Celris giggled as the fish tickled her and looked eagerly into the water. The sight of her reflection turned her blood to ice, she scrambled out,  thrashing, eyes wide and a scream smothered behind her hands. She took a deep breath and slowly approached the pool, staring into, literally, her brother's face.<br/>She looked up at her surroundings, anything to get rid of the chill that had settled in her bones, and smiled with relief at the sight of the great city. It's legends of beauty and a new world such as this that had drawn her away from the Feral lands. But, whether it was still from the shock of seeing Kith's face in her own, she felt like something wasn't right.<br/><span style="font-style: italic">It's not like you have a family to go back to anymore.</span><br/>Celris growled and looked back towards her home, and nostalgia almost brought tears to her eyes. It was running away that had caused this mess...besides, she could just as quickly go back the other way, if her own Feral home didn't satisfy her. That's how dreams worked, right?<br/><span style="font-style: italic">Dreams, yes, but nightmares?</span><br/>She glanced back at Aluhar, and frowned over it's subtle, but definite change.<br/>Celris shook herself off and moved towards the path leading into the desert.<br/><br/>Oz struggled under the pressure on his back, holding onto the delicate feather of one wing to fuel him forward, but at the sight of another he paused. It wasn't a threat, at least, didn't appear to be. It beckoned him away from the angry whispers.<br/>Oz examined the beauty of the path he was being coaxed to, and stood fast. It was perfect.<br/>The plants, so vibrant, coupled with the sound of children. These things were not of his world, he would feel wrong walking into them. He had managed to kill the groups leader and a hundred Feral within a few days, walking into a place with children wouldn't be a good idea.<br/><span style="font-style: italic">But they're LowerBreed.</span><br/>Oz shook his head and stepped forward, only to hesitate as the whispers assaulted him.<br/>Those were becoming worrisome. Paired with the weight on his back, a pressure vaguely familiar to him, there was a trick here.<br/>He could not simply walk into the volcanic mountain, so reminiscent of his own Forge.<br/>He suddenly caught an image of his body, crumpled beneath the weight, victim to the will and whims of the owners of the voices, and felt the same deep, grim fear as he had in the spring.<br/>The memory was not enough to cause him to stray - he had his wings, whole and beautiful, after all - and Oz continued towards the mountain.