He stretched, feeling the still-unfamiliar pull of new skin across his shoulders, the weight there that dragged him off-balance, no matter how many exercises they made him practice, no matter how long he'd been standing. The stupid things didn't even work, didn't do more than lie there against his back and molt. "Symbol," they'd told him solemnly, when he was first taken. "Hope for the people," they'd added, and "only the most beautiful," and "you should be proud." Nick didn't feel proud, he just felt awkward.

Awkward and painful, did he mention painful? Taken from his home, his family, his friends, and brought here. No one asked him what he wanted, because what he wanted didn't matter. It was either go with them like a loyal subject, or be killed as a traitor. And no matter what he thought of what they'd done to him, it was better than death. Some of the other people here, though -- and there were a few, but not many -- didn't share that opinion.

He could hear one now. The Shouter, as Nick had taken to thinking of him, to differentiate him from The Crier and The Singer and The Laugher. He wondered if there were more, in other courtyards, who were just entirely silent like him. His own walls were too high and sheer for him to even get a look over, and there were no windows in the small room where he slept and ate and was told to meditate. The Shouter was angry a lot. He would swear and yell, calling out strange names and stranger places, and then Nick would hear doors slam and voices and the Shouter would go abruptly silent. Whatever they did to make him be quiet, Nick was pretty sure he didn't want it to happen to him, so he stayed quiet.

Once upon a time, he hadn't been so quiet. He'd be the first one to laugh, the first one to sing, the first one to drink a little too much and make a spectacle of himself. But now, now he was quiet. Now he lived inside his head a lot and remembered the times when he'd been something other than what he was now. Less beautiful on the outside, more beautiful on the inside.

Night was coming and he started to see stars in the eastern sky, just a few of the best and the brightest. "What do you see when you look at the sky?" someone asked him, and Nick jumped, the movement making the muscles on his back ache. It was the first time someone other than their keepers had spoken to him in a long time.

He stared around wildly, trying to figure out where the voice had come from. Which direction, where he should be looking...it was so strange to hear just a voice.

"Um. Hello?" His voice was barely a whisper, and he shivered a little at his own daring. He'd never yet spoken in reaction to any of the sounds the others had made, not even when his back was raw agony and all he wanted to do was out scream even The Shouter. "There are stars," he added hurriedly, not wanting this other person to go away. "Well, not at the moment. But at night. Right now, it's just blue."

"My mom always told me that the twinkly lights in the sky were the souls of the people who died," the other man said, with an accent that Nick couldn't place. He still couldn't see where the voice was coming from, but it had to be close, maybe from behind one of the broad, nearby trees. "I didn't even get to say goodbye to her. I was walking home from my classes at the university, and ... " He didn't need to finish; Nick knew what happened next.

He moved carefully closer to the tree nearest where the voice was coming from. He'd never actually been *forbidden* to talk to the others, but he'd figured caution was best.

"I...my dad told me that stars were like night lanterns for the gods, when they'd gotten lost," he offered. "My little brother loved them. I...I was at home. When they came." He sighed, rolled his shoulders in unconscious protest at the weight and pain there. "Look, the big bright one is shining now. Where are you?" He thought maybe it was rude to ask, but it just felt strange, talking to someone he couldn't even locate. There had never been anyone in his courtyard before, and he wasn't even sure it wasn't just someone talking across the wall to him.

Suddenly someone stepped out into the open, someone he'd never seen before. He was ... beautiful, but then they all were. Then Nick saw that the wounds on his shoulders were fresh and raw, blood seeping over his shoulder. He was biting his lip and looked sad and afraid and as alone as Nick felt. "Please don't stare at me," he said, his voice shaky. "I don't know what they've done. Is it awful?"

"NO! No, it's not awful." Nick couldn't stop staring, though, wondering if he'd looked like that, when he was new. So lost and scared. Bleeding. They weren't allowed to have mirrors, here. "You're new, huh?" He flexed his shoulders, the brand new muscles there stretching and flexing to tension, and felt the breeze as his still-small wings snapped open behind him. "They gave you these, I think," he said gently, as the other man's mouth fell open in shock. "They'll be bigger soon."

Huge green eyes got even bigger, and the man's face drained bloodless behind his light golden tan. He stretched out a slim hand towards Nick, delicate long fingers reaching, before he slumped to his knees. Nick could see his wince of pain, but he still made an effort to reach back of his shoulder, to feel at the raw skin for the wings that Nick could see but that he couldn't quite reach himself. They were stained pink from the blood, but he could wash them in the stream like Nick had, at first, and when he got brave enough, Nick would show him his reflection.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered when he looked up again. "Are they real? Can you leave here with them?" As he asked it, though, he seemed to realize that it was obvious that Nick couldn't.

Nick shook his head anyway, just so he wouldn't be under any illusions whatsoever, and winced at the word "beautiful." It had come to mean a lot of unpleasant things to him, recently.

"No, no, they don't work. But they're real." He flexed and fluttered them, maybe showing off just a little. "Yours are too, and just as...beautiful. You're...they'll hurt for a while, but it gets better. Some." He couldn't stop staring at those apple-green eyes, the way they widened, then closed convulsively, then flashed open again to stare at him. He was briefly envious. He hadn't had anyone to talk to him when *he* was terrified and bleeding.

"But what did they *do*?" he asked, and flexed his shoulders like Nick had and suddenly he was crying out in pain, slumping over onto the grass. "Black magic," he murmured. They've tainted me ... " Nick wanted to reassure him, to tell him that wasn't it at all, but the truth was that had been one of his first thoughts, too, when he'd figured out what was going on.

For a moment Nick thought he was going to slink away again, back to where he'd come from, but instead he drew closer. As needy for contact as Nick was, it seemed.

"Not magic," he said, as comfortingly as he could, and dropped to a crouch at the boy's side, not touching, but close. "Medicine. I think. They've found a way to give people wings, and...and maybe other things? I'm not sure. But they do it with knives and needles, not spells. It's...they say it's for the good of the nation." He still hadn't figured that out.

Night was falling fast, and the boy's skin was almost luminous in the last of the night, what there was of it left unstreaked by blood. "I'm Nick," Nick added hesitantly, not knowing if that was something he should share. "I've been here a long time, I think."

"Lance," he said. "Me, I mean. They called me Lance, where I come from. I feel like I've been gone from my home forever. I've been here two nights now. I was ... hiding, and watching. I didn't want you to see me. I was afraid they'd done something awful to me. I don't remember, I just remember the pain, afterwards. It hurts so *much*."

And he fell to the ground again and Nick could see his whole back, see where they'd moved things and taken things away and added things so a pair of fledgling wings emerged from Lance's back. It didn't look so beautiful from this angle, it looked ugly and raw and wrong.

"Oh," he sighed in sympathy, brushing Lance's hand with two careful fingers, all the comfort he could offer. He didn't want to cause more pain, and Lance looked like his very skin hurt him to wear. "It gets better," he whispered, knowing from the searing in his own shoulders that it was almost a lie. "It does, you'll get used to it. Lance." He rolled the name over his tongue, committing it to memory. "You were watching me? I didn't...I didn't even see you at all." That troubled him for some reason. He should have known there was someone else there.

He hadn't been able to see his own back, just the wavering reflection of his pale gold wings in the water of the stream. Lance's fascinated him; the strange bulge of muscle where there should have been flat bone, the raw shaft, the small new feathers, cream colored under the pink. He reached out again, and only just managed to catch his hand back before he could touch.

"Why me?" asked Lance, and though his face was hidden, Nick thought that maybe he was weeping. "We ... my parents brought me and my sister here after the war. They said we would be safe here, that no one would hurt us. But they were wrong! What have they made me, Nick? What have they made *us*?"

Nick didn't know how to answer that. He didn't even know. He could only hope that when all was said and done, he would be the same person on the inside as he always had been, if a little harder. A little sharper. A lot less trusting.

"It's because you're beautiful," he said, the irony making his words edged. But he was sharing everything he knew. "They told me it was an honor, because only the most beautiful were chosen. But I don't know. You are, though." He'd had a lot of time to think about this, quiet in his head, listening to the others over the wall. "They...they gave us...we're still us." He *had* to believe that. "We're still who we were, Lance. They can't take that away, they just...they just changed our bodies, a little. They told me I was an angel now, but I'm still me, on the inside. Just Nick, not an angel at all." He didn't feel very angelic. But he wanted Lance to stop weeping.

"You are, though," said Lance, and when he lifted his head, his eyes were dry after all. "An angel. You don't have to look like one to be one, my mother taught me that. Them doing this, it's ... desecration. Of a body that was whole and holy the way it was." He closed his eyes for a moment, but already he was looking stronger. "Do you know if blackenroot grows here? It dulls pain. Since they've given us nothing else that will do the job."

Nick snorted mildly. "That's blasphemy," he said, not wanting to contradict Lance's mother, but remembering his own lessons. "Angels are supreme beings, not earthwalkers like us. Our bodies are pale imitations of them, not holy." He wondered where Lance had come from, to get these strange ideas. Stars as souls, indeed.

Distracted, he glanced around, and shrugged, the tiny gesture he'd learned in his first few days here. "I don't know what blackenroot is. But this is a garden, so I suppose all sorts of things might grow here. Does this root really dull pain?"

"My mother always used it back home," said Lance. "She made medicines for our town, before they threatened her with torture if she continued." He didn't say anything else about Nick being an angel, but he didn't recant either. "It grows with pale yellow flowers. Along riverbanks, but sometimes in meadows, too. Have you seen it?"

"There are yellow flowers over there." Nick waved a vague hand towards the river. "She was making medicines without a license? That's dangerous, you know. Well, you know now, clearly." He sighed, and stood carefully, unwilling to make any sudden movements. He remembered the pain that Lance must be feeling, a blurry memory of agony, and thought that if he'd known a way to ease it, he'd have taken it too. "If you tell me what to look for, I'll go see. You should sit still, or bathe in the river, if you can. The cool water helps."

"She made medicines that *worked*," snapped Lance. "Not like the things they make people use now. My family's been doing it for generations; she's teaching my sister now." He struggled to get to his feet and made it through sheer will. "Show me where these flowers are? If you're willing to take the risk of 'unlicensed medicine', I'll make some for both of us. If I can." He didn't look like he could do much of anything right then, not before he started to heal, but if he could get things done just on determination, Nick was sure he would.

He looked at Lance, standing and swaying like a stiff breeze would topple him over onto the grass, and shook his head. "It's this way." Lance's body was bare, of course; nothing fit over the wings, and Nick had almost forgotten what shirts felt like on his skin. His pants were soft and loose, hanging off his hips, and stained green at the knees from his first collapse. Nick couldn't stop looking at him. Another person, here with him, it was almost too much to handle. "I don't mind so much about the license," he explained softly, holding out his arm in a silent offer of support. "I just...I hope it works, is all. I remember the first days too."

"How did you survive?" asked Lance, and it took Nick a moment to realize he wasn't being rhetorical. "I'm ... this is a nightmare. What am I going to do? I just don't know. I just ... I have to keep going. I have to keep going." He was putting one foot in front of the other and he was moving, slowly and carefully, heading for the stream. It was a few steps before he took Nick's offered arm. "Keep going, keep going." Nick wasn't even sure Lance was talking to him anymore, until he asked again. "How did you do it?"

"I don't really remember," Nick confessed, a laugh that was nothing humorous startled out of him by the realization that he was telling the truth. "I just endured, I think, until finally it got a little better, one day. And then a little better. I spent a whole day in the water, I fell in and couldn't get out, and it helped a lot. After that day, I remember better. Just...move really slowly, and don't lift anything heavy." Lance's hand was smooth and soft on his arm, hot as if he was fevered, and it clutched and relaxed with every step. "I'll help you if I can."

"Do they ever come to see how you're doing?" he asked as they slowly made their way. It wasn't far, but far enough. "Do they ever come and look at what they've done? Or are they too afraid that the gods will strike them down if they do?" He was interrupted by a sound, a wail from over the wall. "Who is that?" he asked. "Who are the others?"

"That's The Crier," Nick sighed, saddened always by the sound. "He's...there are others here. They're away, over the walls, I've never seen them. But I can hear them. I think maybe they're a little crazy, though; one laughs all the time but it's not happy, one sings children's' songs, one shouts until he's quieted. They don't talk to me. I haven't talked to anyone since I got here." He helped Lance over a small rise by the stream bank. "They come. They poke and frown, and tell me things, and bring food every day. I don't think they're worrying about the gods very much. They tell me that this is holy, that they're making us like angels, perfect beings. For people to see so that they'll have hope. I think they expect me to be *grateful*." He couldn't keep the bafflement out of his voice at that last.

"Don't let them make you grateful," said Lance with such for that there had to be something behind it, something besides what was going on right then, with them. "The others, do you know their names?" Instead of heading for the stream, he started toward the sound of The Crier, and Nick saw the look of determination on his face again. He was clearly in pain every time he moved his upper body, but he kept going. "How many are there?"

"I--I don't know. I don't know their names or anything about them." Nick, startled, had to jog a step to catch up with Lance, and reached for his arm. "Lance...they don't...I don't think we're supposed to talk to each other." He was long inches taller than Lance, and broader all over, but he tagged along in Lance's wake, intimidated by the resolve so clear on his face. "Don't you want to get some of that root stuff? And the water, the cool water. It'll feel good. Lance?"

