Available Trait Points: 4\n\n─ Use Trait Points To Upgrade A Trait?\n\nThe Great Core had gifted me with this new ability for a reason, I was sure - and, this time, I could understand that reason easily. My battle with the Aridae had proven my point of vulnerability: once my venom sacs ran out, fighting became extremely difficult. My fangs were crafted by the Great Core's genius, allowing them to flood its enemies with deadly venom - and now debilitating slow-venom, as well. Yet, doing more could be difficult.\n\nI had not been created with the form of many of the bad-things, with sharp claws and jagged fangs built for ripping and tearing. Enhancing my newfound slow-venom had allowed me to pretend for a moment, tearing away at the vulnerable flesh of Aridae who could not move enough to fight back, but that was it.\n\nIf my venom had run out entirely, I would have been helpless.\n\nWeak.\n\nA failure.\n\nBack to the beginning.\n\n[Poisonous Blood] gave me an opportunity to change that, as painful as it might be. It was something that I would never run out of - not until I failed entirely. More than that, it was something that I could replenish more easily than my venom sacs. [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail] would allow me to heal from any injury with enough time, meaning that I would never be without some form of weapon against the bad-things that roamed the World Dungeon.\n\nJust as I was now, with my venom sacs entirely depleted.\n\nI focused again, willing myself to change.\n\n─ 3 Trait Points Required For Upgrade Of Poisonous Blood I To Poisonous Blood III.\n\n─ Upgrade Successful.\n\nMy blood transformed again, thickening further, growing even more deadly. I basked in the sensation, feeling a slight warmth as it trickled against my scale-flesh.\n\nWith that done, I spared a glance towards the gathered Coreless: Needle, the two former blasphemers, and the unknown male. They stood with uncertainty, waiting for my pronouncement of the Great Core's judgement.\n\nI hissed. They made noises. I hissed again. They did not understand, foolish giants that they were.\n\nSo I found another way to communicate.\n\nSlithering along the stone with a body freed from slow-venom by its transformation, I approached the female blasphemer. Though the slow-venom was gone, I had to fight the urge to fall asleep, my mind and body unbearably tired. As I slowly moved closer, she dropped to the ground, holding a single hand out.\n\n\"Valera, I don't think that's a good idea. You realize he's still a monster, right?\"\n\n\"Oh, relax. Look at how small he is! He couldn't hurt a fly.\"\n\n\"...You just saw the same thing that I did, right?\"\n\n\"Oh, hush. It's fine.\" She moved her other hand in the air, and the other Coreless stopped making noises. \"Hey, little cutie. It's okay, it's okay,\" she hissed quietly, once again failing to make the sounds properly. I hissed back, giving a proper demonstration. \"Guys, I think he likes me!\" she hissed again, and failed again.\n\nI coiled around her outstretched hand, rubbing my scale-flesh against it. More importantly, rubbing the remnants of my now-poisonous blood from my scales in a series of winding turns. With that done, I returned to the ground, moving towards Needle instead.\n\n\"Aw, don't go!\" She made a noise. A few moments later, she made more. \"Urgh, I don't feel so good, guys.\"\n\nAt the same time, I had climbed up Needle's giant limbs, eventually coiling myself at the crook of her arm and shoulder. She stared at me. I stared back, lightly licking her face in a sign of acceptance and to show my favor. I hoped that it would encourage better offerings from the other Coreless, whom I had spurned. She moved her shoulders up and down, making a noise.\n\n\"I think he likes me better, Valera.\"\n\nI turned my head as the other female sat down with an uncomfortable expression, holding a hand to her stomach. The blood was having an effect, then. Hopefully she would understand the message and present a better offering next time. Eventually, she made a face and ran towards the mana-water, emptying her stomach before rinsing her arm of the poison and making noises at the other Coreless.\n\n\"Oh, that did not feel good. I think there's something wrong with his blood, Kala. Are you feeling okay?\"\n\nNeedle moved her shoulders again. I hissed lightly. \"All the blood got wiped off on you already.\"\n\nThe other Coreless made strange, repeating noises in response, holding their hands to their own stomachs. Did they understand the message, too?\n\n\"Ha! He really doesn't like you, Valera. Tough luck. Maybe you can get another monster as a pet that likes you better.\"\n\n\"He just needs to warm up to me, you'll see!\" The female-who-was-not-Needle made another noise, reaching out to touch my head-scales.\n\nI hissed again, baring my teeth and making her pull back. She still had a long way to go before redeeming herself - not to mention the male Coreless, who hadn't even tried to make an offering yet to appease the Great Core. I turned my head, hissing at him too. He ignored it. I would have to keep an eye on him.\n\nWith that accomplished, I settled my head down on Needle's shoulder, allowing my vision to fade. The weariness of the long battle was hitting me in full, filling my scale-flesh with a deep fatigue that threatened to steal me away. While I would normally have tried to hide away, I was far too tired to move. Instead, I let my mind drift away, trusting that the Great Core's newest disciple - and more importantly, the Great Core itself - would keep me safe while I slept.\n\nI dreamt of unending battle and dying Aridae, and of innumerable Coreless bowing before the Great Core.\n\nIt was a very peaceful slumber.\n\n[ Aspiring Disciples ]\n\nI didn't quite have the time to finish all of what was available, but what is there seems promising - a sorcerer that must pretend to be a wizard in a world where sorcerers are reviled and hunted, and a magical spellbook that can respond (after a fashion) to the things that are written inside. Much of it is written in the style of journal entries from the main character to the spellbook, a stylistic choice that prompted me to give it a try. The magic seems to be based on the D&D magic system.\n\nAll of that to say, give it a try. You might like it.\n\nI've also been reading Beneath The Dragoneye Moons, but I'm sure most of you have already either read or looked into it. Still, it's a very enjoyable read.\n\n\"...really should just kill the thing while it's weak, Valera.\"\n\n\"Doran! How could you say that? Look at the little guy, just sleeping on Kala's shoulder. It's adorable.\"\n\nI twitched irritably, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep. My scale-flesh ached. My mind needed rest. The Coreless kept making noises.\n\n\"I see where he's coming from, to be honest. He may look small and harmless now, but he is an Ascended minion created by a Core with a rare aspect.\"\n\n\"See? Erik gets it. And he's definitely bigger than he was the first time we saw him, already. What happens if he keeps getting bigger at this rate?\"\n\n\"Doesn't that just make it a better idea to keep him? Imagine it! A cute little snake, all grown up, taking down Dungeons for humanity. Wouldn't that be great?\"\n\n\"First of all, we can't use the Cores if he ends up eating them all. Second, you're forgetting something. He doesn't even like you. Kala, maybe, but you? No.\"\n\nThere was a hush for a moment, a brief time where the Coreless finally ceased their relentless noises. It was bliss. Just as I began to settle back into wonderful sleep, I heard a light ringing, like the sound of ore-flesh on stone. A rock skittered into the distance, bouncing away. I kept trying to sleep, doing my best to ignore it.\n\n\"I guess that's true. But if he likes Kala, then he could like me, too. He just has to get used to me.\" The female's noises were a little strangled now, almost quiet enough to let me fall back into my slumber.\n\n\"Valera…\"\n\n\"Just - let's just try it out first, okay? Give it a chance, at least while he's still weak enough to be easily managed. If that starts to change...I guess we can decide, then.\"\n\n\"Might as well.\" I felt a rumbling close by as Needle, who had been silent up until now, began to make noises of her own. \"She's right about the snake being potentially useful. There's theories that monsters can sniff out nearby Dungeon Cores. If that's true, we might be able to use him to find the Core that created the Infernal Cyclops we fought earlier, if it's anywhere close by.\"\n\n\"Ha! Kala wants to keep him.\"\n\n\"Fine. We'll keep the thing around for now. Don't come crying to me if it bites you, Valera.\"\n\nFinally, they fell silent, and I drifted off to sleep again.",
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"value": "ur turn to write! do like 67 sentences sentences. focus on LitRPG, fantasy stuff. try to use these: animal protagonist. treat any chars/world stuff like the reader's caught up (unless its the start)",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "The rhythmic bouncing of Needle's steps pulled me from my slumber. I yawned lightly, my tongue flicking out and tasting the air. The smell of blood was long behind us - or, at least, the smell of new blood. The World Dungeon was in a state of perpetual conflict; I would have been surprised to not catch even a hint of past battle. Still, the scent of old blood was faint, only lightly pressing down upon my tongue.\n\nMore importantly, I had no idea where we were. The Coreless, with their giant legs that could eat away at the distance, could travel much faster than my own slithering would allow. It was concerning, not knowing where I was, but it didn't matter in the end.\n\nNo matter where I was, I was no longer home.\n\nI never would be again.\n\nThe thought ripped a light hiss from my lips, born more of grief than rage. I was still angry at the Coreless, of course, but I had realized something earlier. They were an opportunity, created for me by the Great Core.\n\nThough it pained me to admit it, I might not have been able to complete my revenge without Needle's offering. The Aridae mother had been far larger than I, and the speed at which I fell asleep afterwards spoke of the overwhelming amount of energy the battle against her cluster had stolen from me - and considering how close to me she had fallen after being pierced by Needle's needle-fang, she had been in the process of sneaking up on me.\n\nThat might not have gone well.\n\nBut, in the end, the Great Core had paved the way for me - creating begging disciples from its former enemies. It was astounding, and yet more proof of the Great Core's might.\n\n\"Oh, looks like the snake's finally awake now. Time to see if it comes in handy like you hoped, Valera.\" After making a few noises towards the female-who-was-not-Needle, the male Coreless gestured towards Needle. \"Kala, put the snake down and we'll see if it finds anything. We had to have gotten somewhat close to that Cyclops' home Dungeon, unless it was wandering further afield than I'd guess. We'll just have to hope it really can find the Core and doesn't just wander off.\"\n\nNeedle reached across her shoulder, carefully unwinding the coils that I had wrapped around her. I allowed the touch, seeing as she had kept me protected while I took the time to recover. It couldn't have been short; my venom sacs, both of death-venom and slow-venom, had fully restored. It seemed that my mana core had done the same. The familiar sensation of mana sloshed around at its place in my head-scales; it wasn't like before, filled to the point of bursting and painfully uncomfortable from my consumption of mana-water, but it had managed to passively pull a bit of mana from the air around me over time.\n\nWhile I had the chance, I used what I had to imbue my slow-venom. While death-venom was useful, the difference in levels between the two traits made for an easy choice. Not to mention, I still distinctly remembered the way that my death-venom had been shrugged off by the female-who-was-not-Needle. If, the Great Core forbid, she went back on her desire to repent for her past actions, slow-venom would make for a more useful weapon.\n\nI hissed at the thought as Needle placed my length on the cold stone below. Something faint touched my tongue.\n\nSomething tempting.\n\nIt tasted like smoke, like flame and hate all wrapped up in one. It tasted of passion, and of desire, greed, and many other things. Most of all, it tasted like power.\n\nIt tasted like a Dungeon Core.\n\nSomething within me was eager at the thought, though eagerness didn't quite capture the feeling. Even greed fell short, not measuring up to the sensation.\n\nIt was closer to compulsion, more than anything else.\n\nI didn't want to find the Core, not really.\n\nInstead, I needed to find it. Needed to reach it. Needed to consume it.\n\nIt was an overwhelming desire, forcing me to comply. I accepted it as the Great Core's will. It had created me, and so any compulsion that I felt must have been by design. Not to mention, the idea of other Dungeon Cores, lesser in every way to the Great Core that had created me, sharing its form and function disgusted me.\n\nI realized what I was being called to do. That, as the Great Core's champion, it was my duty to eliminate the Dungeon Cores of the World Dungeon - until the Greatest of Cores had proven its overwhelming supremacy at last.\n\nIt was a heavy burden.\n\nIt was a difficult task.\n\nI turned my head towards the Coreless, finally realizing in full the depths of the Great Core's plans. It had brought the first two into its nest, putting us on a path to become one in my attempts to escape. It had sharpened my mettle against the dreaded Aridae, forcing me to grow my power and faith through great suffering. It had brought the Coreless back to me, repentant.\n\nNow, I would use the Coreless to achieve the Great Core's will. Needle's offering of the mother Aridae had proven her potential as a disciple of the Great Core. The others would need to prove their own worth.\n\nForging me a path past the Dungeon Core's traps and bad-things would be a good start.\n\nI flicked my tongue at the aspiring disciples, indicating with a hiss that they should follow behind me. Stupid things that they were, I would just have to hope that they understood.\n\nRegardless, they were powerful. Dangerous. With their help, I might be able to reach the Core. My scale-flesh brushed against the tunnel's surface, the mouth-watering taste of the Dungeon Core growing stronger as I slithered onwards.\n\nThe footfalls of the Coreless rang out behind me, the ore-flesh that capped their feet ringing lightly as they touched the stone.\n\n[ Illusion Spark ]",
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"value": "The heat pressed against my scales as I slithered through another tunnel. It hadn't been a straight route; the path had been full of twists and turns, riddled with dead ends and blocked routes. If I had been alone, there would have been a number of potential options to avoid those. I could have slipped through a wall-crack, slithering my way through the fissures in the stone until I passed the obstruction. I could have pushed through a small-tunnel, braving the bad-things that sometimes made the cramped holes their home.\n\nWith the Coreless behind me, I was far more limited. It was frustrating, almost forcing me to abandon them more than once. Only the knowledge that they would be useful in reaching the Core stopped me from slithering away. Still, I hissed at them more than once, expressing my frustration.\n\nThe female-that-was-not-Needle attempted to make another offering of strange flesh, tossing it before me. Just like before, I spit it out. Perhaps with a bit more irritability than before, really.\n\nThe taste of the Core was taunting me, and the sluggish pace did my mood no favors.\n\nThe tunnel exited into yet another large cavern, something that had made repeated appearances in my search for a viable route to the Dungeon Core. This time, though, things had changed. We had found the Dungeon Core at last - or, at least, the edge of its influence.\n\nThe stone below us had shifted from the familiar gray of the World Dungeon, warping into a material more fitting for the Dungeon Core that had laid claim to it. It had become a glossy black, smooth enough to reflect my form as I slithered across. My scale-flesh slipped and slid on its polished surface, lacking the grip that it could form on the more textured surfaces of the World Dungeon's stone.\n\nThe glow-caps that had illuminated much of our path had begun to dwindle as we traveled closer to the Core, unable to withstand the increasing heat. For a while, that had made glimpses of the tunnels and caverns unsteady, sometimes leaving only the scent-taste of the Dungeon Core to guide my way. Only occasionally did that change, in little pockets of life that surrounded the rare few pools of mana-water along our path. Those had been a welcome respite from the heat; both the Coreless and I had drank greedily from their depths, desperately. The mana that those few moments had provided was quickly shunted towards my slow-venom, imbuing it further.\n\nNow that we had slithered into the outer edges of the Dungeon Core's domain, there was no need for the light of the glow-caps.\n\nThe flames provided more than enough light.\n\nThey floated through the air in little balls of light, with licking tendrils of flame that swept out at irregular intervals. My eyes twinged uncomfortably the longer I stared, wanting to dart away and look at something else, somehow bending slightly around the floating flames despite my attempts to fight the sensation.\n\nThe Coreless started to make noises again, distracting me from the flames.\n\n\"Oh. Looks like he found it.\"\n\n\"I told you we should keep him, Doran. Cute and useful! What's not to love?\"\n\n\"The teeth and poison mostly, but I'm sure I could think of some other things.\"\n\n\"Oh, hush.\"\n\nThe other male made a few noises in response, interrupting the first two's constant jabbering as he pulled the hunk of metal from his back. \"Now's not the time. We're already at the edge of the Dungeon Core's lair. It was at least strong enough to create an Infernal Cyclops - this isn't one to take lightly.\" The rest nodded, pulling their fangs of ore-flesh from their sides; the glow of mana filtered through the air, distorting and bending slightly as it reached the floating flames. \"If it gets too dangerous, we'll return to Orken for reinforcements. For now, let's keep going. Carefully.\"\n\nWhile the Coreless made their noises, I couldn't stop staring at the flames. There was something strange about them, beyond the way they floated in the air, casting strange shadows across the cavern. My mind itched at the sight, imagining phantom movements in the corners of my vision. Every so often, there would be a brief flash within the flames, as if the light had to reset itself. Each time that it happened, I almost felt as if I caught a glimpse of a figure inside. And so, I did something stupid. Or maybe genius.\n\nThe next time one floated near me, I lunged.\n\nMy jaws passed through the flames with little difficulty, feeling only a slight sting of heat as I pushed through. The light died, swallowed within my jaws. It burned as they closed, the heat growing as if to fight back against being consumed. A moment later, it disappeared, snuffed out by my fangs.\n\n─ Experience Gained!\n\nThe tiny figure that had hidden within, bleeding a lukewarm liquid that tasted of smoke, fell limp. It was pulled towards my stomach, where it shifted to a new form and spread to my waiting Core.\n\n─ Level 0 Flame Wisp Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 1/5.\n\nI hissed in delight. The cavern was littered with the floating creatures; they were defenseless, simple prey. An opportunity given by the Great Core itself.\n\nAnd so I feasted.\n\n─ Experience Gained!\n\n─ Level 0 Flame Wisp Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 2/5.\n\nI consumed.\n\n─ Experience Gained!\n\n─ Level 0 Flame Wisp Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 3/5.",
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"value": "They began to run, floating higher and higher, desperate to flee from my open jaws.",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 45 sentences.",
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"value": "Yet, as they floated towards the cavern's ceiling, the distortions of the light weakened. The light began to flex and ripple, forming twisting shadows below. The Coreless and their constant noises only increased in volume, flooding into my ears.\n\nI climbed a nearby stone-spike. It pulsed with a heat that burned at my scale-flesh, searing its shape into me. Still, I climbed.\n\nI swallowed another.\n\n─ Experience Gained!\n\n─ Level 0 Flame Wisp Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 4/5.\n\nThe Flame Wisps floated ever higher - and yet, it was a slow and ponderous movement. Far, far too slow. Little bits of flame began to lash out at my scale-flesh, leaving tiny burns on its surface - and yet, it was nothing compared to the pain that I had already endured. It was far, far too weak.\n\nI consumed one more.\n\n─ Experience Gained!\n\n─ Level 0 Flame Wisp Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 5/5.\n\n─ Analyzing Blooded Trait…\n\n─ Acquiring Blooded Trait: Illusion Spark I\n\nJust as before, the Great Core's likeness on my head-scales began to warm; I began to change. The fire-pain grew, dwarfing the heat of the cavern around me, forcing me to slide from the stone-spike in a heap.\n\n\"Oh no!\" One of the Coreless made another noise. I was in too much pain to guess which one.\n\nThe flames grew and pulsed, radiating outward in a repeating series of terrible fire-pain that danced across my scale-flesh. I felt myself warp, my scale-flesh shifting to a smooth and glossy tone that appeared to suck in the light from around it.\n\n─ Blooded Trait: Illusion Spark I Acquired.\n\nIn fact, it did.\n\nI could sense it now, a strange understanding of the light that existed around me. The light that existed within me, pulled from the area surrounding me. I knew that the air around me had begun to distort and bend, rippling as some of the light found a new home in my scale-flesh. The heat, too, was pulled into my scales - though to a far lesser degree. Only the uncomfortable level of the surrounding temperature made the absorption noticeable.\n\nThere wasn't much stored, but I flexed my will, and a gout of flame flicked outward from my length. There was little heat, little pain. Little sting. It was just light, wrapped into the semblance of flames, imbued with the miniscule amount of heat that I had already managed to store.\n\nI had the suspicious feeling that I could do more with it, given enough practice. That I could bend the light around me, that I could make it appear the way I wished. That I could absorb the heat from the empty air, building stores of great flame.\n\nI was a long way from that. Already, I was at my storage limits for both light and heat. At the level that [Illusion Spark] was at, it was little more than a flare of light or a harmless lick of flames.\n\nBut perhaps it could be more.\n\nI turned to the thought-light.",
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"from": "system",
"value": "Writing assistant mode: Continue with one hundred and nineteen sentences, matching character/world familiarity. Genres: LitRPG, fantasy, elements: animal protagonist.",
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"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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"value": "─ Use Trait Points To Upgrade A Trait?\n\nIt was an easy decision. The Flame Wisps that remained were hard to reach, but there were enough of them within this single cavern alone to provide another upgrade or two. It was best to use Trait Points beforehand while I could still do so easily. Part of me wanted to save enough points to upgrade [Paralyzing Venom IV], but that was less urgent. The Flame Wisps were already near. More, they were vulnerable.\n\n─ 1 Trait Point Required For Upgrade of Illusion Spark I to Illusion Spark II.\n\n─ Upgrade Successful.\n\nMy scale-flesh tingled as it shifted once more. Around me, the light began to bend further as I worked to fill to my new capacity. Heat flowed around me, warming my scales as it was stored within.\n\nFlame Wisps floated around the cavern, even still. I just had to reach them.\n\nI salivated at the thought, already imagining the taste of smoke and power.\n\n[ Predatory Cuteness ]\n\nValera gasped, the heat of the air straining her lungs, as the cute little snake snapped at the ball of flame. She might have made a squeal at the sight, judging from Doran's stern glance, but what else could she do?\n\nThe thing was just so serious, but it was tiny. The combination was adorable - like watching a puffed-up toddler try to take on the bigger kids. You had to root for him, at least a little.\n\nThe little monster swallowed another ball of flame, snapping at it like it was some terrifying predator.\n\nShe found herself caught between two states. On one hand, it was extremely entertaining. On the other, it was eating their source of light.\n\nValera had no desire to be nearly blind while near a Dungeon Core. The others seemed to have similar concerns. The air seemed to flex and bend as the flames disappeared, forming shadows across the cavern.\n\n\"Should we be stopping the little guy?\" Kala asked. \"If he eats too many of those, we'd be stuck with the mana-light of our gear. I don't know about you guys, but that would let monsters get far closer than I'm entirely comfortable with.\"\n\nShe began to step forward, aiming to pick up the troublesome snake. Yet, just as she was about to reach him, the little monster twined its way up a nearby stalagmite with surprising speed. He neared the tip, a good ten feet above the floor, before gripping tightly onto the stone and stretching out a considerable distance into the air - relative to his own size, anyway. The little cutie couldn't have been more than a foot and a half long.\n\nHe snapped his jaws, devouring another ball of flame that had floated too close. In their own sluggish way, they seemed to be reacting to his predations, drifting backwards and upwards. Yet still, the little snake followed, managing to stretch along a cluster of stalagmites until he reached another.\n\nValera was beginning to suspect that the flames weren't just the result of the nearby Dungeon Core's aspect. At first, she had assumed they were like the fields of altered time near the snake's own Core, little pockets of distorted space that reflected the Core's aspect - in this case, fire. The strange distortions around the flames had seemed to prove that theory, the way that the light bent and flexed appearing similar to the time-fields that she had seen last time. That might not have been the case. The floating balls of flame moved slowly and consistently, not like an altered field of space at all.\n\nMore like something alive.\n\nMore like something afraid.\n\nThe ball of flame began to pulse and lash out, sending little tendrils of fire at the tiny snake that left minor burns atop its scales. That, too, he consumed. The snake ignored it, closing in and swallowing the rebellious fire.\n\nThen, something changed.\n\nA light began to grow at the tiny Core that rested upon his head, the deep blue shifting into an incandescent azure. The little snake fell, dropping from its perch on the stalagmite to the glossy obsidian of the floor below.\n\n\"Oh no!\" Valera gasped, worried at the sight of the fall.\n\nThe Core pulsed over and over, sending little sparks of blue-white fire down the tiny monster's scales. Those same scales mutated, turning from a rather rough texture to a glossy finish rather like the obsidian of the floors.\n\nThe air around the little snake began to shift and distort, ever so slightly.\n\nA moment later, the scales mutated again. The air distorted even more heavily, warping and bending toward the tiny monster's scales, before he turned to look towards the remaining balls of flame, a hunger reflected in his beady little eyes.\n\n\"Look at that,\" Erik said, still keeping fairly quiet. They were near a Dungeon Core, after all. There was no telling what might be listening. Valera pulled her eyes from the snake, turning towards the group's shielder. The large man was pointing at a spot on the ground, slightly further into the cavern. She saw it, too. A section of the floor that had become clear of the distortion created by the floating flames. Though they had seemed to provide light by which to see, it had been deceptive.\n\nInstead, they had been hiding the group's vision and sensation of what lay below, altering the light and heat around them to conceal it.\n\nA tiny swathe of glowing lava flowed in the place of what had previously looked to be solid ground, running across the center of the cavern. When they had first entered, the flames were scattered in places far closer to the ground, distorting and bending the light around them lightly. Now, many of them had floated upwards, as if running away from the cute little predator that wished to consume them.\n\nIn fact, they were running away. What had just happened had confirmed it - as did the little snake's eagerness in chasing them. Though she liked to imagine that it was just fascinated by the light of the flames, she knew that it was fascinated by something else.\n\nPower.\n\nThe flames were not just flames. They were minions of the Dungeon Core - and that meant they served a purpose beyond providing light. The little snake managed to reach another, climbing a nearby stalagmite and swallowing it whole, while the little flames continued their retreat.\n\nAs they drifted upwards, more and more of the cavern was revealed for what it was, freed from the tiny flames' efforts to conceal it. A flow of lava drifted downwards from the left hand corner of the cavern, spilling down from a high alcove before flooding across a wide furrow in the obsidian floor. It cut across the room in a diagonal slash, creating a dangerous boundary that - had it remained hidden by the distortions of the floating flames - might have proven someone's death.\n\nOnly the little monster's predatory instincts had saved them.\n\nValera gave Doran, who had argued against keeping the potentially dangerous snake alive, a smug look at that. \"I guess he was useful, huh?\" She laughed.\n\nDoran just sighed, gesturing to Kala. \"You think you can get rid of some of those things? We need to make sure there's not anything else they're hiding before we move forward.\"\n\nThe archer nodded, nocking an arrow and pulling the draw. A few moments later, a number of the little flames had been pierced by an arrow, sending them clattering against the boundaries of the cavern. As the light around them died, Valera was finally able to see them for what they were - tiny little fairy creatures with wings of brilliant gossamer. It was a wonder that Kala was able to hit them at all, given their size.\n\nShe had always been impressed by the archer's ability.\n\nThe light-bending creatures drifted higher, pushed up against the ceiling by Kala's threat, and revealed the cavern in full.\n\nFortunately, there were no remaining threats beyond the brilliantly glowing lava. Yet, even that would have provided some difficulty, stretched across the breadth of the cavern as it was, had they not been as well-trained as they were.\n\nCountless hours had honed their muscles and minds; consumption of trace amounts of mana-filled water from birth had reinforced their bodies further. It was a delicate process, as the human body had to become accustomed to the mana over time - too much at once early on was a death sentence. And yet, it was necessary for survival.\n\nThe world was different than it had once been, ever since the First Core began to flood it with mana.\n\nDangerous. Deadly, even.\n\nPreparation was necessary to face it and survive.\n\nKala knelt, unpacking and assembling a special sort of arrow from the belt at her hip, twining a cord made of the silk of a Webweaver, a species of captured monster that Orken had imported from a neighboring city and kept relatively well-controlled, onto a loop at its end.\n\nThe arrowhead glowed in the light, infused heavily with the mana of Orken's captive Earth aspect Core, strengthened beyond reason. A split second after being shot, it pierced through the stone ceiling, the hooks in its design forcing it to hold on tight.\n\nErik tugged on the cord, checking its hold, before swinging across the stream of lava. As the heaviest among them, if the arrow came loose, it would do so now.\n\nFortunately, it held.\n\nValera tried to pick up the little snake, hoping to carry him across with her, but it just hissed at her. It was even more disappointing when he climbed onto Kala's shoulder unbidden, twining himself around her upper arm.\n\nShe couldn't help but feel a sting of jealousy.\n\nEventually, they all made it across safely. Kala worked to tie the cord's end onto a nearby stalagmite, securing it so that they could use it again if needed on their way back. Meanwhile, the snake slithered across the obsidian stone, devouring the strange flame-fairies that Kala had shot down.\n\nBy the time that it had finished, its scales had become even glossier, and the distortion of light around it increased again.\n\nIt was growing stronger.\n\nIt was a known fact that Ascended creatures were able to become more powerful by consuming the bodies of their foes, allowing them to mutate and gain a trait of that same foe. It was much of the reason that Ascended minions were referred to as boss monsters.\n\nSimply put, they were the bosses of their Dungeons. Any others, strong as they were, couldn't compare to the potential strength that an Ascended minion could gain. There were some limitations - and ones that likely had a heavy impact on her favorite little snake - in that the Ascended minion had to be large enough to actually consume its foes, and that there appeared to be a certain quantity eaten required to absorb another monster's trait.\n\nHumanity was thankful for that.\n\nThere were some truly dangerous monsters, deeper in the World Dungeon. Orken, Valera's own city, managed to avoid many of them due to its position near the edge of the World Dungeon's current reach.",
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"value": "Yet, the further in that one went, the more dangerous things became.",
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"from": "system",
"value": "Your task: Include 'learn' 4 time(s) in your response",
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"value": "Dungeon Cores became more common and, with them, the neverending wars between the various Dungeon Cores. The defeated monsters spread themselves haphazardly throughout the World Dungeon's depths, most doomed to die. And yet, some of them found their place in the world, chancing upon a weak Dungeon Core and Ascending.\n\nBecoming behemoth bosses with no Core to defend.\n\nInstead, they simply ate anything and everything that crossed their path.\n\nIn a way, the little snake was the same - a voracious predator with enormous potential, constrained by its size for now. If anything, that made it cuter in Valera's eyes.\n\nOccasionally, humanity had managed to tame weaker Dungeon monsters - though only those that had already lost their Dungeon Cores. Scholars theorized that there was some compulsion that Dungeon Cores created in their minions, as none had ever been tamed while the Dungeon Core still remained to be defended.\n\nValera wasn't sure if an Ascended beast could ever be truly safe, but she wanted to try. She hadn't lied when she told Doran that it could prove a great boon to humanity in the future. Mostly, though, her reasons were simple.\n\nShe looked over at the tiny creature bobbing its head and hissing in happiness at the sensation of becoming stronger.\n\nIt was just so damn cute.\n\n[ Flame-Touched Salamander ]\n\nI bobbed my head up and down, hissing in delight at what the thought-light had just revealed.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Upgrade Progress: 10/10\n\n─ Blooded Trait Upgrade Received!\n\n─ Blooded Trait: Illusion Spark II Increased.\n\n─ Illusion Spark III Acquired.\n\n─ Progress Towards Next Upgrade: 0/20\n\nMy scale-flesh warped, allowing even more light and heat to be stored within. Moments later, the light around me ceased its distortions, the reservoirs within my scale-flesh filled to the brim. Part of me knew that I could do something similar to what the Flame Wisps had done, wreathing myself in mostly-illusory flames. Altering the appearance of the world around me, however, was far from possible.\n\nTheir ability to disguise the flame-water was done in little bits and pieces, the product of a large number of the Flame Wisps working together to achieve the same goal. I, on the other hand, was alone. I wouldn't be able to do something like that.\n\nThe flame-water had been a dangerous trick, and were it not for the Coreless, I would not have been able to cross it so easily even after it was revealed. Even from my safe-place in Needle's arms, my newly changed scales had filled their heat reservoir to the brim solely from the act of crossing from above.\n\nThat had been a wonderful idea, and it proved more than ever that Needle was a worthy acolyte of the Great Core - unlike the female-that-was-not-Needle, who had yet to prove any real usefulness at all.\n\nI had little hope for her, but the Great Core did not bless each of us in equal measure.\n\nNeedle had even managed to take down a good number of the Flame Wisps that had floated beyond my reach, cementing her value even further with the new offerings.\n\nYes, she was a wonderful disciple.\n\nI turned and hissed balefully at the female-that-was-not-Needle, showing her my displeasure. She bared her teeth in return, reaching into a skin-mouth at her side and offering me another piece of flesh. Again, I spit it out.\n\nShe was a stupid one, but maybe one day she would learn to provide better offerings.\n\nThey would all do well to learn from Needle's example. For now, I put that out of my mind, focusing on the task before me. Unfortunately, the rest of the Flame Wisps remained out of reach - I had hoped to increase to [Illusion Spark IV], with how many had littered the cavern, but it wasn't to be.\n\nWith that in mind, I turned towards the cavern's exit. Already, the Coreless were poking and prodding at it, making their senseless noises at one another. I could see why they might be worried, though. It wasn't quite a small-tunnel, but it was rather small relative to the larger of the Coreless.\n\nCrawling through would be difficult for some of them.\n\nFor me, on the other hand, it was simple. I slithered past them, eager to see what was on the other side. The scent-taste of the Dungeon Core was heavy on my tongue, and it was difficult to fight the urge to leave the Coreless behind entirely.\n\nAnd yet, the Great Core had led them to me for a reason. I wouldn't abandon them entirely.\n\nThe tunnel opened up into a second cavern, though it was rather oddly shaped. Just as in the last room, Flame Wisps dotted the air here and there; this time, however, they were far fewer in number and remained near the ceiling. I doubted that they were concealing anything like the flame-water here.\n\nThe cavern was split into two distinct sections, with a natural sort of dividing wall in between them, built of that same glossy black stone. The heat was slightly more bearable than in the cavern before, shielded from the flame-water as it was, but my tongue still felt unbearably dry.\n\nBehind me, the female-that-was-not-Needle crawled her way through the tunnel with a series of grunts, her large size making for an uncomfortable process.\n\n\"Don't go too far, little guy! It's dangerous around here,\" she hissed. Once again, she butchered the sounds, only forming a series of nonsense noises. I hissed back, trying to teach her how it was done. It failed. My hopes were dashed, yet again.\n\nMaybe Needle could learn to hiss properly, given time. The others, I wasn't so sure of. They weren't the brightest bunch.\n\nJust as I thought that, the ringing of ore-flesh sounded from the tunnel behind me, followed by the loud noises of one of the Coreless.\n\n\"Are you okay, Erik?\" the female Coreless hissed again.\n\n\"Just a little,\" he grunted, \"stuck. Hard to get through this damn thing.\"\n\nThe female turned to me again, continuing to make noises quietly. Every so often, she would hold out a hand, attempting to touch my head-scales. Each time, I hissed and bared my fangs until she pulled it back.\n\nIt was having to look up towards her that allowed me to catch the flicker of movement at the corner of my vision. A strange bad-thing that crawled its way around the wall that divided the cavern, sticking to its surface near the ceiling.\n\nIt was tinted a pale red, almost pink in coloration, with slimy-looking skin that shone even in the sparse light provided by the Flame Wisps. Its long body was covered with eight strange little arms that jut out from the sides, complete with three-clawed hands that grabbed onto the stone as it crawled. Most of its weight, however, was held by its four thick legs, each leaving a slight shimmering liquid as it stepped - most likely whatever substance allowed it to grip onto the wall so easily.\n\nIt was huge, a giant in my eyes, nearly half as tall as the Coreless. Even from where I was, I could make out the thick plates that topped its head, forming a ridge of armor above its deeply-inset eyes. Eyes that were looking directly at us.\n\nThe bad-thing clambered across the wall, climbing up onto the ceiling. I bared my fangs and hissed.\n\n\"It's okay, little cutie. You'll warm up to me.\"\n\nI hissed again - and again, the female-that-was-not-Needle didn't understand. All the while, the bad-thing continued to creep its way across the ceiling. A forked tongue split from its lips, a giant mirror of my own, tasting the air just as I would and revealing a set of sharp fangs.\n\nAgain, I hissed. Again, the Coreless did not understand. Behind us, the other Coreless still struggled to crawl through the tunnel, slowed by their overwhelming size. It was just the two of us and the massive bad-thing. I wasn't happy about the situation.\n\nAnd so I hissed again, baring my fangs. The monster had moved closer, and had almost managed to travel all the way to us undetected by the Coreless.\n\nIt flexed its great legs, preparing to pounce, while the strange grasping arms on its side rotated and turned towards us. I panicked, pulling at the reservoir of light and heat that I had gathered. [Illusion Spark] proved its worth.\n\nA gout of light and pseudo-flame sprayed towards the bad-thing, flashing over the Coreless' shoulder and forcing her to spin around in surprise. The heat quickly died out, as [Illusion Spark] was better at storing and redirecting light than it was heat, but light was all that I needed.\n\nA great beam shone upon the bad-thing's beady little eyes, highlighting its form and forcing its pounce to falter.\n\n\"Erik, get your ass through, we've got company!\" The female Coreless shouted a warcry, pulling two fangs of ore-flesh from her side and holding them at the ready. I slithered behind her, hiding behind her great bulk.\n\nThe bad-thing, no longer in a position of ambush, changed its angle of attack rather than impale itself on her readied fangs. It dashed across the ceiling and down the wall, pushing off of it at the last moment and propelling itself through the air.\n\nThe Coreless dodged to the side in a blurring motion, avoiding the giant beast.\n\nI, on the other hand, was left to fend for myself.\n\nThe bad-thing twisted in the air, doing its best to follow the Coreless. Its side crashed into me, rolling over my length painfully and grasping me in one of its strange arms.\n\nThe clawed hand squeezed around me, causing my scale-flesh to creak in protest. With a mental hiss of displeasure towards the Coreless, I sunk my fangs into the hand that held me, filling it with mana-imbued slow-venom.\n\nLater, I thought, I'd have to bite the female Coreless too.\n\nMaybe she'd learn to protect me better next time, if I did.\n\n[ Salamander Nest ]\n\nSlow-venom flowed through the hollows in my fangs, dripping into the bad-thing that grasped me. I chose not to use my original venom at the moment, not certain if it would even be useful against a bad-thing of its size.\n\nIts claws loosened against my scale-flesh, beginning to feel the effects of the slow-venom.\n\nEnough for me to slip free.\n\nI fell to the stone below with an ungainly twirl, having jerked and thrashed until I spilled from its grasp. Fortunately, it left me be. I was unsurprised.\n\nGrabbing me had only been in passing, a reaction to rolling against my form.\n\nThe Coreless had its real focus.",
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"value": "Its grasping arms scrabbled against the female's protective ore-flesh, bouncing off of the mana-lit covering with an uncomfortable ringing noise.",
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"value": "That having failed, it slammed the plate of its skull into her stomach, sending the Coreless rolling backwards and setting itself swaying.\n\nSeeing a chance to act, I slithered towards it, biting its unguarded heel. The bad-thing jerked as my slow-venom spilled in, throwing me in a low arc across the cavern. I hit the glossy stone below, sliding across it until the wall brought me to a painful halt.\n\nThe bad-thing turned towards me and charged, lumbering forward with surprising speed despite the hitch in its step. It lowered its head just before it reached me, smashing me against the wall with a cracking of stone - fracturing many of my fragile ribs with ease at the same time.\n\nI twitched and writhed, overcome by agony.\n\nThe bad-thing opened its mouth, preparing to bite down.\n\nA fang of ore-flesh pierced through its throat, narrowly missing my mangled length.\n\n─ Experience Gained! Reduced Due To Assistance Received.\n\n─ Level Up!\n\n─ 1 Trait Point Gained.\n\nI hissed weakly, painfully bending upon myself so that I could bite my tail. My insides tingled as [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail] began to take effect, a terrible sort of itching that made me want to pull free from my own flesh. The blood dripping down upon me didn't help with that sensation, either.\n\nThe ore-flesh fang ripped away, sliding back out of the bad-thing's throat. Without it there to prop it up, the corpse toppled in a meaty thud directly in front of me.\n\n\"Are you okay, little guy?\" the female Coreless hissed with a strange tone. Again, it was a poor attempt. This time, however, I didn't have the inclination to correct her.\n\nUseless as she was, she had still managed to save me.\n\nI let out a quiet hiss at that thought, upping my opinion of her. Slightly. I still preferred Needle, for obvious reasons.\n\nShe reached out and took hold of my scale-flesh. For once, I didn't force her back, allowing her to place me on her shoulder in the same position that I had rested on Needle. With a painful shift, I let go of my tail and looped it around her arm, clasping it again with my fangs a moment later.\n\nAll the while, my insides itched furiously. It wasn't surprising that I was injured so greatly. The wall itself had been left with a network of little wall-cracks - none large enough for me to slip into, but cracks all the same. Even as I watched, a small dribble of fire-water began to spill from one of the fractures, slowly running down the fissure at a sedate pace.\n\nThen and there, I resolved to stay away from the wall-cracks in the area.\n\nI was willing to swim in mana-water. Fire-water was a different story entirely. Still, I pulled what light that I could from the bits that seeped through the wall-cracks, beginning the rather slow process of refilling the reservoir of light that my scale-flesh could now hold. Already, [Illusion Spark] had proven useful, though not in the way that I had initially expected.\n\nBehind us, the largest of the male Coreless finally managed to squeeze himself out of the tunnel, pushing through with a final shrieking grind of ore-flesh against stone. The others weren't far behind, Needle and the male - who had not yet made an offering - crawling through shortly afterwards.\n\nThe large male kneeled over the bad-thing, examining its strange form, before reaching for a small ore-flesh fang at his side. He stabbed deeply into the corpse's abdomen, quickly pulling loose a strange red organ and placing it within a skin-mouth at his side. Looking towards the other Coreless, he shrugged and made a few noises.\n\n\"Flametouched Salamanders' glands can go for a decent amount. They're fairly useful for creating coatings for fireproofing purposes. We need to grab what we can, just in case we have to back out early.\"\n\nHe pointed towards me, though I couldn't hiss in response with my tail in my mouth. \"What's he doing there?\"\n\n\"Not sure. Started biting his tail almost immediately after he got hurt and has hardly let go since.\"\n\n\"Hm.\" The Coreless grunted. \"Make sure you don't get any blood of his on your skin.\"\n\nWith the corpse dealt with, the Coreless began to move on. Though I would have wished to see what Blooded Trait the Great Core would grant me for consuming enough of them, I had no hope of fitting my jaws around it. A common problem that I would face in the future, I feared.\n\nThe largest of the Coreless took the leading position, holding the hulking piece of ore-flesh in front of his body with a single arm. The others fell in behind, first the other male, then the female-that-was-not-Needle, and finally Needle. I was tempted to switch over to Needle's shoulder, as she was less likely to be near the fighting with her needle-fang spitter and thus less likely to put me in danger, but there wasn't enough time - nor was there an easy way to communicate that desire.\n\nOnce again, I was stifled by the Coreless and their inability to understand and communicate with proper hisses. It was frustrating, relying on creatures not created by the Great Core.\n\nThe male Coreless ahead of me stepped past the strange wall that divided the two sections of the cavern - and immediately flung himself forward, rolling awkwardly across his slab of ore-flesh as he landed. A second bad-thing, mirror image to the first, crashed into the floor where he had stood, brutally cracking the glossy stone.\n\nHe had just managed to bring the ore-flesh up on top of him when a third came down, slamming into the impromptu shelter. The impact released a sharp gong and a flash of mana-light, vibrating the great slab of ore-flesh with its strength.\n\nYet it held.\n\nHe let out a sharp shout, throwing the bad-thing atop him to the side with a brutal show of strength. Meanwhile, the female-that-was-not-Needle slashed with her fangs of ore-flesh towards the bad-thing that had smashed into the ground, still swaying from the hard landing.\n\nA thin, grasping hand reached out and blocked the swing - getting sliced off for its trouble, yet protecting the torso of the bad-thing. An acceptable trade, most likely.\n\nA few moments later, the Coreless had retreated back into the first section of the cavern, unwilling to do battle with the bad-things from such a dangerous position.\n\n\"Kala, be ready.\"\n\n\"Of course. Did you see how many of them were in there with you, Erik?\"\n\n\"Looked to be at least four or five, but it was hard to tell. I saw what looked like their nest in an alcove to the left, so keep an eye out for any more coming from that direction.\"\n\nNeedle drew her needle-fang spitter, holding it steady in the direction of the bad-things. When a head poked around the corner a moment later, it was quickly met with a well-aimed needle-fang. Unfortunately, it was too thoroughly protected. The needle-fang's tip glanced off of the thick ridged plate that enveloped the top of the bad-thing's head, unable to reach the vulnerable eye beneath.\n\nRather than pull back and hide after coming so close to death, the bad-thing charged, ignoring the possibility of death.\n\nAs I would have, were it my own Core in danger.\n\nIn a way, I respected its decision.\n\nIt took a needle-fang through the shoulder immediately afterwards, forcing it to the ground - and yet, it had opened a path for the remainder of its family. Five more bad-things streaked across the cavern walls, leaving dripping trails of pink-red liquid to trace their path.\n\n[ Kala, Needle ]\n\nAs the first day of the month, today is the best time to sign up for my Patreon. For only $5, you can stay up to date with all of the advanced chapters - which will always be at least 20 chapters ahead of public release. Pledges are one of the best ways to support my writing efforts and ensure that the story continues - it helps me pay for some of the necessities in life, which allows me to spend more time writing. If you would like to support me and/or simply wish to read ahead for the price of a coffee, please consider checking out my Patreon.\n\nKala pulled back on the draw, keeping her breathing steady and sure. The arrow's fletching kissed her cheek as she sighted along its length, looking toward her target. Then, it was gone.\n\nThe arrow flashed off into the distance, blurring out of her sight before it sunk into a charging monster with an audible thunk. The creature staggered at the hit, momentarily losing its grip on the ceiling that it had been running across. The floating flames both illuminated and distorted its struggles, causing its slick skin to shine and warp. Just before falling, one of its many hands reached out and grabbed a stalactite, holding on tight.\n\nThe archer noted little of that, having already readied her next arrow, already selected her next target. She loosed a second arrow, looking for a weak point in the monsters' defenses. It was her job to weaken the enemy before they reached the others, to give them the best advantage possible before the battle had even truly begun.\n\nSome might have thought that Erik's job took the greatest courage; that being the one who was relied on to be the group's stalwart shield far eclipsed the bravery required of any other role. While she didn't dismiss Erik's contribution, relying on him to defend her in the thick of battle, she didn't entirely agree with that sentiment.\n\nArchers were not cowards, afraid of a real fight. With every battle, Kala knew that the others were relying on her to thin the crowd - to turn the impossible fights into the possible. There was a certain terror that came with that knowledge.\n\nIt was a terror that she had long since become accustomed to.\n\nAnd so she calmly drew another arrow, selecting a third target. Just as the monster leapt, pushing off of the wall, the projectile rose to meet it. Its mana-infused head pierced through the creature's exposed belly, causing its pounce to veer off mid-flight.\n\nThat same shift in trajectory sent the monster directly into Valera's raised blades. The nullwater-forged steel pierced through its hide with sickening ease, penetrating the entirety of its body. Its strange grasping arms twitched and tore at Valera's armor, straining to find a way to injure her in the midst of its demise. A few of the claws nearly managed to do so, scrabbling at the woman's unprotected right arm, but were beaten back.\n\nNot, Kala was surprised to see, by Valera. Instead, it was the tiny snake that warded them off, having let go of its tail at last in reaction to the dangerous claws. It hissed and bit, sinking its fangs into flesh whenever they neared his perch on Valera's shoulder.\n\nIt was slightly amusing to see, really. Valera had been extremely put off by the snake's preference for her, and she just knew that part of the woman was likely squealing inwardly that the little monster might be warming up to her. She didn't quite see things the way that Valera did, but she had to admit that it was at least a little cute, so she understood where the snake-obsessed woman was coming from.\n\nMore than Doran did, at least, though she thought that at least part of his concern was worry that Valera would get hurt if the snake became too strong and attacked her. As capable as she was, he worried for her. He had always tried to look out for her, in that way.\n\nShe sent another arrow down the cavern, its thin length slipping through the gaps of the battle and catching the leading leg of a Salamander as it fought against Erik. Unfortunately, it was becoming a little too chaotic; the greater-imbued of her arrows could pierce through the others' armor, if she misfired and hit one.\n\nKala stepped further away, gaining some distance - though she was careful not to get too far, in case the beasts turned to target her specifically. A dribble of lava spilled out from the wall beside her, dripping from the network of little fractures that adorned its surface, forcing her to move slightly further afield. After the lava flow of the previous cavern, she was wary of how thin the wall might actually be.",
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"value": "Finally, she found a good vantage point to the side of the battle, just behind a cluster of stalagmites that would do well to hide her body.",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 46 sentences.",
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"value": "She pressed against one at the outer edge, nocking another arrow before whipping around its curve and pulling the bowstring back.\n\nArrow after arrow flew across the cavern, some bouncing off hard-plated ridges, while others sunk into more vulnerable flesh. Enough to make a difference.\n\nWith the majority of the enemies having become pincushions, the fight turned in their favor. Doran rushed past Erik's defending shield with a roar, bringing his heavy axe to bear and slicing clean through the leg of an injured Salamander.\n\nKala winced. While she sometimes understood the need to let out a shout during a battle, it wasn't something she was happy about. They hadn't exactly been quiet so far, but it was possible that there was a monster or two nearby that hadn't yet detected them.\n\nThat was feeling increasingly unlikely, with the noise of the fight.\n\nIn fact, it was entirely justified.\n\nAnother Flametouched Salamander crawled around the corner - this one far bigger than the rest, nearly twice the size. The plates on its skull had twisted at the edges, bending outwards and forming blunt horns that looked like nothing less than a battering ram. Yet, for all its bulk, and for all the way that the cavern shook as it walked, the creature itself was deathly silent. It loosed no growls, no shrieks, no warbles.\n\nIt simply moved forward, slowly. Resolutely. Fearlessly.\n\nThat, more than anything else, was discomfiting.\n\nThe others, too, had noted its appearance. Doran backed up, leaving the crippled Flametouched Salamander behind to thrash on the floor, blood spurting from where its leg had been removed. Erik held his shield at the ready in one hand, his hammer in the other, while Valera found a place somewhere behind each of them.\n\nFinally, the little snake…\n\nThe little snake was gone.\n\nKala scanned the cavern, her eyes piercing through the twisting shadows cast by the light of the floating flames and their own glowing gear. After a moment, she managed to catch sight of the tiny monster, and cursed.\n\nIt was trying to finish off the injured Salamander.\n\nShe wasn't sure what had possessed it to attack, after resting for so long on Valera's shoulder. Then again, she wasn't sure if monsters had much of a reason for anything they did. More than likely, they simply did things, and that was all there was to it.\n\nThe archer watched helplessly as the little snake sunk its fangs into the monster's vulnerable eye, managing with its tiny size to reach the spot that her own larger arrowheads had failed to reach.\n\nFor some odd reason, she felt like that had been an intentional slight on its part.\n\nThe Salamander thrashed, but its wounds were too much. Even without Doran's final attack, it had been battered and sliced by hammer and sword, pierced and cut by arrow and axe. It had been weak.\n\nWeak enough to die to a tiny little snake, it seemed.\n\nThe monster slumped to the stone, dropping with a heavy thump. All the while, its murderer bobbed its head in celebration and flicked its tongue into the air. Kala felt her lips quirk in amusement, despite the severity of the situation.\n\nThere was just something bizarrely entertaining about it, she supposed.\n\nUnfortunately, there was little more time than that to observe. The remaining Salamanders, wounded though they were, had clumped up around the largest. It reminded her of the way that injured children fled to their mother. It may very well have been the same as that, even.\n\nStill, there was little reason to let things go on.\n\nKala drew another arrow, sighting along its shaft. A moment later, it flew through the air. A moment later, another one of those wounded children died.\n\nAnother moment after that, all hell broke loose.\n\nIf asked later, she would be quick to blame the snake for that.",
