Nothing but the sound of the wind.

No sound coming out.

No sound coming back.

Silly girl. Best be off. The Gibbses are probably home already.

As if they'd notice our absence.

They'd have to. Their house would fall apart in our absence.

What a mean thing to say.

Best not to make a habit of it.

Best to be off.

Best to...

I have sent a letter to your Papa, for your Papa he is... And join his side, you must. Have no doubt about that.

I understand, Mama.

She's right. I'm being silly.

This boy is very mean, after all. And he delights in the meanness of others.

Must we talk rubbish forever?

It is no good to have bad habits.

To be obsessed with something we cannot keep.

Must we only be satisfied with him and prig-ish with everyone else?

It's not their fault they can't hear me.

This boy will spoil me rotten, I know it.

Must I spend every conversation with others wishing that I were speaking to him?

Wouldn't want to be a spoiled brat.

Best to be cut off.

"best...." thought cindy to herself and so fully believing that there was no good in becoming accustomed to something she couldn't keep she moved to leave with her mask equipped she began her journey back to the gibbses lair

Madame Smith!

The boy's words rang clearly within her as if they were real words spoken by a flesh-and-blood person standing side-by-side with her. And so the silence cleared in the face of a terrific storm.

Is this supposed to quiet me?

Understand that if no one ever helped her along, she'd never know when to shut up.

Rubbish! Complete rubbish and you know it!

You were listening... weren't you?

You must be the bad influence, no?

I dare not take so much credit.

I must relish in misery.

And so she began to go on her way- her way being away from being on the fence and straight back towards the trees. It didn't particularly matter how loudly or often she told herself to go away. Her body was more than capable, as most bodies are, of reading between the lines. And so the green eye claimed its victory.

Beneath the bleeding canopy once more, Cindy began to play the role of seeker to Guardian's hider. However, even after ten minutes, she had not even an inkling of his presence; not a single footstep or breath of his. Then the silence began making itself known again and the lighting began to bear its weight upon her until her head began to spin. In time, she began to fear that the boy had simply left without her. A twinge of regret began to seep its way into her for having had the audacity to hope and she began doing something she had never done before, and which she felt very silly for doing during.

Guardian!

Nothing. Nothing at all. This time, not even the wind was there to fill the void. She repeated her plea once more. Then twice more. Then again and again and again and again. Each time she felt herself yelling louder and louder, though of course no sound came out at all. The logic was that if she screamed loud enough in good faith then he could hear her even if she could not hear herself. Yet, there was hardly a sound, much less a reply, in the air. For unnumbered never-ending moments she felt herself beginning to slip away. Then, suddenly and very loudly, the ringing of a ringer raced towards her. And with no small amount of glee, she welcomed the sound. That night, as she felt herself running out of breath and strength in her legs, the blaring of Malachi's ringer became a rope for her as it leapt from column to column. With it, she pulled herself further and further amidst the trees until she finally heard a voice coming from about two to five columns away (depending on one's angle). But it was not the Guardian's voice. It was deeper and raspier than the one she had been hearing all night and it was only a little familiar.

Where have you run off to?

Hullo Papa. Good to hear from you.

Do I look to be in a gaming mood?

In all fairness, I can't exactly see you.

Mal-

Hush hush Papa. I'm not alone.

The voice turned quiet for a handful of moments as the boy let out muffled giggles on his end. Then, after the pause, and with a heavy sigh, the voice began again, saying...

You've found him.

Actually, it's a her!And if you'll excuse me, I'm doing the gentlemanly thing and escorting the Lady Lyrical home.

Gentlemanly? What a lot of new words we're learning today. Enough games. Come back here at once.

I'm not pretending.

So you always say. Get back here. You've already wasted enough of our time.

I didn't ask for this contes- (remembering Cindy) I'm sorry for the waste. And I'm sorry for having been miserable.

What's done is done. You will receive your punishment tomorrow.

Even so, I'm not coming back until I know the girl is safe at home.

Though she had meant to pounce on him at an opportune moment- with the fantasy of making him squee in front of his stock -Cindy's hunting stance quickly melted as she slid into a seat against a nearby column.

Selfish girl.

Fearing only your own heartache.

I have so few concerns that are mine and mine alone. Is it silly for me to think this one precious?

All night he has been at odds with his parents for your sake.

And how long before tonight, I wonder?

The contest is the handiwork of a mother and father tired of their son's "obsessions".

How much longer after tonight?

No.

Nearly everything I have belongs to someone else.

I want no part in his troubles.