"This is more important," said Lance, but it clearly hurt so much his eyes were involuntarily tearing up. "I don't care if we're supposed to talk to them or not. He's crying, Nick, you can hear him. He needs somebody." He tripped over an exposed root and tried to catch himself, but the swift motion was too much for his healing flesh and he cried out and a fresh trickle of blood started down his bad. "I'll be okay," he gasped out. "I just need a minute." But he was looking lonely and scared again and Nick remembered this look from when Lance had first appeared.

"Shhh," he crooned instinctively, just as he had when Aaron had fallen out of a tree and scraped all the skin off his arm. "Rest a moment, it'll pass." He stepped closer, lending his support and taking much of Lance's weight onto himself when Lance swayed. "Come on, back to the stream. You can't help him if you're falling over from pain." He caught Lance's gorgeous eyes and smiled sadly. "Believe me, he'll still be there when you're feeling better. He's been there all along."

"How long is all along?" asked Lance, letting Nick lead him toward the stream this time. "Will I be here forever? As soon as I mix some blackenroot, then we'll go talk to him. He may know things we don't, Nick. He may need us, too. He may be ... be afraid, like me. But you ... you're not afraid. You're brave." Brave was the last thing Nick thought he was.

"No, I'm just tired," Nick confessed frankly, and it was true. Being scared all the time was exhausting, and he'd eventually gone numb. "I've been here...I don't know how long, exactly. Probably a month? And...they told me I'd be let go, when I was perfect and ready to be seen. I don't know what that means, but they won't tell me. I guess they'll probably do the same thing with you, too." He eased Lance down to a seat on the grass, close enough to touch the water if he wanted. "I don't know if he talks, you know. All he's ever done is cry."

"He probably doesn't know if you talk, either, if you've never talked to him," said Lance, too reasonably. "Maybe he doesn't even know you exist, if you don't cry like him. I've heard the others, too, but it's ... it's all jumbled up in my head. Yesterday is all jumbled up in my head, i don't remember most of it, Just pain, and heat, and weight on my back, and following you." He reached out for the water and dragged his fingers through it, and winced. "Can you ... water? On my back? I feel ... unclean."

Nick cupped a handful of cool water and lifted it to Lance's shoulder, letting it trickle down his back. "You're not unclean," he said fiercely. "You're not. You're just...you're bleeding, is all, you're just hurt. There's nothing wrong with you." He concentrated hard on the water, lifting and pouring, to distract him from the prickle behind his eyes. He hadn't cried in front of *them*, he'd never made a sound, and he wasn't going to start now. "They must know we're here now," he mused. "I bet they can hear us talking, now. Some of them, anyway, if they're close. I think the Laugher is a little farther away, but the Crier is close."

"He's still crying," said Lance, and he was, just as loud as ever. "He probably can't hear us over his cries. We're quiet and our space is large." If anything, Lance was being the brave one here, despite the fact that he was so obviously hurting outside and in. "They've changed me, Nick. Us. I don't know how to live with that, yet. I understand why The Crier cries. It's all too much. It's like ... they've taken away a bit of what makes me me. And they had no right ... no right. My parents thought we would be safe here ... "

"You're not safe anywhere," Nick said, maybe too brutally, but any illusions he'd had had been burned out of him by long painful hours spent utterly alone. "And the crying isn't doing him any good that I can see. He cries for hours, until it slowly gets quieter and quieter, and I suppose he falls asleep. The Shouter draws unpleasant attention to himself. It's better to be quiet and not create trouble, I think." He poured more water, watching the blood wash away, leaving Lance's skin clean in the starlight. "They've only taken away as much as you let them take."

Lance's expression tightened and he nodded, as though Nick was reminding him of something he already knew. "Those flowers, there?" he said, and pointed carefully. "Those are them. Pick them and you'll see that they have thick roots. I should make them into a tea, but i can't, so we just have to eat them. They won't be bad, if we wash them off in the stream." Then he winced and hunched over and let Nick stream more water of his back. It seemed to be helping.

Nick let the last handful of water trickle between his fingers, then got carefully to his feet, leaving Lance crouched on the ground like an old man in pain. "If you're sure," he said dubiously, pulling some of the flowers up entirely. The roots were thick and black, and caked with earth, and Nick wrinkled his nose as he dipped them in the stream, washing them clean.

"Here you go." He was still less than enthusiastic, as he offered the roots to Lance, but Lance reached for them with hands trembling with eagerness. "If you die from poison, I'll be very upset," he warned as an afterthought, letting Lance have the entire handful.

"If I die, it won't be from these," said Lance, and took a bite, and the snap and crunch the root made in his mouth made Nick cringe. Lance, too, was making a face as he slowly chewed it. "It's better in tea," he mumbled out after he swallowed, which certainly didn't encourage Nick to give them a try. "They're bitter, but they work." And already -- though Nick was sure it was too soon for them to be working -- Lance was sitting up a little straighter.

"That looks disgusting." Lance grimaced in response, but kept chewing doggedly. "I sure hope it's worth it. Though, anything that made that pain stop...I guess it would be." He rolled his shoulders, testing his own pain, and winced. It got better every day, but never really faded entirely. Nick was beginning to wonder if it ever would. "Lance...where have you been sleeping?" It was still troubling him that Lance had managed to escape his notice for two whole days.

Lance swallowed again before answering, and it looked like that was all he could take for the moment; he stashed the rest of the roots by the stream, just far enough above the waterline that they wouldn't wash away, even though there was plenty more. "Over there," he said, pointing towards a thick bush that looked thorny. "Behind it, there's some soft grasses. It was fine." Nick never went near the thorny bushes if he could help it, which might explain at least partly why he hadn't noticed. But Lance had to have been moving around.

"Didn't your wings catch in the thorns?" That was why *he* stayed away from the bushes, anyway. It was too hard to remember how much extra space he needed now, and he was always bumping them painfully against things. "I hope you slept on your stomach," he added helpfully. That had been an important lesson for him to learn, at least.

He picked up one of the roots and stared at it in distaste. But his shoulders ached and burned, his back strained all the way down to his hips. "Is it working?"

Lance nodded, and when he flexed his shoulders and only winced, didn't collapse in pain, Nick *knew* it had to be working. "It makes the pain feel far away," he murmured, and relaxed his muscles again. There was a little trickle of blood from the base of one of his wings, but nothing bad. "I couldn't bear to sleep on my back. I didn't know ... about the wings, before. I didn't know what they'd done to me, and I only caught glimpses of you. It's ... there's a big space, behind the bush. It was comfortable, but it gets colder at night."

"You were back there the whole time? You should have called to me, I'd have helped you into the sleeping room, at least at night." Nick looked at him incredulously. Granted, he hadn't moved around much, as far as he could remember, in his first days, but he hadn't been able to sit still through the pain, either. He touched Lance's shoulder gently, turning him so he could get a better look at the scars. "And you didn't see my wings and guess? They're pretty big, now, I can't believe you could have missed them." He spread them again involuntarily as he bent down to get more water, and before he could think better of it, popped one of the roots in his mouth. Bitter, earthy, barky taste with a sharp sour aftertaste. No wonder Lance hadn't finished them.

"I couldn't see what they were," said Lance. "I just knew they'd done something to you, too. But ... but it didn't look awful. I didn't want you to see me, how they disfigured me. I didn't want anyone to see me." Another wail from the Crier interrupted him and he looked toward the wall; he could even turn his torso now, which he hadn't been able to before without moving his entire body. "Do you think they've done the same to him?"

"I don't know. This, or something similar, I guess. Who knows, though? Maybe they gave him a dog's head, and that's why he makes such a noise all the time." Nick sighed at himself as soon as he'd said it, knowing it was petty and mean. "No, I don't know. You're not disfigured, Lance. Your wings...they're little now, and you're in pain, I know. But you're beautiful. Like an angel." He took another small bite of the root, wondering if it was just his imagination or if the pain really was easing. "If you're feeling better, you should bathe in the stream. It will quiet the burn."

"Wings don't make an angel," muttered Lance, but for the first time he managed to stretch out his fledgling wings to their full length, little as it was. Nick hated to admit it, but they *would* be beautiful when they were grown. Just like his. "I can bathe in the stream later; we need to go talk to him now. He sounds so afraid. Had he been here a long time? As long as you have?"

Nick glanced around nervously. Talking to Lance was one thing; Lance had been put in with him, surely their keepers had to expect that they'd talk. But communicating with one of the others?

"He's...not quite as long as I have, I don't think. It's hard to remember, but I think I heard him the first time about a week after I arrived. The shouter, though...he was here before me. That was one of the first things I heard when I woke up here. It was terrifying." He stretched, and yes, the pain was definitely less. "I know he's afraid, but Lance...are you sure we should talk to him? He might, I don't, what if he's dangerous?"

"If he's dangerous, it doesn't matter," said Lance, stretching as much as he could when he stood up. "There's a wall between us, and we'll only be talking. But do you think he's dangerous? I think he's just like me ... like us. Alone and scared and no one to talk to. It took me two days to talk to you; I won't let it take that long this time." He glanced at the wall again, and was obviously waiting for Nick to join him. To help him. "We must be brave."

"I don't see why," Nick grumbled quietly, slowly walking to Lance's side. "Being brave or not-brave doesn't seem to make any difference. We're still prisoners, we've still been changed." He sighed, though, and touched the wall. He thought he could probably almost reach the top if he jumped, and if he had full use of his arms again, but now it was as out of reach as the moon.

"Hello," he said, more loudly than he'd spoken yet, before Lance could respond to his grumping. "Hello? Person who's crying? Over here."

"Nick!" said Lance sharply, but he looked more surprised than mad. Nick didn't know why; wasn't that what they were there to do? Talk to him? "Hello?" Lance echoed him, pressing one hand against the wall. "Hello, are you okay over there?"

The cries suddenly stopped, and they could hear loud sniffling from over the wall. He had to be very close, for them to be able to hear that. "People?" they heard finally, a soft, shaky voice. "There are people there?"

Nick rolled his eyes at Lance. "Maybe they took his ears off," he whispered. "If he hasn't heard the Shouter, he's got to be deaf." He raised his voice again, though, so the person could hear him, and didn't share his thoughts on deafness.

"Hi, yes. There are two of us, we're Lance and Nick." He was just grateful that that awful sobbing had stopped. "Are you okay? Are you alone? Are you hurt?" Not that there was anything Nick could do about it if he WAS.

"Y-yes," he said, but Nick couldn't tell *which* question that was supposed to answer. "You're people? I thought there was no one over there. There was noise at first, and then I thought you died." Died? That hadn't occurred to Nick. The first few days he was there were a blur; he wondered if he'd been loud, too.

"Hi," said Lance. "Hi, I'm Lance. No one's dead here, I promise. Nick is quiet." He glanced at Nick. "Um, normally. What's your name? Did they hurt you too?"

There was another sniffle, a little quieter this time. "J-JC," he said softly. "I'm...they did something to me. I...can't tell what it is, though. Just...hot..." His voice trailed off into silence.

"Hot on your back?" Nick wanted to know. "If you reach back, can you feel feathers? Maybe you've got wings, like us." He caught Lance's surprised look, and shrugged. They'd never know if they didn't ask. And he was feeling a little bad for making this JC person think he was dead.

"You have wings?" said the Crier, JC, and he sounded awed. "I don't have wings, it's not my back. I'd rather have wings than this. I wish I could see them." Nick really doubted that, if he could see the reality of Lance's back, which was still oozing blood.

"They hurt," said Lance, and Nick wasn't sure it was loud enough to be heard over the wall. "They hurt more than you think. But it'll be okay, JC, we'll all be okay. We're still alive." How the hell were they going to be okay, Nick wanted to know.

Some of his disbelief must have shown on his face, because Lance gave him a firm nod. Well, Lance could nod all he wanted, Nick had been here a lot longer and he knew that there was no way out.

"They hurt?" JC sounded confused. "Oh, but they must be so beautiful. Wings." He sighed wistfully. Nick started to be very curious about what this person must look like. "I have...I don't know. It's my head, it's hot. I'm sure it's hideous, not like pretty wings at all, and it *hurts*. It hurts my head."

"Is that why you cry all the time?" Nick poked a finger at the wall, wishing he could make it disappear.

"Nick!" said Lance again, but Nick ignored him. Lance didn't know anything yet. Well, except how to hide from him and how to make the pain go away and how to make the Crier stop crying. "JC, I'm sure it won't be hideous," he said. "Are you alone in there?"

"Alone," said JC, and sniffled again. "Alone and it hurts and I just want to go home. I don't understand any of this." Well, that was nothing new. None of them did, not really. Nick only knew what they had told him.

"We all want to go home," he sighed. "Lance, do you think the roots would help him? We could throw him some." He spread his wings experimentally, and was shocked when there was only a dull aching pull, no real pain. He stretched them wide, still uncomfortable with the way the new muscles moved, and then swept them down hard, an actual wingbeat that created a breeze strong enough to blow Lance's hair back a little, and his green eyes widened in astonishment. It felt...good. "JC. JC? We have something that can help the hurting. If you want."

"What?" JC suddenly sounded suspicious. "What helps? Nothing helps. Even when I'm sleeping, it hurts in my dreams. Who *are* you? How do I know I can trust you?"

"We're people they took, too," said Lance, finally recovering himself enough to nod at Nick. "They hurt us, too, JC, they changed us. My mother ... she makes medicines, so I know what some of the plants do. There's a flower that grows here, the roots will make the pain go away if you eat them. They taste awful, but they work. We'll throw you some, over the wall, look out for them."

