Safe...  The word echoes in the crimson girl's mind.  Somehow it seemed silly - of course she was safe, she had... the train of memory crashed.  There was a brief but vivid mental image of a boy standing guardedly in front of her, making her safe.  But... he was gone now.  She was alone.  And she didn't even know who he had been.<br/><br/>Realizing that the strange small not-quite-human was running off, she decided to follow.  One foot before the other again, but at least she was telling her feet where to go this time.<br/><br/>Minutes passed, and then a sudden impulse seized her.  She grabbed the elven girl's arm again, spinning her about.  Once she was sure she had the other girl's attention, she bent down and began tracing symbols in the snow.  When she finished, she looked up expectantly.  If she was knowledgeable about such things, Diandra would recognize the symbols as an ancient language, one not spoken in thousands of years.<br/><br/>If she saw that Diandra didn't recognize the writing, the girl would write again in a different language and then another, both languages Diandra had never seen before.  Not seeming to get frustrated by her lack of success, the girl simply tried a fourth time.  This time she wrote in a language Diandra knew: Elven, although a somewhat dated style of Elven.<br/><br/><em>Shinkuko</em>, the writing said.  The girl in crimson stood expectantly, looking at Diandra for a reaction.  Something about the way she stood, the look in her eyes, told Diandra that this was the girl's name.