<html> <body> And here's part 2. Thanks to Ryx for adding the dream scene. Part 2 of 2 Metamor Keep: Driven by the Wind by Charles Matthias and Ryx “Enjoyed the spoils of fishing?” Lindsey lifted his head from the hefty platter once filled with half-a-dozen cooked fillets. At first he'd been careful not to eat any of the bones, but the last three he'd given up and the final fillet he swallowed in single bite. His stomach still wanted more! Behind him and just out of reach of his tail was his older brother in human guise. He'd tied his long red hair with string to keep loose strands from catching in the rigging. He combed his fingers through the end of the bundle as he smiled. “I could have eaten twice as many,” Lindsey admitted as he scraped his claws across the platter. “Could you ask Mogaf to make more? I'll eat them cold if I must.” He glared at his midsection and then thumped his tail so hard on the deck a nearby sailor jumped. “Why am I so hungry, Phar? I haven't needed to eat this much since we flew back to Metamor!” Pharcellus laughed and pressed his hands down either side of his spinal ridge. Lindsey felt the tension ease with each rub. “You are a dragon, dear brother! The more you fly the more you must eat. It is why our elders only fly when they must. You have been flying a great deal these last few weeks. I am surprised it has taken you so long to notice the hunger! I will ask Mogaf to make you a dozen more fillets. Trust me, you will eat every last one. And tomorrow you will have twice as many again!” Lindsey swung his long neck around, staring down his snout at the plate empty but for the bones of the first three fish. “Two dozen? Three? Is my stomach so large?” “You already ate a deer by yourself!” Pharcellus laughed as he pressed harder. His hands reached the base of Lindsey's wings and they began to stretch. “Just wait until you enjoy cow roasted with your own flame!” The thought of beef flanks seared with his own breath made his jaws ache and fangs glisten with drool. “I'm hungry enough already and you taunt me more! Curse you for having a human form too! Tell Mogaf... tell him...” His tongue lolled from his snout as his brother's hands worked loose the tension in his wing muscles. He laid his head atop the plate, tongue licking the taste of fish from the last bones. “Tell him... more food... after this!” Pharcellus laughed again. “Of course brother. There are so many wonderful things to enjoy when you are a dragon, are there not?” Lindsey offered no argument as he stretched his sore wings and all his limbs. His stomach could wait. ---------- The day waned though the wind did not. Even as the sun neared the sea and the sky bronzed as a leaf in Autumn the pace aboard Venture Swift slackened only to catch its breath. The sailors readied lanterns along the decks and masts while the first mate took readings of the shoreline for the captain while they still could see it. Captain Calenti listened to the man with one ear while the other and both eyes focused on their guests. Atop the aft castle the Metamorians gathered in a wide circle while Malger played a variety of tunes on his flute. He'd passed out hand-made instruments to each of the children – a drum made from the remnants of a torn sail and scrap, finger cymbals made from hammered coins, a tube of metal for a whistle, and even a pair of rocks – and they played their parts with unbridled enthusiasm if not much rhythm. But the marten was skilled enough to wend his tune between their clanking, banging, and wheezing to bring something enjoyable forth. Parents and friends clapped hands and paws in a boisterous march, while Lindsey provided a bass with regular whumps of his tail. Calenti's foot tapped in time and eventually his first mate grumbled and began muttering the numbers to himself. Malger offered him a swift arpeggio as he toiled in his evening duties. A few of the sailors, their duties complete for the day, joined Calenti in watching the beastly company. One of them produced an old lute with two broken strings and sketched a passing accompaniment to the marten. Malger danced on his feet toward the older sailor, did a pirouette without skipping a note, and bobbed his head and chest in a way no human could have done to invite the unlikely musician to join him on the deck. Pharcellus stood moments later and gave a third melodic voice with a loud whistling both deep and energetic despite his human guise. Malger's eyes lifted in surprise and the two proceeded to race up and down scales as if chasing each other to see who was fastest. Pharcellus easily glided between notes as his lips pursed and spread, tongue clicking against flat teeth to add accents with each change. Malger's fingers shimmered above his flute like hummingbirds feasting in a garden. The sailor with the old lute scowled at both of them and played several sour notes until marten and dragon ended their race with a flourish and capped it with boisterous laughter. The children, seeing the song