"What did you say?"

"What's happening to me?" begged Fiepet, "I never had a mother before today... and now... I don't understand why I'm crying."

"Pike?"

The Warlock had not been paying attention, he was itching to race back down the mountain, and had no time to waste conversing. If not for Min's weakened constitution, he would have barked at him to be off and cease his explanations.

"Min," he spoke with a modicum of patience, "If you fear the climb down, then have Fiepet Strahl assist you. We can reconvene later, but please understand that I cannot lose them." 

He bent low and retrieved Ursa's lock of hair from the ground; rushing on ahead without a second look. The Counsel was left behind, attending to the weeping man he'd known as Fiepet Strahl with the offer of a handkerchief. 

"Forgive me," said Fiepet, "There are thoughts I do not recognize, faces unknown that have shaken my heart."

"You asked after our parents," the Counsel replied, "Were your words misspoken, or are the faces of my parents somewhere in your memory too?"

"It's as though I've woken from a dream. There's a sense that the dream world was my home, and all the people there familiar... but now I fail to recall the details. It is a blur. All except the words I spoke to my mother on the day I left home. Like a scene from a play, the chorus repeats in my head."

The thought crossed Min's mind, that this was all some kind of ruse to protect the witch. But he remembered it too. On the day they left Hofingrad, he watched as Rel said goodbye to his family; his own mother having sent him to collect his friend that they might join the soldiers together.

'It's just as well I'm leaving now,' he'd watched him tell his heavily pregnant mother, 'When Ursa was born I could not sleep peaceful for nigh on fifteen years! Noisy little creature... nothing but senseless cries for a decade. I'm not sure I could stand another round of it.'

'Then how will you cope when you have your own?' his mother had asked.

'All the more reason to skip this one,' Rel had replied, 'If I've my own little noisemaker to keep in mind. No, no, let Ursa step up and deal with this one; give him a taste of his own medicine! But don't worry, Mother...'

"...I'll come back when the baby is old enough to learn my name."

The Counsel wrapped the fingers of one hand around the other, anxiously wringing them together as though the touch might bring him comfort.

"What do you think that means?" asked Fiepet, "Had I a little brother or sister yet to be born? And what of my parents? What became of them? My memories are so confused... I should have been a child when Hekse Strahl took me in. So why was I a full-grown man when I left my family behind?"

"Don't force yourself," said the Counsel, a skeptical eye cast over the face he did not recognize. Did the land of Grunterbad connect through the realm of Hymm? This man was not Rel... but perhaps a trace of him remained in the space between worlds, traveling home on Fiepet Strahl's coat tails.

It only left more unanswered questions.

"You called me 'Min'. Why?"

"Short for 'Minnow,' is it not..? But you always hated to hear it in full. Is 'Counsel' not your title in the Warlock's court? I thought we were past the point of such formality." He passed the handkerchief back to him. "You already made my brother your witch, why not consider me a friend?"

"Who told you?" asked the Counsel, "Who told you that name? Or did it appear in another of your waking dreams?!"

"The Warlock no doubt," Fiepet replied, "Who else would it have been?"

Pike believed as the others had done; that 'Min' was short for 'Ermin'. For as simple a reason as that was what Min had told them. Even his mother would not discredit his lies, having never much cared for the name her husband had chosen for their precious son. Only once did it slip. Late night drinking, careless conversation, and Rel had found it out. But he'd promised him; he'd sworn it so deeply that it would never again be issued from his lips.

Either Rel had lied, or a piece of him somehow remained; residing in the body of Fiepet. 

"Since the Warlock got his headstart," noted Fie, tears dried and thoughts of mothers forgotten, "We should descend and get after him. Give me your arm and I'll help you. I shall carry you if I must!"

"Do you think if you call yourself my friend, I will help you protect your brother from his destiny?" asked the Counsel plainly.

