She headed towards the medical center to question Travis. The room was lined with about a dozen beds, only about half of them filled. She looked around for Travis. Not seeing him she called the doctor over.

“I had one of my men sent here a little while ago, where is he?”

“Second bed to the...” He indicated to an empty bed. He called one of his underlings over.

“Where did that man go?” The employee looked around, “I-he-he was right there just a minute ago!” The lieutenant rubbed her temples,

“How do you lose an unconscious man?” The doctor was asking shaking his hands violently at the man. The flabbergasted employee could only shrug.

“Great, another person missing,” Lealiah muttered to herself. She instructed the doctors to keep her updated, then went to inform the general. She walked down the same hallway that the prisoner had been taken down just yesterday, wracking her brain for an explanation, and debating her next move. Suddenly, on the brick corner, something glinted in the torchlight.

“What?” She whispered, drawing closer to inspect it. It looked like dried, liquid, silver. She touched it, and part of it flaked away and fell to the ground. Her heart skipped a beat. Blood, it had to be. This was where the woman had cut herself on the wall. This was why she jumped back so quickly. To confirm she called Officer Lark, the vampire who had alerted her earlier.

“Yes, it’s hers, and it’s blood.” The man confirmed after getting the scent.

“What species has silver blood?” Lealiah asked.

“None that I know of ma’m,”

“Thank you,” She thought for a moment, “Gather the head scholar from the library and have him inspect it, just to be sure.” she commanded, then finally went to update the general.

“General Aplin?” he waved her in unnecessarily,

“Any good news?” She shook her head,

“Just gets worse, my officer, the one that we found in the prisoner’s cell, he is not in the medical center. No one knows where he went. And we found the prisoner’s blood on one of the bricks.” the general furrowed his brow, “We were still unable to identify the girl’s species, but the blood is silver. Which...” She took a breath, “Which I have never seen before.” She waited patiently for his response. The lines on his face grew more defined as his furrow deepened and he began to shew on his bottom lip. Finally, he spoke.

“When the blood hounds get here, find the girl, as well as the kids... do you think she is involved with the kidnappings?”

“Potentially, but I would like to interview some of the others who came off board with her again, if I remember correctly, she had at least one friend.”

“Good, find her, question her, and find those kids.” he commanded,

“I’m doing my best sir,” she replied

“aren’t we all?” he mused as she walked out the door.

Lealiah looked up as there was a knock at her office door.

“Enter.” One of her senior officers came in with a young blond-haired woman.

“Constance Lace, as requested ma'am,” he said, standing at attention.

“Did she give you any trouble?” The lieutenant asked with raised brows.

“No ma'am.”

“Good. Have a seat miss.,” she said, indicating to the chair across from her. The young woman complied. Lealiah thanked and dismissed her officer, then spoke.

“I know that you were questioned yesterday, so I will only take a little bit of your time.”

“What is all the commotion about?” Ms. Lace asked in a high, delicate voice.

“Miss, we just need some information from you about your friend, Ms. Audrey Rivers. What can you tell us about her?”

“Audrey?” the young woman sat up straighter, “Is she in trouble?”

“I am not at liberty to say,” the lieutenant said, “but I need you to tell me everything that you know about her.”

“We met on the St. Andress, so I have only known her a short time.” The lieutenant stared, waiting.

“What... do you need to know?” the lady finally said, breaking the awkwardness that has settled on the room.

“Let’s start with who she would talk to, who were her friends?”

“She was kind to everyone, but really only friends with me.”

“Did she talk excessively with anyone else?” the lady shook her head.

“Sometimes another girl would join us, Nancy, no one else really.” Lealiah nodded, writing down the name on her parchment.

“Thank you,” she paused to gather her thoughts, “did she have any odd habits or behaviors?”

“I can only think of one time, when I offered for her to stay in my quarters at night, she politely refused, which I thought it perhaps a cultural habit” Lealiah marked that down quickly,

“I see... And what culture is that, where exactly is she from?”

“I do not think that I asked.”

“Did she say anything else about her culture?”

“She said that her people were mostly nomadic, hence why she travels so much, and that they travel in small groups.”

“Anything about her family?”

“I inquired once, but she said that she did not want to talk about it.”

“That’s fine” the lieutenant wrote down every bit of information she could, then turned her attention back to the young woman.