was done, started to hit each other with their instruments until Kimberly and Misanthe chided them. “Who else will join us in our song? The night begs for music!” Malger declared, throwing his arms outward. “Charles, Garigan, Kurgael?” Kurgael, who had been reclining to the far side of the deck, shook his head forcefully. “I've no ear for music, your grace. I'll listen happily.” “If you've anything for us to play, we will!” Quoddy announced. He and his brothers perched on the gunwale and bobbed back and forth with each wave. “I won't promise we'll sound good.” “Tonight is not about sounding good,” Malger assured them. He then offered a wink toward the sailor. “Sometimes sounding bad is the best thing of all. My good man, if you care to try it, I brought my own lute with a full set of strings. You have a good ear; would you care to try it?” “Begging your pardon, your grace, but I've used my own for thirty years and could never play without it.” His hands ran down the wooden casing with a tender pride. “Very well then! Quoddy, Lubec, Machais, I've nothing for you to play but I imagine you sing the spirit of the sea! Charles, Garigan, I know both of you can sing so do so even if you have no words. And Kurgael, if you are on this deck with us then you will do something. Fetch him a boat oar! You can drum it against the gunwale and help Lindsey keep time. All right now, children are you ready to play again?” He received a chorus of excited squeaks in reply. “Then let us serenade the night!” He laughed in delight as the most awkward sounding serenade began. Within moments every sailor aboard either stared in bemused wonder or fled below decks to try to bury their ears beneath their arms. ---------- He had tried to use one of the hammocks the first night he slept aboard the Venture Swift, but no matter how he laid down, Gmork's Prodigal was not comfortable sleeping in a man-like shape. So he found a corner in the hold near the stem, and laid upon a pile of rumpled blankets as a wolf. His nose wrinkled in disgust at the stink of man-sweat, fish, tar, and salt. He pushed his head into the blanket at his forepaws to muffle the stench; his own musky odor pervaded the blankets after more than a week of bedding in them and this was comforting. The snoring of the crew offended his ears but he had already learned to ignore the more raucous sound of sleeping Keepers and so he folded back his ears and put it out of his mind as best he could. In an hour or so he would relax enough to sleep through the night. The crew knew not to venture into his corner – one fellow had stumbled over him while drunk and nearly lost a leg when Gmork's Prodigal snapped at him with his jaws – so he would not be disturbed. He sighed into the blankets and stretched his hind legs. His time spent practicing with Charles had invigorated all of his muscles and for once the sedentary life forced on him had not let him sore and anxious. Perhaps tonight he wouldn't dream of loping through the woods with his father and brothers. He briefly recalled the young boy, not even quite a man, from Fjellvidden, his face pock-marked with warts, who he helped deliver to his father. A part of him hoped he'd escaped back to his master the tanner and his fellow apprentices. Another part hoped he had a new brother. He trembled and flicked his tail, pressing shut his eyes in horror. But no matter how he tried, his thoughts always circled back to his father. He could imagine his scent and the growl of his voice, and after these came his golden eyes and gray fur. His heart ached from absence and a fury seemed to beat within as if imprisoned. Why can I not hate you, father? But he didn't and couldn't. He whimpered and whined for a few minutes, the wolf's only way to express his sorrow for what he'd become and what he'd done to his friends, to his brothers, and most especially to his father. It came unbidden but the voice, guttural yet gentle, was his father's. I love you, my prodigal. He lifted his head, ears erect. The snores of the crew met him. He offered a plaintive whine. The prodigal returns to his father. He whined again, lowering his head. He was Gmork's Prodigal. The prodigal never knew peace until he returned humbled to his father. He would be welcomed back with baying and joy. They would hunt and feast upon a mighty buck. I am here, my pup. You will always know how to find me. And he did. Gmork's Prodigal could not put a name to the place, but he felt the way across the sea and back north between the mountains into a deep forest on the edge of man's domain. He wagged his tail, anxious; he could not cross the seas himself. I am ready to welcome you home, pup. I am your father. You are mine. He whined anew and unable to sleep, unable to face his father, Gmork's Prodigal stepped out of the blankets and loped up the narrow stairs to the deck. Starlight blossomed above and the sea drowned all other scents. He paced back and forth around the fo'c'sle, panting and alert. He no longer