"How do I know you're not trying to poison me? You've never talked to me before."

He was right, he had no way of knowing. "Would poison be worse than what you're feeling already?" said Lance, and Nick winced.

"It's a terrible sin to take poison," JC answered instantly, his voice low and shocked. "I'll never meet the angels if I do that. That would be worse than this, definitely. At least now I'm still alive."

Nick sighed, frustrated. "It would help if we could just see you," he mused. "Then you could see that we're just like you. We wouldn't give you poison, JC, never. And...you said I was loud when I was first here?" He was very glad that was all a blur to him now. "Lance just got here, he'd be as loud as I was, only he ate some of the root, and he's walking around as easy as can be." He nodded an apology for the exaggeration to Lance, who was clearly still hurting, if not as much. "If my wings worked, I could show you. But you'll have to trust us. Or build a ladder."

"We'd have to cut down trees to build a ladder," said JC, "and we have nothing sharp. Or I don't. Do ... are you sure it's not poison?"

"It's not poison," said Lance gently. "It's medicine. It'll make the hurt less, I promise. Once you see what it looks like, you might find you have some growing where you are, too. Do you have a garden where you are, too? With a stream and trees and flowers and bushes and grass?"

Nick was already tuning them out and thinking about the whole ladder thing. He couldn't build one, no, but there was enough debris around their courtyard that if he piled it up by the wall, he could prop himself higher. And when Lance was stronger ... when he was able, one of them could hoist the other over, too. It was starting to seem possible. Only he didn't know how closely they were being watched, or what they were allowed to do, and the thing that silenced the Shouter still scared him.

"Nick?" said Lance, interrupting his thoughts. "Nick, throw them over to him."

"Huh?" Nick snapped back to attention. "Oh, okay." He trotted back to the stream and scooped up the remaining roots, saving one for himself, and in an easy heave, tossed the rest over the wall. There was a scrambling sound from the other side, and Nick wondered if he'd hit JC.

"So far so good," he muttered nervously to Lance, glancing around him warily. "They haven't stopped us, I mean. Maybe they don't care, after all." They were still being quiet, anyway, not disruptive like the Shouter always was. "Maybe we can-" his thoughts on getting over the wall were interrupted by JC's voice, suddenly stronger.

"That tastes *awful*." He sounded completely appalled. "Ack!" Little spitting sounds followed.

"I know it's awful, but swallow it anyway," said Lance encouragingly. "I'd make it into tea, but I can't boil water and tea is harder to throw anyway. Just eat a little bit more, JC, you need to trust me." Nick didn't know why JC should trust them, but he hoped he did. He trusted them enough to take the first bite, at least.

"It's poison," insisted JC.

"It's not," said Lance urgently. "I ate it myself. How else would I know how it tastes? And it helps." Watching how carefully Lance moved, though, Nick wished it helped a little more.

Thoughtful silence from the other side of the wall was followed by a resigned sigh. "If it's poison, you're sinning too," he reminded them, and then was silent again, apart from small disgusted noises as Nick assumed he chewed the rest of the root. In silent solidarity, Nick popped his in his mouth too, screwing up his face against the taste.

"I'm eating one too, just so you know," he called. "It tastes like dirt, foul dirt that pigs have been living in. But it really does help." He turned to Lance, then, worried at the strained look around his eyes, at the way blood was starting to trickle down his back again. "There," he said quietly. "We've helped. Now you need to go bathe your back, and eat more of this disgusting stuff, before you fall down. I can't carry you, not right now."

"We can't leave him now," whispered Lance, but he looked like he knew Nick was right. He was starting to feel it again. "Okay, JC?" he said, taking a step away from the wall. Nick hadn't really realized he'd been using it to hold himself upright. "JC, I need to go for a little bit. I'm bleeding, I need to let Nick help me take care of it."

"No!" said JC. "You can't leave me now you can't leave me alone no please don't ..."

"JC," said Lance. "JC, we'll come back. We'll come back as soon as we can. Or ... or Nick can just talk loud, so you can hear."

"Believe me," Nick added dryly, moving to take Lance's arm. "We wouldn't be going anywhere even if we wanted to. We've got walls just like you do, we're going to be right here. We're not leaving you alone." He leaned over and whispered in Lance's ear. "I can't talk loud! That'll just bring attention. He'll be okay."

"Come back," JC pleaded, his voice hoarse and low, and Nick could hear the beginning of tears there again.

"Don't cry," Nick pleaded, sure his nerves would snap if JC started making those terrible sounds again. "Don't, we'll come back, or I will, just as soon as Lance is resting. Okay? Just...meditate, or something. Let the medicine help you. It's helping, right?"

"It's ... maybe a little," JC admitted, and he sounded surprised. "Yes. It helps. Thank you. I'm glad you weren't dead after all." His voice still had a hysterical edge to it, though, and Nick wasn't convinced he wasn't about to start up again.

Lance was lowering himself right into the cool stream, and he didn't look like he needed any help, so Nick let his thoughts drift back to the wall again. It wasn't so high that he couldn't find a way over; just high enough that he couldn't pull himself over it, and flat enough that he couldn't climb it. But there would be a way, and for the first time he'd come here, he had a goal other than just to survive.

He kept half an eye on Lance to be sure his head was still above water, and started poking around, looking for branches and rocks that he could pile at the foot of the wall. He found a nice big branch just as the sound of tears drifted over the wall, and he hurried back, bringing his find with him.

"JC!" The sobs softened, but didn't stop. "JC, are there branches and things over there? Rocks on the ground? I'm trying..." he didn't say it out loud, afraid that somehow *they* would hear him, but he needed to know that he wouldn't be stuck on the other side if he DID make it over. "JC, look around and tell me what you see. Come on, stop crying."

JC's sobs became sniffles again. "I don't know," he said, and Nick actually heard him moving around. "I don't have big trees here, just bushes. But there are a lot of rocks, everywhere, big and small. Lots of them. I sit on one of them a lot, by the stream. I sit and look." That was more than Nick needed to know, but he was relieved to hear about the rocks, even if it left him wondering what JC's courtyard looked like, compared to his own.

"Rocks? Okay, that's really good. Just...stay there, okay? For a minute? I need to check on Lance. And then we'll see about something. Can you move any of the big rocks?" He figured if JC was occupied trying to lift rocks, he wouldn't be crying. Without any further warning, he slipped back to Lance's side.

"I can try," JC's voice came faintly over the wall, as Nick crouched by Lance's side. His eyes were closed, his whole body floating in the deepest part of the stream. His wings, barely two feet long, were pure cream now, washed clean of blood, and his back was finally clean. Nick touched the cool wet skin of his shoulder carefully.

"Are you okay?"

Lance's eyes flew open, startled, and he almost started to sink for a moment before regaining his balance. "I'm better," he said, taking deep, calming breaths. "The water is wonderful. I ... I didn't look, though. At myself. I couldn't. Turn around?" Nick didn't know what he meant for a moment, then turned around slowly so Lance could see him.

"I can roll the rocks," came JC's voice over the wall, and there was no shake in his voice this time.

"It's not so bad," murmured Lance. "You look beautiful. But even if you didn't, I'd still think you were, Nick. Are you going over?"

"I don't know." Nick turned back around slowly, reaching behind him to scratch at itchy healing skin. "Maybe. Not unless you think it's a good idea, though, and not till you're feeling better. It's just an idea, anyway. Maybe we should get JC to come over *here*, he doesn't sound too hurt, except his headache." He crouched down again, touching Lance's hand where he was propped against the bank. "You should look at yourself, you know. You're very beautiful too. Your wings are cream-colored, now that they're clean. They're very small still, but so pretty, even though your back looks like hell. Does it still hurt a lot?"

"Not so much," said Lance, but it obviously did. "I'll eat some more blackenroot soon; it's not good to have too much at once, it can upset your stomach." As far as Nick was concerned, even just a little bit upset your stomach, but he didn't say so. "If you go, just make sure you come back," Lance added softly.

Nick was sure, though, that having JC come over to their side was the best idea, even though he was itching to see something other than his own enclosure. If he could convince JC to do it.

"It'll be easier if he comes here," he insisted stubbornly. "For one thing, he'll get to meet you, too. For another thing, it'll be easier to get him back to his own side, with two of us helping. I'm gonna...I'm gonna go try to talk him into it. Don't worry. I won't leave you here by yourself." He stroked Lance's skin once, unable to help himself, and then stood quickly and went back to the wall. He didn't know much about JC yet, but he figured asking him straight out would probably just make him freak.

"JC, good, you're rolling the rocks," he said encouragingly. "Can you make a big pile by the wall? Big enough for you to stand on and see over the wall?"

"Way ahead of you," said JC, and Nick heard him grunt and the sound of rocks falling against one another. "I figured you out. Watch for me, Nick." Even with everything else that had happened that day, this might have been the most startling thing. That once he managed to get JC to stop crying, he would be so effective. He wished he'd tried it a long time ago, but then realized that it might not have worked a long time ago. That now was the time they were all ready for it. "It's almost high enough now, I just need a couple more minutes, I think."

"Okay," Nick called back softly. "Let me know when you're ready, I'll wait for you." He scrambled back to Lance's side, vibrating with excitement.

"Lance, Lance! He's coming over, he's piling rocks right now, he's almost done. Do you want to come see or should we come here to you when he's over? Lance." His voice dropped apprehensively. "What if he IS hideous?" After an entire month alone, he was suddenly on overload, interacting with not one but two people. Intense nervousness was making his wingfeathers shiver. "What if he thinks *I* am?"

"It doesn't matter," said Lance, and reached out his arm for Nick to help him up. "And he won't. I didn't." But Lance had had the same thing done to him; it was different. "I want to eat some more blackenroot, can you pull me some more? Please?"

Nick could hear the comforting yet terrifying sound of JC piling rocks on the other side of the wall as he searched for more of the little flowers. Then suddenly there was a gasp.

"Oh, oh, it's beautiful here, everything's so alive." Slowly, Nick turned his head to look back at the wall.

At first, blinking, he thought JC had managed to make a torch to light his way in the increasing darkness of the light. At least, that was all his dark-adjusted eyes could see, a flare of dancing flame that cast only a pale light over the stones of the wall. Then his eyes slowly came into focus again, and he forgot to breathe.

"JC," he whispered, his heart breaking from the sadness and the beauty. He dropped the roots he'd found by Lance's side, and walked slowly towards the wall. JC's hair, live flames that licked around his head and curled down his neck, sparking and flaring when he moved, was enough of a guide. He was so tense that his wings snapped open, pulled tight by muscles he couldn't entirely control, and he reached up a hand, offering to help JC come down the other side.

As much as he was mesmerized by the silent flames framing JC's face, JC was still staring in awe at him. "Oh," he said softly. "Oh, you're so beautiful." It took him a long moment before he climbed atop the wall and took Nick's hand to help him down again. He winced when he caught sight of Nick's face. "Is it so terrible, what they've done to me? I can feel it but I've never been able to see."

"No," Nick whispered, unable to look away, but wincing a little as JC got closer and Nick began to feel the heat of the flames. "No, JC, you're incredibly beautiful." He stepped quickly out of the way as JC dropped to the grass, giving him room to adjust, to look around. The flames swayed with him as he moved, lighting the sharp blades of his cheekbones, his full soft mouth and straight nose, long-lashed eyes. He was the most beautiful man Nick had ever seen, and would have been so without the fiery hair. Nick felt the anger in his gut grow.

"Your hair," he explained, when JC remained silent, staring around him in wonder. "It's fire. Flames. They're beautiful, but very hot. Come, we have to show Lance."

JC reached out to touch his hair and Nick tried to stop him but he didn't need to; if JC was going to burn himself on his hair, he would've done it a long time ago. "I knew it was something like that," he said, and sighed. "I knew my hair looked strange in my reflection, but I couldn't tell. It must be terrible, not beautiful." It was both.

"JC," said Lance, and carefully walked toward them. "Oh, JC." His wings were extended, which Nick knew must have been painful for him, but not as painful as looking at JC, from the look on his face.

"Don't touch," Nick murmured in warning, but Lance wasn't paying attention, and didn't look like he'd try to touch anyway. He stepped close to JC, looking at him carefully, his face wondering and sad.

"It's awful, isn't it," JC whispered brokenly, and tears started to spill from his eyes, shining red and gold on his cheeks in the light from his hair. "They've made me a monster, I knew it."

"No!" Nick almost stamped his foot, startling all three of them with the force of his voice. "No, you're not a monster! No more than me or Lance. You're just different, is all..." he trailed off, unable to articulate everything he was feeling.

"No," said Lance, his deep voice softer than Nick's, as always. "You're not a monster, you're beautiful. I'm just sorry. Sorry you had to go through this too." He reached for JC's hair, but only got as close as he could bear, which wasn't close enough to touch JC's face. And then instead, he took JC's hand. "It'll be okay."

"How?" asked JC, though his tears, and Lance apparently didn't have an answer for that.

"We'll make it okay," Nick said, unexpectedly determined that it would be so. "We have each other now, and we know there are others. Though they might be crazy, I don't know." He looked at Lance and his wings, holding the hand of JC, whose hair was almost too bright to stare at directly, and flexed his *own* wings. "We can't change these things, and we weren't asked, but we're still...we're still us. I'm still Nick who likes to go fishing and play with my little sisters and brother. And we're stuck here, they've got us trapped. But at least we're still us."

