Xena awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in her bed, drenched in perspiration, a deep sense of dread replacing the rapidly fading details of the dream. She threw back the thin blanket which clung to her uncomfortably and rose from the bed. As she moved unsteadily across the room, she wondered briefly if she were ill, but she knew the rhythms of her own body so well that this seemed unlikely. She poured water into a basin and splashed her face and then leaned heavily on the table, cool water coursing down the contours of her face, the hollow of her throat. She caught her reflection in the small mirror above the table and said aloud, "I have to go." She’d been restless for a couple of days and now something was pulling her inexorably back to the road. She had never been a slave to her muse; war, as art, was a concept few could embrace with any genuine understanding. And more often than not, she delighted in denying those sometimes overwhelming impulses to act, or not to act. But today...today the muse would win. She washed and dressed, not in the flattering blue peasant dress, but in her well-worn leathers. She tried to think of a gentle way to break the news to her mother. Things had gone so well between them on this visit. Her mother, Cenon, the townspeople...each had gone out of their way to make her feel at home. She would never again dread riding through the narrow village streets, or arriving unannounced on the threshold of the family inn. Amphipolis was again her home, and she was free...and welcome...to come and go at will. And now it was time to go. She would tell her mother now, and leave before noon. With some hard riding, she might reach Poteidaia by nightfall and surprise Gabrielle. Leaving her armor and weapons hanging from pegs on her wall, she went downstairs to the tavern.

* * * * * * * * * *

Leaning against the back of the cage, with her knees drawn up against her chest, Gabrielle suffered the heat, exhaustion and thirst in relative silence. She found that with effort, she was able to shut out a great deal of the ambient noise in the room -- the persistent murmur of voices, Anthor’s guttural snoring -- all receded into a dark corner of her consciousness. At the moment, Manus’ promised metronome was no more than a muffled base, rising from the cavern floor, thrumming through the iron bars of the cage, and thence into her own frame...and yet, it was nothing with which she felt she couldn’t deal. She ran her tongue over her dry lips and settled her head against her knees, determined to mine some sleep from her exhausted body.

"Gabrielle."

The bard responded incoherently without opening her eyes.

The voice persisted, "Gabrielle...it’s me..."

"Oh, please...." she murmured into her lap. "Just five minutes more..."

"You may not have five minutes. Wake up and look at me...and let me hear you say you love me just once more..."

Gabrielle’s eyelids fluttered reluctantly over her tired eyes. "Oh...hello, Perdicus," she murmured; his pleasant features blurred around the edges. "Am I dreaming?"

"Does it matter? You know the saying: when you think of the dead, the dead hear you."

"Yes," she replied, coming more fully awake to find him a solid presence standing before her. "Yes, Perdicus. I’ve thought of you often."

Perdicus squatted outside the cage and caught Gabrielle’s fingers in his own. "I know. There are some days I hear your voice in my head and it never ceases." His free hand reached through the bars and wiped a smudge of dirt from her chin. "I hear your voice and it’s almost more than I can stand." He tightened his grip on her hand and licked his lips. "By the gods, I’ve missed your smile, your voice...your smell..."

Gabrielle wrinkled her nose. "Perdicus, I smell like..."

"Roses," he breathed. "Sweet, white, perfect roses...like the ones that grew outside my mother’s house. Do you remember?"

Gabrielle closed her eyes and leaned her head against the bars in a vain attempt to get closer to him. "Yes, I remember."

"And do you remember our wedding night?" She nodded. Perdicus lowered his voice to

a smoky whisper. "How can I know you so well after just one night? I remember everything..." He caught strands of her hair in his hand. "You wore white, and a laurel wreath with tiny white flowers...and my heart...I thought it would break you were so beautiful..."

Gabrielle silenced his reminiscence, laying a finger across his lips, the same perfect lips she

had kissed on their wedding night. "Please, stop..." she sobbed. "I can’t bear to remember..."