felt his father's presence, but the terror of his near-surrender filled him. What would he have done were they on land the next time he felt the call? Seven times before he'd felt his father's voice come to him in the night, but none had been so powerful as this. What was different? He wanted to sit on his haunches and lose himself among the stars, but he was far too anxious to sit. He knew the night sailors were watching him. Charles was not on duty yet or surely he would have come to the wolf's side. Where was Lindsey or Pharcellus? At least one of the dragons was usually on deck to sleep? He lifted his nose and a moment's taste of the air told him. Lindsey reclined on the aft castle. It also told him of someone else. The pungent flavor of a ferret. Gmork's Prodigal turned back to the deck stairs and came snout to snout with Garigan. It was too dim to read the ferret's face, but his posture and scent showed worry. “Jerome? Are you all right?” He wanted to take on a more man-like shape and tell him everything he'd just felt, but his paws and snout remained. A ripple passed through his pelt and nothing more. He whined, ears back, even as he danced on his paws. Garigan finished climbing the stairs and then sat down next to the gunwale, bent over so he almost seemed a wolf on his haunches. He tipped back his head and began to sing a wisp of melody. His ears turned at the music and he felt the anxiety draining. Gmork's Prodigal stepped to the ferret's side and after the first verse managed to sit. He too tipped back his head and howled the next verse with his fellow Sondecki. And for a time, lost within the comforting Song of the Sondeck, he remembered the name his father stole from him. And he hoped with every beat of his heart, every cadence of song, and every mote of the ancient power within him their journey to Sondeshara would show him the way back to his friends. His howls turned to song as the fur receded and his snout withdrew. Fingers emerged and spread wide. His pelt fell down across his shoulders and back as a black robe bearing the shield, red hand, and white sword. His legs and tail remained, but there was enough of the man even there he was able to stand upright to finish the song. Garigan stood with him, his voice rising with the final refrain. Only when the echoes in their being faded did he turn to his fellow Sondecki and say, “I cannot sleep alone. I will lose myself if I do it again.” “I will not say his name... but can you feel him?” “He called to me...” He shook his head and cast his gaze briefly to the north. “I fear if I am separated from you and the others I will run back to him.” Garigan stood an inch taller. “I will not leave you, Jerome.” “Thank you, but there are two better for this. You need your sleep too, my friend.” “Who?” He smiled, though kept his lips close to hide the fangs he still had. “The dragons. I do not know why, but his voice is always muted when I am near them.” Garigan nodded and cast a glance at the aft-castle. “In sooth? I wonder why... Even so, I will stay by your side this night.” “Thank you. You know, Garigan, you may have only known of your Sondecki powers for two years, but I feel as if you could have been our teacher. Thank you.” “Then you and Master Matthias have taught me well! Come, let's go wake up some dragons!” He could not help but bark a laugh. ---------- The ship was sinking, and there was no land in sight. The mast was a mere splinter of its former self, the oars along the port side in a similar state. Benches were littered with bodies and water was pouring into the shattered hull making them float, staining the torrent black with blood. Bar scrambled away from the flood, hauling himself toward the higher starboard benches, but as fast as he went the water seemed to be faster, lapping at his heels. Despite being crew on ships for nearly a decade Bar could not swim and the roaring surge of water sent his heart racing. But there was one thing moving faster even than the water turning his fear of drowning into a keen edged panic he could not escape. Rats! They surged out of the bilge and hold in a squealing, hissing mass, their sharp claws clutching and skittering across the deck. Rats the size of cats, dogs, even men boiled from the dark hidden recesses of the ship seeking any buoyancy they could find as frantically as Bar did. Chests and bags and boards and oars and bodies bobbed about in the water, floating away from the stricken vessel as the bow tipped down for its final, fateful plunge into the abyss. Rats! Rats everywhere, piling upon everything, sinking every lifeline as quickly as the boat. Terror boiled in Bar's breast as he slipped, falling to the splintered deck, and a wave of rats surged over him. Drawing breath to shriek out the last exhortation of life Bar suddenly found his voice frozen, his eyes gazing upon a figure clambering up from the flooded hold below. It was another rat, but not like the monsters darting hither and fro, over and under and