Dawn was just a pale smudge on the horizon when Xena wakened and rolled over to find Gabrielle watching her intently. "Good morning." The bard merely nodded grimly. Xena propped herself up on one elbow, yawned and gave the girl a critical appraisal. "Did you sleep?" she asked as she stood and stretched her long limbs.

"Like a babe," replied Gabrielle. "I made breakfast." She tossed Xena half an apple. "Sorry. I didn’t feel much like cooking."

"No, no. This is fine," replied Xena, tucking the apple between her teeth. "How’s the head?" she asked, rolling up her blanket.

"It’s all right...better."

"Good, because if you’re up to it, we really need to get on the road," said Xena stalking across the grass to where Argo stood tethered to a green tree limb. Gabrielle, intrigued, followed her.

"We’re leaving?"

"Uh huh, " replied Xena, saddling up and feeding the last of the apple to Argo.

Gabrielle folded her arms and said, "Can you be more specific?"

Xena exhaled, signaling the beginnings of impatience. "There’s a village, about a half day’s ride east of here."

"So?"

Xena grunted as she tightened the cinch. "You need to rest. I need to see Elkton."

"Elkton? The old mystic?"

"You wanna get your things together..." suggested Xena as she strode back into the camp and kicked dirt over the coals of the fire. She looked back to see Gabrielle still standing at the tree. "What is it?"

You owe her no explanations. "Nothing," replied the bard curtly. "You don’t have to know my every thought, Xena."

Xena briefly checked a molar with her tongue. "Okay." She snatched up the pouch and staff, breaking the latter down as she moved towards her horse. She passed them both to Gabrielle and as the bard stowed the staff in her pouch, Xena swung into the saddle. "Come on," she said, offering her hand. "You're in no condition to be walking."

Gabrielle slung her pack over her shoulder. "If it's all the same to you..."

Xena cut her off quickly. "Well, it isn’t," she replied and with one strong arm hauled the bard up into the saddle behind her. "We’ll make better time this way."

"Xena," began Gabrielle tentatively. "Are you mad at me?"

Xena paused a moment before turning around in the saddle; suppressing her instincts, she chose clarification and tact over brute truth. "I’m worried about you, Gabrielle, that’s all. If I poke and pry it’s because I care."

Gabrielle smiled and shifted in the saddle. "I know that," she said, wrapping one arm around Xena's waist. "Why can't they make these things closer to the ground?"

"Hey, leave me some room to breathe!" chuckled Xena, forcing her thumb between Gabrielle’s arm and her own leathers.

"Oh, sorry."

A smiled played at the corners of Xena’s lips as the bard’s mood changed yet again. She put it down to the trauma of the attack and vowed not to broach the subject again unless Gabrielle initiated the conversation. She applied pressure to Argo’s withers with her knees and moved the horse out onto the main road. "Why don't you try to doze back there?"

"I don’t see dozing on the back of your horse in my future," muttered Gabrielle into Xena’s back. "How long did you say to this village?"

"We should be there by midday. Sit back and enjoy the ride." Xena clucked her tongue and Argo moved effortlessly from walk to canter, a pace she sustained for nearly three hours before pulling up lame favoring her left foreleg. "Whoa, girl," crooned Xena, pulling Argo to a complete stop.

Gabrielle slid unassisted from the animal’s back. "What’s wrong with Argo?

Xena dismounted. "Probably just picked up a stone." She ran a practiced hand down the animal’s foreleg, picked up the hoof and confirmed her suspicions. "Gabrielle, get the hoof pick out of my saddlebags."

Gabrielle complied and stood back, watching Xena tend the injured horse. "Will this hold us up long?"

Without looking up from her work, Xena replied, "No, just a few minutes."

You’re parched and dry...Gabrielle removed the empty waterskin and her satchel from the saddle horn. "I saw a river just over that rise. I’m gonna go refill the skin."

