Arathea looked over at the rest of the group to offer her goodbyes, bowing her head down to her companions. "I suppose this is farewell fornow, I shall return once my name with my family is over. Take good care here, I'm sure the officers here will make sure you are all treated well." It was strange, walking away from this motley crew she had been around for so long recently. They weren't like any other companions she had in the past, these weren't soldiers, they were people of all sorts of types. They often lacked professionalism, but to Arathea that had been almost endearing. Now she would be apart from them for some time, saying goodbye to some who she counted as friends. It made her think, for all her flattery and a whole outgoing personality, she didn't have many friends. Most she had were at home, under any other circumstance this would be lucky for her... yet now it was dreadful.

She walked towards the beast she had sit out to ride, as she did she was readying herself. She thought back to her master, Tura Caranion Rolomin, and to something he had told her when she was an istima. The two had an arato with them on a mission facing against a mage, a powerful one at that. Arathea and the arato had grown closer, she admired the man and he seemed to care for her deeply. She began to view him as a close friend, only for him to be stripped from her life in battle. Afterwards, as mage layed dead alongside her companion, in the coming days on the walk home she struggled greatly. One night at camp Tura Rolomin offered his words, words that would touch Arathea for the rest of her life. "There will be people who touch you in your life my child, people who will be close to you in a way nobody else ever will. They come and they go, sometimes you will never see them again. There are those within our order who distance themselves from all attachments because of this, believing it will mke them wiser. But to love someone is to live, and part of loving someone is losing them one day when the time comes. Loss will not be easy, it may remain and that is okay. Let yourself hurt, but remember that those who love you will want you to go on." 

Arathea pulled back from her memories and into the present now, taking another breath as she looked onto the great beast she had to mount, being told she had to go first. The seemed great for her, and with grace and ease she mounted onto Tanna, finding the name to be quite fitting for an honorable animal like this. This was actually exciting, a trip into the sky, she hoped the thrill of it would help take her mind away from things. "Come Seleniniel, we have travels to attend!" Arathea exclaimed, looking down as the mage struggled and flailed about attempting to mount the beast. She decided it would be unfair to let her companion attempt and fail for the next short period of time at this, and so without asking and without any fanfair she gripped onto Seleniniel's robe and pulled her up onto the back of the animal with relative ease. "Much easier isn't it?" Arathea asked as the mage settled in.

Arathea peered down at the exposed thigh for just a moment, unladlylike? Absolutely, but it was nothing she hadn't seen before, and after dealing with the... unique style of cloth favored by the fae, this was nothing. The rider asked if they were ready, Arathea believed she was as ready as she could ever be, then the beast leaped. It was incredible, Arathea let out an excited holler then turned back to check on Seleniniel. She saw the fear and her eyes, and then as the beast began to go airborne she felt the mage grip onto her for dear life. It was certainly awkward, her eyes shut, her face covered in what looked like fear, it reminded Arathea of... an unpleasant memory. She shrugged it off and tried her best to offer kind words, mustering up as nice of a tone as she could when she had to shout to be heard through the wind. "Just hold on tight! You can trust me, I won't let you fall, okay? You're safe, I promise."

The griffon was truly magnificent to Ruadhrí, as he had never seen such an animal before, let alone one that people could ride like flying chargers. Once it was time though, Ruadhrí put up no fight and stood aside when Arethea came to ride the great beast,a hint of envy in his seasoned eyes. Ruadhrí was, however, suprised when Seleniniel descided to ride along with her, as he would've no doubt expected her to have some reason to destain the griffon riders.

Although he would miss her more joyful expressions and hopeful demeanor, Ruadhrí knew the pain of losing one's tread-or in her case, family. Ruadhrí knew that she needed to grieve in her own way, back home, as he never had the luxury and very much regrets it, depite the fact he had no control.

As for the keep itself, Ruadhrí had no love for the large stone building, even less so than he did for lord Isil'nari's manner house and that is quite a feat. Ruadhrí would spend his time out in the, now empty, stables or the outskirts, but mostly his room until they were ready to move out again.

As Dak's eyes flitted across the page, reading the account of the Ruhuë, he felt his heart skip a beat.  Instantly, he was transported back to a time years ago, a time before he had ever left home, when Uncle Tangleknot had brought kith and kin together for a Story.