upon him. No, this rat stood tall, like a man, on two legs. One side of his face was burned, likely from the fires of spilled lanterns. In one hand the rat carried a shattered oar stave which he used to prop himself up on the listing deck, seemingly unperturbed at its cant. The other rats, as well, seemed to take note of his presence; they fled from him in a wave of suicidal terror, plunging into the water or back into the flooding depths below. The man-like rat strode toward Bar, who still lay sprawled upon the deck now bereft of any but the two of them. Bracing the broken oar upon the deck the man-rat extended a hand as knobby and clawed as the rats he had scattered, “Come, it is safe. You need not fear me.” All the while ignoring the blood blackened water lapping around rodent feet. Reflexively Bar reached out for the surcease of offered grasp, his terror of the mundane – if incredibly large – rats allayed by their apparent fear of this rat who was not quite a rat. Strong fingers grasped his hand, pulling him upright. Sunlight gleamed upon the water, lifting the boat upon the crest of a wave and settling it gently into its trough. Unmanned oars bumped and thunked in their locks and the sail snapped confidently in the breeze. The boat sat upon an even kill, its planks unstained, ready to journey to wherever the odd rat and lone oarsman might take it. “There is no need to fear us,” The man-rat said with a smile of prominent teeth, black eyes gleaming. The one side of his face was still burnt, the only evidence of the scene which had vanished as unexpectedly as the swarming vermin. Surprisingly, Bar found he did not fear the upright rat dressed as a man might dress, a gleaming staff held in one hand and Bar's hand within the other. With a last glance down at the bestial yet strangely human hand within the curl of his fingers Bar had a momentary wonder at what there was to fear before he slipped into the void between dreams. Rat, boat, water, and man faded into the half images of fading dreams and Malger quirked one corner of his muzzle in a rueful smile. Such were the fears of men; rats, water, death, and so many things manifestly more powerful in the moments of their dreams. Or nightmares, as Malger had found the oarsman Bar locked within. Presented with the strangeness come aboard as passengers on their ship Malger had expected there to be nightmares, at least at first. For some they might crop up throughout their journey, and Malger would be there to steady their resolve and let them find reassurance in their dreams rather than fear, for he well knew fear would persist beyond the dream, beyond sleep. Fear would fester, and give rise to anger, hatred, and danger for all on this journey. “I do hope you're not going to keep what I seek them to know at bay, my Love.” A gentle feminine voice reached his ears, metamorphosing the wry quirk of his muzzle to a genuine smile. Raising his eyes Malger found himself looking rather steeply upward at a dragon of black and silver equally as large as Charles' scaled friend Pharcellus when he took on his natural form. Eyes as deep and black as the night sky, and as spangled with glimmering starry motes, gazed down at him though not with ire. “Ahh, Mosha my dearest, I know your touch upon a sleeper's Dream even when I am not tenanting it.” He assured the large beast with a bow and a sweep of one arm. “I am merely smoothing choppy waters to ensure a pleasant journey for all.” “And a safe one.” The dragoness rumbled amiably. “For all.” Malger's gaze flicked momentarily to one side though his furry, bewhiskered muzzle did not turn. “Even the most inquisitive.” Stepping forward he raised a hand to touch lightly upon the dragon's lowered snout. “He finds me so easily.” “He does,” The dragon observed with a subtle hint of humor, “More easily at his age than even you, or any other, has for many an age.” “Well, I've been told they do mature at a much swifter rate than I did as a child.” Turning slightly, tracing his fingers along the jawline of the dragon to her neck, he gazed toward the shadowy half-real gangway of a boat only half remembered. “Come now, did I not say you could approach, Charlie?” Though his given name was Charles like his father, Malger had decided not long after the ship set sail to call him Charlie instead. From the depths of the gangway two dark eyes peered out, whiskers that were mere pale hints against the darkness twitching. “Yes, my boy, we see you. There is no need to fear, Nocturna is merely… being as she chooses to be, this night.” He glanced up at the large reptilian head hovering over his own to peer at the owner of those dark, gleaming little eyes. “He certainly is most curious of you, Malger. And I, though he knows not why.” “Nock...” A quavering voice issued from the gangway, “Nockurna? Bad dream lady?” Squatting to put himself at closer to eye level Malger nodded, then shrugged one shoulder. “Yes, and no.” He held out a hand and flexed his claw tipped fingers