Xena grunted noncommittally as she worked to pry loose the stubborn flat stone wedged beneath Argo’s shoe. She emitted a low whistle and rolled the stone between her fingers. "Will you look at the size of that." She looked up to see Gabrielle’s retreating figure vanish behind a stand of trees. "Wonder where she’s off to..." She tossed the stone away and patted the horse’s shoulder. "Easy, girl." She went to her saddlebags and rummaged around for her light hammer, and some loose nails, the latter of which she found the hard way. "Ouch!" She jerked her hand back quickly and gazed at the shining crimson pearl on her fingertip. "Nice move, Warrior Princess... catch an arrow in midflight, but let a nail draw your blood..." she muttered self-consciously. Argo nickered softly. "Okay, okay, you’re next." Xena wasted no time tacking down the loose shoe. She was stowing the hammer when she heard what sounded like combat emanating from the rise over which Gabrielle had disappeared not two minutes earlier. Xena’s long legs closed the distance. Topping the hill, she was stunned to see Gabrielle, staff in hand, engaged in heated battle with a burly peasant, while another man sat slumped on the banks of a meandering river, cradling one arm to his chest in obvious pain. A gifted battlefield tactician, Xena assessed the situation in an instant -- two attackers, one injured, the other struggling to keep his feet beneath him while Gabrielle acquitted herself with a speed and ferocity that Xena had never before seen in the young bard. Seeing Gabrielle was in no immediate danger, Xena slowed to a fast walk. She watched with appreciation and surprise as two sound blows, one to the head, the second to the knee, dropped the big man to the ground in a graceless heap. He lay clutching his knee, writhing in pain and begging for mercy. From where she stood, Xena could see Gabrielle’s eyes blazing with a hatred that she had previously reserved only for Callisto.

Kill him! Bury your staff in his throat and kill him! Reason and chaos warred on the foggy battlefield of Gabrielle’s mind, and in it, Manus walked among the dead. Kill him! Send him to Tartarus and have peace at last... Gabrielle’s staff parted the air, rushing for the man’s unprotected windpipe when a hand shot out, stilling its whistling descent just a hairsbreadth from contact.

"Enough!" Xena grappled with the girl for the staff. "Gabrielle, that’s enough!" Xena’s eyes fixed on the bard’s and held her whole.

Bitch! Manus couldn’t believe his luck. Of all the ill-timed intrusions...

"Xena," said Gabrielle, as if she had only just seen her. "Great timing...as always." She sighed in relief and relinquished her staff.

"Pyramus?! called the injured man on the creek bank. "Pyramus, are you all right?" He drew his wobbly legs beneath him, attempting to stand.

"You!" Xena pointed the staff at him, an extension of her hand. "So much as twitch a muscle, and you die."

Pyramus, grimacing in agony, shouted, "I’m allright, father! Stay where you are!" His wary eyes shifted from the leather-clad warrior towering above him to the slight, fair-haired child who had so soundly thrashed him; he didn’t know whom to fear most. "Please, don’t kill us," he stammered.

Xena crooked a well-defined eyebrow. "Don’t gimme cause. Okay, what happened?"

"She attacked us without reason!" replied the old man in the water.

Gabrielle shot back, "That’s a lie!"

"No!" countered Pyramus. "We just came down to the river to check our traps and --"

Xena put her foot on Pyramus’ chest, effectively silencing him. "Ah, ah!" she said, wagging a finger at him for emphasis. "Ladies first." To Gabrielle: "Talk to me, Gabrielle...what happened here?"

"I came down to fill the waterskin and...and the next thing I knew, this one was holding a knife to my throat..."

Pyramus made an attempt to counter; Xena applied pressure with the heel of her boot and quipped, "Don’t interrupt. Your turn will come soon enough."

The old man who was not currently suffering under Xena’s boot exclaimed, "We’re not even carrying knives!"

Xena observed the old man’s statement to be true enough; there were nets on the bank, ropes, and a string of lines trickling off downriver...but no weapons. An old man and his son...peasants making a meager living on the river, no threat to anyone but the fish. Xena didn’t care for the implications at all. "Gabrielle..."

"Xena, he had a knife," retorted Gabrielle. "Look, he cut me --" she gaped in unabashed surprise at her uninjured hand where only a minute before, the peasant’s knife had drawn a burning line across her palm. "I...I don’t understand..." She looked up at Xena in utter confusion, her jaw working convulsively, word seeking. "Xena, I was...I was so sure..."

"Please," the old man pleaded. "Can’t I tend my son?"

"What? Oh. Yeah," replied Xena, stepping away from Pyramus and over to Gabrielle who by this time, had sunk to the grass in abject horror of her actions. "Gabrielle," she said, placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder and dropping her voice. "Whatever happened here, I’m sure you felt you had cause to defend yourself..."