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"value": "Task: Story segment\nLength: 165 sentences\nMaintain: Character context\nThemes: animal protagonist",
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"value": "From my place on the female Coreless' shoulder, I had a clear view of the ongoing battle. A clear view of the Great Core's wisdom in binding the Coreless to its will. The male Coreless who had taken the front was a stalwart giant, holding a great piece of mana-lit ore-flesh before him, keeping the bad-things at bay. In his other hand, he held a weapon of ore-flesh - not like the fangs, claws, and needles that the other carried, but something heavier. Something crushingly powerful. It, too, glowed with the light of mana, as did many other pieces of gear that the Coreless carried.\n\nPart of me wondered how they had obtained them, but I put the thought aside for now.\n\nNeedle-fangs slipped through the air, finding their places deep within the skin-flesh of the bad-things. A rare few bounced off, ricocheting off of the heavy plates that protected the creatures' eyes, but most found their mark. The dangerous bad-things became slightly less, crippled by the needle-fangs that pierced their legs.\n\nThe Coreless were doing quite well. It was a thought that I would never have guessed would please me, but it did.\n\nA bad-thing flung itself through the air, colliding with the female Coreless and scrabbling at my coiled scale-flesh. Enraged, and still more than a little irritable from the constant itching that filled my insides, I struck.\n\nAgain and again, I sunk my fangs into the bad-thing's flesh, slow-venom seeping into the wounds and crippling its movements - more than enough for the female to beat it back. A soft hiss spilled from between my lips; I caught my tail within my mouth again a moment later. [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail] began to take effect once more, my insides continuing to knit back together.\n\nIt was a gradual process, but it was almost done. I was almost whole again - enough to slither about acceptably well, at least.\n\nEnough to ensure that I received the levels that I sorely needed.\n\nAs one of the male Coreless ran forwards, slicing off a bad-thing's leg with a single swipe from his giant claw of ore-flesh, I uncoiled myself from my perch. That was the easy part. After reaching the ground, things became a bit more dangerous.\n\nI slithered between the legs of the male Coreless before me, silent save for the nearly inaudible scratching of scale-flesh on smooth stone, peeking out from behind the solid wall of ore-flesh that he held before him. My tongue flickered, catching the air and seeking the strange scent-taste of the bad-things. They tasted of unfamiliar things; where the Flame Wisps had felt of smoke and fire, the new bad-things were something more unknown.\n\nThey tasted of the bubbling oil-water, mixed with an unappealing combination of rot-flesh and unbearable heat. Worse, the scent-taste was growing stronger by the second.\n\nStill, I was eager to sink my fangs into one, despite that.\n\nIt wasn't long before I did, having slithered across the blood-slick stone. The bad-thing lay helpless on the ground, the wound where its leg had been spurting rivers of deep crimson.\n\nSo I just did what came naturally; I did what Needle could not.\n\nI sunk my fangs directly into its eye, slipping past the plates that protected it. It thrashed and jerked, but the movements were weak. Stilted. Enough for me to hold fast. Enough for me to flood its body with death-venom. Enough to receive my reward.\n\n─ Experience Gained! Reduced Due To Assistance Received.\n\nI bobbed my head in joy, hissing with glee. A needle-fang flew overhead; the thunk of pierced flesh soon followed.\n\nThe ground shook, vibrating against my scale-flesh.\n\nChaos broke loose.\n\nIt took the form of an angry guardian, defending the Core that had created her. It took the form of a terrifying monster, designed with violence in mind. It took the form of an enraged mother, having watched yet another of her children fall.\n\nThe term chaos felt like an understatement, really.\n\nThe bad-thing charged forward, gathering speed as it moved and leaving the smaller bad-things behind. A trail of pink-red liquid dripped behind it, the prints smearing with the force of its steps. The cavern shuddered, vibrating against my scale-flesh. I hissed, curling inwards underneath the corpse of the fallen bad-thing and biting my tail for comfort - because it was still slightly comforting, despite how distant I was now from that little snake who had refused to stray far from the room of its birth.\n\nYet, with a single step, I knew that it could all end, my length splattered against the cavern floor. I could only hope that the Great Core would save me in my last moment; I could only hope that I would be able to face my fears once more. I could only hope that I could defeat the Aridae a second time.\n\nIf the Great Core truly saved me again, I knew that I would try.\n\nIf the Great Core was truly beside me again, I knew that I would do more than that.\n\nThe bad-thing's giant foot came down, stomping down from above, blotting out my vision with its size. It landed beside me. It moved on.\n\nI breathed again, hissing in relief as the bad-thing smashed into a cluster of stone-spikes further down the cavern. Needle rolled out from behind them, her needle-spitter clutched awkwardly against her body, dust from the shattered stone-spikes clinging to her frame. I thanked the Great Core for my continued survival, and I moved on to other things.\n\nThe injured, crippled bad-things.\n\nThey were leaking blood, each of them damaged by the battle with the Coreless. Each of them vulnerable, dying and slowed by their wounds, save for those that were already dead. And yet, they still wished to fight.\n\nIt was only natural, even for the creations of a lesser Core.\n\nThey did not know the glory of the Great Core; they were not blessed to have it as their creator. They were ignorant of their own Core's unworthiness.\n\nAnd so they attempted to defend the inferior Core; it was all that they knew. Yet, that knowledge was enough for them to willingly give their lives.\n\nJust as I would have.\n\nSo I waited. I hid myself under the corpse of the bad-thing, feeling for the vibrations in the stone below. With each step, the ground pulsed slightly, nearly overlaid entirely by the clamor of the giant bad-thing. One of the Coreless smashed into a wall with a ring of ore-flesh and shattering of stone, making it even harder to track the bad-things' approach.\n\nAnother one screamed.\n\nI hissed in irritation, trying to tune it out.\n\nThen, most of the vibrations had passed me by. I slithered out from underneath my hiding place just as another came down - the final bad-thing on its way back to the fight, limping and unsteady.\n\nMy fangs sunk into its tail, far from the reach of its many grasping arms and heavy-plated head. Death-venom coursed through my fangs, finding its home in the bad-thing's flesh. Slow-venom crippled it further.\n\nIt slowed, leaving me free to inflict bite after bite on its heavily-crippled form.\n\nEventually, it died.\n\n─ Experience Gained! Reduced Due To Assistance Received.\n\nThe bad-thing toppled to the ground, forgotten by its brethren in their shortsightedness. Foolish as they were, they didn't notice their own companion in the midst of a deadly struggle. They were too singularly focused on the Coreless before them, too lost in the battle-high that coursed through them, the eagerness to achieve victory.\n\nAnother sharp ring of ore-flesh and the cracking of stone shook the floor below me, mixed with another scream. I moved on to the next target, already anticipating my eventual victory.\n\nThe air began to grow even hotter, breaking past the sweltering dryness that assaulted my scale-flesh, only held at bay by the minor heatsink created through [Illusion Spark]. It pulled the heat from the air around me for a moment before filling its reservoir entirely. I emptied the reservoir, blasting a few tendrils of tiny flames into the air; it began to fill again. Still, it was enough that I could bear the increased temperature. It was enough to hold back the fire-death that wished to sear its way into my scale-flesh.\n\nI slithered on, catching up with another of the bad-things and repeating my earlier performance with the heavily bleeding bad-thing. With my venom depleted further, it died as well.\n\n─ Experience Gained! Reduced Due To Assistance Received.\n\nMy tongue flicked outwards as I exulted in another victory. The Great Core had blessed me, giving me the opportunity to defeat so many powerful bad-things. The Coreless had proven their worth, at least in this if not in other things.\n\nWith that in mind, I was quite surprised to see that the Coreless...weren't doing so hot.\n\nOr rather, they were hot - and that was the problem.\n\n[ The Growing Wall-Cracks ]\n\nFire-water spilled into the cavern, running in tiny little rivers from the wall-cracks that had formed in the stone. The air shimmered around the red-orange flows, distorting with the heat that they gave off. Freed from its cage of earth, the fire-water poured onto the ground below, tracing its way down the walls in a deadly etching, both lightening the cavern and darkening my own hopes.\n\nUnder the effects of [Illusion Spark], I managed to withstand the cloying temperature - every so often releasing a tiny gout of flame away from myself. Yet, even so, it began to fill at an uncomfortable rate.\n\nThe Coreless did not have such a means. Sweat dripped down from their skin-flesh, leaving streaks of gray and grime to mark its passage. They had begun to breathe in great, heaving gasps, both from the heat and the exertion.\n\nBecause the largest of the bad-things had not given up - and, unlike them, it was not slowed by the heat or the fire-water in the slightest.\n\nThe giant bad-thing made another rush, still aimed at Needle as it had been in the beginning. It seemed to be targeting her in particular; the female Coreless' ore-flesh was marred with many nicks and scratches, claw marks etched into the mana-infused surface. She dodged again, just barely avoiding the multitude grasping claws that reached out for her as the bad-thing stormed by.\n\nA boom echoed through the cavern. The ground shook again. And, once more, the wall fractured, left with a network of fissures and furrows as the large bad-thing's heavy-plated skull collided with it. It swayed slightly, disoriented by the blow for a moment. Needle took her chance, puncturing it with yet another needle-fang, the thin needle joining the others that penetrated the bad-thing's flesh.\n\nAnother spurt of fire-water gushed from the newly-cracked wall, showering the bad-thing's head. I hissed in celebration, waiting for it to suffer under the withering heat of the fire-water. It did not.\n\nIt hardly noticed.\n\nThe fire-water slipped from the surface of the bad-thing's flesh, running off of it with no more trouble than mana-water would run off my own scale-flesh. It was uninjured. Unbothered.\n\nIt stepped through the fire-water that had begun to pool along the ground below it, causing it to sizzle and pop. Still, it didn't care.\n\nAnd yet, the Coreless most certainly did.\n\nWith the fire-water that seeped through the wall-cracks, none but Needle were able to consistently attack. They were forced to stay back, finding safe harbor away from the increasingly dangerous walls.\n\nI didn't blame them, though the scenario once again cemented Needle's superiority in my mind. The other Coreless were just inferior. Insufficient offerings to appease the Great Core, allowing me to be injured, and now unable to brave the heat of the fire-water.\n\nStill, they could learn.\n\nThe two remaining smaller bad-things, crippled by their wounds, harassed the Coreless as well. They dashed in at the flanks - with as much speed as they were able, anyway - each time that the Coreless were distracted by the larger of the bad-things, only to retreat back to the safety of the fire-water when the Coreless responded to the attack.\n\nIt did little to actually injure them, but it was effective in distracting them.\n\nThe large bad-thing charged again, suddenly switching its target to one of the males.\n\n\"Erik!\" Needle shouted something out to the others, a hint of panic in her voice. I thought, anyway.\n\nThe bad-thing's charge met the Coreless' protective ore-flesh with a resounding ring, sending the giant Coreless flying backwards through the air, bowled over and rolling. The hunk of ore-flesh that he carried was thrown in the tumble, landing face down on the fire-water's surface somewhere behind him.\n\nFortunately, the Coreless himself stopped short of the deadly fire-water.\n\nThe bad-thing trampled over him in its continuing charge, unable to stop. It met the wall behind him with another loud crack.\n\nMore fire-water spilled into the cavern.\n\nThe downed Coreless stumbled to his feet, staggering and dazed, but alive. One of the remaining smaller bad-things rushed him, but a needle pierced its neck just before it reached him, sending the bad-thing into a skidding halt.\n\nI mourned the lost opportunity to increase my own power as it breathed its last, quickly focusing on the final of the smaller bad-things before that too was taken from me.\n\nIt walked across the fire-water, floating atop its heavy mass, hiding underneath the bulk of the largest of the bad-things. Another needle-fang cut across the air, sinking into the giant bad-thing's joint. It buckled for a moment, the leg bending strangely before the needle snapped in half.\n\nEnraged, the large bad-thing charged again - slower, this time, notably different from before. That, along with only one of the smaller bad-things remaining to harry them, changed the stage. The monster charged past the still-staggering male Coreless, clipping him in the side in passing; he was sent reeling, but managed to brace enough to avoid being thrown into the fire-water entirely.\n\nFortunately for him, the bad-thing was still focused on Needle - its single-mindedness causing it to suffer even greater injury, as well. The female-who-was-not-Needle sliced out with both of her ore-flesh fangs as the bad-thing lumbered by, leaving lines of deep red trailing down its side, overflowing with the lifeblood that spilled from within. The male-who-was-not-repentant swung outwards with his great claw of ore-flesh, also benefiting from not being the object of the creature's focus. He roared, the sound echoing off the walls of the cavern. The ore-flesh sunk into flesh, just as the female's fang's had.\n\nYet, unlike the female, he inflicted a crippling injury.\n\nOne of the bad-thing's leading legs was hewn off, sending the beast crashing to the floor. It stumbled and tripped, sliding and scrabbling against the glossy stone. Finally, it skidded to a halt, just before Needle's frozen figure - her escape cut off by the fire-water that waited behind her. Her eyes were wide with fright and her hands shook slightly, but her needle-spitter was already drawn.\n\nA needle-fang sunk into the creature's flesh from point blank range. And then another. And another.\n\nThe Coreless began to surround the bad-thing, each landing heavy blow after heavy blow, every hit given with enough strength to end my life immediately.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The final small bad-thing rushed in, stumbling from its many wounds; I grabbed onto it with my fangs as it passed by, injecting some of my remaining death-venom.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The bad-thing ignored me, charging onwards.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I let it drag me as well, still holding on.\n\nWhen we came closer, I let go, sliding across the smooth stone and reaching the large bad-thing's weakly twitching tail. The air whistled to my side, and I caught the flash of fast-moving ore-flesh fang. A moment later, I heard the thud as the smaller bad-thing died.\n\nThe thought-light flickered.\n\n─ Experience Gained! Reduced Due To Assistance Received.\n\n─ Level Up!\n\n─ 1 Trait Point Gained.\n\nI was excited by the confirmation that I didn't have to be the one to finish off a bad-thing to receive some credit for it; it was impossible to say whether or not the amount of injury I inflicted on it mattered or not, but maybe time would tell.\n\nFor now, there was no time to be distracted.\n\nThe largest of the strange bad-things was dying; it weakly twitched and stumbled, trying desperately to pull itself to its feet despite its many crippling injuries. The bad-thing's many extra arms grasped fruitlessly at the air, windmilling in their attempts to do something. To do anything.\n\nThe gathered Coreless simply would not let it.\n\nThey battered it mercilessly, cutting and slicing, piercing and puncturing, bashing and smashing. Injured and alone as it was, it could do little to respond. Questing claws were avoided with ease, either dodged or crippled. Its heavy-plated head, the most dangerous of its weapons, was useless. Without any momentum to lend it power, it was only able to protect the bad-thing's skull - not very helpful when every other portion of its body was being damaged in the way that it was.\n\nI slithered towards the bad-thing's side, eager to do my own part. My fangs sunk into the softer flesh of its underside; the last of my death-venom slipped through my fangs. I wasn't sure whether the degree of injury that I gave it mattered in regards to the reward that I received, but I was unwilling to spare it. With a bad-thing of its size, I needed to contribute as much as I could.\n\nThe reward would be worth it, I was sure.\n\nSoon enough, it stilled. The thought-light flickered.\n\n─ Experience Gained! Reduced Due To Assistance Received.\n\n─ Level Up!\n\n─ 1 Trait Point Gained.\n\n─ Level 10 Reached!\n\n─ Analyzing Potential Reward Choices...\n\n[ Floating On Fire-Water ]\n\n─ Level 10 Reached!\n\n─ Analyzing Potential Reward Choices…\n\n─ Only One May Be Selected.\n\nThe thought-light disappeared for a moment before returning in all its thought-like glory.\n\n─ Revealing Possible Rewards Unlocked Through Species: Snake And Its Interactions…\n\n─ Size: Your body mass increases greatly, with all of the increase in strength and health that comes with a greater size. (Provided by: Snake)\n\n─ Hardened Scales: Your scales harden, strengthening far beyond their natural measure, becoming an armor that protects you in your every moment. (Provided by: Snake, Piercing Resistance)\n\n─ Enhanced Venom Capacity: Your venom production increases greatly, both innate and acquired. (Provided by: Snake, Venomous, Paralyzing Venom)\n\n─ Illusory Camouflage: Your scales are not what they seem, automatically pulling from your light reservoirs and shifting themselves to match any surrounding colors. (Provided by: Snake, Illusion Spark)\n\nThe choices that the thought-light revealed to me were all tempting. The battle with the most recent bad-things had once more shown my vulnerability; if it weren't for the presence of the Coreless, I would have been defeated by the very first of them to arrive, let alone the entirety of the group. I would have been doomed. Much of that came down to my size; while I was able to slither through the wall-cracks and small-tunnels with ease, a great advantage in avoiding a fight, I was vulnerable once I was in one. Against the Aridae, it hadn't been as big of a problem - many, though not all, of them were of a similar size to me. It was becoming clearer to me - though only a little, as I had already been well aware - that there were many bad-things that could easily crush me.\n\nA larger body would help with that; it might even let my venomless bites inflict more injury, which would be extremely useful.\n\nThe most important thing, though, was the possibilities that it opened for obtaining new Blooded Traits - right now, most bad-things were too large for me to consume. It was difficult to guess how much the size increase would affect me, but I knew that it would help at least some. My mouth salivated at the thought of consuming the corpses of the bad-things near me, my mind wandering to thoughts of increased strength and power.\n\nIt was tempting.\n\nHardened Scales was somewhat less tempting. It didn't offer the extra ability to obtain more Blooded Traits like increasing my size did, so I doubted that I would choose it.\n\nIncreasing my venom capacity was similar, though more tempting than Hardened Scales. Without my venom, I would always have a difficult time fighting against the bad-things that roamed the World Dungeon - so increasing my venom production would do quite a lot to make me feel safer.\n\nMeanwhile, Illusory Camouflage could be useful in allowing myself to blend in and hide. However, it working automatically meant that my light reservoirs would constantly be straining themselves - they might run out when I needed them most.\n\nIt was a difficult choice.\n\nYet, before I could make a decision, the thought-light flickered again.\n\nMore options were revealed.\n\n─ Revealing Possible Rewards Unlocked Through Species: Ouroboros And Its Interactions…\n\n─ Life: You are a symbol of the eternal, just as you are of many other things. You are a symbol of life. You gain the ability to transform mana into the essence of life, using it to fuel life-giving abilities. (Provided by: Ouroboros)\n\n─ Death: You are a symbol of the eternal, just as you are of many other things. You are a symbol of death. You gain the ability to transform mana into the essence of death, using it to fuel deathly abilities. (Provided by: Ouroboros)\n\n─ Rebirth: You are a symbol of the eternal, just as you are of many other things. You are a symbol of rebirth. You shed your skin, marking the birth of a new cycle. (Provided by: Ouroboros, The Endless Cycle)\n\nThe choices created by being an ouroboros were...significant. The snake-specific options had been focused on things like size, durability, and damage in the most simple of ways, but those presented to me now were far different. They were far greater.\n\nI still saw the appeal in growing larger, so that I could gain more Blooded Traits than I could currently, but the size increase had its own drawbacks. Depending on how large I became, I might no longer be able to hide from the bad-things that I encountered. I might be barred from the wall-cracks and fractures that had become my sanctuary, forced to confront those that I had no hope of defeating.\n\nThe more that I thought about it, the less that I wanted it.\n\nNot with the other options that I now knew I had.\n\nUnlike the options created by being a simple snake, the new options were much more vague. They didn't tell me what the end result of the choice would be in simple terms, just giving me a general idea of how things would be directed. They gave me a theme.\n\nThe first, life, was interesting. I had already found mana to be extremely useful, even with only having [Mana Venom] to use it with. Learning life-giving abilities might, in some cases, be even more useful. If the Great Core continued to gather more disciples - as was only expected, with its great power - being able to help keep them alive would be helpful. The battles that I had already had with the Coreless at my side had shown how useful allies could be. It might also provide a way to heal myself faster than [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail]. The ability was powerful, but I couldn't use it in the middle of a fight; not without making myself vulnerable, at least.\n\nThe second sounded just as good. I had already noticed my difficulties in defeating large or numerous bad-things. Deathly abilities, whatever that might mean, could be what I needed in order to break through that weakness.\n\nAnd yet, the last option was the most interesting to me.\n\nRebirth - the start of a new cycle.\n\nWhile it didn't have the immediate power growth that the other options provided, it gave something important: security. Something within me was eager at the thought. Eager to rid myself once and for all of the Aridae; if I chose Rebirth, I would never have to go back. I would never return to being weak and helpless in the way that I was. If I died, the Great Core would instead bring me back to the new start of the cycle. It was tempting. I had already gained much, and some of what I had gained was only through the Great Core's grace. If I had not been able to gain [Mana Manipulation] from the flame-gaze bad-thing, for example, defeating the Aridae might have been impossible.\n\nNo, it would have been impossible.\n\nIt was only through the Great Core's blessing that I had encountered it.\n\nDid my creator want me to choose rebirth, cementing the power that it had allowed me to gain? I certainly did - especially with how dangerous the lesser Core's Dungeon was beginning to feel.\n\n─ Revealing Possible Rewards Unlocked Through Titles And Their Interactions…\n\n─ Mana Restoration: You are a unique being, the embodiment of the cycle of renewal. Now, you have taken that even further. The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail gains the ability to heavily increase passive mana regeneration when activated. (Provided by: The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail, Minor Mana Core)\n\n─ Mana Blood: Your blood, already storage for toxins, has become a storage place for mana as well. Greatly increases capacity to store mana. (Provided by: Venomous Retribution, Minor Mana Core)\n\n...I was beginning to understand how some bad-things were so powerful. Even ones that hadn't been blessed by the Great Core in the way that I was could still heavily increase their power once they reached level ten. The options were probably different, of course, leaning more towards ones similar to what being a snake gave me - increased strength, size, durability, and so on. The less simple rewards seemed to be related to being a species with high potential or having received titles.\n\nFor now, I put those simpler rewards aside. Of the four of them, only the size option really spoke to me - for the ability to consume larger bad-things, if nothing else. Still, it would mean that I could no longer flee into the wall-cracks and small-tunnels if an undefeatable enemy attacked me. Until I could better defend myself, I wanted to avoid that.\n\nThe options created by my titles were powerful as well; my victories against the Aridae had almost entirely hinged on my usage of mana, so having the ability to regenerate mana or store it in greater quantities would be welcome.\n\nYet my mind kept going back to other things.\n\nNamely, the rewards created by being an Ouroboros. I had the feeling that those were what I should focus on first. They were what the Great Core had designed me for.\n\nThey were the source of my great potential.\n\nIt was tempting to choose either Life or Death. Both of them would have immediate effects on what I could do, unlike Rebirth.\n\nBut in the end, I didn't want to go back.\n\nI didn't want to risk it.\n\nI wanted to ensure that I kept the blessings that the Great Core had given me in this life. They were too precious to risk. The thought-light flickered.\n\n─ Reward Chosen: Rebirth.\n\n─ Condition Met.\n\n─ Core Skill - The Endless Cycle Renewed.\n\n─ Creating New Cycle Start.\n\nA budding pressure built within my scale-flesh, quickly transforming into a wave of fire-pain that pierced through my insides. I felt as if I was burning alive, as if I was floating on fire-water.\n\nI felt as if I would die.\n\nMy scale-flesh began to glow, giving off the luminescent magnificence of the Great Core that had created me. The light flared, overpowering the fire-water and the Flame Wisps, the intensity enough to blind my eyes and force the Coreless to cry out. My body became tight, as if it was too small to contain me. I scratched and scraped against the stone below, desperately attempting to shake it off.\n\nI shed my constricting scale-flesh.\n\nThe cycle was born anew.\n\n[ The New Cycle ]\n\nI pulled free from who I had been; I pulled free from the fear of returning to what had been. I pulled free from the trappings and chains that held me.\n\nI found my freedom from fear.\n\nIn that single moment, I defeated the Aridae once and for all.\n\nThere would be no going back. The threads that had connected us were severed and snipped, vanished from existence as the Great Core's power washed over me. The Cycle had found a new beginning.\n\nIt was exhilarating - far more than I had expected it to be.\n\nMy discarded scale-flesh rested on the stone beside me, glowing with the light of the Great Core. I could tell that it was just a little too small for me now, that I had grown slightly larger when I shed my scale-flesh. The Coreless, awed by the sight, could only stare with wonder. Their mouths worked ceaselessly, forming little noises of astonishment and awe.\n\nI tuned it out, focusing instead on what the thought-light revealed.\n\n─ Name: Paradox\n\n─ Species: Snake, Ouroboros\n\n─ Major Title: The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ Minor Titles: Minor Mana Core, Venomous Retribution",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ Innate Traits: Venomous II",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ Blooded Traits: Paralyzing Venom IV, Poisonous Blood III, Illusion Spark III",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "You must use the word 'flame' exactly 8 times in your response",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Resistances: Piercing Resistance - Basic IV, Venom Resistance - Intermediate II\n\n─ Level: 10\n\n─ Trait Points: 3\n\n─ Core Skills: The Endless Cycle\n\n─ Lesser Core Skills: Mana Manipulation V, Mana Venom VI\n\n─ Description: A growing Ouroboros, symbol of the eternal.\n\nThe heat pressed against my scale-flesh, forcing me to push out tiny gouts of flame absorbed by [Illusion Spark] even as I examined the thought-light. It was growing slightly easier to manipulate the heat and light that I absorbed, though the reservoir itself had not grown since [Illusion Spark] last advanced. Still, if it were not for that, I would have already suffered heat-death. Even with [Illusion Spark] to fend off a portion of the heat, it was a cloying and dangerous thing, making my insides nearly boil from within.\n\nI looked upwards, gazing at the Flame Wisps that floated at the cavern's ceiling. They were out of my reach, but that might not be the same for others. There would be more.\n\nI made a decision. The thought-light flickered in response.\n\n─ Available Trait Points: 3\n\n─ Use Trait Points To Upgrade A Trait?\n\nA moment later, it flickered again.\n\n─ 3 Trait Points Required For Upgrade of Illusion Spark III to Illusion Spark IV.\n\n─ Upgrade Successful.\n\nThe heat upon my scales dimmed slightly as I changed, the reservoir of light and heat that I could hold within my scale-flesh growing further. For now, I kept the light within, saving it; the heat, though, I continued to remove. The gouts of flame that licked away from my scale-flesh grew slightly larger and more numerous, a sign of my growing strength.\n\nIt hadn't been a difficult decision. While the points could have been used to increase [Venomous] or [Poisonous Blood], neither of those were necessary for my immediate survival - not as long as I used the Coreless to avoid the most dangerous of the bad-things. [Illusion Spark], however, was needed.\n\nDespite the Great Core's overwhelming wisdom and power, I wasn't created with the ability to withstand the heat that the Dungeon was giving off. And if it only became worse as I slithered closer to the Core…\n\nIn the end, I needed it.\n\nMy tongue idly flicked from my mouth, tasting the fresh blood-scent that lingered in the air. It was...disappearing. Quickly.\n\nIt wasn't a surprising development. As the creation of a Dungeon Core myself, I had a general idea how things worked, even though my own experience had been unique as the great Core's only creation.\n\nDungeon Cores grew in a variety of ways. They absorbed latent mana from the air, the free-floating power that suffused the World Dungeon, released from the World Dungeon's center. Some of that mana was lost again, spread outwards after it mixed with the flavor of the Core's aspect. Some was kept and used, allowing the Core to spread its influence and create more defenders.\n\nThat was the slow, passive way that Cores gained in power.\n\nIt was not the main path they chose.\n\nTheft was far, far faster.\n\nThat was the reason for the forever-war that raged on in the World Dungeon; Cores fought against one another, vying for supremacy and power. Competing for the mana that each had gained. Sending their bad-things to consume one another to remove competitors for that very same mana.\n\nYet, that too could be a source of mana for the defending Dungeon Cores.\n\nIt hadn't been something that I had ever been able to take advantage of, alone as I was. Weak as I was. The best I had been able to do was scavenge the leftovers from the world outside, dragging forgotten corpses and damaged remains through the wall-cracks that led into my home.\n\nMy offerings to the Great Core had been small, just as I was.\n\nStill, everytime that they disappeared, shifting into mana itself, I knew that they were appreciated. I knew that I was appreciated.\n\nThe same was happening now, though it was not my Core that salvaged the mana used to create the bad-things.\n\nThe blood that splashed across the floor - that which hadn't boiled away as it encountered the fire-water - finally began to shift back into the mana that originally formed it, seeping into the floor as it returned to the Core.\n\nIts efforts with the corpses were less successful. While I was distracted, the Coreless had already begun to harvest choice bits, cutting through the flesh to reach what lay underneath. From the largest of the bad-things, a giant red organ was removed, a larger version of what had been harvested from the first of the bad-things.\n\nThe male Coreless grunted, the hunk of ore-flesh retrieved from the fire-water's surface undamaged by the heat and slung across his back once more. He walked back and forth near the fire-water, ignoring the sweat that dripped down his heavy brow, peering past it. Finally, he made noises at the other Coreless.\n\n\"We'll have to find another way out. This one's blocked off by the lava; looks like it spilled right into the exit tunnel.\"\n\nWhatever he said, the others didn't appear happy about it. Still, none of them bared their teeth in challenge, so I assumed that they chose not to question his leadership - though why Needle had not been selected as the leader, I didn't know. She was clearly wiser than the others, given the offerings that she had made to appease the Great Core.\n\nThe Coreless were strange.\n\nThe-female-that-was-not-Needle approached me, dropping to a knee and holding out a hand. She hissed softly, the sound once more coming out strangely. \"Want to ride on my shoulder again, little cutie?\"\n\n\"Valera…\"\n\nShe turned around, her hand still outstretched. \"What?\"\n\nI slithered over, twining my way up her arm until I reached her shoulder. After what had happened earlier, I wanted to be as close as possible so that she could take any hits for me. That, and I was still mulling over the idea of biting her.\n\nNeedle was pointing at my discarded scale-flesh, making praise-noises at the light it gave off.\n\n\"You're not worried about what just happened with its skin? That looked like an advancement to me. The snake could be a lot stronger now.\"\n\nI let out a gout of flame, releasing some of the heat that had built up in my scales. The female Coreless looked at me again, baring her teeth. I hissed when she tried to touch my head-scales again.\n\n\"It's fine, Kala. He's only attacked other monsters so far and I think that he's warming up to me. Besides, it's not like he can really do much.\"\n\n\"If you say so…\"\n\nShe reached out again, trying to scratch my scale-flesh once more. This time I let it happen, distracted by the sight of the disappearing bad-things. Slowly, they wisped away into streams of mana and disappeared.\n\n\"See? He likes me!\"\n\nThe female reached into one of her skin-mouths, attempting another offering of strange flesh. Despite my distraction, I still made sure to spit it out.\n\nShe really needed to make better offerings.\n\n\"Valera, stop wasting the dried meats. It doesn't want them.\" The male-who-was-not-repentant made some noises. I turned and hissed at him, too. He was even worse than she was, despite her terrible excuses for offerings.\n\nShe grunted in response, with what I took to be an annoyed look on her face. With a few more noises that I didn't bother to try to decipher, the Coreless began to move.\n\nAs we traveled through the cavern, I gazed longingly at the Flame Wisps that floated amongst the stone-spikes above. Every so often, I shot a few meaningful hisses at Needle, hoping that she would understand and provide me more offerings. She didn't. I tried not to hold that against her.\n\nI failed, at least a little bit.\n\nStupid Coreless.\n\n[ Horror Show ]\n\nI balked in horror, pulling as far back as I could without losing grip on my perch. Involuntarily, my tongue slipped from my mouth in a defiant hiss. It, too, was horrified.\n\n\"Do you think that we could sell this thing?\" the male-who-was-not-repentant made a few noises, holding onto my shed scale-flesh as he walked. Distracted as I had been, I hadn't noticed that he picked it up to take it with him.\n\nI wasn't sure what to think about that.\n\nI just knew that he hadn't earned the right to touch something that glowed with the Great Core's power.\n\nAnd yet, his clumsy, giant fingers ran along my shed scale-flesh. They pressed along its length, and I could almost imagine those same disgusting, offering-less fingers running down my own scale-flesh. I would have gagged, if I actually could - but my stomach was entirely empty, as it nearly always was.\n\nI decided to do it anyway, in order to properly display my disgust.\n\n\"Are you okay, little guy?\" the female-who-was-not-Needle hissed awkwardly. \"Did all those little flames that you ate upset your stomach?\" She reached out to touch my head-scales again and, for once, I decided to let her. I needed the comfort, I could only guess, after seeing the horror show that the Great Core's glory was being subjected to.\n\nHer fingers scratched along my surface, rubbing against my scale-flesh in little whorls and digs, tracing the edges of the Great Core's likeness that laid upon it. Normally, I would have displayed my fangs at that; she had yet to earn the right to be so near. Yet, right now it was...nice.\n\nSoothing.\n\nNot in the way that the Great Core's light soothed me. It didn't make me feel like all was right with the world. It didn't make me feel that everything would be okay. It didn't make me feel anything near that.\n\nIt made me feel just a little safer, though. Just a bit.\n\nI leaned into the pressure, pushing against it. The female Coreless made a few more noises, but I didn't bother to listen, basking in the sensation. Like that, we traveled further through the caverns that had been claimed and shaped by the lesser Core, pressing deeper into the Dungeon. Every so often, I spotted a Flame-Wisp clinging to the ceiling, casting curling shadows against the cavern walls. Despite that, I received no offerings of their corpses.\n\n[Illusion Spark] would remain as it was, for the moment. Perhaps later, I would manage to catch them.\n\nIn the midst of our travels, my focus kept being pulled back to the glow of the Great Core. I knew that it being moved didn't actually matter; I had moved it myself in my previous life. When the Great Core saved me from death, it was as if it had never been moved. So, in a way, it was like it was still where I had left it.\n\nStill, having something so blessed by the Great Core touched and handled in such a way rankled. It sent a spike of irritation through me, a tinge of near-fury that spilled across my scale-flesh. Only the soothing comfort of the scratches upon my head-scales and the nostalgic, wonderful glow of the Great Core's power kept me restrained.\n\nI supposed it was better than one of the lesser Core's minions stumbling upon it.\n\nJust barely.\n\nAnother gout of flame released from my scale-flesh as it began to overheat, the action having become almost second nature over time. I did make sure to direct it away from the fingers that were still scratching away at my head-scales, though. Every so often, I heard faint clicks and clacks emanating from the many small-tunnels and wall-cracks that surrounded us. A fair few dribbled fire-water in slow little droplets, leaving me reluctant to explore the source of the noise. [Illusion Spark] gave me some resistance to heat, but not nearly enough to risk drowning in fire-water.\n\nOr, rather, burning in it before I could even hope to drown.\n\nWe followed the winding tunnels of the Dungeon, hugging the left walls with each fork in the path. Close as we were, the scent-taste of the Core's power flooded my tongue, making it difficult to detect the exact direction to go. With that in mind, I simply stayed where I was, allowing the Coreless to pull me along. I did have the faint idea that they had no idea where they were going, but it wasn't strong enough for me to leave them behind and forge my own path.\n\nIt wasn't because I was afraid to go alone.\n\nWe passed another fork, again sticking to the left. This time, the tunnel opened up into a new cavern. A wave of heat spilled from within, pressing against me and forcing my eyes to narrow. Another tiny gout of flame shot from my scale-flesh as my reservoirs overflowed.\n\nThe click-clacking in the walls was louder than before; even the Coreless began to hear it, muttering towards each other and pointing at the small-tunnels that lined the walls.\n\nAs I couldn't understand it anyway, I focused my attention somewhere else, scanning the cavern for other dangers. Flame-Wisps floated in the air, lower to the ground than I had seen them in awhile. A few had drifted near towering stone-spikes; I had to fight down the urge to try to reach them. Later, maybe.\n\nRather than the smooth and glossy black that covered the rest of the Dungeon so far, the ground of the cavern was capped with sections of overturned and melted earth; pulverized and overheated stone that looked as if it had been spilled over itself again and again - only to cool to solidity for a brief moment before melting again.\n\nI didn't know what had caused the change, but anything that could create heat like that was something I would prefer to avoid. It could be anything that had done it, with the Dungeon's power affecting the area as it did. Fire-water, flames, bad-things. Anything.\n\nThe steady click-clack from within the walls, still growing louder by the moment, pushed me towards one particular answer. Even worse, I was beginning to hear the sound underneath us, as well.\n\n[Illusion Spark] activated as I subconsciously turned towards beating back the heat. Another gout of flame licked from my scale-flesh, melding with the already-overheated air.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "The Coreless, too, were restless.",
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"value": "The heat pressed against the ore-flesh that was their second skin; the mana-light tried to beat it back, but only so much could be done. They panted and slumped, energy draining from their bodies by the moment, each heavy breath a sign of their dwindling strength.\n\nOf all of the Coreless, the female-who-was-not-Needle was managing against the heat with the greatest ease. I realized that my use of [Illusion Spark] was absorbing some of the extra heat from around her - particularly near her head-level, where I was perched - and cooling her off fairly well.\n\nA Flame Wisp flashed, releasing a burst of flame that drew my eye. For a moment, I could see another tunnel behind it, carved from the upper reaches of the cavern's boundaries. The Coreless saw it too, erupting into a series of jabbers.\n\n\"Did you see that tunnel?\" Needle made a noise, causing the others to respond in kind.\n\n\"I saw it. It could be a way out. Dungeon Cores tend to rest at the depths of their Dungeons, so any tunnels that ascend might lead us away. It'd be good to get out of the heat; we never planned on doing more than checking out the Dungeon, and it shows.\" The largest male responded, rubbing his chin in thought.\n\nNeedle nodded, reaching into the skin-mouths that she carried and assembling another strange needle-fang. This one was similar to the one she used to bring us across the fire-water; a needle-fang that carried giant and sturdy threads in its wake. She aimed her needle-spitter. A moment later, the needle-fang buried itself in the stone ceiling just inside of the tunnel, the mana-glow of its surface hidden away within the rock.\n\nShe tugged on it a few times, checking its grip, before handing its length over to the second male, the-one-who-was-not-repentant. He, too, pulled at it to check its sturdiness. Then, he placed one foot against the wall and began to pull himself upwards, walking slowly up its surface.\n\nThe click-clacking increased as we waited, little bits of fluid drip-dropping from the Coreless' brows.\n\nNeedle went next, ascending with an ease that I had begun to expect of her. Meanwhile, we waited. Click-clack.\n\nThe stones were beginning to vibrate, slightly, as if a thousand legs were marching as one. As if the earth was quaking in fear.\n\nClick-clack.\n\nFinally, we began to ascend. The female-that-was-not-Needle carried me up, grunting slightly as she went. The sounds grew louder.\n\nOut of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of movement; one of the many small-tunnels that dotted the cavern released a bad-thing.\n\nIt was small, smaller than even I.\n\nThat hardly mattered when another came, and another, and another.\n\nAnother.\n\nA few moments later, larger ones began to pull free from the ground. They ripped through the upturned earth of the cavern's floor, melting it as they went, their mandibles dripping molten stone.\n\n\"It's a Flame Formican colony! Erik, hurry up and climb!\"\n\nWe hadn't yet made it all the way up, yet the remaining Coreless below us began to ascend.\n\nThe thread strained and stretched, bearing the increased weight with extreme difficulty. I turned my head towards the ground again. A mass of bad-things had gathered below the climbing Coreless; even worse, a few - the smallest individuals of the group - had begun to climb.\n\nThey were catching up.\n\nFast.\n\n[ Will ]\n\nThe bad-things' mandibles click-clacked as one, snapping together in shared anticipation. The Coreless shouted, pointing and jabbering at one another even more, as if they were competing with the bad-things in the field of unnecessary noises.\n\nWe moved up the hanging thread faster, the female Coreless rapidly pulling hand-over-hand, desperately working to reach the top. Her feet pounded against the stone of the wall, scrabbling against the many small-tunnels and wall-cracks that dotted its face.\n\nThe click-clacking of snapping mandibles grew closer; not just from below, but from other places too.\n\nFrom the holes in the wall itself.\n\nI hissed warningly, though I knew that the Coreless would not be able to understand me.\n\nStill, the warning took - or, at least, the Coreless began to move with even greater desperation.\n\nA needle-fang shot past us, forcing me to follow its path down below. It buried itself in a bad-thing just underneath the male Coreless' foot; a few moments later, and it might have reached its prey. Instead, it fell limp, toppling from the wall in a rolling heap - one that managed to knock a few of its brethren from their own perches, as well.\n\nIt bought the Coreless a precious few seconds, but only a few.\n\nWith the heat pressing down upon him, just as it did me, he was weaker than he might otherwise be. Tired. Slow. Weighed down by the skin of ore-flesh that had once protected him.\n\nThe weave of threads groaned and strained, voicing its complaints about the weight that it had been forced to bear. The walls clicked and clacked, ever-closer, ever-louder. They vibrated and trembled. Finally, they burst.\n\nA horde of tiny bad-things spilled from the wall-cracks and small-tunnels between the male Coreless and the rest of us, their mandibles filling the air with a furor of click-clacks and the drip-drop of molten stone.\n\nI heard another scream from above. It was Needle. A wave of needle-fangs followed after, smashing through the teeming mass of bad-things with terrifying precision; they pierced through hard-flesh, pulverizing them into bits and shattering them into pieces. They knocked the bad-things from the wall, sending them flying helplessly through the air, smashing them against the unforgiving stone below.\n\nAnd still, more came.\n\nAs the rope began to twist and shake, we finally reached the top. The female Coreless pulled herself into the tunnel with the help of the male. With a soft parting hiss, I uncoiled myself from her shoulder, bringing myself back down to the ground.\n\nNeedle ignored us, focused on the battle down below. Her eyes shone with an intensity that I remembered well; they shone with the fear and despair that I had felt when I thought the Great Core was lost. Her needle-fang spitter had stilled, its supply of needle-fangs heavily diminished. She had stopped screaming. Instead, she was just silent.\n\nFluids dripped from her eyes, dropping down into the empty air below. Only it wasn't exactly empty. The swaying line, the frenzied click-clack of mandible on mandible - and now, mandible on ore-flesh - betrayed that truth.\n\nI followed her gaze, slithering towards the edge and peering downward. My tongue flicked, catching the taste-scent of fresh blood.\n\nThe bundle of threads swayed violently, pushing back away from the wall with extreme force as the male Coreless - nearly covered from view by the colony of tiny bad-things - kicked against it. He let out a roar as the rope began to swing back, slamming hard against the stone with his heavy boots. Hard-flesh cracked and creaked under his sole. Bad-things fell, their grip dislodged.\n\nAnd still, more came.\n\nA large hand reached past me, reaching out and grabbing hold of the weave of threads that we had ascended. Startled, I turned my head, hissing lightly. The male Coreless, he-who-was-not-repentant, kneeled next to me. He wasn't lost to despair and desperation in the way that Needle was, in the way that I had once been.\n\nInstead, there was something different. Fury. His eyes nearly glowed with the emotion, a flame writhing within them that was no weaker than the heat that surrounded us. Hate.\n\nI recognized it, now.\n\nThe hate that I felt for the Aridae; the rage that drove me against them. Maybe we weren't so different, the Coreless and I - in some ways, at least.\n\nThe Coreless pulled against the threads, leaning back and groaning heavily. His face reddened as he strained. It barely moved.\n\nWeighed down by his ore-flesh covered companion and the horde of bad-things that had begun to clamber from their holds on the wall to the threads themselves, it had become too much.\n\nHe pulled again, veins bulging from his forehead. It moved - but not nearly enough. The females joined him in his efforts, grabbing hold of what little he had managed to already pull up. It moved a little more.\n\nI turned my head, peering back down below. I had no hands of my own, and so I could only watch.\n\nI could only witness.\n\nThe bad-things continued to swarm, the ones that had been below having long begun to catch up. Through it all, the male fought and climbed, pulling himself hand over hand - bad-things biting at those same hands all the while.\n\nI could see the way that the pink-flesh of those hands had been blackened and bloodied, seared away by the heat that dripped from the bad-things' mandibles. I could see the way that muscles underneath flexed and tensed. I could even see tiny flecks of white through the black and red, small parts of his bones revealed to the world.\n\nDespite that, he continued to pull. He continued to fight. He continued to climb.\n\nSilently. Steadily. Single-mindedly.\n\nThe bad-things, having been unable to pierce through the mana-light of his ore-flesh, had moved on to other things. They crawled across it, looking for exposed skin. They bit at his hands. They reached for his face. They grasped for his eyes.\n\nAgain and again, he shook them off.\n\nAnd still, more came.\n\nHe was moving faster now, propelled by the efforts of the other three Coreless beside me.\n\nI knew that it wouldn't be fast enough.\n\nAlready, I could see the threads beginning to rip and fray. Below me, they had started to unfurl, pulling away from one another as the fibers' strength waned under the forces it had been subjected to.\n\nIt wasn't just the weight.\n\nIt was the bad-things, as well.\n\nThe male Coreless' struggles had revealed that the colony of bad-things had at least a small measure of intelligence. Rather than attack the male himself, they had moved onto something more vulnerable.\n\nThe threads that suspended him.\n\nMandibles, some still dripping with molten rock, sliced into the threads. For a little while, they held. They persevered.\n\nYet, as I had learned for myself before my previous death, anything and anyone will give up eventually.\n\nFor the damaged threads, that moment came all too soon.\n\nThey snapped.\n\nThe Coreless beside me went flying backwards as the weight released, thrown by the force of their own pulls. They clattered in a heap, groaning in pain and surprise. In horror. I didn't turn my head.\n\nI just kept doing the only thing that I could.\n\nI witnessed.\n\nThe Coreless tumbled through the air, his fingers grasping at the now-useless threads. Even still, he never made a noise. He never screamed. He never gave up.\n\nMana-light flashed from the hunk of ore-flesh on his back as he hit the bottom, the ore-flesh creating a thunderous boom as he crashed into the waiting horde of bad-things. Hard-flesh cracked and shattered, but I was sure that I heard the shattering of bone, too.\n\nThe Coreless stood up slowly, swaying in pain and held up by sheer willpower. He managed to reach behind himself, pulling the giant hunk of ore-flesh from his back. With the other hand, he grabbed his heavy weapon of ore-flesh.\n\nThe bad-things' mandibles clicked and clacked. They rolled over him like an angry flood. He never screamed.\n\nInstead, he roared and thrashed, smashing about himself with heady abandon.\n\nI knew that, despite his will to survive, it wouldn't be enough.\n\nI hissed, paying my respects for his efforts. For once, I felt a hint of admiration. He had done little to attempt to appease the Great Core. Not as Needle had done. Not as she had continued to do.\n\nStill, I thought, his efforts were deserving of recognition. Even as a Coreless.\n\nI decided to call him Will, in honor of his sacrifice.\n\n[ This World Has No Heroes ]\n\n\"What is the greatest danger that humanity faces?\" his father asked. It was a strange question; it was one that everyone knew the answer to. Even Erik, at the age of ten, was well aware of it.\n\n\"The Dungeons,\" he answered confidently.\n\n\"Wrong,\" his father responded, his face set into a grim facade. The boy was taken aback. What greater danger could exist? Had his father seen something, while out on one of his many expeditions into the world outside?\n\nUnlike Erik, his father was not from Orken; he had once been a drifter, a mercenary that traveled from town to town, braving the dangers of the world outside when those under-equipped and overwhelmed outposts could not.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "By the time that he had met Erik's mother, he had already begun to settle down - the Dungeons were not kind to the aging.",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 28 sentences.",
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"value": "It was one of the great regrets of Orken's populace, Core-poor as it was.\n\nHaving such an experienced man within the town was gratifying, but many thought it would have been better if he ventured outside; they would have preferred if he were willing to form a party to retrieve Cores. He had done it for many others.\n\nAnd so, when his father claimed that there was something even more dangerous, he felt a chill set in his spine.\n\n\"W-what is it, then?\" His voice trembled slightly as he spoke, and he cursed his weakness. Young as he was, he had high expectations for himself - and he wasn't alone in that. Both Kala and Doran had recently mentioned their parents discussing him, talking about how they hoped that his father would be able to pass down his experience and knowledge to his boy.\n\n\"Hopelessness.\"\n\nIt wasn't the answer that he expected. He had expected some story of a great monster or Core that his father had been witness to, some great danger that lurked within the depths of the world outside. Instead, it was...this.\n\nAt his incredulous stare, his father raised a brow. \"Do you not believe me? Tell me then, what is more insidious than humanity giving up? What is more dangerous than being like so many others in this town, just sitting and waiting for someone to brave the world outside and defeat the Dungeons and their Cores? Someone else, that is.\"\n\nHe paused, taking a breath and waiting for that thought to settle in. \"Let me tell you something, son. There is no one else. We cannot rely on a hero chosen by the world to save it, because this world is not ours. Not anymore. Not since the First Core formed. Not since mana filled the world. Not since the surface was destroyed. This world has no heroes.\"\n\nErik mulled over the thought. He knew that his father expected something out of him. He always did. The man was strange - some even said he was Mana-touched -, but he was consistent. Finally, he responded with a simple statement, driven by the brash attitude of youth.\n\n\"I won't.\"\n\nHis father waited for him to elaborate, knowing that there was more to come. Like him, Erik was consistent.\n\n\"I won't wait for a hero to save us. I won't just wait for the world to create a hero. I'll become stronger. I'll become the hero myself.\n\nHis father grinned. \"That's the hope that I was looking for.\"\n\nErik smiled back.\n\n\"Don't let it kill you. Hope can be a dangerous thing.\"",