Story time was serious business among the cidals.  Story time was where the history of the smaller folk was handed down from generation to generation.  

Were the tales exaggerated?  Perhaps.  Were the details always perfect?  Most assuredly not.  But Stories were the meat and drink of his people.  They connected each generation over the ages.  

And this Story?  It was one that had always appealed to Dak, even as a young shadelin.. and it had never lost appeal to him.  A Story that showed just how important courage and curiosity were in this world of big and powerful and important people.

In spite of himself, Dak felt his eyes close for a moment as Uncle Tangleknot's words came flowing back; he could hear the gray-haired old fellow as his creaking voice narrated the tale.


********************************

A smile played at the cid's lips.  Remembering the Story brought back feelings of home, of being connected to something greater than himself.  How interesting for a sigie to talk of such things!

Dak slipped from the nost’kano’s office just as silently unnoticed as he’d entered. While he didn’t leave those chambers with a physical souvenir of any particular value, he had garnered a fair bit of useful information that he was sure would prove valuable enough once the troupe resumed its trek to the ruins of Viastel and, even better, an unexpected gem in the form of a report (and, thus, a remembered tale) regarding an encounter with the Ruhuë. The account had piqued the cid’s curiosity along with his wanderlust; Mirily-Wen Duin was but a few hours south and east of the keep, after all, and there were plenty of days between now and the expected return of Arathea and Seleniniel in which such a trip could be undertaken...

Should such a venture be made alone, though, he wondered as he meandered toward the southern walls of Hyanda Nost, and what knowledge might I have to barter with if I happened to actually find old Tali-whatshisname? Does the great Ruhuë have any inklings of the Fae? Of the wytchwood?

…He found himself on the parapets, now, looking out toward where the Mirily-Wen Duin wound its way through the forest, smiling around the stem of his pipe as he remembered that it was on the banks of that very river where he had first encountered Raina Mithethiel and, as a result of that fateful meeting, found himself in service of the Sylvari House not long after…

I made that trip alone, more or less, he mused, the memories of that fateful meeting compounding the nostalgic warmth already in his heart from recollecting the story of Rin and the Ruhuë, I suppose I could do it again if I wanted to. But wouldn’t Lala be interested in seeing such a thing, as well? For a Syl, her curiosity runs nearly as deep as mine where such things are concerned. Of course, she would be interested. Rosariel, too, he considered, might find some appeal in seeking out the ancient bird. I’ll have to seek them out and ask.

…His stomach rumbled, then, snatching him out of his reveries to remind him that he was hungry. He had a particular craving, just now, for a big bowl of Nanny Thistleblossom’s rabbit stew and a big chunk of crusty brown bread – another layer of reminiscence to place atop the rest – though he doubted the kitchens here would serve up anything that might match those flavors. Dak smiled softly, tapped out his bowl and returned the pipe to its place beneath his cloak. “Perhaps not,” he chuckled, climbing down from the parapet and pointing his feet toward the inner parts of the keep, “but maybe, Sheilin smile on me, they’ll have something close enough. If not, at least I might enjoy a meal of whatever in the company of friends and, quite possibly, talk one or two of them into a diversion outside the walls of Hyanda Nost, hm?”

In short order, guided mostly by his nose and, once or twice, curt directions given by those he asked, Dak found his way to the dining hall. He was greeted with little more than glances at first, some of them mildly curious, others contemptuous, but he weathered them all with puckish smiles and scant nods of his head that seemed more than they were thanks to the bobbing of his topknot. He procured a sizeable helping of a stew, a rather dry looking slab of flatbread, and a mug of thin ale – as expected, at least in appearance, it didn’t compare to Nanny Thistleblossom’s (the stew could have stood a bit more meat and a thicker broth, and the bread might have been fluffier and darker), but it served the purpose of pretending to be as far as the clinging nostalgia was concerned – then wound his way through the tables until he found a familiar face. Happily, that face was Isilmewen’s.

The grinning halfling stepped livelier, now, and pushed his repast onto the table before climbing onto the bench beside his friend. “Quel undome, Lala,” he chirped, giving her a friendly pat on the knee as he situated himself, “Fancy finding you here, eh?”