"No, Gabrielle!" he admonished passionately. "Embrace the memories. I thank the gods for mine. In the beginning, I thought it was a curse, now I can look back on that night and see how I once had it fine, and perfect...how you once loved me."

"I still love you..."

"Do you really?"

Gabrielle’s brow furrowed. "Perdicus, of course I do! You’re in my heart."

"Then prove it. Do something for me."

She pulled her legs beneath her and looked at him in earnest. Her hands anxiously fretted at the bars of her jail as she breathed intensity into verbal surrender. "Anything."

"Survive. Do what you have to leave this place, whatever it takes..."

Gabrielle shook her head. "Perdicus, you don’t know what he wants...he wants me to --"

"Then do it!" He took her face in his hands and looked fervently into her eyes. "As badly as I’ve missed you, as much as I love you, and want to be with you, I know that it’s not your time." He stroked her lips with the ball of his thumb. "I won’t have you back under these circumstances. It’s not fair to you. You deserve to live a full, rich life...you deserve a future with children, and memories, and captive audiences..." He kissed her through the bars without delay.

"Live for me, Gabrielle," he whispered as he released her. "Do this one thing for me..." He rose and moved away from the cage, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on hers. "Live for me..."

His words faded even as his body lost mass and color until all she could see was the memory of him, and then, not even that.

"Live for me..." she murmured, her eyes suddenly introspective. Live for you...Perdicus, I will.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Good morning, mother."

Cyrene looked up from her work, took note of her daughter's apparel but tried not to let her distress show on her face. "Good morning, Xena," she said brightly and turned her attentions back towards the pot she was scrubbing. "You slept late; that's unusual for you."

"Yeah, well..." Xena muttered, trying to sweep aside the issue. "Did Cenon bring anything by for me? A package?"

"I haven’t seen him this morning," replied Cyrene absently. "Should I send Petros to look for him?"

"No, it’s nothing that can’t wait," Xena said simply. "What can I do to help? The marketing? I noticed last night that we were out of chicken and salt pork..."

"We have lamb to see us through till tomorrow," Cyrene replied pointedly. "Notus brought by one of his ewes early this morning. Did you -- " she began delicately. "-- have a late night with Notus?"

"Ooh, nice segue, mother," crooned Xena appreciatively. Every night since her arrival in Amphipolis, the farmer, Notus, had been a constant presence at the supper table; he would arrive conveniently at dusk, just in time to dine with them, and stay long into the night. Xena found his company pleasant, but nothing more, much to her mother's chagrin. "No, mother. As a matter of fact, he left shortly after you went up to bed."

Cyrene turned, wiping her hands on a towel. "Oh?" she said innocently.

Xena laughed aloud. "A blatant attempt at matchmaking, mother."

Cyrene placed her hands flat on the bar. "So where's the harm? You're a beautiful, young woman. Notus has his own farm, his own vineyard, and nearly one hundred head of sheep."

"If you tell me he makes his own tunics --"

"And he's quite handsome, don't you think?"

Xena considered a moment. "As men go, yes, he's handsome." She drew a stool up to the bar and proceeded to dry some newly-washed mugs and flagons. "Mother, we've talked about this..."

Cyrene became animated. "Did he tell you he has plans to expand his farm?"

"Yeah. He worked it in. Twice. Casually." Xena reflected that Notus did not excel at casual conversation. "If you think he has such potential, why don't you marry him?"

Cyrene reached across the bar and stilled her daughter's hands with her own. "Xena," she began seriously. "I just don't want to see you alone."

Xena blinked, waited a beat and replied, "But I'm not alone, mother. I have Gabrielle. Speaking of which..."

"You're leaving," said Cyrene, cutting her off. She turned away and once again began scrubbing the pot. "I thought you were enjoying your visit home."

"I was. I am!" retorted Xena defensively. "But you know me -- not one to let the grass grow beneath my feet." Her mother’s dead silence was a cutting retort. Xena felt compelled to rise and join her behind the bar. "Mother," she began. "Mother, please look at me."