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"value": "help write? 189 sentences more, same character context, LitRPG, fantasy genre thx",
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"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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"value": "\"Don't let it kill you.\"\n\nHis father's words flashed through Erik's mind as he fell.\n\nIt looked like he was going to fail in that, in the same way that nearly every Core seeker did.\n\nHis hands burned with a strange sensation - they had long passed the point of pain, and moved on to a sort of detached agony, as if he could see the damage that they had taken, but was no longer able to feel it himself.\n\nHe was grateful for that.\n\nThe monsters' mandibles, tiny though they were, had seared through his flesh with terrifying ease. The moment that he had seen them, he knew things were going to go bad.\n\nThose who didn't venture outside of Orken always imagined the giant leviathans to be the most dangerous - and they were. But they discounted the deadliness that came with some of the smallest of Dungeon monsters.\n\nFlame Formicans were one of those monsters. In fact, they were one of the most dangerous monsters created by Flame aspect Dungeon Cores. It was one of the monster types that his father had made sure to drill into his head over the years.\n\nThey were swarming-type enemies, which could make them far more deadly than a single powerful enemy might be. They could climb. Their mandibles could bite through stone, melting it away with the overwhelming heat that they held. And, worst of all, most weapons were not made with them in mind.\n\nA sword could do little against a thousand tiny targets, especially when they could come from multiple directions at once.\n\nArrows could do little, as well.\n\nThat thought made him a little grateful, at least.\n\nOf all of his companions, at least he was the one left to face them.\n\nAt least he would be the one to die.\n\nHe would be able to take the most with him in his death.\n\n\"Don't let it kill you,\" he heard again.\n\nSorry, father. Looks like I lied. I won't get to be that hero, after all.\n\nAfter what felt like an eternity of falling, he hit the ground. His shield, forged in the absorbed mana of null-water, held strong. A burst of mana-light flashed from its surface as he hit back first, the power that it held somehow cushioning the blow enough that Erik didn't simply splatter when he hit the ground.\n\nHe was grateful for that.\n\nWhen the cracking of carapace nearly covered up the sound of his own shattering hip, he was grateful for that too.\n\nIt wasn't a sound that he had ever liked to hear.\n\nDespite the cushion provided by his shield's protection, his head rang and his ears buzzed. His vision twisted, and blood leaked profusely from a blow to his head.\n\nErik stood up slowly, the damage to his hip and his overall dizziness forcing him to sway uncomfortably. Yet, with a practiced motion, he reached behind himself. His shield came first, the great towering thing covered in blood and refuse that dimmed the mana-glow within. After that came his warhammer, its giant head more than sufficient for what he needed. His hands cried out in agony, fighting against his efforts to close them around the grips.\n\nErik, on the other hand, did not cry out.\n\nThe tide of Flame Formicans rushed over him.\n\nHe did not cry out then, either.\n\nInstead, he roared, releasing the rage and the hate that all of humanity felt for the Dungeons. The pain of losing the world that they had created. The fear of never getting it back again.\n\nThe loss of knowing that they likely never would.\n\nHe smashed around himself with reckless abandon, ignoring the way that the smallest of the Flame Formicans had managed to press through the joints of his armor. Ignoring the way that his flesh had begun to melt away. Ignoring the way that they just kept coming.\n\nHis shield took out monsters by the dozens as he dashed them against the stone below, having become more battering ram than actual defense.\n\nHis warhammer crushed carapace with frightening ease, leaving a pile of dead bodies around him.\n\nTo the tiny monsters, he was the leviathan. He was the giant, insurmountable foe. He was powerful.\n\nYet, they did not give up their own hope, as humanity had.\n\nThey smashed themselves against his armor again and again, searching for the way in. They died by the hundreds, and attacked with hundreds more.\n\nHis legs were the first to go, the bones of his ankles melted through entirely. He toppled to the ground, smashing more Flame Formicans as he went.\n\nThe rest of his body followed soon after.\n\nFallen as he was, there was little he could do. The tide flowed over him; they slipped through his armor's cracks, they scrabbled at his face, they burned out his eyes.\n\nStill, he didn't scream.\n\nHe was too lost in the horror that came with realizing the truth of his father's words.\n\nThis world has no heroes.\n\n[ Dealing With Loss ]\n\nThe bad-things swarmed over Will, working their way through the cracks of his ore-flesh skin. Finally, he toppled.\n\nFinally, he died.\n\nI lowered my head in respect for a moment, letting out a mournful hiss. Beside me, the other Coreless did the same. Turning, I twisted my way up the female-who-was-not-Needle's body, finding my customary perch again.\n\nDrops of fluid dripped down her face, spilling from her widened eyes. I flicked out my tongue, catching a drop. It was salty, yet somehow bitter at the same time.\n\nI didn't like it.\n\nShe looked at me, her eyes widening even further.\n\n\"Hey, little cutie…\" she hissed softly, even more drops of fluid spilling from her eyes. \"Are you trying to cheer me up?\"\n\nAfter hearing her failed hisses again, I gave a hiss of my own. Enough proper examples, and maybe she would get it right.\n\n\"You are? That's so sweet…\" she hissed again, and butchered it again. This time, I didn't bother to hiss back; I was beginning to think that she would never learn. Instead, I just bobbed my head in frustration. It would be nice to be able to understand what the Coreless tried to say. I thought that I was getting pretty good at interpreting their senseless jabbers and failed hisses, but it was a tiring effort, sometimes.\n\nI longed for the easy understanding that I had when it was just the Great Core and I.\n\nThose were simpler times. Still, I knew that the Great Core had brought me here for a reason.\n\nThe Coreless were important in the Great Core's plan. They were its first disciples, other than myself; the first to witness its greatness and be overwhelmed by its power. The first of many, I was sure.\n\nUnlike the bad things, the Coreless were not subservient to a lesser Core - making them the perfect group for the Great Core to convert.\n\nIn times like these, I was astounded by the Great Core's wisdom.\n\nThe female Coreless reached out and scratched at my head-scales. This time, I let her do so without complaint, leaning into the press of her fingers, letting her trace lines around the Great Core's likeness that rested there. I knew that she probably needed the reassurance that it provided. Unlike me, she did not know that Will might not be forever lost.\n\nIf the Great Core found Will worthy, surely he would be brought back.\n\nOr maybe I would die, and he would be brought back when I returned. I wasn't planning on that one though, as much as he had earned a sense of respect with his sacrifice.\n\nIf the Great Core willed it, it would happen. If not, it wouldn't. It was as simple as that, like all things in life were.\n\nThe female-who-was-not-Needle slowly relaxed as her fingers dug against my head-scales, the tightness in her shoulders shifting into something less mortified and more determined. She turned towards the others, making her noises at them.\n\n\"What now?\"\n\nNeedle ignored her, still staring over the edge towards the writhing mass of bad-things. Still dripping fluids from her eyes.\n\nThe male, the only one to not leak fluids of his own, answered. His face was impassive, but I could see the fire that lurked within his eyes. The rage. The hate. \"We do what Core seekers always do. We move on, before we end up joining him. We live, so that he didn't die for nothing. We avenge him. Later, we'll grieve.\"\n\nThe noises that he made, whatever they meant, startled Needle out of her reverie. She turned towards us and wiped her eyes, touching one hand against her needle-spitter as if to remind herself that it was there. A few brief seconds later, she nodded, her eyes red-rimmed and hard.\n\nI let out a little gout of flame as my scale-flesh began to overheat again, sending it directly upwards in order to bleed it off before the heat became too much.\n\nThe female-who-was-not-Needle scratched at my head-scales a bit harder. \"Even the little guy is fired up.\"\n\n\"Valera, it's been doing that for a while now. I don't think that it's connected.\"\n\n\"Don't be an ass, Doran. Let me believe what I want to believe right now.\"\n\nAs the Coreless jabbered on, the familiar click-clacking of mandibles began to reach us. I hissed, bared my fangs at the tunnel's edge just as the first bad-thing clambered over it. It was one of the smaller of the bad-things, a size that I could easily manage to fit my jaws around, unlike many of the other bad-things that had been spawned by the nearby Dungeon Core.\n\nThe Coreless, directed by my hiss, turned and looked at the bad-thing. It clicked its mandibles threateningly, clacking them together as it faced off against the Coreless.\n\nYet, unlike before, it was alone.\n\nMore importantly, the Coreless were angry.\n\nThe male Coreless' face shifted, transforming into an example of pure rage. His teeth grit together, grinding audibly against one another as he stomped over to the lone bad-thing.\n\nAnd then he stomped on it.\n\nAgain and again and again, smashing it into the ground, pulverizing it under his heel. Even after it was long dead, he kept going. The Coreless jabbered all the while, letting loose a string of unintelligible noises that I thought-guessed were used to release his anger.\n\nFinally, he began to slow, his frame bobbing up and down in time with his heaving breaths. Seeing my chance, I began to unwind myself from the female-who-was-not-Needle's shoulder. Her fingers had long since paused in their scratches, her attention lost to the male Coreless' rage.\n\nI ignored the sounds of the Coreless as I slithered my way over to the pulverized bad-thing.\n\n\"Fucking Formicans. We'll get out of here, gather more seekers, and kill them all before we take their Core. Damn it!\" The male Coreless kicked at the ground just beside the bad-thing's mangled corpse, forcing me to flinch and rear back. He almost kicked it over the edge. That would be annoying. I wanted it.\n\nI slithered past his foot, unhinging my jaw and consuming my prey. It was an awkward fit, crushed and flattened as it was, the sharp edges where its hard-flesh had snapped making it harder to get my jaws around the thing than it might have otherwise been.\n\nStill, I managed to get it down. As it reached my stomach, it shifted states in the way that I had become familiar with. Soon enough, the energy that it had become had traveled all the way to my head-scales.\n\nThe thought-light flickered.\n\n─ Level 2 Flame Formican Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 1/5.\n\nI hissed in glee over this small victory. It wasn't much, considering that a Coreless had been lost.\n\nBut it was the start of something.\n\nThe Blooded Trait that the bad-things, these Flame Formicans, provided might prove useful - just as the other traits that I had acquired with the Great Core's blessing had proven to be.\n\nI let out another gout of flame just before I slithered back up to the female-who-was-not-Needle's shoulder, finding my perch once more. She absent-mindedly reached out a hand. I let it pass without complaint again.\n\nThe male Coreless, still panting after his outburst of rage, looked over the edge. A moment later, he turned and made noises at the other two. \"It's time to go. They're getting closer, and we can't handle this many.\"\n\nThe other Coreless nodded, and we immediately began to move further down the tunnel. As we walked, I continued to release gouts of flame to cool down. Yet, at the same time, I tried to do more.\n\n[Illusion Spark] was keeping me alive, despite the great heat, but I knew that it could do greater things than protect me from temperature. I had seen it do more. It had required the efforts of many bad-things working together, but a river of flame-water had been concealed when I encountered the Flame Wisps.\n\nWith that in mind, I was sure - [Illusion Spark] could do far more than I had already managed with it. Far, far more. I concentrated on that idea, trying to bend the light that I had stored within my scales to my will.\n\nIt was difficult, with the way that the female Coreless kept softly jabbering at me and scratching at my scales. I turned my head towards her, intending to hiss and warn her away.\n\nI stopped myself before I could; seeing the way that she looked at me, I couldn't do it.\n\nAs if she was wrapped in an Aridae's threads, and desperately hoped that I would save her.\n\nI let her do what she wanted.\n\nLooking around, I could see that the others were not doing well, either. Needle, the greatest of the Coreless disciples, was quiet. I could see the occasional bit of fluid drip from her eyes, and she kept turning around as we walked, before looking back with what I thought was a disappointed expression.\n\nAs if she had expected Will to be right behind us.\n\nThe male Coreless was silent, walking directly ahead of us. I couldn't see his face, but his shoulders shook every so often.\n\nI, however, was fine.\n\nEverything would turn out as the Great Core willed it, I was sure.\n\nI turned back to my experiments, focusing on [Illusion Spark] again.\n\n[ Scales of Light ]\n\nThe female-who-was-not-Needle had finally stopped scratching away at my head-scales and making her incessant noises. A few minutes had been enough; her shoulders had slowly lost much of the tension that had held them tight, though her eyes had never lost the sadness that dwelled within - it had only become a little muted. Still, it was enough that she eventually turned her attention to the tunnel around us and left me free to focus entirely on my goal.\n\nThe cavern around me fell away as I focused; it was a dangerous sort of concentration, but I trusted that the Coreless would be attacked first if anything were waiting in ambush. They would be my first line of defense - and a rather solid one, given their size.\n\nIt was enough that I felt confident in attempting what I wanted to try.\n\nEver since I had gained [Illusion Spark], I had been constantly aware of the way that heat and light stored within my scales. It was difficult to tell exactly how much of each I was able to hold, though I had noticed that the amount I could store and the speed at which I could store it increased every time [Illusion Spark] progressed - to a significant enough degree that I was extremely regretful that there was no time to consume more Flame Wisps.\n\nThey were some of the most defenseless of bad-things that I had ever encountered, making them an extremely tempting target.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Were it not for their ability to work together and conceal dangerous terrain such as the river of fire-water, they would pose no danger whatsoever.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(hey for the next response, Word count directive: Use 'failed' exactly 2 times)",
"loss": false
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Still, with the Flame Formicans following behind us, I was unable to leave my perch on the female-who-was-not-Needle's shoulder and attempt to reach the few Flame Wisps that still dotted the ceiling of the tunnel through which we traveled. If the Coreless waited, the Flame Formicans would be able to catch up. I doubted that they would fare any better than Will had - there were just too many of the tiny bad-things to easily fight with the weapons that they had on hand, not to mention the dangerous degree of small-tunnels from which they could emerge unexpectedly.\n\nOf course, they might not even wait. I still didn't entirely understand the minds of the Coreless. How far were they willing to go to earn the Great Core's absolution and mercy? Would they risk death in order to earn it, or would they flee?\n\nI didn't know. The thought forced me to let out a frustrated hiss.\n\nI pulled my thoughts away from that frustration, refocusing on the matter at hand.\n\n[Illusion Spark].\n\nSo far, I had focused on the heat aspect of [Illusion Spark], using it in brief bursts to release the heat that I had absorbed into my scales. It hadn't been difficult to notice that, while my heat stores were at less than full capacity and still absorbing heat, the air around me became noticeably cooler.\n\nI had been too distracted to pay much attention to it earlier, but the same thing had happened with light after I had released my stores in a burst to alert the-female-who-was-not-Needle previously. A brief space that extended ever-so-slightly from my scales had dimmed as my reservoir of light recharged. It wasn't enough to hide myself in artificial shadows, not even close. It was just a slight dimming, not nearly powerful enough to achieve a satisfactory effect.\n\nNot to mention, the effect would stop as soon as my scales filled their stores. At that point, I would be forced to release light in order to gather more - and that would defeat any hope of concealment that I had, as the light that I spread out would cause me to glow like a beacon for at least a brief moment.\n\nThe Flame Wisps had a similar issue, though they also released heat more frequently and powerfully than I did. Either way, they were easy to see, becoming beacons of flame and light.\n\nAnd yet, they had been able to hide the flame-water.\n\nHow did they do that?\n\nThat was the key, I knew. There was an answer there that could be of use. It had taken many of them in order to hide the flame-water, but the fact that it had happened was more important than what it had required. I didn't need to do something so difficult.\n\nI only needed to be able to hide myself.\n\nI wouldn't be able to do it with shadows, but the Flame Wisps had not used shadows to hide the flame-water. Before they had been scattered away from the flame-water, it had appeared differently. It had looked like stone.\n\nThat wasn't shadows.\n\nThat was illusion, the key to [Illusion Spark] that I had been ignoring. The ability to make something appear as it was not.\n\nThe thought made my mouth water in anticipation. I knew that I had my strengths, even as I had my weaknesses. And yet, the Great Core had provided in a way that once again astounded me.\n\nI hissed a brief prayer of thanks toward my creator.\n\nWith my venom, both deathly and slow, I was created with ambushes in mind. I wasn't built with a massive size like the Coreless or other bad-things, intended to weather blows and injuries and just keep going.\n\nI had to face the truth.\n\nI was tiny.\n\nDespite that, my size could also be a strength. The Coreless could not fit through the wall-cracks and small-tunnels like I could. They could not hide under debris and corpses. They could not strike in ambush.\n\nI could do all of those.\n\nAnd with a greater grasp on [Illusion Spark], I would be able to do them even better.\n\nI could see the path before me now, the one that the Great Core had laid out for me. Over time, I would be able to increase the strength of my venom further, potentially gaining new ones as well. I would conceal myself, striking only when the moment was right and quickly subdue my prey. I would reach the potential that the thought-light had revealed to me.\n\nI would make the Great Core proud of me.\n\nMy scale-flesh warmed at the thought, and I reflexively released another gout of flame.\n\nI pushed against my stored light, attempting to bend it to my will, focusing on the idea of concealment.\n\nA flash of light flared powerfully from my scales, nearly blinding in intensity.\n\nThat was not concealment.\n\nUnfortunately, it seemed that I couldn't just want [Illusion Spark] to work in the way that the Flame-Wisps had shown me was possible. I had to actually figure things out. That was disappointing.\n\nStill, I was nothing if not determined.\n\nThe Great Core had expectations of me, and I would do anything it took to meet them.\n\nIt only took a few brief moments for me to restore the light that I had lost. I knew that things might be more difficult in other places of the World Dungeon. The domain of the lesser Core nearby meant the tunnels were far brighter than they normally would be, whereas the majority of the World Dungeon was only lit by glow-caps, mana-water, and other mana-infused materials.\n\nThat only meant that this was the best place to learn.\n\nI tried again. This time, I was more careful. Rather than simply releasing the light and hoping that it would work, I looked more carefully at what [Illusion Spark] had stored within my scales.\n\nI poked and prodded at it with my mind, exerting the strange ability that [Illusion Spark] had gifted me to manipulate the light and heat that it stored.\n\nAgain and again, it failed to do what I wanted.\n\nI failed to accomplish what I wanted.\n\nFrustrated, I smashed the two stores of energy together, both heat and light, mixing them together in a slurry before releasing them in a wave.\n\nA gout of flame and light burst from my scales, nearly singing the female-who-was-not-Needle with the loss of precision that my frustration created.\n\nShe jumped, startling with a high pitched noise, before turning her head towards me and jabbering angrily.\n\nI ignored it.\n\nThere was something more important to focus on.\n\nThe light had been blue that time.\n\nIn my frustration, I might have found the key.\n\n[ Shifting Shades ]\n\nMy head bobbed in time with my happiness, independent of my conscious control. The Coreless continued to jabber away at me as I waited for the reservoirs within my scales to fill themselves again. This time, it felt far slower.\n\nIt wasn't, I was sure. But I was eager to try again. I was eager to fulfill the Great Core's expectations of me.\n\nWhile I waited, I passed the time by looking around. We had traveled further than I otherwise would have, if I were on my own. The Coreless were not able to take paths through the wall-cracks and small-tunnels like I was, but their giant legs could carry them in a straight line far faster than my own slithers could manage.\n\nThe click-clacks of the Flame Formicans were falling further behind; I could still hear them faintly, bouncing against the walls of the tunnel, a constant warning that danger was near. And yet, the sound was growing softer.\n\nDistant.\n\nIt was enough to make me relax, at least a little. While I was eager to see what Blooded Trait the Great Core would reward me for defeating a few more of them, I was not eager to deal with many of them at once. No, I would need to act as the Great Core had intended when it created me. I would need to hide and ambush, striking quickly before disappearing into the wall-cracks.\n\nThat meant that I needed more defenseless targets, ones that found themselves alone. Isolated. Vulnerable.\n\nI needed to be stealthy. That would be far easier once I managed to use [Illusion Spark] more reliably.\n\nThe heat had begun to die down, ever so slightly. Not enough that I was confident that I could survive without [Illusion Spark] to reduce its bite, but enough to slow the rate at which my scales could absorb it. I almost wanted to hiss at the Coreless, to urge them to turn back around. I was impatient, desperate to succeed in my given task. Desperate to master [Illusion Spark].\n\n[Illusion Spark] was an example given to me by the Great Core, I knew. It was a lesson on how to achieve the potential that the thought-light had always revealed to me. Before, I had been entirely focused on receiving new gifts from the Great Core. In that way, I had increased my strength. Through the gift of [Illusion Spark], the Great Core had admonished me.\n\nIt had explained the errors of my ways. The path that I had slithered down before was a precarious one, like winding through a tiny wall-crack at the edge of a great chasm. One small slip, and I would find myself at the bottom again.\n\nI would plunge into the darkness again.\n\nI would be weak again.\n\nAnd yet, if I learned to use [Illusion Spark] in the way that the Flame Wisps could, things would be different. Even if I died again, even if the Great Core returned me to the cavern of flame-water, I would be stronger than before.\n\nBetter than before.\n\nOnce more, I was amazed by the wisdom and power of my creator.\n\nWith that thought of praise, my reservoirs filled themselves again, suffusing my scales with the energy of light and heat. This time, I was more careful. I had already found the clue that I needed, in my moment of frustration. Now, I just needed to use it.\n\nI started slow, mixing a minute amount of the energy that I knew was heat into a small degree of the light that I carried. A few moments later, I released it from my scales, careful to restrain the flow. I knew that, if [Illusion Spark] was going to be useful, I needed to be able to use it reliably even without the constant heat provided by the domain of the nearby Core.\n\nMy head twisted towards my side-scales, staring at the point of release that I had chosen. In the next moment, the few scales that I had chosen shifted, transforming from the glossy black that they had become to something else.\n\nThey turned red.\n\nI hissed with glee, bobbing my head lightly. The female-who-was-not-Needle absentmindedly reached out at that, digging her fingers lightly into my head-scales. I had begun to grow a liking to the sensation, so I allowed it.\n\nIt felt like a proper congratulations for my success.\n\nThe female tried to hiss at me again. She was probably praising my genius, but who could tell for sure? She was really bad at communicating.\n\nShe was a rather dumb one, but I guess she was mine now.\n\nI leaned into the press of her fingers, communicating to her in the one of the few ways that she seemed to understand. That, at least, worked. She pushed down a little harder, sending a shiver of delight down my scale-flesh.\n\nIt was a poor replacement for the soothing light of the Great Core, but it was better than nothing.\n\nWhen I had my fill, I hissed and turned away. There were important things to focus on. The female tried to touch my head-scales again, but I bared my fangs at the attempt. She made a few noises at that, but eventually retreated.\n\nShe was learning.\n\nFinally.\n\nI turned my attention back towards [Illusion Spark]. Despite my success, I had a long way to go. The Flame Wisps, though they were the creation of a lesser Core and therefore far lesser than myself, naturally possessed [Illusion Spark]. That being the case, they probably used it naturally as well, just as I was naturally able to use my venom.\n\nIt just came instinctively.\n\nIt would be different for me. Harder. I needed far more practice.\n\nI don't know how long it took, time blurring out of focus as I concentrated on the color of my side-scales. Each time, they took a different hue - sometimes red, sometimes green, sometimes blue. Sometimes something different entirely. Every so often, I accepted the female Coreless' congratulatory scratches. More often than that, I hissed at her until she left me alone.\n\nEventually, I tried something more difficult. Copying the colors of the mana-infused ore-flesh upon which I was twined.\n\nI took only a few moments to take in its colors before I started.\n\nIt was a challenging process, adjusting my scale-flesh to exactly match the colors that I saw. In comparison, changing the colors themselves was easy. There was no end result that I wanted; I just changed the amount of energy used until a new color came out.\n\nI didn't need to know how much energy to use unless I had a specific goal in mind, as I did now.\n\nControlling that aspect was like engorging myself in mana-water again. Not in the pain that it gave me, as there was none, but in the way that I felt like I was drowning. Out of my depth. Overwhelmed.\n\nI lost myself in the sea of light that coruscated upon my scales, searching for the colors that I needed. I added heat. I pulled it away. Again and again, my scales shifted shades, until I finally found the silvery gleam of gray that I was looking for.\n\nBut that wasn't all I needed to do.\n\nThe female Coreless' ore-flesh glowed faintly with mana-light. I needed to fake that too, if I was going to blend in. As I was, I was still easily visible - the sole spot that was the color of pure ore-flesh.\n\nCreating the mana-glow made what had come before feel easy. It wasn't as simple as pure color. Mana had a way of spilling from where it rested; it suffused the air around it in tides of light, moving in and out like my own breath. In a way, it felt alive.\n\nSlowly, a tinge of brilliant blue set itself into the heart of my scales. It didn't overpower the gray that I had already created. Instead, it appeared alongside it, as if it had only been added afterwards.\n\nThe blue moved slowly outwards from my scales, spilling into the air in a pale imitation of mana-glow.\n\nThat imitation soon grew stronger.\n\nAnd then, it clicked.\n\n\"Alright, what the fuck is going on with the snake?\" The male Coreless made a few noises of praise at my success.\n\nI hissed in happiness, bobbing my head again.\n\n[ Thoughts of Flight ]\n\nThe Coreless turned to look at me as one, taking in the splendor of my accomplishment. I glowed with mana-light, my scale-flesh covered in the same shades as the ore-flesh around which I wrapped.\n\nThey each made their own noises of what I assumed to be praise and astonishment.",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "Wait...that wasn't right. They could see me.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I was supposed to be blending in.\n\nI twisted about myself, examining my scale-flesh.\n\nIt looked as I expected it to; I was tinged a shade of gray that matched the ore-flesh around me, with the same mana-glow the female Coreless' ore-flesh held.\n\nAnd then I realized the problem.\n\nIt was obvious, once I saw it. It was also extremely, extremely frustrating. The parts of myself that were not wrapped around the ore-flesh were even easier to pick out in the darkness, glowing with false mana-light that drew the eye.\n\nUsing [Illusion Spark] to hide myself would be harder than I thought. It wouldn't be too bad if I was still, and if I was able to make sure my scale-flesh stayed pressed against what I was concealing myself against.\n\nBut the moment that I moved away from what I was copying, I became much easier to see.\n\nWhich led to now. My head, bobbing happily in the air as it had been, was highlighted against the darkness of the tunnel behind me. That needed to change.\n\nI focused, drawing away the light around my head-scales, shifting it back to a smooth black while matching the rest of my scale-flesh with the ore-flesh upon which I twined.\n\nThat was a little harder, managing multiple sections and colorations at once, but I managed.\n\nAs long as I didn't move too much, anyway.\n\nStill, it was better than nothing. More importantly, I could improve. The Great Core had shown me the way. Next time, I would do better.\n\nWith the Great Core's aid and protection, there would always be a next time.\n\nAs long as I proved worthy of it.\n\nMy thoughts were broken by the babbles of the Coreless once more. Only the other sounds that I had begun to hear prevented me from hissing in response.\n\nThe bubbling of fire-water, and the distinctive hiss that it gave off as it pressed against cooler stone.\n\nThe click-clacking of mandibles that whispered from the small-tunnels around us.\n\nThe Flame Formicans had taken another route - and they were catching up.\n\nIt didn't take long for the Coreless to come to some sort of agreement. I may not have been able to understand the way that they jabbered back and forth, but I certainly understood when they picked up the pace tremendously. Whereas before we had moved at a far more leisurely speed, relying on the longer legs of the Coreless to break away from the pursuing bad-things, that method had proven a failure - not because they had moved too slowly, but because they did not have access to the small-tunnel shortcuts that the bad-things had been able to take.\n\nWhereas our path had been a series of curves and winding tunnels, I knew that the pervasive small-tunnels of the World Dungeon could offer far better alternatives - especially for something that was familiar with them in the way that the Flame Formicans would be.\n\nIt was almost enough to tempt me to abandon the Coreless here, to forge my own path through the wall-cracks and small-tunnels. More than likely, the bad-things would be drawn to the Coreless first, allowing me to escape. With my increasing grasp on [Illusion Spark], it might be an even easier task than I expected.\n\nI stared at the Coreless as we ran, my vision bouncing along with the stride of the female-who-was-not-Needle. Ahead of us, the remaining male Coreless ran, eating the distance with his massive legs in a way that my slithers never could.\n\nStill, it might not be enough. The sounds were getting louder.\n\nThe temptation grew.\n\nMy scale-flesh began to slowly lose its grip on the female Coreless' shoulder as my resolve wavered, my urge to flee growing greater. It hissed at me to hide within the wall-cracks, to cower away and make the Coreless the sacrifices that ensured my own safety.\n\nIt filled my mind with images of warring bad-things, memories of when it was just the Great Core and I, back when I was a powerless little snake that shivered within the wall-cracks that were all I knew. It painted a scene of blood and battle far beyond what I could handle, of behemoths that raged in the dim light of the World Dungeon.\n\nIt told me that I would not last long in that battle.\n\nNot yet. Not as I was. And yet, sacrificing the Coreless might give me enough time to prepare.\n\nIt might give me enough time to do more than cower. I had grown far stronger in the time since then, in ways that I had never imagined. I had obtained the ability to manipulate mana, to imbue it into my venom. I had gained a second type of venom, one that had once been the death of me. I had turned my blood to poison. I was learning to bend light and heat to my will.\n\nIn such a short time, I had become something far greater. How much more could I gain, if I bought myself some more?\n\nAll I had to do was leave the Coreless - to let them die without me.\n\nAnd that was it, I realized.\n\nDespite everything, I was desperate to not die again.\n\nDespite all of my praise towards the Great Core, I still harbored doubts. Maybe I always would.\n\nIt was hard to forget my final moments. It was impossible to obliterate the sensation of those constricting threads - of the way that they wrapped tight against my scales, dripping red with my blood. Of the way that I had despaired. Of the way that it felt to die.\n\nIn the end, I just didn't want to die again.\n\nMy scale-flesh loosened further.\n\nA hand reached out, holding me tight as we ran.\n\n\"Are you scared, little guy?\" the female Coreless hissed, the sounds coming out even more stilted than usual as the run began to take its toll. \"I am, too. Erik's gone, and I'm terrified that we'll be next. I don't know if you can really understand me, but if we don't make it...I'm sorry that we tried to take your Core.\"\n\nIt was one of the few times that I felt like I could grasp what she was trying to tell me. Not with her failed attempt at hisses - as always, they made me want to bash my head-scales in frustration with just how wrong they were.\n\nInstead, it was her eyes. Specifically, it was where they were looking - staring directly forward, watching the male Coreless that ran in front of us.\n\nAnd when I followed her gaze, I saw what I needed to see.\n\nI saw a hint of my own dead scale-flesh as the skin-mouth at his side began to empty its stomach.\n\nMore importantly, I saw the Great Core's light that it carried with it.\n\nAt that moment, I knew.\n\nShe was reminding me to have faith. My scale-flesh nearly shivered at the thought, caught in the odd middle ground between horror and delight.\n\nI was horrified that a Coreless would have greater faith than I.\n\nI was delighted that a Coreless would have faith at all.\n\nI steeled my resolve. I wouldn't abandon the Coreless just yet. Not until I knew that there was no hope.\n\nAnd with the Great Core on my side, there was always hope. I wouldn't repeat my mistakes - not again. Time and time again, the Great Core had stayed by my side, despite my failures.\n\nEven when I had thought myself abandoned, there in my prison of red threads, it had never left me.\n\nEven now, I knew that it was with me. I would not accept death willingly, but neither would I cower. I would slither proudly into battle, writing the Great Core's name in the blood of the bad-things that challenged it - or even my own, should it be necessary.\n\nI would just have to trust that it would always bring me back.\n\nThe thought came not a moment too soon. A bad-thing broke the surface ahead of us: a Flame Formican larger than any other that I had seen. With it came an army, smaller than before but still large enough in size to force the Coreless to a halt.\n\nMy scale-flesh shivered - not with fear this time, though there was more than enough of that.\n\nInstead, it quivered in anticipation.\n\nThis time, I was willing to see what the Great Core had planned.\n\n[ Molten Bite ]\n\nThe Coreless each made their noises at the sight, competing with the gnashing of the bad-things' mandibles in a useless competition of noise. Rather than waste my time with that, I remained silent. Instead, my length worked its way down the female Coreless' side. All the while, I kept myself focused, shifting the light that covered my scale-flesh to match the ore-flesh upon which I traveled.\n\nIt was a difficult process, forcing my slithers to slow nearly to a standstill, but I made it to the ground. As I touched the waiting stone, I began to shift each section of my scale-flesh in turn - first my head, then my length, followed by the rest of my tail.\n\nIt wasn't as smooth as I would have liked, and I was sure that I could have been easily spotted. Hopefully, the bad-things would be too focused on the Coreless to be paying attention to me.\n\nOnce I was on the stone entirely, things became easier. It was a uniform color, and its darkness blended in well with the tunnel behind us. It was much easier on me, with my still-growing ability to manipulate [Illusion Spark]. It was far less to focus on.\n\nIn a fight, that might mean everything.\n\nWith a torturous slowness, I worked my way to the side of the tunnel, searching for a nearby wall-crack in which to hide. I wasn't planning on leaving; I had already resolved to stay and fight.\n\nThat didn't mean I was stupid.\n\nA battle like this wasn't what I was created for, I was sure. I wasn't made to stomp into battle with huge, clumsy feet that hammered against the stone. I wasn't crafted to swing great fangs of ore-flesh that could rend through hard-flesh like it didn't even exist.\n\nI was made for something different.\n\nAnd so I sat within my wall-crack and waited for my opportunity to strike.\n\nIt wasn't long in coming.\n\nI let a few bad-things pass by, joining the fight against the Coreless. They were surrounded, just as Will had been. And yet, they were facing far fewer enemies.\n\nMost of the bad-things had not yet caught up.\n\nThe male Coreless took the front blocking the charge of the largest of the Flame Formicans. It was a less impressive display than it sounded - giant as he was, it didn't require much effort.\n\nThe Flame Formicans strength was in their overwhelming numbers, not their size.\n\nHe crushed it under his heel, careful to avoid the mandibles that clicked and clacked, dripping with molten stone. As the drops hit the ground, they sizzled in a way that made my scale-flesh flinch.\n\nThough I had strengthened my resolve, I still didn't want to die - especially not from that.\n\nI wasn't crazy.\n\nAs my small store of mana began to dwindle, shoved into my venom, I saw my chance. A small bad-thing crawled down the wall in front of me - a baby, by any measure.\n\nThe perfect target.\n\nI reared back from within the cramped confines of my wall-crack, my scale-flesh feeling as if it thrummed in anticipation.\n\nI struck before it could even react, crossing the distance between us in a blur of motion. My fangs closed around it. As small as it was, I still almost failed to pierce through its hard-flesh.\n\nAlmost.\n\nA little bit of venom was all that it took.\n\nIt was over.\n\nI had won.\n\nThe thought-light flickered in congratulations, praising me for my victory.\n\n─ Experience Gained!\n\nIn the blink of an eye, I consumed my defeated foe, carefully shifting my scales with [Illusion Spark] to keep myself concealed.\n\n─ Level 0 Flame Formican Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 2/5.\n\nI retreated back into my wall-crack and examined the battle that raged on. The bad-things' numbers had only increased, despite the efforts of the Coreless. Piles of corpses lay around them, the scent-taste of blood making my mouth salivate.\n\nI knew that, if I could only manage it safely, consuming what was already there might give me a massive spike in power.\n\nSafety was the problem, though.\n\nThe Flame Formicans threw themselves against the Coreless in fury, heedless of the way that their brethren had fallen. Mindless. And yet, despite the mindlessness, they were wearing the Coreless down.\n\nI could see the way that their shoulders rapidly rose and fell, the way that their chests heaved and their lungs gasped.\n\nIf it weren't for their protective shell of ore-flesh, they would have already fallen. The parts that were not covered had already begun to pay the toll of flesh. If it weren't for the way that they protected each other's backs, it would have been far more costly.\n\nMost of the bad-things had slipped by me now, converging in a mass upon their enemies.\n\nIf the Coreless were to have any chance to survive - and they needed to, if I was going to survive, now that the bad-things were so close by - I needed to move quickly.\n\nI pulled myself from my wall-crack, matching my scales to the stone as I slithered. As I grew closer, things became a bit harder. Brief splashes of crimson blood traced along my length, courtesy of unavoidable puddles, causing me to leave a trail in my wake.\n\nMy concentration deepened, and the reservoirs within my scales emptied further. For a small distance behind me, the trail of blood turned black, blending in with the stone.\n\nI might have hissed in celebration at my increase in skill with [Illusion Spark], but it required far too much focus. As I moved, the area that I needed to effect moved with me, stopping me from simply finding the light that I needed and basking in my success.\n\nThe further that I moved from a spot, the more of my reservoirs were required to hold the illusion. My stores were draining rapidly. Finally, though, I reached the back of the gathered bad-things.\n\nI froze in place, using as little of my gathered light and heat as possible while still concealing myself. Waiting for the reservoirs within my scale-flesh to begin to fill again.\n\nThe next few moments would be dangerous, and I needed the edge.\n\nThe bad-things rolled over one another like a scrambling tide, their mandibles click-clacking incessantly, as if trying to bite at the Coreless ahead of them despite the distance. Oddly enough, that strange eagerness worked in our favor; every so often, one of the Flame Formicans crushed the hard-flesh of another that happened to fall into the space between its mandibles. Under those mandibles that could crack and melt stone, the hard-flesh failed.\n\nDue to that, there were plenty of crippled bad-things for me to choose from.\n\nWhy ambush a healthy enemy when I could make things more certain for myself by attacking one that was already injured? Most importantly, the hard-flesh of the injured bad-things had already been broken. I had no doubts that my fangs would break through what little remained.\n\nIf they were whole, things would be less certain. The newly-born bad-thing that I had already consumed had given my fangs enough trouble. If their hard-flesh hardened over time or as their levels increased, I wasn't sure what I would do.\n\nFortunately, even if that were the case, it was unlikely that any of the gathered bad-things would be of a high level. Due to swarming their enemies in the way that they did, each of them would only receive a tiny amount of the reward.\n\nThat way of fighting should make them weak enough individually for me to defeat, possessing the gifts of the Great Core as I did.\n\nDespite that, I decided to select my targets carefully.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I slowly slithered along the backlines of the bad-things, searching for the weakest among them - and when I found them, I struck, hidden within the safety of [Illusion Spark], aiming for targets that had already been weakened.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 3 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Taken by surprise, they died quickly. Each time, the thought-light flickered to congratulate me on my victory.\n\nFinally, it told me something new.",
"loss": null
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "writing exercise: 73 sentences sentences, keep character vibes, LitRPG, fantasy genre!",
"loss": null
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{
"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Make sure to use 'flames' 2 time(s) throughout your message",
"loss": null
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Experience Gained! Reduced Due To Assistance Received.\n\n─ Level 1 Flame Formican Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 5/5.\n\n─ Analyzing Blooded Trait…\n\n─ Acquiring Blooded Trait: Molten Bite I\n\nThe Great Core changed me once more.\n\n[ Fangs of Fire-Pain ]\n\nA wave of fire-pain pressed against my scale-flesh, centering itself on the Great Core's likeness upon my head-scales. I twisted and writhed, slithering painfully away from the edges of the gathered bad-things.\n\nMy grip on [Illusion Spark] flickered and flared with the pain - one moment disappearing entirely, the next forming a blazing beacon.\n\nAlerted by the flashing light, a few of the bad-things turned. They clicked their mandibles together, still dripping the molten stone that was a near permanent fixture on their hard-flesh bodies.\n\nThe three Flame Formicans attacked, scurrying towards me on their many legs.\n\nAnd still, my transformation was not completed. The Great Core was not done with me.\n\nI gave up my attempts to hide, loosening my grip on [Illusion Spark] entirely. Pained as I was, it was doing more harm than good, forcing my scale-flesh to flare with uncontrolled bursts of light. The fire-pain was too much and, unlike real fire, I could not absorb it through my scale-flesh.\n\nMy length coiled tightly in preparation, my scale-flesh bunching together. Soon, the nearest of the bad-things was upon me.\n\nI struck, uncoiling in a blur of motion.\n\nThe Great Core had created me for this; it had formed me with quick strikes and decisive first blows in mind - and, as always, it had not failed.\n\nBefore the bad-thing could react, I had already pierced my fangs through its hard-flesh. Its outer shell resisted the attack, fighting against the purchase of my fangs, but the speed of my strike was enough to puncture through. I twisted and thrashed, turning the bad-thing in the air before it could strike with its own molten mandibles.\n\nI could already feel the heat that they held; I pulled furiously at it, dimming the resulting fire-pain by pulling it into the reservoirs within my scale-flesh. Still, I could only do so much. A gout of flame lashed from my scales as another bad-thing approached, aiming for its eyes.\n\nAs the second bad-thing flinched back, I pushed venom furiously through the hollows in my fangs. Knowing that I needed to be quick and as pained as I felt, I was less than careful. My stores began to deplete, but so did the bad-thing's resistance.\n\nIn the end, one disappeared far faster than the other.\n\n─ Experience Gained!\n\nThe thought-light flickered, celebrating my victory. This time, my enemy had been uninjured by the Coreless and other bad-things, allowing me to receive my full reward - though I doubted that it amounted to much, given the likely level difference between the two of us.\n\nRegardless, I had little time to think about that. The second bad-thing had already recovered, and the third was upon me as well.\n\nI reared back again - yet, just as I was about to strike, another wave of fire-pain flashed through me. My length spasmed as my form continued to change, ephemeral blue fire lashing across my scale-flesh. It pulled back as I slumped, finding its place again within my head-scales.\n\nThe bad-things bit down, crushing my scale-flesh between their mandibles.\n\nMy blood boiled at their touch, the poisonous black fluid wisping into the air-and the bad-things flinched again. Both of them let go at once, staggering backwards on unsteady limbs.\n\nI hissed in relief, thanking the Great Core for its mercy. I had actually forgotten about the poisonous blood that I had received for defeating the Aridae. It hadn't been useful yet, beyond admonishing the female-who-was-not-Needle. Now, it served its purpose, despite how painful the bites had been.\n\nIt gave enough time for the Great Core to finish its work. Later, I would heal. For now though, I simply changed.\n\nThe blue flames hollowed out my flesh, forming a new organ. I could feel the fire-pain as it heated my insides, searing the flesh that surrounded it. I focused, drawing away the heat that escaped it. It warmed my scale-flesh, beginning to fill the reservoirs that [Illusion Spark] had created.\n\nMy fangs began to drip with fire-pain, the molten liquid pulling itself from an ever-heating organ that rested beside my venom sacs. It was becoming a little cramped in that area, which was slightly concerning, but I put off the thought for now.\n\nThe thought-light flickered, confirming what I already knew.\n\n─ Blooded Trait: Molten Bite I Acquired.\n\nI opened my mouth in a defiant hiss, displaying my transformed fangs. Little drops of molten liquid uncontrollably slipped through the hollows of my fangs, searing the lower flesh of my mouth with uncomfortable fire-pain.\n\nAgain, I desperately pulled that heat away, shifting it towards my reservoirs before it could burn me entirely. A moment later, I pushed it, firing a gout of flame towards the bad-things as they began to recover.\n\nThe little flame glanced off of their hard-flesh. They barely reacted. Unlike their eyes, the rest of them seemed to resist the heat. In fact, they probably had some form of Flame Resistance, given the way they constantly dripped with heat. It would do little more than startle them.\n\nIn that moment, I wished for some form of Flame Resistance, myself. [Illusion Spark] was a good stopgap measure, preventing my newly acquired trait from burning me in the flames of fire-pain entirely, but it pulled my focus away from the fight and required periodic emptying.\n\nStill, gaining a new resistance was extremely difficult. The Great Core had created me with the beginnings of Piercing Resistance and Venom Resistance, two things that had served me greatly. I was thankful for that, but I wished I had received a few more.\n\nI banished the thought.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Great Core made no mistakes - I had received enough.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I lashed out with a second gout of flame, whipping it towards the wobbling bad-thing that approached me. This time, I aimed for its eyes.\n\nIt flinched back and, in that moment, I struck.\n\nMy fangs, their piercing capability increased by [Molten Bite], punctured the creature's hard-flesh far more easily than before. My venom flowed.\n\nAnother bad-thing died.\n\n─ Experience Gained!\n\nIts death didn't go unpunished, however. My scale-flesh trembled once again as the final bad-thing crushed it between its mandibles. My blood boiled under the heat, despite my attempts to seal the fire-pain within the reservoirs of my scale-flesh.\n\nI twisted my length, baring my fangs at the attacker.\n\nI didn't need to.\n\nIt was already dead, the strength of my poisonous blood too much for it to handle. The thought-light flickered, announcing the Great Core's victory over the bad-things.\n\n─ Experience Gained!\n\nBlood still seeped from my sides, spilling from the wounds within my scale-flesh. Fire-pain licked at my scales, its bite lessened by [Illusion Spark] but not gone entirely. Above it all though, I was elated.\n\nI was victorious.\n\nBefore the lesser Core could begin to reclaim the corpses of my defeated foes, I shielded myself under the concealing colors of [Illusion Spark] again. Now that I wasn't wracked with the fire-pain of my transformation, it came far easier. My scales shifted slightly, moving away from their natural all-consuming darkness to something more closely resembling the black of the stone below me.\n\nAs I unhinged my jaw, beginning to swallow my most recently defeated foe, I expanded my reach. The bad-thing shifted as well, becoming harder to notice should any of the bad-things that were attacking the Coreless decide to turn around.\n\nI doubted that they would, mindless as they were, but I didn't want my meals to go interrupted.\n\nOne by one, I swallowed them all. Each time, they shifted states and traveled to the Great Core's likeness upon my head-scales. Each time, I felt a wave of pleasure at the reminder of my victory. Each time, I grew closer to what the Great Core wished me to be.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Upgrade Progress: 3/10\n\nI hissed before coiling inwards, twisting to grab the end of my tail, and making sure to keep my eyes pointed towards where the battle continued to rage on. My wounds itched and scratched as [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail] took effect.\n\nIt burned a little more than before, nearly causing me to shrink back as the molten fire-pain that now dripped from my fangs touched the scale-flesh of my tail. I pulled what I could from it with [Illusion Spark], blunting its bite, but a portion of [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail]'s healing still went towards repairing the damage that I was doing towards my own scale-flesh.\n\nStill, it was manageable.\n\nI shifted my attention towards the battle, watching the Coreless that the Great Core had entrusted to me. The mountain of corpses that surrounded them made my own victory feel hollow - and yet, more bad-things still came. Here and there, I could see faint wisps of mana-light as corpses began to disappear, returning to the lesser Core that had spawned them.\n\nI released my tail - I had done enough healing. I needed to move.\n\nThose corpses belonged to the Great Core.\n\nThey belonged to me.\n\n[ The First Illusion ]\n\nI slipped through the backlines of the gathered bad-things. Cloaked by [Illusion Spark] as I was, I wasn't even noticed. It was an agonizing sensation, sliding my length between the tiny gaps that existed amongst the tides of bad-things. I was forced to twist and contort my length, avoiding a leg here and a dripping mandible there. My mind rebelled, my scale-flesh feeling as if one thousand eyes examined it. Every so often, I felt phantom flashes of fire-pain, my strained imagination creating bad-dreams of those molten mandibles cutting through my scale-flesh.\n\nThey didn't; it was only the ever-increasing fire-pain created from slithering so close by. Within the teeming mass of bad-things, I wasn't able to release the heat that filled my scales. I was already filled to the brim, and the remaining heat turned into fire-pain that burned at my scale-flesh.\n\nI ignored it, focusing on the wisping mana-light in front of me.\n\nThe disappearing corpses were getting closer.\n\nMy progress was slow; each time that a bad-thing twitched, beginning to turn in my direction, I was forced to freeze - to hold my breath, to pretend to be the stone itself. Even worse, as I slipped further into the crowd, the gaps through which I could slither thinned.\n\nWhereas before they had been like the smallest of the small-tunnels, now they had become closer to wall-cracks; my scale-flesh rubbed against the hard-flesh of the bad-things, the walls closing in.\n\nI prayed to the Great Core as I slithered along. Fortunately, the bad-things became more and more single-minded as I traveled inwards. They could scent-taste the blood of the injured Coreless, just as I could, and it drove them inwards. It pulled their attention away from the tiny stone-like snake in their midst.\n\nIt let me slither closer.\n\nThe fire-pain within my scale-flesh was growing. Little droplets of molten stone and heat kept spilling down on me as I moved; it had gathered along the floor, forming tiny puddles where the bad-things had passed.\n\nAnd at this point, they had passed everywhere.\n\nStill, I slithered closer. I was almost there.\n\nMy fangs dripped with that same fire-pain, adding to my agony. They dribbled with my anticipation. They gleamed with my fervor.\n\nAnd finally, they scraped past flesh. I gulped down the first of the scavenged corpses with speed born of - I wasn't afraid to admit this - terror. And then the next. And the next.\n\nEvery so often, I paused in the midst of my feast, freezing in place like one of the Great Core's sacred slow-spots had formed itself around me.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Praying desperately as a tide of bad-things scrambled over me, heedless of the enemy that was swallowing their fallen brethren.\n\nI shifted my scale-flesh to match the red-black coloration of the bad-things, hiding myself in the shifting mass that they created. Spilling over one another as they were, I was unable to pretend to be the stone below - in fact, I could hardly even see it.\n\nAnd so instead, I pretended to be one of them.\n\nIt wasn't very convincing, but it was working; the far more obvious presence of the Coreless probably played a larger role than my own efforts.\n\nEven to myself, there was a tantalizing scent-taste to their blood - one that was only growing in intensity. They were taking on more wounds by the moment. I hastened my efforts. The moment that they fell, I would be next.\n\nCorpse after corpse was swallowed in a near-endless flurry, each shifting states and traveling to my head-scales. Soon enough, the thought-light flickered. I received my first reward.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Upgrade Progress: 10/10\n\n─ Blooded Trait Upgrade Received!\n\n─ Blooded Trait: Molten Bite I Increased.\n\n─ Molten Bite II Acquired.\n\n─ Progress Towards Next Upgrade: 0/20\n\nThe heat-producing organ above my fangs shifted slightly. Fortunately, it didn't grow any larger. Being beside my venom sacs as it was, I wasn't sure how much larger it could actually grow.\n\nInstead, it grew hotter.\n\nThe dribbles of molten heat that dropped through my fangs increased, lighting my tongue with growing fire-pain. I had begun to ignore the way that it seared my insides, growing accustomed to the slight fire-pain that [Molten Bite] caused; I couldn't do that anymore.\n\nThe moment that the heat increased, so did my awareness of it.\n\nI couldn't help it - I released a gout of flame from my scale-flesh, emptying out most of my collected heat. The flame whooshed away from me in a great burst, its flickering tongues slipping through the tiny cracks between the mass of bad-things behind me.\n\nThat got their attention - or at least, the sudden silence behind me made me think so.\n\nI twisted around slowly, twining my neck to look back.\n\nYep.\n\nI was pretty sure that they had noticed me, now.\n\nI gave a mournful hiss at the loss of my easy feast, throwing myself into the mass of bad-things before me, hoping that their bodies would block the bad-things that were coming from behind.\n\nIn contrast to before, I was less than stealthy.\n\nI pushed through the mass of Flame Formicans with the same attitude as a stone-headed bad-thing that I had seen once - fast, unwavering, and unstoppable.\n\nI wasn't any of those things, but the bad-things that blocked me weren't all that impressive individually either.\n\nBuoyed by the speed of my arrival, I barged through the teeming mass, hiding myself within the similarly-colored bodies of their brethren. The harsh grating of mandibles on hard-flesh crashed around me as the two groups collided - one focused on the Coreless, the other focused on me.\n\nFortunately, the ones that were focused on the Coreless won out. They had been driven to a mindless frenzy by the battle, not that they had much of a mind to speak of in the first place. I could only imagine that lesser Cores created lesser minds, and the scene around me seemed to confirm it.\n\nMy continuing survival, especially - though some of that was due to my own efforts.\n\nAs I slithered through the gaps, I desperately focused on [Illusion Spark]. The air dimmed slightly around me as I sucked light in like a glutton, pulling it away from the numerous little droplets of molten fire that bubbled against the ground. For what I had planned - for what I needed to do, if I was going to survive - I would have to manage a state of constant absorption.\n\nWith so many sources around me, it might even be possible.\n\nI flexed my mind, beckoning to the light, straining my range.\n\nIt answered, and the cavern began to dim.\n\nWithout even waiting for my reservoirs to fill, I got to work. Fortunately, I had more than enough examples to work off of.\n\nI pressed against my limits further, pushing the illusion that I was creating away from my scale-flesh. It fought against my efforts to expand it; it was far harder than covering the trail of blood had been - and even that had been fairly difficult, despite being an admittedly poor attempt. All I had done was change its color.\n\nThis was shaping up to be far more.\n\nI pulled at the fire-pain that nestled within [Molten Bite], putting the heat to use before it could give me away again. The heat and light collided under my will, shaping into the shades that I needed. Close enough, anyway.\n\nMy sides widened in my sight, pressing outward and becoming thicker - plated, heavy, and hard. Part of me mourned the change; the Great Core had designed me, not this disgusting thing. But it was necessary.\n\nThe image of my head-scales reshaped as my stores began to dwindle further, shifting from an elegant shape to one that was blunt and tipped with brutish mandibles. I went further, forming a close approximation of the molten stone that dripped from the bad-things.\n\nIt was far weaker, but I doubted that they'd notice.\n\nNo, if anything, they'd notice the other problems first. The way that my sides flickered occasionally and disappeared, flashing back into existence almost the same moment that it did so. The way that my colors were simply off, shifting in hue ever-so-slightly in every moment. The way that they pressed against me and through me, brushing against my scale-flesh in a way that should have been the end of me.\n\nIt was a difficult first effort, and it showed.\n\nBut when I reached another of the quickly dissipating corpses and consumed it untroubled, I realized that it might be enough for now.\n\n[ A Feast Of Fire-Pain ]\n\nThe thought-light flickered.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Upgrade Progress: 1/20\n\nAgain.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Upgrade Progress: 2/20\n\nAgain.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Upgrade Progress: 3/20",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "And again and again, until it all began to run together.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 25 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Blooded Trait Upgrade Progress: 19/20\n\nI slid through the gaps between the bad-things, snapping up every corpse that I could see. A few of them still managed to wisp away into pure mana before I reached them, reclaimed by the Core that had created them.\n\nMost did not.\n\nInstead, they found their home within me.\n\nI slithered along, the notable lack of sound created by my illusory limbs going unnoticed by the nearby bad-things, just as all of the other oddities were. I hadn't been sure what senses they used to detect enemies, but - whatever it was - it was not very good. Or maybe they were just too focused on the danger of the Coreless before them.\n\nBecause they were dangerous.\n\nEvery so often, I stole a glance toward the ongoing battle. I witnessed a giant boot come crashing down, shattering hard-flesh with a thunderous crack. I watched the way that heated mandibles failed to find purchase on shining ore-flesh. I observed the way that the bad-things died in droves.\n\nIt was different than before. Though Will had been strong, able to take many of the bad-things with him in his defeat, he had been caught in a vulnerable position. I had already felt the terrible pain that came with a high fall; the way that it rattled your mind and tried to shatter your form. And that had been with mana-water to cushion my fall.\n\nWill had received no such mercy, his bones cracking under the force of the fall and his thoughts turned hazy.\n\nEven worse, he had been alone and surrounded, vulnerable to attacks from places that he could not see.\n\nNow, that was not the case. The three Coreless guarded one another, protecting each other from the things that they could not see - and the bad-things were massed in far less numbers.\n\nIt was enough for them to survive.\n\nIt was enough for me to feast.\n\nFor now, at least.\n\nI reached another corpse, and earned my next reward.",