His emerald eyes flitted to the other faces around the table, and it was only then that he realized that he was in the company of more than simple soldiers. At the head of the table sat Nost’kano Feldinil, himself. Next to him was a severe-looking, older Syl woman who spiked a slender brow at the cid’s unintentional effrontery. There were two others at the table, as well, both obviously of some rank and standing. Realizing that he might have committed a breach of etiquette, Dak’s cheeks flushed, and he affected an abashed smile. “Amin hiraetha,” he apologized, his little feet kicking in embarrassment as they didn’t quite reach the floor, “I didn’t realize that I had placed myself in such lofty company…”

The sky was an endless ocean to sail through, Arathea found it ironic. She had never really experienced the ocen before, she'd been on plenty of river boats but never the seas. Now she was experiencing the sea up high, and while it was incredible at first, and she still found it amazing, it became very draining. Five days of flying with nothing to spice things up in any meaningful way, outside of the dread of Seleniniel falling of course. Flying around with a woman that has only one arm, on a one person saddle, incredibly exhausted, was the cause of some of the most anxiety Arathea had ever felt. She felt as if she was going to go bald and age a million years if this continued for too much longer, she regretted the desicion to let Seleniniel come deeply.

It was a day like the others, souring through the skies when Seleniniel started to trip up, whether it was just exhaustion or something else also playing into it Arathea could not tell. But she felt the grip of the mage loosening, it happened quickly and it sent a jolt of fear straight into Arathea's heart. She quickly pushed one of her arms back and grabbed onto Seleniniel's hand, pulling her back up before she could fall. She thanked whoever was listening for her quick reflexes, then tried to speak, projecting her voice and hoping the wind currents wouldn't blow it off. "What was that? You nearly got yourself killed!"

The rest of the flight would be uneventful, just the same exhausting routine. She felt like confronting Seleniniel but decided everyone was too tired, she would hold it off until the morning. The night would come and Arathea would hold guard, sitting by the warm flame as Seleniniel rested across from her. She had held guard through the night plenty of times and this was nothing new, she actually found some solace in it actually, enjoying the time to think. These were the only times where she could try to find some calm in these past few days, though her mind was plagued with anxiety. The thought had not failed to occur to her that this may be a trap, someone might something from her or even want her dead. But here by the fire with nothing but herself, she had found the time to clear her mind and enjoy herself. She was calm, not content but calm; then she heard the cry.

She looked over at Seleniniel almost ready to shout at her what had happened, but she realized by the look on her face that it would not lead to anything positive. Instead she waited, eventually getting her own rest until morning came. When the sun finally did rise she approached Seleniniel, her expression serious. "We can't have you getting lose in the middle of flight again," she stretched her arm out as she spoke, revealing a rope in her hand. "I know you won't like it but it's better than dying, and judging by the nightmares you seem to be having you're just as worried as I am."

"It is a gift" Mae'rel started, and she could not help but smile as she looked down onto her hands, her eyes dimly visible in the torchlight of the infirmary. "Lady Lysora is generous to bestow it upon me. But it can heal any manner of wound, and in the same time you saw demonstrated just now." She stated with something not quite confidence, but perhaps similar. Simply something along the lines of devote faith to the one she served. "But do not underplay your efforts, without you and any others who saw to him, he would not have survived long enough for The Blue Lady's Touch to reach him. Excellent work."

As Mae'rel went to leave, she heard the soldier up and moving, asking after his companion. More details soon followed. Savage woodland creatures? A proper military force struggling with these creatures? She needed to know more, but a pit in her stomach began to form. She found her way through the keep, asking after a different official this time, simply asking to be directed to the nearest officer, and soon, she was.

Unfortunately, he did not brighten her world with any better news. Two rangers, official, had been slaughtered too, possibly more due to how sporadic they kept their contact. Rangers were excellent in the woods, they know exactly what to do, how to live in those woods, avoid the dangerous animals. For two of them to die with perhaps centuries of experience.. that was quite unusual. But for multiple soldiers to be confirmed dead according to this Officer.. and that didn't even mention the strange rings of mushrooms. She was uneasy to say the least, and knew she had to inform the others.

But what could they do? They struggled against the Hermit when they were at full strength. Arathea and Seleniniel were out of action, somewhere across the Kingdom, and even if they were here, Arathea was without her proper blade. Ruadhiri was still, truthfully, finalizing his recovery, and that wasn't to mention the danger. Maybe they could seek military support.