"There are no fish in the stream," said JC, which made almost no sense. And he seemed to realize that too, because a moment later he was actually smiling. "I'm still me," he murmured, and he didn't sound convinced, but it was a start.

"You can see the stars now," said Lance, looking up at the sky, the flames from JC's hair making his wings glow a beautiful reddish-orange. "When I was little, I used to say that one there?" He pointed at the sky. "That it was my grandfather. He died in the war." He dropped JC's hand suddenly, like even his skin burned hot enough to be uncomfortable over time.

Nick snorted again at Lance's strange notions about stars, but kept it quiet enough that Lance couldn't hear. If Lance wanted to believe that star was his grandfather, it couldn't do any harm that Nick could see. JC was looking at Lance strangely, though.

"But what's he doing up there?" JC was clearly confused. "Did he do something terrible, to be kept away from the Hall of Angels? Oh, I'm sorry, Lance. That must have been so awful for your family."

"What's the Hall of Angels?" asked Lance, not looking disturbed at all, then looked at the sky again. "Up there, it's where all souls go when people die. They watch over us and try to keep us safe." His voice sounded so calm as he said that, as if he was reminded that everything would be okay if his grandfather was watching. "He never did anything terrible, he was a wonderful man, until they killed him."

"Lance isn't from around here," Nick explained to JC, who was staring at Lance like he'd grown another head, instead of a pair of wings. "He's got different customs than we do, he doesn't...his ancestors are stars, not at rest with the angels."

"Oh." JC seemed to turn this new information over in his mind, then shrugged, seemingly willing to accept this in light of all the other strangeness in his life. "Well, then, Lance, you should ask your grandfather to get us out of here. I want to go home."

Lance smiled a little bit and looked back at them again. "Everything in its time," he said calmly. "Look how far we've gotten already today. Maybe he *is* busy at work helping us out."

There was still so far to go, though. Nick could hear the voices of the others around him, the Shouter, especially, who had started up again. He hadn't heard the Singer in a couple days now, though; he hoped he was okay. He hoped they were all okay.

"Maybe," he sighed. He was willing to give credit wherever it was due; mere hours ago, he'd been trapped in isolated silence, and now he had Lance and JC. He looked around nervously, though. The Shouter always made him nervous, because Nick was always waiting for something to come and make him quiet, always tense until it happened and the noise went still. Now that he had something to lose, it was almost unbearable. He bounced on the balls of his feet, tense.

"I wish he'd be quiet," he grumbled, looking in that direction. "He's going to bring attention, and then they'll realize JC is gone, and we'll ALL get in trouble. Do you think if we..." Finally unable to tolerate it, he walked to the wall and slapped it with his hand. "SHUT UP!" he shouted. "JUST BE QUIET! YOU'RE NOT HELPING!"

JC looked at Lance. "I thought you said he was quiet."

"He was," said Lance, but it was JC who got close to him, put a hand on Nick's arm. Nick could feel the heat of him as he approached.

"Nick," said Lance urgently, as JC squeezed his arm, "Nick, shhh, or they'll come and look in on us." JC's touch, merely very warm at first, quickly became uncomfortably hot, and Nick drew away, smiling so JC would know it wasn't meant cruelly.

It worked, though; the Shouter stopped and suddenly everything felt entirely quiet. No sound at all came from any of them, anywhere. Nick almost preferred the shouting to the silence; he now knew why JC might have thought him dead, with a silence so profound.

"Who said that?" they heard suddenly. "Who is that? WHO ARE YOU?"

"Shh," JC called, in what Nick could only label a whisper-shout. "Quiet, quiet, or you'll get us all in trouble. Just shh, it'll be okay. I'm JC."

"Sorry," Nick muttered to Lance, shaking his head at himself. "I'm sorry, I just...I've been listening to him for a really long time, and I guess I finally just woke up or something." That's what it felt like; Nick had woken up from the silent trance he'd been existing in for so long. He wondered how many others there were, close to them, listening to all this happen, maybe waking up themselves. He hoped they would, anyway.

"Who are you, JC?" he asked, and it wasn't quiet but it was only a slightly-raised speaking voice, which was a step in the right direction. "Who are you? What are you doing here? What am *I* doing here"

"It's okay," Lance whispered to him, grasping Nick's arm where JC had let go and holding it gently. "I understand. I feel like ... I'm too busy to be scared now. And that's good. Except ... oh Nick ... it hurts so much. When does it stop hurting?"

"Lance," Nick turned to him instantly, letting JC handle the Shouter, who wasn't shouting any more anyway. He clouldn't believe he'd forgotten Lance's pain, and bit his lip as he reached for him, touching his waist and shoulder gently, offering support. "You should be resting, you shouldn't be standing up right now. I am so sorry I forgot. It...it should stop hurting so much soon." He eased Lance down to a seat on the grass, ignoring his protests.

"Chris," JC was saying, smiling a little. "Hello. We're JC and Lance and Nick, over here, and I was alone, only they talked to me and I climbed over the wall. And...and we're different. They changed us."

"Change?" said the Shouter -- what had Lance called him? -- and laughed bitterly. "You say it like they cut your hair. Change? Mutilation." His voice was rising again, and Nick winced. He was all too familiar with how hysterical the Shouter got.

"I'm okay, Nick," Lance was saying to him. "Really, it's better, knowing we're doing something." Which didn't change the fact that the pain was still there; it didn't just go away because you wished it did. Nick knew that all too well. "There are four of us now, and there are more out there. I'm still--" Suddenly Nick saw the fear on his face again, but only for a moment. "Why us, Nick?"

Nick shrugged helplessly, and brushed his fingers gently through Lance's hair, made suddenly sensitive to the movement since he knew he'd never be able to offer the same comfort to JC. He glanced over, and JC was backing away from the wall, looking frightened as the Shouter's voice rose.

"No, Chris," he said, his own voice trembling and thin. "Nick says we're not monsters, that I'm not. Even though we're different. They've got beautiful wings, him and Lance, and even if it's awful that it happened they're not awful because it did."

"That's right, JC," Nick agreed quietly, hoping the Shouter--Chris--didn't start making JC cry again. "Don't shout," he warned a little louder, still terrified of bringing down the attention of their keepers.

"Well how do I get over there, then?" demanded Chris. "The walls are too high and I'm a short bastard. Or can you fly over here with those wings of yours? Huh? Can you?"

"No," said Lance quietly, struggling to his feet again and moving toward the wall, taking JC's place. "No, they're just ... there. JC piled rocks, and debris, and it got high enough to climb over. Do you have rocks?"

"Do I have *rocks*?" said Chris. "I got nothing *but* rocks in one corner, but it's nowhere near here. You want me to pile my rocks? Are you serious?"

"Yes," said Lance firmly, holding his ground. "If you want to see us, you have to do it."

As he spoke to Chris, JC moved up close behind him, and Nick realized that he hadn't seen Lance's wounds and scars before, just the wings. "Oh, Lance," he said, and touched his back tentatively, and Lance flinched. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't!" Nick spoke for Lance when Lance didn't, and reached for JC's hand, pulling it to safe distance. "Don't touch him, not there. It's too raw, it hurts too much." JC nodded, wide-eyed, and stepped back carefully. "Lance, please sit down," Nick pleaded, tugging gently at his arm. "Come on. You can't fly over and get him, you need to rest."

A loud crunching sound came from across the wall, and then a satisfied grunt. "There, I'm piling rocks. It would be a lot easier with a little help, you know. I'm not even sure why the hell I'm doing this, you bunch don't seem to be any better off than I am."

"Yeah, but we're not alone," said JC, loudly. "We're not alone on this side."

Nick half thought that was going to set Chris off again and braced himself for it, but it just seemed to make him work faster. Or do something that involved a lot of rock noises, anyway. "You're probably all crazy," he went on after a few moments. "You're probably just luring me over the wall to chop me up into little pieces."

"Well, they didn't chop me up," JC offered him. "I don't think they have anything sharp, here?"

Nick helped Lance back to the ground and wished they were closer to the stream, the stream that he bet ran through all the enclosures. And if it ran through all the enclosures, then maybe the secret to getting around was to go under the wall, instead of over it. But he would need daylight to check that out.

"We're not crazy," he said absently, still thinking about the water and rubbing Lance's palm between his fingers. "Or, not any crazier than everyone else in here. Why on earth would we want to chop you up? What would be the point?"

"Crazy people don't need to have a point," Chris said, sounding almost patient. "That's why they're crazy." There was another loud thump, and a clatter that sounded like gravel, and Nick winced again. This guy couldn't do ANYTHING quietly. "That should just about do it," came the thoughtful voice from across the wall. "Now the real question is...do I want to see you? Do you want to see me?"

"Just don't yell when you see me," said JC, his hand reaching up toward his head self-consciously. "Don't be afraid of us, when you see us. You already know that Lance and Nick, they have these beautiful wings, cream and gold. It's dark; can you see well enough to get over?"

"Oh yeah," said Chris, and Nick could hear him grunting. "Believe me, I can see fine."

"Then let's do this," said Lance, letting Nick keep him down even though Nick could see in his eyes that he wanted to get up. "Come over here, Chris. Join us."

"Why are we encouraging him?" Nick whispered to Lance. "He's done nothing but shout and scream and cause trouble since I can remember, he's not a very peaceful person and you need to REST." Whatever else he was going to say was lost when he saw more light rising behind the wall. Another person like JC? He wondered, and then JC gasped.

"Oh, oh...Chris..." He fell back a step, his hand pressed to his mouth, and Nick was so busy staring he bore the heat of JC's nearness without complaint.

"*Fuck* this is high," Chris groaned, not looking up from the wall to see any of them yet, though they could see him.

"Does it hurt?" asked JC softly, and he was touching his own hair again, running his fingers through it like it wasn't made of flame. "Does it hurt awfully?"

"What do you think?" snapped Chris, still not looking at them. Maybe not wanting to meet their eyes. Maybe not able to.

"It always hurts," said Lance. "But we're all still here." His back was bleeding, and Nick wished he had some more blackenroot right there. At least with JC and Chris there, he though, he wouldn't have any trouble finding it in the dark. And then he hated himself for thinking it.

"Oh, that's very deep, wingboy," Chris said, sarcasm thick as syrup in his voice. "Yeah, we sure are here, all right. No place else to be, really, and hey, I hear the food's good. Fuck." He finally looked up in their direction, and Nick had to close his own eyes against the sight of flames leaping hectically where Chris's should have been. "I don't see fire burning *you* alive," he went on relentlessly, and Nick's eyes flashed back open. His wings snapped to full extension instantly, reacting to his tension, and he could feel his lips pulling back from his teeth.

"Watch it." He was almost growling, and he stepped between Lance and Chris. "You can't even IMAGINE the pain he's in right now, what it feels like to have agony like a hundred knives twisting into your back, all the time, so you hold your tongue around him."

"Do you *know* what it's like to be on fire?" Chris growled right back, then he caught sight of JC -- turned his head toward him anyway -- and backed down a little. The pain of Nick's and Lance's he might not have understood, but JC's he did. "All right, fine, you hurt, we get it. So what the hell do we do now?"

He crossed the wall and dropped to the ground near them, more dexterous than he looked.

"I don't know what we do now," admitted JC. "But four is better than one." And four, as far as Nick was concerned, was definitely better than two and a Crier and a Shouter, and way better than the one he was before.

"Now," he said, thinking out loud, "now we should talk about why we're here, what we know, I think. Because it's so strange, this...I've never heard of people being taken and changed like we have been. They told me that they took only the most beautiful, the most talented, but I'm not sure WHY. Is it something to do with the war?"

"I don't know," JC whispered, curling himself even smaller. "They told me they were blessing me, but I don't feel blessed." His hands touched his fiery hair again, obsessively, like if he pushed it back often enough it would suddenly become normal hair again. Nick wondered what color it had been, before. "They told me it was sinful and ungrateful to cry."

"They're never going to make me grateful for this!" Chris shouted before anyone could stop him. "Never. I didn't ask for it, I didn't want it, and it's not an honor. And no matter how many times they dope me up and shock me I'm never going to believe that."

"Is that what makes you stop shouting?" JC asked quietly. "You scare me sometimes."

"Good." said Chris. "I want to scare them, too. I want to get out of here!"

Just looking at Chris was kind of scary. He always looked angry, and probably always would, even when he was smiling, because of his eyes. He looked ... vengeful. Beautiful and vengeful and the perfect thing to make people believe and keep them in line. And Nick started to have an inkling about what was being done. But it couldn't be done without their cooperation.

"Well, does the dope make your eyes stop hurting?" Nick shrugged when everyone stared at him. "It's a legitimate question, you guys. I mean, Lance is about to fall over right now, he only got here two days ago. And if shouting gets him some good medicine, I don't see why we shouldn't give it a try."

"Did I mention the shocks?" Chris asked sarcastically. "Because I was almost sure I had. Believe me, it's not a good method of pain control."

"The poison roots work," JC interjected hesitantly. "For the first time, my head doesn't feel like it's going to explode any minute. I can think again, without crying." Nick wondered how upset their keepers would be to hear that.

"They're not poison," insisted Lance, finally speaking up again. Nick could hear the pain even in his voice, making it tremble. "They're medicine, I told you, my mother uses them. I wish it lasted a little longer, though." It was lasting just fine on Nick and JC, Lance just seemed to be burning through it -- and Nick winced at his choice of expression -- too fast.

