"So, what's the prophecy?" Azarial settled in the shadows just beyond the light of the fire, his back against an oak three times his width. One of the curved blades of his Reziatch caught the fire light in a brief flash as he laid the center staff acrossed his left knee to began to clean and polish the two and a half foot, right blade that curved toward him. The blades on opposite ends, curved in opposite directions, symbolizing, so his people believed, the circular flow of all life. Following suit, he had named his blade "Rebirth."

"Come again?" Straya plopped down beside the fire, directly on the cool earth below, any dirt she picked up would just blend in with the rest of the dirt on her soft, tanned leathers, bordered in rabbit fur along the neck, wrist cuffs, waist, and pant-cuffs that ended just above her ankles, which were protected by boots that looked much the same. In fact, the only color to her was the blood-red braid of hair that stretched to her knees. Her skin was pale and her eyes slate grey.

"You know, the prophecy," he said without looking away from his weapon. He slid the staff acrossed his knees to begin cleaning the other blade. "These things always have some kind of prophecy."

"These things? What things?" Straya kicked off her boots and stretched her feet toward the fire.

Azarial sighed heavily, as though he were dealing with a child. "Whenever a band of adventurers get together to defeat some great evil, there's always some kind of ancient prophecy."

Raejst groaned. "This isn't one of those adventure novels you're always reading. It's real life Aza." The healer of the group spooned some of the stew he'd been preparing, into a little bowl and sipped. He made a face, and added more herbs and some little seeds, then proceeded to stir them in.

"There's no such thing as great evil." The husky sound of Xavyra's voice caused everyone to look up from what they were doing. The sorceress rarely spoke and when she did, her voice commanded attention despite it's lack of an authoritative tone. "We must understand that those we intend to defeat are people too, with real feelings. They are not evil, just different and opposing. To them, we will be the evil ones. There are two sides to every leaf." She leaned against an Ash tree opposite the camp from Azarial and looked evenly at them all, her eyes alight with an eerie emerald and cerulean glow.

"If there's no great evil to defeat, then why do you travel and fight with us?" Straya kept her eyes on the fire, not wishing to meet Xavyra's unearthly, penatrating gaze. Everytime she did, prickles of ice coursed through her body, starting with her own eyes and racing to her fingers and toes. It always gave her a headache. Silence followed her question for so long that Straya thought she would not answer.

Xavyra chuckled, a humorless and hollow sound, more like falling rocks than any natural laughter. "Incidently? There is a prophecy."

"Ah-ha! See! I told you!" Azarial grinned at Straya and Raejst.

Straya stuck her tongue out at him and looked into the shadows where Xavyra stood, careful not to meet her glowing eyes.

"So what is it?" Azarial went back to polishing his weapon.

"What does it matter? After all those books, you should know that the prophecy is useless. It will happen whether you know it or not. That's the way it always is. If you know it, and try to change it, chances are, your attempt to change it will be what brings it about in the end. This is the way it always is. The prophecy is a paradox, a dangerous one that can steal too much focus from the task at hand. The prophecy never helps. It is better for you not to know." Her eyes disappeared first and then they heard the whisper of her footsteps on the dead leaves, walking away.

"Where do you suppose she goes by herself?" Raejst sipped noisely at another sample of their supper.

"I don't want to know." Straya shivered and moved closer to the fire for warmth. She could still feel Xavyra's eyes, burrowing holes into her brain, and the onset of a headache. She didn't like the way it was all said. The prophecy must not be favourable. She talked of changing it bringing it about, which means we'd probably want to change it... It left her feeling unsettled and uncertain. Emperor Caestol's people would definitely see them as a great evil, Straya could see that point easily enough. However, an irritating little insect of a thought buzzed in her brain, one she didn't like. Someone had to be wrong, even if no one was evil. She was becoming increasingly uncertain who that someone was.