That night in the Barracks, once they had all returned, including Dak from whatever business he always seemed to conduct later in the evenings in civilized areas. She suspected it was nothing good, so she never inquired about it. Regardless, she vocalized her concerns. "Friends. Can I have your attention for a moment? I was in the infirmary this afternoon, and I've heard.. some reports from soldiers. Most disturbing ones. I believe that very same Hermit and his owlbears are attacking the military patrols that this keep sends out. I think he's chasing us.. for whatever reason. Perhaps he wanted to collect Ruadhiri from his.. strange injury?"

She passed godsdamned day after godsdamned day of jostling flight atop the godsdamned beast with the stupid name Tanna–like this monster was some sweet old godsdamned village grandmother–by trying her best to recall her long-off lessons on clouds, of all things. She'd never been much of a skygazer, not the least of which because she'd never been much of a climber… most her life, at least. She'd had a faint cousin… gods, what was his name.. who she'd been forced to spend endless hours with immediately after… Alwen. Like some perverse replacement, meant to resocialize her to childhood friendships, or some such bulls*** she'd overheard her parents conspiring towards. Llwyliam. That was it. From her mother’s branch. The annoying bastard never seemed to get enough of scrabbling up in the canopy to cloudgaze, which she’d welcomed as a reprieve from his clumsy nattering she suspected he'd been put up to anyway. Hells, now that she looked back at it, he'd probably been just as glad to escape her acidic silence into the friendlier company of cradling boughs and windwhispering leaves–setting his dreams to paint in puffy white strokes on the bluebird canvas of Alloryen’s tree-sheltered sky... 

She looked down… DOWN at one particularly indolent fat puffy cloud, dolloped carelessly onto the forest, unhurriedly pondering eastward, easily outpaced by the griffons far above. Seleniniel strained for the name of its kind. Cumu-something. They meant… rain? No, those were the tall puffy ones. The flat puffy ones meant good weather, she thought. Well, that was a relief at least. She couldn't imagine riding one of these monsters in a godsdamned storm. The thought made her glare over at the stormrider, who would probably relish such a thing. He looked as content as he was comfortable, hand lazily holding the reins as he leaned back in the saddle and indulged a godsdamned snack. She hoped he choked on that hardbaked cinnamony-gingery sweetbread bulls*** he seemed to have an endless supply of. A child’s treat. She glared harder. The wind whipped a few stray crumbs into oblivion as he caught her gaze, returning a smile and a wave. She wished she could reach the sulfur in her inner pockets… but settled for turning her head to rest on Arathea’s other shoulder for a while. Passing time for a spell pondering the morbid thought of whether the griffons were trained to catch fallen riders, and studying their talons to consider whether being caught would be better than the alternative...

Eventually she found her attention drifting back to clouds, less from whimsy and more for something to distract her from her precarious perch astride the rippling mass of muscle and feather that seemed as determined to hurl her off as propel her forward. That, and the increasingly insistent burn in her arm that begged for a reprieve from this prison of air and gravity she'd constructed for herself. She re-levered herself into Arathea’s back in yet another attempt to slake some of the strain in her right bicep, ignoring the answering shifts from the bladesinger that Seleniniel suspected were more annoyance than discomfort, then ineptly swept Arathea’s hair from her face yet again with her left arm, only to have the godsdamned wind whip it right back. She signed, accepted her fate. The two had long since given up on conversation, not that Seleniniel really wanted to chit chat. She supposed she should continue to nudge the bladesinger to see the fae bargain for what it was, but she didn't feel like shouting into the wind, and she suspected Arathea’s thoughts were far from the fae for now anyway.

