Participants: Odessa, Master Acrobat of the Entertainer's Guild
Mirla, playing the wolf WhiteFoam.

Background: It has been a long while since Odessa has found herself in Tel'Aran'Rhiod, but it is something that never leaves her mind -- the memory of that dream, the dream from which she woke with a HateBrother's clawmarks embedded in her arm. Such a thing is not easy to forget.

But tonight, Dess comes close to it... it's been a long day, and weariness rests heavily in her limbs. It is with no small amount of trepidation then, that Dess closes her eyes to sleep... and opens them again only to find herself within the Wolf Dream.

Setting: Tel'aran'rhiod -- A scrub plain.

Odessa(#2168PXOQcq) Tall and lithe, this young woman has a more athletic figure than most. Looking to be around twenty-one or twenty-two years old, Dess has long raven-black hair that is usually wrapped in exotic braids about her head to keep it out of the way. Startling amber-gold eyes dominate a pale, pretty face with angular features, high cheekbones and narrow lips. Usually moving with an agile silence, this young woman has the look of a dancer or acrobat, every step placed with lithe surity. She seems pleasant enough, quick to laugh and easy to approach, though for the most perceptive there may be a feeling that part of this may simply be a continuation of her profession as a performer, and that troublesome shadows linger behind that unsettling gaze.

Odessa wears a simple wool dress worn in the Tarabon style, the fabric hugging her slim figure and long legs. No jewelry adorns her slender fingers, though a simple pair of sandals cover her feet.

Gold eyes scan the horizon as Odessa surveys her surroundings. Dreaming... and yet not. It's different than last time, but still the Wolf Dream. A touch goes to her right arm, to the barely-visible scars there. And there's...

"WhiteFoam." Dess treads lightly toward the wolf, a frown marring her features. "I... I sense it too. But this place is not like the other I was in." Thank the Light for that.

*No. Look.* WhiteFoam turns her head to the horizon...where HateBrothers run in a streak of blackness, their pack running down a small female wolf, who, save for the blazing red eyes, looks normal. *They hunt.*

There's a change in BrightHawk too, this time. Her name seems still the same, a young, energetic hawk spiralling over an exhuberant breeze, the morning sun glinting gold off those black wings, and on, and on... but her scent has changed. She has begun to accept you. The slender young woman kneels beside you, her hand burying in your fur as she stares skyward. "That wolf... her eyes... they have already taken her, at least partly. Haven't they?" Standing again, she paces as she gazes upward. "But not all the way." Dess's eyes narrow on the hunted wolf. "She seems familiar... why do you show me this, WhiteFoam? Can I help her?"

*She nearly fell. Heart half-listened to twist truths,* WhiteFoam acknowledges. *But half did not listen. She runs, wishing to be True...but HateBrothers do not give up so easily. She will Change, or be killed.* WhiteFoam looks at you, consideringly. *There is...a slim chance that you may save. Yet what will you save, BrightHawk?*

An unconcious snarl escapes Dess's throat as she stares at the DarkWolves in the sky. Hatebrothers. Again, unconciously, she falls into the easier habit of speaking with her mind, as wolves do. Something she's often steered well clear of. It's apparent most of her attention is on the hunted wolf. *I can't not try, Whitefoam. If you say there is a chance... then it must be taken. No animal should be left to their jaws.* Then, a pause. *Tell me how I can fight them for her.*

The sky splits into several different scenes. In the first, the hunted wolf turns, snarling. Tired of running, she leaps into the fray, and fights. Fur and snarls fly, and then the HateBrothers step back, revealing their new packmate...whose eyes burn with hatred and despair. -shift- ... The hunted wolf turns, snarling. Tired of running, she leaps into the fray, and fights. Fur and snarls fly, and then the HateBrothers step back, revealing the dead wolf among them. The descend on her, eating her flesh. -shift-... The hunted wolf continues running, but her strength slowly flags. HateBrothers catch up and descend on her. Fur and snarls fly, and then the HateBrothers step back, revealing their new packmate...whose eyes burn with hatred and despair. -shift- ... The hunted wolf continues running, but her strength slowly flags. HateBrothers catch up and descend on her. Fur and snarls fly, and then the HateBrothers step back, revealing the dead wolf among them. They descend on her, eating her flesh. -shift- ... The hunted wolf changes shape, becoming a streak of a white falcon, shooting into the sky. The HateBrothers stare at each other, confused. Unable to recognize the hunted wolf, they disperse. -shift- ...The hunted wolf continues running, but her strength slowly flags. HateBrothers catch up and descend upon her. Fur and snarls fly, and then they wander away, leaving her wounded, her body slowly changing into one of theirs, but she snarls...fighting the process... and a hand comes down slowly with a knife, slicing her throat, leaving her with a greatful look in her eyes. -shift- ... The hunted wolf turns, snarling. Tired of running, she leaps into the fray, and fights. Fur and snarls fly, and then the HateBrothers wander away, leaving her wounded, her body slowly changing into one of thiers...but she snarls, fighting the process...and a hand comes down slowly with a knife, slicing her throat, leaving her with a greatful look in her eyes... over and over the same scenes play out.