Determined to keep the emotional upper hand, Cyrene set the pot aside and leisurely dried her hands on a towel before turning to face her daughter, but as she gazed into those fathomless blue eyes, her resolve faltered. "Xena, I had hopes...foolish hopes, I realize now, that you might stay this time. Every morning I held my breath, waiting for you to descend those stairs and tell me you were leaving...and every morning you surprised me...nine mornings..."

Xena rolled her eyes, "Mother, don’t make me feel guilty. You’re too good at it. I told you when I first arrived that I wouldn’t be staying."

Cyrene lay a hand gently alongside her daughter’s cheek. "I’m jealous of everything that takes you away from me...freedom, adventure...yes, even Gabrielle."

Xena lay her own hand atop her mother’s and brushed her lips lightly against her mother’s palm. "Mother, you know you have my heart. I’ll always come home."

"Focus, Gabrielle..." she told herself. Every sound, every movement outside the small cage was a distraction. Manus' metronome -- deep, resonant pulses, bouncing off the cavern floor, stuttering off the walls in a staccato assault on her senses, her eardrums, her skin -- there wasn't a part of her that didn't scream out for silence. "You can do this..." she muttered, eyes closed, breathing in long, deep breaths through her mouth. It was purely by chance, while trying to employ one of Xena's meditation techniques that she discovered that the heartbeat filling the cavern was her own, pulled straight out of her chest, reflected and amplified with devastating effect. The source identified, she had immediately begun the difficult process of controlling the intensity and frequency of the assault. "Focus...in...out...in..." deep breaths, willing her heart to slow, to steady its rhythm...amazingly, it complied, its meter now a tolerable speed and volume. Tears slipped down the blade of her nose; to have played a part, even a small part in her own relief was immensely satisfying. Success bolstered her morale, and inspired her to wage yet another offensive on the cage lock, which, to Gabrielle's astonishment, sprang fully open after a few minutes of intense banging and jiggling. "By the gods..." she murmured, swinging the door open. "I can't believe it..."

"Given any thought as to how you're gonna get down from there?"

Gabrielle's heart leapt at the sound of the voice...so familiar...so wry...so timely..."Xena!" she

cried, and got hurriedly to her feet, sending the cage into a slight swinging spin. "Xena! Thank the gods you're here!"

On the ground, beside the warrior, Anthor lay unconscious, his bulky frame curled into an uncharacteristic ball. "Hang on. I'll have you down in a second." Xena's strong arms moved the crank with ease and when the cage was within a foot of the cavern floor, Gabrielle leapt from its confines, sprawling in a dirty, exhausted heap at Xena's feet. Momentarily, two hands gripped her shoulders like a vise and hauled her roughly into a standing position. "The predicaments you get yourself into..."

Gabrielle laughed with nervous relief. "I had some help this time," she said and went to hug her friend, who stepped back, putting space between them. "Hey, I know I'm a sight. Nothing a bath and a week's sleep won't cure." Xena's stare was cold, her face set in a grim mask of disgust that Gabrielle had no trouble recognizing. "Xena, what's wrong?"

"This scenario is getting old, Gabrielle."

Gabrielle's brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"

Xena put her hands on her hips and made a slow circuit round the disheveled bard. "How many times have we been here? You in some dire trouble. Me coming to the rescue." Xena moved to where Anthor lay unconscious; she prodded him with the toe of her boot, and then regarded Gabrielle expectantly. "How many times?"

Gabrielle’s response was a wounded whisper, "I've lost count."

"At least you're honest." Without missing a beat, Xena drew her sword and thrust it

once into the unconscious man's chest. From somewhere to her left, Gabrielle emitted a

startled gasp. Xena turned to face her, sword at her side, sword point dripping blood. "What?"

Gabrielle's heartbeat, already fast, became frantic, and once again intrusive in the midst of this strangely callous and poorly-timed sermon. "Xena," she said, shaking her head, "Why? Why did you kill him?"

