An amber dusk gleams through the slats over the window at the Painted Pony Inn... Fara still carries her foresting gear at her back, and her arms are folded protectively over her breasts as she listens to Nev's explanation again.  Strange, even now she's barely listening... she's waiting to speak.  It's because of the anger, though... she's come a long way for this, and she's not who she used to be.  First, he thought she had come to shame him for leaving their village five years ago.  Perhaps she'd come to remind him of their intended engagement some five years past, or-- as a bitter rebellion against her parents' newest arranged marriage-- she was here to sow some wild oats before quietly complying with her parents' will.<br/><br/>Well, it was none of those things.  "I don't care about any of that, Nev," she says plainly and quietly, anger and emotion bringing a glistening sheen to her gleaming, dark eyes.  "I have my own life, now.  I'm a keeper now.  I've left my parents' house for two years now, and their will and their influence mean nothing to me.  I'm here to get you out of this city before the war starts.  This place will certainly be one of the first targets--"<br/><br/>*<br/><br/>And then, the amber dusk light at the window gives way to a lovely violet, and the two of them see at the window a strange sight... a dome of violet light, blossoming like a flower as big as a mountain, and spreading.  they can see chunks of the earth lifted in its wake, water rolling back from the heat, smoke and the roar of flame echoing in the distance like locust song.  "Gods... we're done for," she whispers, and finds herself, strangely, reaching for Nev's hand, taking it in her leather gloved fingers, and squeezing it desperately.<br/><br/>*<br/><br/>She doesn't recall the fall clearly, nor the colors and noise.  She feels only the cold of the mud, finds it impossible to breathe with it permeating her-- she fights for breath and realizes that she's staring at a blank sky, prone and half-immersed in a muddy puddle.  She blinks, and waves of nausea striker her.  She heaves once, struggles to her feet, and whips her mud-clotted hair from her face.  Unable to speak, or comprehend what has transpired, she merely stands, dumbstruck, looking around her in a wide circle.