“Is there anything, any small detail about her that you think might help? Likes, dislikes, fears, and affections.” she stressed.

“She plays the lute, likes to drink tea, she’s...” Ms. Lace took a moment to think, “She’s afraid of dogs, likes traveling, and is a very good story teller.” Lealiah nodded,

“Thank you, every little bit helps,” she told the young woman, she just needed a bit more information. “I know this is going to be an odd question, but please just answer,” Ms. Lace gave a small nod, “was there ever a time that she was any other color?” The shock on the lady’s face was instant. Holding up her finger to hold off questions, “Just answer the question,” Lealiah instructed, the woman nodded again, her eyes flicking to the right before she answered.

“Other than the time that she became seasick, or perhaps it was from the fish, as several people were sick that night.” the lady made a disgusted face as she recalled the incident.

“What color was she?”

“Green and bits of silver, or grey, it was hard to tell due to the fact that she was leaning against the rails.”

“Silver? Where?”

“On-on... her face...why?”

“What happened after that?” she said, ignoring her question,

“She slept it off in her quarters, I went to check on her, but she refused me every time. Now what does that have to do with her?” The lieutenant gave her a long look, leaned forward, then sat up straight, folding her hands in front of her,

“You are dismissed Miss Lace, we will call upon you if we have any further questions.” She said coldly, nodding to one of her guards to take the lady away. After a moment she got up to see if the scholar had arrived yet from across town, and saw Travis walking in to the building, a few minutes late for his shift.

“WHERE IN THE GOOD LORD’S NAME HAVE YOU BEEN!?” She shouted. Travis stared at her, shocked,

“I’m just a few minutes late ma’am,” he said with a cock of his head.

“No! I mean where did you go last night?” the lieutenant said, enunciating each word.

“After my shift? I went home, ask my wife.” he put his hands up in defense. Taking a deep breath, Lealiah regarded her officer.

“Travis,” She said more calmly, “I’m putting you on desk duty for today,” he opened his mouth to protest,

“I don’t care, okay, there’s something big going on, and you are staying here until I figure it out.” She drummed her fingers against each other, then decided to fill him in. He stood there in shock as she briefly explained his disappearance.

“I promise you, ma’am, I went home,” He said after she was done, “I didn’t leave until my shift this morning.”

“I’m going to send Angela to check your story, and until then, you are to stay on desk duty.” She said, snapping her fingers at Angela. The fairy nodded and left at once.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, as she turned away, she caught him grumbling about his task. Lealiah shook her head, a theory developing. Ms. Rivers did not seem to be involved with the disappearances, but there was still a potential unknown species, and their only lead is currently on the run. The sound of dogs barking cut through her thoughts, Lucille had arrived with her hounds.

“Lucille,” she said as the dragon trainer entered, flanked by a single guard.

“General Aplin says you have some missing kids,” she said, skipping any pleasantries.

“That’s right, and some suspects as well. We’ll have you start with a group to find the kids, and I will need a separate group to find a missing prisoner,”

“Seems like you have your hands full today,” the trainer remarked. “I cannot go with both, do you have anyone Particularly skilled with hounds, or animals?” she asked. Lealiah considered her options.

“There’s a few that come to mind, I-”

“Michal,” said the guard from behind Lucille.

“Your brother? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure, I once watched him train our goat back on the farm when he was twelve, he can do it,” The young man proudly explained.

“Michal it is then, you may go with him. Take Caius and Mart as well, and listen,” The man met her gaze, “You have to stick together, all four of you, no one is to leave one another’s sigh for even a moment,”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a salute. He hurried off to his brother’s station,

“Hey, Mike, you want to go play with dogs?” he shouted on his way out. Lealiah watched him go,

“Lieutenant.” Lucille stated, “I have a yearling with me as well, she’s smart but inexperienced.”

“Thank you for the information. You’re dismissed.” Lucille nodded and went back outside to her dogs. The hunt was on.

A few hours later, she received an update; Michal and his team had found a blood trail for the prisoner. They were heading towards the south side. She sent the carrier pigeon back, reminding them to find her, but not engage if possible. As she sent the first bird away, a second one fluttered in, this one from Lucille. She ran to the general’s office,

“Sir, we found the kids,”

General Aplin stood up and dashed out of the room, almost hitting his desk in his rush.

“Where?”

“Divit’s old house, the one that burned down.”