"This man is dead because of you," retorted Xena, approaching, leaving a trail of crimson droplets in her wake. She tilted her head and regarded the young bard with a vague sense of surprise. "Don't tell me you didn't know I would kill him. You got me here knowing full well that someone was going to die." With a flick of her wrist, she brought the blade to Gabrielle's throat in one swift movement. "Someone always dies." Savoring the terror on the girl's face, Xena caught the hem of Gabrielle's shift and nonchalantly wiped the blood from her blade.

"Xena...I...I don't...I don't understand...I thought we were friends..."

"Oh, please!" Xena threw her head back and laughed. "Your decision to follow me to Amphipolis was never, for one minute, motivated by friendship." She resheathed her sword in one of those casually graceful movements she performed without thinking. "No. It was the opportunity to leave Poteidaia that intrigued you, and you didn't care how you managed it."

"That's not true!"

"Be honest with yourself, Gabrielle. I was a means to an end, nothing more."

"Xena, I don't know what's making you act this way, but you're scaring me. Please," Gabrielle appealed, only to be abruptly pushed aside. "Xena," she stammered, her eyes brimming with tears. "You’re my best friend I love you."

"Never!" Xena wheeled and struck her across the face with such force that Gabrielle stumbled and fell backwards against the wall. Momentarily, Xena collected her thoughts and said in measured tones, "Don't you ever say those words to me again." She paced, hugging the periphery of the cavern, and when she spoke again, her voice was expressionless. "Early in our travels together you appointed yourself my conscience, my moral barometer. I never asked you to save me. I never wanted to be saved by you. Your petty proclamations of faith, loyalty and love offend me, they really do."

The sheer venom with which Xena's words were being hurled at her wounded Gabrielle more than had the physical blow; she sank to the ground and buried her head in her hands, sobbing.

"I've gone about as far as I care to with you, Gabrielle." Xena crouched down beside the girl, searching for just the right tone of voice to deliver her coup de grace. "You don’t have to wade through any subtext here, Gabrielle. I’ll say it straight out so your tired little pea brain will understand: we’re finished...as friends and as traveling companions...find your own way from now on."

"No," sobbed Gabrielle, raising her tear-streaked face to look into Xena's. "No, don't say that..."

"Look at you, sobbing like a child. I always suspected you were weak." Xena clicked her tongue in disgust. "Go home to Poteidaia, little girl, if you can work up the backbone to face Perdicus' parents...or maybe I should just do the merciful thing and put you out of your misery right here and now." Putting actions to words, Xena lay her fingertips on the hilt of her bootknife. "Your choice: home to Poteidaia, or dead...dead like Termin, and Mesmer, Marcus, Talus,

Callisto, and Perdicus..."

"Perdicus," echoed Gabrielle miserably.

"Yes, dead like Perdicus." Mesmer. Barruch. Dolas. Linius. Boroas. Agalia. Rhea.

Biton. Marcus. Talus. Ambrus. Farris. Alyssa. Phoebos. Termin. Callisto. Vara. Theodorus. Cletus. Gilles Phantes. Lyceus. M'Lila. Kepa. Cadmon. Fedor. Philamond. Ephiny. Melosa. Neola. Pandora. Orion. Diana. Lila. Perdicus. "Just like Perdicus." She raised an eyebrow and offered a sly smile. "I could've saved him. You know me -- always there for the block...when it counts." Xena squinted at the bruise already coming on Gabrielle's face. "Ooh, that's gonna be a beauty. You should put something on that."

Gabrielle gathered her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "Oh, gods," she moaned, "Make it stop! Please, make it stop!"

"I can make it stop," Xena offered, trapping the girl's chin between her thumb and forefinger. "I can make it all go away."

In a little girl's voice, Gabrielle asked, "Would you?" She sniffed and fought back tears at the thought of release. "Would you do that for me?"

Xena smiled benevolently and stroked the girl's head. "I can give you peace. I want to give you peace. Submit," she crooned, showing a mouthful of perfect, white teeth. "That's all I ask. Submit."

Heartbeats sounded, echoed, passed, marking the nanoseconds it took for Gabrielle's tired eyes to lock onto those settled just inches from her face. Xena's now-serene countenance promised relief and peace. In a voice not her own, the bard whispered, "Yes."