Gabrielle looked up, squinting against the midday sun, her face miserable. "Xena, I swear by the gods, I..."

Xena dropped her voice another octave and her hand instinctively sought the cool comfort of her chakram as she asked, "Do you recognize them? Is that it?" Her keen eyes moved carefully over the two men. "Are they part of the group that attacked you?" She waited beats, poised to react.

"I...no...no, they’re not..." Gabrielle was crying openly now. "I’ve never seen them before today."

"Please...are we free to go?"

Xena turned. The old man, himself injured, was supporting his crippled son on one of his own shoulders. "I’ve got some medical supplies in my saddlebags. I’m no healer, but --"

Pyramus shook his head vehemently. "No, we just want to go. I suggest you put some space between yourself and that young woman, if you know what’s good for you!"

"Pyramus, shut up." The old man rummaged through his emotions, found a pitiful smile and addressed Xena. "Thanks for your offer, but our wagon is just over the hill."

Xena watched father and son hobble away; periodically one or the other would turn to see if they were being followed. When they were gone, Xena turned and found Gabrielle kneeling at the riverbank, elbow deep in the frigid water, losing what little she had eaten for breakfast that morning. Xena could do nothing but sit at her side, rubbing her back in a circular motion until at last the painful heaves subsided, leaving the bard weak and miserable, her face bathed in perspiration.

Gabrielle cupped a handful of water in her palm and brought it to her mouth; she held it there, savoring the icy chill before swallowing. "Sweet Athena..." she sobbed, eyes closed. "Xena, what did I do?" Without care, she ripped the bandage from her head and slung it aside in frustration. "If you hadn’t stopped me, I would’ve killed him. I wanted to kill him."

Xena pulled the girl up beside her on the riverbank, but unable to say anything of comfort or explanation, she said nothing at all.

"I was just so angry..." she said through clenched teeth before regarding the warrior. "Is this what it feels like to be you?"

Xena paused, her mouth open, a half-formed thought on her lips. "Trust me. We don’t want to go there," she said simply, and got to her feet. "We should get moving." She offered her hand. "Come on."

"Oh, gods," moaned Gabrielle, as she took the warrior’s beckoning hand. "My head is pounding..."

Xena pulled her gently to her feet. "We’ll be at the temple in a couple of hours. You can rest there."

The young bard nodded and with her eyes squeezed shut against the pain, allowed herself to be escorted up the hillside. "I never did refill the skin..." she muttered.

"Don’t worry about it." The bard swayed alarmingly and Xena felt compelled to sling an arm around her waist for support. Gabrielle’s sudden incapacitation, coupled with her strange behavior had Xena more worried than ever. Moments later, she clambered into the saddle and settled Gabrielle behind her. "You okay back there?"

Gabrielle encircled the older woman’s waist with one arm and, eyes closed, nodded her head against Xena’s back. "Uh hmmm," she murmured sluggishly, fighting the overwhelming urge to lean over the side and vomit. "But go slow, okay..."

"Let me know if you feel like getting sick again..." Again, the moist nod at her upper back. Gathering the reins in one hand and locking the other firmly over the clammy arm at her waist, Xena moved Argo on at a fast walk.

When the sun was at its zenith, the trio of road-weary travelers entered the Valley of the Dream Gods, an imposing landscape of sheer cliffs, black trees and dense greenery. Nestled in the dark heart of the valley, beside a fast-moving river, lay the small village of Thesilena -- a dozen or so thatched-roofed homes, two public houses, an open-air market and a livery and blacksmith’s, all spread at the feet of the temple du jour. It was an architectural scenario Xena had seen repeated a thousand times before, with one notable exception: at a time of day when the street should have been bustling with activity and life, it was empty.

"Xena..."

"So you’re awake back there at last..." Xena turned in the saddle and greeted the pale bard with a wry smile. "How’re you feeling?"

"Xena, where is everyone?"

"I don’t know..." As she moved Argo forward at a cautious walk, Xena’s sharp eyes traveled over the buildings, strained for a look inside darkened homes, marveled at the empty taverns, the child’s doll lying lifeless against a fence post. "I don’t think anyone’s been here for a while..."

"How can you tell?"

"No cook fires, not even a whiff of food...it’s been days since anyone’s lived here. The temple’s just ahead. I’m sure Elkton will have some answers."