As the sun crept up to its peak, the stormrider signaled a descent–a routine, he said, to rest their mounts, but she suspected was just as much for their novice riders. Seleniniel would not complain. She felt her cramping muscles relax a bit as they began to lose altitude, anticipating the relief that came with each return to the dirt–however short it was. As they dove under the shadowing shelter of a cloud… cumulous, she finally recalled.. she eyed their prospects, spotting a few clearings that dappled the otherwise unbroken canopy. Godsdamned Tanna banked in synchrony with their guide, prompting Seleniniel to tighter her grip on Arathea. The stormrider had apparently picked the northernmost clearing, where Seleniniel caught a few refracted rays of midday sun that glimmered back through the swaying trees–promising another soggy landing and muddy boots. She'd dive headlong into the lake if it meant less time skybound to godsdamned Tanna, though. As they dropped closer to the forest she caught sight of a curious spire jutting up from the treetops to the south. She had given up trying to guess at navigation from griffonback, but their guide at least indulged them with a little explanation of their flight path each day. They shouldn't be near any major settlements, what, then, could this be. She couldn’t make out details but the roof itself was most unusual,dully reflecting sunlight with a green sheen that suggested aging copper. Copper… here? She’d seen plenty of copper in her rare visits to human cities to the southwest, but they were far too deep in the Syl’s domain for human construction. Seleniniel was so wrapt with this perplexion–starved as she was for mental stimulation–that she failed to react in time as godsdamned Tanna banked harder into her turn as she tightened her landing spiral. Copper-topped spire instantly forgotten, Seleniniel yelped in panic and clawed at Arathea’s armor as her center of gravity tipped precariously over the right haunch of her mount and her hips followed off the back of the saddle, momentum threatening to tumble her into the rushing trees still hundreds of feet below. If she'd been one to thank gods, she would have that her companion was a bladesinger. Catching Seleniniel’s forearm as the mage desperately scrambled for purchase must have been no different than the thousands of times she’d practiced catching a swordhilt. Arathea mirrored none of Seleniniel’s panic, even keeled as she matter-of-factly hefted Seleniniel back into position. It took only a moment, though seemed longer. Seleniniel did not see the stormrider’s sharp dive below them, apparently angling to catch a fall he’d seen coming too. As she tried to regain control of herself, gravity and composure, all Seleniniel could manage was a breathless “thanks” that the wind stole from Arathea’s ears anyway. Seleniniel managed to catch the bladesinger’s scolding reply, though, “What was that? You nearly got yourself killed!” Seleniniel responded only with her eyes and a faint squeeze added to her already vicelike grip on the bladesinger’s torso. Sorry. It felt trite. The second time the bladesinger had pulled her back from a precipice. Seleniniel berated herself for needing it… twice… but said no more as they descended to the godsblessed ground.

As she gratefully greeted the loamy forest floor, the stormrider hopped from his mount and approached to help them down from Tanna. His step showed the usual enthusiasm, bordering on arrogance, as he reached up to offer a hand to Arathea, who politely took it despite not needing to. He turned to help Seleniniel down next, “that was a close one, what happened?” Before hearing her answer he turned to Arathea, “good catch, by the way. Not an easy thing on griffonback.” Returning his attention and offered hand to Seleniniel, he lifted an eyebrow in her direction. Seleniniel saw the hint of a smirk in the crease of his eyes. She swatted away his hand and unceremoniously turned to slide on her belly down the beast’s left flank, pulling her robe up indecently, and stumbling a bit as her boots squelched into the soft ground. Tanna indifferently drank from the glistening bluegreen pool. Seleniniel shoved her robe back down below her knees and straightened, leveling a smoldering glare at the stormrider. “Shut the f*** up Tatheme.” He choked on his laughter as she turned her back on him and walked to find a blessedly earthbound spot in the shade to work the adrenaline and soreness from her muscles before the all-to-short break was called to an end and she had to return to the godsdamned sky. 

Thankfully the afternoon’s flight passed uneventfully, if uncomfortably. She felt the extra tension in Arathea’s back, though. Noticed the bladesinger checking over her shoulder more frequently. She tried, against the wind, to reassure Arathea that she would not slip again, but the response from the bladesinger was the indifference of a skeptical parent to her careless child. Seleniniel signed, sunk back into her silent suffering, promising herself to never subject herself to this godsdamned ordeal again. When evening finally crept into the corners of the sky, a flood of relief accompanied Tatheme’s signal that would end today’s trial, though she reserved any relaxation until she'd safely planted both feet back on blessed soil. After a quick meal with unperfunctory conversation, she gratefully melted into her bedroll for the night, thinking longingly after her ill-discarded moonshade pouch. She'd even settle for a nip of the cid’s brandy she suspected he slipped into his waterskin to dull their longer marches. Even without chemical redoubt, the day spent with clenched jaw, strained arm, and wounded pride tugged her into the abyss, hastened by musings of her bodyweight pulling her deeper into the earthen embrace of the mossy forest floor.

The skies, however, were not satisfied to torment her during waking hours alone.

