The air was heavy with dust and cold, and the scent of damp places was thick. But here she stood in the midst of the creeping weeds that choked the ruins, staff clasped in her hands as if it were the only thing keeping her from being swept away in a terrible wind.

"I beg you, surrender your weapons. This is a holy place -- I do not wish to fight here." Her unfocused gaze was earnest, and her tone unthreatening, which only made it all the less likely her request would be answered.

"A holy place, is it?" The leader laughed, but his target did not quail, brow furrowing instead. A small chorus of laughter from the others followed his, fading when his had settled into silence. "Then what, the gods will strike me if we fight here?"

The girl's mouth opened, perhaps to repeat her plea, but a low voice interrupted her, rumbling an introduction for the figure that followed it. "Perhaps not the gods, little man," it said, "but Ratha may."

She stepped out of the shadows -- or perhaps they parted in awe -- to stand behind the girl, close to seven feet of fang and muscle, with leathery wings that flapped once in punctuation and stirred a breeze in the dull air.

The leader gave a short hiss of surprise and recognition, which also rippled through his men, and she bared her long rows of teeth in an appreciative grin.

Then she settled one large hand on the girl's shoulder. "Come along, Prophet."

She startled, looking sightlessly up at her companion, then nodded. "Yes, Lady Ratha."

The leader and his men, stunned to silence, remembered only at the last moment to step aside and let them through, as the large one's gaze promised trampling if they did not. When the two had nearly passed, a weak voice -- perhaps the leader and perhaps not -- called out.

"Who are you?"

The girl turned to the voice, a radiant smile suddenly lighting her pale face. "My name is Pel Dharma, and I seek the gods."

She could say nothing more before her companion's strong arm steered her around again and led her from the sullen grove.

They were many steps away before the girl spoke again, gaze turned to the road ahead. "I am sorry."

Ratha gave a faint grunt, shoulders rippling in a shrug. "There was no bloodshed in a holy place." Her tone held a note of disappointment, but she said nothing further.

"There were also no gods."

"So there were not."

The girl glanced up and to her companion, then down again. "I am afraid.. what if, in the end, they will not answer to my call?"

"You will not have been the first," Ratha rumbled, another shrug making its way down her spine.

"I know." From her tone, it was clear she had gleaned little comfort from the words.

"It's not something to worry about, Prophet," Ratha said. "If, as they say, you summon the gods, then summon them you do. If not, the task is for someone else."

The girl gave a soft sigh. "This I also know."

Ratha grinned again, lifting her hand from the girl's shoulder to ruffle her hair in a manner unbefitting any dignity. "There are many other holy sites, Prophet. There is always the next."

"That is worst of all!" the girl declared, and the larger woman's booming laugh echoed on up the pathway, warning birds, beasts, and bandits that they were fast approaching, and it would be best to be on their way.