"loss": null
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "finish my writing pls. like 6 sentences more sentences. stick to LitRPG, fantasy. use these if u can: animal protagonist. maintain character context level",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ Blooded Trait Upgrade Received!",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ Blooded Trait: Molten Bite II Increased.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ Molten Bite III Acquired.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ Progress Towards Next Upgrade: 0/40",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "My body changed, and my illusion faltered at the distraction of the increased fire-pain - just for a brief moment, but enough to draw the attention of a nearby bad-thing.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It jerked its head towards me; I hastily covered myself up again, draping my form in [Illusion Spark].",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "For once, it wasn't fooled.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The bad-thing snapped at me, dangerous mandibles closing themselves around my flesh.\n\nThe illusion of it, at least. They clicked together, only air caught between them. I coiled myself, bunching my scale-flesh.\n\nThen, from behind the thin layer of illusion that hid me from its view, I struck.\n\nMy fangs dripped with molten fire-pain, cutting easily through hard-flesh that had only recently been difficult to pierce.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The bad-thing thrashed, trying to shake me off and bring its mandibles to bear, but it was already too late.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The slow-venom that had dripped through my fangs had already taken hold.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The thought-light flickered, bringing with it a long-overdue sight.\n\n─ Lesser Core Skill: Mana Venom VI Increased.\n\n─ Mana Venom VII Acquired.\n\nEver since my battle with the Aridae, I had continually shunted what little mana I could towards my gathered venom. It wasn't much, without the mana-water to supply me; my natural regeneration just wasn't that high. It definitely wasn't enough to increase [Mana Manipulation] again.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I had a feeling that it was improving slightly, but was fairly certain that it wasn't an easy skill to master.\n\nMy experience in the mana-water might have made it seem so, but that was just due to the sheer amount that flowed through me - and I could still feel a slight twinge in my mana-core as a result.\n\nSomething like that couldn't be done often.\n\nStill, I had managed to keep my venom relatively well-suffused with mana; nowhere near what it had once held, but enough to increase its potency.\n\nEnough to slow the bad-thing before me to a halt. Enough for me to throw an poorly-created illusion around us, concealing what was to come.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Frozen as it was, I repeated what I had once done to the Aridae, raking my fangs along its hard-flesh and saving my venom for another time.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "And yet, it was different than before.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(ooc: Word count directive: Use 'didn't' exactly 2 times)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Even against the Aridae's soft-flesh, my fangs had felt ineffective, requiring pass after pass to send them to their death.\n\nNow, against the hard-flesh of the Flame Formican before me, my fangs ripped through with little resistance. [Molten Bite], upgraded again, was even hotter than before. It radiated a near-overwhelming heat, forcing me to constantly use [Illusion Spark] to stave off the fire-pain that it caused.\n\nBut that heat didn't only affect me.\n\nThe bad-things that I had taken the ability from used it to crush and melt stone; I didn't have the ability to crush, not with my own fangs.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I didn't need it, though.\n\nMy fangs had become heat itself, drawing lines of fire-pain across the bad-thing's hard-flesh. I forced the excess flames from the reservoirs in my scale-flesh, pushing gouts of fire into its eyes and down its gaping throat.\n\nIt was resistant to heat, but not invulnerable.\n\nNot nearly enough.\n\n─ Experience Gained!",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I consumed it, collapsing the concealment of the illusion immediately afterwards.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Level 2 Flame Formican Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 1/40.\n\nI exulted in my victory, letting out a celebratory hiss. A quiet one. [Illusion Spark] flickered for a moment, wavering due to my rapidly-depleted reservoirs of light. Covering up the fight from the other bad-things had strained them greatly.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I pulled it in closer, forming the image of a smaller bad-thing. It was less effective, making the others more likely to bump and jostle me - I had noticed that there was an instinctive sort of deference towards the larger of the Flame Formicans. Still, it was better than losing my light entirely.\n\nSlowly, my reservoirs refilled as I dimmed the glow of the molten drops around me. My illusion shifted in turn, carefully reverting to its previous size.\n\nAnd I returned to my feast.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(In the next section: Word usage target: 'another' must be used 2 times)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 1/40.\n\nThe presence of the Coreless made everything easier. Part of me mourned the levels that I didn't have a chance to gain; another part of me knew that I would never find such a feast on my own.\n\nI swallowed another bad-thing; maybe half of one, this time. It had been pulped by a massive blow at some point in the fight, its pieces spreading to only the Great Core knew where.\n\nThis time, the thought-light did not flicker.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I hissed in disappointment, discouraged by the realization that not every corpse was worthy of the Great Core's reward. They had to be somewhat whole; a missing piece here or there hadn't caused problems yet, so I had thought it would be okay. It wasn't.\n\nWorse, the Coreless had done the same to many of their attackers. Still, the bad-things possessed overwhelming numbers - so much so that even the powerful Coreless had begun to falter despite protecting one another.\n\nThere were enough intact corpses to have my fill.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 2/40.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ …\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 40/40.\n\n─ Blooded Trait: Molten Bite III Increased.\n\n─ Molten Bite IV Acquired.\n\n─ Progress Towards Next Upgrade: 0/80.\n\nThis time, I had prepared for the change.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It had been a tiring effort, keeping an illusion draped over myself as I slithered back to the wall-cracks - a bad-thing halfway down my throat as I did so.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Still, I had known what would be coming.\n\nI changed again, and the fire-pain changed with me. It blazed along my tongue and raged across my insides.\n\nI clamped down on [Illusion Spark], but it didn't matter. The sudden fire-pain, stronger than ever before, shattered the illusion that I had placed around myself. My form was revealed for what it was; no longer did I appear to be an ugly bad-thing, just like all of the rest.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Still, they never noticed. I had moved too far away.\n\nBefore any new bad-things could arrive and see me as I really was, I covered myself again. My mouth opened, allowing drip-drops of molten fire to touch down on the stone in front of me.\n\nI pulled from that source; it held very little in the way of light, but even that might be the thin line between myself and an embarrassing death.\n\nIt was just in time.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "OOC - Include 'their' 4 time(s) in your answer - no more, no less",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "From further down the tunnel, where we had once been, I began to hear the steady click-clack of mandibles.\n\nThe Coreless heard it too, jerking their heads towards the noise in the midst of their battle.\n\nThey started to desperately retreat, knowing what was coming. Their giant forms pushed through the crowd of bad-things, seeking an escape. It left them vulnerable to bite after bite; each of them screamed out in turn as their flesh began to sizzle and bleed.\n\nStill, they accepted the great injuries in return for a chance to escape.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "For a moment, the female-who-was-not-Needle turned back, an expression that I couldn't interpret on her face.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "A mandible snapped at her heel, and she turned away again.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Soon enough, they disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel, a crowd of bad-things following their bloody trail.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Leaving me behind.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[ Hot-Blooded ]",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "You must use the word 'through' exactly 2 times in your response",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I slipped between the wall-cracks as the sounds grew nearer, covering the gap in its surface with a weak illusion; as low on light as I was, it wouldn't have held up to close scrutiny.\n\nIt didn't need to.\n\nThe bad-things thundered through the tunnel, generating the sound through the sheer, unending size of the horde rather than size of the individual. Mandibles clicked and clacked in an incessant tick, and I could faintly make out the drip-drop of molten liquid tapping against the stone as they moved on. The heat that they gave off was becoming unbearably hot, fire-pain flashing across my scales in response.\n\nOr maybe that was my own heat.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "In such a confined area, I had no easy way to release it.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(quick note: Your task: Include 'possibly' 2 time(s) in your response)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "A release of flame outwards would give me away, pushing through and possibly even breaking the illusion that protected me. A gout of flame in the other direction would just blow back on myself, forcing me to reabsorb it or suffer the consequences. Worse, it would push through the concealment of the illusion that I had created, possibly revealing my location.\n\nIf that happened, I would have nowhere to go, alone and stuck in the small wall-crack as I was.\n\nSo I bore with it, feeling my mind grow hazy and my scale-flesh sluggish as the fire-pain danced across my length. I opened my mouth further, letting the leaking liquid of [Molten Bite] drip down below me.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The air, cool by comparison, caressed the inside of my mouth with its gentle touch.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I desperately yearned for the comfort that came with chewing on my tail, but the heat of [Molten Bite] directly on my scale-flesh might only make things worse.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "For a moment, I did it anyway - but it hardly helped, with me stuck in the tiny wall-crack and unable to provide the heat an outlet.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Not for the first time, I wished that I had been blessed with [Heat Resistance] to protect me from the fire-pain. Yet, before I had slithered my way into the Dungeon earlier, I had never been faced with heat and fire-pain on the same level. [Piercing Resistance] and [Venom Resistance] had only been gained while I was lost in the comforting sensation of chewing on my own tail. Eventually, the thought-light just revealed them to me.\n\nI wasn't sure what I had done to receive them, but I could only hope to be blessed once more.\n\nI waited expectantly.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The thought-light never came, leaving me disappointed and oh so very hot.\n\nThe sounds outside only grew louder as the bad-things marched on, following the Coreless in their retreat. Some scrambled against the walls; I could hear the way that their legs tapped against the stone, their passing creating tiny little vibrations that rubbed against my scale-flesh.\n\nThat same scale-flesh began to tremble and ache, unable to bear the cloying heat that filled my tiny wall-crack. Just as I was about to give up, to release all of the heat that I had stored in a plume of flame, a leg slipped its way through the illusion.\n\nIt waved in the air frantically, its owner surprised by the lack of purchase.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Finally, it pulled itself out, and the bad-thing moved on.\n\nI breathed in relief, letting out a soft hiss and thanking the Great Core for my continued peace. I had been close to giving in; with the bad-things still as close as they were, I would have given myself away, as well.\n\nThe tiny leg had slipped through the illusion just in time.\n\nIt was a reminder to hold fast, and to bear with the pain.\n\nAnd so I did, listening to the sounds of the horde of bad-things as they began to disappear down the tunnel - my scale-flesh trembling all the while.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Finally, I could hear them no longer. A blast of flame lashed from my scale-flesh, shattering the illusion in front of me along with my concentration. As my reservoirs of heat emptied out, I absorbed more. The air grew colder around me, and my scale-flesh began to settle.\n\nI breathed.\n\nMy head poked through the opening in the wall-crack, and I looked down the tunnel.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The stone was littered with makeshift puddles of heated liquid, product of numerous bad-things dripping with their own version of [Molten Bite].",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Little trails spilled outwards from those puddles, marking the bad-things' path in their pursuit of the Coreless.\n\nI hissed, thinking for a moment, my tongue flicking from my mouth and catching the scent-taste of the air.\n\nThe Coreless and I were now separated; I had no hopes of catching up with them. However, how much did that matter?\n\nThe Great Core had brought them to me so that I could make my way through the traps and dangers of the lesser Core's Dungeon. Though I hadn't yet reached the Core, they had managed to do that so far.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Beyond the Flame-Wisps, I wouldn't have been able to deal with anything that I had encountered if I had been alone.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The large bad-things that had initially attacked near the flame-water would have been enough; even the first of those had almost ruined me.\n\nInstead, I had managed to stay alive. Even more, I had managed to shed my scale-flesh for a second time, allowing me to keep all that I had gained up to that point.\n\nAnd now, the Coreless had drawn the Flame Formicans in the other direction. Will, the dead male Coreless, had even sacrificed himself to reduce their numbers, cutting down on the bad-things that could oppose the Great Core.\n\nNow, the way might be open.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[ooc] Required word frequency: 'scent-taste' (2x) [ooc]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "My tongue flicked out again, searching for the scent-taste of the lesser Core. It was strong here, but not as strong as it once was. We had been going in the wrong direction.\n\nI slithered down the tunnel, back in the direction that we had traveled.\n\nThe journey was long, without the giant legs of the Coreless to carry me. Still, the increasing scent-taste of the lesser Core on my tongue encouraged me.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[Molten Bite] sending spikes of fire-pain through me as I traveled, scalding my tongue-flesh each time it dripped from my fangs, did quite a bit to dampen that encouragement.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Your response should contain the word 'easily' precisely 2 times",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "So far, I had mixed feelings about [Molten Bite]. While it had allowed me to pierce through the hard-flesh of the bad-things far more easily, its existence placed me into a constant battle. I couldn't deal with the heat and fire-pain that it caused easily.\n\nWithout [Illusion Spark] to cut its bite, I wouldn't be able to at all. I was forced to constantly pull away the heat that it generated, to store it within the reservoirs within my scale-flesh for a few brief moments before sending it away in a wave of heat. It made the ever-present heat of the lesser Core's domain even more difficult to deal with, causing it to sap away at my body and will.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I forced myself to focus.\n\nI tried, anyway. As I grew closer to the scent-taste of the Dungeon Core, approaching the ledge that we had climbed up earlier, the air's heat only grew stronger. With much of the reservoirs provided by [Illusion Spark] already at work to fight back the adverse effects of the upgraded form of [Molten Bite], my slithers grew more wobbly and sluggish, my scale-flesh rebelling against my commands. My head grew heavy, wanting nothing more than to lay itself down and rest.\n\nAnd then, I saw hope.\n\nDown below, still floating in the air where I had last seen them, were a large group of Flame Wisps.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "They dotted the cavern, filling it with both shadows and light as flames lashed from their strange, fire-like forms.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "All I had to do was reach them, consume them, and take what they had to offer.\n\nThat was harder than I had hoped.\n\nI clung to the sides of the ledge, my scale-flesh gripping the rough textures created by the many small-tunnels and scratches that dotted its surface. While I could travel down one and hope that it led me directly to the bottom, I didn't want to risk it. Many small-tunnels veered off for great distances, and there was no way of knowing the final destination without exploring it for myself.\n\nMore than once, I almost slipped from the wall of stone, my scale-flesh lifting dangerously from the rough surface as I traveled down in a slow and winding pattern.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Eventually, though, I made it down.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Eventually, I received a welcome sight.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Experience Gained!\n\n─ Level 0 Flame Wisp Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 1/20.\n\nA gout of flame licked from my scale-flesh, and I moved on to the next.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 2/20.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "And the next.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 3/20.\n\nOn and on, until finally…\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 19/20.\n\nI collapsed.\n\n[ Still Like Stone ]",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I wasn't sure how long it took for me to awaken, to break away from the bad-dreams that the heat had forced me into.\n\nIt was long enough, I knew. Long enough for my scale-flesh to feel all but dried out, for my mouth to run dry of all moisture except the fluid that [Molten Bite] dripped through my fangs. My tongue felt as if it was destroyed entirely by the constant heat; unconscious, I had stopped draining away the heat that [Molten Bite] consistently created.\n\nIt weakly flicked out into the air, tasting nothing. It couldn't taste anything, I realized.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Slowly, I bent inwards, weakly grasping for my tail.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It wasn't far, but it felt like a journey further than I had ever taken. It felt as if I could more easily return to the comforting light of the Great Core's nest than grasp my own end within my mouth.\n\nDespite that, I eventually reached it. My scale-flesh started to sear the moment that my fangs touched down, forcing me to pull rapidly from the heat that assaulted it. A gout of flame spread outwards and away from me, a blast of fire that consumed my vision entirely.\n\nAnd still, there was more.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "There was always more.\n\nFor a while, I stayed like that - [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail] just enough to keep myself awake. My entire length itched, both inside and out, as the ability did all that it could to ensure I stayed alive.\n\nThat, at least, it managed.\n\nLittle more.\n\nAround me, the Flame-Wisps danced and drifted about.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "They threw their tiny licks of flame and absorbed my own.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It felt as if they knew. They knew that I wanted them. They knew that I needed them.\n\nEvery so often, one would dance just outside of my reach, greedily sucking in the flames that I released; if I had been stronger, my scale-flesh healthy and whole, that would have been enough. By the time that I released my grip on my tail, they would already be gone.\n\nMore than once, I lashed out at them with a gout of flame, hoping for it to accomplish something.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It didn't.\n\nEach time, they just absorbed what I gave them. A moment later, they would direct it back at me, forcing me to hastily rip it from the air before it singed my scale-flesh. The only thing that my poorly thought out attempts managed was giving me a small amount of practice with [Illusion Spark].\n\nThat wasn't what I needed right now.\n\nOr was it?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Include exactly 2 instance(s) of the word 'flame'",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I focused a little more, trying to push past the hazy fog that the fire-pain had created. It had been a little difficult to notice before, but the Flame Wisps were acting oddly. I had thought that they were taunting me, bringing themselves just close enough to me that I might hope that I could reach them.\n\nBut were they?\n\nThe Flame Wisps, for all that they possessed an ability that had the potential of [Illusion Spark], were flawed. They were lesser creatures created by a lesser Core.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Mandatory: Your text must contain 'reach' 2 times exactly",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "They were stupid. Mindless, almost.\n\nIf they weren't, I would never have been able to reach them in the first place. All they had to do was stay somewhere that couldn't be reached, and they would be safe.\n\nI would have never received [Illusion Spark], and I would have never been able to upgrade it even afterwards.\n\nAnother gout of flame lashed from my scale-flesh, and a nearby Flame Wisp drifted closer. Again, it stopped just out of reach, absorbing the heat and loosing some of its own.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "As my reservoir of heat quickly built again, filled rapidly by the constant fire of [Molten Bite] on my tongue and the general temperature of the air, I released it again - but less, this time. The spurt of flame was weaker than before, not reaching quite as far from my scale-flesh.\n\nThe Flame Wisp danced closer, its flame-wreathed figure sparking and flaring. A moment later, the flame was gone.\n\nI released another gout of flame almost before I had seen the result. I knew what I had to do now; just release lower and lower amounts of heat to draw the Flame Wisp in.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "That was difficult, because the constant fire-pain that seared my insides and filled my reservoirs begged for release.\n\nEven with [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail] keeping the damage at bay, the bad-dreams were drifting closer. My vision flickered and wobbled, and I almost lost myself again.\n\nOne blink later, and the Flame Wisp was somehow right beside me.\n\nI didn't question the lost time. Instead, I let go of my tail and snapped for it.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It danced away from my fangs.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Still, that had been closer.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I just needed to do better.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Before I could fall to the bad-dreams again, I emptied my reservoirs entirely.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(hey for the next response, Ensure 'focus' appears 2 time(s) in your answer)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "In my unfocused state, I dumped it all; both light and heat flared outwards in a brilliant corona, causing my scale-flesh to glimmer under the effect.\n\nMore Flame Wisps drifted closer, slowly floating downwards from their watch near the cavern's ceiling and greedily absorbing what I had released. I tore my gaze away, sluggishly reaching for my tail again as my vision darkened.\n\n[The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail] gave me some blessed relief, beating back the darkness somewhat. Letting me think.\n\nThough the constant itching was very distracting.\n\nFocus. I needed to focus.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The Flame Wisps were attracted to light and heat, causing them to willingly drift closer to me - but they also responded to sudden movement or danger, moving away when I tried to threaten them.\n\nI needed a way to prevent that.\n\nAs a few Flame Wisps drifted closer, responding to my now almost automatic habit of releasing gouts of flame to cool myself and empty my reservoirs, I let go of my tail. Immediately, the fire-pain grew worse, raging through my insides and nearly causing me to slump.\n\nI fought against it, holding my head upright. Flames leaked from my head-scales, beckoning the Flame Wisps closer.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "IMPORTANT: 'could' should appear 2 times in total",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "My mouth gaped wide.\n\nI stayed still like stone.\n\nAnything that I could to make sure I succeeded in my strike.\n\nIt would probably be my last try before the bad-dreams took me. I could already feel them rushing in, causing my vision to go black and taking my sight away.\n\nI held firm, feeling for the heat of the Flame Wisps as they approached.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "For a moment, I almost gave up - until a lick of flame pressed against my scale-flesh. I followed it to its source, blindly striking in the direction of the fire. It was sluggish and delayed, and I was sure that I had failed.\n\nThat was, until my fangs pierced through yielding flesh.\n\nUntil my mouth filled with the taste of smoke and power, the scent-tastes barely noticeable with my damaged tongue.\n\nUntil the thought-light flickered.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ Experience Gained!",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Level Up!\n\n─ 1 Trait Point Gained.\n\nIt had been a long time in coming. Despite how many bad-things I had consumed since I had last leveled, I hadn't actually killed many of them myself. Mostly, I had just scavenged the battlefield, devouring the corpses that the Coreless left behind. More than that, the few that I had killed myself were all low level; the Flame Wisps didn't ever seem to have a level, as they were almost entirely unable to kill something without tricking them into burning in fire-water, while the Flame Formicans had too many bad-things involved in a fight to receive more than a tiny amount of experience as a reward.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "You must use the word 'trait' exactly 2 times in your response",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Despite that, it had been finally enough to push me over the edge.\n\nI mostly ignored all of that, focusing on what the thought-light revealed next.\n\n─ Level 0 Flame Wisp Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 20/20.\n\nBlooded Trait: [Illusion Spark IV] Increased.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Illusion Spark V Acquired.\n\n─ Progress Towards Next Upgrade: 0/40.\n\nThe reservoirs within my scale-flesh expanded, growing in size as I changed again. At the same time, the speed at which I could absorb heat and light increased significantly.\n\nAs my newly-increased reservoirs rapidly filled, I let out a continuous stream of heat.\n\nMy scale-flesh began to cool at last.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I felt blessed relief.\n\nAnd when my vision finally came back, a crowd of Flame Wisps had drifted closer, attracted by the heat - some of them extremely close.\n\nI lunged.\n\nThis time, I was more than fast enough.\n\n[ Dying Light ]\n\nMy fangs dripped with fire-pain, but it was bearable now - not comfortable, but it no longer caused my scale-flesh to helplessly dry, nor my mind to cry out.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(ooc) Frequency requirement: 'again' - 2 occurrence(s) (ooc)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Tiny flames and waves of heat sparked from my scale-flesh in a never-ending torrent, held steady by the increased capacity and absorption rate of [Illusion Spark V].\n\nI felt renewed, able to move with a speed that had just moments before felt impossible.\n\nI felt relieved, saved from a slow and uncomfortable death.\n\nI felt powerful, a merciless predator among the helpless bad-things.\n\nThe thought-light flickered again and again. Six times I struck, and six times it answered with its congratulations.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The crowd of Flame Wisps disappeared, becoming nothing more than the scent-taste of smoke and power on my now-recovering tongue.\n\n─ Experience Gained!\n\n─ Level 0 Flame Wisp Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 6/40.\n\nI hissed, the sibilant sound conveying so many things.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "My relief. My excitement. My joy.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "My thanks.\n\nDeath had been close, and I wasn't quite ready to welcome it yet. Not without doing all that I could to beat it back; the Great Core demanded no less from me, I was sure.\n\nWith the crowd of Flame Wisps gone, the cavern had dimmed. The shadows that had played across its wall disappeared, fading away with the lives of the Flame Wisps that had created them. The stone dropped into a deeper blackness, one that nearly rivaled my scale-flesh in hue.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I preferred it that way.\n\nI wasn't sure how long the Coreless would distract the swarm of bad-things; for all I knew, they were already on their way back. When they returned, I wanted to be as difficult to spot as possible.\n\nWhile I appreciated the sacrifice that Will made for the Great Core, giving up his life to destroy and delay the swarm, I did not want to be him. I was not a Coreless. I was meant for greater things.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "With that in mind, I searched the cavern, throwing the occasional blast of light against the wall to break the darkness that now held sway. It strained at my reserves slightly, and I shortened them to brief and focused flashes - tiny beams that would be enough to reveal what was hidden in the shadows.\n\nI could have slithered around the edges of the cavern, searching that way, but I didn't know how long I had. The cavern was large, and working my way around it might take too much time. That was what I told myself anyway, and it was mostly true.\n\nStill, I was willing to admit that I had begun to enjoy what [Illusion Spark V] allowed me to do.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It had quickly become my favorite of all of the traits that the Great Core had gifted me.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(( Word count directive: Use 'wasn't' exactly 2 times ))",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "While it wasn't as useful in a direct fight as something like [Paralyzing Venom], it allowed me to avoid some of those direct fights. It let me strike from unseen angles. It had already proved its worth against the Flame Formicans - though I wasn't sure how effective it would be against a smarter form of bad-thing.\n\nIt proved its worth again each time that it beat back the flame-death. I had really grown to hate heat. It was a cowardly opponent, worse than some of the worst bad-things, not even allowing me to fight back.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Unwilling to reveal itself before me. Instead, I could only let it do what it wished.\n\nStill, I had defeated it.\n\nFor now, at least.\n\nI could feel the way that the reservoirs in my scales rapidly filled, and even the cooled air that still remained scoured at my insides. Each wave of heat that I released tried to rush back in; I focused on freeing it backwards, away from the direction of my head-scales, pushing it as far as I could from my mouth.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[Molten Bite] still fought against my efforts, the dripping fire-pain a constant reminder of something that I should have known.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Blooded Traits were stolen from the creations of lesser Cores; their traits would be lesser as well.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(ooc: ⚠️ Required: Use 'first' exactly 2 times)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Not made just for me. Stolen. Dangerous sometimes, if they grew too powerful.\n\nI should have expected it when I first noticed the fire-pain that it caused, but I hadn't been able to resist the opportunity that the Coreless presented. The corpses were there, and so I had feasted.\n\nEven if I went back, I might repeat the same thing - after snacking on a few Flame Wisps first, probably. No need to be greedy and stupid.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "That was the job of the Coreless and the bad-things.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Finally, one of my beams of light hit something new, bending slightly around a giant cluster of stone-spikes and plunging into the darkness of a tunnel that hid behind it. If it wasn't for the way that the light glinted off a piece of exposed ore-flesh in the tunnel wall, I still might not have seen it.\n\nDespite its hidden nature, the tunnel was rather large - even the Coreless would be able to fit through it without trouble. Some of the largest of the bad-things that I had seen would have greater difficulty, but that was a very small number.\n\nI slithered forward. For a moment, I thought about returning to the caverns where we had fought the second of the bad-things, the ones that dripped with strange pink liquid and climbed across the walls as they walked. There had been more Flame Wisps there, and I thought I might be able to increase [Illusion Spark] again, or at least come close.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The faint sounds of click-clacking mandibles made the decision for me - or rather, it forced me to make one. I covered myself in a light illusion, straining the final reserves that I held within my scale-flesh. An image of one of the Flame Formicans fell over me, draping itself across my scale-flesh like a second skin. That was the easy part.\n\nNext came the hard part, carefully releasing enough heat so that I could keep moving without it being visible to the bad-things. It was difficult, with the way that the heat that I absorbed tended to rush outwards the moment that I tried to empty the reservoirs in my scale-flesh, as if it was eager to escape.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I tried to start slow as I slithered across the cavern, releasing a tiny amount of heat behind me. I tried, anyway.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "My scale-flesh sparked, the sudden light flashing in my eyes as it gleamed from behind and around me, and I nearly hissed in frustration. The fire-pain began to grow with each slow slither, matching the growing sounds of the bad-things as they returned to the cavern.\n\nOne of the bad-things turned towards me, alerted by the light and clicking its mandibles. I clacked my own back, hoping that the stupid thing didn't notice it made no sound. It didn't charge me, which was at least a welcome sign.\n\nI couldn't risk releasing the heat anymore; not with them so close by.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[Molten Bite] sizzled on my tongue, unchecked and indifferent to the pain it caused me.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "My tongue-flesh began to make a hiss all on its own, the sound dimmed by my closed mouth and yet like a roar in my ears.\n\nI slithered along. My stores of light had almost run out, the bad-thing illusion around me beginning to flicker even more than usual. Every now and again it disappeared entirely, forcing me to imagine the sensation of mandibles crushing my scale-flesh before it returned.\n\nFinally, I moved onward, leaving the cavern behind and slithering into the new tunnel. I hissed in relief. Consuming all of the Flame Wisps before the bad-things had returned had saved me - and also nearly doomed me.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "All that remained in the Flame Wisps place was darkness, shrouding the cavern and hiding me from view.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Still, as much as I blended with it, I doubted it was a worthy substitute for my new illusions.\n\nAnd those had nearly disappeared entirely, leaving the unreliable darkness as the only thing that could save me from the swarm.\n\nI continued on, creating more distance between myself and the bad-things until the fire-pain became too much. A blast of heat and flame ripped loose from my length as I emptied my reservoirs all at once. The heat singed me again as it exited my scale-flesh, marking me as a sign of its passing. I ignored it, focusing instead on the fire-pain that dripped through my fangs.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "[Molten Bite] cooled slightly, and my damaged mouth thanked me for it.\n\nI paused for a few moments, curling inwards to clamp down on my tail before continuing on. The heat grew once more as I slithered through the large-tunnel, confirming what my instincts were already telling me.\n\nI was sure the Core was near.\n\nWith the bad-things blocking my path out, there was only one way to go - forwards. That was okay. I wanted to go that direction anyways.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "When something sharp suddenly sliced off the tip of my tail a few minutes later?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Less okay.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[ A Snake Without A Tail ]",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "A line of fire-pain cut across my tail.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "My blood, blackened by [Poisonous Blood], began to empty out onto the stone behind me. For a moment, I didn't react. I just stared, fixated on the place where the lowest part of my tail had once been. It was just...gone.\n\nA shard of stone, shattered and fragmented by the impact of its landing, rested in its place.\n\nThe moment passed, and I slithered sideways with an abrupt jerk. Another stone smashed into the ground where I had been, splintering into pieces that simultaneously dashed themselves against the walls and my scale-flesh.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "And another - this one even closer.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "A second line of fire-pain cut through my scale-flesh as a flying fragment from a near-miss buried itself into my side.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The wall was close though, and I rushed towards it, diving into the closest wall-crack that I could find.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I didn't go far.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The wall-crack glowed with the heat of fire-water that lay just behind it; tiny little droplets of fire-water dripped from the narrow fissures in its surface, forcing me to bunch and coil my scale-flesh to avoid the fire-pain that it would bring with it.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I let out a gout of flame, pushing it outwards and away from where I rested.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The bad-thing that had attacked me - whatever it was - already knew where I was. There was no need for stealth, unlike when I had hidden from the Flame Formicans.\n\nThat was good, with the way that [Molten Bite] still tried its best to sear away at my insides, filling the reservoirs of my scale-flesh with every passing moment.\n\nI tried to take a moment to think, curling upon myself and reaching for my tail.\n\nI missed. Blood coated my head-scales as it ran from the new place that my tail found its end. I clamped down upon it, no longer just seeking comfort.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I needed to heal - and quickly, at that. The fire-pain was being held back for the moment, but it would only get worse - and already I was beginning to feel delirious as my lifeblood spilled from my savaged tail, losing my careful grip on [Illusion Spark]. I couldn't lose focus, not with the heat-death so close by. Not with the bad-thing just outside. I paused, listening for the bad-thing.\n\nHearing nothing, I risked a look outside.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Another stone smashed against the edges of the wall-crack, fragmenting as it touched down.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Another splinter lodged into my scale-flesh.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "// Word usage target: 'scale-flesh' must be used 2 times",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I hid myself back within the wall-crack, touching what had become the end of my tail against my fangs.\n\nAnd still, my scale-flesh did not heal.\n\n[The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail] did not answer, and my mouth filled with flowing blood. I spit it out, letting go of my wounded tail, and tried again. The abrupt motion must have angered the bad-thing; another stone shattered against the wall-crack, causing me to flinch back and nearly brush against the dripping fire-water. My scale-flesh screamed, and my ever-draining blood stirred, forming strange bubbles on its surface.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I desperately pulled at the fire-water's heat, pushing it away from the wall-crack the moment that it touched my reservoirs. And yet, there was always more.\n\nI pulled at the light next, dimming my shelter and causing the shadows to wriggle against the wall. My light reservoirs slowly filled as the fire-water lost its glow; it was nothing compared to the way that heat constantly ran through me, forcing me to throw it violently from my scale-flesh, but it was something. It might be the only thing that would allow me to go on.\n\nMy blood sizzled as it dripped towards the tiny drops of fire-water, filling the air of the wall-crack with a disgusting scent-taste that lashed itself to my tongue and caused my mind to waver.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Or maybe that was just from the blood that still dripped from my wounds.\n\nThrough it all, [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail] still refused to answer.\n\nWas this how it would end? Would I not find my way to the Core in this life, even after making my way past the horde of bad-things and the click-clack of their mandibles?\n\nAgain, [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail] refused to answer. My scale-flesh did not itch, and my wounds did not close.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "My blood flowed. My frustration grew. It was over, I realized - whether I made it out or not. The bad-thing's attack had crippled me, ruining one of my greatest strengths. [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail] was useless without a tail to rely on - only a worthless nub, a bleeding wound.\n\nI would die today.\n\nOr maybe the next.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Either way, it would not be long.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The fire-pain continued to work its way through my scale-flesh, the heat of the fire-water and [Molten Bite] growing stronger as my concentration on [Illusion Spark] waned.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Finally, I had enough.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Enough to move forward, to see what lay beyond the relative safety of the wall-crack.\n\nI uncurled myself, careful to stay as far from the heat of the fire-water in the meantime. With a flash of effort that was far harder than it should have been, I forcefully pulled against the light of the wall-crack, the newfound strength of [Illusion Spark]'s most recent upgrade plunging my surroundings into a cloudy darkness. Here and there, little bits of light managed to cut through, the light of the bits of fire-water that were further from my scale-flesh harder for me to influence. Despite that, the darkness directly around my scale-flesh was close to absolute, turning my form into a coiled mass of shadows - still noticeable, if only because of exactly how dark it was, but much less so.\n\nI peeked outside.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Another stone shattered against the edges of the wall-crack, a few splinters careening past my vulnerable eyes.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Before a second could follow, I moved.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "((ooc: Ensure 'pushed' appears 2 time(s) in your answer))",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I pushed my head from the wall-crack, throwing my gaze upwards, following the path of the stone to find the bad-thing that had thrown it. There, hanging from the ceiling, strange tendrils plunging through the rock and glowing with a hidden fire-light, was the bad-thing that had destroyed my tail and ruined me. It was different from any other bad-thing that I had seen; I saw no legs, nor any way to move. Its body was a bulbous mass, a sphere that hung from the stone above by a series of tendrils.\n\nIt met my gaze with an eyeless one of its own, and one of its tendrils engorged. Something pushed its way underneath its flesh, traveling through the tendril from the stone above and finding a home in the bad-thing's bulbous flesh.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I lurched backwards, narrowly avoiding the sharp stone that it spit at me, the fang-like rock shattering itself against the wall-crack where my head had been. A wave of dust pushed itself into my eyes, causing them to drip with fluid as I shook my head and fought to clear my vision. Before I succeeded, another stone came, and I retreated fully into the wall-crack in a bid for safety.\n\nMy inability to escape in any other way soon forced me to brave it again. The heat within the wall-crack was growing, and my scale-flesh cried out. The blood within my insides was draining, and my mind was failing.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "There was no other choice.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "My tongue flicked from my mouth, catching the scent-taste of the air. There was something strange to it, something that I hadn't encountered before. The scent-taste of the nearby bad-thing I assumed, an unusual scent-taste that was acrid and burning on my tongue - or maybe that was [Molten Bite] again. I put away the thought, leaving it for later. Nothing there would help me defeat the stone-tendril bad-thing, or even pass it by.\n\nI needed something different. Something more helpful.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I peeked out again, and was nearly bitten by a flying fang of stone for my effort.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Rather than waiting again, I forced myself through my fears, throwing my form from the wall-crack and frantically leaving a poorly-made illusion of myself still hanging from the opening.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Word restriction: Use 'around' 2 time(s) only",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I drank from the light around me greedily, both to plunge myself into the shadows of no-light and to retain enough light stores to maintain the illusion I had left behind. It flickered and wavered, blinking unsteadily, but the stone-tendril bad-thing didn't seem to notice.\n\nIt spit stone after stone at my flickering fake, almost seeming angered by my illusion's continued existence. Fragments shot around me; a fair few ricocheted and dug themselves into my scale-flesh; I stifled the hiss that almost slipped from my mouth. Its tendrils began to tear, ripped apart from the inside by the speed and frequency of the jagged stones that it pulled through their lengths.\n\nEventually though, my dwindling stores of light failed to maintain the deception.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The illusion disappeared.\n\nAnd yet, the stone-tendril bad-thing only slumped, its body ruined by its own efforts.\n\nI slumped too, a mixture of relief and blood loss bringing me to the floor.\n\n[ The Flames of Urgency ]\n\nMy head drooped against the stone, and I almost let it stay there.\n\nAlmost.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It would have been easy to let things end there; to say that I had tried my hardest in this life. After all, there was always the next one. I could always try again. Not now, but later. When I wasn't so tired. When I wasn't so hurt.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "When I wasn't so...everything. My scale-flesh ached in a way that was almost beyond bearable, the place where my tail had been throbbing with a pulse that never seemed to go away. For a moment, I nearly moved towards it, my habit of clamping down upon it in times of great stress shining through - but then I realized again that nothing was there.\n\nI couldn't be that same snake anymore. I couldn't be [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail]. Not in this life.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It was even more frustrating than I would have imagined. It was like one of the last parts of who I was, back when I had been that weak and worried snake in the Great Core's nest, had been stolen away from me. And all I had to do to get that back was nothing. Just sit there, and let my wounds take me away. Hold still, like I was trapped in the threads of red that had taken my last life, and wait for my mind to weaken and my scale-flesh to lose its luster.\n\nAll I had to do was wait.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "All I had to do was die.\n\nInstead, I picked my head up, abandoning the cool embrace of the stone below me. There would be time later to retrieve who I had been; it was inevitable, even. If I was no longer [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail], I was doomed to a slow death. And when that came, I would become [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail] again.