She woke with a start, arm flung out to instinctually shield what couldn't be. Her heart hammered, bedroll kicked uselessly to the side, night air chilling the sweat between her shoulder blades. The dead fire lent a faint orange tint to Arathea’s stoic gaze. She offered no solace, only a questioning stare. Had she yelled in her sleep. Gods damn it all. She snatched up the corner of her bedroll and flung herself back down, turning to avoid Arathea’s eyes. How had she become the weak link. She ground her teeth, tossing in and out of sleep until at last the morning birds released her from her struggle into another day of sky-damned torment. 

She took out her frustration on the stormrider’s supply of hardbaked biscuits, grinding each cinnamony bite to dust before bothering to swallow. She would never give him the satisfaction of admitting how delicious they were, but as she reached for her third, he raised a questioning eyebrow. Maybe his stores weren't endless. She snatched it up nevertheless and stuffed the whole thing in her mouth as she stomped off to pack up their meager camp. Shut the f*** up Tatheme.

As she steeled herself to mount for another long day, Arathea approached. A curious look on her face Seleniniel couldn't immediately place. Impatience… laced with a hint of concern? It quickly resolved as Arathea presented her proposition. Seleniniel was to be tied to the saddle like a godsdamned sack of potatoes. Tatheme conspicuously made himself busy with his own mount's girdle. Coward. She returned to Arathea’s proposition. It's only redeeming quality was that the bladesinger presented it as she did everything… earnest concern for the wellbeing of Seleniniel and their goal. No judgment. A genuine offer of help. Even if she realized the humiliation of it, she'd shrug it off as pride getting in the way of pragmatism. Gods damn it all to hells how had Seleniniel managed to get herself entangled with someone so much unlike herself. She sighed. And nodded. Arathea was satisfied, hopped onto Tanna’s back and offered a hand up. Seleniniel took one more longing look at the ground and scrambled to join her. She glared at Tatheme’s backside as he continued to busy himself with chores he'd long ago completed. After Arathea was satisfied that she was finally secured, he finally made his way over to check their saddle, wordlessly, avoiding eye contact, though she swore she saw him fighting to keep a grin from the corners of his mouth. Once he was satisfied with the saddle he gave a quick look to Arathea’s ropesmanship and one short tug to test its strength. “Okay. Let's go.” The only words he offered. “Shut the f*** up Tatheme.” She felt Arathea sigh, saw silent laughter wracking his ribs as he jogged back to his mount. Gods damn it to all the hells. She wanted to scream

Tanna leapt into the air, indifferent to it all. 

Ruadhrí had definately dropped members from his Tréada before, but it was always to them moving to síoraí ithir dearg, not voluntarily leaving. Even though Ruadhrí knew it would not be forever, he still had to get used to the feeling of her being gone, yet not dead. That both of them may be gone, but they would return... they have to. 

Suddenly, Ruadhrí heard a voice from behind him, "Ho there, bull man. You come with taur'ohtar Isilmewen, I hear. They say you can speak. Is that so?" The voice sounded like it came from a shiny, and sure enough when he turned,  a short - at least compared to him - warrior stood before him, scarless for the most part, likely fresh out of training. Ruadhrí looked at him for a second, trying to process what he just heard before responding. "Of course I can speak, fuil lonrach, how do you think I got in here?" he said in a mildly amused tone.

The stainless - blade wielding warrior looked like his soul was going part with his body for a moment as Ruadhrí spoke. "Lissentoria's tears! You look a horrible beast - no offense intended - but you do speak. Such a thing! I am called Ainion. this is Calathal, Taenien, Táriel, and Verion. You speak, bull man. You travel in the company of a true utumenra... do you also drink?" The syl proceeded to go on about various wines that Ruadhrí was not familiar with, but it had to be better than nothing. "Enough talk, do you have it or, shiny?" Ruadhrí said, chuckling.

By the time they were at the mess hall, Ruadhrí had distracted himself with wine, whimsy and tales of home. "Where I am from, wood is sparse, so the needless use of it just to raise you off the ground was not done. We don't waste like you do, using what we have just to make it look good, we only use what we have to, and only take what we have to. That''s why we sleep on the ground, and use mud for buildings, and grow what we eat." It was a time that reminded him of his days with his brothers, the Tréada, and distracted him from his anxiety of Arathea and Seleniniel away but not dead.

Gone...