The mid-morning found Shen padding along a trail somewhat distant from the Eyrie. He paused atop a small rise, scouting the trail. Not far behind, a tired and disgruntled Stark followed.

His mind was full, still flooded with two days of life and over twenty years of memories that lay alongside his own. So many years had Leiko waited for him, it seemed strange to him that he himself could hardly wait another day.

Patience usually came easily to Shen. His people seldom rushed things. The strong weaving of structures, the trade passed to him by his father, was about seeing the tiny steps that lead to the whole. There was always some level of perspective that made clear the eventuality of things, and that made each moment of each day important, regardless of how commonplace it seemed.

Now, however, things seemed different. For some time since joining his companions, things hadn't been idle, or so it now seemed in retrospect. Travelling, planning, adapting to new shadows, meeting more humans, handling the crises of pursuit and attack, and trying to unravel it all, had always seemed like more than enough to handle. Suddenly, however, in the wake of his vikanshen, there was this incredible revelation of sorts about which he could do nothing. He was occupied with thought, but a type of thought that yearned for action. Despite feeling more at home amidst the Eyriens than he had since he left the Rheari, he almost felt anxious to begin moving onwards in search of this strange placed called Amber from which it seemed all the answers would flow.

Shen glanced back to see Stark was well en route, and, with a nod, bounded ahead to the next rise to insure they were in fact heading back toward the Eyrie. The sidelight of dawn richly lit the rippled ocean of stony ground around them, casting the scattered boulders and pitted granite shelves into a deepened third dimension, like splashing surf frozen in time. From this, dark trunks and hushed greens splintered, each tree in such majesty of its own as to keep its shoulders just clear of its neighbors on their rocky canvas of royalty.

Shen's feet deftly pushed the earth by beneath him. At least at the moment he had a purpose he could act upon: get Stark back to the village. He felt inclined to do anything he could to help, at even higher a level than the one he'd been pretty aptly sustaining since their arrival here, probably because of the urgency with which he was left after feeling the depths of Leiko's pain and hope. He had managed to find Stark, thankfully, and deliver to her the message from the Warlord Dragos. He felt disinclined to make any judgement about the madness caused by his deceptively marrying her, partially because he felt that he understood both sides of the issue, but partially out of feeling more than adequately distracted by larger concerns. He knew Dragos felt that Stark's cooperation was critical to Arrissa's prophecy, but he was used to thinking of things simply proceeding as they ought; in his view, prophecies didn't need to be maintained by the likes of even these windblessed creatures. The wind blows in what it will, and if it wishes to carry upon it the images of these things before they arrive, then just the better for those that can see them.

He wondered about the Temple of Winds, the place that Dor had recommended he visit, and to which he had been travelling when he was redirected by Dragos' errand. It certainly seemed promising of answers, although now, Shen wondered if he had been too hasty. So soon after such a potent vikanshen, it was perhaps unwise to so actively seek more illumination. Thinking upon this, he slowly recognized within himself the human contagen that was the furious jihad against doubt, and he suddenly began to ponder that he had likely been guided away from walking such a path by his chance encounter with the Warlord while en route to the Temple. He felt a wash of thankfulness at this thought, and breathed a restful sigh of the passing wind as he ran. Everything in its own time, he reminded himself.

He stopped atop the rise, paused, and began trotting the ridge gently, seeking a better view of the landmarks beyond it.

The restlessness would pass. He was beginning to understand that now. He had been given so much to think upon and speak of that his mind had been full of words. He'd forgotten to listen, forgotten for a moment the way he'd been taught. Even in the shadow of great revelation, the wise keep quiet the spirit, for it is in those times of great possesion that the steps along the path can mean the most.

From his new vantage point, he verified his bearings, and the path below him began to emerge from what a moment ago had been orderlessness. The sprawl of soft conifers in the valley seemed to part just a bit in the morning light, showing the way.

He glanced back to a carefully observant Stark, who was already over the last rise and on her way to his new position over the stony pass. They weren't far from home now.