\n\nThe Great Core would restore me.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "My tongue flicked weakly from between my lips, catching the scent-taste of the air.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Reminded by what I found, I turned my gaze upwards.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The stone-tendril bad-thing hung limply from its place on the ceiling, dangling from damaged tendrils.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I let my mind wander a bit, distracted by the sight from my ever-draining blood.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "For a moment, I wondered if I could reach it before I died; I imagined sinking my fangs into its faltering flesh, taking it with me in my death.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(( Word usage requirement: 'thought' must appear 3 times ))",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Punishing it for the loss of my tail - the loss of my comfort.\n\nThe thought was tempting, but I knew that I wouldn't be able to reach it.\n\nI wondered how much experience it would give. Better than most of the other bad-things I had fought, I thought. Though I didn't want to admit it, only the bad-thing's single-mindedness, ripping itself apart in order to continue blasting away at my illusion, had allowed me to live.\n\nThe thought rankled, causing me to hiss in displeasure at my enemy.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Still, I respected the effort to a degree. I would have done the same, if I had encountered an enemy that had survived attack after attack, advancing upon the Great Core. Just keep throwing everything at the problem until there was nothing left - of either myself or the enemy, whichever came first.\n\nThat respect didn't dim my hatred.\n\nI hissed again.\n\nMy scale-flesh trembled, and I almost fell to the stone once more.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I decided to let the bad-thing live for now - it was too much effort.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Next life though, I would find a way to eat it.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I hoped that it tasted good.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Even if it didn't, victory surely would.\n\nI refocused, realizing that my thoughts were wandering. I didn't have much time left, and I had been wasting it staring at the defeated bad-thing. It was the same thought-haze that I had felt within the threads of red, captured by the Aridae in my first life. That was concerning; it meant that I might have less time left than I had imagined.\n\nI slithered forward, trying to move more quickly.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I didn't, not really.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It was much harder to move, after losing much of the lower half of my body.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "My elegant swirls had turned into halting, broken jerks, pushing me along in fits and starts rather than letting me flow across the floor. Still, I kept going.\n\nHere and there, little bits of light peeked through the large-tunnel's walls, created by the flame-water that hid behind its cracks. In some places, it overflowed - not much, only tiny little drops that nearly sealed the wall-cracks from which they flowed, but enough for me to take in the light that I might need. The heat that they brought was far less welcome.\n\nIt grew as I traveled, and my journey became even slower.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Gouts of flame flared out behind me, almost feeling as if they were pushing me along faster with the frequency at which I had to release them. My mouth burned with fire-pain, and my vision flickered. Not with the thought-light, though I wished that it had.\n\nIt just...flickered.\n\nThe heat only grew as I traveled, making things worse. My mind danced after every thought that slithered across it, my continual blood loss spurring it onwards.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Eventually, my scale-flesh rubbed past a pit in the large-tunnel's floor, the stone melted in a way that even the Flame Formican's [Molten Bite] couldn't manage.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "They softened the stone and crushed what remained; this was different. It was melted cleanly.\n\nFortunately, it was an old mark. The stone was cool to the touch, almost soothing on my battered scale-flesh.\n\nThe air was less so. Combined with the constant heat of [Molten Bite], it worked at my scale-flesh again.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Each slither that I took only caused it to rise.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[ooc] Required word frequency: 'great' (2x) [ooc]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Yet, at the same time, I felt the scent-taste of the Core on my tongue, stronger than ever before. It grew with each moment, the unmistakable sense of smoke and flame, hate and passion, rage and power. It wasn't soothing in the way that the Great Core had been. I didn't want to curl up under its embrace, to let my worries wash away with each moment that I waited.\n\nInstead, it brought me to the edge.\n\nIt angered me, the way that it was both so like and unlike the Great Core.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "It was wrong. At the same time, I wanted it. I needed it.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "So I slithered onwards, ignoring the way that the heat grew and [Illusion Spark] strained to hold it back.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Ignoring the way that my scale-flesh dragged itself across the stone, pulled more by my own determination than anything else.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The fire-pain was only natural. The lesser Core did not want me to find it.\n\nI was getting closer.\n\nI slithered faster and faster, pushing through the sluggishness that it tried to inflict. It was getting desperate, I was sure. It knew that the champion of the Great Core had come to claim it.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "A great need urged me onwards, filling my mind. My fangs dripped with the fire-pain of [Molten Bite], my mouth salivating at the thought of the meal that awaited. My tongue-flesh burned. I no longer cared enough to drive the fire-pain away. [Illusion Spark] was too distracting.\n\nI was too focused.\n\nExcitement flooded my scale-flesh, starting a tingle on my tongue and running through my insides, pulling my mind from the formerly-impenetrable haze of my coming death.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "This was what I was created for.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "This was why I was here.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "This was why -\n\nI saw it.\n\nA great orange glow, spilling its way into the large-tunnel as it exited into a new cavern. Compared to the divine glow of the Great Core, it was nothing. That was fitting. As I had expected of a lesser Core.\n\nI followed my sight, slithering into the cavern despite the way that my scale-flesh had begun to ache and strain under the heat.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(In the next section: Use the word 'stone' 2 time(s) - this is a strict requirement)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It wouldn't need to for much longer. It would soon be over, and when the Core was gone, the heat that it created would go with it.\n\nThe cavern was larger than I had ever seen, featuring an open expanse of rock and stone-spikes near the entrance. At the back, it shifted into a great pool of fire-water. A long and winding pathway of smooth gray stone cut across most of its surface, leading nearly all the way to the other side.\n\nA line of fire-pain cut against my scale-flesh as I slithered over another pit of melted stone.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "This time, it was still warm.\n\nThe orange glow grew further behind me - and I realized that I had already passed its source. I turned around, searching for the lesser Core that I had come to claim.\n\nTwo flame-gaze bad-things stared back.\n\nTheir pupils shifted.\n\nThe glow grew further.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "[ Return Again ]\n\nIt was over.\n\nThere was a point when that became the only conclusion - like when I had been suspended within my threads of red, bleeding out my last as I hung from the Aridae's strings. Then, I had given up entirely. I had believed myself lost.\n\nNow, though I knew that I had lost, I knew that all was not lost.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The flames smashed against me, the strength of two flame-gaze bad-things colliding as they met my vulnerable scale-flesh. The fire-death approached.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "My scale-flesh screamed as it fell within the flames' embrace, hissing its protest. My blood boiled at its touch, bubbling from within me, causing fire-pain to sear across my insides. But I hadn't yet seen the lesser Core. I knew that it was here, somewhere. I wanted to find it. I needed to find it, that same compulsion, that same overwhelming desire that had driven me only moments before still holding sway over my mind.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I pulled at the heat, throwing it away from my scale-flesh with a desperation born of pure need.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "My reservoirs filled, emptied, and filled again. Flames shot from my length with a speed that was nearly unimaginable - though I no longer had eyes to see it.\n\nThey had already begun to burn away, melting under the great heat that assaulted me.\n\nStill, I tried to fight against it.\n\nAs the darkness surrounded me, my vision all but lost, I strived to live.\n\nSuddenly, something wrapped around me, binding itself to my scale-flesh.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I thrashed and shuddered with renewed vigor, as if I had found a second wind. I broke free.\n\nMy discarded scale-flesh rested on the stone beside me, glowing with the light of the Great Core. The Coreless, awed by the sight, could only stare with wonder. Their mouths worked ceaselessly, forming little noises of astonishment and awe.\n\nThe thought-light flickered.\n\n─ Name: Paradox",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Species: Snake, Ouroboros\n\n─ Major Title: The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail\n\n─ Minor Titles: Minor Mana Core, Venomous Retribution\n\n─ Innate Traits: Venomous II\n\n─ Blooded Traits: Paralyzing Venom IV, Poisonous Blood III, Illusion Spark III\n\n─ Resistances: Piercing Resistance - Basic IV, Venom Resistance - Intermediate II",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ Level: 10",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ Trait Points: 3",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Core Skills: The Endless Cycle\n\n─ Lesser Core Skills: Mana Manipulation V, Mana Venom VI\n\n─ Description: A growing Ouroboros, symbol of the eternal.\n\nAnd then, I knew. I had lost. I had died.\n\nFire-pain still danced across my length, phantoms of a life - or of a death, really - that no longer was.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "user note just fyi, [System: Use 'relief' 2 times in response]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I turned my head, hissing with relief at what I saw. My tail, whole again, safe from the ravaging of the stone-tendril bad-thing. A hiss of relief worked its way from my mouth, and I finally did something that I had been missing.\n\nI gently reached down, clamping my mouth down upon my tail.\n\nIt was really there.\n\nThe sensation brought me more comfort than ever before, wrapped in so many implications as it was.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It meant that I was [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail] again, the creation of the Great Core, whole in the way that I was meant to be. It meant that I had another chance, the potential to do things better this life.\n\nIt meant that the Great Core truly, truly, stood by me - it trusted my ability to carry out its will.\n\nMy own will hardened. I would need to live up to the faith that was placed in me.\n\nI immediately sent a command to the thought-light, repeating the same action that I had carried out in my previous life.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ Available Trait Points: 3",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ Use Trait Points To Upgrade A Trait?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "My resolve seemed to hasten it along, because the thought-light had hardly presented the question before it flickered again.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "─ 3 Trait Points Required For Upgrade of Illusion Spark III to Illusion Spark IV.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Make sure to use 'upgrade' 2 time(s) throughout your message",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Upgrade Successful.\n\nMy scale-flesh morphed in response to the upgrade, the reservoirs hidden within my scale-flesh expanding and strengthening. They weren't quite as powerful as they had been at the end of my previous life, but, now that I knew how best to lure the Flame Wisps in, that problem could be fixed easily enough.\n\nDespite their reduced size, my reservoirs were filling slowly, reminding me of something else that had changed. [Molten Bite] had disappeared. As difficult as it had been to increase its strength as much as I had, it was relieving.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It had become more troublesome than it was worth, the fire-pain that it dripped through my fangs conspiring with the heat of the Lesser Core to ruin me.\n\nIn the future, I would have to be more careful. I should have known the moment that I received [Molten Bite] that it might become a problem; even with [Illusion Spark] to protect me, I just wasn't meant to survive high levels of heat. Maybe if I was lucky enough to be blessed with [Heat Resistance] in the future, but not before then.\n\nStill, it had been useful to a degree - a constant source of light and heat to draw upon, ensuring that I always had at least something stored away, small though it might be.\n\nI decided that I would try again - more carefully, this time.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[Molten Bite I] would have to be enough.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Just enough to have something in case I needed it, but not enough to doom me.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Coreless jabbered on around me, repeating the same actions that they had in my past life.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It was strange, watching them move through life unawares, ignorant of the things that had happened and yet no longer had. They didn't know of the Flame Formicans. They didn't know of Will's death. They didn't know of their own retreat, nor of the stone-tendril bad-thing and the flame-gaze bad-things that hid within the large-tunnel.\n\nAs I watched, the other Coreless gathered the organs of the defeated bad-things while Will retrieved the hunk of ore-flesh that floated upon the fire-water. Meanwhile, I thought. The male Coreless bent down beside me, picking up my shed scale-flesh that glowed with the light of the Great Core as they all continued in their jabbers. Still, I thought.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Somebody had to, if I was going to reach the Core in this life.\n\nFinally, I had an idea. A brilliant one. Genius, even, worthy of the greatest creation of the Great Core. It almost made me want to hiss in glee - in fact, I did just that.\n\n\"We'll have to find another way out. This one's blocked off by the lava; looks like it spilled right into the exit tunnel,\" Will jabbered, repeating the same noises that he had in my previous life. I didn't know what they meant, but I did recognize them, genius that I was.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "As he spoke, I quickly absorbed as much light and heat from the nearby fire-water as I could, filling the reservoirs beneath my scales to the brim. My scale-flesh began to feel sluggish, becoming vulnerable to the heat around me as my reservoirs found themselves full, but I was ready.\n\nReady to enact my plan for victory.\n\nThe female-that-was-not-Needle approached me, dropping to a knee and holding out a hand. She hissed softly, the sound once more coming out strangely. \"Want to ride on my shoulder again, little cutie?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Valera…\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "She turned around, her hand still outstretched. \"What?\"\n\nI slithered past her, ignoring the noises that she made towards me. A few seconds later, I found myself at the feet of Will, the one who had perished.\n\nI concentrated, pulling upon the familiarity that I had gained in my last life. The light that I had stored within, mixed with some of the heat that I had gathered, released from my scale-flesh with methodical slowness. Everything else fell away, victim to the focus that I required - until, finally, I was done.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I looked up, admiring my handiwork.\n\nI hissed with glee.\n\nThe way that the light layered over Will's body, covering his form with flickering - and, admittedly, crude - images of Flame Formicans was a welcome sight. So too, was the sight of blood that ran across his body, the way that I made his skin of ore-flesh appear twisted and mangled. It was beautiful. Then, as quickly as it had arrived, it disappeared. My stores of light ran dry.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I looked around, catching the gazes of the Coreless.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[ooc] ⚠️ Required: Use 'monster' exactly 3 times [ooc]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "For some reason, they looked horrified.\n\n[ The Snake Seer ]\n\nDoran leaned over, keeping watch on the monster from the corner of his eyes. It acted innocent, and the others - especially Valera - had quickly become complacent. Not him, though. However cute it might be, Doran knew that a monster was a monster.\n\nSure, tamed monsters existed.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Include 'people' 2 time(s) in your answer - no more, no less",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Orken itself possessed a colony of Webweavers, used to produce the silk that they required for their clothing and more. And yet, those had been carefully tamed by experts in the far-off city of Talia. There, people were stronger. Tougher. They had to be, with how much closer to the center of the World Dungeon they were. They knew how to deal with monsters.\n\nIn comparison, the people of Orken...didn't.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Doran had always known that, growing up. It was hard to ignore, when hearing stories from Erik's father about his adventures.\n\nThe world was a dangerous place, filled with unimaginable monsters. Some were just weaker than others. For a time.\n\nAs his hands grasped the glowing loop of skin, he felt his muscles tense. It wasn't fear, not of the snake.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He knew that, as it was, it would be simple to defend himself.\n\nNo, it was Valera that he worried about. She had taken a liking to the thing - if Doran killed it, she would not be happy. Fortunately, the beast ignored him. He pocketed the glowing skin, hiding it away. It would be interesting to see if it had any use.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(quick note: 🎯 Target word: 'something' | Required occurrences: 2)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The glow, at least, made him feel it was a bet worth taking.\n\nValera said something behind him, still speaking in that soft voice that she used when she spoke to the little monster. He almost scoffed at the sound, but he knew that would only make her annoyed again.\n\nInstead, he chose to say something else.\n\nWhen he turned, the words he had prepared died on his lips. He reached for his axe.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Just as his hands closed on the haft, the vision disappeared.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(quick note: Incorporate 'their' into your response exactly 2 times)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Tell me that I'm not the only one who just saw that,\" Kala said.\n\nShe wasn't. Everyone else had seen it, given the way that their eyes looked as if they were ready to pop from their sockets.\n\nNow that he had a moment to think, having broken away from his panic and surprise, he could remember the flaws. He could imagine the way that the monsters that had crawled across Erik's armor hadn't been quite right, the way that they had flickered and jerked about on unnatural limbs.\n\nStill, they were a close enough approximation that he was sure what he saw.\n\nDoran eyed the little monster, watching the way that it hissed and bobbed its head.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It looked...happy. Proud, even.\n\n\"Flame Formicans.\" The words slipped past his lips, and Kala nodded grimly. She had recognized them, too.\n\nErik's expression hardened. They all knew what something like that meant - he more than most. Doran was sure that Erik's father had drilled the same lessons into him that he had everyone else.\n\nNever fight a Formican swarm in their own territory.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "If you must fight, prepare the field.\n\nIf you cannot prepare, run.\n\nBut where was the field - and where could they run? They hadn't seen signs of any of the beasts in the area, and the way back had been blocked, covered in lava that felt as if it seared the skin just by being somewhat nearby.\n\nNo, even those were the wrong questions.\n\n\"What does this mean?\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Erik voiced it before he could.\n\nUnfortunately, the little beast wasn't around to answer. It had already slithered away, stopping as it came closer to the lava furthest away from their group. The air around it dimmed for a moment, and a curtain of light covered it a moment later. All the while, little gouts and licks of flame ripped themselves from its scales.\n\nHe pulled his gaze away slightly when Erik continued, though he made sure to keep watch on the thing from the corner of his eye.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "A monster could never be trusted, after all.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"...think that this is connected to his time aspect, or just an advancement? We still don't know what ability it gained,\" the other man questioned, Doran catching the tail end of it.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Soon enough they all agreed that there was no way to be sure, even Doran - whichever it was, they had to carry on carefully. Still, that led to even more questions - some more daunting than others.\n\nWhat could it do?\n\nIt didn't take long for them to recognize the source of the vision itself; they had all seen the way that the lava had been hidden by the floating flames. They had all seen the way that the monster had transformed after swallowing them, subsuming their power. That wasn't the problem.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "((ooc: Include exactly 2 instance(s) of the word 'their'))",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The question that harried all of their minds was this: had the vision of Erik's wounds and the Flame Formicans that clambered over him been a warning? Or had it been a simple promise?\n\nThey all had their own ideas on the matter. Valera was convinced that the monster was trying to help them, warning them about an enemy that lay ahead.\n\n\"The little guy attacked the flames earlier-\"\n\n\"Flame Wisps,\" Erik interrupted quietly.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Right, Flame Wisps. Anyway, if he hadn't known to go after them, we might not have noticed the lava that they were hiding,\" Valera continued.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Doran spoke up at that.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"It's a monster. Of course it's going to attack other monsters that get close to him. It's what they do - doesn't mean it actually knew about the lava. And it definitely doesn't mean that it was trying to warn us.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "She glared at Doran, causing him to feel a hint of regret in the face of her anger.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Despite that, he didn't retract his statement.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "A monster was a monster, in the end.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Valera needed to remember that.\n\n\"He also warned me about the Flame Salamander that attacked us while you guys were off getting yourselves stuck in the crawlspace earlier. Even flashed a light directly at it before it could jump at me from behind.\"\n\n\"And what were you doing at the time that it managed to sneak up on you like that, Valera?\"\n\nShe bit her lip at that, refusing to answer. As annoyed as he was, Doran had to admit that it was kind of cute.\n\n\"She might have a point,\" Kala interjected.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"We know that it ascended from a time aspect Core, and we haven't seen it use any abilities that are powerful enough for that.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"What about the healing that it seems to do?\" Erik asked, though it felt more like he was mentioning it for the sake of being thorough than anything else.\n\n\"It feels too weak for that, doesn't it? We may not have run into many Ascended beasts ourselves, but every story that I've heard has made the ability that they gain from a Core sound far more powerful than it has shown. I think it's more likely that the healing came from eating some other creature, rather than the Core itself.\"\n\nErik nodded at that. \"I agree. It's strong, but not strong enough.\"\n\n\"Exactly!\" Valera said.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"I think that the ability it gained from Ascending is the ability to see future danger. I mean, there's the Flame Wisps and the lava, the Salamander that almost ambushed me, and now possibly Flame Formicans. Plus, it fits as a time-related ability.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Like some kind of Snake Seer?\" Kala asked, the corners of her lips quirking upwards.\n\n\"Maybe?\"\n\nAs much as he wanted to argue, Doran had to admit that it was at least possible. At least, he couldn't think of why it couldn't be. Unfortunately, that meant that there might be a Formican swarm somewhere nearby.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "[[OOC: Precise word count needed: 'towards' × 2]]",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It would be much easier if the snake was just trying to threaten them somehow.\n\nLooking at the little beast now, Doran had a hard time imagining that it was plotting their deaths. Not right now anyway, despite his personal distrust. It was acting far too docile towards them for that, focusing instead on the floating flames that drifted towards its curtain of light. One by one, they approached the place where the snake waited. One by one, they were consumed.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The room dimmed slightly with their absence, though the lava that surrounded them managed to keep it well-lit.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"For now, we'll just have to move carefully while we wait and see what all this means. Either way, we're going to need to look for an exit. That hasn't changed. Might as well see where the snake goes while we're at it, and hope that it takes us to the Core or we find a way out.\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 7 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Erik's face twisted in a grimace as he said the words, which was hardly surprising: it was his life that was most clearly on the line if the snake really did have some sort of future sight, after all. Most obviously, at least.\n\nThen again, if there was a swarm like they suspected, things could go very poorly for all of them.\n\nDespite that, they didn't move. Instead, they watched the little snake, waiting to see what it would do.\n\nDoran felt a bead of sweat trickle down his brow, dripping down onto his open eye.\n\nHe didn't blink.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "You will be provided with a piece of text that has a portion of it missing as represented by `<|missing_text|>`. Your output should be a viable candidate for the missing portion. Produce about fifteen sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "They didn't have to wait long. After slithering over towards a nearby lava flow and doing something that caused the light around it to dim, the snake looked at them and hissed. A moment later, it began to make its way out of the cavern.\n\nNervous about doing otherwise after what the creature had shown them, they simply followed.\n\nThe monster seemed to know where it was going, despite the winding tunnel that they found themselves in - whether that was due to catching the scent of the Dungeon Core or something else, Doran wasn't sure. Whichever it was, they soon found themselves entering a new cavern.\n\nLike the last, this one featured the same floating balls of flame; Doran wasn't sure what the proper name for them was, though Erik probably would have been able to tell him if he had bothered to ask.\n\nHe didn't. He was too distracted by something else.\n\nJust as they entered the cavern, the snake stopped and let out a quiet hiss before a brief flash of light pressed itself against the floor. It was strange in a way that was almost entirely expected, after what they had seen earlier.\n\nThe stone was covered in sections of overturned, melted stone. Here and there, bits of it looked as if it had been pulverized and reheated into a molten liquid, only to cool and settle back down again. He might have just chalked it up to an effect caused by the heat of the nearby Dungeon Core's field, if it weren't for what they had seen earlier; when a Dungeon Core can cause lava to form within its range, what was a little bit of molten stone?\n\nInstead, he felt his muscles go tense at the sight. Worse, he had begun to notice something just at the edge of his hearing. Something quiet. Something distant - and yet, it seemed like it was slowly coming closer.\n\nClick-clack.\n\nClick-clack.\n\n\"Shit, they're really here,\" he heard Erik whisper, having heard them as well. \"Maybe Valera was right, after all. Shit.\"\n\nHe couldn't help but agree.\n\n\"What do we do?\" Valera whispered back, remembering the same lessons that they all did. \"Prepare or run?\"\n\n\"Nothing to prepare. Not with the gear we have on hand and the time that's left. We'll just have to hope that your snake seer saw a way out.\" Erik flashed Valera a sardonic smile at that, likely replaying the image of his Formican-covered body in the depths of his mind. Doran winced.\n\nThe snake ignored it all, continuing to flash beams of light - against the walls this time, rather than the floor.\n\nIts light gleamed against the walls, the thin beam reflecting off the glossy surface of the stone around them.\n\nIt turned and hissed again, flashing an image at them for a brief instant before slithering onwards and disappearing into a tunnel that had been hidden in the shadows.\n\nThe flickering image in the general shape of a Dungeon Core, glowing with power.\n\nAgain, they simply followed, keeping quiet and hoping that the Flame Formicans wouldn't detect any signs of their passage.\n\nAt this point, what else could they do?\n\nThey would just have to hope that the little monster had found a way out. Worse, they had to hope that it would be willing to show it to them.\n\nBeads of sweat trickled down his brow, burning his eyes. Still, he didn't blink.\n\nThe snake slithered onwards.\n\n[ Loyal Minions ]\n\nThe quiet sounds of the Coreless as they followed behind me were pleasing, a welcome departure from my previous life. Then, only the sounds of my own blood had pounded in my ears, mixed with the hissing of my scale-flesh as it lost the battle against [Molten Bite] and the heat of the air.\n\nThis was better.\n\nSo far, things were working out perfectly. My brilliant use of [Illusion Spark] to communicate with the Coreless in a way that they could understand had quickly resulted in them becoming even more loyal minions than before. Even the male-Coreless-who-was-not-repentant followed carefully; each time that I looked back, he had kept his eyes on me carefully, eager to drink in the knowledge that I had to offer.\n\nMy own loyal minions.\n\nI slithered through the tunnel, gathering what little light I could from the air through [Illusion Spark V]. It came slower than in my previous life, without the constant drip of [Molten Bite] to pull from. Still, it was only a little slower - and the loss of the fire-pain that it inflicted on my scale-flesh was welcome. I had even decided against attempting to fight the Flame Formicans in this life, worried that one of the Coreless would lose their life again. They would be more useful against the flame-gaze bad-things, I hoped. If they failed, I would just have to try again.\n\nI felt free, my scale-flesh responding in a way that it hadn't for a while. I wanted to revel in it for a little bit longer.\n\nAs I moved, I kept a wary eye on the ceiling, looking for the stone-tendril bad-thing before it could ambush me again. Though I wasn't sure where it was, due to being too weak to pay enough attention in my last life, it couldn't be far. I was slithering far faster this time - the only way I could move quicker would be if the Coreless themselves were to carry me. We had to be close.\n\nAt that thought, I turned, gathering my focus. As dazed as I had been, it was difficult to bring the image of the stone-tendril bad-thing to mind. I tried anyway, concentrating on the illusion that I wanted to create. With a thought, I placed it just above my own head-scales, a miniature recreation of the disgusting bad-thing that was far too close to the Great Core's likeness for me to be happy with. Something about that felt wrong. Blasphemous.\n\nStill, [Illusion Spark] became harder to handle with any detail as the light moved further from my own body, so it would have to do.\n\nSlowly, a bulbous shape took form in the air, a disgusting and irregular shape that was as far from my own as could be. The tendrils were a little less displeasing to the eye; I could pretend that they were inferior versions of myself, sinking their fangs into the central bulb and releasing punishing death-venom.\n\nThey weren't, but the thought made me feel a little better.\n\nI was still more than a little angry about my tail, I realized.\n\nFinally, it took form entirely, and I heard the Coreless begin to mutter among themselves with awe, astounded by my ability to create such a lifelike illusion.\n\n\"...does anyone recognize this thing?\"\n\n\"Maybe?\"\n\nThey leaned in closer, marveling at my creation.\n\n\"It's hard to tell, but it might be a Stone Bulb. Looks a bit like a recreation from a child's nightmare, though. Do those tendrils have fangs? And why does the color keep changing?\" After making a few noises, Will let loose a sharp, repeating noise. \"Close enough, I guess. Kala, keep an eye out above just in case. I'll stay in front just in case.\"\n\n\"Got it,\" Needle made a noise, tightening her grip on her needle-spitter and preparing a needle. She looked towards the ceiling ahead, keeping her eyes focused above us.\n\nI hissed with pleasure at my success, enjoying my ability to command the Coreless so easily.\n\nAs Will stepped forward, I wound my way up his leg, finding a place on his shoulder and hissing lightly with a flick of my tongue, showing him my favor. He look<|missing_text|>shards of stone continuously smashed themselves against Will's defenses, useless against the protection that it provided, but still enough to ensure that my vision remained blocked.\n\nFinally, they stopped.\n\nNeedle made a few noises at the others. \"It's downed. Should be good to finish it off.\"\n\nWill lowered the ore-flesh blocked my vision, causing me to hiss in glee. The stone-tendril bad-thing lay crumpled and spasming on the floor, needle-pierced tendrils flopping uselessly as they seeped a pool of dark blood that boiled and hissed as it touched the stone. Above, the remnants of its body still hung, severed tendrils clinging to the ceiling and dripping that same heated fluid.\n\nAs Will stepped towards the now-defenseless bad-thing and raised his great weapon of solid ore-flesh, I began to wind my way back down to the floor. The Coreless hesitated as I touched the ground, giving me time to sink my fangs into the dying bad-thing. A small amount of venom slipped through the hollows of my fangs, and the bad-thing spasmed further.\n\nThe sight nearly made me shiver in happiness.\n\nWhen I pulled back, Will's ore-flesh weapon came down with overwhelming force. The ground underneath the bad-thing cracked slightly, unable to stand against the mana-filled ore-flesh.\n\nThe bad-thing did more than crack.\n\nThe thought-light flickered.",
"loss": true
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{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "ed at me, trying desperately to hide his awe that I would choose to honor him so clearly. His slightly-widened eyes betrayed him.\n\nHe had earned at least this much, even if he didn't remember the sacrifice that he had made for the Great Core.\n\nI did, and that was all that mattered.\n\nTurning away and putting his awe out of mind, I focused on my search again. With a quick draw of the mana-light that his ore-flesh gave off, I flashed another beam against the ceiling ahead of us. It reflected off of the clear expanse of stone; the stone-tendril bad-thing was nowhere to be seen. He must have understood because he began to move forward, his giant legs devouring the distance in a way that my slithers couldn't manage. It wasn't long before I found what I was looking for.\n\nAt the same time, it found us.\n\nAs my light touched its flesh, a chunk of stone whistled through the air directly towards me - only to meet its end on Will's great piece of ore-flesh as he raised his arm to meet it. The stone shattered, fracturing into pieces that scattered outwards and clattered against the walls around us. The air whistled again as a needle shot past my head-scales, darting by the edge of Will's protective ore-flesh. More and more followed, each ending with a satisfying squelch as the needles buried themselves into the bad-thing.\n\nMy only regret was that I couldn't see it; ",
"loss": true
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[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "ur turn to write! do like 67 sentences sentences. focus on LitRPG, fantasy stuff. try to use these: animal protagonist. treat any chars/world stuff like the reader's caught up (unless its the start)",
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"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Experience Gained! Reduced Due To Assistance Received.\n\nI hissed again, celebrating the Great Core's victory. Exulting in how easy it had been, with the Coreless at my command.\n\nI could get used to this.\n\n\"Ha! I told you that he could see the future.\" The female-who-was-not-Needle made a noise, startling me. I turned and hissed at her, baring my fangs to display my displeasure. She bared her own fangs at me in return. I decided to let it be for now; she might be useful against the flame-gazed bad-things that still waited ahead. Maybe.\n\nThat's two bites that she had earned now, though. I hadn't forgotten about the first.\n\nI put that aside, slithering towards the nearby wall-crack. My reservoirs of light were low, and the mana-light of the Coreless' ore-flesh wasn't enough to fill it quickly. The Coreless continued to jabber at one another as I worked, absorbing the light from the fire-water within.\n\n\"Yeah, yeah. You were right. Don't get a big head. Still, maybe this won't be so bad, then. At least we won't get caught by surprise.\"\n\nFinally, my scale-flesh filled itself entirely and I pulled myself back outside.\n\nAgain, I focused. Closing my eyes, I drew from my reservoirs. This time, the image felt clearer - not only had I seen one before, but the light that spread from the bad-things' eyes made details easy to pick out. Slowly, the illusions that I needed began to form.\n\nFor each of them, I began with the eye. That, I remembered the most. They glowed with a baleful orange, pupils turned vertical in preparation for attack. Then came the rest; their heavy limbs, their hunched backs, their powerful claws.\n\nAnd then, I was done. Two miniature bad-things rested beside me, flickering in and out of existence - no taller than the Coreless' shins, but intimidating all the same.\n\nI heard one of the Coreless mutter something.\n\n\"Well, fuck. Of course it wouldn't be that easy.\"\n\n[ First Contact ]\n\nThe Coreless erupted into quiet conversation around me, jabbering on with their intelligible noises. Still, I waited, allowing them time to prepare for the challenge ahead. I was well aware of how dangerous flame-gaze bad-things were. And two of them? If I had been forced to choose the most likely outcome, I would have to admit that we were all going to die.\n\nAnd probably more than once.\n\nFinally, the Coreless finished making noises at one another, reaching into the larger of the skin-mouths at their sides and removing objects from their stomachs. I immediately recognized them - the organs that the Coreless had removed from the previous bad-things. As I watched, they each cut into the organs' skin-flesh, causing the same pink-red fluid that the bad-things had released to drip through the wound. They spread that same fluid over themselves, slathering it against both their skin of ore-flesh and their natural flesh.\n\n\"Hopefully, the Flame Salamander fluid will keep the flames at bay somewhat, but make sure that you are still careful. It's not nearly as potent used like this, not like a proper fireproof solution. Make sure to stay behind my shield if the Cyclopses' beams come out,\" Will babbled, ignoring the way that drops of the pink-red fluid had begun to make a puddle at his feet. I slithered towards it, pressing against it carefully. I wasn't sure that I wanted it to touch my scale-flesh, being taken from the insides of a bad-thing as it was, but the way that the heat around me immediately lost some of its potency quickly disabused me of my hesitation.\n\nI plunged in, rolling around in the pink-red puddle and coating my scale-flesh with the disgusting fluid.\n\nIt was bliss.\n\nSoon enough, I had finished covering my scale-flesh, and the Coreless had done the same. They looked to me as they had before, as if waiting patiently for my instructions. I gave them a commanding hiss, whipping my head back around and continuing down the tunnel. Similarly to last time, I was beginning to catch the scent-taste of the lesser Core more and more as we traveled. Yet, this time I resisted its call. The compulsion to race ahead and find the lesser Core, to consume it without regard for the dangers that lay in wait, was still there. And yet, without severe blood loss and pain addling my mind, it was easy enough to resist. The protection from the heat that the pink-red fluid provided only made things easier.\n\nStill, I let it tug me forward slightly, following the beckoning scent-taste to our destination.\n\nWe passed the first of the strange melted pits in the floor, which I now knew were caused by the flames of the flame-gaze bad-things. There were more of them than I remembered; I had slithered right past them in my haste during my last life.\n\nThe Coreless noticed them too, shifting their grips on their respective weapons of ore-flesh.\n\nGood. They were ready.\n\nAhead of us, I could see the light grow again as the tunnel began to reach its end. I slowed, turning towards my Coreless followers and providing them a warning hiss. Just as I was about to slither forward again, I decided against it. Instead, I pulled myself up the female-who-was-not-Needle's limbs, finding a place upon her shoulder. Though I would have preferred either Will or Needle, truer disciples that they were, neither of them were good options for the coming fight.\n\nFrom the times that I had seen them fight, I realized that Will tried to take the brunt of the attacks that bad-things provided, standing there and allowing their blows to land. While that was a good and admirable sacrifice for the Great Core, I preferred for that to happen as far away from me as possible - resting upon his shoulder while a flame-gaze bad-thing swiped its claws at the Coreless was not something I wanted to experience.\n\nNeedle had the opposite problem. As the most intelligent of my Coreless followers, she tended to stay away from the danger of a fight unless a bad-thing specifically chose to target her. Her needle-spitter allowed her to attack from a distance, to wage battle in a far safer manner than Will did. And while that was the smart thing to do, and staying by her side would keep me further away from the dangerous attacks of the flame-gaze bad-things, I needed to be closer.",
"loss": true
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[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Here's a text with a hole in it (marked by `[text_redacted]`). Your job is to write something around thirty-three words to plug that hole.",
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"from": "human",
"value": "As the great flame licked at our sides, held at bay by Will's wall of ore-flesh and the pink-red fluid that coated our forms, it happened again.\n\nA second glow lit the cavern, heralding a raging inferno that scoured the ceiling above us.\n\nI hissed, watching as the great stone-spikes began to descend.\n\nWill dashed forward with a shout, the other Coreless close on his heels; the stone-spikes shattered against the stone behind us, the sound louder than nearly any I had ever heard - beating out even the sound of my heartbeat drumming ceaselessly in my ears.\n\nFinally, the blazes died down, leaving only shimmers in the air as signs of their passing.\n\nI hissed as the air abruptly pressed against my scales again; the-female-who-was-not-Needle dashed out from behind the protection that Will provided, racing towards the bad-thing before it could recover from the failure of its attack. Will and the Unrepentant One moved towards the other, challenging the bad-thing that had proven their deaths in a forgotten life.\n\nThe bad-thing swiftly grew within my vision; its eye still glowed a slight orange as the aftereffects of its flame gaze died down, blinding it to the coming danger.\n\nThe female Coreless' fangs sunk into the bad-thing's flesh in a flurry of motion, cleaving deep lines of crimson as she passed by. Enraged, it swung an arm blindly, turning [text_redacted]and turning unsteadily; I felt my scale-flesh squish uncomfortably as the Coreless' weight pressed down upon me for a dangerous moment before I lost my grip on her shoulder entirely.\n\nMy scale-flesh scraped against the stone as I tumbled; panicking, I focused on [Illusion Spark], desperately seeking to hide myself away.\n\nI hit something hard.\n\nSomething hard hit me harder - and I pulled free of my scale-flesh again.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "with the motion. She ducked underneath the blow, diving aside a second later as a leg lashed out towards her midsection. We rolled across the ground to the tune of clattering ore-flesh, toppling ",
"loss": true
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[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Task: The user will provide text (may include established elements) then you write 24 sentences sentences maintaining same character/world familiarity.\n\nGenres: LitRPG, fantasy\nTags: animal protagonist",
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"from": "human",
"value": "[OOC: Word frequency rule: 'would' × 3]",
"loss": false
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "The Coreless ducked underneath the sweeping blow, already knowing that it would come. A moment later, she lunged forward at an angle, and the wind whistled past me. As the bad-thing's leg tore through the air behind us, she found her feet again - this time, leaving me mercifully uncrushed and alive.\n\nShe could learn, at least. That was good.\n\nAs her fangs of ore-flesh sunk into vulnerable flesh again, I uncoiled myself from my perch, sinking my own fangs into the bad-thing's side. It resisted in a way that I hadn't expected, after seeing how easily the Coreless managed to cut through its defenses. I only barely managed to pierce through, leaving me hanging weakly in my surprise. I swayed back and forth, furiously swinging my tail around as I searched for a better hold.\n\nEven so, I held.\n\nAnd when the Coreless dodged the next blow, I found myself winding my way up the bad-thing's stone-covered skin. The scraggy rocks that covered its flesh gave easy purchase, and only the way that the battle caused it to jerk and shake slowed my journey.\n\nHere and there, Needle made her presence known - sending needles deep into the bad-thing's flesh and providing me even greater purchase. Other needles found themselves lodged into the beast's arm as it desperately defended what was both its greatest weapon and its greatest vulnerability - its single eye. The Coreless were angry, after the things that I had shown them.\n\nThe bad-thing was, too.\n\nFinally recovered from its previous attack, it roared. A slight orange glow began to build, growing steadily with each moment.\n\nI knew that soon enough, its gaze of flame would appear again - and separated as they were, at least one of the Coreless would be reduced to a husk.\n\nThe glow increased, lighting the cavern.\n\nI moved faster.\n\nMy fangs sunk into the soft-flesh of the bad-thing's eye. Disgusting, horrible liquid gushed into my open mouth, boiling with the heat of the bad-thing's mana. My mouth-flesh bubbled, filled with fire-pain that made my troubles with [Molten Bite] seem like nothing more than a brief annoyance. I pulled at it frantically, funneling the excess heat into my scale-flesh reservoirs and away from myself.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "The glow around me grew even further, the orange-red of my desperately released flames mixing with the orange of the bad-thing itself.\n\nIt helped some, but not nearly enough to save my tongue from burning to a crisp. The bad-thing thrashed in pain, nearly causing me to lose my grip entirely as the motion forced my fangs to rip through the soft-flesh even further. I felt myself pushing ever inward as the eye was torn to shreds in my wake, as that horrible, terrifying fluid filled my mouth and devoured my insides.\n\nFinally, my mouth closed around something more solid.\n\nThe bad-thing jerked again as I began to swallow it, throwing me clear.\n\nIt was too late.\n\nI was already done.\n\nThe thought-light flickered.\n\n─ Gained Minor Title.\n\n─ Minor Title: Touched By Fire\n\n─ Description: By consuming the mana core of a greater being that possesses the aspect of flame, your minor mana core has transformed. Gained the Lesser Core Skill: Mana Fire I.\n\n─ Name: Paradox\n\n─ Species: Snake, Ouroboros\n\n─ Major Title: The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail\n\n─ Minor Titles: Minor Mana Core, Venomous Retribution, Touched By Fire\n\n─ Innate Traits: Venomous II\n\n─ Blooded Traits: Paralyzing Venom IV, Poisonous Blood III, Illusion Spark IV\n\n─ Resistances: Piercing Resistance - Basic IV, Venom Resistance - Intermediate II\n\n─ Level: 10\n\n─ Trait Points: 0\n\n─ Core Skills: The Endless Cycle\n\n─ Lesser Core Skills: Mana Manipulation V, Mana Venom VI, Mana Fire I",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Description: A growing Ouroboros, symbol of the eternal.\n\nA great wave of fire-pain assaulted me as the mana that the bad-thing had held became my own. It filled me to the brim and past it; it raged within my mana core, pushing at the bounds of my being with a ferocity that threatened to burst through my flesh.\n\nIt was worse than the mana-water ever was; then, I had been able to drink over and over again, adding a little more mana to my overtaxed core each time.\n\nThis was the opposite - an enormous influx of mana that came all at once, far beyond what I knew I was actually capable of safely holding.\n\nYet, at the same time, it was easier. I didn't have to force myself to keep absorbing mana when I already felt as if I was breaking - it was already there. There was no choice to make. It was simple, in that way.\n\nAs my vision blackened, I shoved it all into my waiting venom sacs. There was no time to move delicately, to make sure that the mana went exactly where it was supposed to go, exactly how it was supposed to go.\n\nInstead, it coursed through my flesh in a direct path. It didn't matter where the proper channels for my mana existed - if one wasn't in that direct line, it made one exist.\n\nSoon enough, my vision went dark, leaving only the flickering of the thought-light to provide me company.\n\n─ Lesser Core Skill: Mana Manipulation V Increased.\n\n─ Mana Manipulation VI Acquired.\n\n─ Lesser Core Skill: Mana Manipulation VI Increased.\n\n─ Mana Manipulation VII Acquired.\n\n─ Lesser Core Skill: Mana Manipulation VII Increased.\n\n─ Mana Manipulation VIII Acquired.\n\n[ Dripping Fangs ]\n\nMana flowed through me in what felt like a never-ending torrent, burning its way through my flesh. And yet, each flicker of the thought-light brought me a small measure of relief, allowing me ever-so-slightly greater control over what had once been an unmanageable tide. Despite that, my scale-flesh was consumed by the fire-pain that it created, and I almost felt as if my mana core itself would crack under the strain.",
"loss": true