beckoningly. “Come forth, lad. Your father will not be angry with you, and I am not, nor is Nocturna.” Creeping up the last couple of steps from the gangway, now more concrete about them as Malger and Charlie's memories created it as one would the props of a dream, Charlie crept out into the open. He was no different in the Dream than he was in the waking world; a young rat who stood upon two legs as a man might. He had no memories of being a human as he had been born a rat. He would ever see himself as such in the Dream, unless there was a requirement he appear in a different guise for Nocturna's needs. The young rat looked cautiously up at Nocturna's draconic visage but did not quail from it. His experiences with dragons had not, heretofore, been ones to engender the expected developed as one grows, hears stories, and learns just how deadly dangerous a roused dragon could be. Lowering her head even with Malger's shoulders she huffed a puff of silvery steam from her nostrils. Charlie giggled despite himself as the waft of steam knocked Malger's forward onto his muzzle. “Dragon lady is bird lady too?” Charlie asked as he approached, rounded ears pricked forward. “Bird?” Nocturna rumbled gently, though Malger sensed a sudden tension beneath the smooth scales under his fingers. He pushed his hat back up with his free hand. Charlie nodded cautiously. “Black bird lady talk with Daddy.” He offered, standing bravely before the very creature who presented itself, in the form of a black raven, to his father Charles in a different dream. “And Daddy go… away. To a bad place, with a dark, bad person.” Wringing his hands Charlie glanced down at the night shadowed deck beneath his paws and then looked back up. “But Daddy came back, without the bad person.” One hand raised slightly to point at Nocturna. “You bad dream bird lady? Nockurna.” “He is astute.” Nocturna puffed with incredulous humor. Malger heaved a sigh, but could only nod. “Nocturna is she, Charlie, yes. Your father wanted – needed something. One who lied to him made him seek Nocturna, Charlie, but she is not bad.” “Nor good.” Nocturna observed laconically, “Not exactly.” “He…” Charlie paused, casting about for words that he had yet to learn to explain himself. Despite being only a shade older than one year Malger was mightily impressed at his ability to speak at all, much less enter the Dream. But Charles had told him their children, those of many animal-cursed keepers, matured many times faster than human children, slowing only after a year or three. “He fears black bird lady.” Charlie finally managed to blurt. “She is not of The Father and the Yew, but Daddy went to her anyway.” He looked up and boldly met Nocturna's reptilian stare. “Went to you.” “He did.” Nocturna offered with a slow nod. The young rat did not flinch from the dragon's head, equally as large as his entire body, or the momentary flashes of long ivory fangs as she spoke. “And I am not of Eli's realm, no.” “Am I?” Charlie asked, showing for the first time a tiny crack of fear. “Yes, if you choose.” Nocturna continued, stretching out her long silver and black scaled form to rest her huge head upon the wooden deck. “But you are also of this realm.” One wing lifted to sweep in a short arc toward the sea and night sky beyond the dream-created boat only they occupied. “Bad dream place?” “No. A dream place.” The dragon assured him. “Good and bad. You know Malger, is he bad?” “No.” Charlie shook his head. “The Dream is not bad, Charlie; the story the Dream brings is – sometimes – bad. Because we remember bad more easily than good. But it is not a thing you should be scared of.” “Bad dreams scary, though!” Nocturna's teeth gleamed in a brilliant, though unsettling, dragon grin. “They are meant to be. So you remember them.” “But they make bad sleep. Erick has bad dream of not being home. Boat makes noise, moves, makes bad sleep for Erick. But I fix!” “You fix?” Malger raised an eyebrow, head tilted in a curious stare. “Tell Erick to remember wagon. No bad sleep in wagon, even moving.” “Before you went to bed?” Charlie shook his head, “No, here, when I see him in bad dream place. Make him think of wagons, bad place go away.” “Already he does this.” Nocturna grunted, though quietly for Malger's ears before speaking more loudly, “Charlie, what has your father said of Nocturna?” “Bad dream lady. But Daddy not say, I hear from others at stone house when we stay there. They say big dog lady talks to many that are not of the Yew, and bad dream lady is one she does not like to talk to.” “Lothanassa Raven.” Malger offered with a sidelong glance down at the huge head resting on the deck near his crossed legs. “Children at the castle say this?” The young rat nodded, finally crossing his legs and sitting down as well, his muscular rat tail flicking around to drape across his lap. “Some. Bigger kids say mean things. Some are like us, go to Ecclesia. Some are not, go to other house, where bid dog lady talks to different … spirits?” He