"I think if you take the time to get to know us both, you will do so gladly. The Strahls of Grunterbad are not destined for a life of adventure on the Madning Isle. Such tales of magic and... unconventional romance, are better left to the pages of storybooks."

The Counsel cautiously took his arm. Strahls of Grunterbad..? Are you sure that's all you are? 

The youngest Strahl had been so jostled and shaken by the fiercely driven carriage ride, that he had almost lost his senses entirely. Squeezed in with Lyre and Hen, their wet-clothed forms on the narrow seat, Ursa had raced eastbound with little care for their comfort.

"Are you alright, love?" Lyre asked Hen from her central seat.

"I... I will be well. It is best that we should leave at such a pace."

The color was drained from her pink cheeks, her eyes glued to the imperceptible horizon.

"Can you not slow down even a hair?!" called Lyre.

"We're not far now!" cried Ursa in return.

In the dark, it was hard to tell exactly how close they were to the Sirrup House. Lyre's attention had been divided; ensuring Mistress Hen remained comfortable, and shamelessly watching her bosom as it trembled with the rattle of the carriage. On every bump, there was a danger that the fabric would lose in the battle to contain them.

"You. Strahl," cried Lyre, attempting some semblance of decency, "Surviving alright?"

He looked to be in a similar state as Mistress Hen, but with the additional weight of Ursa's misgivings pressing down upon him. In part he hoped the Warlock would find them, and then he could tell the world himself that Delphin Strahl was not the Maddening Witch. But what if it didn't matter? What if he told nothing but the truth and the world still called him a liar?

"I want to go home," was all Delph could manage to say.

Lyre nodded, closing her eyes as she tried to find her focus. In the palace, her doll laid dormant in Mistress Hen's room. She'd heard them knock, the trays of food left full outside her door, and sent back empty to maintain the ruse. But this time, there was something not right. A hurried voice was calling for Mistress Hen, the voice of a man; one whom Lyre could almost hope to recognize.

"I cannot open the door," Lyre commanded the doll to speak, "I am far too ill to receive you."

"Then slide out the book," the man replied, "And we will meet one another when your health has improved."

"The book?"

"I must have that journal," the voice demanded, "Pass it to me, now. Quickly."

Fuck.

"It is not here," said the doll, "I... I put it somewhere safe lest the other servants find it."

"Where? You have been bed-bound for days."

Fuck, fuck. Lyre couldn't think while the carriage was in motion.

"It is... er-"

"Open the door!" insisted the voice, "I will not leave here without it!"

The man did not wait. The banging of his shoulder against the plane resounded in the pretty maid's room. It was only a matter of time before it would splinter and break. Lyre had no choice; calling back the doll before his imminent entrance; and severing her tie to Relmund in the process.

"Fuck!"

They would know that Hen was gone, and in searching her chamber, they would know that the witch's journal was missing.

"Mistress Lyre, are you struggling too?" asked Hen.

Lyre fashioned a smile to conceal her worries. "Not as much as your bodice," she whispered to Mistress Hen, "It's a wonder it's still holding together..."

Hen rolled her eyes, but her self-satisfied smirk could not be mistaken. Lyre took solace in it, swallowing her fears for the catastrophe soon to be upon their heels. As if one madman wasn't enough...

When the carriage came to a stop, all but Ursa were two shades paler than when they'd left Velmund Drum. It was not the Sirrup House, however.

"Why have we stopped?" asked Lyre.

"We're a suitable distance that we might," reasoned Ursa, "And I wanted to take a piss. Too much liquor, and it serves to reason I would have needed a break eventually. I haven't the benefit of a change of clothes, so forgive me if I refuse to soil the ones I'm wearing. Besides, I think Piglet might need to empty his stomach before we go any further."

"Perhaps we should change while there's the chance to?" Hen suggested to Lyre, "Our other gowns were almost dry before we climbed the mountain. They might make the journey more bearable."

"Do as you wish," said Ursa, "There's some cover in the trees over there. I'll help this one down and take him the other way."