Xena dropped to her knees before the girl and took her face in both hands. "Whose servant are you?"

Gabrielle returned the fervent, expectant gaze. "Yours, Manus. I am your servant."

The game won, the need for deception no more, it was Manus' coarse hands that held Gabrielle spellbound. Barely able to contain his elation, he ran a long thumb across her brow and murmured, "Sleep, child. Peace is yours." Gabrielle's eyes closed immediately, and her head grew heavy and limp in the high priest's grasp. With uncharacteristic gentleness, he eased her into a more comfortable sleeping position, going so far as to arrange one hand beneath her cheek for comfort. "Sleep, Gabrielle. In sleep, you are mine."

"Was it really necessary to kill Anthor, Lord?" asked Hesperos as he knelt at the sentry’s body.

"I felt the extra push was required, and you saw the effect it had on the girl." Manus rose in his own time and turned to face his lackey. "You question my methods, Hesperos?"

"You know your will is mine, Lord. I’m simply expressing regret at the loss of an able soldier. We have so few that are truly loyal to Morpheus."

"Agreed, but all that will change when I am once again flesh."

Hesperos regarded the sleeping girl with interest. "The girl was a prime subject...very susceptible to suggestion, but will the conditioning hold?"

"Long enough for retribution to be mine, and victory to be Morpheus’. Everything that has transpired within these walls has been preparatory, Hesperos." Manus once again knelt beside Gabrielle. "The real work begins in the dreamscape. Yes," he whispered, stroking her hair.

"The metal is at last ready for the Maker's hands."

Xena tightened the girth on the saddle, giving Argo a possessive pat as she did so. Adjusting the throat latch on the bridle, she casually leaned into the mare’s ear and whispered, "Is she still watching?" Argo gave a non-committal whinny. "Thought so." Xena braced herself, turned and caught her mother wiping the tears from her eyes.

"So you're off," Cyrene announced unnecessarily.

"Yeah. I want to get going before the sun gets too high." She took the parcel of food her mother offered and leisurely stowed it in her saddlebags, taking those moments to consolidate her jumbled emotions and muster her public facade. With her back to Cyrene, she made small talk. "I figure I’ll take the southern route, across the grasslands, give Argo a workout. She’s grown fat on hay and grain. We’ve both gotten too comfortable here."

"That’s not a weakness, Xena."

Xena turned, something approaching a smile on her lips. "No, of course not. Look, tell Cenon and Notus goodbye for me. Oh, and make sure Toris knows about that hole in the fence before you lose any more livestock. I mended it with some wire, but it needs his carpenter’s touch." Wringing her hands, Cyrene nodded wordlessly, and tears ran unchecked down the blade of her nose. Xena: Warrior Princess, Destroyer of Nations...melted at the sight. "Please, mother, don’t cry. I’ll be back...like a bad dinar. I promise."

Cyrene watched her daughter’s face hopefully. "The inn will seem so empty..."

Xena raised an eyebrow. "Empty? With all those patrons coming and going, and Lysandra and Cenon under foot?"

"...empty without you," elaborated Cyrene. As tears spilled onto her cheeks, she stepped into Xena’s waiting arms and they embraced for a long moment. Before they parted, Cyrene whispered, "I’m missing you already."

Xena held her mother at arm’s length and grinned lopsidedly, "Yeah, missing me like the plague, I’ll bet."

"I’m serious, Xena."

Xena dropped her voice. "I know, mother. You’ve been great; the whole village has been wonderful to me."

Cyrene lifted her daughter’s chin with her finger. "You’ve changed. They see that."

Xena shrugged. "Maybe so," she conceded, but the confusion was plain on her face. "It’s not often a warrior achieves a bloodless victory." She gave her mother’s slim shoulders a final squeeze before swinging into the saddle. "Oh, tell Cenon for me...uh, never mind." Her sharp eyes picked out the boy’s white tunic, bobbing and weaving its way through the morning marketplace crowd. She pointed with her chin and winked at her mother. "Look who’s coming."