"Good," replied Gabrielle with a bit of her old spunk. "I got questions."

The Temple of Morpheus came into view, dark stone blocks rising in a neat, if uninspired square, spider-webbed by leafy vines. Xena felt Gabrielle's grip on her tighten and a slight shudder passed between them. "Yeah, it’s a bit melodramatic, isn’t it?"

"Why are we here?" asked Gabrielle.

"I told you. Elkton sent for me. I'm not sure why yet." Xena reigned in Argo as two young men, dressed in the unmistakable garb of novitiates, emerged from the temple and stood, one to each side of the main entrance. Elkton, High Priest of Morpheus, clad in a voluminous and ornately-decorated plum-colored robe bustled, as much as a man of his age and carriage could bustle, through the temple threshold and down the stone steps to greet his guests. His face, older than Xena remembered, wore a look of pleased, but subdued surprise.

"Xena. I didn’t expect you until sunset."

Xena slung a leg gracefully over Argo’s head and slid down the mare’s withers. "Yeah, well, somewhere in the world it’s sunset, Elkton. Besides, I got the impression it was urgent." She and the mystic clasped arms. "New robes," she quipped, raising an eyebrow.

"Hand-me-downs," he said with a wink of studied benevolence. "More on that later. You and your friend must be tired indeed." Elkton approached and his old eyes squinted up at Gabrielle. "By Zeus! What happened to you, little one?"

"Gabrielle had a mishap on the road..." interjected Xena.

"Xena hit me."

The warrior and the priest both managed the same look of astonishment. "What?"

Elkton turned on Xena. "You hit her?"

"Now wait a minute..." stammered Xena, defensively.

"Did you hit her or not?"

"Elkton, she’s confused," said Xena with pronounced patience. "I did hit her...once. But that was a long time ago under very difficult circumstances." Xena gave the bard a pained look and muttered pointedly, "And I thought we were even on that score..."

"Well," puffed Elkton, patting Gabrielle’s knee. "There’s obviously more to this story, but, for the mean time, let’s get the pair of you settled and fed, eh?" He turned to address the temple guards. "Phineas, water and grain for Xena’s horse."

Xena touched the young man on the arm as he moved past her. "Easy on the grain," she said, slinging her saddlebags over one shoulder. "She’ll make a pig of herself given the opportunity."

Elkton turned and reached up for Gabrielle; looking into those troubled green eyes, those eyes which slanted into secrets at the corners, he saw something, some vague and fleeting image, and then it was gone. "Let me help you, my dear."

Gabrielle allowed herself to be assisted from Argo’s back. "Thank you," she murmured, reaching for her pouch and staff. She felt the old mystic’s arm slide around her shoulder as he escorted her and Xena inside the temple.

"I hope you’re hungry. I have a pot of the most excellent lamb stew over the fire and a jug of port," he said, smiling at Xena with a twinkle in his eye. He led them through the maze of tunnels with the unerring certainty of a homing pigeon and babbled on about the fall harvest,

the scarcity of temple offerings and other matters as remote as the moon.

"Elkton," said Xena. "You got us here under some urgent pretext -- unspeakable evil, Lysandra said, or was that just a catchy phrase?"

"Maybe Elkton just doesn’t want to talk catastrophe on an empty stomach," piped Gabrielle, emboldened by the thought of a hot meal.

Elkton squeezed the girl’s shoulder. "You have the gifts of an oracle, my child," he said with laughing eyes. "That’s it exactly. Can’t we make small talk first?"

"Xena doesn’t do small talk..." said Gabrielle conspiratorially. "Straight to the heart of the matter, isn’t that right, Xena?"

Xena managed a quirky, patient smile. "Speaking of the heart of the matter," she said, one pace behind Elkton, "Maybe you’d care to tell me what happened to the population of the village we passed through on our way here."

Elkton’s bushy eyebrows came together in a thoughtful frown. "The two are interestingly enough very much connected, Xena," he said, diverting from the main hallway down a narrow corridor. "I’m afraid what I’m about to show you offers no answers, and will only inspire more questions." They walked in silence for a few minutes, occasionally passing pairs of temple priests, stationed at intervals along the passageway. The trio rounded a corner as the corridor emptied into a large cul du sac. Sunlight filtered through a bank of high windows and spilled down onto the stone floor illuminating the bodies of children, women and men, prone on straw palettes, and the temple priests who moved among them. Gabrielle tried, and failed, to suppress a gasp of horror.

