here's a loud, heavy cadence resonating on the air. A solid thrum of iron on steel. More ballet than battle.

It echoes off the canyon's walls, in a staggered harmony to a hammer's repetitious blows.

A pause in the din brings a change to the measure. Heatwaves rise, lissomly, from the maw of a black glass furnace. A lanky, soot covered man pumps steadily at a faded, leathery bellows. The orange glow, within the volcanic forge, turns yellow, then brightens to an almost blinding white. Grabbing at pieces of his creation, his ambition changes.

Two arched metal forms, of a rather interesting red and gold, are carefully picked up and placed, one end in, to the heat. When the temperatures right and the pieces starts to glow, he quickly pulls them from the inferno, to an anvil, meeting the smelted parts tight. The pounding resumes, the two pieces merge.

The pattern repeats.

And repeats.

And repeats.

Over the quieter span, between the heat and the soak, there's a gentler precision that tings. Not as loud but with the same precise tempo. Across the molten expanse, astride a smaller but similar workspace, a young woman taps away at a, more modest sized, piece of that same colored material.

Happy with the shape, she plunges it into the fiery pit. She closes her eyes and quickly removes it. Placing it ever so gently on a bed of finely ground quartz. Then she covers it with the same same glistening dust.

She touches the granules and closes her eyes. The sands shift and swirl as the steam starts to rise. The metal form waxes from somewhere within, like it's being pushed by some unseen force from below.

A circle of red spiraled in yellow, comes to a rest at the top of the pile. A sheath of clear stone, five sided, surrounds a spiral lattice in one continuous band. Hollow in the center.

She grabs a strip of leather, folds it in half and loops it through the amulet, threading the loose ends through the u. Then she ties it to a beam to let it catch the sun and cool.

No longer distracted by her craft she notices her companions creation. "Huh!"

It's appearance is uncannily similar to the five roundels that she's created. Though his is of a much grander scale. Minus the clear stone around the outside. And the center decorations, a wolf in black onyx and a rabbit of rose topaz, that she has framed inside two of the circlets, now swaying in the breeze.

He hears her exclamation and turns to see her amusement. "What's up?"

She grabs one of the trinkets from the beam and, with a sly grin, she walks up to present it to him.

'Huh! Indeed,' he chuckles.

"What are they?" she asks.

'I have no clue.' he pauses, inspecting the decoration, a wolf baying at a moon, as she ties it around his neck, 'But ever since we were given this stuff, I've been having visions of this thing when I sleep.'

"Me too." she admits, running her fingers on his creation.

It's an almost perfect replica of the intricate pattern of her amulets. Where as, hers are complete circles two and a half inches wide, his is open at the bottom with a twenty four inch gap, and an overall diameter of eight feet, side to side. Eight metal bars extend an arms length from the ends. Four of iron on one side, four of copper on the other. The Valkyrie steel, they were gifted, is fashioned like twin gene strands, twisting seven times end to end, with cross bars connecting the lengths.

"What we do with it?" she inquires

He points to the stream. "I think it wants to go over there. Gimme a hand?"

They both grab an edge on opposite sides and walk it to the water. They feel a gentle tug. and walk two more feet in. The cool water flows around them halfway to their knees.

They put the prongs to the earth and give a little push.

"This, where we land. When energy leave us." she puzzles.

No sooner do those words leave her mouth when the ground under their feet rises. Catching them both by surprise. It carries them up two feet above the waterline.

When the motion stops they look down at the ground. A decking, of flat earth and river-worn stone, holds fast the ring by its anchors. A walkway, of the same, leading to the shore, extends straight out from the base. Embracing the earth with a seamless flow.

There's a thrum and a humming and a shimmer of twilight sky. The circle expands, almost doubling its size. Blue lightning flashes in a dark plasma-like field, filling the void within the ring. Rippling, like water in a glass.

The humming dims.

The plasma fades and the circle returns to its natural state.

'What the hell was that?' he excites.

"That! What we in, the day we meet." she amuses.

On an dry sandy clearing, at the base of a mountain, the air is beginning to stir. Two very different men, wearing very similar garb, are vexed by the sight before them. It would be a simple task really, if they were in a town. But out here in the wilds its a nightmare.

