*Kassandra startles. She turns and tries to give a friendly look. She takes out her bits of parchment and begins to study them most intently, shifting one over the other and arranging them again and again.*
I don't have anything for birds today. No crumbs. You should try a field of battle.
Unless you can make maps. Or read maps. I can read, now, you know.
("She doesn't have quite your gift for magics. But yes. Dark hair, and touching the world a little out of synch with everyone else, and -")
She smiles back, a little, because her mother taught her to be polite even if she didn't teach right from wrong. Tall girl, thin girl, pregnant girl in a Roman dress with no shoes.
("You remind me of her.")
"I can read. But no one taught me how to read map. I'm sorry." Morgan says, her soft voice lilting a little.
"We're both doing very well, thanks." Nymphadora shifts Anthony so that 'Skandra can see him better. The baby peers blearily up at the prophetess, tiny hands flailing wildly through the air.
'Dora squeezes 'Skandra's hand in return, looking inordinately pleased. "It's brilliant to see you. I've missed you, 'Skandra."
*Her free hand dances in the air above the baby's head.*
Look at you, bright one, look how handsome a man you will be! Will you be like to your father, or your mother? I think I will wonder. Wondering is nicer.
*And then she turns to 'Dora.*
I don't know where I went. I am making a map.
Are you happy? Do you sleep? My brother's wife, she never slept. But she made my brother walk the baby round and round. You should make Bernard do that.
...but then, I think Bernard must be a good father. All his fire is right here now, and it must make him calmer to see it.
My map? You had better not make guesses. It leads not to glory, nor shining things, nor a good story, nor hot food won by someone else's efforts, so it is not for you.
My map is going to lead to me.
Maybe it is for building. Maybe you are right. But before it can be for building, it has to be for breaking.
"Maps lead somplace," says Early, abruptly. "It's ontological."
He's not looking at Kassandra's face, which would be polite, or her chest, which would be rude, but at the scraps of parchment. Intently. "Is it still a map if it don't?"
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Morgan pauses when she sees Kassandra, pauses and tilts her head more like a bird then a girl, pauses and watches.
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I don't have anything for birds today. No crumbs. You should try a field of battle.
Unless you can make maps. Or read maps. I can read, now, you know.
But of this map I am unsure.
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She smiles back, a little, because her mother taught her to be polite even if she didn't teach right from wrong. Tall girl, thin girl, pregnant girl in a Roman dress with no shoes.
("You remind me of her.")
"I can read. But no one taught me how to read map. I'm sorry." Morgan says, her soft voice lilting a little.
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It is a pity you cannot help me with my map. I thought you might have seen the way.
No one else seems to know the way I want. Or maybe I do not remember asking anyone else.
*She sighs, a little sadly.*
It is what I need the map for. To go. And get everything back.
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She's holding her son.
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...but you are so lately married...
Here is your son, then? Has it been so much time?
*She grips 'Dora's hand, very tightly, very happily.*
He looks well, this boy. How is his mother?
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'Dora squeezes 'Skandra's hand in return, looking inordinately pleased. "It's brilliant to see you. I've missed you, 'Skandra."
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Look at you, bright one, look how handsome a man you will be! Will you be like to your father, or your mother? I think I will wonder. Wondering is nicer.
*And then she turns to 'Dora.*
I don't know where I went. I am making a map.
Are you happy? Do you sleep? My brother's wife, she never slept. But she made my brother walk the baby round and round. You should make Bernard do that.
...but then, I think Bernard must be a good father. All his fire is right here now, and it must make him calmer to see it.
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And then a voice, curious.
"It is meant for building?"
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*She looks at him and smiles.*
My map? You had better not make guesses. It leads not to glory, nor shining things, nor a good story, nor hot food won by someone else's efforts, so it is not for you.
My map is going to lead to me.
Maybe it is for building. Maybe you are right. But before it can be for building, it has to be for breaking.
I am going to break in. Do you want a sandwich?
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He grins back.
"I am always hungry, I think."
Then he tilts his head, blinking.
"It is a thing that requires lockpicks?"
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But I think the lockpicks must be large, for when I get there.
What kind of sandwich?
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He's not looking at Kassandra's face, which would be polite, or her chest, which would be rude, but at the scraps of parchment. Intently. "Is it still a map if it don't?"
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And this map leads somewhere. Past everything. There is blackness... and then light... and then there you are.
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His gaze wanders the room, and comes to rest on a patch of shadow in the rafters. "There's no light beyond the black. That's crazy talk."
"It don't stop, neither. Just keeps on going." Pause. "Some folks say lambs'll scream when they die. But they sure as hell don't scream after."
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If there was no light beyond the black, then this place would not be.
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Her eyes light on Kassandra. After a moment's contemplation, she smiles, just a little.
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So many birds.
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The rafters are full of ravens, these days.
Her smile widens.
Then it fades somewhat. "I'm out of chocolate," she apologizes. "I haven't found them yet."
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What do you up there? Do you mean to fly?
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