"So what's so bad about wings, anyway?" asked Chris and grabbed at Lance's shoulder, and Lance cried out sharply.

"NO!" Nick grabbed Chris's arm and yanked him away, jarring Lance in the process and making him scream. There was a flurry of movement, complicated by wings and flames and Chris's loud voice, and when everything went still, Nick was on his knees at Lance's side, holding his hand and stroking his knee. "Don't touch him," he whispered again, startled to realize he was about to cry; maybe FOR Lance, whose face seemed to be locked and frozen in pain. "They tear your back apart, and put new things in, alien things that make just breathing agony and every step torture, that's what's bad about wings."

JC fretted on the edges of his vision, clearly unable to stand still, though he had shied away from the violence. "Does he need...can I bring water? Or more of the roots? Would that help? Lance, are you okay? Lance?"

Lance wasn't saying anything, just staying crumpled at Nick's side and breathing harshly. He could probably only think about the pain and breathing at the moment, which was how Nick had been. It was okay as long as you moved slowly and carefully, but the moment you were jarred it was torture. It was a testament to Lance's willpower -- or stubbornness, more like -- that he'd lasted even this long.

"Well, you should've just said," grumbled Chris, but he looked at least a little contrite. "So what are these damn poison roots, anyway?"

"I'll get some," said JC again. "I remember what they look like, I'll get some." And he backed further away from them, toward the stream. "It'll be okay, Lance ... "

"They're not poison, they're medicine," Nick repeated wearily, since Lance seemed to be unable to defend his roots himself. "They're...you chew them, and they taste awful, but the pain eases quickly. Soon, for me and JC anyway, it is almost ignorable. For him though...it's so fresh..." He shook his head and squeezed Lance's knee gently, offering silent support. "He needs to rest in the bed. For the first days I barely moved at all, and here he is walking around and meeting people. Only I don't think I can carry him myself, and you or JC would burn him to ashes."

"I got enough for Chris, too," JC offered quietly from behind Nick, making him jump. "It's easy to see them when you bring your own light with you on the search." And truly, JC and Chris were like torches, lighting a small area around themselves, casting strange shadows against the stone wall.

"I'm not eating any poison," insisted Chris. "Not until I see someone else eat it first."

Nick had no doubt he would be watching Lance eat it, who was already reaching for one of the roots. "Honest, they're better in tea," he said again, and took a deep breath that had to *hurt* even as it felt good. "I'll show you, someday."

"Yeah, because there aren't really any pots around here, are there," grumbled Chris. "So I have to eat this thing? What does it taste like?" Nick though he was probably better off not knowing, really.

"Awful and terrible and like poison," said JC candidly before anyone could stop him. "Not that I've eaten poison. But it works."

"It truly does," Nick agreed. "I didn't really believe him either, until I tried it for myself. Maybe if you hold your nose it'll taste better? My mother told me that about bittergreens when I didn't want to eat them..." He trailed off, feeling a shameful heat and prickle behind his eyes, and focused hard on Lance chewing doggedly at his root. "I wonder if they miss me..." It was almost a whisper, more to himself than anyone else.

"Of course they do," Chris's voice was unexpectedly kind. "I'm sure our families all miss us, and wonder where we've gone. MINE will be completely frantic. Though I'm a bit older than you are." His burning eyes seemed to look at each of them a moment, though it was so hard to tell. "You're all quite young. I wonder if everyone they've taken is? You have what, eighteen summers, Nick? And Lance and JC no more, surely."

"Twenty-two," JC corrected him. "Or I will, soon. I don't know about them. We haven't ... we've only all just met. I don't know what my family is thinking. Maybe ... the might've thought I ran away. I'd talked about it, sometimes, running away and going to the city and finding my way there. Only I never got my chance ... "

"I just didn't come home one day," whispered Lance, and Nick was relieved to note that he was starting to be able to sit up again, even though what Nick really wanted was to get him inside to lie down. "I went to my classes at the university and I just ... never came home. Oh, mama ... " And he sounded so sad.

"Shh," Nick whispered to him, gathering him into a hug as carefully as if Lance was made of spidersilk, mindful not to touch his back. "It will be all right, isn't that what you were saying? They can't keep us here forever, we'll have a chance to see them again, to explain, surely." An image of his brother screaming in fear at the sight of his wings flashed into his mind, and he pushed it firmly away. "You were in the university?" He thought the subject might distract Lance. "You must be brilliant, to be such a scholar. I was to be join my father running the farm next year, and marry the daughter of the dressmaker." He made a face at the memory of her. Perhaps there was some good, no matter how tiny, in all of this.

"High aspirations indeed," Chris said dryly, watching him hold Lance. "We're clearly from all walks of life, then, and different ages. I see no pattern in our abduction. It seems so senseless!" He started pacing quickly, slamming one fist into the palm of the other hand.

"He works in mysterious ways," said JC vaguely. "But I don't think He works like this. They're using us to their own ends, whatever those ends are." He said down and pressed his face to his knees and Nick was afraid he was about to start wailing again. Their whole situation with one another was so fragile now, it was like the slightest thing could upset it all.

"I'm not brilliant," argued Lance, which was exactly what all brilliant people said. "I just work hard. You were to be married, Nick? Did you love her?" Which had nothing to do with *anything*, really.

"Ugh, no," Nick replied instantly, screwing his face up in distaste. "She was a troll. Pretty, but nasty mean and she smelled funny. I hated her, really. It would have been a terrible match." He tugged gently at a stray lock of Lance's hair, pleased when even JC seemed to smile at his words. "But since I'm not brilliant like *some* people, it was what my life was to be. I had accepted it." He sighed.

"And you were ripped away from that, just like the rest of us." Nick was beginning to wonder if Chris had always been angry, or if it was a result of what had happened to them. He certainly seemed comfortable with the emotion.

"Well, I can't say *that's* something I mind too much," he offered mildly, and Chris swung to look at him, startled, before barking a short laugh. "All right, fine. Your fiancée's absence is not something to add to our list of grievances. Still, I can't imagine they want us for anything GOOD, not the way they went about this. I wonder, if we climb enough walls, if we can make it to the outside?" Chris eyed the wall like he was willing to start trying immediately.

"There has to be a way out of here," agreed JC. "If there's a way in, there's a way out." It was inspired logic, if impractical, and the change in him was miraculous. Nick was going to sing the praises of pois-- of blackenroot for the rest of his days if this is what it could do for people.

"My mother always told me that you should always marry for love," said Lance, quite seriously. "She said it's an affront to our ancestors, to couple and breed with someone who does not know our soul."

Nick blinked at him, caught off balance by Lance's interest in his planned marriage and outside life. Really, shouldn't they all be thinking like Chris and JC? But Lance was so appealingly solemn, his huge eyes dark in the light of JC's hair, that Nick couldn't NOT respond. "It's...it would be nice to do so," he agreed carefully. "But arranged marriages are our way, especially when a boy has reached a certain age and has not shown interest in any of the local girls. My father's land adjoins the dressmakers, and our children would be wealthy." He sighed, thinking of it. His father would be furious about the loss of the match, as well as worried about Nick's disappearance.

Chris seemed to have noticed the change in JC as well, because he was watching him with a little smile, and then reached for a root of his own. After the first bite, though, it looked like he barely restrained himself from throwing the root away and throwing up the contents of his stomach. "This," he declared, staring at it after swallowing with obvious difficulty, "is the foulest thing I have ever put in my mouth. And children, that is saying something." Lance actually grinned a bit, hearing that, the first time Nick had actually seen that expression on his face.

"Yeah, me too," he admitted, and licked his lips and just for a moment, he looked like he was thinking about something other than their situation.

"Oh, it's not *that* bad," said JC, with the certainty of someone who wasn't in the middle of enduring it. It really was that bad, though not so bad as some of the things Nick's family had had to eat during the war.

"My mother," Lance said again, "always told me that if I didn't find someone to love, it was okay to stay alone. That we had all that we needed to survive. And we did."

"Your mother," Chris interjected before Nick could reply, "sounds like either a very wise or a very naive woman, or both. You probably take after her, with my luck." He chewed absently on the root, making faces as he kept staring at the wall.

"I think it sounds nice," Nick defended, remembering too clearly his own anger when he'd been informed of his impending wedding. "My father's very practical, though, and I'm the oldest. He said it was my responsibility to see that we never went hungry again."

"Well, it's not your concern any more," Chris said briskly. "These walls are, and our keepers, and will someone please tell me what that bastard is laughing about?" The strange high voice of The Laugher seemed to travel most clearly at night.

"Same thing you shout about, I guess," said Lance, mobile enough now to reposition himself into something more comfortable. "Same thing JC cries about. Same thing Nick lets keep him silent and inside his head. But look at us now ... still trapped in here but talking about other things, about home. My mother says ... "

"Oh *don't*," said Chris, but Lance had already stopped talking and was grinning at him. "Oh, you little bastard!"

"What?" JC was looking back and forth between them, clearly baffled, and Nick just shrugged when JC turned that look on him. "I don't get it. What does Lance's mother say?" JC just seemed even more confused when Chris and Lance both broke into outright laughter, and Nick couldn't blame him, though the strange sound of honest, not-insane laughter tickled his ears and made him grin.

"Right," Chris said, clapping his hands lightly once he'd stopped laughing. "So I figure we should try that direction first--what?" He narrowed burning eyes at Nick's shaking head, and Nick had to look away.

"Not tonight," he said as firmly as he could. "Lance is tired, and he's still bleeding. Even if that stuff makes him not feel it, he is, and he needs to rest. Right now, or he'll just hurt himself worse." He stood up as tall as he could, realizing for the first time that he loomed over JC and particularly Chris. "In fact, I think we should all go back where we belong, for now. We'll...if Lance came just recently, there may be more new ones, so watch carefully. And we can talk more tomorrow?"

JC looked up at him, wide-eyed. "I don't want to go back," he said. "No, no, I'm alone over there and things will just be back to the way they were before and maybe I'll never see you again. Maybe I'll go crazy. Maybe we'll all go crazy."

"Yeah, and maybe we're already crazy," said Chris, and wrapped his fingers around JC's arm. JC's eyes got even wider and he jerked reflexively, and Nick wondered how long it had been since someone had really touched him. As they watched, Chris ran his hand over JC's hair, something neither he nor Lance could endure. "Suck it up, JC, they'll be right next door."

"I'll be okay, really," Lance tried to insist, but no way no how, he was going to get some real rest, and do some real healing, if Nick had to tie him down to do it.

"I'll have to boost you, I think," Nick said, ignoring Lance, watching Chris's fingers in JC's hair and wondering why seeing it made him feel strange inside. He hunched his shoulders, determined to ignore the pain, since he was the only one who could lift them far enough. "If we're careful, you'll be able to get down the other sides by yourselves. Just remember, take apart your rock piles before you sleep."

"Oh, yeah," JC nodded agreeably, but not hard enough to get Chris to stop touching him. "I hurt my finger making the pile, see?" He held up a faintly bruised finger. "I won't be able to take my rocks down, so I guess I'll just have to stay here instead."

"Because they won't notice you're gone?" Nick looked at him disbelievingly, and JC stared at the ground. "I promise we'll talk to you, JC. Or I will. Lance will be sleeping. We won't go quiet again, I swear it."

"You were always quiet before," JC said softly. "You were always quiet and Chris was always loud and I don't want it to be like that anymore. I couldn't take that much longer. I'll go crazy, I will."

"Make you a deal," said Chris, and when he wasn't shouting or growling, his voice was remarkably playful and pleasant. "You don't go crazy, and I won't go crazy either. Cause any more of that crying, JC, and I was gonna bust right through those walls of mine."

"That might not be such a bad thing," said JC, but he was smiling a little again.

"No busting," Nick said, alarmed. "No more crying or shouting, either, how 'bout. I was quiet, but now I'm not, and I don't think I could go back even if I wanted to." He gestured vaguely at his forehead. "I'm out. Or something. It's all your faults."

"Thank god," Chris said briefly. "I thought you were dead, actually; after the first couple of days you shut off like someone'd hit a switch." He patted JC's shoulder, and prowled back towards his wall. "Let's break this party up before the goons break it up for us. Same time tomorrow?"

"I'll be waiting," said JC, and his voice was shaking again but he seemed to be putting on a brave face. "I know where to find you now. The rocks are on my side. I'll be back." Nick smiled at him; that was the spirit.

"God damn, I have to move those rocks again," snorted Chris. "Well, at least I'll be in great shape by the time we get out of here." He stretched and cracked his back and looked so *normal* Nick could almost forget that he had flames coming from his eyes. Almost. "Yes, tomorrow," said Lance. "Tomorrow. And we'll work this whole thing out."

"WE will work it out," Nick said firmly. "You will supervise, if you can even sit up tomorrow. You pushed too hard today, Lance." He moved to stand behind Chris; if he wasn't looking directly at you, the heat wasn't nearly so intense.

"You know," Chris glanced over his shoulder and Nick had to step back quickly or be singed, "with those pretty yellow feathers you might actually *be* a mother hen." Nick's jaw dropped in indignation, and JC giggled and then clapped his hand over his mouth apologetically. "Now boost me up, mama bird, so I can get back to *my* nest."

"Be careful," said Lance, but he didn't try to stop him. He knew that the only option was for Nick to help them over, even at the risk of getting scorched. He supposed that was what the stream was for. Healing. "And they're not yellow, they're gold."

