Rion was restless. His sleep chamber in the castle smelled musty and closed, and he ached with restraint. The night of carousing should have worked all this out of his system, but he couldn't relax.

His feet swayed under him, his eyes felt scratchy, his uniform had been discarded on the hard stone floor, the only adornment that of the form fitting underclothes worn by all the Quarso, knee length green or brown shorts, and the sleeveless chest covering that protected his vital organs should the need arise. Both served to keep him camouflaged.

He went to the window and pulled back the wooden shutters feeling the instant gratification of cooler and moving air. From lights below in the village, he could hear the voices of stable hands preparing for the day. Directly below him the rooms of his brothers, Jayce and Terryn, were vaguely lit by a candle in order to more clearly view the women they'd employed for the night.

Rion ran a hand through his unruly hair. There was only one woman who concerned him this day. The one woman whose broken golden glass shards had pierced his vision and extended his curiosity. How had he traversed her frequency so easily? Her Zalez was powerful, yet untrained, less directed than inherent.

He leaned once more against the rock interface and closed his eyes.

He imagined her inside the tunnels of Sentinel, near the entrance to Auditorium. He sensed her determination, her skill. I don't want to be inside her again, he thought, focusing on her essence, but I want to view her.

Imagination was limited. He'd seen her fleetingly in her dark utility uniform designed to keep her alive inside the toxin filled mountain. Her head had been covered sleekly with a form fitting helmet. No good. He wanted to see her as a woman, as he'd sensed her in her grief.

He focused carefully on that thought. It was her grief that had called him. He expected to find her still inhibited, incapacitated, alone.

He searched the waves of frequency, feeling those closer to him, sleeping, making love, intoxicated... he pushed against the obvious ocean barrier, swallowed hard and breathed deeply as its depths closed around him, sensing that he did not belong.

But it was just his mind, traveling these waves. He dove, imagined actual movement, tried very hard to keep significant bearings in mind, even though he'd never been to an undersea dome.

She was near! He breathed the concentrated mind shadows of real frequency, stayed true to self, did not invade, although he used her energy to be. He needed to float close to her, not be in her.

His mind vision opened clearly into a beautiful spacious hall with a stairway covered in red carpet, unlike any opulence he'd ever seen. He wanted to kneel and feel it with fingers that had never touched such royal comfort, but his eyes remained transfixed on the occupant of the steps as she descended.

Paralyzed.

This? This was the warrior he'd enraged inside the tunnels?

He wanted to look behind him to see if anyone else was as shocked as he was. How could the woman who stood before him be the same one who had flown at him in furious glory to save her sister, an act of bravery and stupidity unheard of in their world? His breath caught, as he stared at the sight he'd never seen in any form ever in his life. That such things as beautiful as this existed was ethereal to him.

Rion felt awash in over stimulation. He'd never seen such colors. Her dress was form fitting on the top, high-necked and of such a material as he could only imagine, the cream color defying itself to match her creamy skin. The purple sash around her slim waist cinched her in, the spread of his hands, he was sure, and the desire to touch her fell prominently, causing his heart to clench in fascination.

The way the long honey auburn ponytail swished against her shoulders and curled around her upper arm sent his senses reeling and his heart to lodge painfully in his throat. His mouth was suddenly dry, as he lowered his eyes to the sway of her dress against her jewel encased feet.

He jammed his vision back to her face, memorizing the delicate contours of deep purple lashes against fair cheeks, the sparkle of determination and annoyance flashing in her eyes that roved over the assembled company in fierce yet trembling controlled grief.

Those eyes... if only for a second they would look into his, connect... face the inner turmoil...

He could give her strength. He could assuage the powerful loss she protected so fiercely. He swallowed hard again, and then insinuated himself into her Zalez, a softly unmade thing inside her, as he tempered the glowing edges of sorrow held tightly in check. He gave her surcease from it, took it into himself, binding them together once again, aware he was doing it, feeling the need to be part of what only he and she knew was there.

By so doing, he lost the vision of her from his place outside of her and swam blithely back the way he had come to the contours of his room in Quildor's castle. It was dawn, and he slumped in defeat against the wall. Twice he'd followed her tonight. Twice he'd connected to her.

He rose, a shaky hand to his face and covered his eyes to ward off the ugliness of his own world. By contrast, hers was light and sweetly beautiful.

He'd taken her pain, a part of it, giving her relief from the haze of sorrow she wore like a banner across her consciousness. Why would she have been dressed so luxuriously this night? Why the stairs, the assembly? Was it a funeral ritual in her culture? Did they believe the other searcher girl was dead? That had to be it. He was glad he'd given her the strength to endure.

It meant something to take this pain from her. He felt it writhing inside him, buried where he could keep it from paralyzing her. He took several deep breaths, insulating himself. This lovely, yet blisteringly unique girl.

He was vaguely aware that her culture's people did not have any sort of developed Zalez, even though he'd been able to access what she did have, she wasn't completely bereft of it. But it was untrained, unacknowledged, like a child's.

He turned to throw himself across his bed, staring at the rock-hard ceiling overhead. The connection was forged whether she wanted it or not, and on his part, it satisfied the deep restlessness he experienced recently. The assurance that something better was available to him was a mild tonic to settle his nerves and give him something to dream of. He turned on his side and drifted into much-needed sleep.

He expected to dream. Connection of this sort usually sparked dreams. But the connection to the searcher girl had opened more than a link in his mind; a channel to another life form was now available.

He dreamed of a bird, a huge white, human bird woman...

*********