Cyrene turned to see Cenon rushing towards them, shouting and waving a parcel over his head. She smiled. "His ears must’ve been burning."

"Xena! I’m glad I caught you!" Cenon said breathlessly. "Varian told me you’d been by to pick up Argo. You’re leaving town?"

"Yeah. Is that for me?"

Cenon looked at the long, tubular parcel clutched indelicately in his right hand. "Huh? Oh, yes." He passed it up to her. "Ten sheets of the highest grade parchment Cadmon had available. I’ve got your change here..." He made a show of patting his clothing, fishing for the few coins she had coming to her. "...somewhere..."

"That’s alright, Cenon," she said, saving him the further embarrassment of having to turn loose probably the first pocket money he’d had in months. "You keep it."

Cyrene grinned. "Tell me the parchment is for your frequent letters home..."

"Actually," Xena said, stowing the parcel in a pouch that hung from the saddlehorn, "it’s for Gabrielle. I owe her. Well..." she threaded the braided reins through the fingers of one hand. "It’s a long ride to Poteidaia."

"Take care, Little One...send word when you can..." Cyrene squeezed her daughter’s free hand. "You know where to find me."

Xena returned the squeeze. "Always, mother. Cenon," she said, her voice playfully dangerous. "Stay out of trouble."

Cenon popped a mock salute and took Cyrene by the elbow, moving her away from the horse. "Goodbye, Xena."

With a lingering glance at her mother, Xena spurred Argo off at a gallop, content at last that she had put a few old demons to rest.

Cyrene kept her eyes on her daughter’s retreating form until horse and rider topped the hill and disappeared from sight. "...shame she had to cut her visit short." Cenon was saying as he happily played two coins off one another. "I sure would’ve liked to have seen her use that chakram of hers. You know," he began enthusiastically, "I bet she could flick the flies off a horse’s ear at 200 paces!"

Cyrene turned and placidly regarded the prattling boy. "Cenon?"

"Yes?"

"If you’re here, who’s minding the inn? If so much as a drop of my mead is missing..."

Despite the late start from Amphipolis, the day was still young. The weather was agreeable and the sky so blue it hurt her eyes to look. Xena hadn’t a care in the world. She’d chosen the more direct but less-traveled southern route to Poteidaia in the hopes that she could arrive at the tiny village by late afternoon, in time to dine with Gabrielle and her family. If the opportunity arose, she might even bring down a rabbit or a boar to supplement the dinner menu.

"Hyahhh!" She urged Argo forward at a gallop. She left the gravel road, taking a shortcut through a grassy meadow blanketed in wildflowers. Eventually, the meadow emptied onto a trail, its meandering path punctuated by fallen trees and small gullies born of snowmelt. Feeling strangely energized, Xena led Argo through a series of jumps, all the while maintaining an unbroken line of dialogue as she coaxed the horse over one obstacle after another.

At midday, they stopped near a stream where Xena dozed in the shade of the trees while Argo fed on the sweet grasses growing at the water’s edge. But within the hour, horse and rider were again moving south at a rhythmic canter; Xena knew it was a pace that Argo could sustain indefinitely. As the sun was making its slow descent into the hills, Xena found herself on the outskirts of Poteidaia. From her vantage place atop a hill, she could see small, squat buildings arranged in a rough circle, and a short distance away, the ocean glinting in the waning sunlight. Xena reflected with some fascination that for a fishing village with a good-sized port, Poteidaia had somehow managed to avoid many of the pitfalls that came with being so advantageously situated; it was still small, yet productive, and relatively innocent. She had to smile when she realized that Gabrielle was so much the mirror of her environment. She dismounted, her legs rubbery beneath her as she touched the earth. "We walk from here, girl," she said, rubbing a hamstring. With Argo in tow, Xena started down the hill in the direction of the village. She could see, even at this distance, women mending nets outside the houses, children playing at their feet, the market bustling with last-minute activity before closing down for the day. Like her own home, it was harvest time, and the fields surrounding Poteidaia were being divested of their precious yield. Rows of wheat fell to the onslaught of scythes wielded by hearty village women whose men were no doubt hauling in fishing nets bursting with the day’s catch. It was a lifestyle Xena appreciated, but did not envy. For her, nothing yet matched the thrill of the road. A woman’s raised voice reached her ears on the wind and her eyes homed in on the source; a dark harried girl, hands firmly planted on her hips, was engaged in a somewhat forceful debate with a man twice her size. Debate might not be the right word, Xena thought, as the man had yet to utter one syllable in retort. The girl even talks between words. "That’ll be Lila," she said aloud as her long stride cut the distance between them.

