Dear Hagen,

Thank you, my friend, for all your hard work.

Manus and Áesta finished your explanation and I don’t think I can thank you enough for all you’ve done.

We’re leaving as soon as Manus finishes brewing the primer—which will probably be long before you wake.

Again, thank you; please take care of the parish while I’m gone.

—Jarl

~

“Veil be gone, Divide undone;

We are the world and us are one;

Through time and space: We nurture all;

From root to fruit: We go beyond the wall.”

~

Here again…

Jarl sighs heavily through his nose as he glances around, tense and still highly uncomfortable in this space—especially now that he knows what’ll happen if he gets lost in it. The blobular articles of light are still around: still shifting to and fro—not up or down, left or right, because the lack of direction is still around, too.

He’s still not sure where around is.

Or if he should even be moving.

~

The giggling from before is back.

And it comes from everywhere. Again.

That strange sensation is also back: the one where his hand feels full of gel—or someone else's hand.

He can’t see anything, though; or anyone. But he hears her. Feels her, somehow.

You have returned.

Jarl opens his mouth to respond—whether to confirm or ask something—but his voice catches in his throat. This seems to amuse her, the Oak Tree woman from before, and her giggles echo in his ears like chimes.

I see where you wish to go—you and your friends. I/We can take you there.

The priest works his mouth more, unsure but determined. He will speak.

Take your time; you are actually moving, and some humans find it difficult to speak through the velocity.

Ah… How fast is he actually moving then? Bailemore is about 20 km away…

How long is this supposed to take?

“I-it’s for Jasey.” Jarl heaves as the ability to talk finally seems to return to him. It’s still a struggle, bizarrely, and feels a lot like trying to talk while holding his head out of a quickly moving vehicle; but he can do it.

Jasey ?

“M-my brother…” Jarl looks around, trying to see where the voice is coming from. But there’s nothing.

He is at Bailemore ?

Here, the holy man pauses and frowns. He remembers what Manus said—while they’re trying to save Jasey, the Axis Mundi isn’t; it might help them but only because it finds the interaction entertaining; if it had something better to do, it’d do it—and Áesta’s explanation of linguistical relations—that it helps both the spell caster and the Axis keep track of them as they make their way to their final destination.

But… the Oak Tree doesn’t seem to know where that is.

Is she supposed to? Jarl looks quizzically around him. The last time (the first time), she did know their goal: she knew it well enough to warn him that it was dangerous and that she (they?) couldn’t take him.

But does that mean she’s limited to only knowing where they’re going as they’re going to it? (Actually, perhaps that’s why it’s so important to create that bread crumb trail: so, the Trees can figure it out.)

He’s confused. He honestly wishes Manus or Áesta was around to tell him what to do.

Should he tell her?

If he is at Bailemore? I don’t see why not.

Jarl looks up, instinctively, and twitches when he still can’t see her face (does she even have one?).

“…” For a moment, he wonders if this is a test (he’s used to tests—is good with them—and they make sense). He twitches again: this time with his hand which goes for his pocket—for his crucifix.

Like before, it’s missing.

Faith is not a thing here; but, perhaps, truth is: “No, he’s at Bailecastle.”

~

When Jarl blinks, he’s no longer there (In the tree? The axis?? The mundi???).

Instead, he’s by a loch. It’s about 600 meters wide and not overly deep: the lakebed is easily seen under the afternoon sun and the tall grasses around the edges carry forth into some parts of it like a marsh.

Aren’t they supposed to be in a village???

“Brock, t’e fizz happened?” Jarl glances at Áesta, realizing the little brown daemon landed right behind him, and wonders (idly) why he used brock like an interjection or expletive—it’s meant to be like an adjective.

“Someone pissed off a Tree,” Manus replies cheekily from the priest’s left while ringing out his pink robe, which seems to have gotten caught in the lake, and looking pointedly at the devil.

Áesta only hisses, “It weren’t me!”

(Jarl chooses not to say anything.)