With a tug, the room full of Them snaps away, and Helen is left short of breath in darkness, back to a cold wall ( Read more... )

Jamie’s been lying on the long lounge chair (a sofa, Adam calls it) for hours, passed out and pale.

Helen’s been avoiding him. Helen’s been avoiding everyone. She is in the map-room of Adam’s for a few hours, thinking, sleeves pulled tight around her hands. There’s a hushed busyness in the other rooms, but Helen is trying very hard not to care ( Read more... )

Where, one might ask, has Helen (once) of the House of Uquar been ( Read more... )

Helen has been sitting in the room she and Jamie have been living in, collecting bugs from the straw-stuffed mattress (she's not particularly impressed by their level of technology, but it does make a good habitat).

Jamie left, awhile ago, to--well, it's not like she cares, is it? Something about supplies, and self-important looks, and she ignored ( Read more... )

Helen would not admit it, but she has spent most of the night-except for a few fitful hours of sleep-in the dark of her room, staring through her hair at the ceiling, at her books and at her few possessions. Mostly they are gifts the Hands and the workers of the House gave her on Holy Days as she grew up. Very few are outside of the small chest she ( Read more... )

When her teacher comes to find her he sees her pointing at a blank wall, as she angrily tells him what is happening. But he cannot see into the white mist at all. Hand Raqen was still in Hand Corat’s office, though, and was fetched. He could not see through the wall, either. More and more teachers from nearby were found, and asked, and they begin ( Read more... )

It has been days since the door closed, and Helen is still thinking over it. She is very upset, because she left books in her room, but she doesn’t know what to do about that - and they were books that there were extra copies of, so no one has noticed (yet ( Read more... )

(from here)

It is morning, and Helen is pulled awake in the cushion room by the twisting-tugging of the traverse pulling at her. The light says it is early, but she and Jamie are already flinging themselves at the door.

(from here)

Helen, chin held stiffly out and hair covering her face, is crossing the mud plains towards the inexorable come here tug that is leading her to the holy place.

She is trying to walk as if the wounds from her stoning are not paining her.

She is angry enough to pull it off.