"Yeah, yellow," snorted Chris. "Quick, quick, I need to attack those rocks. Are you sure I can't just leave them there? Cover them with ... a bush or something?"

"Don't risk it, Chris," pleaded JC, "or we might never see you again."

"Fine," Chris sighed, and stepped carefully into Nick's cupped hands. He was heavier than he looked, and his bare foot was small and hot and hard in Nick's hands as he lifted, gritting his teeth against the tearing pain in his sore shoulders and the heat he could feel radiating from Chris. One powerful heave, and Chris wobbled and pushed and suddenly his weight was gone, and Nick staggered back, barely keeping himself from falling as he watched Chris's legs disappear up over the wall. "I'm over," he called, and Nick sighed.

"Ouch." He'd said it quietly, but JC still stepped to his side quickly, eyes worried in his flame-lit face. "I'm gonna need a minute before I try that again." He could feel the raw place where his wings connected throbbing with fresh hurt, and he crouched down carefully, bracing his palms on the cool ground.

"Maybe we'll sleep in the stream tonight," suggested Lance, and that didn't sound like such a bad idea. How plentiful was that poison root anyway? They were going to be going through an awful lot of it, to keep going. Maybe if Lance knew so much about that stuff from his mother, he might think up an even better way to kill the pain.

After a few minutes of rest, with JC hovering nervously by his side, Nick finally nodded at him and rubbed at his shoulder like it would make the pain and the heat go away. "Promise me I'll see you tomorrow," insisted JC before he let Nick escort him to the other side of the enclosure and hoist him up. "Promise me again."

"We'll see you tomorrow," Lance promised him, and JC nodded and let Nick lead him away. JC was lighter than Chris, though less compact, but at least Nick didn't have to lift as high and as hard as he had with Chris before JC was scrambling up and over under his own power. Still, he thought he could smell singed feathers, and he stumbled back to Lance's side in the sudden quiet after calling good night to JC, collapsing down to the ground beside him with a little groan.

"We're going to need a ladder or something," he stated definitely, through the throb in his back and hands. "Especially if they're going to be coming and going. Or maybe tomorrow we can look at where the stream goes, because damn. They're both kind of heavy." He turned his eyes on Lance, taking in the lines of pain around his eyes and his tight mouth, and sighed. "Can you stand up and make it to the bed?"

Lance nodded and started struggling to his feet, favouring his aching back. "Yeah, I shouldn't have any trouble squeezing back in behind my bush, and it's really awfully soft back there. JC made it back all right?" He looked at the wall JC had disappeared over, in the distance across the enclosure, but they didn't hear any sounds from either of the men they'd just met. Except the occasional scraping of rock. "I don't know what we can do about a ladder. We'll have to figure something out."

"You're not going back behind the bush," Nick said, scandalized that Lance would even consider it. "There's a cot inside, it's not fancy but it's got a straw mattress and it's soft and that's where you're sleeping. Lord, Lance. What are you thinking?" He took hold of Lance's elbows, pulling him gently to his feet. "JC got back just fine, I'm sure he's unstacking rocks as we speak. Stop worrying about them for a little bit and worry about yourself."

"I know there's a cot inside," said Lance. "*Your* cot, and I know there's only one. I'm not going to be perfectly comfortable wherever I go, you know that. I'm feeling okay, Nick, I am. Better than I have since I got here." Considering how he was when he got there, that was something that probably went without saying. "If I start worrying about me, I'll just be back where I started again. My mother always said that it's the better man who puts others' needs before his own." Nick doubted his mother would say that if she saw what state her son was in right then.

"Well, fine. Then let me be a better man and worry about you FOR you. I'd hate to think your mom wouldn't like me." Nick started tugging gently at Lance's arm, steering him towards the door. "Anyway, it's not my cot, it's the cot that was here when I got here. Since you were put here too, it's clearly OUR cot, and you have just as much a right to it as me. More, because I had it all to myself for a month, and you've been sleeping under a bush for two days. I'm not gonna let you sleep outside, Lance, and that's final."

Lance didn't seem to have the energy to argue anymore, whether he wanted to or not, and Nick wished that they had a bucket or something, so that he could haul some stream water inside with them and wash Lance's back as he rested. He figured that would feel as good as anything did for him, right then.

"My mother would like you an awful lot," said Lance finally. "You're a hard worker, and a good person. That's what she looks for in people. A good heart."

"Chris was right," Nick answered after a moment. "She does sound smart. I dunno if we'd get along, though. I'm definitely not a hard worker, not at all." He drew Lance through the low doorway, ducking his head as always, and looked around in the dimness. "Where's JC when you need him?" he mused aloud, before feeling his way towards the cot. "Now lie down, on your tummy. Do you want water? Or food, oh my goodness, you probably haven't eaten anything but those roots since you got here! Are you hungry?"

"Haven't really been thinking about food," said Lance, and he let out an audible sigh of relief as he lay down on the cot, taking all the pressure off his muscles. "Everything else has just been too much. Do you ... do you *have* food? Enough food, for the two of us? I've never seen them leave any, since I've been here, or do they leave it inside?" Inside the room was the only place where there was a door, and it was locked tightly, but Nick had no illusions that there weren't other ways in.

"They leave it inside," Nick answered, nodding. I've got food, sure, they leave some every day or two. Oh, hey." It was like a lightbulb went on in his head. "You must be why they left so much more last time! I ate most of it, but there's some left." He found the half-loaf of bread and chunk of hard cheese where he'd left it, and brought it to Lance, wondering how he'd eat it lying flat like that. "You should really eat. I bet your mom would say it was a good idea."

Lance's eyes were already closed, but he nodded his head. "My mother said that the best thing for healing wasn't always medicines, it was good food and good rest. She always got after the neighboring farmers, for never resting when they were ill. They were so stubborn." And suddenly he was smiling at little. "And yes, before you say it, she called me stubborn, too." Nick hadn't been going to *say* it, but he was certainly thinking it.

Nick crouched by the side of the bed, still holding the food in his hands. "Which did she think was more important, good food or good rest?" he asked worriedly. He already had a lot of respect for Lance's mother, and he wasn't sure if he should be stuffing the food down Lance's throat or leaving him alone to rest. "Because you should either eat or sleep, but you can't do both at the same time, or you might choke."

"Well, then you have to help me sit up again," said Lance, blinking his eyes open. "You can't promise me food and then not deliver, Nick." He started trying to get up on his own, before Nick even had a chance to help. "Now that you've got it on my brain, suddenly I'm hungry. Plus ... might be nice to get the taste of blackenroot out of my mouth. That stuff is *foul*."

"There is no way you can blame anyone for that taste but yourself," Nick said, grinning in relief as Lance made it to a sitting position, and handing him the bread and cheese. "It works awfully well, though, you were right. You've been right about a lot of things." He touched Lance's knee with a careful fingertip, not wanting to presume on his personal space. "Thank you."

Lance nodded a tiny bit. "Thank you for not being scary," he said softly. "I was scared enough, in this place, all alone. I'm still scared, but not so much anymore. And scared of what I'm gonna be now, of what it's gonna feel like while I'm healing and while my wings grow, about what my life is going to be like from now on. But at least I'm alive, and I'm not alone, and I'm still me." He took a bite of the cheese and made a face, but kept eating.

"Yeah," Nick agreed, nodding. "Still you, all right. And it's pretty incredible to have you here. I was alone for so long..." he trailed off, thinking about it, and then shook his head briskly, feeling his hair fall into his face. "Well, I'm not any more, because you're here. And you're very brave and not scary either, which is cool, because if they'd given Chris wings and put him in here with me? I'd have tried to drown myself in the stream a long time ago." He fanned his wings lightly, liking the breeze it made. "I wonder how big they're gonna get?"

Lance looked thoughtful as he munched on the bread. "Maybe we *will* be able to fly in the end," he murmured. "Once they get big enough and we figure out how to use them. You think? I mean ... you're obviously able to move yours, right? Spread them and flap them? So ... " He shrugged, then winced. Shrugging was a bad idea, in his condition, and Nick would know. "Chris *is* kinda scary, though, but it's just because he's scared. He doesn't like it when things are out of his control."

"And you know this because...?" Nick raised an eyebrow at him. "Me, I thought he was just mad. Angry-mad, not crazy-mad, though he might be that, too. He liked JC, though, which was nice." He watched Lance munch bread and cheese, smiling a little. "I can flap them, sure, but it feels strange still. I weigh kind of a lot, too, so...maybe we'll be able to glide?" He peered over his shoulders. The long, straight primary feathers on the tips of his wings reached down to his calves already.

"People weren't made to fly," said Lance, and sighed, and ate more cheese. "I used to know a boy like Chris, before we moved, during the war. He got mad a lot, when bad things happened. It just meant he didn't know how to ... he couldn't deal. And I guess I can just kind of read people, too. My mother told me I was good at that, that it was a good skill."

Nick was beginning to feel like Lance's mother was in the room with them. "She was probably right about it being a good skill, but I still think he might be crazy. All that shouting, and then they hurt him, and he didn't learn not to? It must have made them nuts." He settled back down to a crouch, glad the wings bent enough to make the position possible. Chairs with backs were going to be a problem, he could tell. "Hey, do you want some water, too?"

Lance nodded and swallowed his cheese. "Being close to Chris and JC made me all ... dry. You know? Like being outside in the summertime makes you dry. Do we have enough water for both of us? How much water do they leave us? Of course, there's always the stream. Where do you think the stream comes from?"

"Outside, somewhere, probably," Nick shrugged. "Mostly I just drink from it, but they leave water in a pitcher, too." He reached out an arm, glad to be tall, and snagged it, dragging it over and handing it to Lance. "I know what you mean. I felt sunburned after lifting JC. Chris was a little better, but they're both so *hot*." He rubbed his palms on his pants, remembering the prickly heat of their skin. "I wonder what would happen if they went swimming?"

"I'm pretty sure they've tried that," said Lance, gulping the water and spilling a few drops on his chest. "If I was on fire? That's the first thing I would do. Get wet. And even if JC didn't understand it was fire, he would still want to get wet if he felt that hot. So it probably doesn't help." He sipped the water a little slower after that initial gulp. "Where do you come from, Nick?"

"East," Nick sighed. "Farmland, mostly, no big cities or anything. It's beautiful in the spring." He shrugged off the memories of home and family, not wanting to feel bad any more. "I think, to get me to a place like this, they must have brought me many miles. I don't remember it, they made me sleep. But I still can't imagine why they came such a way to get me." He took the empty pitcher back from Lance, setting it aside. He'd fill it at the stream later. "You were in the university, I know, but before that? Your accent is so strange. And then there's that ancestor-star thing..." he trailed off encouragingly.

"We're from the south," said Lance, brushing the crumbs off his knees and the water off his chest. "Beyond the border. Our lands were torn up by the war, they broke the spirit of so many people ... " He trailed off and for a moment Nick thought he wasn't going to continue, but then he lifted his head and went on. "My parents brought me and my sister here for a better life, so we would be safe. We lived on the edge of the city. My sister was married, just last spring. And me ... I wanted to learn things, everything I could."

"Because you're brilliant," Nick nodded understandingly. "So you went to university, I've heard it's very difficult to be accepted. And you were studying, and now you're here..." He sighed, rubbing the top of his shoulder unconsciously. His back just ached. "I was thinking earlier, when I looked at Chris...he's...even when he's not shouting, his eyes are frightening. And you, you're beautiful. Lance, what if they're trying to make angels so that the people think the gods support the war?" He held his breath, hoping that Lance would tell him not to be ridiculous.

Lance sat still and silent, and was certainly taking his time about telling Nick he was being dumb. "I don't know much about what your people think angels are like," he said finally, "and I don't know much about the gods that you believe in. It's not something I ever studied, and I haven't been in this land so long that I've learned. So I don't know if that's true or not, JC's hair ... Chris's eyes ... do they look like angels, to you? To your people?"

"They look like pieces of angels," Nick whispered, looking at the floor. "Just like us, with our wings. Angels have wings, and faces so beautiful you can't look at them. Burning eyes and hands and hair, different things depending on who you talk to, but yeah. Those are angels. What do YOU think angels look like?"

"I don't know," said Lance, making small, vague gestures. "Just like people, I guess, only they're really, really good. Like, perfect. But it doesn't matter what they look like. It's what angels *are* that's important, not what we see. Don't you think?"

"Well, probably," Nick said, working through it in his head. "But you can't see what's on the inside of the person, so angels have the wings and the flames and swords and things so we'll know who they are. Otherwise, they wouldn't be angels, they'd just be really good people." Moving carefully, he stretched out on his stomach on the floor by the cot, sighing in relief as gravity stopped dragging his wings down. "No matter what YOU believe, people here think angels look like...us, now."

Lance didn't look surprised by that; Nick wondered if he was surprised by anything, anymore. "Wings don't make an angel." he said again, and it seemed to be one of those truths that he was clinging to. "Nor eyes, nor hair, nor hand, nor anything else." He gave a little smile. "A lot of my people have come to this country, fleeing the war. They won't believe."

Nick shrugged as well as he could, lying down. No matter what Lance thought, a lot of people WOULD believe, Nick was pretty sure. It was amazing what people would believe when they wanted to. "Well, I guess we'll find out," he sighed, after a long pause. "If we don't find a way out, anyway, or unless I'm totally wrong and they're just doing this for fun. Which would be awfully sick, and kind of a lot of trouble, I think."