“Then there’s not a moment to lose. Assemble three teams, you lead one, Ivo can lead the second, I will get the third.” His Lieutenant nodded, her face glowing, small cracks of light breaking through her face.

“It’s time for a raid.”

There was no breast from which to suckle

There was no hand to pat my back

There was no counting during hide-and-seek

Of playdates and parties I did not speak

There was no aisle to walk down

No hand for me to hold

At breakfast and at super

My heart grew hard and cold

In daylight and in darkness

My own breath sounds filled my ears

At twilight and at sunset

At the solitude I cursed

And when the end of life drew near

Reflection my only goal

I looked in the rearview mirror

Dark and Empty met my eyes

Relationships I had not known

I had wasted all my time

When at the pearly gates I stood

I knocked but no one answered

The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost

Were nowhere to be found

Through eternity I would venture

Unescorted in the clouds

time didn't leave us alone

it morphed into a tornado

took the roof off home

scattered us in two different worlds

black hole's pull

You in the stars now

Not in her body

Not in her belly

Not in her womb

All that is left

Is your shadow haunting him

And your star being admired by her

Your presence never felt

Your scent never smelled

Your smile never seen

Your skin never touched

Him is all to blame

Tears formed never wasted

Smiles broken

Hearts crushed

For the shiny star burning bright

Is you smiling at us

Alright, sure, let's talk asshats. One of the prime suspects for someone of that particular nomenclature is none other than the crashing-meteor-on-a-stick Norman Mailer. Let's talk Norman Mailer for a second. When I was first introduced to Norman Mailer, it was by a story of one of his earlier marriages---told to me by a teacher I think---about how he managed to stab his wife with a penknife at a party in November of 1960. Red flags were there, but maybe not set up to be flown just yet. Story arc, cataclysmic event that framed the next decade for him as a raging, sexist, homophobic dweeb that often found himself gargling his spit rather than spewing words that were of health to him. He had a rather intriguing rivaly with journalist, Gore Vidal, who was perhaps one of the saving relics of the controversial literary era of the 1960's, but nonetheless had things to say that maybe I didn't agree with all the way. When hearing these things, I first decided to judge my opinion based solely on Norman Mailer's writing as it was his main source of income and main source of hate---go figure. The first novel I read of his is probably one of his less famous ones, but I thought it excellently written all the same---it was a novel that barely let go of the throat when it came to both the enhanced writing flow along with the memorable characters. A smaller novel called "An American Dream" about this man who performs a sort of Holden Caulfield, impulsive decision to kill his wife and relive the consequences for a while while he shows aspects of Raskolnikov of Dostoevesky's "Crime and Punishment". I also don't mean to say that he plaguarized the characteristics blatantly, but they are both the best examples I can think of as far as describing the main character, Stephen Rojack, to the best ability. The best way I can explain Norman Mailer as both a writer and also as a person is that he is a frightened, catatonic harbinger of hate and also rich ambiguity. He writes until his ears pop, he speaks until his mouth is full of saliva, and he crosses his legs so tightly that he can barely get up to shake a person's hand when on an episode of "The Dick Cavett Show." Witty, dauntless, and charismatic does his face often show, but he dare not use his words: rather his actions he let take part of his freaky frenzy of a charade he puts up to hang. He's a sexist, racist, corrupt, wannabe politician that envies himself in the bitter aspect of craving more and more at a constant rate. In the midst of being the heart of the 1960's counterculture era, he had many controversial things to say about practically everything. Highly intriguing individual---though as one can say about anyone---he often assumes me in the way he talks, the way his brain processes thoughts like clocking in with a ticket punch: so monotonous and so sinister. A true asshat, blatant with indefinite ignorace, and pallid with unholy nomenclature of what a person should never want to do in life: become a writer, and then become famous for something that isn't writing but talking. I mean, he can't even accept his own introduction on Firing Line with William F. Buckley Jr.: there has always got to be a problem with the way his name is enunciated, the way his life's achievements have been laid out, or even just a simple gesture suggesting that the inviting handshake wasn't firm enough. Gore Vidal tops the ice cream sundae with a bit of his own little cherry, covered in his own personal relish for the casual, crucial comeback of the decade. At a party in a time long before cars had electric engines and when television shows were censored for saying things lewd things, Gore Vidal and Norman Mailer had a small scrap (mostly Mailer). Norman let his temper get the best of him and threw a punch in Gore's face and Gore responded with such cold, dense-hearted words like: "Once again, words fail Norman Mailer." Mailer, though completing quite the saga of life's formal applications of tenure, as well as unexpected life choices, he died a man of little power and great impactability. There was always a depicting illusion of both honest-to-God culmination of events, along with the utter dismay of how little his words floated in water.