Xena asked, "Are they ill?"

"They’re asleep," replied the old mystic, his eyes roaming over the room, appreciating the way his fellow priests went about their duties, moving from one patient to the next, gently bathing them in arcama oil. "It happened over the course of a week...one by one they succumbed."

"Succumbed...succumbed to what?"

Elkton shrugged and rubbed at tired, red-rimmed eyes. "By the gods, I do not know, Xena, how a thing like this happens...a mother kisses her children goodnight and is unable to rouse them in the morning...a tired blacksmith naps under a shade tree and never awakens..."

"But you’re sure it’s not sickness. What does the village healer say?"

"Xena, he sleeps," replied Elkton, gesturing with his arm. "Somewhere in this room, he sleeps. He was consulted at first, but honestly admitted he could find no physical cause for the comas. I was sent for four days ago, but by then, more than three quarters of the villagers had been affected. I decided to move everyone here, where they could be more easily tended."

Gabrielle lips moved in a soundless head count. "So many children..." she said at last. "What’re you doing for them?"

"The only thing I know to do..."

"Arcama oil?" interjected Xena, and the old man nodded. "You suspect Morpheus."

Elkton was quick to dismiss her suggestion. "No!" he exclaimed, and a number of his priests looked up from their work; Elkton adjusted his volume accordingly. "I could not continue to serve Morpheus if I suspected his involvement."

"Elkton," began Xena. "We both know that nothing happens in the dreamscape without Morpheus’ knowledge."

"Oh, I didn’t say he didn’t know about it. But knowing about something, and giving sanction, are two very different things."

"So this is why you and your priests look like Tartarus itself."

"We don’t dare sleep, Xena. To sleep is to surrender...and I won’t do that," replied the mystic firmly. "I regret involving you and Gabrielle, but I really saw no other way."

"If you’re wary of involving others, why use Lysandra? Why not contact me yourself?"

"I tried on my own, but I couldn’t clarify the message. No. I could only succeed in planting the seeds of unrest and unease."

"I see," said Xena, nodding. "I have you to thank for my nightmares..."

"Guilty, as charged. Though they didn’t exactly bring you rushing to my door. So, when I discovered you were in Amphipolis, I sent Lysandra for you."

"Elkton, ‘scuse me..." said a young priest as he nudged between the mystic and the warrior, supporting the slight frame of a sleeping child in his arms.

"Sweet gods!" exclaimed the mystic, the flat of his hand over his heart. "Silvus, don’t do that!"

"Sorry. I thought you heard me come in," replied the priest sheepishly.

"Where’d she come from?" asked Xena, giving the sleeping child a professional glance.

To Elkton. "I thought you said the village was empty."

"It is," interjected Silvus, shifting the child in his arms. "Lias and I found this one and three others at the crossroads not two leagues from here. We were returning from Thebes with supplies and nearly ran them over with the wagons. They were just...lying there in the middle of the road...as if they’d dropped in their tracks. A man and a woman, the parents, I suppose, are dead. Lias stayed to bury them while I came ahead with the children. There’s a twin to this one in my wagon."

"Here," volunteered Gabrielle. "Why don’t you let me take her?" She passed Xena her pouch and relieved the young man of his tiny burden.

"Thank you, miss," said Silvus. Then, to Elkton, "By your leave?"

Elkton snorted and waved him off. "By all means, don’t stand on ceremony, boy. Go! Go!" And the young man scurried away down the corridor while Gabrielle proceeded with the child into the makeshift infirmary. "Two leagues..." murmured Elkton. "This thing is as insidious as the plague." Elkton followed Xena’s gaze to Gabrielle. "You’re concerned about your friend."

Without taking her eyes from the bard, Xena responded, "Elkton, does she seem the same to you? Does she seem...alright?"

"My dear Xena, you would know that better than I." There was a weighty pause as warrior and mystic watched the bard’s ministrations from across the room. Finally, drumming his fingers thoughtfully on his lips, Elkton spoke. "What does she say about this, mishap, as you call it?"