The bear of a man pulls at his beard, mulling over thoughts of another kind, "You know this is the second time this guy's slowed us."

The short gray haired one, standing waist high beside him, kicks at the dirt in frustration. The spokes of a wagon's broken wheel. It's the cause of their delay. Repairing it, the core of this conversation."We can spread the load across the others. Prop the front up against the Chuck and drag it."

"I like that idea. As a last option. The extra load will slow the pace," he grizzles. "Cook up?"

"Yep, breakfast in ten."

"Good. Shit like this makes me hungry."

"Yeah. Like you need an excuse to eat." It's just a little jibe to break the mood.

"Asshole."

"I'm just saying, if I ate as much as you, I'd be as wide as you are high."

"As opposed to being as high as I am wide now?"

"Dick."

"You started it."

There's laughter from somewhere in the trees. They really are all the same

Sitting by the side of a slow moving stream, comforting a still depressed bundle of fur, the two vale kin look over the newest piece of the valley.

'A stargate, without the glyphs? No completely different design. This ones more like dual DNA strands.' Joe thinks out loud.

"I not know those things," Solata informs him, her head against his chest.

'The stargate is fictional... or not... I don't assume anything anymore. DNA are the working instructions cells use to create a living thing.'

"The essence? Mayhaps what the essence change?"

'Could be. Maybe what you do turns on and off certain parts of the string. Waking up a dormant function for a time.'

Occasionally, Joe's train of thought is run off the rails by a flutter of wing and a peck on his head. This one's especially hard.

"Damn, Grim! What the fuck."

"Squawk!" The antagonist cries, while fluttering in place, to catch his eye.

"You have my attention. What do you need?"

The black bird heads in the direction of the ridge. Stops a few feet away and turns.

"I think he want us to follow." Solata guesses.

"Then why doesn't he just make a racket, If he wants us to follow? "

"Fahhlloh." Grim mimics. Then he speeds off to the East.

"Little Moon? Did he just?"

"I think he did."

"Okay," he says, shaking his head, "Looks like this will have to wait."

"Yes."

One last pat to the wolf's head, 'Be back in a bit.'

They walk down the stream, passed the cabin, to the spot where the water disappears into the mountain. They hear the bird cawing. A little further up along the wall. They redirect their course and continue. A few yards later they come to the place where the noisy ones causing a fuss.

'What the hell is that?' Joe asks.

"Wavy rock? Hmm. I not know."

'Was that there yesterday?'

"I..." she pauses, "No! Door mayhaps? Touch hand through."

'You want me to put my hand through that?'

"You one should be dead."

'Oh! Is that how we are going to decide these things now?' He laughs.

She smiles, "Mayhaps. Anyway, it prolly safe. Sides, we live through weirder."

'True," he sighs, "Okay. Here goes.'

She takes his hand in hers, about half way there, and together they push through the rock face. It's a bit cooler. Other than that, nothing. Not even a tingle. They pull them back and inspect each other for damage.

'You seem good.'

"You fine too."

She takes his hand again and side by side they step into the wall.

A set of stairs, leading down, slowly focuses before them. Thirteen steps that lead to an apparent dead end. Where, a slightly brighter undulation, than the tunnel's roof and sides, echoes the vision of the wall they just passed through. They, cautiously, descend and peak their heads through.

The first thing that hits them is the smell.

'Is someone cooking breakfast?'

They look up and see thousands of feet of mountain, rising.

"We come far, Many Moons."

'Yeah we did.'

The next thing that hits them is the sounds of talk and toil. They walk out of the stone and test to see if they can return. Or, if they'll be climbing back for, at least, the next two days.Their hands have no problem pushing back through.

Turning to see what the clatter is about, they come face to face with a girl, wide eyed and mouth agape. Sitting across from a man dipping hard bread to his plate.

"Uhmmm, Mohs. You really need to see this."

Mohs turns, sees the two half naked intruders and instinctively reaches for his blade. But before his hand can touch the hilt he hears, a sarcastic tone, 'Excuse me, but why are you people camping on my driveway?'

"Your driveway? What's a driveway?"

'It's where I'd park my car, If I still had one?'

"But wouldn't that make it a park..."