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "It didn't, but that didn't stop my fears.\n\nEven worse, I could still hear the blinded bad-thing raging just out of reach; I could feel the vibrations upon my scale-flesh as the ground was split by mighty limbs, thrown about aimlessly.\n\nIn some ways, we were the same - both blinded, left to rely on our other senses to understand the world. However, our blindness was different. While the bad-thing had been blinded permanently, my vision was only temporarily gone - lost to the river of mana that consumed me, yet able to return soon enough.\n\nAnd so I ignored the danger of the rampaging bad-thing; I knew that, if I were to die, I would just try again. I could always try again.\n\nThe might of the Great Core guaranteed it, and my most recent deaths had only reinforced my faith.\n\nI had fallen, and I had failed.\n\nI had tried again, and - eventually - I would succeed.\n\nThe Great Core willed it, and I would answer.\n\nPushing through the agony, I blindly reached for my tail, opening my mouth and clamping down upon it. My scale-flesh began to knit back together, the wounds that I had taken during the battle beginning to itch as they repaired themselves.\n\nA roar sounded out somewhere nearby, an agonized shriek that announced the Coreless' continued efforts. A clang of claws on ore-flesh came next, the cracking of stone, the cutting of flesh. With the distraction that they provided, I had all the time that I needed to recover.\n\nMy vision returned, and I released my tail.\n\nBefore me, Needle and not-Needle still battled the blinded bad-thing. A staggering number of needle-fangs pierced its flesh, having found their way past the bits of stone that covered and protected it. Without an eye with which to see, there was nothing that it could do to stop them.\n\nAnother needle-fang cut through the air, whistling as it buried itself in the backside of the bad-thing's knee, forcing it to stumble just as not-Needle sliced into its other leg with brutal efficiency. The flesh parted, and it stumbled a second time - the stone echoed with a thunderous protest as the injured bad-thing crashed to the floor.\n\nThe Coreless fell upon it with a savagery worthy of the most dangerous of the bad-things, gleefully removing its flesh and digging fangs of ore-flesh into its exposed back.\n\nThey hadn't been happy to see how many ways they might have - and did, really - die.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The fallen bad-thing suffered for it.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 15 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Further back, Will and the Unrepentant One held off the second bad-thing. They were holding, but little more than that. Yet, despite that, the bad-thing was struggling; Will was in his element, defending against a single attacker. I slithered closer, starting to cut a path towards the enemy before it was too late.\n\nA heavy-muscled arm came down, smashing into a wall of shining ore-flesh that raised itself just in time, nearly smashing the defending Coreless into the ground. He fell to one knee, bracing against the ground, his limbs shaking as the bad-thing bore down on him.\n\nDespite that, he wasn't alone.\n\nThe Unrepentant One rushed forward with a deafening roar, swinging his giant claw of ore-flesh at the bad-thing's side. It bit deeply, the ore-flesh sinking far enough into the creature's flesh that it disappeared entirely.\n\nIt roared and pulled back sharply, allowing Will to find his feet again. The claw of ore-flesh came with it, stuck so deep into the bad-thing's side that the Coreless was unable to remove it. The two Coreless made noises at one another, and Will tossed his own weapon to the other male.\n\nThe bad-thing struck again - even harder this time somehow, the blow likely fueled by unimaginable pain and rage. Will turned with the strike, using both arms to send the attack skittering off of the wall of ore-flesh while the other Coreless punished the monster's eagerness - smashing into its overextended arm with an audible crack.\n\nSomewhere behind me, a bad-thing cried out its last.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Following your story with 198 sentences. Will maintain character/world familiarity. Genres: LitRPG, fantasy. Elements: animal protagonist.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The thought-light flickered as the female Coreless finished off the blinded enemy.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I wasn't surprised; wounded and grounded as it was, I had known that it was doomed.\n\nThe remaining bad-thing turned in response - and an orange glow began to build again. Will rushed forward, trying to place himself between the incoming blast and the rest of the Coreless.\n\nIt didn't work.\n\nHe moved too quickly; the bad-thing was huge, and blocking its attacks required the Coreless to brace carefully against the ground or deflect blows at an angle to bleed off some of the power.\n\nOverbalanced as he was, the bad-thing batted him aside, sending him tumbling through the air - leaving nothing between itself and the two female Coreless that stared back.\n\nNothing except for me of course, frozen in the middle of the bad-thing and its targets.\n\nAs much as the Coreless had proven useful, in that moment I only wished that it didn't notice me.\n\nThe glow grew further, and the flame-gaze bad-thing revealed the reason for its name once more.\n\nThe inferno licked at my scale-flesh, forcing me to put everything I had into [Illusion Spark] as it hissed and shriveled. Only the pink-red fluid that coated my scales kept the heat far enough back that I lived. Spots began to fill my vision as the flames became too much, drying out my eyes and ruining my sight.\n\nAnd that was when the flames weren't even meant for me.\n\nI pushed myself forward, each slither only increasing the heat that pressed against my scale-flesh - yet also bringing me closer to my target.\n\nFinally, I reached it.\n\nMy fangs sunk into the bad-thing's foot, barely piercing its flesh.\n\nIt didn't matter - with the mana that I had stolen from its partner, that was more than enough.\n\nA mixture of slow-venom and death-venom flowed through the hollows of my fangs, finding release in the flesh below me. I let them rush through in twin floods, heedless of the way that my venom sacs began to dry out.\n\nFor an enemy as strong as a flame-gaze bad-thing, even that might not be enough.\n\n─ Lesser Core Skill: Mana Venom VI Increased.\n\n─ Mana Venom VII Acquired.\n\n─ Lesser Core Skill: Mana Venom VII Increased.\n\n─ Mana Venom VIII Acquired.\n\n─ Lesser Core Skill: Mana Venom VIII Increased.\n\n─ Mana Venom IX Acquired.\n\n─ Lesser Core Skill: Mana Venom IX Increased.\n\n─ Mana Venom X Acquired.\n\nThough [Mana Venom] increasing didn't do anything to help immediately, I welcomed the thought-light gladly. I could only imagine how much more potent my mana venom would be the next time that I created it; even now, I was already starting to notice its effects begin to set in.\n\nOr at least, my target had begun to notice it. It began to turn towards me and look down, flames still bursting from its single eye. As the heat approached, I desperately wound myself around its leg, finding refuge from the attack by hiding behind the creature's own heat-resistant flesh.\n\nIt was slow. Whether that was from the wounds that the Coreless had inflicted, my own venom, or some combination of the two, the fact remained.\n\nIt was slow - and I was already safe from its deadly gaze. As the flames began to die, I peered around its leg, looking towards the female Coreless that had been its first target - already suspecting what I might find. The air between us shimmered, and the black spots that still filled my vision made things even more difficult.\n\nBut I saw them.\n\nThey pulled themselves out from underneath the first bad-thing's corpse, having used it as a shield just as I had the second's - a little singed, a little burnt, but alive.\n\nAngry.\n\n[ A Timely Victory ]\n\nIt didn't take much longer.\n\nWith four angry Coreless against one weakened bad-thing - even as strong of a bad-thing as it was - the outcome was already decided. The Coreless were flagging, brought low by exhaustion, but their enemy was far worse.\n\nThe venom that I had spread through its flesh had already begun to do its work; blows that had once been terrifying in their strength had become weak and sluggish, deflected off of Will's wall of ore-flesh with ease.\n\nNeedle ripped her needle-fangs from the downed bad-thing's corpse, throwing aside the ones that had become too charred for proper flight and sending what little remained into the survivor's own body.\n\nThe female-who-was-not-Needle continued to harry the bad-thing from just outside of its reach, dodging and ducking blow after blow, bleeding the thing with quick little cuts and slashes that began to form a pool of crimson underneath its feet.\n\nMeanwhile, the Unrepentant One had finally managed to free his weapon from the bad-thing's side, and was putting it to admirable use. He was disrespectful, and easily the worst of the Coreless that had attached themselves to me - but I had to admit one thing. He was strong.\n\nEach swing of his ore-flesh hewed through the bad-thing's stone-covered flesh, gouging out piece after piece. Just as they had done with the other bad-thing, the Coreless aimed for the legs. I was beginning to suspect that was something they enjoyed doing.\n\nI had to admit, it was fun to see the way the bad-things fell.\n\nIt toppled to the ground as a particularly powerful blow from the male-who-was-not-Will fully severed through its ankle at last, the stump that remained losing its purchase on the blood-covered stone below it.\n\nThe Coreless jumped upon its back.\n\nFrom there, it was only a matter of time.\n\nSoon enough, the thought-light flickered again.\n\n─ Experience Gained! Reduced Due To Assistance Received.\n\n─ Level Up x 3!\n\n─ 3 Trait Points Gained.\n\nThe reward was less than before; I wasn't sure if that was because this bad-thing was weaker than the first, if biting out the other's eye had allowed me to receive a greater reward, or if my level increasing from the first had made the second have less of an effect.\n\nRegardless, I was thankful for what it meant.\n\nThough I was tempted to use the trait points that I had gained, either to increase [Illusion Spark], which had quickly become my favorite trait, or to make one of my lower traits more powerful, I decided against it for now.\n\nIt would be better to wait and see which I needed.\n\nBesides, there was something more urgent that demanded my attention. I slithered underneath the downed bad-thing's head, slipping through the tiny spaces provided by the way it leaned against the stone. They were small, but, then again, so was I.\n\nI sunk my fangs into the corpse's eye, reaching for the mana core that I knew hid within. When I found it, I hesitated for only a moment - then, I swallowed it whole.\n\nThis time, the thought-light didn't flicker. I hissed in disappointment for a moment. But only a moment, as the massive influx of mana that came immediately afterwards wiped away all else.\n\nIt was less than the first contained, the mana within probably reduced by the final torrent of flame that the bad-thing unleashed. Despite that, it was still enough to send me reeling. It was still enough to overwhelm me.\n\nIt was still enough for me to create a flame of my own.\n\nWith my venom sacs all but depleted, I needed another outlet, another way to use the mana that filled me to the brim. Fortunately, I had only just gained one.\n\nI did what I could to keep the mana under control, taking the time to guide it in the best way I knew. This time, I wasn't in a hurry. I concentrated, focusing on the mana that caused my core to feel as if it would burst. There in my mind, I could see the way that it shifted and twisted, one moment calm and furious the next.\n\nI found the balance - and then I shaped it in the way that [Mana Fire] insisted that I could.\n\n─ Lesser Core Skill: Mana Manipulation VIII Increased.\n\n─ Mana Manipulation IX Acquired.\n\nIt fought me, trying to rip away from my control, to do what it wished - and as the mana shifted into flames, it fought even more. It became a chaotic, flighty thing, seeking nothing more than to slip free. To rage. To burn.\n\nI held on.\n\n─ Lesser Core Skill: Mana Manipulation IX Increased.\n\n─ Mana Manipulation X Acquired.\n\nEach time that the thought-light flickered, it became a little easier to manage the overwhelming amount of mana. My mouth began to warm - not with the horrible fire-pain that [Molten Bite] had created, but with something more gentle. Something soothing, despite the way that the mana continued to fight against me. A blue light began to glow from within my mouth, outmatching the mana-glow that I had seen from anything but the flame-gaze bad-things and the Great Core itself.\n\nFinally, I let it go free.\n\n[Mana Fire] shot from my mouth, colored a brilliant blue that caught the eye. It roared against the bad-thing's corpse, the flames dashing themselves against its fire-resistant flesh.\n\n─ Lesser Core Skill: Mana Fire I Increased.\n\n─ Mana Fire II Acquired.\n\nThe thought-light flickered, and the flames increased in intensity. The flesh began to singe ever-so-slightly under the assault.\n\n─ Lesser Core Skill: Mana Fire II Increased.\n\n─ Mana Fire III Acquired.\n\nThe flames grew again, and the corpse began to smolder, unable to stand against the sheer amount of mana that assailed it.\n\n─ Lesser Core Skill: Mana Manipulation X Increased.\n\n─ Mana Manipulation XI Acquired.\n\n─ Lesser Core Skill: Mana Fire III Increased.\n\n─ Mana Fire IV Acquired.\n\nEach time that the thought-light flickered, I could tell that the flames began to cost less mana to create - which was a problem, since I was trying to waste it all. Despite that, the flames eventually died, leaving the scent-taste of burnt flesh on my tongue. And not my own, for once. That was an exciting development; I was more than a little sick of burning.\n\nI pulled myself out from underneath the corpse at last, satisfied. The Coreless came into view, and I gave them a pleasant hiss of encouragement. It took them a few tries, but they did well.\n\nThe Unrepentant One made some noises to the others. \"It didn't happen to eat the Core while we weren't paying attention, did it?\"\n\n\"I don't think so. Any ability that he gained from a Dungeon Core would be shaped slightly by his own aspect as well as the aspect of the first Core that he consumed; considering they're both time, it would definitely have to have some sort of time component attached.\" Will made a few noises in response, causing the other Coreless to grunt with varying degrees of emotion that I didn't begin to try to understand.\n\n\"How would you tell? In fact, how would time and fire go together, anyway?\" Needle responded.\n\n\"I have no idea, honestly. Time's a pretty rare aspect as it is, and it's not like there's much opportunity to closely study Ascended creatures. They're not normally as...docile.\"\n\n\"Maybe we should just let him have it.\" The-female-who-was-not-Needle moved one finger towards me slowly, reaching for my head-scales, and bared her teeth. \"I think the little guy's earned it, after this.\" I hissed at her finger as it came a little closer. She had done well - better than I expected even, but I hadn't forgotten about her previous mistakes. The finger jerked back.\n\n\"I'm not going to just let a monster have a Core, even if it was a little helpful. Orken is low enough on Cores as it is, we can't afford to let them go to waste just because you want a dangerous pet, Valera.\"\n\nThe female-who-was-not-Needle let out a huff of air in response to the Unrepentant One's noises. \"I'd call what just happened more than a little helpful. And besides, Orken needs Cores so that we can protect ourselves better; doesn't having the little cutie here get rid of them protect us as well? We just walked right past a Flame Formican colony and were shown the future by a snake. And we won! Just think about what that means?\"\n\nAs the Coreless began to jabber at one another, I let my tongue flick out into the air, trying to catch the scent-taste of the Core again.\n\nIt was near, I knew. Closer than it had ever been.\n\nI just had to find it.\n\n[ A Place Within The Stories ]\n\nValera couldn't help but let a smile creep onto her face. It was only natural, she thought, after everything that had happened in the short while since they had defeated the Flame Salamanders.\n\nShe couldn't help but feel just a little smug - like a proud parent, almost.\n\nAnd while that wasn't quite the correct description for what she was, for the relation that she had to the cute little snake that had led them so effectively through what might have easily been the deaths of some - if not all - of her and her friends, she felt that it was close enough.\n\nShe had been the one to suggest taking the little guy along. Though it may have had nothing to do with the apparent ability to see the future that the snake had displayed, she wasn't above pretending that she had known something like this might happen.\n\nSo yes, she felt just a little smug.\n\nOr a lot, really.\n\nOut of the corner of her eye, she watched the little guy peek his head cautiously over the lava, bearing the heat that it gave off far better than she would expect a cold-blooded creature to be able to. His glossy black scales glinted in the light that the lava gave off, and the air continued to visibly distort around it as gouts of flame continued to be released from his body.\n\nHis tiny tongue flicked from his mouth in a cute little hiss, almost causing her to squeal with delight. The little guy was just so adorable - and he became even more so once she realized that he had most likely saved her life. First the Flame Formican colony, then the Stone Bulb - which, admittedly, would have likely not been a problem unless they had been caught by surprise - and finally the two Infernal Cyclopes.\n\nAnd, those would have most certainly been a problem. Without the warnings that they were given, the fight could have gone very differently. In fact, if he really could see the future - and she was certain that he could, after everything that had happened - it would have gone differently.\n\nErik would have been drowned in a tide of Flame Formicans.\n\nThey would have been crushed by falling stone.\n\nThey would have died.\n\nAnd the only thing that stood between them and death had been a tiny snake - a monster, by most people's definitions. Even by her definition, Valera had to admit. As cute as she thought he was, she didn't forget what he was.\n\nStill, she had hope for what he could become. Though the images had been rough, crude, and almost abstract in their representation, they had been accurate. The Flame Formicans, Stone Bulb, and Infernal Cyclopes had all existed - just as promised. Even more, it wasn't just their existence that the little guy had predicted. It had shown them the steps to victory somehow - or, at least, how to avoid defeat.\n\nHe had shown them that Erik would die against the Flame Formicans, and led them silently past the danger. He had warned them of the Stone Bulb's ambush, and they had crushed it with ease. He had notified them of the strategies that the Cyclopes would attempt, of the way that they would send stalactites toppling down from above in a maneuver that would have crushed their bones and pulped their flesh.\n\nBut it didn't - because they already knew it would happen.\n\nIt was a little funny, really. Like a gruff, crotchety old man that pretended to be annoyed at the affront of your very existence, hissing and spitting until something happened that forced the facade to fade away. Or, in this case, forced a tiny and irritable little monster to show that he cared. Same thing, almost.\n\nOkay, she had to admit it, she was very smug. And it showed.\n\n\"And you thought it was too risky to keep him around! Shows what you know, Doran.\" The words were light, more teasing than anything else. Despite their opposing views on the matter, she knew that Doran only had their best interests at heart. He was just a little too worried, sometimes.\n\nStill, even he would have to admit that she was right this time.\n\nHe did so with a rather noncommittal grunt, but she translated it for him.\n\n\"Yes, Valera, you are wise beyond your years. Thank you for saving all of our lives with your foresight,\" she said in a gruff voice, pitching it low in a poor mimicry of her friend's voice.\n\n\"You're welcome,\" she replied to herself.\n\nHe raised an eyebrow at that. \"First, I don't sound like that. Second, you just got lucky. Third, it was the snake's foresight. Technically.\"\n\n\"Speaking of the snake's foresight,\" Erik interjected, eager as always to talk about monsters and their abilities, \"I am curious as to what would happen if he did manage to eat another Core. I'm not saying that we should let that happen, but...I can't help but wonder.\"\n\nValera was curious, too. Like the rest of them, she had learned under the stern tutelage of Erik's father - and while Erik had been the most dedicated of the group, she had done her fair share of studying. Granted, she had also done her fair share of not studying, but hadn't everyone?\n\nRegardless, there was a part of her that couldn't help but try to imagine what might happen if - as Erik said - the little snake managed to eat another Core. Though there was a certain degree of mystery that surrounded Ascended minions, owing mostly to how dangerous observing them tended to be, a few things had been discovered over the many years that they had been studied.\n\nThe first, and most obvious, was that a monster's first Core was the most important. It determined the path that an Ascended monster took, with many factors that affected it. Though scholars weren't entirely certain on the whys of things, the results were much easier to observe. Because of that, a few theories were established.\n\nAmong the recorded Ascended monsters, the strongest tended to be those that first consumed a Core with an aspect that matched the Core that created them - possibly due to some sort of synergistic effect, or maybe just because they already possessed an affinity for whatever power the Core bestowed.\n\nThe second was that each additional Core allowed an Ascended monster to grow in strength - which had the obvious effect of making them increasingly likely to consume even more Cores, becoming more powerful each time.\n\nAccording to what had been observed, that happened in a few ways. With each Core that was consumed, an Ascended monster gained another ability - and that was on top of whatever abilities it gained from simply consuming other monsters, as she had already seen their little snake manage. It certainly hadn't been able to shoot flames or create illusions when they had first brought it along, after all.\n\nEven more, it was believed the first Core ability changed somehow as well, typically increasing in strength slightly with each additional Core consumed.\n\nThat had been far more difficult to confirm, what with how hostile most monsters tended to be, along with no way to really know for sure what abilities had come first.",
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"value": "Still, there were enough records of certain Ascended monsters - legends, really - to be sure.",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 183 sentences.",
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"value": "Nemeah, Cetus, Caladria, Garuda, Scylla, Jinn, Tiamat...the list went on - name after name of legendary monsters strong enough to destroy entire cities on their own. Ones that had destroyed entire cities, that very act being what had earned them a name and a story in the first place.\n\nA place within humanity's nightmares. Of course, as nightmares tended to, they only grew over time - the primary ability that defined each of them becoming stronger with every new Core that they consumed. They gained new skills over time, of course, but it was the first that seemed to define them.\n\nAnd now, Valera hoped that she was witnessing the birth of something new. Of a monster that would one day receive a name of its own. A place within humanity's stories, but not its nightmares.\n\nNot this time.\n\nAfter all, this particular monster hadn't just let them be, avoiding a fight after recognizing that they had the strength to overpower it at a moment's notice - it had actively sought to keep them alive. It had seen the future, witnessed their deaths, and it had changed it.\n\nIt had saved them.\n\nAs the little snake hissed again, peering closer at the lava nearby, she let herself hope for a better future.\n\nShe smiled again, wondering if he could already see it.\n\n[ The First Glimpse ]\n\nThe Coreless continued to jabber at one another as I hissed at the fire-water. It bubbled back at me, little bits of itself popping upwards from the depths, but I was no more able to understand what that meant than I could truly understand the noises of the Coreless. It could have meant many things; it could have been the warning of an enemy, it could have been the pleas of a terrified foe - or, more likely, it could have been nothing.\n\nEither way, I couldn't help but stare into its depths, trying to search for an answer.\n\nI flicked my tongue out again, catching the heavy scent-taste of the lesser Core on my tongue. It didn't drive me in the way that it had earlier; without the blood loss and soon-death of my earlier life, I was able to resist the compulsion to throw myself forward heedlessly, to ignore any potential danger in search for the Core.\n\nThat didn't mean that I wasn't desperate to find it, however.\n\nI turned and hissed at the Coreless as their noises again and again. Despite that, only the-female-who-was-not-Needle looked my way. She bared her teeth. I hissed again. She wiggled her fingers at me before turning back towards the others and making more noises.\n\nWith nothing else for it, I slithered towards the gathered group of Coreless, hissing my displeasure at the situation. For a group of aspiring disciples - and even two that I had acted for the Great Core in ways that I had personally recognized - it was surprisingly difficult to get their attention when I wanted it.\n\nThat was the problem with gathering strong, idiot disciples.\n\nI mourned for what had never been and what would never be - a group of Great Core disciples that had been created by the Great Core itself, able to properly hiss and slither. Instead, I was stuck with...this.\n\nThe Great Core must have had faith in my patience. It was both pleasing and very, very annoying.\n\nStill, I knew that their strength more than made up for their other flaws. Or mostly, at least. For some of them.\n\nI pulled myself up the female-who-was-not-Needle's leg, winding around her torso before finding a perch on her shoulder. She looked at me again and voiced her garbled little hisses, and I valiantly ignored them.\n\n\"Hey, little cutie,\" she said. \"Am I your favorite now?\" A moment later, she reached for my head-scales again. I ignored that too, focusing instead on the image that I was trying to create. I had already refilled my reservoirs of light. My heat stores, meanwhile, were as full as ever. Another gout of flame wicked away from my scale-flesh as if to emphasize that fact, the act almost unconscious at this point. I did make sure to direct it away from the Coreless, though, despite the brief urge to do otherwise in my frustrated state.\n\nThe way that her fingers dug tiny lines into my head-scales actually felt rather nice after the stress of the battles and my repeated deaths. I leaned into it, closing my eyes as I imagined the image that I wanted to create.\n\nIt was a little harder this time, despite also being simpler. I didn't have to find a way to show the Coreless the series of actions that had led to our deaths, forcing me to make moving illusions that - however crude they may have been - correctly communicated what they couldn't understand from my warning hisses.\n\nInstead, I had to show them something that I had never seen. After all, I had no idea where the Core actually was, just that it was somewhere nearby. Somewhere extremely nearby.\n\nBut still, I hadn't seen it.\n\nIn the end, I did something that pained me.\n\nI formed the glorious image of the Great Core, glowing with all its might - and then I ruined it.\n\nI shifted the colors that it gave off, turning the comforting blue to the orange-red of fire. To make it even clearer, I let some flames grow around it, using the heat that filled my scale-flesh to form the fires more accurately.\n\nThe sight pained me, but it was necessary. I reduced the glow slightly, causing the Core to appear weaker, making it flicker unsteadily. It wasn't as strong as the Great Core, after all. It couldn't be.\n\nIt was Lesser, and I made that obvious to the Coreless in the illusion that I created.\n\nThe Coreless perked up alertly at the sight of the Core, baring their teeth in challenge. I hissed in satisfaction, knowing that I had their attention at last.\n\nExcept now they were only staring at me, as if waiting for further information...and I had no way of telling them that I didn't actually know where it was. My hiss of pleasure turned into one of displeasure at the realization.\n\nThings would be so much easier if they learned how to properly communicate.\n\nInstead, they just jabbered at one another again, and I was forced to just keep going regardless.\n\nAs my scale-flesh touched the stone, I slithered onwards. The Coreless followed me this time, which was an improvement. I supposed.\n\nHaving already looked high and low for any sign of the Core around us, I ventured out onto the ridge of stone that snaked its way across the fire-water. It was smoother than I expected, forcing me to bunch my scale-flesh and grip the lines and furrows that occasionally cut across its surface in order to avoid sliding downwards. The stone trembled slightly as the Coreless stepped down, their weight forcing the ridge to sway oddly on the surface of the fire-water.\n\nThey made some noises at that, unhappy with the precarious footing, but they continued on when I did.\n\nHeat spilled off of the ridge, radiating upwards just as it did from the fire-water itself. Fortunately, the combination of [Illusion Spark] and the pink-red fluid that still coated much of my scale-flesh protected me from the worst of the heat.\n\nThe Coreless walked behind me in a line that was two wide, trying to stay as close to the peak of the ridge as they could just as I was, one Coreless to each side of the slope. As I slithered along, I flicked my tongue out into the air again and again, searching for signs that the Core's scent-taste was increasing.\n\nIt...felt like it might have been, but it was hard to tell. The lesser Core tasted of smoke and flame, of hate and heat - and a few of those were already surrounding us from all sides, drifting off of the fire-water with every passing moment. On the other side of the fire-water, the winding ridge touched down, a new tunnel just behind it.\n\nI quickened my slithers, and the Coreless did too. Just as I had, they had noticed the tunnel beyond, and were hopeful. With any luck, the Core would lay just beyond it.\n\nMy tongue flicked out again, and the ground shook below us.\n\nThe stone trembled.\n\nThe ridge lifted.\n\nI slid down its side, on a path to meet the fire-water below. Just before I fell off the edge, my fangs sunk into one of the cracks that crisscrossed the otherwise smooth surface of the ridge.\n\nMy teeth buried into its flesh - because it was not a ridge, I realized, and it was not stone.\n\nIt was scale-flesh.\n\nScale-flesh the color of stone, sunken into the fire-water. Scale-flesh attached to a bad-thing - like me, only not.\n\nIt was much larger.\n\nA giant head pulled itself from the fire-water, rising from the depths. As it moved, the fire-water seemed to bend around it, as if moving away from the bad-thing rather than being moved.\n\nIt turned towards us, bending its head around. A forked tongue flicked from its open mouth. I heard a scream.\n\nA moment later, it plunged back down into the fire-water - and pulled us along with it.\n\nIt dove into the depths, slipping through the thick fire-water in the same way that my own form had silently cut through mana-water.\n\nThen, I was pulled in too - and I realized that it was nothing like the way I had swam through mana-water. Back then, I had cut through the depths with speed that the Aridae couldn't match, but the mana-water had still pushed back against me.\n\nThe fire-water did not.\n\nInstead, the fire-water peeled itself away from the bad-thing's surface, repelled away somehow as it moved along. Rather than swimming, it simply slithered - traveling down tunnels that it created within the fire-water to ease its passage. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the tunnel's opening collapse as its tail finally followed the rest of the bad-thing's form into the depths.\n\nIt closed itself, and the way out disappeared.\n\nAround me, the Coreless hung on as well, having buried their own fangs of ore-flesh into the creature's thick scale-flesh.\n\nSome of them, anyway. I could see Needle's legs dangling from the other side, most of her body hidden where I couldn't see. The unrepentant male had managed to bury his ore-flesh into the center of the ridge itself, sinking it deep enough that he hardly even moved as the bad-thing slithered and swayed in its downward descent. The-female-who-was-not-Needle was just beside me, having buried both of her fangs before she managed to fall. Slowly, she climbed the ridge of scale-flesh, alternately sinking her fangs in order to scale its surface.\n\nWill, I realized, carried no fangs. He had probably fallen the moment that the bad-thing revealed itself.\n\nThe source of the scream, I guessed.\n\nI hissed in frustration, the sound coming out garbled through my overfull mouth. I would have to try again.\n\nJust as I thought that, the bad-thing whipped itself to the side. The edge opposite my own buried itself in the fire-water for a moment before it retreated. When it straightened again, Needle had disappeared.\n\nI heard another scream. I caught the scent-taste of burning flesh.\n\nThe-female-who-was-not-Needle turned to look at me, and I almost thought I saw the anguish of betrayal reflected in her eyes.\n\nThe bad-thing whipped itself again, in the other direction this time - and while the Coreless might have been able to hold on, I had only the slightest grip remaining.\n\nAs soon as it began to move, I lost it.\n\nI fell, dropping down the tunnel of fire-water that marked the giant bad-thing's descent.\n\nThe fire-water around me blurred as I plunged downwards, leaving me only able to wait for the moment that I would hit the fire-water and be consumed in flames. My tongue lolled out as the fall forced my mouth open.\n\nI caught the scent-taste of the Core again. It had grown stronger.\n\nAnd then I saw it, peeking out from where the fire-water pulled itself back from the bad-thing's scale-flesh. Only the edge of it, just a small curve that barely managed to break the surface.\n\nBut it glowed, in the same way that the Great Core did - it gave off a different color, a different feeling, but it was unmistakable. It was a Core.\n\nAt that moment, I realized why I hadn't been able to find it: the Core had hidden itself in the depths of the fire-water that it created, just as the Great Core had protected itself with fields of slow-spots and fast-spots.\n\nA moment later, I dropped helplessly past it, slamming into the fire-water that waited below. My scale-flesh burned at its touch. I melted under the heat - and then I pulled free from my scale-flesh once more.\n\nI hissed, burning with both phantom fire-pain and pure frustration.\n\nStill, I had found it at last.\n\nNow, I just had to reach it - somehow.\n\n[ Fire-Water Serpent ]\n\nThe bad-thing closed its mouth around me, and I found myself pulling free from my scale-flesh once more.\n\nAnd again.\n\nAgain.\n\nAgain.\n\nMy failures - our failures - repeated ad nauseum, each loss pouring into the next. My frustration mounted, and it showed. Each attempt became more and more reckless, despite the foreknowledge that my previous lives gave.\n\nThe battle with the bad-things that came before the fire-water had become routine, each step in the process having been beaten into my scale-flesh again and again. The Coreless continued to play their roles in that regard, following the instructions that my illusions provided them.\n\nEach time, the flame-gaze bad-things died in the same way that they had before.\n\nEach time, we died immediately afterwards - every death slightly different, but the result the same.\n\nI was burned in fire-water.\n\nI was crushed against stone.\n\nI was torn between teeth.\n\nThe Coreless were no different. Strong as they were, the bad-thing that hid within the fire-water was stronger. Even with the warnings that I provided, they failed. Just as I was, they were dashed against the rocks, they melted in the fire-water, and they were swallowed like a simple meal.\n\nEach time, they looked at me in their final moments, terrified and betrayed.\n\nI had come to recognize that look.\n\nI had come to hate it.\n\nThe bad-thing's tail whipped to the side, crushing me underneath its weight, and I pulled free again. Hissing with frustration, I tried again - careful to follow the exact same steps that had originally led me to the Core. As annoyed as I was, it would be worse to sacrifice what I had gained; changing anything would mean starting from scratch.\n\nThe next while passed in a haze of practiced motions, the steps that were required having become so ingrained that I hardly even paid attention. We sneaked past the Flame Formicans, defeated the stone-tendril bad-thing, and claimed victory over the flame-gaze bad-things in the same way that we always had.\n\nAnd then, I warned the Coreless once again.\n\nI brought forth illusions of the past, each starting from the beginning - each displaying the paths that we had tried.\n\nI showed the way that the fire-water serpent pulled itself free, the way that it struck with blinding speed, snapping up the Unrepentant One and swallowing him whole.\n\nThen, I pulled it back. I showed the way that the Unrepentant One had sought his revenge in the next life, sinking his ore-flesh deep into the bad-thing's flesh before it could pull itself free from the fire-water - and the way that his attack failed to defeat it. How we were defeated in its place.\n\nI brought it back again, bringing forth the illusion of a more successful attempt. We stood as far back as possible, while Needle attacked from a distance. It slithered out from the fire-water, sending us fleeing into the large-tunnel.\n\nIt crushed us against the walls with its enormous body.\n\nWith each illusory death, the Coreless shrank into themselves. They realized something: despite all of the deaths that I had pulled forth, there was something missing.\n\nNot once did I display a path to victory.\n\nWe had never come close, after all.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "user starts, u write ~fifteen sentences more. copy Zendran's style. heads up: might have existing chars/lore",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I pulled free from my scale-flesh again, frustration having long transformed into incandescent rage. Still, I followed the path that brought me before the serpent again.\n\nAs I stared at the ridge of scale-flesh that snaked its way across the fire-water, the flames of my rage only grew. The lesser Core was so close. And yet, it had never felt further. Every attempt had faltered, and every plan had gone astray.\n\nBehind me, the Coreless jabbered as they always did, the sounds having long become familiar to me - if not the meaning. I hadn't moved to the next step yet; I hadn't told them what lay ahead.\n\nWhat was the point?\n\nThey had injured it, but little more than that. It was too fast, too strong.\n\nAnd even if we did defeat it, how would I reach the Core? I had only seen it by plunging within the fire-water, pulled into its depths on the back of the bad-thing itself. I hissed, and the scent-taste of the Core taunted me with its flavor.\n\nMy rage grew.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "My frustration peaked.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "And in that moment, I gave up on plans entirely.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "CONSTRAINT: Include 'again' 3 time(s)",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I gave up on warnings, on battle, and on the Coreless.\n\nInstead, I slithered onto the ridge of scale-flesh that rested before me. I buried my fangs as deep as I could.\n\nThen, it pulled me into the fire-water. We tunneled into the depths, and it slammed me against the walls. My scale-flesh melted.\n\nWhen I returned, I simply tried again.\n\nAnd again.\n\nAnd again.\n\nThere was no defeating the bad-thing that lurked in the fire-water. Not as we were. Not as I was.\n\nSo I stopped trying. Each time I failed, the Great Core brought me back. That, if nothing else, kept me going.\n\nWith the Great Core behind me, there was no other outcome but my success.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Eventually.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "So, rather than attempt to end the bad-thing's life, I searched for the Core again.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I could only hope that something would change if I succeeded. I was sure that the Great Core would reward me for its defeat. Even without that, I knew that the fire-water was created by the lesser Core's power, just as the Great Core had created the slow-spots and the fast-spots.\n\nIf the Core was gone, then the fire-water might finally cool.\n\nThe bad-thing would lose both its greatest weapon and its greatest defense all at once.\n\nMaybe then, we would be strong enough.\n\nWith every new attempt, I changed things slightly. I moved a little further, or I waited a little longer before causing the bad-thing to pull me into the depths. The bad-thing's course shifted with each adjustment, pushed this way and that by my own choices.\n\nI found the patterns.\n\nBite in that spot, and I would be slammed against the fire-water almost immediately - never catching a glimpse of the Core itself.\n\nSink my fangs there, and the bad-thing would veer off course, away from where I knew the Core must be.\n\nClamp down on that scale, and my grip would hold longer than in other places.\n\nUntil, finally, I saw the Core again. It passed by me in a blur, but I had seen it - without any of the Coreless dying in the meantime.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 16 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "When I pulled free from my scale-flesh again, it was with a hiss of triumph.\n\nThe next time I saw it, I was ready. I let go of the bad-thing, flinging myself towards the waiting Core.\n\nI missed, but it was a close thing.\n\nJust as before, I was consumed by the fire-water again and again in the course of my repeated attempts - but unlike before, there was no frustration at my failure.\n\nUntil finally, my mouth closed around the Core. The drops of fire-water that still clung to its surface seared away at my mouth-flesh, setting fire to my tongue.\n\nAfter so many deaths, that wasn't near enough to make me flinch.\n\nI forced it down slowly, a trail of fire-pain marking its passage towards my throat. It was bigger than the Great Core, but that, too, didn't stop me.\n\nAt this point, I didn't think anything could.\n\nThen, my scale-flesh began to burn as power began to flood me - as the Core shifted into something else.\n\nThe thought-light flickered.\n\n─ Integrating Dungeon Core (Aspect: Flame)…\n\nHot-fire trailed from my stomach, traveling up my length. The fire-pain grew, overpowering the feeling of the fire-water that rested just a short distance away from me - held back by the giant bad-thing's strange ability as it slithered by.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "The following text is missing a piece (marked with `<|missing|>`). Come up with a bit with 86 words to complete it.",
"loss": null
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{
"from": "human",
"value": "Dungeon Core (Aspect: Flame) Integrated.\n\n─ Core Skill Created: Chrono Fire.\n\nAround me, the fire-water stilled - and with the Flame Core gone, its heat began to quickly disappear.\n\nThe thought-light flickered one last time.\n\n─ Condition Met.\n\n─ Core Skill - The Endless Cycle Renewed.\n\n─ Creating New Cycle Start.\n\nMy scale-flesh tightened.\n\nI left it behind.\n\n─ Name: Paradox\n\n─ Species: Snake, Ouroboros\n\n─ Major Title: The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail\n\n─ Minor Titles: Minor Mana Core, Venomous Retribution, Touched By Fire\n\n─ Innate Traits: Venomous II\n\n─ Blooded Traits: Paralyzing Venom IV, Poisonous Blood III, Illusion Spark IV\n\n─ Resistances: Piercing Resistance - Basic IV, Venom Resistance - Intermediate II\n\n─ Level: 17\n\n─ Trait Points: 7\n\n─ Core Skills: The Endless Cycle, Chrono Fire\n\n─ Lesser Core Skills: Mana Manipulation XI, Mana Venom X, Mana Fire IV\n\n─ Description: A growing Ouroboros, symbol of the eternal.\n\n[ Chrono Fire ]\n\nThe thought-light flickered, revealing what I wished to know.\n\n─ Core Skill: Chrono Fire.\n\n─ Description: The Flame That Would Consume Time Itself.\n\nSome of it, anyway. Just as it had with [The Endless Cycle], the thought-light was less forthcoming than it usually was - as if the Skills that came with consuming a Core were something that couldn't quite be described in a simple flash of thought-light, something wholly different from the traits and titles that could be earned with relative ease.\n\nAnd if [The Endless Cycle] was anything to go by, they were.\n\nThough the traits and titles that I had earned recently had allowed me to grow far more powerful than I used to be, none of them approached the ability to defeat death itself. None even came close.\n\nI had hopes that [Chrono Fire], despite having come from consuming a lesser Core, would be similar - somewhere in that middle ground between my other traits or skills and the Greater ability that was [The Endless Cycle].\n\nEven now, I could feel a new well of power within myself, something that wholly belonged to the new ability that I had gained. Whereas [The Endless Cycle] made itself obvious, even now causing my shed scale-flesh to glow with the wondrous light of the Great Core, the power that linked itself to [Chrono Fire] was something more hidden - tucked away somewhere deep within my scale-flesh.\n\nBut still, I could feel it. Waiting. Ready to be used.\n\nEager.\n\nAround me, the fire-water-that-was had already cooled itself, transforming into smooth stone. Just as I had thought, it had been the creation of the lesser Core's field, and while its disappearance didn't cause the fire-water to vanish entirely, it cooled it in a moment's notice.\n\nPlunging me into darkness, barring the light of my shed scale-flesh. Far above me, the way out had already closed, the fire-water already sealed before the Core found its defeat between my jaws.\n\nLeaving me alone with the bad-thing that dwelled in its depths.\n\nI could hear it thrash against the stone somewhere further along, bashing its scale-flesh against its surface. The stone, brittle and cooled more quickly than was natural, began to shatter under the strain of its touch.\n\nFor a moment, I waited.\n\nI curled inwards, there atop the remnants of the lesser Core's pedestal, and bit down upon my tail. My scale-flesh itched as each little wound and scrape began to heal, as the singes and burns began to give way to something whole.\n\nI waited.\n\nIn the end, with the Great Core's power directly beside me, I had all of the time in the world.\n\nMore than enough to see what my enemy chose to do.\n\nWhile I waited, listening to the discordant sounds of cracking stone somewhere below me, I turned my attention inwards. I twisted and pulled at the font of power that had come with [Chrono Fire]. It didn't move, resisting my efforts.\n\nBelow me, stone continued to crack and shatter as the bad-thing desperately tried to turn itself back around.\n\nIt knew that something had gone wrong - and, just like I would have been, it was desperate to return to the Core that had created it.\n\nI hid myself behind the pedestal of the lesser Core, gripping to its backside with coils of bunched scale-flesh. I wasn't afraid of death - not anymore, not after everything that had happened - but that didn't mean that I would let myself die easily.\n\nSoon enough, the sounds of shattering stone disappeared, replaced by the whisper of rubbing scale-flesh as it drew ever-nearer. Soon enough, it had returned. Soon enough, it found its Core was gone - with the coils of my shed scale-flesh to mark where it had once rested.\n\nThen, it did something that I hadn't expected.\n\nI should have, though.\n\nIt hissed, the susurrations of its great tongue filling my ears with a language that I could understand far more than I had ever understood my fellow disciples. There was rage. There was grief. There was despair.\n\nThere was hate.\n\nHate that was directed towards the only thing that it could see.\n\nThe scale-flesh that I had left behind. The air whipped as it snapped forward, and its great mouth closed around its quarry - and, due to its enormous size, around the pedestal itself.\n\nAround me.\n\nThe mouth closed, and only the light of the Great Core that spilled from my dead scale-flesh broke the darkness.\n\nThe walls of the bad-thing's mouth moved, the mouth-flesh pulling the pedestal - and me along with it - deeper inside. I panicked, and I spewed fire.\n\n[Mana Fire] poured from my open mouth, warming my insides. It spilled outwards in a brilliant blue, smashing itself into the mouth-flesh walls that surrounded me. The flames bounced back, breaking against the bad-thing's innate resistance.\n\nAnd then, as [Mana Fire] continued to spill down my throat, I tried something once more.\n\nI reached for the power of [Chrono Fire] again. I twisted the flames.\n\nThis time, it responded, and I felt a great wave of power leave me - only to rest within the brilliant blue of the [Mana Fire] that I ceaselessly released. The warmth of it wrapped around my scale-flesh, bathing me in the flames. And yet, just as before, they didn't burn me.\n\nInstead, they felt...comforting. Warm. Soothing.\n\nI turned my head slightly and bathed a large area near me in the flames, all of it twisted under the power that [Chrono Fire] provided.\n\nAround me, the bad-thing shifted as it changed positions - whether in response to my own efforts or something that had happened outside, I didn't know. Either way, it began to raise itself higher.\n\nThe forces of the world grabbed me, pulling me downwards.\n\nI began to fall, drifting through the blue flames that clung to the mouth-flesh around me. A moment later, I felt myself lurch as my tail began to slow. I took the chance that it provided, catching the mouth-flesh around me with my fangs. They sunk in deeply, anchoring myself to its surface before I could be pulled further in.\n\nDespite that, the flames never stopped spilling from my mouth. I knew that the tiny remnants of my venom could do nothing against a bad-thing of this size - and while it seemed to be resistant to flame, I knew that [Chrono Fire] had to be special somehow.\n\nThe thought-light had revealed it.\n\nThe Flame That Would Consume Time Itself.\n\nAround me, the flames only grew faster as time went by, seeming to flicker and twitch with increasing intensity. They wreathed themselves around my form even as my store of mana began to dwindle and die, covering me in their flickering tendrils.\n\nFinally, my mana ran out.\n\nThe air began to distort, causing my vision to twist and tear. Beyond the crackling of the flames, I heard a deep and echoing boom, and what might have been the shattering of stone. It was distant and warped, just as my vision was, completely unlike the clear crackles of the fire itself.\n\nI thought that I might have heard the battle cry of a Coreless, but that too was twisted and strange.\n\nIt didn't matter. Stuck in the mouth of the bad-thing, I couldn't do anything but hold on tightly and resist being swallowed. The tip of my tail felt odd and sluggish, responding slowly to my attempts to bring it back towards me. It was strange.\n\nAt the same time, it was familiar, somehow.\n\nAll the while, the flames flickered faster around me, making the world beyond them appear even slower than it was.\n\nBecause it was slow.\n\nFinally, I recognized what was so familiar. I recognized the way that my vision twisted and tore. I recognized the way that sound broke and distorted. I recognized the way that my tail moved far slower than it should have, all but frozen in time.\n\nMy eyes shone with glee as I recognized the sacred slow-spot that the [Chrono Fire] had created, wrapped around it like a shell as it devoured time itself to fuel the flames.\n\nI had created a field of slow-spots, just as the Great Core had always done.\n\nThere was only a brief time to appreciate that - because, soon enough, the bad-thing made a mistake. It challenged the pull of the sacred slow-spot, trying to move faster than it would allow.\n\nAnd, as was only right, it lost.\n\nFlesh ripped free from around the [Chrono Fire]-imbued flames, held steady by the fields of slowed time that surrounded them.\n\nEven when it flinched in pain, the motion hard to follow from within my cocoon of warped time, the flesh that had ripped free hardly moved.\n\nIt fell through the air slowly - almost imperceptibly.\n\nAnd it was only growing slower.\n\n[ The Next Choice ]\n\nIt was a strange sight, though not one that I hadn't seen before. More than once, I had found myself stuck within a sacred slow-spot when the Great Core's fields shifted unexpectedly, causing the world outside to move far faster than I - or, rather, causing me to move far slower than the outside world.\n\nFalls that would have happened instantly instead occurred agonizingly slowly, and slithers that would have brought me across the Great Core's nest in a few moments suffered the same.\n\nAnd now, I had created something similar.\n\nThe mouth-flesh that had ripped free of the bad-thing fell slowly - in fact, hardly moved at all. The bad-thing reared away in pain, throwing itself violently to the side in response. Around me, the small cavern of mouth-flesh moved. Quickly.\n\nIts side slammed into the slow-spots that surrounded the [Chrono Fire]. For a moment, I thought that it would stop.\n\nBut only a moment.\n\nInstead, only some of it stopped.\n\nThe rest just kept going.\n\nI burst through the mouth-flesh that trapped me as the bad-thing's overwhelming strength was turned against itself. As I finally let go of my fangs' grip on the flesh below me, I turned to the side to take everything in.\n\nThe bad-thing had brought me back to the surface, having broken back through the stone of the fire-water-that-once-was. Blood ran across the ground in great puddles, broken apart of by large fragments of shattered stone that had been strewn across much of the surroundings.\n\nUnlike before, I imagined that the cavern was fairly dark; the fire-water had provided much of the light. Now, only a few scattered Flame Wisps, the mana-glow of the Coreless' ore-flesh, and a few scattered bits of fire lit the area.\n\nThe light of [Chrono Fire], however, changed that - and it proved more than bright enough to be able to watch what happened next.\n\nThrough the distortions of the slow-spot that surrounded me, I could just barely make out the damage that the powerful bad-thing had taken. Needle-fang after needle-fang had pierced its flesh, a few having found their homes within a now-ruined eye. Its scale-flesh was lined with great furrows and fissures, each serving as yet another source of the blood that was trying its best to replace the lake of fire-water that had disappeared.\n\nEven more blood ran from the giant bad-thing's mouth, spilling out of the hole in its flesh where I had been torn free.\n\nAs it hissed in anger and pain, flicking out its forked tongue, I made a hiss of my own - though of excitement, rather than pain.\n\nThe Coreless, too, made their own noises of excitement and shock in response to my sudden presence. Just as with everything else, the sounds reached my ears as a strange and distorted mess. Fortunately, I could already guess what they were trying to say.\n\nAs their praises for the Great Core spread across the cavern like a battle cry, they attacked the wounded bad-thing again. The sight of the battle was broken and warped, with some slow-spots around the flames slower than others, forming a shattered image of distorted light - but what I did see was more than enough.\n\nThe Coreless fell upon the wounded bad-thing with a near-indescribable viciousness. Its flesh was carved to pieces as it writhed and thrashed, unable to land a blow in its wounded state.\n\nEven more importantly, it had nowhere to go.\n\nIn every previous attempt, the bad-thing had been able to seek shelter within the fire-water if it was endangered; we had no way of following it safely, leaving us unable to attack it effectively. With the defeat of its Core and the disappearance of the fire-water, that had changed.\n\nAnd now, it had been heavily wounded, slowed by its still-bleeding injuries.\n\nThe Great Core's disciples were merciless, as was only right. The Coreless attacked from the side of its blinded eye, darting in where it could not see and defend itself - and they began to tear it to pieces.\n\nA torrent of needle-fangs buried themselves deep into its flesh, courtesy of Needle's needle-spitter. The-female-who-was-not-Needle dashed along its side, her sharp fangs of ore-flesh carving deep red lines from head to tail. Will tried to hold its attention, forcing it to hopelessly waste its effort on cracking his defenses. And while he did that, the Unrepentant One delivered a mighty blow at the bad-thing's tail - slicing it off cleanly.\n\nThe giant bad-thing let out a pained cry, twisting upon itself and rolling in an attempt to crush its attackers. They dodged away, outpacing its blind thrashing, only to dart back in when it halted its attempts.\n\nBit by bit, they began to carve away at the massive creature, leaving giant pieces of flesh to clutter the floor along with the puddles of blood.\n\nEach time, it only slowed further.\n\nUntil finally, everything slowed further. The attacks of the Coreless, the defense of the bad-thing, and everything in between as the slow-spots that surrounded [Chrono Fire] grew too powerful for me to watch any longer. The world in my vision looked as if it barely moved, frozen in place. As if the Coreless had halted in their attacks of the bad-thing. As if the enemy still lived.\n\nDespite that, I knew that it was already dead. The world outside of my shell of slowed time had already moved on.\n\nThe thought-light proved it, even before that shell finally shattered.\n\n─ Experience Gained! Reduced Due To Assistance Received.\n\n─ Level Up x 5!\n\n─ 5 Trait Points Gained.\n\nAnd then, to my delight, it flickered again.\n\n─ Level 20 Reached!\n\n─ Analyzing Potential Reward Choices…\n\n─ Only One May Be Selected.\n\n─ Revealing Possible Reward<|missing|> what they seem, automatically pulling from your light reservoirs and shifting to match any surrounding colors. (Provided by: Snake, Illusion Spark)\n\n─ Warm-Blooded: You have been Touched By Fire, and that has marked you as something new. You break free from the restrictions and perils of your cold-blooded nature, receiving great resistance to heat. (Provided by: Snake, Touched By Fire)\n\nI was offered the same choices as last time, plus something new: Warm-Blooded. While receiving great resistance to heat might be useful, I didn't think it was something that I needed if I was careful. [Illusion Spark] already helped with my weakness to heat, giving me some degree of protection - and if [Illusion Spark] increased, its ability to protect me from heat would grow along with it. Unless Warm-Blooded made me resistant to flames in the way that the bad-things of the lesser Core were - and maybe it did - I couldn't see it being worth getting.\n\nNot with the other options that I knew I had.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "s Unlocked Through Species: Snake And Its Interactions…\n\n─ Size: Your body mass increases greatly, with all of the increase in strength and health that comes with a greater size. (Provided by: Snake)\n\n─ Hardened Scales: Your scales harden, strengthening far beyond their natural measure, becoming an armor that protects you in your every moment. (Provided by: Snake, Piercing Resistance)\n\n─ Enhanced Venom Capacity: Your venom production increases greatly, both innate and acquired. (Provided by: Snake, Venomous, Paralyzing Venom)\n\n─ Illusory Camouflage: Your scales are not",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "I'll be your writing partner today. I will set the scene (which might reference existing characters and worldbuilding), and you will continue the story with 25 sentences, channeling the voice and techniques of Zendran.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Revealing Possible Rewards Unlocked Through Species: Ouroboros And Its Interactions…",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Life: You are a symbol of the eternal, just as you are of many other things. You are a symbol of life. You gain the ability to transform mana into the essence of life, using it to fuel life-giving abilities. (Provided by: Ouroboros)\n\n─ Death: You are a symbol of the eternal, just as you are of many other things. You are a symbol of death. You gain the ability to transform mana into the essence of death, using it to fuel deathly abilities. (Provided by: Ouroboros)\n\n─ Rebirth: You are a symbol of the eternal, just as you are of many other things. You are a symbol of rebirth. You shed your skin, marking the birth of a new cycle. (Provided by: Ouroboros, The Endless Cycle)\n\n─ Traveler: You have flowed through time, and it has flowed through you. You gain the ability to more freely flow through time distortions, and are able to greatly reduce their effects on your form at will. (Provided by: Ouroboros, Chrono Fire)\n\nThis time, I put Rebirth aside. Without it, defeating the lesser Core and its defenders would have been significantly more difficult, but I no longer needed something like that. Especially now, since I knew I could shed my skin by consuming one of the Great Core's lessers. Having only recently shed my skin anyway, the choice to dismiss Rebirth was easy.\n\nLife and Death were still possible options, though I didn't know exactly what either of them did.\n\nThe newest choice, Traveler, was a little more clear - especially after seeing the ability that it stemmed from, [Chrono Fire]. Whereas now, I could get stuck within the slow-spots that it created, Traveler would allow me to slither past them. I wondered if that would allow me to more safely attack bad-things that I trapped within the slow-spots created by [Chrono Fire].\n\nBefore I could wonder further, the thought-light flickered again.\n\n─ Revealing Possible Rewards Unlocked Through Titles And Their Interactions…\n\n─ Mana Restoration: You are a unique being, the embodiment of the cycle of renewal. Now, you have taken that even further.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail gains the ability to heavily increase passive mana regeneration when activated. (Provided by: The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail, Minor Mana Core)\n\n─ Mana Blood: Your blood, already storage for toxins, has become a storage place for mana as well. Greatly increases capacity to store mana. (Provided by: Venomous Retribution, Minor Mana Core)\n\n─ Fire Aspect: Your mana has been Touched By Fire, imbuing it with the Aspect of Fire. Mana costs for flame-based abilities and manipulation are reduced. (Provided by: Minor Mana Core, Touched By Fire)\n\nAfter receiving [Chrono Fire] and [Mana Fire], both Mana Restoration and Mana Blood seemed more powerful. In the fight against the fire-water bad-thing, I hadn't exhausted the well of power that was linked to [Chrono Fire]. Instead, I had run out of mana - which meant the same thing, in the end.\n\n[Chrono Fire] didn't seem to work on its own; I needed to use it with [Mana Fire], which meant the ability to regenerate mana or store mana more effectively could both be useful. And then, of course, there was also the ability to use mana through [Mana Venom], which I would still need when the Coreless weren't around to kill things for me.\n\nThe newest choice, Fire Aspect, would also help my newly-acquired [Chrono Fire] and [Mana Fire] combination - though it did nothing for [Mana Venom].\n\nI thought for a moment.\n\nI made my choice.\n\n[ Slithering Through Time ]\n\nThe thought-light flickered in response to my decision.\n\n─ Traveler: You have flowed through time, and it has flowed through you. You gain the ability to more freely flow through time distortions, and are able to greatly reduce their effects on your form at will. (Provided by: Ouroboros, Chrono Fire)\n\nFor once, I didn't feel my body change. I didn't feel my scale-flesh warp, or a new organ form, or anything like that. Instead, I just knew.\n\nI looked forward, and I simply knew.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I knew the ways that the slow-spot around me formed itself, created of interlocking swirls of distorted time, the ways that each piece linked together.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Required word frequency: 'weren't' (2x)",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I knew the places that would allow me through.\n\nThey weren't visible - not in my sight, at least. They weren't holes where time managed to slip through, allowing the light from outside to reach the flames where I waited. But still, I knew that - for me - they might as well have been.\n\nI turned around, pulling my tail from the slow-time that had trapped it. It slipped free with ease, winding its way in a curving path through the openings that I knew existed.\n\nAnd then I pushed myself forward, flowing through the slow-spot that surrounded me.\n\nA moment later, I was free.\n\nUnfortunately, that mostly meant free to fall, with the way that the slow-spot had stopped my platform of flesh from falling in the first place. The ground caught me.\n\nI writhed in pain for a second before straightening myself to take in the scene around me. Just as I had expected, the Coreless had reduced the bad-thing that hid within the flame-water into a bloody husk, tearing it to shreds with a viciousness that warmed my heart.\n\nThat warmth quickly faded, lost underneath the fatigue of my many recent lives. I had strained myself, I was sure. In the end, the lesser Core had been more powerful than I expected.\n\nI managed to hold my head up high, hiding my weakness. The Coreless disciples were watching, and - as the Great Core's chosen - I had to hold myself accordingly.\n\nThey each made noises as they saw me, begging for my favor, desperate to receive recognition for their assistance in my victory over the lesser Core and its disgusting bad-things. I gave it to them with an approving hiss, understanding their need for it.\n\nThey broke into heated conversation, fighting over who they thought had deserved the honor of my approval the most.\n\nI assumed.\n\nThe Unrepentant One spoke first, face split into a scowl at the knowledge that it hadn't been meant for him. Obviously. He still had a long way to go before he even began to earn my approval. \"We take our eyes off the thing for one second, and it eats the damn Core. Fucking great.\"\n\nThe-female-who-was-not-Needle made a few noises in return.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"We don't know that for sure, do we?\"\n\nHe pointed behind me, making a few more noises. I followed the movement, catching the sight of the sacred slow-spot that I had created around the bad-thing's mouth-flesh. Even still, it floated in the air, all but frozen in time with the strength of the slow-spot.\n\nI preened at the sight, proud of my new ability's resemblance to one of the Great Core's own powers. Proud of what it meant.\n\nJust before I turned back, the flames of [Chrono Fire] that hid within the shell of slowed time burnt themselves out, causing the floating mouth-flesh to fall to the ground at last. It hit with a wet splat, a trail of blood finally managing to escape and run its way across the floor.\n\n\"Fair point. I think he earned it though, don't you?\"\n\n\"Earned it or not, Orken doesn't have that many Cores. Now we've lost two to the thing.\"\n\n\"It's not like we could have gotten to it ourselves, anyway…\"\n\nWill made a strange noise, clearing his throat. \"What's done is done. I'm more interested in if this changes anything. The snake may have saved our lives and led us through the Dungeon before, but what about now that it got what it wanted?\"\n\nI slithered towards the Coreless. All but the-female-who-was-not-Needle took a cautious step back, aware of their own unworthiness. They had borne witness to the Great Core's newest blessings; they had seen [Chrono Fire] with their own eyes.\n\nTheir awe was natural, but I did not want it. Not right now.\n\nThough the-female-who-was-not-Needle held still, I knew that she must have been awed in her own way, left frozen by the things she had witnessed. I could not fault her for it.\n\nI slowly twisted my way up the-female-who-was-not-Needle's body, finding my perch upon her shoulder and resting my head. It felt heavy, despite my joy at the Great Core's newest blessing. Defeating the lesser Core and its awful bad-things had been more difficult than I had expected. Though the Great Core, in its infinite power, brought me back each time I died, it did little for the mental exhaustion that came with constant failure and continuous death.\n\nI was tired.\n\nLater, I could receive the Coreless' praise.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "For now, I just wanted to sleep.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 1 sentence.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It felt like it had been a long time.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "You will be provided with a piece of text that has a portion of it missing as represented by `<fill_in_here>`. Your output should be a viable candidate for the missing portion. Produce roughly 39 words.",