Two traveling friends followed a valley carved through the dry hills of an arid wasteland. One of them had eyes like glistening ice, and was known as The Moth, though he was distinctly human. The other had eyes like coal, and was not yet known by a name.

"Do you ever worry about going the wrong way?" The Moth asked.

"Not really."

"I could worry about it."

"Do you?"

"Not yet, but I could get there."

"Why?"

"Because you only get a sliver of the whole thing. What if it's not the best piece?"

"I suppose, but take this ration bar I have in my hand for example. It has peanuts in it. You like peanuts, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay, so say I split this, and I hand you the piece with more peanuts. That's the better piece, right?"

"I'd say so."

"But now let's say I am starving, and you're full, who will enjoy their piece more?"

"I see what you're getting at."

"I don't think anyone is hungrier than I am."

"But I'm not you."

They walked in silence for a while then, accompanied only by the sound of their heels scraping against the hard dusty path. At some point the valley replied to the echo of their slapping heels with an intermittent metallic ring. "What an interesting sound," the one with dark eyes said. The two friends followed the noise off the path and up the side of the valley, where they were eventually met by a rectangular hole outlined with wooden planks.

"A mine?" Moth asked.

Ting!

"Guess so."

Ting!

The dark eyed friend tested the ladder which clung to the inside of the hole lazily, before beginning his descent. Moth quickly followed. Soon the dark enveloped them and they were descending in near complete darkness, aside from The Moth's glowing eyes.

Ting!

As they reached the bottom, they could start to see a small amount of light tucked behind the corner where a corridor met the shaft they were in. "I'm not fond of enclosed spaces," Moth said as he disembarked the ladder behind his friend.

"I suppose you don't think about being within your own body often, then."

"Oh. I do."

"Then, this must feel spacious."

"You always know just what to say," the Moth said dryly.

"I don't know what to say to that."

Ting!

The noise was almost excruciating now, but neither of them covered their ears. The two friends followed the small lamps that lined the inner corridor, around the corner and down the long but narrow mine. They walked through the shaft for many minutes before they spotted the source of the sound.

Ting!

"He’s older than any miner I've ever seen," The Moth said quietly. The miner in question had his back turned as he worked at the hard rock before him.

Ting!

"I'm surprised he can even pick up that pickaxe."

Ting!

"I don't think I could swing it that hard, myself."

Ting!

"You couldn't," the friend with eyes like night walked forward, and gently placed a hand on the old man's shoulder, alerting him to their presence. He turned around slowly, and without surprise, leaning on his tool like a cane. It had a rusty discoloration on its head.

"Oh, hello," the old man spoke cheerfully, looking past the man in front of him, speaking instead to Moth, "how I would like eyes like those, I would save the time keeping these lamps alive.

The dark eyed friend stepped back in front of him, "hello, are you not surprised to see us here?”

"I'm too old for surprise, young man. What is surprising about people? People are all around. The crystal eyes of your friend are much more rare, however. If I could only find something like those in this rock," he scratched his head, "your eyes also have their own odd quality to them, they remind me more of these mineshafts. For that, they make me uneasy, though I mean no offense."

"None taken, this is common."

"Why do I feel as if this attribute has been cultivated rather than simply endured? Hmm, well then, do the two of you have business of some sort with an old man?"

"Not particularly."

"Then what brings you here?"

"We're travelers," Moth chimed in, a hint of excitement dancing on his tongue, undetected by the old man.

"Come, then," the miner said, as he placed down his pickaxe and walked past them to an offshoot along the corridor that they had missed on their way in. The two followed. The side shaft was even more narrow than the previous one, and clouded in darkness.

"No lamps could be affixed to the walls here, sadly. There would be no space for me to squeeze past had there been," the old miner explained. The Moth grimaced as they all pushed their way through.

Eventually, it opened into what could only be described as a cave carved out of the rock, and lamp light returned. On the far side was a small wooden table and some benches, whereas closer by was a small gas stove and some personal effects littered around: books, clothes and tools chief among them.