'Yeah, yeah the time honored question.' he interrupts, 'Don't go down that road it'll only make you crazy?'

Molly, sensing no threat, decides to steer the conversation away from the direction it's going, "Do you live here?"

Solata smiles, pointing to the peak, "Up there."

"But you came from the stone."

"Mmmmhmm."

'It's been a weird day for us too.' Joe quips, extending his hand, 'I'm Joe, my cuter half is Solata.'

"But you can call me Lu."

Molly accepts the greeting, with a grip that surprises both of the vale kin, "Molly, that's Mohs and hold on, let me get the rest. Brahms, company!"

After the groups introductions are made, and Brahms is done explaining the reason for them being here, they walk over to the wagon in question.

Joe examines the damage to the wheel and whispers something to Solata before casting a suspicious eye at Brahms. Solata shakes her head, "Dead too long." The skinny guy stands, brushing his hands, "I've never worked on one of these, but we might be able to help you out. We have some tools and materials. Take it off we'll take it to the forge."

A tension in Brahms, that he didn't know was so heavy, breathes out as his shoulders settle, "Where to? I don't see a trail."

"Up there." Solata smiles.

'Hopefully the doors still open,' her partner thinks out loud.

The wheel's removed, the party make their way toward the mercurial stone, and much to Joe's delight, the door is still open.

All of the caravan's people are invited, and most of them agree. Especially when they find there's a shower to be had and a place to wash a weeks worth of road from their clothes. Some get leery, when they see the topless girl disappear into the mountainside. But eventually they all follow through. Except for Ferril and Terrik who stay behind to guard the goods until Mohs and Welfort give them a break. After they've cleaned. Only the man, whose wagon it is, and his wife, refuse the offer and stay by the fire.

Brahms and Joe are the last to enter the valley, walking into a wall of stunned onlookers. Even the big man is shook by the scene, almost dropping his half of the wheel.

Solata, who is many feet ahead, turns to the awestruck visitors and hails, "Welcome to my home." Then she strips off her cloth and jumps into the pond.

Malachite and Molly walk off exploring. Mohs and Welfort head straight for the falls, Joe and Brahms haul the wheel to the forge. Em'a just stands in front of the cabin. Staring, nostalgic to the view. The other three, frozen, looking with unbelieving eyes.

'Brahm's is it?'

"Yeah."

'You see that? That look right to you?'

"For a break? No. Too clean, too straight." The big man feels all the weight returned. "Trell fucker."

Under the shadow of a rocky outcropping, a resemblance of a draconic claw, three beings take in all the different flora. Two have been friends many years now. And despite the great disparity in their size they work well together. But then again they always have, even before that moonless night christened a sacrificial bond. The tallest of the three is the youngest of the bunch. A green goliath created 9 years ago in a dark alchemical lab. His truest friend, his liberator, almost less than half his size, is chatting with the girl who calls this place home. There's an excitement in her voice and a brightness to her eyes as she tries to catalogue the variety of plants before her.

"Do you think we could have a couple?" the sprite, Molly, asks.

"Mayhaps. Valley not mind I think," Solata answers, "These two, I feel want to travel." She points at a rose like flower with petals of silver tipped magenta and a fern of bright orange with a reflective quality to the leaf.

Molly's shoulders shrink with a thought. "Oh, we don't have any pots."

"Burlap," her tall friend inspires.

"Yeah. Like when we moved the fig trees. Good memory Malachite."

Another trio luxuriates in a warm cascade, washing the days away.

Mohs has been humming while the other two have been trading histories. Exuberantly bantering, swapping knowledge and study. Then a flash of hue catches his attention. A metallic prism of color with a piscean sparkle. He can't help but stare. They've been traveling together over two days know. But he's never seen her then quite the way he does now. "What are you?" he asks, with all the tact of a sledgehammer. His comrade in arms just sighs. That's just Mohs.

"I'm my mother's daughter," Em'a replies. Without a hint of offense in the tone. She's had this conversation many times before.

"Sorry Em," Welfort smiles, "My friend here isn't the sharpest weapon in the armory. If you haven't noticed already."

She laughs, "Maybe not, but sometimes, you need a good club." She's played this game before. Camaraderie. Born of shared blood spill. "And to answer your question," she turns looking to Mohs, "I'm half human, half skrillik."