looked confused at the last word, not understanding the full concept of the Pantheon. “Aedra.” Malger offered. “Like the Ecclesia, but with different gods.” “I guess.” Charlie shrugged. “Charlie, this place, were we are, is a place only you can reach, and I can reach. It is the place of dreams.” “I know. I'm asleep next to Erick. This is a dream.” Malger shared a momentary glance with the dragoness sprawled next to him, her bulk curled around behind him to dominate much of the boat's unoccupied deck. “Yes, this is a dream. I would like to talk to you, about the dream. Here, in the dream. Maybe later, when we are awake, but don't tell anyone except your Daddy, okay?” “Why?” “I do not know the answer, Charlie. And your brother and sisters won't know, either, or your mother. Your father knows. He has seen Nocturna. He understands.” “A secret?” “Yes, Charlie, our secret, between you, your father, and me.” “And her.” Charlie nodded toward the dragoness. “She lives here.” Malger chuckled, “The secret can't be hidden from her.” “Oh.” Charlie mulled this over for a few seconds, “Cheater.” With a burring chuff Malger laughed and even the huge black and silver beast filling the deck rumbled humorously. ---------- The wind slackened enough to give Charles a brief respite from his duties as early morning twilight graced the sky. Dandelo assured him it was only a lull and the wind would return as sure as a dog to its vomit. The moon was a sliver low in the eastern sky. Tomorrow it would be nothing at all. The nights were not as short as at Metamor, but it would be several hours yet before he could sink into well-earned rest in his family's bed. He took his short rest upon the fo'c'sle next to the bow-spirit. He peered down at the leaping dolphin when his eyes tired of the last stars. The soft lapping of waves upon the prow lulled his senses. He blinked a wisp of sleep away and clasped his hands in prayer. Words murmured from his tongue, words he could not recall after they were uttered. A prayer? A plea? Something of the sort. Loud footfalls woke him from his stupor. He half-turned and smiled. The young dragon Lindsey approached, wings tucked in tight, head lifted as high as his neck could reach. A fang-filled smile touched his face and bright purple-flecked golden eyes greeted him. “Good morning, Charles. How was your night?” “Busy,” he admitted, rubbing soreness from his muscles. “But good. We've added a few more leagues. Sutthaivasse cannot be far now. And after her, Whales! And then Boreaux. And then...” “Sondeshara!” Lindsey hissed the name as he came to the rat's side. “You know, I had never heard of the place until you spoke of it on our journey to Marzac last year.” “And I had never heard of Metamor or even Arabarb until I journeyed north into the Midlands a decade ago.” Charles turned and leaned against the gunwale. “Yet here we are together. I hope one day I can come with you to visit your homeland. I hope... “ He grimaced and turned back to the sea. Lindsey stepped out onto the bow-spirit and lay across it, tail dangling over the side to wrap around the leaping dolphin. He spread his wings over Charles's head like an awning. He gave out to the sea and a long hiss escaped his throat. “It is the land across the sea; the land Zhypar was born in.” Charles chuffed and lifted his whiskers. “It is.” He stepped up and put one paw upon the bow-spirit, dark eyes fixed upon the dark-blue southern horizon. “It's a beautiful land, Lindsey. I do miss it. I will miss Metamor even more.” “We all will. We do.” Lindsey sighed and Charles felt the wood shift beneath his feet. “Do you think you will never see it again?” “I don't know,” Charles lowered his snout for a moment, hands balled into fists. “I fear it. But... this is what we must do. For Jerome. For Garigan. For my family.” “For you,” Lindsey finished. “I had to return to my homeland. I learned something about myself I never would have thought possible.” He belched a gust of flame and hissed a laugh. “You need to return for yourself more than any of the others, Charles.” The rat favored him with an amused grin. His ears perked, and a measure of confidence filled him. “Perhaps... no. You are right, my friend. You are right. I won't be a dragon! But...” “But you'll have more peace in your heart than you have ever had.” He blinked and stared to the south for several seconds. In only the few minutes they'd been talking the horizon had brightened to a pale blue. The wind pressed at his back and he heard the sail snapping taut. He leaned forward and rested his hand upon his knee. “Lindsey... I... I envy you. You're right again. I don't know what the future holds or where it will take us, but its a chance for us to right the wrongs of our past.” “And it is coming fast! We'll be there before we know it.” “Aye!” Neither said anything more as they watched the southern skies. Dawn of a new day aboard the Venture Swift was nearly there. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>