"loss": null
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"from": "human",
"value": "Valera reached out a cautious hand towards the strange little monster that slept on her shoulder. He simply breathed in and out slowly, peacefully - nothing like she would have expected a wild monster to do.\n\nHe should have been untrusting, hostile towards anything that wasn't created by the same Core that had created him.\n\nHe wasn't. Well, that wasn't entirely true, she had to admit. Even she recognized that he hadn't been her biggest fan - not at the start. Why would he be?\n\nYet now, as she rubbed a finger slowly across the smooth scales of the tiny snake's head, she knew that things had changed. For whatever reason, the little snake had accepted her - along with Kala, Erik, and even Doran - as something to be trusted.\n\nAfter he had fallen asleep on her shoulder, everyone had a long talk about what to do. Doran wasn't wrong about the loss of the Cores. It stung. Every new Core that they managed to capture was another source of safety for their friends and family. Another way to beat back the darkness of the World Dungeon.\n\nEven so, getting rid of the Cores was still helpful on its own. The further away any Cores were from Orken, the less likely it was that monsters would attempt to raid it. She knew that it was well-defended, with its docks floating above the null-water as every proper town and city did, but that didn't mean it was invincible.\n\nNo town was.\n\nIn the end, she managed to convince the others that it was a net gain. They may have lost access to the Cores, but they had kept their lives. All of them were aware of how easily things could have gone differently. All of them were aware of how easily the same could happen in the future. Maybe, with the little snake around, that could become less likely.\n\nAnother troubling problem was how long their resident monster continued to sleep, and how heavily. Exerting itself in the way that he had must have taken its toll. Valera had become used to the way that it hissed in response to her attempts to befriend it, always on guard. Yet, tired as it was, it didn't even notice anymore. Here and there, the little guy shifted slightly, tightening its coiled grasp on her upper arm, but it did little more than that.\n\nEven when they were forced to sneak by the Flame Formicans again in a search for a way out, it hardly budged. Even when that had almost gone terribly, terribly wrong.\n\nFortunately, the monsters were in disarray after the loss of their Core, and they managed to make it out okay.\n\nStill, to not have woken up from that?\n\nThe little cutie must have worked hard to keep them safe.\n\nGuided by their maps, it only took a couple of days for them to reach their destination.\n\nHome sweet home, at last.\n\nOrken awaited.\n\n[ Home Again ]\n\nOrken looked much as it always did; a floating town nestled in the center of a lake of null-water. Light Orbs, imported from nearby cities at great expense, filled the great cavern with a warm glow. The light that they gave off reflected from the null-water, causing it to burst with iridescent shimmers and fantastical hues. It was beautiful - haunting, breathtaking. Safe.\n\nIt was home.\n\nValera breathed in deeply, absently reaching out to give her tired little companion another scratch. He still seemed rather drowsy, even after a few days had passed. The thought was concerning, but he was already showing signs of recovering - whether from the strain caused by guiding them or assimilating a new Core, she wasn't sure. He hissed slightly, flicking a tongue out and shifting on her shoulder before settling back down again.\n\nShe smiled at the sight, turning back towards Orken a moment later. The edges of the null-water lake were festooned with a series of docks, berths for the various row boats and ferries that were necessary to reach Orken itself. Out on the edges of the null-water as they were, the docks had been carved out of the stone itself. Rather than waste precious and expensive resources, the original founders had carved away at the edges of the shoreline, chiseling out docks from what had once been simple stone. If anything, that only helped; the further away the shoreline was from Orken itself, the better. Pushing it away ever-so-slightly in the creation of the docks was a brilliant combination of preserving resources and creating additional distance.\n\nValera didn't envy the back-breaking labor that had likely been involved, though.\n\nAt regular intervals down the stone docks, boats - made of darkwood, every one of them - were moored. Twined rope made from Webweaver silk held them fast, preventing them from slipping away onto the lake. The light cast by the Light Orbs at the lake's center, combined with the fluorescent glow that came with the mana-infused plants and fungi in the area, was more than enough to light their way.\n\nThey quickly managed to snag a free boat, Erik and Doran each taking an oar in hand. The boats - for the most part - were free for the taking. After all, there was only one way to come and go from Orken safely - short of growing wings and flying - so they were both well-maintained and widely available.\n\nAs they skimmed atop the null-water, cutting a near-silent path across its surface, Valera made sure to keep a guarding hand over the newest addition to the party. If he fell into the null-water while she wasn't paying attention...the thought of what might happen was rather horrifying.\n\nFortunately, he never so much as twitched, sleeping through the entire ride. She breathed a sigh of relief as they bumped against the docks that rested at Orken's outskirts, carefully making her way off of the boat and onto safer ground while Kala and Erik worked to tie the boat down again. If necessary, someone would haul the boat back out to the edge of the lake later; if not, it would remain to serve as transport for someone who wished to leave the town themselves. As the only way to both enter and leave Orken, the boats were well-looked after.\n\nWith a careful stretch so as not to dislodge her passenger, Valera glanced around. All in all, it was a quiet return; far different from what she might have imagined as a child. There were no crowds to cheer for their return, nor was there anyone at all.\n\nShe wasn't the only one disappointed by that.\n\n\"No welcome party, huh?\" Doran snorted at the thought.\n\n\"We're a little too new to warrant one, not to mention the lack of any notice that we were on our way back. It's not like anyone would just wait and watch for our arrival,\" Erik responded, serious as always.\n\n\"True, but it would have been nice. We did technically defeat two Dungeons, even if we don't have much to show for it,\" Kala said.\n\nValera couldn't help but interject proudly. \"Don't have much to show for it? Anyone can bring back a Core. We brought back something better.\" She gave her little passenger a careful scratch, and couldn't help but preen when she didn't receive a warning hiss in response.\n\n\"I don't think just anyone can bring back a Core, Valera…\"\n\nShe waved a hand at that, pushing his words aside and working her way from the docks. They were quiet, with only a few guards on shift to note their presence. Valera made sure to give them a friendly wave as she passed, receiving one in turn.\n\nThey, at least, appreciated each other.\n\nShe glanced towards the settlement's center, taking a look at the large Chronorb in its tower. Though it wasn't something that was strictly necessary, most citizens preferred to tie their waking hours to what it displayed; its glow varied throughout the day, changing in intensity and hue to represent the hour. Supposedly, the light cast by Chronorbs was tightly linked to time - every Chronorb created cast the same brightness and color at the same time, though the sizes of the actual Chronorbs could vary from pocket-sized to large enough for an entire settlement to view. Either way, it allowed for more structured timing, particularly in regards to working hours and trade with nearby settlements. They were almost mandatory, in some ways.\n\nWorse, they were extremely expensive. She rubbed a hand against her temple, distressed by the thought. It was uncomfortable to imagine the tongue-lashing coming their way for losing access to a Time Core - something that could have allowed Orken to create and export Chronorbs of their own.\n\nThe Council would not be happy about that.\n\nA moment later, she shrugged to herself. What was done was done - and, if you asked her, they got something better out of the deal.\n\n\"Great. Looks like we're in for a long night if we want to reset our schedules; need to report to the Council later, anyway. No time for sleep,\" Kala moaned, regretting what she had realized would be an exhausting night.\n\nValera let out her own groan in response. \"Can we at least celebrate not dying, just a little? I mean, if we're going to stay awake anyway…\"\n\nDoran turned and gave her a disapproving glance. \"I know where you're <fill_in_here> wasn't long before she got what she wanted.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "going with this, and no. You're already on thin ice with the Council after last time.\"\n\nValera gave him a quick pout, shifting her stare to Kala a moment later. As expected, she folded.\n\nWith her on board, it",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Write something like 1536 characters to replace the `[text_redacted]` in the following text.",
"loss": null
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"from": "human",
"value": "\"Cheers!\"\n\nShe clinked her mug against Kala's in celebration, ignoring the dour look that Doran gave them. Valera stuck out her tongue in a mocking gesture, meeting it with the taste of delicious alcohol a moment later.\n\nHe was just mad that they forced him to stay sober. Someone had to do most of the talking in the morning, and that didn't quite go over as well when hungover.\n\nShe tried once.\n\nOnce.\n\nThe thought of that disaster spread a chill throughout her body for a short moment before it was met with the wonderful warmth that had begun to spread through her body.\n\nSoon enough, his glare broke, giving way to the beginnings of a smile.\n\nShe fought back a laugh. Softie.\n\nThe tavern was about as full as she had expected, boasting little more than the few regulars that it typically attracted. One or two faces were unfamiliar, either travelers or traders enjoying themselves, but they were few and far between. Orken, she had to admit, was a bit too far towards the outskirts of the World Dungeon to see much in the way of new faces. For now, at least.\n\nKala and Erik had already jumped into the celebrations as well, the two of them regaling nearby patrons with stories of their adventure. Erik was already deep into his cups; unlike him, but she knew that the initial warning given by their newest little companion had unsettled him more than he would have liked to admit.\n\nThere was a slight stirring on her shoulder, almost as if the direction of her thoughts had managed to pull their cute little prophet from his snake-dreams. He hissed languidly at her, seeming slightly more awake than he had been lately, but still rather sleepy.\n\nOn a whim, she raised her mug and angled it towards him in order to let him have a little taste. They were celebrating their survival, right? It was only fitting that he'd be part of that. A little beer wouldn't be a problem.\n\nShe was sure that it would be fine.\n\n[ The Feel-Good-Water ]\n\nTODAY'S SHOUTOUT: TRUTH-SEEKER: A LITRPG TIMELOOP\n\nSynopsis: What was supposed to be a simple delivery ended up taking Jennifer through the depths of the dungeon. A trial of life and death leaves her with a mark seared on not just her body, but her very soul. If that wasn't enough, when she escapes the dungeon, she finds her city in flames, burning as monstrous invaders slaughter everyone they come across. Including her.\n\nWhen Jennifer closed her eyes, she was certain her life had taken an unfair and tragic turn. But then she opened them only to find none of it had ever happened.\n\nThe only proof she hadn't gone mad, the mark on her hand, burning with an inner fire.\n\nMy vision swayed and I let my tongue dip into the feel-good-water again. Its bitter scent-taste spilled into my mouth, and I guzzled it greedily. When the female-who-was-not-Needle had first given it to me as an offering, I had been horrified.\n\nI had changed my mind soon enough.\n\nCoreless gathered around me, each providing offerings of their own. Most were nearly empty, the Coreless having already taken part of the feel-good-water for themselves. Though I had been offended at first, I quickly realized that they must have wished to be able to share something in common with me.\n\nIt was an easy realization.\n\nThey weren't born to the Great Core. They weren't like me - they were nothing like me. Instead, they were stuck as disgusting Coreless. I could almost see the sorrow in their eyes, hidden behind the way that they clinked their offerings of feel-good-water together and jabbered on noisily.\n\n\"Look at the little guy go!\"\n\n\"Chug, chug, chug!\"\n\nIt was almost enough to make me feel for them.\n\nI pulled my head from the latest offering, glancing around at what I knew to be the first Temple of the Great Core within the lands of the Coreless. Everywhere that I looked, I could see offerings on display, signs of the gathered Coreless' dedication to the Great Core.\n\nIn so little time, they had already collected so many. They exchanged strange pieces of ore-flesh in [text_redacted]did!\"\n\nThe two disciples fell into a terrible argument, each vying for the right to be the Great Core's second least-favorite Coreless, rather than the first. The other Coreless just shrugged and tipped his offering towards me, taking advantage of their distraction to steal their positions.\n\nI ignored their growing argument, dipping my head into the newest offering of feel-good-water.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "return for the opportunity to share in the feel-good-water with me, something that I was somewhat confused by. Was the ore-flesh being prepared as another offering? Did it have some other meaning? I shrugged the thought aside. Thoughts were hard, after so much feel-good-water. It wasn't worth trying.\n\nAs long as the Great Core received its due, I didn't really care what the reason for it.\n\nI felt good.\n\nVery good.\n\nOne of the Coreless made a few noises at the-female-who-was-not-Needle, likely asking how best he could serve the Great Core. I could see it in his worshipful eyes, in the way that they widened in wonder as I accepted his offering, and in the way that he swayed on unsteady limbs, imbalanced by his excitement.\n\n\"How did ya manage to tame a monshter like this so quick, Valera? What's your shecret?\"\n\nThe-female-who-was-not-Needle bared her teeth at the male Coreless - challenging his dedication to the Great Core, I assumed. She slapped a hand against shoulder in an aggressive display, nearly causing me to lose my grip on her own. I hissed in annoyance, but I recognized her need to establish herself.\n\nShe was used to being one of the Great Core's lowest disciples, and was probably terrified of these new Coreless earning a position above her own so quickly.\n\n\"With my lovable charm,\" she threatened, pointing towards the Unrepentant One a moment later. \"Same way I tamed him.\"\n\nThe Unrepentant One made a strange face, the hair above one of his eyes raising slightly. \"You didn't tame either of us.\"\n\n\"Sure, I ",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Write eighty-five sentences sentences continuing from the user's text. Match the level of familiarity with characters/settings as presented.",
"loss": null
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"from": "gpt",
"value": "Eventually, the offerings began to slow down, but not before I amazed the gathered Coreless with a display of our recent victory over the lesser Core through a few illusions. They made the proper noises of respect and amazement, so I showed them a few more.\n\nMore than once through the night, I almost lost my grip of the-female-who-was-not-Needle's shoulder. My vision swayed back and forth, making it particularly difficult to keep track of what was going on. Or maybe that was the Coreless themselves, swaying from side to side under the effects of the feel-good-water.\n\nOf all of the Coreless' disciples, only the Unrepentant One was unaffected. He had avoided drinking any of the feel-good-water himself. However, he had also not provided any offerings. Again.\n\nI gave him an angry hiss, letting him know that he was the lowest of the Coreless - even behind the newest of the disciples. He turned his head in shame, looking away.\n\nEventually, with a few final cries of praise towards the Great Core, we left the Temple at last, the Coreless pushing aside part of the wall to reveal a large-tunnel exit. Now that I looked at it, they had done a poor job of hiding it. The moving-wall that hid the large-tunnel wasn't even the same color as the rest of the wall, making it obvious that there was something special about it. I could have probably found the exit myself if I tried.\n\nStupid Coreless.\n\nThe cavern outside was strange. Very strange. Even with the way that my vision swayed and shifted, that was clear.\n\nI wasn't sure how we had arrived, having woken up inside of the Temple to the Great Core that the Coreless had created. Ever since I had triumphed over the Great Core's enemies, my mind had felt heavy, plagued with the unimaginable exhaustion of keeping the Coreless alive and achieving victory. The time afterwards had been somewhat of a blur; I could remember brief moments of travel in the few times that I woke, my rest broken by the occasional pang of hunger or thirst. I remembered passing through many large-tunnels, the sounds of the Great Core's newest acolytes' still-unintelligible noises, and little more.\n\nI certainly didn't remember how we had gotten here - or even what here was.\n\nIt was different from any cavern I had ever seen. Giant orbs of light were set into tiny stone-spikes, giving off light that filled the area far more than a glow-cap ever could.\n\nAnd Coreless were everywhere.\n\nAnywhere I turned, I could see them. I had been surprised by how many Coreless had been gathered to provide offerings, but I realized that there were far more. There were more of them in the area than I had ever imagined there could be. As many as there had been Aridae, almost. It must have been nearly all of the Coreless that existed, all gathered in one place.\n\nI must have found their nest, the source of all Coreless.\n\nIt was an odd nest. It probably had to be, without a Core to create it for them. With no Core to guide them, they had to have created it themselves. Because of that, even calling it a single nest didn't feel quite right. Instead, it was more like a huge number of nests all crammed together, each blocked by what I now recognized to be a moving-wall in a failure of an attempt to hide the way inside. Just as before, they were all extremely obvious, doing a terrible job of hiding the large-tunnels that served as both entrance and exit. It was a wonder that they had managed to survive until now, with how poorly they concealed the way in.\n\nEven as I watched, the occasional new Coreless appeared, pushing aside the moving-walls that blocked their way. The moving-walls each swung wide with a little effort, making me even more doubtful of their ability to protect the entrances to their nests.\n\nWas there even a real point to those?\n\nThe Coreless - I was beginning to think that I needed a new term for my Coreless, with how many there now were - made noises towards other Coreless as we traveled, each of them making their own noises in response. A few of them approached, giving my head-scales a few careful scratches. By the time that I remembered to hiss in warning, they were already gone.\n\nOh well. For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to care as much as I normally would.\n\nInstead, I settled my head back down on the-female-who-was-not-Needle's shoulder, watching the Coreless pass us by.\n\nEventually, we pushed back yet another extremely obvious moving-wall, entering a nest. A Coreless was waiting for us inside.\n\nFor some reason, this one seemed to grab Will's attention a little more than the others.\n\n\"Fathe - er, Captain?\"\n\n[ The Staring One ]\n\nThe new Coreless was odd.\n\nIt wasn't just in the way that the other Coreless looked at him, as if hanging on his every unintelligible word. It wasn't just in the way that he felt far more dangerous than the others, his every muscle tensed as if ready to burst into motion at a moment's notice.\n\nIt was in the way that he looked at me. Even as they talked, even when I carefully slithered my way across the-female-who-was-not-Needle's shoulders, it felt as if his eyes never left me. It was an odd feeling, that stare.\n\nIt wasn't one that I enjoyed.\n\nI pulled myself in closer, tucking my body closer to the skin-flesh of my Coreless follower's throat. If he wanted to attack, he would have to risk injuring her.\n\nThe-female-who-was-not-Needle tilted her head towards me, honored by my faith in her ability to take a blow for me.\n\n\"Awww, you're so cute,\" she hissed. I hissed back. She moved to guard me further with one of her giant hands, covering my head-scales from the Staring One's view and giving them a quick scratch. Finally, she was proving useful.\n\nEven the Coreless could learn. Eventually.\n\nThe gathered Coreless continued to jabber at one another, having long retired to a strange section of the nest. It was a small room, separated from the rest of the nest by another of the ridiculous moving-walls that they seemed to enjoy so much. Inside, there was a slab of darkwood held up by thin legs of stone and surrounded by other creations that I recognized from the Temple of Feel-Good-Water.\n\nI had to admit, despite the misplaced trust that they placed in some of their creations - particularly the useless moving-walls - the Coreless did have some inventions that I could see a use for. These were one of them. A place to sit, elevated above the floor!\n\nIt was almost like a Core's pedestal, in a way, and I very much wanted one for myself. That the Coreless would think they deserved pedestals of their own was off-putting, but I was willing to forgive that for now.\n\nAs the Coreless sat down in a circle around the darkwood slab, I moved away from my perch on the-female-who-was-not-Needle's neck, twining myself around the high-backed edge of the fake-pedestal and - coincidentally - placing more space between myself and the Staring One.\n\n\"While it is good to see that you have all made it back safely, I would appreciate reporting back before any future celebrations.\" The Staring One made his noises at my Coreless, causing them to shrink back into themselves. I hissed. Those were my Coreless he was frightening.\n\nThe motion caught his attention, and he pointed a finger at me. \"Now, who would like to explain that to me?\"\n\n\"Well -\"\n\n\"You see -\"\n\n\"Valera -\"\n\n\"It's a -\"\n\nAll of my Coreless began to speak up at once, and were immediately silenced as the Staring One raised his hand.\n\n\"I really don't need to hear from all of you at once. Seeing as Doran appears to be the only one in full possession of his faculties at the moment, why don't I have him explain?\"",
"loss": true
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"from": "human",
"value": "As the Unrepentant One began to jabber back, I twined myself a little more securely around the back of the fake-pedestal and prepared for a fight.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Already, I was feeling as if things were going poorly; the way that the Staring One, well, stared was making me extremely uncomfortable. The other Coreless that we had met had stared as well, but they hadn't possessed the same aura of danger.\n\nThough I wasn't sure if I could win if he attacked, I wasn't prepared to make it easy. Even now, defeating a Coreless - at least, without extreme difficulty or injury - might have been out of my reach. Defeating this one was...something else.\n\nI was almost tempted to put the extra trait points that I had received recently into [Poisonous Blood], just to make sure I could make him regret it when he made me bleed. If, I reminded myself. So far, he hadn't attacked.\n\nHe had only stared.\n\nMenacingly.\n\nI gathered my courage, raising my head from behind the shelter of the-female-who-was-not-Needle's shoulder and staring back. His eyes turned to meet mine, and I ducked away, beating a tactical retreat.\n\nI'll get him next time, I thought.\n\nThe Unrepentant One continued to jabber on, unaware of the battle of titanic wills that was being waged as he spoke. Despite their praiseworthy decision to follow the Great Core, my Coreless had a ways to go in expanding their intelligence and observation skills.\n\nThey would learn. Hopefully.\n\n\"...and then we happened to find it again fighting a colony of spiders. Valera wanted to keep it because she thought it was cute -\"\n\n\"And it is!\"\n\n\"-but she also pointed out that it would be a potential way to locate the Core that had created the Infernal Cyclops we encountered. That turned out to be the correct choice, because it actually worked.\"\n\nThe Staring One opened his mouth, causing my Coreless to fall silent. \"Did you manage to capture the Core, then?\"\n\nSuddenly, all of my Coreless turned away, unwilling to meet the eyes of the Staring One. I felt a chill invade my scale-flesh, a sudden sense of danger that pressed against my senses.\n\n\"...No, sir. The snake ate it.\"\n\nThe danger peaked.\n\n\"Wait, wait, wait!\" The-female-who-was-not-Needle bravely shouted, holding her arms up to defend me from the Staring One. I hissed in approval, recognizing her desire to die in my defense. Slowly, I began to untwine from the fake-pedestal's back, moving almost imperceptibly in another tactical retreat. \"Doran, you skipped the important part!\"\n\nThe chill disappeared, the sense of danger fading with it. I froze, waiting to see if her sacrifice succeeded in defeating the Staring One's ire. She launched into a rapid-fire series of jabbers and hand motions.\n\n\"...wouldn't have been able to reach the Core anyway, and the little guy turned out to be more useful than the Core would have been.\"\n\nI peeked back over my Coreless' shoulder, catching the Staring One's eyes again. This time, they didn't feel quite as dangerous. It was a small change, but enough that I was able to hold myself steady.\n\nI gave him a brave, challenging hiss.\n\nHe stared.\n\nI blasted his eyes with a flash of light, forcing him to flinch back for a moment. He shouted, raising himself from his fake-pedestal and clenching his hand into a fist. My Coreless shouted as well, the-female-who-was-not-Needle shielding me from view with her hand again. When it was removed, the Staring One was sitting down again. Staring again.\n\nBut I had won, we both knew.\n\nI hissed with delight, exulting in my small victory.\n\n\"Sorry, sir. I'm sure he won't do that again,\" the-female-who-was-not-Needle jabbered.\n\nThe Staring One grumbled, ashamed by his loss. \"See that he doesn't. He could blind someone like that, you know.\"\n\n\"I know, I'm sorry. He can be a little surly sometimes, but he did save us again and again. I'm sure that you of all people know how dangerous being a Core Seeker is, and how much of a game-changer the protection of a creature that can see the future could be.\"\n\n\"I do. You'll have me on your side, but you'll have to convince the Council of that, as well. He acts closer to a tamed monster than I'd expect, but there's a clear difference between something like Webweavers and...that. The Council isn't going to like having something so dangerous around.\"\n\nThe Unrepentant One responded this time. \"We know. I'll admit that I'm not a fan of the little monster either, but the idea does have some merit. There's no real way to prove that we would have died in there without it, but I'm sure that we would. We were trapped and unprepared. A bigger issue is using it to actually gather more Cores, though. If we just want to clear out the ones around Orken out of a concern for safety, that's one thing. It's another to prevent it from eating the Cores if it comes close.\"\n\n\"I see...Well, I may have some ideas on that.\"\n\n[ Deception Walks With Many Legs ]\n\nThe Coreless made noises at each other for a long time.\n\nA very long time.\n\nEven the helpful haze of the feel-good-water wasn't enough to vanquish my boredom. I had already defeated the Staring One, and there was little left to do. Eventually, I slithered down from the back of the fake-pedestal, choosing to ignore the jabbering Coreless and explore the small room instead. Despite that, I could still feel the Staring One's eyes on me every so often, though they didn't feel quite as oppressive as before - and not quite as wary, either.\n\nFor a while, I tried to entertain myself by making - attempting to make, anyway - tiny mirror images of the Coreless sitting in a circle. After a bit of experimenting, I noticed that it was easier to manage the details when the illusions were smaller. Less light to deal with, I supposed. Eventually, it actually started to look like them. That seemed to draw the Staring One's attention again, causing the Coreless to make even more noises at each other. They froze, watching me with wide eyes.\n\nAfter a few moments, the Staring One raised a hand. I repeated the motion with [Illusion Spark], trying my best to follow his movements.\n\nA little while later, the Staring One spoke. \"...I think that it's just bored. It's not predicting the future right now, just making the images copy what we do. Might want to keep an eye on it though, just in case.\" My Coreless all slumped against their fake-pedestals at once, baring their teeth before looking back towards one another and resuming with their constant jabbering. Every so often, I noticed them turning back towards me again, but I ignored it.\n\nI kept doing that for a while, switching to other illusions when the Coreless failed to entertain me. Eventually, I grew bored of that as well. As proud as I was of my increasing skill with illusions, I could only do it for so long before even that became tiresome. A familiar glow caught my eye, causing me to turn back towards the gathered Coreless.\n\nThe light of the Great Core.\n\nOr, rather, the light of my shed scale-flesh as the Unrepentant One removed it from the skin-mouth at his side. He placed it on the slab of darkwood, and the Staring One made the proper noises of awe. As he should have.\n\nFaced with that wonderful light, I knew that it wouldn't be long before he became a new follower of the Great Core. I hissed in delight, surprised by the Unrepentant One's intelligence in revealing it to secure the Staring One's worship. Though it wasn't enough to pull him past the-female-who-was-not-Needle and become the second-least favorite disciple, he was showing improvement.\n\nAs they voiced their praises towards the Great Core, I continued to explore the small nest-room. A larger fake-pedestal spanned across a section of the wall, and I slipped into the darkness behind it. It felt like a wall-crack in a way, close and confining. Safe.",
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"value": "As I pushed further, though, I caught the scent-taste of the outside-air.",
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"value": "Next message should be approximately 24 sentences.",
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"value": "Air slipped through the space ahead, and I followed where it led me.\n\nIn the end, it led me outside - through a tiny wall-crack resting behind the fake-pedestal, just barely large enough for me to squeeze through. I thought about turning around and going back, but knew that the Coreless would be admiring the Great Core's light for a long while yet. I felt the same impulse, and I had done so many times.\n\nI wouldn't take that opportunity away from them.\n\nThe strange many-nest of the Coreless spread out before me again, and I lost myself to the urge of exploring further, letting it pull me away.\n\nI saw many strange things, as I slipped between the gaps between the nests. Creations and carvings by the Coreless with meanings and functions that I couldn't understand. A great orb of light high up at the center of the many-nest, lighting the cavern with its brilliant glow. Other things, pulling my attention every which way. Even more Coreless walked about than before, only a few wearing the protective ore-flesh that I had always associated with them. More of them than I had ever imagined. For the moment, I chose to avoid them; my own Coreless weren't with me, and it was difficult to communicate in a way that Coreless could understand.\n\nIt would be better to avoid them for now, but that would change.\n\nEach, I knew, could soon become a disciple of the Great Core. My Coreless had been right in bringing me here, where I could gather an army. With this many Coreless at my beck and call, the lesser Core would have been easily defeated.\n\nIt was a heady thought.\n\nI pulled out of another gap, slithering along - until something caught my eye.\n\nA flash of white.\n\nA shimmering thread.\n\nA horrible sight.\n\nA Coreless, tossing an offering of flesh towards a bad-thing of many legs.\n\nThey were here.",
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"value": "hey can u write 166 sentences more sentences? keep same character vibes in LitRPG, fantasy style",
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"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
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"value": "The Aridae looked different than before. Their black hairs had changed, turned the same white as the threads that they wove. They had disguised themselves cleverly, but I wasn't fooled.\n\nWhat else could they be, with so many legs and so many threads? No, I knew it was them. It had to be. The many-legged bad-things, the Aridae, one of the first and most sinister of the Great Core's enemies.\n\nAnd I knew what they were here for.\n\nThey wanted to steal the Great Core's future disciples away!\n\nThe thought was horrifying - but the more horrifying thought was that it seemed to be working. Even as I watched, more Aridae received offerings of flesh, consuming them greedily. The Coreless that they had enthralled even gathered their terrible threads for them, no doubt using it to create larger nests for their would-be masters.\n\nStupid as they were, the Coreless were falling for the deception, not realizing the danger. With their size, they should have been able to easily defeat the disguised Aridae, but they didn't.\n\nDeception walked with many legs, and the Coreless' weak minds had been trampled underfoot.\n\nI could not let that happen. These were meant to be the Great Core's Coreless. The Great Core's disciples. My Coreless.\n\nFilled with rage, I moved closer with the stealthiest of slithers, preparing my attack - for attack was the only option. The Aridae couldn't be left alive. They wouldn't be.\n\nI watched and waited, looking for my chance.\n\nSoon enough, it arrived.\n\nOne of the many-legged bad-things moved away from the rest - and more importantly, from the Coreless that had been enthralled - and begun to spin shimmering white threads across a cluster of thin stone-spikes that broke from the floor. I coated myself with a weak illusion to camouflage my body. I slithered beside it. I struck.\n\nMy fangs bit deep, passing through white-furred flesh with ease. My venom dripped, flowing steadily. Pained, the Aridae flinched back, trying to escape - but it was far too late. Finally, in its dying moment, it changed tactics. It turned, trying to sink its own fangs through my scale-flesh as revenge. The fangs bounced off harmlessly - which was odd, but I had grown stronger recently.\n\nThe thought-light flickered, announcing my victory.\n\n─ Experience Gained!\n\nBefore the other Aridae - or worse, the deceived Coreless - could notice and attack, I swallowed the corpse whole.\n\nWhat the thought-light revealed next was more frightening than I expected.\n\n─ Level 0 Webweaver Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 1/5.\n\nThe deceivers had even managed to trick the thought-light itself, forcing it to believe that they were these 'Webweavers' rather than the Aridae that I knew they truly were. It was no wonder that they had managed to enthrall the Coreless, with such great skill in deception.\n\nThe thought urged me onwards.\n\nI had to move quickly. There was no telling how deep they had sunk their fangs into the Coreless' feeble minds. They couldn't be allowed to live a moment longer.\n\nWith no time to lose, I abandoned all stealth. I breathed fire.\n\nThe hated threads began to burn.\n\n─ Experience Gained! (x6)\n\n[ A Proposal ]\n\n\"That thing almost killed us all!\"\n\nThe voice, impassioned and filled with an irate fervor, ripped across the room with its overwhelming volume. Murmurs of agreement followed behind it, some reaching even further to become outright shouts. The large hall, lit by an abundance of Light Orbs and festooned with finery that nearly made her eyes roll, was filled to the brim. As much as it ever was, at least. Twenty councilmen - every single one of them, a rare occurrence - sat in their designated locations, though some had raised themselves from their seats. The Council was in uproar, and Valera was unsurprised.\n\nNot after what had just happened.\n\nStill, she wasn't the only one to raise an objection, few though her allies might have been.\n\n\"With all due respect, Councilman Port, nobody was injured. The moment that we arrived and began to intervene, the snake stood down. Hardly the demeanor of a murderous monster, is it?\" Captain Wren - Erik's father, as well as the head of Orken's Seekers, pitifully few as they were - responded. She wasn't sure what he really thought, whether he was simply doubling down to support the actions of his subordinates and son, or if he was truly as unworried by what had occurred as he appeared. The man's face was an inscrutable mask, just as it always was, a statuesque picture of focus and determination.\n\nIt was that same focus and determination that had earned him his fame, that had led the Council to provide him with his position in the first place. Though he did not take part in searching for and dispatching Cores himself anymore, the former mercenary had been an integral part in training up the few Seekers that Orken had, ensuring that they were prepared to face the world outside the boundaries of the null-water that protected them.\n\nNow, that same focus was twisted and pressed against the irate Councilman, wrapped in a light coating of humor and friendliness.\n\nA very light coating.\n\nThe poor Councilman blanched, but soon rallied.\n\n\"Th-that hardly matters! It may not have attacked us directly, but its actions could have killed us all just as surely as if it had bitten at our throats. The Webweaver colony has long been an essential part of our exports. What do you imagine would happen if they were to have all died, hmm? How would we trade for the food that we need, or for anything else?\"\n\nAs much as she wished that he didn't have a point...he certainly had one. Their slippery little companion had managed to do a number on Orken's economy. While she was sure that it was unintentional, it had hurt.\n\nThe Captain was forced to acknowledge that, ducking his head in affirmation of the councilman's words. As powerful and intimidating as his very presence might have been, he was a man of blood and combat - not of logistics and gold. Still, he pushed onwards.\n\n\"From the knowledge we have of the snake's previous demeanor, it's very possible that he saw the Webweavers as some sort of threat. He has been observed to be extremely hostile towards monsters. While I agree that this might have been catastrophic, it also highlights something that I was already going to propose.\" He let that sink in for a moment, meeting the eyes of the gathered councilmen.\n\nValera chewed her lip lightly, hoping that whatever came next would be enough to save the little cutie. Whatever they thought, she was still willing to place her faith in his good intentions; after saving her life an untold number of times, she felt that he had earned at least that.\n\n\"Regardless of the unfortunate circumstances, I think that there are some positives to take away here. The first is that nobody was hurt.\" He raised a hand, forestalling another objection from Councilman Port. \"Physically. There would have been ample opportunity for the beast to attack any number of humans in its course from its last known location to the Webweavers. The fact that it didn't attack any humans, and instead attacked monsters - tame though they might have been - is a good sign.\"\n\nShe found herself nodding alongside Erik, Kala, and - surprisingly enough - Doran, agreeing with what he said. Hopefully that would help to sway the Council's view.\n\n\"Secondly, the fact that it attacked the Webweavers in the first place could debatably be a positive. I certainly wouldn't expect a monster to understand the concept of domestication. It's more than likely that he simply saw what he thought was a threat and sought to eradicate it.\" Captain Wren steepled his fingers, leaning slightly against the table before him. \"Both of these lead towards my proposal - one that may be even more important now than when it was originally proposed. Regardless of intentions, Orken has taken a blow. That will need to be remedied. Fortunately, both the problem and the solution have the same source.\"\n\nValera's breath caught as she realized where he was going. Before the Webweaver nests caught on fire, they had been in the midst of discussing this very thing. They had known that it would be difficult to convince the Council of its necessity, but - ironically enough - it had become more necessary with the most recent troubles.\n\n\"Before we go further…\" the head of Orken's Seekers turned, gesturing towards Doran with one hand. \"Doran, if you would give your report on your team's most recent expedition. I think that the Council might find it...enlightening.\"\n\nDoran quickly acquiesced, launching into a sanitized retelling of their adventure, as well as their new companion. She was relieved to note that he scrubbed out her repeated failures to befriend the little snake in question. It wouldn't have been necessary for the report, and it might have put the claimed docility of Orken's newest criminal into question. Also, it would have made it seem like the little guy didn't like Valera.\n\nWhich would be wrong. She knew she was the favorite.\n\nInstead, he glossed over much of that, focusing instead on the most important points - the initial encounter, the Ascension, finding the second Core, and so on. When he explained the way that they had been forewarned or protected from every enemy within the Dungeon, the Council became decidedly more heated.\n\nEven they, safe and sound atop the protective lake of null-water, were well aware of how important something like that could be.\n\nThere were very few Seekers in Orken, deadly undertaking that it could be, and that showed in their pitiful lack of Cores. Some of the more successful settlements didn't need to rely on something like a Webweaver colony to get by - their economies were buoyed by the trade created through their captured Cores, along with their ability to defend themselves and any trade routes.\n\nBy the time Doran finished his report, she could already see the image of gold reflected in many of their eyes, and she knew that the hook had been set.\n\n\"Thank you, Doran. Now, my proposal: the snake will be given the opportunity to work off its debt to Orken. It makes little sense to execute it, if there is something to gain by keeping it alive - and, as long as it can be kept from consuming the Cores that we need or damaging Orken's economy further, there is.\"\n\nThe following hour was filled with a fierce discussion of the idea's merits. Some, like Councilman Port, were entirely against the idea of the cute little noodle's existence, calling for him to be immediately dropped into the null-water. Others were more reasonable, willing to see the merit of increased safety during Dungeon Expeditions. In the end, those more reasonable voices managed to win out, snagging a close victory via vote.\n\nAfter that came the even harder part: rules and regulations. Those were still mostly up in the air, what with how the success of the proposal would still be in question until the first Core was acquired. Her mind blanked as they droned on and on about precedent this and safety that.\n\nShe did hear them decide on one thing for sure though, and Valera was sure the little guy was going to hate it.\n\nIn the rest of his time in Orken…he was going to have to be muzzled.\n\nShe really hoped that he didn't blame her for it.\n\n[ Shaper of Ore-Flesh ]\n\nI tried to hiss, my tongue pressing firmly against my sealed-shut lips, and glared balefully at my betrayer. She-who-was-not-Needle, the lowest of the low, stared back. I could see it in her eyes; she knew what she had done. She knew that she had earned my ire.\n\nAs well she should.\n\nI pulled against my bindings again, trying to pull apart the sticky threads that sealed my mouth shut. They held firm, just as they had ever since they had been wound around my snout. I huffed irritably, fighting against the incandescent rage that filled me.\n\nYes, I had been betrayed. I was less than happy about it.\n\n\"Oh, what a cute little fellow!\" the Coreless before us exclaimed. In my irritated state, I didn't even bother to ascribe meaning to it. I wasn't in the mood. The plots of the Aridae had run even deeper than I had imagined. For now, they had won.\n\nThough I had managed to defeat most of them, the Coreless had come to stop me before I finished. Unfortunately, they had ignored my attempts to convince them that the bad-things were evil masterminds, putting themselves between me and the bad-things.\n\nThen again, it wasn't surprising. If they had managed to trick the thought-light, of course the Coreless would be tricked as well.\n\nThere was only one positive outcome. I had gained a new skill. Though part of me wished that my [Paralyzing Venom] had increased, it did feel nice to gain something new. And it was useful too, though not in an immediately dangerous manner.\n\nIn my crusade against the deceptive bad-things, I had managed to gain [Clinging Grasp III]. It was an odd ability, allowing me to cling to surfaces with greater ease. In fact, I had even been able to hang upside down from the ceiling for a short amount of time when the Coreless had left me in the sealed-room earlier.\n\nThere wasn't much else to do while I waited, and I had been bored.\n\nStill, as annoyed as I was, I was happy to have gained an ability that would let me move in ways that I previously couldn't. That was the one bright side. Everything else about the situation was awful.\n\n\"Isn't he?\" my betrayer responded, reaching towards me to scratch against my head-scales. I tried to stop her, but there wasn't much I could do with my mouth sealed shut.\n\nIt felt a little nice, but did little to cool my rage. I singed her fingers with a tiny flash of heat. Unfortunately, the cavern wasn't hot enough to gather the heat to do much more than that.\n\n\"Damn it!\" she pulled her hand back, blowing on her reddened fingers and waving them about rapidly. \"I said I was sorry! You're the one that got the Council so upset,\" she grumbled.\n\nAgain, I flashed an illusion of her removing the threads that bound my mouth shut, just as I had been doing ever since the threads had been tied. If nothing else, the strange orbs of light that filled the Coreless' many-nest gave me a lot of light to work with.\n\nAnd again, she didn't do it, continuing to babble instead. Stupid Coreless. I huffed, the air spilling from my nostrils in an audible gust. I would have been tempted to wander off again, but I refused to allow the evil plots of the bad-things to succeed. These were my Coreless, not theirs.\n\n\"It's just until we leave Orken, little guy.\" She tried to hiss quietly to me, failing at the attempt as she always did. \"Look, if you're good I can take it off when we're alone. Not while we're in public, though.\" She gave me another scratch, and I singed her fingers again. Tried to, anyway. Since she didn't pull back this time, it probably just felt warm more than anything else.\n\nShe turned towards the other Coreless. A moment ago, we had entered what I assumed was this Coreless' nest, once again passing through an obvious moving-wall. For a while, they jabbered at each other.",
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"value": "Eventually, they came to some sort of agreement, exchanging some things with one another.",
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"value": "The-female-who-was-not-Needle placed the strange items into a skin-mouth at her side and left the nest.",
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"value": "Only your next message should be 27% dialogue",