"She won’t talk to me, Elkton...sketchy details at best. If I had gone with my instincts and pressed for information that first night, when she stumbled into camp, I might know a lot more about what happened." As she watched Gabrielle tending the comatose child, she punctuated her own confusion with, "But now...she’s moody, guarded, hostile. I can’t tell what she’s gonna do or say from one moment to the next."

"What do you mean?"

"There was an incident on the road," she said, fixing the old man with a troubled gaze. "Elkton, she nearly beat a man half to death, and for the life of me, I don’t know why. She doesn’t know why. At least that’s what she says."

"You think she’s lying to you?"

"No!" Xena countered passionately; from across the room, Gabrielle looked up just then, meeting Xena’s eyes briefly before returning to her work. Xena let Elkton steer her down the corridor, and out of earshot. "No," she repeated, almost thoughtfully.

"No, of course she’s not being consciously deceptive," Elkton interjected. "This is Gabrielle we’re talking about after all. But," he concluded tantalizing. "There may be other forces at work here."

"Other forces."

Elkton felt her stiffen beside him. "Walk with me. Hear me out." Elkton threaded his arm through Xena’s as they walked. "Tell me...how long were the two of you separated?"

"Ten days. Why?

"And she has no memory of that period?"

"None." Xena brought their progress to a halt beneath a statue of Morpheus, supine on an altar, supported by nameless minions; the irony did not escape her. "Elkton," she said, swallowing her annoyance. "What’re you getting at?"

"Ten days...I suppose it could be done..." His gaze centered on some principle invisible in the air before him while the fingers of one hand fretted thoughtfully with the stubble at his chin. "Ten days... constant psychic bombardment...under the right conditions...it could be done..."

Individual eccentricity was all well and good, but Elkton’s proclivity for the cryptic was testing Xena’s patience. Irritation crept into her voice as she shook the priest from his musings. "Elkton!"

Elkton snapped to, regarding Xena gravely. "We need to talk."

"Talk? You mean where I ask questions and you actually answer them?" Xena snorted.

Elkton laughed mirthlessly and squeezed her arm. "My apologies, Xena. Come, we have much to discuss."

"Hey! Hey, wait up!" called Gabrielle, emerging from the dark end of the corridor.

"Yes, my dear, please, join us." Despite the tone of his words, Elkton’s entreaty lacked his innate sincerity, but the normally perceptive bard either didn’t notice, or chose to ignore it. "We were just on our way to the kitchens," elaborated Elkton, exchanging Xena’s arm for Gabrielle’s. "Are you hungry, my child?"

"After what I’ve just seen, I don’t think I could eat a bite," replied Gabrielle, allowing herself to be drawn down a well-lit passage. "What were the two of you talking about?"

"Elkton was just saying what a capable nurse you are," countered Xena; the lie lay flinty and dry on her tongue.

"That’s right. You have a natural gift," echoed the mystic, re-enforcing the lie with disturbing ease, although there had been nothing in Elkton’s character that suggested a propensity for deception. "It’s generous of you to spell my priests in their labors. They’re very close to exhaustion themselves."

Gabrielle nodded, apparently sated by the performance. "I can see that." The scent of freshly-baked bread wafted up from the flight of stone steps leading to the kitchens and for once, it was Xena’s stomach, and not Gabrielle’s, that was heard to complain.

Elkton seized on the moment, using it to deflect further inquiries. "That’s Hesperos’ nutbread...best eaten while it’s hot. Kitchen’s just down these steps, mind how you go." He inhaled deeply and smiled. "You like nutbread, Xena?"

"I like it well enough," conceded Xena, a little irritated at so obvious a diversionary tactic. "Gabrielle’s the real connoisseur," she said with a concealed glimmer of humor.

"Oh, ha, ha, Xena. You know I’ve sworn off nutbread for Solstice," replied Gabrielle with commendable flippancy.

"Hesperos!" called Elkton as they entered the kitchen proper.

Hesperos, the cook, dusted in a fine layer of flour, looked up from the fat lump of dough he was kneading. His face, lighting on Elkton, registered a mixture of undisguised irritation and contempt. "Yes. Elkton."

"Food for a famished warrior and her companion," ordered the mystic, stepping aside to reveal his guests. "You may remember --"

"Xena..." Hesperos met Xena’s unflinching gaze, then nodded towards Gabrielle, "And Gabrielle...yes, I remember."

Gabrielle advanced a step on the cook. "I know you," she breathed.