As the man threw up his hands and stalked away in the direction of the village, Lila called after him, "...and don’t expect to be paid one red dinar until I have those baskets in my hand!"

"Lila?"

Lila wheeled, anger still emanating from her otherwise pleasant features. "Xena!?"

The hand clutching Argo’s reins began to sweat. "You’ve grown."

"Yeah, well, it has been nearly two years." Lila brought her emotions under control with a speed that astounded her.

"I saw the way you handled that farmer; I’ve had lieutenants under me not half that tough," Xena quipped, instantly regretting the reference. By the gods! how she hated small talk; she never knew how small it could be.

Lila stood facing her, hands on her hips, feet apart, a fine sheen of perspiration present on her upper lip and when she spoke, all traces of anger vanished. "So why are you here?"

"Would you believe me if I said I had an overpowering need to see Poteidaia again?"

Lila was tight-lipped and shrugged, "No. There’s not that much to see."

Xena cleared her throat and stabbed at the ground once with the toe of her boot before meeting Lila’s dark eyes again; it would’ve given her a modicum of comfort to look into those eyes and see something familiar, something of Gabrielle. How could they share parents and blood and be so utterly different? "Lila, I know you don't particularly care for me..."

"Xena, don't," said Lila. "It’s I who owes you the apology. When Gabrielle left to follow you, I was hurt and angry. I mean, I told her I understood, but I really didn’t see how she could choose a stranger over her own family. Part of me thought for sure she would return in a few weeks...and when she didn’t, I imagined all kinds of horrible things had happened to her."

Xena shifted her weight and pursed her lips. "Lila, you don’t have to do this."

"But I should’ve known better," the girl persisted. "Not only did you protect her, but you taught her, too..."

Xena shook her head. "She learned. There’s a difference. If anything, I’ve been her pupil."

"When she came home last year and staged a defense against Damon’s troops, I knew at last that she was meant for bigger and better things than being a village wife and mother..."

"Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being a village wife and mother," interjected Xena, and when Lila rolled her eyes and presented a sweet, goofy smile, Xena thought, At last -- something of Gabrielle!

Lila threw up her hands. "Would you stop interrupting? I’m trying to say I’m sorry."

Xena searched the girl’s face, prospecting for sincerity; to her relief and surprise she found it in abundance. "Okay," she said at last.

"You’re always welcome here, Xena."

Xena took a deep breath. "Thank you, Lila. I appreciate that more than you know."

"Now, that aside," said Lila, smiling warmly, "Tell me you dropped my big sister on her arse on the side of the road. I wouldn’t blame you at all."

Xena blinked. "What do you mean? Isn’t she here?"

Lila quickly grew alarmed. "No. We haven’t seen her since last Solstice."

"She left me a week and a half ago at the crossroads. She said she was coming home for a visit," Xena said, all the warmth and joy of the past ten days slipping away on the cold trickle of perspiration running down her spine. "I expected to find her here..."

"Xena..." Lila’s voice trembled, and fear shadowed her face as she watched the warrior’s confidence being replaced by dread. Her hands trembled at her lips like nervous birds. "Xena, what’ll I tell my parents?"

Xena swung into the saddle with ease. "Tell them I’ll find her, Lila. I’ll bring her home.

I promise!" she called over her shoulder as she galloped away.

Chapter VIII