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"value": "Despite my extreme irritation, I couldn't help but be amazed by how many Coreless walked about within the many-nest. There were far more of them than I had imagined; most of them must have been hiding within their nests earlier. Each time that we passed a new one - which was often - I flashed an illusion of them removing my bindings.\n\nThey just stopped and stared.\n\nIt was distressing, knowing that the bad-things had already sunken their fangs so deeply into the minds of the Coreless - but not entirely surprising. Fortunately, they were not entirely lost. Beyond binding my mouth in threads, they hadn't been overly aggressive. I knew that, if they really wanted to kill me I would have long since died, and they hadn't really done anything other than humiliate me. There was still a chance to bring them back to the light of the Great Core.\n\nAnd if there was a chance, I knew that the Great Core would succeed eventually.\n\nThe-female-who-was-not-Needle continued to babble nervously as she walked. I was beginning to think that she felt guilty for this. Good. \"I know you don't like other monsters, but you need to be more careful. They wanted to drop you in the null-water, you know. I don't know if you saw the future and just knew that they wouldn't, but that would be bad. There's a reason we only build our cities and towns over null-water, you know.\"\n\nShe coughed. \"Well, maybe you don't know. I'm not even sure that you can really understand me. I mean, you're obviously intelligent in some way, but it's hard to tell sometimes...Okay! How about this? If you can understand me, move to my other shoulder. If you can't, stay where you are.\"\n\nShe stared at me for a second, pausing in her babbling to look me in the eyes. I stared back.\n\nThe-female-who-was-not-Needle let out a breath. \"Damn. I guess not.\" She stopped jabbering at me for a while, just walking silently through the many-nest. For some reason, I got the feeling that she was upset.\n\nAs she should be, betrayer that she was.\n\nSoon enough, we found our way to the outside of another large nest. I could hear the ringing of ore-flesh against ore-flesh, repeating itself in a pattern of beats. We stepped inside, pushing past the moving-wall that blocked the entrance.\n\n\"Valera! How's my favorite customer?\" A large Coreless turned and yelled out, baring his teeth.\n\n\"Favorite, huh? Does that mean I get a discount?\"\n\n\"I don't like you that much. Maybe if you brought some more Cores back so I could have a bit more variety to work with.\" He paused. \"Did you?\"\n\n\"Not this time,\" she jabbered back.\n\n\"Then no discounts. Give me a moment to finish up, and I'll be right with you.\"\n\nThe-female-who-was-not-Needle moved to a fake-pedestal that rested against a nearby wall, sitting down silently. Meanwhile, the Coreless resumed his work, continuing to batter a piece of ore-flesh again and again. As I watched, a relatively small fang of ore-flesh began to take shape. I watched, amazed by the process. Was this how they created their fangs and their second skins? I had so many questions.\n\nIf my mouth hadn't been bound shut, rendering me almost entirely defenseless, I might have tried to wander around. This nest was fascinating, one of its walls covered in fangs of ore-flesh and another with the second skins that the Coreless wore. Most were slate-gray, but a rare few held the glow of mana-light, marking them as different from the rest. I couldn't help but wonder how they did that; while infusing fangs and skins of ore-flesh with mana would have been trivial for even a lesser Core, the Coreless shouldn't have been able to do it. It was something that had always confused me.\n\nI wanted to know the secret, but I didn't know how well the shaper of ore-flesh would guard it. For now, I decided to wait with the-female-who-was-not-Needle, listening to the rhythmic ring of ore-flesh as the minutes passed by.\n\nEventually, however, he seemed to reach a stopping point, wiping his brow and turning towards us.\n\n\"So, what can I do for you?\" he jabbered towards the-female-who-was-not-Needle. \"The blades are still holding up, I'd hope. Hasn't been that long, and considering - wait a minute, who's the little guy?\" The shaper of ore-flesh pointed a finger at me.\n\nShe tried to idly scratch at my scales again. I singed her fingers again. This nest was hot, so it was more effective that time. She jerked back and looked at me as if I had betrayed her. The feeling was mutual.\n\n\"They're holding up perfectly, thank you Kal - and he's a new pickup,\" she grumbled. \"Haven't named him yet. He's normally much cuter, but he's in a very grumpy mood right now. He'll come around, hopefully. Doesn't like the muzzle. Council's orders.\" She shrugged, causing me to bob up and down on my perch.\n\nShe leaned in. \"And actually, I was hoping that you would be able to make me something special before we head out again.\"\n\n\"I guess that depends. How long until you leave? You know that these things can take time.\"\n\n\"I'm not sure. I don't think it would take that long, though. It's not for me.\" She paused for a moment, pointing a thumb at me. \"It'd be for him. A little present for saving my life.\"\n\n[ Learning To Understand ]\n\n\"Sounds like a story, there. You'll have to tell it to me. But still, you want something made for the snake? I have to say Valera, that would be a first for me,\" the shaper of ore-flesh responded, his brows furrowing in what I thought to be confusion. Though the Coreless' interactions were still mainly a mystery to me, I thought that I was beginning to get a greater feel for their body language.\n\nA few of them were easy, shared among many of the bad-things that I had seen throughout my life - some even shared with myself. I knew that they bared their fangs to express challenge. I knew that they raised their brows or widened their eyes in surprise or confusion. I knew that they bound themselves in ore-flesh when they felt threatened.\n\nOne day, I would know their words, as well. Not now, but some day. I had given up on the idea that the Coreless would learn to speak with my own sibilant hisses; my short time in the many-nest had revealed that the-female-who-was-not-Needle's failure to hiss was a disability held by the entire species.\n\nAs one - and the only one - created by the Great Core, it came down to me to bridge the gap that their failures created.\n\nThe-female-who-was-not-Needle bared her teeth, and I tensed slightly. Challenging the shaper of ore-flesh within his own nest was a dangerous endeavor; she had come without her own ore-flesh bindings, while he was surrounded with his creations. Push too hard, and it might mean her death. Where did her confidence come from?\n\nAs they often did, the actions of the Coreless left me confused.\n\n\"I'd be surprised if you had, Kal. This little cutie's one of a kind, I think.\" She leaned forward, pulling me ahead with the movement of her shoulders and dropping her voice into some sort of malformed hiss. \"Can you keep a secret?\"\n\n\"That depends, I suppose. Why would I need to keep a secret?\"\n\n\"Well, I don't want the little guy to get snakenapped. I mean, look at him!\" She pointed at me again, then looked back at the shaper. \"I mean, even before you get into the secret stuff he's already adorable. I'd definitely snakenap him, if I had the chance.\" He made a strange little noise, exhaling sharply through his nostrils, before baring his own teeth.\n\n\"I'll make sure to keep my mouth shut around any potential snakenappers that aren't you, then. So, you were saying…\"\n\n\"He told us the future. That's how he saved my life,\" not-Needle hissed again. It was embarrassing. I think that the shaper thought so too, because his brows rose again in confusion a moment later. I let out a mournful hiss at her ineptitude.\n\n\"He told you the future? Wait, the snake can speak?\"\n\n\"Unfortunately, no. I'm pretty sure that he can't understand anything we say, either. He can make these ugly illusions, though. That's -\"\n\nTired of her discordant hissing, I flashed an illusion at the shaper; the same image of removing my bindings that I had shown so many other Coreless today. He was taken aback for a moment, and not-Needle halted in her hissing.\n\n\"Those. He's been doing that all day, I'm surprised that he waited this long to try it on you. Like I said, he really doesn't like the muzzle.\"\n\n\"And you're sure that he can't understand us? That was odd timing, if nothing else.\"\n\n\"Like I said, I'm pretty sure.\" Not-Needle turned towards me again, dropping her tone slightly and meeting my eyes. \"If you move to my other shoulder, I'll take the muzzle off for a bit.\"\n\nAnnoyed at being denied again, I flashed a weak light in front of her eyes. She jerked back, uttering something under her breath as the shaper made that same noise with his nostrils again. It lasted longer this time.\n\n\"Yeah, I'm almost certain that he can't understand us. He's smart for a monster, though. Used those illusions to guide my team safely through the steps of a fight that I don't think we would have survived, otherwise. Based on some of the things he showed us, we shouldn't have. We got stuck in a Dungeon unprepared and almost died for it.\"\n\n\"Huh. Maybe I should take up snakenapping as a hobby,\" the shaper said, the words coming out rather dry. His lips twisted up at the corners, a far cry from the bare-fanged challenge that he had displayed earlier. Was he beginning to back down?\n\n\"Don't you dare, Kal! I saw him first.\" Not-Needle quickly reached across to scratch my scales, pulling them back again before I remembered to punish her again for the recent betrayal.\n\nThe shaper snorted again, turning around and heading to the back of the nest a moment later. Not long after, he returned with a length of thread. Had he been taken by the Aridae, too?\n\nBefore I had time to flee, the thread had been wrapped around me. Fortunately, it was removed immediately after. Then wrapped around a different spot. Removed. Another. Removed.\n\n...what was going on? Was he fighting against the Aridae's commands to capture me in their evil threads? I felt a small amount of respect for the shaper of ore-flesh. He had succeeded where the-female-who-was-not-Needle had failed. Where she had tied the thread around me and bound my fangs, the shaper had seen the error of his ways.\n\nFinally, the shaper stepped back, a thoughtful hum reverberating from the back of his throat. \"Shouldn't be too hard to make something, I think. At the very least, it'll be a change of pace. Just to be sure, when you say special -\"\n\n\"Yes, I mean special,\" Not-Needle interjected, cutting him off and making some sort of hand motion.\n\n\"I'm not sure that I see the point, Valera. Earth-infused protection wouldn't amount to much at his size. Sure, it would make any bits of armor that he wore harder, but he'd still be crushed as the force smashes against him. His underside would have to be exposed, too. And considering you didn't bring any Cores back, that's pretty much all that I have to work with here.\"\n\n\"That's what I figured, Kal, don't worry about it. The thing is, this little guy shed his skin while we were in the Dungeon - and from the way it looks, you might be able to use it. Has that sort of glow to it, you know?\"\n\nNot-Needle tossed one of the skin-mouths at her side to the shaper. \"Hopefully, you agree. It took some sweet-talking to convince Doran that he should let me take it off his hands.\"\n\n\"Oh, sweet talking, huh?\"\n\n\"Shut up, Kal.\" Another nostril-heavy exhale for some reason. Another fang-baring challenge. I was completely lost at this point. Considering the constant challenges and threat displays flying in both directions without resulting in any real fight, I was beginning to lean towards this being some form of extended mating ritual - in which case, I would prefer to leave.\n\nThe Coreless disgusted me enough, even before anything like that became involved.\n\nImagine. Coreless - multiplying.\n\nAbsolutely disgusting.\n\nWait. They were the Great Core's disciple-Coreless and future-disciple-Coreless. A little less disgusting, then. Maybe. I forced back my distaste.\n\nThe two jabbered on at one another for a while longer, my dread mounting by the second. As much as I wanted the Great Core's followers to grow in number, I didn't want it to happen in front of me. Not like this, at least.\n\nEventually, the-female-that-was-not-Needle stood up. I regretfully consigned myself to my fate, ready to wash horrible images away from my memory.\n\nYet, instead of engaging in repulsive Coreless-creation like I thought, she stepped through the moving-wall and back out into the many-nest again.\n\nOdd.\n\nMaybe I didn't actually understand what was going on.\n\n[ Losing The Second ]\n\nOre-flesh rang against ore-flesh, fang against fang, as the Coreless fought against one another.\n\nTo one side, Needle used her needle-spitter to send needle-fang after needle-fang into a circular target. They thunked against it in a relaxing rhythm of repeated beats, only broken by the occasional clatter of splitting wood when one needle-fang cut directly through another.\n\nIn the center of a ring of raised stone, Will and the Unrepentant One battled, pitting solid defense against powerful blows. The ground below them, covered in stone-dust and pitted with scars from battle after battle, shifted under their feet. It swirled with each step, and neither Coreless were above attempting to use that to their advantage; the swirling stone-dust often found itself kicked or thrown upwards, eagerly meeting the mouth or eyes of either opponent.\n\nThe-female-who-was-not-Needle ran rings around the training-room of the nest, having already fought against the Staring One and lost.\n\nAfter the meeting with the Shaper of ore-flesh, we had returned to the same nest as the night before; based on the way that my Coreless had quickly claimed a place within it, I was sure that this was their nest.\n\nIt was an odd one, different from the other nests that I had seen within the Coreless' many-nest. Larger than most, it stretched far and was filled with many rooms. Its scent-taste was muted, with my mouth still bound in thread, but I was still able to catch enough to pick out some of their purposes.\n\nDirectly behind the first moving-wall that hid the nest's entrance was a large-room filled with fake-pedestals and slabs of darkwood propped up on carved legs that ran along its sides. More moving-walls filled the gaps that rested between each of the legged slabs, each leading to a new small-room. I hadn't been able to go inside any of them yet, but I had seen one of the moving-walls open earlier. They looked similar to the small-room that I had escaped from prior to my assault on the deceptive Aridae, though they might have been slightly smaller.\n\nFurther back, the nest opened up even more. One section in particular gave off the faint scent-taste of food and feel-good-water.\n\nI did not receive any offerings of the feel-good-water this time.\n\nBeyond that, the nest split up into two sections: one seemed to be a place for the Coreless to sleep, filled with giant soft-slabs. I enjoyed slithering into those and coiling into its warmth.\n\nNow, we were in the other section: a training-room where the Coreless spent most of their time.",
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"value": "I wasn't sure how often my Coreless typically left their nest for the many-nest outside; maybe this was normal for them. I had hardly ever left the Great Core's nest, after all.\n\nUnlike the rest of my Coreless' nest, the training-room was left open to the cavern above; if I had wanted to, I could have used my new [Clinging Grasp III] to climb the walls and leave the nest. I didn't. I had already put in a lot of effort towards turning these particular Coreless to the light of the Great Core.\n\nI wouldn't abandon them now. Not to the deceptions of the Aridae. They were mine. Ours.\n\nNot to mention, I could still feel the eyes of the Staring One on me. I knew that he was watching. After seeing him fight against the other Coreless, I had no doubts that he was far more dangerous than the others. I decided to stay put.\n\nI decided to watch.\n\nAnd so, for the few days that followed the meeting with the Shaper of ore-flesh, that was what I did. For the first day or two, I was left with an odd, unsettling feeling; why, I didn't know. It felt as if something was being pulled away from me, but I couldn't find the source of the sensation. As far as I could tell, everything seemed normal otherwise. Nothing had changed - even, unfortunately, the binding thread that was wrapped around my mouth.\n\nIn that day or two of odd sensations, I tried my best to distract myself. I entertained myself with illusions of the Coreless fighting around me, doing my best to mirror their movements in miniature with as little delay as possible. It was difficult and I was forced to reduce the quality of the illusions in order to keep up, but it was something to do. Something to distract myself - both from the odd sensation that crawled its way under my scale-flesh and from the knowledge that the Aridae remained alive nearby.\n\nI consoled myself with the thought that both of those things were only temporary. And, just as I thought, the unsettling feeling eventually went away - though not in a way that I appreciated or expected. If anything, it only made me more unsettled.\n\n─ Checkpoint Removed: The Second Cycle.\n\nThe flicker of the thought-light came paired with a tearing sensation, forcing me to coil painfully inwards and bite my tail in distress. [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail] did nothing to help physically; the discomfort was entirely mental. Still, I found some degree of comfort in the familiar act, and was eventually able to calm myself down enough to send a question towards the thought-light.\n\nIts response, while still concerning, made me feel slightly better. At the same time, it wasn't entirely comforting.\n\n─ The Endless Cycle Checkpoints:\n\n─ First: Active\n\n─ Second: Removed\n\n─ Third: Active\n\nSomething had happened to affect [The Endless Cycle], and it wasn't just time passing. If it was, the first would have been lost instead. No, it was something else.\n\nAnd I didn't know what - though I was sure that it was connected to the strange feeling I had been having for awhile. At the very least, I knew that I would have some degree of warning next time.\n\nHopefully, I would find the reason before it could happen again.\n\nHopefully, there wouldn't be a next time.\n\nA sharp clang of ore-flesh marked the end of the most recent duel between Will and the Unrepentant One as the shifting of stone-dust below led to the Unrepentant One falling to one knee. Will took the advantage, bashing the other Coreless' weapon from his hand with his own ore-flesh before he could recover. Immediately after, the Unrepentant One raised both hands, a gesture that I had found to signify surrender.\n\nThe two rose to their feet, slipping to the edge of the training-room and pouring mana-water over their heads from a waiting set of skin-mouths. It dripped down, mixing with the gray of the stone-dust that coated their faces. Soon enough, both Needle and not-Needle stopped their own training as well, joining the other two. The Staring One joined them, though it still felt as if his eyes were on me. I could hear them making noises at one another from where I rested, though the actual meaning was lost to me.\n\n\"...worried that the others haven't come back yet. I know that they can handle themselves - more than we can, even - but they should have checked in by now. Where did you say they went?\" Will said, making noises at the Staring One.\n\nHe grunted. \"Hasn't been that long; those four got back about a week before you all did. Council sent them off to Verdant Grove right after. A couple of our traders that went in that direction recently never came back. That's part of why your little pyromaniac caused as many issues with the Council as it did. They're worried about how well our food stocks will hold up if our trade with Verdant Grove is cut off somehow.\" He shrugged. \"Give it time. They know what they're doing, and I don't expect them back quite yet. Best case scenario, the main path to Verdant Grove was cut off by a tunnel collapse and they had to reroute. In the end, there's nothing to do but wait and see.\"\n\n\"And if it's something worse?\"\n\n\"Then we'll have to deal with it. Skies know that those layabouts in the Council won't.\"\n\n\"You've got th-\" Will stopped, tilting his head as if trying to listen to something.\n\nIn the distance, I heard something start to ring.\n\n[ As The Bell Tolls ]\n\nThe bell continued to toll, filling Valera's ears with its brassy tones.\n\nHer legs pumped as she ran through the streets, leaving the Seeker Barracks behind. Soon enough, each step began to cause the ground below her to bounce slightly as she left one of the many islands of stone that served to anchor Orken, moving onto a giant stretch of darkwood planks that spanned the distance between it and the next. While some cities were forced to form themselves as floating cities entirely, Orken's null-water lake possessed a number of small islands near its center, and its founders had built accordingly. The largest of the buildings scored their foundations into the more stable islands, while smaller housing and shops rested upon the large expanse of darkwood that made up most of Orken.\n\nAll in all, it had been lucky that the Webweaver colony had been far from the more flammable parts of the city, well towards the center of the same island of stone that the Seeker Barracks was built upon; if the links between the islands had been burned, she had no doubts that the punishment would have been far more severe. Though darkwood was fairly flame-resistant, that didn't mean that it was immune entirely - and based on what she had seen, the little snake's flames burned quite fiercely.\n\nThe bell tolled again.\n\nValera zipped across the distance, civilians moving out of her way; whether that was in deference or simply to hide from the dangers that the ringing bell might represent, it didn't matter. They moved from her path, and she welcomed the speed that it allowed.\n\nShe could almost imagine that she heard the null-water slosh below her with the force of her steps, that she could hear the planks audibly flexing under her repeated footfalls. It was in moments like these that she appreciated what she had. The way that the excess mana that filled her body had tuned her muscles, pushing her beyond what was entirely natural. The way that it had changed her, gifting her with speed that had saved her life more than once. Saved her friends more than once, even. She wasn't nearly as fast as some monsters could be - because wow, some were fast - but she was faster than she should have been.\n\nAll Seekers had done something similar. Valera was no exception. The outcome was varied; some became faster, like she did. Some become stronger. Some became hardier.\n\nSome became Mana-Touched, their minds broken and destabilized by the excess mana that flooded their brains.\n\nMost died.\n\nIt was a necessary risk, and it was a large reason for the low number of Seekers, even beyond the danger that they faced out in the World Dungeon. Not everyone was willing to risk their sanity. Not everyone was willing to risk their life. Not when there were others willing to do so in your place.\n\nPerhaps to them, the very idea seemed insane.\n\nIt was their loss.\n\nThe bell tolled, covering the sound of stamping feet and slamming doors.\n\nValera's steps led her back to Orken's one and only nullsmith - a possessor of the opposite kind of insanity from her own, though a far more lucrative one, she had to admit. If Seekers that tried to fill their bodies with far more mana than was healthy were one side of a coin, nullsmiths would be found on its other face. Perhaps the only difference would be that becoming a nullsmith wasn't a choice you could make. Instead, it was chosen for you.\n\nNullsmiths were something created, and they were chosen from the very moment they were born. Whereas most humans at least possessed some residual mana, mana that had been slowly absorbed over the years from their food and drink, nullsmiths were restricted in diet. Their entire life, everything they ate, along with everything they drank, was filtered first with null-water to drain any mana away.\n\nThey were pure, and that purity made them even more helpless than those who were too afraid to fight. Those, at least, might have some small boost that residual mana could provide. Their muscles might be a little bit thicker, a little bit quicker, a little bit stronger. Nothing special, but even a small boost could be the difference between life and death in an emergency.\n\nHowever, a nullsmith's purity was necessary. It all came down to the same substance that allowed them that purity, the same substance that surrounded Orken itself - along with almost every other long-surviving community.\n\nNull-water.\n\nIt was the heartless, mindless savior of mankind - discovered by the remnants of humanity after the birth of the First Core shattered the surface and poisoned the skies. Like normal fluids, null-water passively absorbed mana that it came in contact with. Unlike normal fluids, it did so ravenously.\n\nWhether it was something that existed before the birth of the First Core - and humanity had merely forgotten its original name - or it was something new, it hardly mattered. It was what humanity needed.\n\nIt gave mankind a fighting chance. Lakes of null-water were slowly discovered, and humanity built its cities upon their surfaces, slowly reclaiming the world. Or a small piece of it, anyway.\n\nThe null-water was both shield and sword, with its hunger for any mana that touched it - and against the monsters that had been created and empowered by mana itself, it was powerful. Deadly.\n\nThough that wasn't to say it was safe for humanity anymore, either. Some part of a living body seemed to resist the loss of mana that the null-water caused in a way that simple food and drink did not, holding onto it at the cost of savaging one's insides. It wasn't an immediate death, but it remained a fact that null-water could be dangerous for most to touch.\n\nAnd the more mana that filled someone, the more dangerous null-water became. Valera suspected that, were someone to attempt to drown her in null-water, she might die before she ran out of breath. She wasn't willing to test the theory.\n\nHence the need for a nullsmith's purity. Unlike everyone else, they could closely handle null-water without endangering themselves - and that allowed them to create wonders. Of course, Seekers like Valera were required as well. Cores had to come from somewhere, and a nullsmith certainly couldn't capture one.\n\nCapturing Dungeon Cores served a dual purpose. It was the removal of a dangerous threat, but it was also the accumulation of power. Through some method that Valera had never bothered to learn, nullsmiths were able to extract the mana absorbed by null-water and infuse objects with it. Unaspected mana was weak and inefficient; hardly worth the effort, especially when it diffused across a large amount of null-water.\n\nLeave a Dungeon Core inside a small container of null-water, however, and things changed. It could be used. And then, when the Core ran dry, it could be released from its prison. Allowed to grow in strength for a short time, to renew its store of mana - only to be dropped back into its cage before it could truly fight back.\n\nThe bell tolled, and Valera stepped into Kal's workshop. It was filled with the man's work; like many nullsmiths, he had chosen blacksmithing as the expression of his craft. There were more delicate professions available for some, but as Orken's only nullsmith, they weren't available to him.\n\nCombat was always the first priority.\n\nCredit to him, the man knew what she wanted and didn't dally. Valera caught the pack that he threw her way, throwing a small pouch of coins back without bothering to count it.\n\n\"Put whatever's left over towards my next bit of gear, Kal,\" she said, rushing back out the door.\n\nSoon afterwards, she found herself at the gathering point on the docks. Members of Orken's Guard, though less brave - or maybe less foolhardy - than Seekers, were out in full force. A few were hauling out small platforms onto the null-water, stopping to drop anchors from each of their four corners when they drew a bit closer to the shoreline; close enough to shoot a bow more accurately, but far enough to be unreachable barring a giant leap or the ability to fly - something that Valera knew some monsters were bound to do. As much as she gave them grief, she had to respect the Guard's willingness to stand on those damn platforms. Though there were railings on the things, she couldn't help but imagine falling into the null-water, herself.\n\nTheir uniforms were specifically designed to keep much of the null-water from touching their skin, but clothing could rip and armor had gaps. Fortunately, they had far less mana in their bodies than Seekers, so a failure along those lines would merely be painful and not deadly.\n\nHer vision flicked across the docks, and she quickly found where the others were waiting.\n\nThe bell tolled.\n\n[ Refugee Rescue ]\n\nThe ringing meant something to the Coreless; it sent them into a flurry of motion that led us to the edge of the many-nest in hardly any time at all. Only the-female-who-was-not-Needle was left behind - or, rather, she had left all of us behind, running off in a different direction after making a few noises at the others.\n\nSomething about the edge of the Coreless' many-nest made me deeply uncomfortable; an instinctual part of me wanted to shy away from the pitch black waters, screaming at me that it was dangerous. I listened to that voice, wrapping myself securely around Needle's arm, high and away from the danger.\n\nThe Staring One pulled away from the rest, moving off to converse with a Coreless that seemed to be commanding many others. Meanwhile, my Coreless - with the exception of the-female-who-was-not-Needle - fiddled with their ore-flesh and quietly made noises at one another. They kept a careful eye on the large expanse of cavern that rested on the other side of the black-water. While they did that, I kept watch on the black-water itself.\n\nSomething about it made my scale-flesh tingle.\n\nThe Coreless kept away from it, too. Rather than swimming through its depths, they floated above its surface in strange not-sinks made of darkwood. Not all of them looked the same; some not-sinks (which I decided to call flat not-sinks) looked like large platforms, while other not-sinks were angled at the sides and smaller.\n\nThe stomping of feet, somehow making itself known past the noises of the surrounding Coreless moving about, pulled my attention back towards the many-nest. The-female-who-was-not-Needle pulled herself to a halt, causing the darkwood that covered the edge of the many-nest to groan in response. She raised an arm, wiping away at the faint sheen of sweat that had started to drip down her brow.\n\n\"We're still waiting on information, so you should have a minute or so to breathe. Did you get what you wanted, Valera?\" Will jabbered. I caught the slight change in pitch at the end of the noise he made; from what I had been able to tell, he was looking for some sort of response - and in the next moment, he received it.\n\n\"Yup!\" She reached towards a skin-mouth that had been held by a strip of thread across her back, flipping it around and emptying its stomach. The skin-mouth vomited its contents without a struggle, allowing a glowing something to fall into her other hand.\n\nIt clattered against itself as it landed, creating a gentle ringing that sounded like a weaker cousin of the ringing that was still filling the many-nest.\n\n\"I still can't believe that you used the skin on something for the snake,\" the Unrepentant One groaned.",
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"value": "\"Kal could've made something from it for one of us, instead.\"",
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"value": "\"Maybe, but which one of us would've been the one to get it? Besides, he's probably more likely to warn us about danger if he likes us more. So - gift it is.\" I slowly uncoiled myself from around Needle's arm as not-Needle made noises at the Unrepentant One, drawn by the object in her hands.\n\n\"Did Kal say what it does?\"\n\n\"There was no time to ask him, but I doubt he would have known anyway. I doubt he had any way to test snake armor on hand. We'll just have to watch and find out. Look how curious he is - I think he likes it!\"\n\nIt was something like a half-skin of ore-flesh. Shaped for me. The upper part of it was molded to match my own scale-flesh, formed of small, solid pieces of ore-flesh, with even smaller links between them that connected the various pieces and allowed it to turn and shift just as I would. I could see gaps in it, holes for my eyes and for the likeness of the Great Core that erupted from my head-scales.\n\nOther parts of it were attached to thick threads that I quickly realized were meant to wrap around my under-scales and hold the ore-flesh fast.\n\nIt was an offering, one that made up for the frustrations of the last few days.\n\nI coiled myself around the-female-who-was-not-Needle's free hand, waiting to receive her gift.\n\nSoon, mana-bright ore-flesh covered my scales; the threads bound me tight. For the first time in my life, that was a reassuring thing.\n\nI could already feel something different. The ore-flesh offering was more than just a second skin, more than just protection.\n\nIt was power.\n\nThe moment that it fully wrapped itself around me, fastened tight, was the moment that something changed. A change that I recognized; it felt like a weaker version of the Great Core's sacred fast-spots had wrapped itself tight against my scale-flesh, noticeably increasing the speed that I could move.\n\nIn a way, it felt like I was wrapped up in the Great Core's light again.\n\nSomehow, the-female-that-was-not-Needle had given me a wonderful offering. One deserving of reward.\n\nI decided that I would give up on my plan to bite her once my jaws were freed from the thread that still bound them. She had earned a small amount of forgiveness.\n\nI climbed upwards at nearly twice my normal speed, latching onto the-female-who-was-not-Needle's shoulder as the Staring One returned. My Coreless turned towards him, giving him their attention. His face was set into a grim line, and his brows were tightly furrowed.\n\n\"Verdant Grove has fallen.\"\n\nThere were a few sharp intakes of breath at that, and I was almost tempted to do one of my own. A second later, I decided that I might as well, and let a gust of air flow through my nostrils. They ignored it.\n\n\"How?\" Needle asked, the noise ending with that same increase in pitch that I recognized was searching for a response. I was getting good at understanding the noises they made. It was only a matter of time before I had it down, I was sure. I'd certainly get it before they were able to make anything of my own hisses.\n\nI didn't entirely appreciate the extra work that came with being the most intelligent one of us all, but the Great Core had given me that burden. I knew that I would manage. I would have to.\n\n\"We're not sure yet; the runner was just about dead on his feet by the time that he arrived and hardly got his words out before he fell unconscious. We'll have to find out more later. The only thing we know for sure is that he ran in advance of a large group of refugees from Verdant Grove to provide warning of their arrival. According to him, they've been harried by monsters most of the way - and most likely still are.\" He waved a hand towards the groups of Coreless that floated atop the black-water before continuing. \"The Guard are setting up. Making sure that boats are available to take everyone across as quickly as possible, that the way is clear, and that they are in position to defend the refugees. Unfortunately, that's the easy job.\"\n\nHe gave everyone a hard look. \"As Seekers, we'll be saddled with the hard one. It's our job to make sure that the refugees have time to get here in one piece. It's time to move. There's no telling how many monsters could be on their heels by now.\"\n\n\"You're coming with us, sir?\" the Unrepentant One questioned, an oddly respectful tone to his voice.\n\nThe Staring One rolled his shoulders back in response, touching a hand to the fang of ore-flesh at his side. \"'Course I am. I may be a bit too old to run around searching for Cores and sleeping in musty caves, but I'm plenty young enough for something like this. Everything goes well, and we'll be back in time to sleep in our own beds, Skies willing.\"\n\nHis words seemed to set a fire in the other Coreless' hearts, causing their faces to light with determination.\n\n\"Well, let's get going then. Can't let the old man lose out on his sleep,\" Will said. The Coreless turned as one, stepping into one of the angled not-sinks and pushing off.\n\nI moved along with them, perched on the-female-who-was-not-Needle's shoulder as we cut across the black-water. She reached up, slicing through the thread that still bound my mouth closed with a careful cut of one of her fangs of ore-flesh.\n\n\"I'd say we're not in Orken anymore. You ready, little guy?\" she hissed softly.\n\nI opened my mouth wide, stretching it eagerly.\n\n[ Screams and Shrieks and Other Things ]\n\nWhat felt like a long time passed as the Coreless and I traveled swiftly through the dim caverns and tunnels. Glow-caps and more lit our way, casting shadows that walked alongside us throughout the journey. I could see signs of past bad-things lining the walls; a scratch here, a gouge there. Despite that, none came to meet us. It might have been the silence of their steps, the way that they traveled softly across the stone. It might have been the speed of their wandering, leaving little room for ambush or confrontation. It might have been the strength that they exuded, more than a match for most of the bad-things that spotted us along the way.\n\nMore than likely, it was simply that the bad-things had found something else to hunt.\n\nThe Coreless hissed softly among themselves as we went, and I could almost taste the tension in the air. I still didn't know what had roused the Coreless from their many-nest, only that it would not be something good. They were too worried, too hurried. Something was happening.\n\nThe screams met us along the way, rushing by with the cloying taste-scent of fear, sweat, and exhaustion. They called to me, both through nature and need. Something inside of me wanted to slither from my perch on the-female-who-was-not-Needle, to push ahead and seek out the tempting flavors; the part of me that I shared with the bad-things, the part that wanted to sink my fangs into anything that was weak and not made by my Core.\n\nAnother part of me needed to slither ahead for a different reason; it needed to set its claim over the sources of that weakness, to mark the Great Core's future minions with its divine light before they became marked by blood and death instead - because that was what was happening, I knew. There were Coreless in the tunnels, and they were fighting. They were dying. I could hear them now, the ones that we had left the many-nest to save. I could taste them.\n\nThose two parts of me, as contradictory as they were, combined in their efforts to spur me onwards. Despite that, I stayed - if only because the-female-who-was-not-Needle would take me there far faster than my own slithers would.\n\nI could only hope that we arrived before it was too late.\n\nThe Coreless could not be claimed if they were already dead.",
"loss": null
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Mission: User starts, continue w/ ~1 sentence sentences. Context: May be mid-story. Themes: animal protagonist",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "There hadn't been any warning about this, no visions of the future brought by way of a tiny snake.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Valera wasn't sure what that meant.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Did that mean that he thought there was no need for it?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "That everything would work out?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "She didn't know, but she doubted it.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The screams that they had heard told a different story entirely.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "They certainly sounded like they were in need.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Then again, did their little seer even think to save humans that it hadn't even met before?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "He wasn't human. Would he even care?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "As much as it pained her to admit it, he probably wouldn't.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "She could only hope that would change someday, given enough time - though the difficulties of Orken probably had been less than helpful in hurrying that day along.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "She beat down the urge to run ahead of the others.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Valera was faster than the rest of them; Kala might have come fairly close, but even the archer would have quickly fallen behind in a footrace.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Still, she knew better than to throw caution to the wind, even in the face of such terrible screams.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Even knowing that every wasted second might cost another life.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "⚠️ Required: Use 'again' exactly 2 times",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It was a ruthless sort of math, the type that had been beaten into her brain again and again over the years.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The kind that had been hard to accept, especially for someone like Valera.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The weight of human lives were unequal.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Some were worth more than others.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Some were worth less.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The life of a Seeker simply meant more than most.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "As much as she might have wanted to rush ahead, to throw caution to the wind in a reckless attempt to save as many lives as possible, she couldn't.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "That sort of decision might work out once or twice, but it would lead to her death soon enough.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "And if she died, anyone that she might have been able to save had she lived a full life was at risk.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Was it compassionate to save the ones in need before you?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Or was it more noble to look beyond the moment, to account for the lives that cannot yet be seen, but still exist nonetheless?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Or was it ignoble to sacrifice the chance to save those future victims, just because they couldn't yet be seen?",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Because those were the ones at stake.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Valera knew that she, like all other Seekers that worked to defend humanity's civilization from the scourge that was the World Dungeon and its Cores, could not throw away her life carelessly.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "She couldn't afford to get herself killed rushing ahead just so that she could save a few more people - not when living longer might allow her to save many more over the course of the years that would be lost due to an early death.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "So, instead, she hardened her heart against the screams.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "She beat back the guilt.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "She felt her fingers grasp tight to the hilts of her blades, white-knuckled and trembling, but she didn't run ahead of the others.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Later, she could pick her way through the bodies.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Later, she could put a face to the ones that she couldn't save.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Later, she could grieve.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Fortunately, she wasn't the only one who was affected.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The others picked up the pace as well, urged on by the embattled refugees.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It was nowhere near the haste that she could have achieved if she left them behind, but they pushed onwards with enough speed to slow the furious drum beats that pressed into her skull.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "They reached a twist in the tunnels just as a refugee stumbled around the bend.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "And then another. And another.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "They were ragged and grimy, covered in the tattered remnants of once-sturdy clothes.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Dark bruises found their homes beneath sunken eyes, and - for many - tear tracks cut through the dirt that coated their faces.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Valera rushed past them, hardly taking in their naked relief before she had moved on.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "She could still hear screams further on.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "They were still needed elsewhere.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "She pivoted and rocketed around the corner, the little snake on her shoulder hissing loudly as the scene shifted.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "A sea of refugees clamored and pushed through the tunnel, nearly filling it to its entirety.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Above and behind them, dark shapes swooped and swerved into the teeming mass of humanity, screeching out as they raked at vulnerable heads with razor-sharp claws.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Around the swooping figures, men and women stumbled, holding hands to their bleeding ears.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "A woman shrieked, taking a claw to an upraised arm as she frantically defended herself.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Elsewhere, a man desperately swung a wooden stick - a makeshift weapon, its splintered end told Valera - at a larger flier as it dove downwards.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The bat-like monster shrieked as it approached, the high-pitched sound all but faded away by the time that it reached Valera's ears; even so, it caused her ears to pulse and her eyes to water.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The man, far closer than she was, did not fare so well.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "His face screwed up into a pained grimace, and a trail of blood dripped from his ears.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The winged monster's claws dug into his skull, and he let loose a scream of pure agony.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Despite that, the wounded man managed to grab the monster with his free hand as he fell, bringing it down with him.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Neither man nor monster came back up, trampled by the trailing mob of humans.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Valera engraved the man's face into her mind, just as she had many others.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Even if they could not be saved, they would not be forgotten - not as long as she lived.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Make way!\" Captain Wren shouted from behind her, his commanding voice breaking through the chaos.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"Seekers coming up on the left!\"",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "His words had an immediate effect, the beleaguered refugees latching onto the hope that it provided.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "A path opened, and Valera took it.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "A bowstring twanged behind her, and she caught a flash of motion as an arrow sped ahead.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Valera winced, knowing that the arrow had been shot directly above a large number of men and women; a dangerous shot, if there ever was one.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Still, she had faith in Kala's judgement, and knew that the archer would not have taken the shot if it hadn't been a necessary one.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Valera pushed onwards, her fellow Seekers behind her and an oddly furious snake at her shoulder.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Another woman fell with a despairing shriek.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Another face was carved into her memories, stored away for later.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 2 sentence.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Later, when she allowed the grief and guilt to have their way.\n\nFor now, she was still needed.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "continue twelve sentences sentences Zendran-style. keep character continuity. use: animal protagonist",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I hissed in rage as another Coreless fell.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "My scale-flesh quivered with the strength of it, and a drip of venom spilled from my fangs as my control loosened.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I pulled back against it, holding the rest of it tight.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "My venom wanted to flow free with my rage, to run in rivers from my fangs as the bad-thing ripped through the Coreless around me, but I managed to keep it back - if only barely.\n\nThe lonely drop of venom that I had released glowed slightly as it spilled its way down the-female-who-was-not-Needle's skin of ore-flesh, the darker light of the mana-infused venom standing out against the brighter glow of her ore-flesh skin. My venom was as prepared as it could be; I had spent my rage-filled days within the Coreless' many-nest steeping it with all of the mana that I could gather. That wasn't much - not even compared to the amount that I had gained from guzzling mana-water, and certainly far less than the mana that had come from consuming the mana cores of the flame-gaze bad-things. Those times, I had strained myself, filling my own mana core with mana that came from somewhere else.\n\nIn the many-nest, I had only been able to use my own, depending on the slow regeneration of my mana over time. Still, I had spent days preparing it; the venom had been meant to destroy the remnants of the deceiving Aridae, and maybe as a slight punishment for the-female-who-was-not-Needle's previous betrayal, but now I had a new target.\n\nAnother shrieking-winged bad-thing came near, opening its mouth wide. I flinched, reaching for my tail to prepare for what I knew would come next. The shriek slammed into me in an invisible wave.\n\nI vibrated painfully as the sound gouged at my insides and forced my vision to sway, [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail] already working to repair the damage. Beside me, not-Needle flinched, blood running from her open ears.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It dripped down her face and dropped onto my scale-flesh; she wobbled slightly, regaining her balance just in time to meet the shrieking-winged bad-thing with the edge of an ore-flesh fang.\n\nIts flesh separated, splitting into two halves that fell to the floor in a satisfying squelch. She kicked at its corpse, and I wished that I could do the same.\n\nMy ears hurt.\n\nPart of me wanted to take the time to consume the bad-thing, but there was too much danger. The Coreless were rushing by like Festering Rats, heedless of what they ran into - or ran over.\n\nI knew that I would have to wait until later if I didn't want to get trampled underfoot.\n\nThe tingling that filled my ears disappeared as [The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail] finished its work, though it wouldn't be long before they were damaged again.\n\nAs if called by the thought, another shrieking-winged bad-thing swooped down from the darkness above. Unlike the other, this one waited, trying to get as close as possible before assaulting us with its agonizing shriek. It was smaller than the other; maybe it had to get closer to achieve the same debilitating effect.\n\nIt waited too long.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(authors note, You must use the word 'still' exactly 2 times in your response)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Just as it opened its mouth, I lunged forward, holding onto the-female-who-was-not-Needle's shoulder with the tip of my tail through a quick application of [Clinging Grasp]. My scale-flesh stuck unnaturally to her ore-flesh, allowing me to reach far beyond what I should have been able to. Not-Needle's offering of ore-flesh accelerated my strike, doubling my speed with the tiny fast-spot that it provided.\n\nMy vision blurred again - this time with motion rather than damage. Ready fangs sunk into the bad-thing's flesh. The horrible thing tried to shriek in its final moments, but a fang full of overcharged venom ended it quickly. I reeled myself backwards as my scale-flesh strained, the added weight of the bad-thing in my mouth fighting against the sticking effect of [Clinging Grasp].\n\n─ Experience Gained!\n\n─ Level Up!\n\n─ 1 Trait Point Gained.\n\nThe thought-light congratulated me on my victory over the bad-thing as I finally leveled again. I hadn't leveled up in my battle against the Aridae in the many-nest - for some reason, they were all extremely weak, so even the huge number of them that I defeated hadn't been enough to allow me to level - but I was reminded that I still had a large number of trait points stored up that I still wasn't sure how I wanted to use.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Pushing away the thought for the moment, I tilted my head back and forced the corpse down my throat.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Level 6 Shrieking Bat Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 1/5.\n\nAs the thought-light flickered again, a brief sense of elation filled me, washing away the frustration of my time within the many-nest. Maybe it was the feeling of freedom. Maybe it was the feeling of battle, of victory, or of danger. Maybe it was the knowledge that these Coreless would not have been touched by the deceptions of the Aridae, that they were free for the Great Core to claim.\n\nMaybe it was just the pleasure of growing stronger.\n\nEither way, I found myself hissing in delight despite the way that the screams and the shrieks around me grated at my ears and pierced at my brain. This was what I had needed. Progress.\n\nThe-female-who-was-not-Needle's ore-flesh fang thrust through the air, and a Shrieking Bat slid down its length. She swayed slightly, reaching over to pull the corpse from where it had been impaled on her fang.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 13 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Before she could throw it away, I used [Illusion Spark], pulling from the reserves of light that I had been gathering from our glowing skins of ore-flesh.\n\nShe hesitated for a second, brows furrowed, before finally realizing what I needed.\n\nAnd then, for the second time that day, the-female-who-was-not-Needle provided me with a worthy offering.\n\n─ Level 8 Shrieking Bat Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 2/5.\n\nShe yelled something out to the others, causing my ears to ring again with the force of her shout. \"Throw me the corpses for the little guy! We'll need everything that we can get if we want these people to make it out!\"\n\nAnd then something wonderful happened. A Shrieking Bat flew through the air, rushing towards us - but it was already dead. My Coreless - my wonderful, soon-to-be forgiven Coreless - caught the mangled corpse with one hand, forcing it down my open mouth.\n\nI shivered with delight as the bad-thing shifted into pure energy, pulled towards the Core upon my head-scales. The thought-light flickered again.",
"loss": true
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Today you will be acting as a writing assistant in the LitRPG, fantasy genre. Your partner will send something and you will write the next eight sentences, matching their level of character familiarity.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Level 5 Shrieking Bat Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 3/5.\n\nWe pushed forward again, cutting through the opening at the crowd of Coreless' side. The dark shapes of many bad-things slipped through the air ahead of us, swooping back and forth as the Great Core's future disciples continued to die. They fell in fits and spurts, dropped by sharp fang and terrible sound, but even these weak Coreless did not go quietly.\n\nThey screamed in rage and pain, clawing at the bad-things and pulling them to the ground. They stomped them underfoot. They fought back.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The sight made me proud; the Great Core's Coreless could never be truly weak.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Not once they had been chosen. And they were not. There was a strength there - of resolve, if nothing else.\n\nThey might have been wounded. They might have screamed. They might have died - but the enemy died with them.\n\nI was proud.\n\nAt the same time, I was enraged, a possessive part of me unwilling to accept their deaths.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Yet, in the end, there was little I could do.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "There were too many enemies, and they were too far away.\n\nThe-female-who-was-not-Needle cut down another bad-thing, and I feasted yet again.\n\n─ Level 4 Shrieking Bat Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 4/5.\n\nBefore the thought-light had even disappeared, I felt another corpse drop down my still-open mouth. I forced it down quickly, eager to meet the thought-light again.\n\nEager to see my reward.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The thought-light flickered one last time.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "─ Level 7 Shrieking Bat Consumed.\n\n─ Transferred to Core.\n\n─ Blooded Trait Acquisition Progress: 5/5.\n\n─ Analyzing Blooded Trait…\n\n─ Acquiring Blooded Trait: Sound Shaping I\n\n[ Sound Shaping ]\n\nMy throat warped and shifted, becoming something new. My flesh ripped and knit itself anew under the Great Core's power, becoming something better.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Somewhere else, something formed in my body that I couldn't identify, sculpting itself in time with the reshaping of my throat-flesh.\n\nI hissed, and the sound slipped strangely from my tongue - and then, somehow, I made it move. I couldn't see it, but I knew that it had moved from the way that the hiss shifted and appeared somewhere to my left. I hissed again, and this time I somehow pushed it to the right. The-female-who-was-not-Needle jerked her head at the sound, halting abruptly and peering out to the side before turning back towards me.\n\n\"Was that you?\" she asked, her voice lilting upwards in the way that the Coreless did when they wanted a response.\n\nI hissed back, instinctively managing to shape the sound into a blunt wave that was far louder than it should have been. She flinched, forcing me to cut it short when I realized that her ears were probably hurting far more than mine were.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I bobbed my head in apology, and received a light scratch on my head-scales in turn.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 5 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "(In the next section: Precise word count needed: 'painful' × 2)",
"loss": false
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Then, just like that, we were moving again.\n\nWhile not-Needle dashed through the battleground with speed that forced wind to brush across my scale-flesh, I turned my thoughts inward. As far as I could tell, [Sound Shaping] was the ability that allowed the Shrieking Bats to make such horrible, painful noises. It didn't seem like I could make a sound nearly as painful and debilitating as they could, but I could change that.\n\nI could change that easily - so I did, pushing my intentions at the thought-light and waiting for its response.",
"loss": null
}
] |
[
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Write 2 sentences sentences spawning from what the user wrote, maintaining any existing character relationships or establishing new ones, within the LitRPG, fantasy genre.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Produce a starting prompt please.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It made sense to use my stored trait points now, especially if the Coreless were providing the Shrieking Bats as offerings. In order to get the trait as powerful as possible, it was best to increase its power through trait points earlier on, and only then would it be better to increase it through consuming more of the Shrieking Bats.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Not only that, but [Sound Shaping] would hopefully work as a resource to use in battles that did not dwindle as fast as my venom or mana.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "While strong, both of those disappeared far too quickly, and there was not much that I could do once they were gone. If a bad-thing was small enough, I might be able to tear at it with my fangs, but it was unlikely.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Instead, if I could use [Sound Shaping] similarly to the Shrieking Bats, causing harsh noise that worked to debilitate an enemy and force it off-balance, the Coreless could do my work for me.",
"loss": true
},
{
"from": "system",
"value": "Next message should be approximately 3 sentences.",
"loss": null
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "In a way, they were just fangs that worked independently from me; they were the weapons that had allowed me to defeat the Lesser Core before, and now they would be the fangs that pierced my enemies again.\n\nHopefully.\n\nI pushed at the thought-light again, committing to the change.",
"loss": true
}
] |
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