"We're going to get out of here," said Lance firmly. "No matter why they're doing this, it's not the right reason. There *is* no right reason. There's never a reason to take away personal freedom like this, to treat someone's body like this, that's not your own." Nick couldn't imagine anyone treating their *own* body like this. "We'll find a way. We will. We have to."

"Okay," Nick said dubiously, interrupted by a huge yawn. He'd done more talking and walking and moving that day than the entire month previously, and he was starting to feel the effects. He could only imagine what Lance must be feeling. "We'll think about it tomorrow. I think your mom would want you to sleep now, Lance. Rest is good, remember?" He hoped invoking Lance's mother would keep him from getting up and looking for a way out right away, as his last words had indicated he might.

He needn't have worried; Lance barely twitched. "The cot is big enough for two," he said softly. "I wouldn't feel right, leaving you on the floor, Nick. You wouldn't be able to sprawl, but ... it's better up here, and you know it. And we can both get some good sleep tonight. I think we're going to have a very busy day tomorrow."

"Me, I'll have a busy day," Nick murmured. "You'll be resting, and eating poiso-I mean, blackenroot. We can't share, Lance, my wings're too big now, I think." He could tuck them in, but it was so satisfying to let them relax out, spread and limp for once, that he didn't mind the floor at all. "It's okay, it's not uncomfortable. Maybe tomorrow we'll get away and find someplace with a *big* bed."

"That would be nice," murmured Lance, and reached out and rested his fingertips on Nick's arm. "We'll both have a busy day, so I might as well get rest now, while I can. After all, who knows who we'll be meeting tomorrow."

"Mmphm," Nick sighed, relaxing under Lance's hand. He wasn't alone. "We've met The Shouter and The Crier, as long as the next one isn't The Crazy Silent Stabber or something, I figure we've got the hard part over with." He turned his face to the side, wished for the thousandth time that he could sleep on his back like he used to, and let his eyes fall closed.

* * *

Normally Nick woke at first light -- he hadn't slept well ever since he'd come here -- but when he opened his eyes this time he realized it was long past. Lance's hand was still on his arm but he was, mercifully, still fast asleep and there was no force known to man that would make Nick wake him up before he absolutely had to. Carefully he slipped out from Lance's grasp and stood up, forgetting just for a moment, like he always did, the extra weight he now bore on his back.

He staggered back with a muffled curse before finding his balance and standing straight again, and a quick glance at Lance showed that he'd slept right through Nick's racket. He sighed, and scratched his back as far back as he could reach, the healing skin maddeningly tight. More of that inedible root was definitely on the menu for the morning.

The bright sunlight outside made him blink, amazed at how long he'd slept, and after a quick trip behind a bush--very unangelic, Nick thought with a snort--he wandered towards JC's wall. "JC," he called quietly, wondering if he was awake yet. "Hey, JC? You there?"

"Nick?" came his excited voice. "Nick? You came back! I left one of the rocks near the wall and I've been sitting here all morning, waiting for you. I was afraid something had happened to you, you were all quiet again, you and Lance. Are you okay?"

Nick had to chuckle, shaking his head, at the image of JC sitting on a rock, waiting eagerly. "We were sleeping, JC," he said gently. "We're okay, but Lance is really tired. He only got here two days ago, you remember what it was like at first, I bet. And he hadn't eaten anything that whole time." He stretched, carefully extending his wings. "Are YOU okay? You sound better."

"Oh yeah," said JC cheerfully, "but if you hadn't come back, I probably wouldn't be. You were sleeping really? I've been up for three hours now, I think. It felt like three hours; it's hard to tell. I also thought maybe you were talking to Chris again instead of me, only I didn't hear any voices and I'm pretty good at listening to voices. Is Lance doing better this morning? He looked awful last night, just awful." Nick almost couldn't believe this nonstop babble out of someone who up to that point had done little but sob and wail.

"Lance is still sleeping," answering the one clear question he'd managed to get out of all that. "He needs lots of sleep, and lots of water and food and not to go crawling around over walls, which I'll bet he's going to try to talk me into when he wakes up...we can't let him, okay, JC? He's still very broken, only he won't admit it." Nick sighed. "I'm afraid Chris will start shouting again if I talk to him, so I came to talk to you first. Plus I figured you'd be up, and stuff. Does your head hurt still? Did you find any of those yellow flowers over there?"

"Yeah, they grow all along the stream," said JC, "especially in the shade. I went and found some when I got up this morning; I hurt something awful, and the poison root cleared that right up. Well, not right up, but you know. It's better. I could think again. I've been thinking a lot this morning, really, since I was here all alone and all. And no, no, Lance can't climb walls, not yet. Is he bleeding again? It was awful, when he was bleeding."

"Yeah, it was," Nick agreed, bemused and amused by JC's chatter, even about such serious subjects. "It's stopped for now, but if he doesn't sit still it'll start up again. I think Lance is really stubborn." He sat carefully on a fallen branch, which made him think of how JC had described his courtyard. "You said there weren't any trees over there, just rocks. I bet it's 'cause of the fire, huh? What do you use for a pillow when you sleep?"

"I just ... I use the pillow they gave me," said JC curiously. "It's kind of rough. I wonder what it is. Wow, it's probably a good thing I never tried to lie down on the grass, huh? That might've been ... bad." And oh no, Nick was sure he just heard a sniffle. "I used to love doing that, lying down in the grass and staring at the sky, at the clouds, at the stars. I can't do that anymore, can I?"

"Of course you can," he said quickly, deliberately cheerful. "You'll just have to bring your pillow with you, or maybe rest your head on a stone. The stars are still there, JC, you can still look at them. The clouds, too." He shifted uneasily, wishing Lance was there. Lance seemed to have known just what to say to JC, last night. "Oh, I was wondering last night...have you gone swimming? Does it make your hair go out?"

JC sniffled again, louder. "The water only makes it stop burning while I'm underneath it. It comes back again as soon as I'm out. I don't ... maybe it doesn't even go out, maybe the water just makes me not feel it. It'll always be like that, now, forever and ever." Another sniffle, but no sobs yet. "What does it feel like to have wings?"

"Painful," Nick admitted wryly. "Very very strange, like wearing a pack you can never take off, with the frame jammed under your skin." He flexed his shoulders, grimacing. "Maybe...maybe it'll get better, stop hurting, JC, you think? And you're not alone, there's me, and Chris, and Lance, and others...Your hair is beautiful, it truly is. And just think, you won't ever have to buy torches again!" As soon as it came out of his mouth he winced, though he hoped that the comment was just loopy enough to appeal to JC.

It was; JC giggled. Giggled like Nick's sisters used to giggle. "Well, I guess there had to be *something* good about it, right? It'll make it awfully hard to hide if we ever run away, though. I'd have to find a hood that doesn't burn. Maybe I'll have to take my pillowcase with me, you think?" He sighed and the giggling stopped. "Where will be go, when we leave here? Where can people like us go?"

Nick blinked at the stone wall. He'd been so focused on the possibility of getting out, away, that he hadn't even considered where they'd go. "Well," he finally said, slowly, feeling his way. "Well, we could go back to our families, right? I mean. They'd get used to it, right? They'd have to. Or...or maybe..." He trailed off, mind empty of ideas. "We could get a house together?"

"Yeah, I don't know either," said JC, summing up Nick's unsaid thoughts. "I don't know how my family would see me but ... I don't think I can go back, not like this. And if I can't go back like *this*,then maybe I can never go back. And ... that's ... I don't want to think that. I had ... friends. I had a life."

"I think we all did," Nick answered softly, rocking a little where he sat, remembering brother and sisters and father and mother. "Maybe...maybe we can fix it. We can find a way to put out the fires...Lance and I can c-c-cut off our wings..." the thought of the pain that would entail made him curl over his knees protectively. "Or, you know, not. But either way, we've got to stick together. All of us."

"Maybe we should just think about getting out of here first, then," said JC, almost too softly for Nick to hear. "One thing at a time. We don't need to worry about that yet anyway. We just need you to survive. We just need to make it out. I was ... I was thinking about something. And I wanted to ask you guys first if you thought it was a good idea."

"Ask away," Nick said. "The person you probably should be talking to about ideas is Lance, though. He's the one who had the idea to talk to you and Chris in the first place, he's the smart one here."

"I was just wondering," JC went on at the slightest encouragement. "Do you think I should see who's on the other side of me? Beyond the opposite wall? I wasn't sure ... I was afraid of what I might find ... "

"Huh." Nick turned the idea over in his mind. For all his flaming hair, JC seemed sweet in a way that none of the rest of them were, sweet and somehow fragile, though maybe it was all the crying that was influencing Nick's opinion. "Well. I don't remember hearing anything from over there, unless I'm thinking in the wrong direction. Are you sure there's someone even there? Maybe you could peek really sneaky-quiet. In the daytime, so your hair doesn't give you away."

"I don't remember hearing anything either," admitted JC. "But I didn't hear anything from you, and you turned out to be real and nice. So maybe there's someone there, too. Someone who just ... doesn't scream, or sing, or do anything to get people's attention. Or maybe he's sitting there with an axe ready to shop me to bits. Huh. You know, we could really use an axe ... "

"JC!" Nick stood up, alarmed. "Don't go over there if there's a crazy person with an axe, no matter how much we need one. I don't want you to get chopped to bits." He wished he could see through the wall, to judge JC's mood. Maybe also to see him in the daylight; he wondered what that incredible fire-hair looked like in the sun. "It might be no one, or, yeah, maybe someone nice. But if they look dangerous, come right back over your wall. No risks."

"I don't really think they'll have an axe, Nick," said JC, far more reasonable than Nick was being. "I mean ... that would be really dumb. If they want to keep us here, and alive, then they won't give us something that could take care of both those problems pretty easily. Maybe I'll just ... I'll peek. You'll wait here while I peek? It might take a little while, to pile up rocks again."

"Let me know when you're going to peek over," Nick said, wringing his hands nervously. "I have to go make sure Lance is okay, and I should probably say hello to Chris...he's all by himself too. So you go pile rocks, and I'll come back soon, okay? But don't go peeking before I'm back. Just in case." Not that there was anything he could do if it turned out there WAS an axe-wielding maniac on the other side of JC's wall, but he'd feel better knowing what was going on.

"Okay," JC promised him, "okay. I won't peek until after I talk to you again. Oh Nick, maybe we'll find someone else, too!" He sounded so excited by the prospect; he was just brimming with hope. And they all needed that -- a little hope in their lives, that there was something better for them out there. That this imprisonment wasn't forever.

"Okay. Be careful, JC." He patted the rock wall as if JC could feel it, and made his way across the courtyard, stepping over the small stream on his way. He looked at the way it cut across the corner of the enclosure, disappearing under the walls, and wondered again if it ran all the way through.

The roots tasted just as bad in the daylight, and he only forced it down with memories of that blessed relief from the burn in his back. It hadn't really kicked in yet by the time he leaned against the wall adjoining Chris.

"Hello, hello," he called softly. He was starting to feel like the town crier back home must have, rousing everyone with the news that he was now awake. "Chris?"

For a long while, it was like there was no one there. He had to call twice more before Chris finally came to the wall and answered back.

"Shhh," he said, which was just *rich* coming from him. Nick almost yelled just to spite him. Almost. "I'm not alone here now."

Nick staggered back so quickly he almost fell. Were they there with Chris? Had he been shouting that morning, and Nick had slept through it? No, that couldn't be right, Chris wouldn't be talking to him now...

"What do you mean?" He finally hissed back. "Who's there with you?"

"He hasn't told me his name yet," said Chris, his voice softer than Nick had ever heard it, in all the time he'd been there. "He hasn't said much of anything. At least he's not a screamer, though. I gave him some of that poison root and at least he's stopped clawing at his face now. He's just kind of staring at the sun."

"Oh, that's not good for your eyes," Nick said without thinking, then smacked himself in the head. "Well, it probably wasn't before. Is he...he's got eyes like you, huh? At least you know about the roots." He leaned against the wall again, sighed. "How many of us ARE there, Chris? When do they stop bringing people in?" He imagined Chris, realizing there was another person in his courtyard. He imagined waking up in agony and finding CHRIS there. He couldn't figure out who he felt worse for.

"I don't know when the bastards will stop," said Chris. "I'd kill 'em all if I could, you know." He said it so matter-of-factly that Nick believe him, believed it was more than bluster. "And if I ever get a chance, I will. The new guy, he's ... as okay as he can be, I think. Maybe I can get him talking or something, figure out what they've saddled me with. He's no Lance, that's for sure."

"What do you mean by that?" Nick asked suspiciously. He didn't think Chris had any business talking bad about Lance. "You could try sticking his head in the stream. JC said that when he did it, he couldn't feel his hair any more. I don't know if it'll work, but it's worth a try. Does he even look at you, or know you're there? He's awfully quiet."

"He knows I'm here, he took the bits of root from me. I think he understands that I don't want to hurt him, unlike those bastards that did this to him." Chris's voice was finally rising a little again. The familiarity of that was almost a comfort. "I couldn't see very well the first couple of days either. He's not doing anything but breathing. It's really creepy."

"Poor guy," Nick breathed. Even with the pain in his back, he'd always been able to see. He couldn't imagine how terrifying it must have been to have woken up unable to see. "You should talk to him a lot, Chris. Tell him that you're a friend and all, and where he is, and stuff, because I bet he's really scared. I wish *I'd* had someone telling me that stuff when I first got here. And Chris? Don't shout at him. You'll scare him worse and bring them, and JC's peeking over his other wall, so he needs them to stay away."