"I'll heat up some coffee," the old man said, turning on the stove, "have a seat, the two of you must be tired."

"We weren't the ones swinging that axe around," the black eyed friend said, taking a seat on the bench anyway. The Moth followed suit.

"Oh that? My body no longer feels anything with regard to the mining. It's like breathing to me. Sometimes I fall asleep and wake up a few feet from where I dozed off."

"How long have you been doing this?"

"Sixty or so years."

The cave brightened ever so slightly with the widening of The Moth's eyes, "that long? You must have found a lot of precious metal in that time."

The old man placed a tin cup in front of each of the friends and poured a small amount of instant coffee in them before taking a seat at the head of the table, "not a single gram," he said with a grin stretched across his face. The reflection of a flame from the nearest lamp danced in his eyes.

The two of them sat in shocked silence. The Moth nervously picked up the cup of coffee, but his friend slowly guided Moth's hand back down before he could take a sip, their eyes meeting for a moment. The old man continued, "but I see it sometimes, a glimmer of gold in the rock, or emerald, or sapphire. I've seen every precious stone you've ever heard of in the rock out there. It slithers away as I chip it down, but one day I'll catch up, I'm sure of it."

"That sounds like some kind of mirage," the one with dark eyes said.

"It makes no difference to me."

"How so?"

"You must know, you're travelers after all. You don't travel to get somewhere, you travel to be going somewhere. The meaning of this life is in the wanting."

"Is that so?" The nameless friend wondered.

"It must be lonely down here mining. Do you visit home often?" The Moth asked.

"No. I won't go home empty handed, I haven't seen my village since I began those years ago."

"Do you not have a family?"

"Oh I do, and they're wonderful. I have a wife and a daughter," the old man's eyes lit up, "my daughter even came to visit me in the mine. Sadly she didn't initially understand what the two of you must."

"What do you mean?" the friend with eyes of shadow prodded. The steam from their untouched coffee floating in the air between the three of them.

"She tried to convince me to come home. She told me they didn't care if I had succeeded in finding the gold. She obviously didn't understand what you and I both know. That it isn't about the gold."

"What did you tell her?" he continued the line of questioning.

"I tried to show her. I asked her to stay and mine with me, then we could live together in that sacred feeling of hope."

"And she stayed?"

"Oh, yes she stayed. We live down here together now."

"I see. Where is she?"

"She's elsewhere, I'm surprised you didn't cross paths on your way in."

"Perhaps on the way out. What's her name? How old is she?"

"Her name's Elise, and she's twelve. She really is the best daughter an old miner like me could ask for, staying down here in this dusty old mine with her old man."

The trio sat in silence for a while then as the miner drank his coffee, oblivious to the fact that his guests ignored theirs. They simply ate the rations they brought in with them, the one with dark eyes picking off peanuts and handing them to The Moth. Eventually the friend with eyes of coal stood, "well, it would be impolite of us to interrupt your work any longer. We'll be heading out now."

"Yes, yes of course, please travel safely," the old man said absentmindedly, as if he had forgotten they were there.

The two friends made their way out of the mine then, The Moth scraped his elbows on the rough rock walls as he broke into a slow jog to keep up with his friend’s quick steps. Eventually they met the entryway, but before stepping on the ladder, the one with black eyes peered deep into a corner shrouded by darkness, "goodbye Elise," he waved.

The Moth stepped closer to see some pieces of a small child's skeleton pushed to the side of the cavern, the skull decorated with a large hole, greatly exaggerating what was presumably a normal eye socket at one point, "oh," was all he could say before they both climbed out and away.

As they walked from the hole, The Moth spoke, "You saw on the way in didn’t you?”

:Yes, but I didn't know”

“Why do you think he did it?"

"Loneliness perhaps, maybe delusion."

"Do you think he was right?"

"To kill her?"

"No, about the point of life."

"Oh, the wanting? I don't know. Maybe the point is to overcome it."

"What would you do?"

"If what?"

"If someone tried to stop you from traveling, tried to stop us from continuing our journey."

"What are you getting at?"

"Would you kill them? If you had to, I mean."

"You rarely have to."

"That's not what I asked."

As they walked back down into the valley, silence surrounded them for a while before the distant sound of metal hitting rock began once again.

Ting!

"Yes. I would," the man with eyes the colour of hopelessness eventually answered.

Ting!