Odessa paces as she watches, like an animal trapped in a cage. Growing restless from watching the same dismal scenes being repeated -- almost all of which either end up with the young wolf dead or one of them -- she almost snarls as she whirls on the white wolf. *What is it you tell me? That it is almost hopeless? This I know, WhiteFoam!* Then her pacing abruptly stops, as a thought strikes. The falcon. That's the only scene where the wolf got away. They didn't recognise her. *This dream confuses me, WhiteFoam. I must help her to change?*

*Options are few. Chances are slim. In three instances the soul is saved.* Soul doesn't really come out like soul, more like the true part of self which dances on the wind of the dream...*In one, the body lives. I do not know how a wolf may become a falcon, or anything but a wolf.* WhiteFoam looks troubled. *And I do not show you these things. I merely help you with them. They come on their own. Whom do you run with, BrightHawk, that the HateBrothers hunt?*

Odessa shakes her head, a frown knitting her brows. *Three instances the soul is saved... but not the body. That's only one. That's the only one I'll accept.* She casts the large white wolf a quizzical look then, again pacing. *Who do I run with... a woman... Auh, I know so many! How do I know who the Dark preys on? But... one already fallen. One already... already... ... ... ... wait! There is one!*

WhiteFoam watches BrightHawk with calm, intellegent eyes. In the skies, the scene plays out, over and over.

The slender acrobat scowls, shaking her head. "How could it be her? She left the dark-touched one's grasp when she left Tar Valon..." *Whitefoam, I do not even know where to find her now.*

WhiteFoam begins to fade. *Need lends strength. HateBrothers reside everywhere, and they speak to one another. Need lends strength. Remember.*

*I remember.* Odessa stares skyward as Whitefoam fades from the dream, watching the image of the falcon with amber-gold eyes. _The only option._

WhiteFoam disappears, leaving you alone on the plain. The skies clear, now sparkling and blue. Its as if nothing was ever amiss here.

Need lends strength. Need lends strength. Odessa gazes down the empty plain, first in one direction, then the other. What now? Need.

Need lends strength.

Closing her eyes, Dess focuses her mind on that one person, the one that could be that wolf in the sky. Every line, every contour of that face is outlined in her mind's eye, clear as though she were before her... though it'd been months since she'd seen this unlikely friend. Need. _Mirla._

Around you, the landscape shifts, changes. It becomes a small town, nestled up against the very walls of Cairhien, the walls which are currently closed. You stand before a seedy looking dive, an Inn/Tavern known, ironically, as "The Smuggler's Rest."

Odessa didn't know what to expect... but it wasn't this. Needless to say, the slender acrobat has not had a lot of experience in Tel'aran'rhiod -- she doesn't even know the name -- and it takes her a few moments of just staring about her to realize that somehow... this is the real thing.

She had been here before.

Only passing through, mind you; a travelling Menagerie does a lot of business among the Noble Houses of Cairhien. The memories drift back slowly, and Dess regards the Tavern before her with a critical eye... and steps inside.

As it stands in Tel'Aran'Rhiod, there are no people inside, though a faint haze of smoke hangs through the air, a faint hint of racuous laughter. And a scent...a familiar scent...the warring scent of Mirla Sunami. A paper drifts almost lazily through the room.

Well, that can't be a coincidence. Dess's sensitive nose wrinkes a bit at the smoky after-impression, her normally quiet footfalls almost too loud in this over-empty ghost town. One hand reaches out to snag the paper from midair, and though no candles are lit here this time of night, Tel'aran'rhiod itself provides enough light to read by.

A face. Most of the woman's features are covered with a green silk viel, in Tanchican style. Her hair is cut short, like a boy's, and it is brown. The sweep of bangs across her forehead is quite fey and feminine. And then, the eyes. Large and green, they seem to have a constant twinkle, laughing always at some joke only their owner understands. Yet they are shadowed, as if it takes every last bit of strength this woman posesses to hold on to this twinkle.

Odessa frowns thoughtfully as she studies the image. Certainly Mirla... those eyes couldn't belong to anyone else. But the hair is different, shorter, and she had never known Mirla to hide behind a veil. But if Mirla was in trouble... there must be more here than meets the eye. A thoughtful look goes toward the stairs, the private rooms.

As is the way in the World of Dreams, the paper simply ceases to be. The room itself remains unchanged for all of Odessa's looking.

Enough of this. Maybe the rooms upstairs would tell her something about what Mirla is doing here, who she is here with. Dess climbs the stairs two at a time, and begins peeking into the private rooms. The first, empty; but not the others. Not that she has far to look... Mirla's scent becomes stronger near the fourth door down. She slips inside.

At first...emptiness. But... Need lends strength. A scene appears. Nobody in it seems to notice you. Not at all. In fact... something passes right through you. A body, stumbling backwards, bleeding from a stab wound...

Mirla rips off the veil and leaps forward to meet a second fellow in battle. But he's better than her, and pins her to the wall. He grins at her, holding a dagger to her throat. "Games up, Greeneyes." Mirla spits in his face. "Go suck on a Trolloc's nether regions, pal," she growls. And headbutts him.

The scene fades. Though it seems Need is not done...

For the wall clears, becoming a panel. A determined looking Cairhienian with a subtle air about him walks steadily forward, "I'm coming, Mirla," he says, doggedly.

It seems you are not the only one who cares... but so few for so great a task as saving a soul...

Odessa watches the scenes pass before her, not terribly surprised as a body falls -through- her. It didn't have scent... how could it be real? But still... Mirla seemed fairly unchanged, cocky as ever. But who is this Cairhienian fellow? Questions rally in Odessa's mind, but even as she watches the room begins to fade around her, to lose cohesion. As she wakes to a dark room grown cold from a hearthfire gone out, she hears the man's words echoing again. I'm coming, Mirla. She adds her own to his, the words a whisper in the inky blackness. "I'm coming."