"I haven't shouted at him!" snapped Chris. "Have you heard me shouting? No. Of course not. I'm crazy, not stupid. I was with him right up until you called me to the wall. Don't know if he was really listening to me, he didn't react much, but at least there's no more clawing. The clawing was the worst." Nick could just imagine. It was hard enough watching Lance bleed; he couldn't imagine someone clawing at their eyes. "So who's on the other side of JC, then?"

"Dunno," Nick shrugged. "He was all excited about finding out, though. Apparently it's either a very quiet person, like I was, or someone waiting with an axe. At least according to JC. Honestly, I think he might be crazier than you, if that makes you feel better." A pointed silence from the other side of the wall. "Well, who's on the other side of YOU?"

"The crazy bugger who sings all the time," said Chris immediately. "And thank the gods he's shut up this morning because if anything would make the new guy freak out, that would be it." Nick thought the shouting and the crying would do it just as well, but thankfully those didn't seem to be as much of a concern anymore. Though he didn't kid himself that they wouldn't pop up again at any moment.

"Hm. Where's the laughing guy, then?" Nick turned in a slow circle, trying to pinpoint where he remembered the sound coming from, trying to make a map in his head of where people were. "I don't know, the singing's okay. Definitely better than the shouting anyway, especially since the guy isn't always singing bad words and then getting shocked." He tried not to sound too reproving, but really, all that yelling had about driven him insane. "I keep trying to figure out how many of us there are, but I don't know how many are quiet."

"How do you know a few good curse words wouldn't make him feel right at home?" Chris challenged him. Well, how did he know a little *singing* wouldn't make him feel right at home? "We'll find out how many there are. This place, it's laid out in a ring, I think, around that tower in the middle, the one *they* stay in. So sooner or later, if we keep going around, we're gonna come right back to the beginning again. You made any progress on making some kind of hill on *your* side of the wall?"

"Uh, no," Nick confessed, looking around his safe little courtyard, which suddenly felt quite homey. "Lance can't really climb yet; he shouldn't be moving at ALL, but he insisted last night. Even with the roots, he bleeds, so I think you guys are gonna have to keep coming to us, at least until we can get out. If it's like a ring-" he thought about that a moment, and it did make sense- "Then we need to get over the OUTSIDE wall to get away, right? Only." He glanced over. The outer wall facing the tower was three times the height of the others.

"Any of these plants good for making a rope?" asked Chris, the snorted dubiously. "You should ask Lance, he seems to know these things. Good to know the outlanders are good for something. Is he doing better today? Is he there with you? Maybe he should be taking to my new guy, might get some response out of him."

"He's still sleeping," Nick said softly, smiling a little. "I've actually gotta go check on him soon, make sure he's not just laying there hurting, which is how I remember my first couple days, when I can remember them at all. He's the first outlander I've ever met, you know? And he knows all KINDS of stuff, he's the one who wanted to talk to you and JC. He's good for a lot of things."

"Yeah, he seems to be," muttered Chris, and suddenly there was a sharp cry in the background. "Oh bugger all! He's sitting up and scratching. I've got to go, Nick. You work on your things; I'll be back later. Ask Lance about the rope things, who knows. I'm gonna go dunk this guy's face in the stream."

"Good luck," Nick called, not expecting or getting a response, and he made his way back to the room, collecting a few more roots on his way. They were running short on yellow flowers; he resolved to save the rest for Lance.

The room was dim, and he blinked, waiting a few minutes to adjust from the bright sunlight outside. Lance had his head turned away, and Nick couldn't tell if he was sleeping or not. His wings were tucked neatly against his back, and they already looked bigger than they had the day before. "Lance?" he whispered, not wanting to wake him if he was still sleeping.

Lance mumbled something, and for all Nick knew he was talking in his sleep. He certainly didn't move at all, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. But then he mumbled again, and it was obvious he was actually trying to say something to him, but it was getting lost in the pillow. Gently Nick shifted him on his side a little, careful of his wings and his back. "Put the jug in the fire," he said, very clearly.

"What? Why?" Nick's brow furrowed in confusion, and he pushed a stray lock of light brown hair off of Lance's forehead. "I like the jug, it's the only thing we have that holds water. Why do you want to burn it up?" It worried him that Lance's eyes weren't open, that he wasn't moving even a little bit.

"No," said Lance. "No. The jug won't burn; put it in the fire." Which didn't make any more sense than the first time, to Nick. Lance started to roll over onto his back -- not thinking, just like Nick had done so many times -- and cried out and fell back on his stomach again.

"Shh, shh," Nick tried to soothe him, stroking his hair again. "Just lie still, it'll pass. I'm going to go put the jug in the fire, see? Just like you want. It's going in the fire." He reached carefully into the flames, settling the jug as near as he could without burning himself. "Good thing it's empty," he grumbled to himself as he settled back by Lance. "If it tipped we'd have no fire at all."

Lance groaned. "No," he said, and started pulling himself into a sitting position, obviously awake now. Nick had to help him get all the way up. "No, not like that. We can use the jug to boil water. To make tea? Remember? So we won't have to eat the root anymore. I dreamed about it, about blackenroot. I guess it wore off during the night. "

"Oh. OH!" Nick flushed, feeling stupid, and grabbed the jug back, rushing outside to fill it and then setting it back where it had been. "Right, of course, sorry. I brought more roots inside, see? From before, when I talked to JC and Chris. We're starting to run out of flowers, though, so use it sparingly. We'll have to find more soon, with you and Chris's new company needing it so often..."

"It grows fast," Lance promised him. "As long as there's still some in the ground, it'll make new shoots in a day or two. And it doesn't take as much when you make it into tea as when you eat it raw. And ... Chris's new company? Oh, Nick, did we find someone else, beyond his walls?"

"No," Nick shook his head sadly. "Chris had a new one put in with him, just like you with me. He's got the same eyes. Chris says he won't talk, just...claws at his face. He's taking care of him, though. But JC's going to peek over his wall...oh my goodness!" He jumped to his feet. "I bet he finished piling his rocks an age ago! I hope he's not crying again."

"Oh!" said Lance, and managed to look both horrified and excited at once. "Oh, how horrible, to have those eyes. But how wonderful, about JC. I'll be okay, Nick, I'll make the tea; you go see what JC's found before he starts to cry. I don't want to hear him ever cry again. It's terrible."

"Uh-uh." Nick put a firm hand on Lance's shoulder, pressing him back to the bed. "You will rest today even if I have to sit on you to make sure. JC will be fine for a few more minutes, and his silent neighbor doesn't even know that he's missing anything yet. I'll make the tea and you should eat, too." He noticed that food had been left in the night, as usual, and handed Lance the fruit and bread and cheese. "Now tell me how to make this strange tea. I can't believe it will taste any better than the roots."

"It will if we use some of the fruit in it," said Lance, actually sounding cheerful for a moment. He wasn't moving his body at all; he must've found a comfortable position for it. "It would be better if we could take the skin off the root, but we can't. You'll need to break it into as small of pieces as you can. you'll only need a half of one of the roots, to make the tea. And pick whatever fruit you like bet, and use a bit of that, too. Take the water off the fire when it boils, and let it sit for a few minutes."

"Okay." Nick stuck his tongue out a little in concentration as he started breaking the root apart carefully. "You should pick the fruit, since the tea is for you. I ate a root already this morning, I don't need any more. JC asked about you, when I talked to him...he was afraid something had happened to us, because we were so quiet!" He grinned up at Lance, amused that after weeks of long silence, the others were getting used to sounds from him again.

"As long as he didn't think you were dead again," said Lance with a little smile. "The orange one, that looks a little bit like a peach, only not fuzzy? Let's try that one. I've never had it before, but it looks good." He munched on a small piece of cheese again as he talked, and Nick could practically see his energy increasing. "I'm going to need to move around a little today; there are some plants that help the body heal. Some of them may be growing here; I haven't had a chance to look."

"It's not exactly a garden, you know," Nick warned, though Lance had obviously had time to see that himself. "There's weeds, and more weeds, and trees, mostly. I still think you should stay still today. Or possibly go lay quietly in the sun; that always makes me feel better." He pulled the jug carefully away from the flames, and crumbled the root and small pieces of the soft fruit into the boiling water. "Perhaps JC will come visit, and keep you entertained."

"If I can find something to help, then I should," insisted Lance. Maybe tying him down wasn't such a far-fetched prospect, if Nick actually wanted him to heal. "It's not like I'm going to be running around, Nick. I can't. I can barely walk. That doesn't mean I shouldn't crawl along the streambank and look at what's growing wild here." Well, actually, it meant exactly that. Nick just wasn't sure he'd be able to enforce it. "If you just leave the jug near me, you can do what you need to do now."

"You're going to be difficult, I can tell," Nick observed, sitting back on his heels and staring at Lance as severely as he could manage. "No crawling, gods, that'll put even more strain on your shoulders. No racing around talking to Chris and JC, even if terribly exciting things happen. Lance," he reached out and touched Lance's hand with his own. "We must get out of here. If you don't heal, you won't be able to escape. Today, you should sit in the sun, and nap, and eat, and drink tea, and that's all."

"And look for something that might make me -- and everyone -- heal faster," added Lance, meeting Nick's gaze evenly. "I was right about the blackenroot, you know I was. I can be more help. I won't do anything else, not even if you all start shouting excitedly. I know enough to know what my body can and can't do, Nick."

"Look for things you can see from where you're sitting," Nick insisted stubbornly. "You can sit by the stream so you can bathe your back when it hurts. You've already helped more than anyone, you need to take care of yourself now. Just think what your mother would say." He pushed the jug closer to Lance, suggestively. "If you drink your tea, you can come outside where you can hear JC squeaking about going over the wall."

"Just remember *you're* not my mother," said Lance, taking the jug and taking a tentative sip right out of it. "Oh wow, that's *so* much better," he said, and licked his lips. "This is livable. Just give me a minute here." He set the jug down, with a lot of liquid still in it. Enough for more than one someone else.

"Drink a full dose," Nick warned, rising to his feet. "If you faint and fall over, you could tear your wings. And your mother's not here, is she? So someone has to look after you, since you won't yourself." He stretched again, and peered out the open door, wondering about the others, before looking back at Lance. He had to smile; Lance's eyes were already brighter, he was sitting up straight and his hands had relaxed out of their pained clench. "I can't believe those roots were sitting there all along," he sighed, remembering sleepless nights and pain filled days.

"That was a full dose," insisted Lance. "You made enough for the others, too. And I don't know how you did it, without any kind of medicine. There's medicine in all kinds of living things; you just need to know where to look. The people keeping us here, they probably didn't know what the root did either. Or it probably wouldn't have been growing here. Are you ready to go back outside now?"

"Absolutely." Nick spent as little time as possible inside the small room, preferring even the illusion of freedom that open air gave him. He held a hand out to Lance, and gave those slim fingers a little squeeze before helping him stand, steadying him against the pull of the wings. "Walk slowly," he warned, leading Lance outside, strangely unwilling to let go of him. "And just to the streambank." Lance's face was tense, but it seemed more in concentration than in pain, though he stepped carefully after Nick and paused often to rest.

"I'm okay," he insisted. "I'm better every time I breathe, I promise you." Nick wondered what was going on inside Lance's head, though. He was beginning to think that what was going on on the inside and what was going on on the outside were two very different things. "I won't stray from the streambank."

Nick thought that he probably would, the first moment he had a chance, but his attention was suddenly caught by a scraping sound on JC's side of the wall and low murmurs. Two sets of low murmurs, in fact.

"Stay here," he told Lance, worried, giving him a pleading look. "Sit, rest, please don't start the bleeding again. I have to go check on JC, he wasn't supposed to do anything before he let me know, but I hear voices..." He hurried to the wall, and leaned as close to it as he could. The murmurs and sounds of stone against stone were louder now, but he couldn't make out words.

"JC? Are you there? I'm sorry I took so long, but I was making Lance tea..."

"Sorry," he said, and didn't sound all that apologetic. "I couldn't wait for you. I'm not really good at following instructions, actually. But it was okay, he didn't have an axe or anything. Even though I still think that it would be really useful if one of us did. Just hang on a second, we're almost ready to come over."

Nick gaped at the wall, stunned wordless. Instructions...useful...axe...Nick resolved then and there that he was just not going to make any more suggestions. Lance and Chris and JC clearly had everything under control.

"Okay," he finally said. "I'll get out of the way on this side." He stepped back to Lance, who, miraculously, hadn't moved from his spot by the stream. "They're coming over," he informed Lance, who couldn't have missed JC's announcement anyway, and shook his head.

"Who are 'they'?" asked Lance, which of course was the one -- well, not the one, one of many, really -- question that Nick couldn't answer. "Who did he find? Are they okay, do you think? You'll have to go back and get some tea for them. Tell JC it's not the most horrible thing ever. And then bring them here, okay?"

"Okay," came JC's voice. "Look out below."

"Yeah, he's gonna drop," came another voice, with a slightly rougher edge to it. "He just about dropped right on my head last time."

"Okay," Nick agreed quietly to Lance's requests, watching the wall for signs of their visitors.

JC's hair, dimmed in the sunlight but no less dramatic for that, popped up over the wall, followed by the rest of him as he swung easily over the wall and just let go, falling bonelessly down to the grass and rolling onc