Now she has the dark skinned mans interest. "Seriously. How can you be?" he asks with curiosity not contempt, "Skrilliks are all skrillik. And male."

Her tone is matter of fact. "My mother killed the one who raped her. She carried me to term. She thought that because I was developed and birthed like a human, rather than consuming her dead flesh like a parasitic spider. That it changed me in the womb." She looks to her left and down and sees the tall, naked, gray haired man inches from her leg. Staring, like he's hypnotized. "You wanna touch it?"

"Can I?"

"Dammit Mohs."

"Rangers, you're all the same." She reaches down, palms his head and pushes him into the stream.

The laughter by the falls doesn't reach the four outside the vale.

Here it's quiet except for the rustling in the trees. Ferril and Terrik are hitching and grooming the horses. Waiting for their turn at a wash. And a quick return to the road.

A slender, older, but still attractive woman sits by the fire. She has long, dark maple hair. Her knees are tight, hands clasped resting on her thighs. Just staring at the flames. Solemn. Thoughtful. Her husband is pacing. Impatient. Any conversation, the two in brown and green try to strike up, is met with an arrogant disdain. It's been like that since this trip started. Not from her. She's been amicable. It's her husband that's been interruptive, and short.

The tall blonde man with the personable eyes catches those of the woman by the fire. She congenially smiles then returns her gaze back to the blaze. He turns to his short, gruff, partner, "There's something about those two, that seems off."

"Hm. Nothing between them. No familiarity."

"Exactly. You think she's a slave or a bride of economy?"

“If she is she hasn’t been for long. Why? You looking for someone to keep you warm tonight?”

“I wouldn’t mind that. But no...” he trails off as the husband comes back into view, "it's just..."

“We should get Molly to feel em out.”

"Yeah, we should."

"We're moving to Milaneaux," the twin, Steen, the one on the left, says.

"To do some glassblowing," his brother Bruhn adds.

Joe looks up from the piece of wood he's carving, 'You could probably use that forge if your bored, I'm pretty sure it would be hot enough.'

"We have our tools but we don't have any materials," Steen sighs.

'If it's sand you need, try by the stream, over by where we came in. This place is weird you may find something new.'

Both brothers perk up and take off on a mission.

There's a heavy sigh of relief. It comes from a big man. A very big man. "Thanks for that. Those two just don't stop. I can hear them in my sleep."

The cook lets out a well humored breath, "I can hear them from the chuck, they point out almost every damn tree and rock."

"And we still have a week left," Brahms laments.

Joe compares the spoke that he's shaved to the broken one. Puts the knife back to it and whittles some more. 'Maybe you guys can tell me. Where the hell are we?'

"You don't know where you are?" Oeine chuckles, slicing up a fish, lunch is coming early.

'No idea where or even when,' Joe replies, 'It's been an interesting few months.'

"Do tell," both men petition.

So he does. As succinctly as possible.

As the story unfolds and the fish are fried the others gather and catch part of the tale. Molly and Malachite caught most of it from their host. But they sit and listen just the same. Em'a is bright eyed, "So the wolf and the raven were stone? And they were companions of Valkyrie?"

"Yes. Also he from before Breaking. I from after. I think one eighty years?" Solata smiles.

Welford speaks for the first time since this story started, "We're about two hundred twenty years roughly after the Last Bomb."

"And we're in what you would call Italy, Northern Italy" Em'a adds.

"I think I know this, Familiar," Solata puzzles, she looks at her partner, "So this our earth?"

'Seems so,' he amuses, hammering the last nail in a now reassembled wheel, 'And I'm guessing Milaneaux is what I would know as Milan?'

Oeine walks over with plates and what appears to be a scroll. He hands out the fare and places a rolled up parchment next to Joe's. A map, a lay of the land. With similar shapes that he can recall. But different. Catastrophically different. His heart breaks when the full weight of it hits him. The visions that he had. The ones that played like movies. Disassociated from his brain. Come streaming back with the full force of reality. His back tightens. His eyes well. His hands furl and unfurl. He stands up and walks away.

She follows and takes his hand. He falls to his knees. Silent. Enraged. Desponent.

She pulls his head to her hip and strokes his hair.

And hums.