Had the conversation been even a touch less uncomfortable, perhaps the Guardian would have seen or heard the girl despairing not far from him. Yet, all his focus was on ending the call as soon as possible.

Enough of your lies. In any case, the contest is ended. We've already given away the prize.

If it's any consolation, I don't think she's interested in any prize. Ever since I told her that the contest was for her sake, she's started distancing herself. Literally.

Curious.

Isn't it?

Curiously convenient, I mean.

Husband!

A lighter, kinder voice had taken over the ringer, much to the Guardian's apparent dismay. That it was his mother would have been an easy deduction even if Cindy had not been intensely bent on every sound that came from the dispute. Chainbreaker had that very motherly voice about her; one which even Cornelia often adopted with Darius. It was the sort of voice that made you feel as though you were petting a lion in that there was plenty of happiness to be had but, in any case, you needed to be very gentle and very, very careful to not be savagely murdered.

How often must we let the boy cry wolf?

(to Silencer) As often as we must to ensure he isn't eaten under our noses. (to Guardian) Hullo, dear. I'm sure she's just embarrassed. Tell me honestly, how would you feel if a whole stock of people you've never met turned an entire holy day celebration upside down just to find you?

I'm sorry, wasn't all this your idea?

My idea was simply for you to meet her and thank her and get the fate of the song! That's all you wanted, no?

Well, yes but...

And have you found what you were looking for?

The song is an original and she is the composer.

Truly? Quite a talent, I should think.

Yes. It's all her.

"All her", indeed...

Think what you will Mama, Papa, but I'm not leaving this girl's side until she dismisses me or she is safe at home. But as soon as that's done, I will be right back. You have my word.

Careful. Do not give your word in vain.

When have I ever?

A brief pause fell after the question. From the other end of the ringer came barely audible sounds of dispute between husband and wife until, finally, the dispute ended and a discernible statement emerged.

No more than half an hour.

Thank you.

And your word?

Which word would you two like?

This girl. Tell me about her; in one word, of course.

Chatterbox.

I see. Well, I am satisfied.

Half an hour. Then the shields will close and you can sleep in the woods.

What?

Fair enough.

No!

The call was ended and the ringer was put away. By then, Cindy had shifted her own position into something of a curled-up ball as she sat at the foot of a pillar with a chipped teacup- glowing red -as its crown. As she sat, the boy's own words tormented her.

I'm not leaving this girl's side until she dismisses me or she is safe at home.

It was his footsteps that pulled her back on her own feet and restored a degree of confidence to her posture. It was so that when the Guardian had gone two or three columns down the row, he was still deep in thought when he saw, from the corner of his eye, young Cindy running right towards him.

Got you.

And she had done so with such a casualness that it left him utterly bewildered.

What was that?

You took too long. I got bored. Now come on, we've got to get going or else we'll be caught.

And so they left. And the Guardian proved too busy being relieved at the game's early end to ask any questions about the reason. Not long afterwards, the two came upon that part of town where young Cindy spent most of her happy hours. And though they had only known each other ever so briefly, she was ever so tempted to bring him into Smith's shop and play for him, the song which he enjoyed so dearly and which he so kindly made a point of never mentioning again for the remainder of that night. However, she quickly thought better of it. So it was that they swiftly walked past the lyrical place and went onward as if nothing peculiar had just come up. And, indeed, even he did not recognise the place from his first visit. It was too dark and he was too sleepy.

From there, Cindy's feet were sure of their way home and soon they arrived at the hill which looked over rows and columns of houses- within which the Gibbses' own house was like a needle in a haystack. There, on that hill, Cindy made her stand, saying...

Guardian?

Yes?

I want to ask you something; but first, I want you to promise me that you will say yes.

What is it?

I cannot say until I know you have agreed to it. All I can say is that I know that if you knew what it was, you would not agree. But... if you would agree... then I should have to say forever that this was a perfect night. Give me your word... and this will forever be the best night of my life!

Truly, there were a great many secrets which the Guardian had been bound by oath to keep locked away in his heart. And these were, by and large, the very serious kind of secrets which martyrs die to keep. Many creatures, alike and unlike to what the ancients called gods and monsters, might have been holding their breath had they known what this seemingly ordinary girl had just asked of Malachi Brandonkin. Yet, he saw that she was sobbing and responded as any gentleman would.

You have my word.

Tell me what it is. You are free to choose.

Believe! Believe. There, you have my word. Ask whatever you want of me and if it is within my power, you will have it.

Go away.

What?

Turn around. Leave me alone. Go home.

Hang on! Did I do wrong by you? If I did, whatever it was, I'm sorry! I certainly did not mean to-