Delph's limp body was adjusting to the reprieve he'd been granted from the carriage's violent movement. He straightened himself in his seat, stretching his limbs in the space left vacated by Lyre and Hen. His brain was failing to function.

"No need for dolls, let us just change quickly," said Hen, safely concealed by darkness and shrubbery. Opening up her pocket realm, she pulled out their clothes, discerning her own by the feel of the fabric. "Here," she said, passing over Lyre's portion.

The gown and underpinnings remained in her hand.

"Mistress Lyre!" she called in hushed tones, "Are you there?"

Assuming the dancer had excused herself to take nature's call, Hen laid out her clothes on a protrusion of branches, and hurriedly dressed in her familiar palace uniform. As she tied the scarf about her head, she heard a startling noise; the beating of hooves and the clatter of the little carriage as it sped off down the road.

Abandoning Lyre's things, she ran towards the sound; too late to catch them, too powerless to command that they stop. Calling their names yielded no response. When had Mistress Lyre left her side? Hen's head was spinning; alone in the middle of nowhere, the witch in Ursa's unpredictable hands. 

Closing her eyes she took a deep breath, and sank at once to her knees.

Delph falling asleep had been a happy coincidence for Ursa; he'd been planning to take him alone either way, and this method proved to be the least troublesome. He only woke up when they were going too fast to jump off.

"Ursa..? Where are the others?"

His hands braced against the sides of the carriage, Delph was left in silence as the journey continued. Ursa had a place in mind where the others were not needed, a place he would not allow the Maddening Witch to forget.

When at last they reached their destination, Delph was chilled to the bone, wind-streaked tears painted across his face; his wrists in agonizing pain, his violet robe a death shroud.

"Get out of the carriage, Piglet."

"Please," pleaded Delph.

Fingers tightened around his arm, pulling him down despite his hesitation. In lieu of the bracers his brother had worn, Ursa held a rusted piece of metal he'd pulled from the dappled gray's saddle. Shivering and afraid, Delph was dragged through a thicket of trees, the sound of the river rushing in his ears.

At the river's edge, Ursa held him tightly, the threat of his weapon poised at Delphin's throat.

"Does it ring a bell, witch?" asked Ursa.

"Please Ursa," said Delph, "I'm scared."

"Don't you think my brother was scared?! He was backed towards this river by the Protectorate's enforcers. The witch the only bargaining chip he had in exchange for his life. What madness did you drag him into? He was innocent!"

"It wasn't me-"

"Think harder! Look! Picture it, knives drawn and no escape but the water. A desperate man left with no choice. This is where you lived... and he died."

Delph was sobbing, but he dared not call for Fiepet.

"You cannot forget his death as though it was nothing! I will not let you!"

"It was not nothing," ventured Delph, "He was loved. It is clear how much you loved your brother. But I- I did not take him from you!"

"They brought me here once," said Ursa, melancholy washing over him, "To show me where he drew his last. They talked of his courage, but when I looked into the water, all I saw was your selfishness. Your greed. All they asked for was your capture! Why was the sacrifice his alone?!"

The metal grazed Delph's skin, he bristled at the pain and braced himself for the cut to deepen.

"Why?!" cried Ursa to the river, his twisted weapon falling to the ground. "Why did you leave us?!"

"Ursa!" A voice was calling from beyond the trees.

Delph wasted no time. A moment of distraction was all it took to gain his freedom. Two steps, and he threw his body into the water; desperately thinking of home in the hopes that it would find him. A portal drawn, the spilling light of another world near reaching his fingertips.

A strong hand reached into the water, refusing to let the velvet claim him. Holding his breath as he fruitlessly struggled, his body was pulled from the river, breaking through its surface with a violent splash.

"Never again," cautioned the Warlock, his eyes widening to drink in every captivating drop of his intended, "This is the world I made for us. And in it, you are mine."