"So, this is it..."

Pratisha kept her eyes on the landscape ahead of her; the sloping hillside, the woods below - the landscape of home. Even breathing the spring air, rich with the earthy scents that rose with the evaporating morning dew, invigorated the deepest parts of her being as she welcomed those precious natural life-energies she had existed without for too long...

"Yes", she sighed, breath shuddering from her as she spoke. "I... I can't keep doing this. The moment I stepped outside, theer wasn't a shred of doubt left."

She couldn't look back at The Traveller. She knew she would cry, and she didn't want him to remember her like that.

"I understand", replied the adventurer. "I might not like it, but I understand. I... I wouldn't want you to stay if it was going to hurt you..."

"At least you won't be alone..."

"It won't be the same", sighed The Traveller. "Travelling with Irinati... that's work. You and me - Salya and me - that wasn't work. That was an honour."

Pratisha couldn't stop herself. She spun round, and threw her arms around her incredible companion. Tears came, and she didn't try to stop them. "Thank you", she murmured in his ear. "Thank you for everything - all I saw, all we did..."

"Even the scary stuff?"

The witch nearly choked on her own tears as he managed to make her laugh. "Especially the scary stuff."

Through a supreme effort of will, Pratisha made herself let go. Like a little girl, she tried to wipe away her tears on her sleeve, but the leather of her coat just smeared the wetness across her face. Shrugging, she let her arms fall to her side, and laughed a helpless, desperate laugh - she had never looked or felt so vulnerable in all her life...

The Traveller, too, seemed to be struggling with his feelings. "When Salya travelled with me", he mumbled, "that... that was all about helping her regain her memory, her former self - re-establish her connection with her cosmic power. In a way, that was a 'job' - I had to take her with me. It was that, or abandon her. You... you were the first person I ever invited to come with me..."

"Don't you dare cry", she snapped at him. "Just - don't...!"

Those words just guaranteed that tears would come. "Damn it", murmured the adventurer, a single bead of moisture trickling down his cheek. "I think you broke me - it was all so much easier before..."

The Traveller leaned forward, took hold of Pratisha's shoulders, and kissed her on the cheek, accidentally leaving behind the slightest smear of his tears. "...but I'm glad you did. Before... before, I simply lived to exist, to survive. Now... I live to live..."

Pratisha nodded. "So, I did manage to teach you something, after all", she said, softly. "It was all worth it, in the end."

The Traveller closed his eyes, turned his face to the morning sky. When he looked at the witch again, he seemed to have regained control of himself, his face devoid of emotion. "Remember what I told you, at the beginning?", he said, coldly. "If I ever called you by your first name, that was the signal to run, and never look back...?"

"Yes...", Pratisha whimpered, nodding once again.

The Traveller gulped back a tide of fresh emotion. "Pratisha - you know what to do."

Pratisha Westerly turned away, and heaving her bag onto her shoulder, set off down the hill. She didn't want to see her friend lose this one last battle, a battle with himself. Instead, she stared straight ahead, her gaze becoming lost in the rich, deep shadowy green of the forests ahead of her, which seemed to reach out, eager to welcome a child of The Earth back into their embrace.

The forests of home.

The Traveller did not linger, striding back to the folly on the top of Bexham Hill, and letting himself inside. The door, of course, led directly into the interior of The Endless Sunrise - a place that would never seem quite the same again, and would, for him, echo with the sound of Miss Westerly's voice forever.

Without pausing to make sure the exterior portal was fully sealed, he headed down the curving ramp to the Central Core, his attention focussed on preparing to leave. Irinati was waiting there for, a concerned expression on her face, but she said nothing as he laid his hands on the control panel, and began making ready to separate the ship from normal space, and cast the vessel adrift in the Interdimensional once again.

"I know I should be taking you home", he said, quite unexpectedly, "but... but where's the fun in that? If we're going to be working together, we should at least find ourselves some..."

"Traveller...!"

A voice cut through the air of solemnity; a strong, intelligent woman's voice - and for a moment, The Traveller found himself thinking the impossible - could it possibly be...? Had she come back...?

He hurried out onto the platform, looked up, and his heart skipped a beat. The figure at the top of the main ramp was dressed in black, her hair straight, smooth, and the purest black - just like Miss Westerly, but so very different. It was Mane-of-Night.

"Traveller, I have need of your services", the elegant Mystalorn announced, gasping the balcony rail with trembling hands. "An urgent need..."

...to be continued in "Mane-of-Night And The Wayward Child"...