The Sentinels yours immortally

he was roused.

the world of misted dreams took no corporeal form; rather, it melded around its denziens with whispers of their personal memory. lasher knew he was not alone, for he sensed the presence of others, but he was not turned aside by this. the mayfairs followed, calling to him in their gentle voices, murmuring to their taltos to be unafraid. it was in this place that he had woken after the tenuous bond to his spirit had been severed by death's bite, and it was here he had remained.

the druid oft wondered if it was a purgatory in which he was held; where were the glowing veils of heav'n? or perhaps he had been meant for hell, the gehanna of his creation. but he felt no wails within him, no need to gnash his teeth and curse god above for what had befallen his soul.

lasher was existent; and yet he was not. he breathed; and yet he drew no breath. and he was unseen. from time to time, the earthen man was given glimpses of his beloved donnelaith! of his children! and of emaleth, wherever she had gone. and eilidh also. he saw the face of blue willow, the pain in the souls of constantine and casmir, the turmoil of aria's mind, but moreover lasher was deeply pained by the wellspring of agony that had blackened the flowers of his little deirdre's pristine heart.

it was her lilting voice lifted in a spell of glen-tongue that moved in sussuration o'er the grey mists, and lasher moved toward it. he could not be sure if he would be allowed to leave, but soon the gloom thinned, lifting from him as if from so many cobwebs, and he stood upon the verdant grass of donnelaith.

he did not breathe the scents there, not in a lively expression -- he merely felt them as one might feel heat and cold, and therefore he felt the reaching of deidre's spirit, she who lay pillowed upon the cairn that housed his bones, and he felt his throat tighten with words he did not dare believe she would hear.

"iníon ! briseann mo chroí do pian!"